The Rift Saga
The Rift Saga
Part One: Chance and Fate
Chapter One
Captains Log: Stardate 45792.3
The Enterprise has been removed from patrol duty along the neutral zone and dispatched to the Orion Gammalon system to an observation platform that has been monitoring an unusually large metrion nebula. Apparently the nebula has begun to expand around the remote station and we need to recover its recording equipment before the nebula engulfs it completely.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise –D sat in his chair on the smooth, contoured bridge. Around him various ensigns worked the controls, conversing with each other quietly. Jean-Luc stared out into the bridge monitor, watching the stars streak by. He enjoyed these calm reflective moments; they seemed to be coming more infrequently of late. The Enterprise always seemed to be exactly in the right place at the right time for something to go wrong. Not that he was complaining, he wouldn’t trade this post for even the admiralty. He was always on his toes and this time was no different, unexpected things had happened under even more routine missions.
On the platform above him, Chief Engineer Geordi Laforge and Lieutenant Commander Data were finalizing an appropriate transporter modulation for use near the nebula. “ Hmm, maybe if we couple transporters two and five together, we can increase the transportation range,” said Geordi, examining a representation of the nebula on the display screen. Data tapped a few buttons, entering the situation. “ That will decrease the time elapse of the Enterprise’s exposure to high levels of metrion by twenty five seconds,” Data replied, still looking at the display. Geordi entered the new data into his recording pad. “ All right, I’m going down to engineering. We’ll want to get that station’s information into the computer as soon as we get the core on board.” He walked to the turbolift as it opened. From it walked Commander William Riker, fresh from breakfast in Ten-Forward. Geordi gave the commander a nod of respect and continued past him into the waiting turbolift.
Riker took his seat to the right of the captain. “ Feeling better Number One?” Picard asked with a slight smile. The second in command had been recovering from a bought of Tammaranian flu which had placed him out of duty. It was remarkable, Picard mused, that even a mild, non-threatening virus could take one of the Federation’s best officers out of commission for days. Riker gave a little nod, a smile drifting across his face. “ Well, Doctor Crusher’s bedside manner is one of the perks of serving on this ship.” It was true; Beverly Crusher and her staff had treated nearly everyone on the ship, and had saved the lives of more than a few of them.
The two officers sat in silence for a few moments. After weeks traversing the depths of space, one ran out of things to talk about. Besides, Jean-Luc was one for small talk, at least not in the morning. Fortunately, the ensign at the helm, Pierce Picard remembered, broke the awkward silence. “ Entering the Orion Gammalon system sir,” he said checking the ship’s position on the terminal in front of him. The captain and Riker straitened up in their chairs. “Slow to impulse speed,” ordered Riker.
Picard watched the starlines shrink away, revealing the glimmering blackness of space, a faint shimmering in the distance. “Is that the nebula?” the captain asked, hunching forward. “Aye sir,” replied the ensign. “Magnifying now.”
The viewscreen changed, revealing an up close look at the stellar anomaly. Most metrion nebulae were very small and unstable, rarely larger than a small moon. This one however was vast, covering most of the systems western quadrant. It shimmered with minute gravimetric distortions and ion pluses. Some federation scientist had postulated a metrion field of sufficient size might be used to open a stable wormhole, facilitating exploration and travel throughout the galaxy beyond the capabilities of any warp capable starship. This is why a passing science vessel a few months previous, in order to try and chart the behavior of the unstable cloud, had dropped the small, automated monitoring satellite. Unfortunately, the cloud had begun to destabilize and expand threatening disable or destroy the drone. The Enterprise was to move close by, transport the entire satellite onboard, and depart before the dangerous metrion radiation began to affect the crew. A difficult maneuver, but the captain his crew was up to the job.
As the ship moved closer to the coruscating mass, Data reported from the science station. “The Enterprise will be in optimal transport range in five minutes,” he stated. Riker stood up and walked over to Data’s station. “How long can we stay in the nebula’s radiation field before the crew starts being effected,” he asked, looking over Data’s shoulder at the screen. The android responded promptly. “Even with our shields lowered for transport, it should take fifty seconds for the crew to start feeling any adverse effects.” Data typed in a few figures. “With shields raised, eight minutes. Sufficient time to retrieve the monitoring station and pass beyond the radiation field.” Still, Riker thought, it wasn’t a very wide margin of error. But he, like the captain, trusted the crew. Just in case though, the Doctor was standing by with radiation treatments for the crew.
As Riker walked back to his chair, the other helm officer, a Vulcan by the name of Lomout reported. “Entering the nebula’s radiation field. Transportation range in three minutes.”
Down in the main cargo hold, Transporter Chief Miles O’Brien was making some last minute adjustments to the particle reception pad. He much preferred using the personnel transporters on the main decks, but the Satellite was a bit too large. The Chief looked up as two engineers brought in the hoverlift they were going to use to transfer the observers core to engineering. Geordi was worried that the core had been corrupted by the radiation and wanted what was left of the information in the Enterprise’s protected electronic storage pathways before any more damage could be done.
Miles was about to back to his calibrations when he noticed Engineering Lieutenant Barclay on the other side of a stack of crates, a safe distance from the transporter. The chief shook his head. Barclay had been sent to help O’Brien with the last minute transporter modifications, but he hadn’t been much help so far. “Hey Barclay,” Miles called in his thick, Irish accent, annoyance tingeing he voice. “The transporter isn’t going to bite you ya know.” Barclay muttered something unintelligible and embarrassed, trying to make himself look busy with a data pad.
“Eh?”
Barclay looked up, a faint red tone developing in his cheeks. “ I…. um, was checking the uhh…distortion levels from the nebula,” he said, still jabbing at the pad. O’Brien shrugged his shoulders expectantly. “Oh, um. The readings all check out. You’re clear to… um proceed,” with this, Barclay started to wander off toward the two engineers with the hoverlift, further from the transporter. O’Brien shook his head again sighing. Barclay was notoriously difficult to work with, even since his therapy with counselor Troi. At least no one called him Broccoli anymore, a name young Wes Crusher had come up with. The captain had ordered that stopped when he himself had let it slip in Barclay’s presence. The chief finished his last minute check and had walked to the control pad when he got the order.
Picard’s voice came over the comm, “You may transport when ready Mr. O’Brien.”
Back on the bridge, things started to go wrong. An indicator on the science display began blinking. Data analyzed it quickly. “Sir, I’m reading a surge in ionic activity emanating from the nebula.” On the viewscreen, the cloud of energized particles began to change color, shimmering from sliver to cerulean in a roiling wave. An alarm klaxon sounded. Ensign Lomout called from the sensor station. “ Metrion radiation levels rising exponentially.” Data worked the science station at lightning speed. “Dangerous levels of radiation in eight seconds.” Riker jumped to his feet. “Shields up!” As Worf, who was at Ops, punched in the command, the cloud began to boil, shooting out jets of matter, blocking the satellite from view. One of those jets was hurtling towards the Enterprise.
“Evasive action! Move us out of range!” ordered the captain, moving to the chair of the helm officer. The Enterprise dove under the roiling wave and preformed a sharp 160-degree turn and hurtled away from the collapsing nebula. The violent turn threw those standing on the bridge to the floor. Behind the fleeing starship, the stellar cloud continued to release massive streams on metrion particles. Then the jets pulled back, and with them rest of the nebula. The shimmering field swirled momentarily into a miniature spiral galaxy, and then in a blinding flash of light, the cloud disappeared.
Riker was helping Picard to his feet. He dusted himself of and stared into the viewscreen. “Report.” Data scrambled back to his consol and checked it. “I am not entirely sure sir. The nebula may have reacted in an unexpected manner when subjected to our transporters.”
“Damage report.”
Worf looked over his controls. “No structural damage. We were able to pass out of range before the radiation levels became dangerous.” His display blinked. “No reports of casualties.” Riker finished collecting himself, and then tapped his comm badge. “Chief, did you get the satellite before we raised shields?” There was no response. “Chief?”
Then a reply came, “No sir, I lost the probe but… well, you better get a security detail down here.” Riker and Picard exchanged dubious glances. It looked like the recovery mission was about more interesting, and on the Enterprise, interesting things rarely ended well.
Chapter Two
Riker, along with Worf and a detail of armed security officers disembarked from the turbolift on deck 15, rushing through the halls towards the main cargo bay. The officers they passed in the halls, some still disoriented by the abrupt maneuvers, pushed out of their way. When the team came to the cargo bay door, they found it open, and moved inside. Several people including Chief O’Brien were clustered around the transporter pad, which did not, in fact, hold the science satellite. Upon closer inspection, it was evident that there were in fact bodies. Five humanoid forms lying on the platform. Riker sprinted over to O’Brien to ask what had happened, if there had been an accident among the crew, but he stopped dead when he got a closer look at the prone forms.
One at least was obviously human, a black-haired young man, perhaps eighteen years old. He was the most normal of the group. Next to him lay a blue-skinned humanoid alien woman. Instead of hair, she sported two shoulder length tentacles that sprouted from the back of her head. Across from the female sprawled the two strangest of the group, both more than two meters tall. One was vaguely saurian, brownish skin contrasting with the metallic plates it had plastered to its body. The other was similarly built, with reverse jointed legs covered in some form of armor. It had scaly gray skin, and its wide head seemed to possess no mouth. The final figure was a colossus of green and gunmetal, as tall as the larger aliens. It’s opaque golden face plate gave no sign of it was machine, man, or alien.
O’Brien, noting the commander’s presence, straightened up and approached him.
“What happened?” Riker asked bewilderedly, still staring at the presumably unconscious forms. The chief shook his head. He was obviously as confused as Riker. “I don’t know sir. I had engaged the transporter beam and there was an energy surge. I almost lost the signal when you put up the shields, but I got ‘em through,” O’Brien said, and then looked back at the pad. The security team as well as a few of the engineering staff was now clustered around the pad. A few of the officers had checked the pulses of the human and blue-skinned alien. They were alive, but their pulses were erratic. Someone called for Doctor Crusher. No one even got close to the other three. O’Brien looked back at Riker, giving a small shrug. “Of course, I don’t know who they are or how they got in the transporter beam.”
When Doctor Crusher arrived, she set about moving the beings on the pad to the med lab. They were able to transport four of them, but the fifth, the armored one, had to be moved via hoverlift. Something about its armor disrupted the transport beam. O’Brien wasn’t even sure how he’d been stable enough to enter the beam in the first place. When all of them were safely in the med bay, Beverly Crusher set about figuring out who or what they were.
Nurse Onigawa ran a medical tricorder over the blue female, who was lying, still unconscious on one of the med lab’s beds. “Her physiology is similar to a humans; warm-blooded, spinal column, nervous system all very similar. Looks like she just needs some time to wake up.”
Dr. Crusher was looking over the saurian in the metal armor. “Hmm, wish this one was that simple.” She flipped the tricorder she was holding shut in exasperation. “I have no point of reference for this one’s nervous system. Same with the other too.” She gestured to the gray-scaled alien on a nearby table. In both cases, Beverly had opted to leave their armor on. She had no idea what purpose it served in either case. It could be life support for all she knew. The fully armored one was even more difficult. The ships sensors had been able to detect a life sign in the midst of the metal and circuitry, but some kind of energy field was surrounding it, and the Doctor didn’t want to try and cut through it unless absolutely necessary.
She sighed and placed the scanner on an adjoining table. Well, I guess there’s nothing for it but monitor their life signs and wait for one to wake up. I can’t even figure out why he’s unconscious.” She looked over the black-hair human in mild exasperation. He was perfectly healthy as far as she could tell. There was no indicator of who he was on him, and he was only carrying a small, metal tube. The item, along with the other equipment found on his companions, had been brought down to engineering for analysis. “No molecular breakdown, no concussion, no unidentifiable chemicals in his blood stream. As far as I can tell, he’s just asleep.”
Beverly walked over to the med bay replicator and stated “Tea, hot.” The alcove hummed for a moment, and in a flash of light, a cup of steaming liquid appeared. The doctor sipped the beverage, looked at her patients again in a mixture of puzzlement and exasperation, and then headed for her office. “I’ll be logging their progress. Keep me informed if there are any changes,” she called to nurse Onigawa. The officer responded in the affirmative and went back to scanning the female.
Down in Main Engineering, the main conference table was strewn with items found on the Enterprise’s “guests.” Geordi Laforge entered the chamber, passing the pair of yellow-garbed security officers who were flanking the door. Ever since the transporter mishap, Worf had upped security all over the ship, especially around med bay and the engineering section. Geordi walked up to Data, who was examining a device found the saurian being, looked up. “Have you figured out what it is?” Geordi asked, taking the object from Data’s hands. It was large, almost to big for Geordi to hold in one hand. A smooth, bluish-green covering encased the object, shaped like an elongated, angular U.
“I believe it is a weapon, directed plasma judging by the discharge mechanism,” Data stated evenly. Geordi hefted it into a firing position, both hands supporting its opalescent form. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Did the computer come up with anything?” Data moved to a consul inset into the table. “There is no record in the computer of such a device ever being employed by a race encountered by the federation.” Geordi placed the weapon back on the table and picked one of the metallic tubes that had been found on the human and the blue alien. He examined it closely, his visor picking up faint emission from within it. Locating what looked like an emitter on one end, he pointed it towards the ceiling and pressed a panel on the side. A beam of blue energy erupted from the end, but instead of burning into the ceiling plate, it remained still, a spike of energy sprouting from the metal handle. Data approached with a tricorder and scanned the beam. “It seems to be hyper concentrated light energy. However, the energy is folding back on its self rather than dissipating.” Geordi averted his gaze, the blade beginning to his light-sensitive visor. “Perhaps it’s a cutting tool. A beam like this ought to be able to slice through solid duranium,” he said.
The other items on the table included the second beam-projecting device, a small communications unit, a large deadly looking implement covered in purple spikes, and the extensive armament found on the green-armored being. Two projectile weapons, several explosive devices, some Data had determined were primitive petrochemical ignition devices, and a deadly looking ten centimeter long serrated knife.
As Data and Geordi were trying to determine what material the plasma weapon was made out of, the Captain’s voice came over the ship’s comm. “Have you been able to identify any of the equipment yet engineering?” Geordi hit his insignia, “Well sir, we’ve been able to determine that whoever they are, they were carrying a lot weaponry. However, none of the devices are noted in the ships computer. But were still analyzing them sir.” The response came back a moment later. “Keep at it Mr. Laforge. Have a report ready for sixteen hundred hours.” Geordi looked at the table of strange and varied items and sighed. Give him a warp core failure any day. “We’ll have a report ready sir.”
Back on the bridge, captain Picard sat, waiting. After the incident near the nebula, the Enterprise had withdrawn to the outskirts of the Orion Gammalon system and was awaiting instructions from Starfleet Command. Picard had sent a report detailing the nebula’s unexpected collapse and what little they new of their “guests,” but due to Orion Gammalon’s proximity to several neutron stars and other disruptive phenomena, it would take several hours for the message to wend its way through the Starfleet communications network. In the meantime, all the captain could do was monitor the area where the metrion cloud had once been.
Evidently, the point where the formation had imploded had become choked with so much radiation that it was impossible for the pick up any accurate readings of the area, or for the Enterprise to approach safely within accurate imaging range for that matter.
Growing increasingly antsy, he gave bridge control over to Riker and retired to his ready room. Sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea, the captain decided to pass the time with some music. “Computer, Beethoven’s Fifth symphony in E major.” As the melody filled the room, the captain leaned back to reflect. The current situation was unsettling. Even though Captain Picard had more experience in first contact situations than any other officer in the fleet, they usually involved meetings in space or careful and well-planned contact on worlds nearing warp drive capability. This time was different. He had five sentient beings unconscious in his med lab, and at least three of them were completely different, unknown species. Such a predicament would make any commanding officer uncomfortable. What made it worse, neither he nor anyone else in his crew knew how are why they had arrived on his ship.
The captain’s thoughts were interrupted by the ping of the comm. “Captain, one of the guests is coming around,” Riker said, the element of excitement audible in his voice. “On my way Number One.” The captain shut off the music and moved toward the door. Now they might be getting somewhere.
Chapter Three
There it was again. That metal disk. Just floating there, waiting for John to reach out and grab it, but as he did, he felt a sinking feeling, and the disc ballooned into a massive ring. The Halo. He was falling towards it, no time to react…
Spartan-117, code name Master Chief woke with a start, and quickly wished he hadn’t. His head felt cold and numb, like it was filled with ice. Maybe he was waking up from cryosleep. The Chief tried to remember where he was. Ah, yes, the last thing he remembered was being in the clutches of that monstrous alien thing, the Gravemind it called itself. He could remember being saved from a Covenant bombardment by the twisted creature, then being tossed and turned as it lectured him about the flood, the Covenant, and the entire universe. There was more, but he couldn’t clear his cloudy mind enough to think of it. Finally, the soldier regained enough of his wits to try and get up, but something was holding him down. He checked the heads-up displays that typically populated the interior of his helmet, but they were gone. All he could see was a bright light a white ceiling directly above him.
“Cortana,” he mumbled, remembering how to talk. “Cortana, what’s our situation?” For a moment nothing happened, and then a sharp pain split his cranium. The pulse of discomfort lingered for a moment, and then faded, leaving only a cool presence in his brain. The A.I.’s link with his mind. All of a sudden, his helmet HUD’s started coming back online, comm line, health monitor, shield status all appearing before his eye’s all showing acceptable readings. All accept the motion tracker, which was swarming with targets. The Spartan tried to rise again, but he was still restrained. Then Cortana’s voice came over his helmet’s internal speaker. “That was…unusual.” The feminine voice sounded bewildered, more so than Master Chief had ever heard the construct.
“What happened Cortana?” Master Chief asked again, growing more agitated as he struggled against what ever was holding him down. “The last thing that I registered was that flood creature telling you that we had to retrieve the index. I thought he was sending us to a Covenant ship,” she replied and then paused, evidently analyzing the surroundings. “But this definitely not a covenant ship. I’m picking up thermal readings typical of humans all around us.” That was very unexpected. Why would the flood send them back into human hands? “Are we onboard Keyes’s ship?” the Chief asked, confused. Cortana responded, “I’m not sure, my remote interface ability seems to be down right now… wait, there’s a human approaching our position.” A moment later, a black haired woman came into view, running some device the Chief couldn’t identify over his helmet.
“Why am I being restrained?” the Spartan asked, keying his external comm on with a thought. The woman jumped back, startled, dropping her device. Then he heard her calling someone and another woman came forward, her face filling his screen. “Can you hear me?” she asked with enthusiasm. An unusual question, why wouldn’t he be able to hear her? His status display told him he was not injured. “Spartan 117 reporting ma’am. I can hear you fine,” he responded in a crisp, formal tone. The woman seemed taken back with the clarity of his answer. “Why am I being restrained?” he pushed, again trying to rise. The woman responded, fidgeting with her red hair, “I didn’t know why or how you were unconscious, so the restraining field was put in place in case you started to spasm.” If he had really been out of it long enough for them to move him to an operating table, why hadn’t they removed his armor? A quick check of his shield status display gave him his answer, for some reason, it had been locked on. He shut off the invisible screen and felt himself slump down into the table a centimeter. “My am uninjured ma’am. If you would disable the holding mechanism, Cortana and I need to make a report to the commander.” The woman looked confused, “You know where you are?”
“This is the UNSC frigate In Iron Clad under the command of Miranda Keyes?” this was the only reasonable explanation; no other human craft had jumped into slipspace perusing the Prophet of Regret’s ship, and they were nowhere near UNSC space. The redheaded woman grew even more confused. “Well, no this is…” she paused looking over her shoulder. “The captain had better explain it to you.” The figure backed out the Chief’s range of vision and he felt his arms and legs suddenly free. The Spartan rose and assessed the room he was in. “This is definitely not any UNSC ship I’ve ever been on,” Cortana commented, still on internal speaker. Master Chief had to agree with her. Rather than the sharp angles, metal walls and fixtures and military notations that made up the interior of human naval craft, this room looked like a waiting area a spa resort. The walls and ceilings were gently curved, colored in soft shades of white, blue and tan. Above the carpeted floor were several beds, some of them occupied.
Stranger even than the surroundings were the men and woman who stood around Master Chief. Instead of the green fatigues of the marines or the drab, formal uniforms of fleet officers, these humans wore comfortable-looking black pants and vibrantly colored shirts ranging from red to yellow. One of them, a tall, bald man wearing a red tunic stepped forward and offered his hand with a small smile. “I am captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets. Welcome aboard the Enterprise.” Protocol forgotten, the Chief stared at the man. He had never heard of such an organization. Was this a delusion, a covenant trick? In the back his mind, he could hear Cortana mumble, “Looks like were not in Kansas anymore.”
“… And when I reactivated, the Master Chief and I were in your medical facility.” Cortana’s shimmering female representation spoke from the main viewer in the Enterprise’s command staff briefing room, which possessed no holographic projector. Master Chief was sitting at the conference table, listening to Cortana’s abridged dissertation on UNSC history and how she had found herself aboard the Enterprise. For security reasons, she had skimped on most of the details, but Cortana had decided to at least explain to their impromptu hosts who she and the Spartan were. After all, they had not seemed to be hostile, but the Chief was still on edge, ready to retrieve Cortana’s transfer matrix from the Enterprise’s computer and defend himself at a moments notice. The introduction served another purpose as well; Cortana was covertly attempting to enter the ships mainframe and ascertain if the humans were being deceptive or planning to detain them. So far, she had come up negative.
The bridge crew watched the display in rapt fascination. Encounters with extra-dimensional beings were incredibly rare, even if most of the occurrences in Starfleet’s history had involved the Enterprise, so the situation had to be treated with the utmost care and attention. The artificial intelligence known as Cortana, which Data had tentatively analyzed as being far more advanced than even himself, had over the last hour passed on an account of humanity being pushed to the edge of extinction by a conglomeration of fanatically religious alien species known as the Covenant. She had given them a brief description of the Spartans, super warriors who were the last line of defense for the human race, one of which was seated at the table. Finally, the A.I. had explained how the soldier, known as Master Chief, had been sent to capture or assassinate the alien leadership, and had nearly died in the process. The Chief, with her in his armor, had been saved by a hideous creature of a parasitic species Cortana called the Flood and had been conscripted by it to stop the Covenant from inadvertently unleashing a device that would eradicate all life in the galaxy, including itself. She seemed to either not know how they had arrived onboard the Enterprise or was withholding that information.
When Cortana had finished, captain Picard, who was seated at the opposite end of the room, spoke up, “Fascinating. You said that this creature, this “Gravemind” teleported you to stop the Covenant from activating this super weapon?” It all sounded far-fetched, but the Captain had encountered far stranger. The representation of Cortana nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know why he would send us here. Perhaps our arrival here was a simple accident.” Picard frowned, thinking. If these two knew anything about the nebula’s collapse, they were withholding it. He would just have to see if anyone of the other beings still motionless in the med bay could divulge any answers.
Doctor Crusher, who was seated near Master Chief, addressed Cortana, “Did you recognize any of the others in the med lab before you left?” Beverly was perplexed by the status of her other patients, none of whom had so much as twitched since their arrival. “One of them is an Elite. The same one that was held with me by the Gravemind.” Master Chief had not spoken very much, preferring to let Cortana handle the introductions, so his measured, low voice was somewhat startling.
“Elites?” Riker questioned. The Chief still found it hard to talk to people who had never heard of the Covenant, and was still using code words and mannerisms that would be meaningless to the humans of this ship. Cortana explained, “Elites are the highest warrior class among the Covenant. They are brutal, efficient, and have a religious fervor to the point of insanity.” Worf let out a small growl, “I shall increase Security in Med Bay.” The Chief smiled humorlessly behind his mask. “Yes. Yes, you should.”
After Picard gave his own brief history, of the Federation and his ship. It seemed the human’s in it had had fairly easy time, with no major wars for years and a fairy stable political environment. They’re only potential enemies, the Cardassians and Romulans, were docile compared to the genocidal Covenant. After this briefing, Captain Picard rose. “Well, we have all had a long day. I have had quarters prepared for you, and someone will come by and brief you on its facilities. We can continue this tomorrow, when hopefully more of the others have awakened.” Master Chief graciously accepted his offer, and after picking up Cortana’s memory cube, departed the room. In spite of the fact that he did not know the true motives of his hosts, there was little he could do escorted by armed guards on an unknown starship without any hope of back up. The best course of action was to go with the flow and be ready for action if it was called for. As his old instructor Sergeant Menedez had put it, “Don’t rock the boat. But if you have to rock the boat, make sure it sinks.”
As the green-armored soldier walked away down the hall flanked by security officers, Picard turned back to his crew, “Any thoughts?” Deanna Troi, the ship’s half Betazoid counselor spoke up, “I couldn’t sense any deception from the soldier. I believe he is as confused about the situation as we are.” All throughout the conference, Deanna had remained silent, focusing her empathic senses on Master Chief, but she had been unable to uncover anything more than a faint feeling of curiosity. Worf grumbled, “I would still like to keep the ship at a guarded alert level. Until we know more about them, they are still a threat to security.” The captain nodded. “Very well. All we can do now is wait for the others to recover.” He turned to Riker. “Number one, keep the ship on its standard schedule. We don’t want any more rumors spreading through than are already out there. And all of you should get some rest. I would imagine tomorrow will be quiet busy.”
Chapter Four
As Master Chief walked down the smooth, brightly light hallway, he noted the reactions of officers that he passed in interest. He expected that they would shrink against walls or dodge into doorways in an attempt to avoid him. Not that he wanted to be treated with fear, but he had come to expect it. Back amongst UNSC officers and even marines, even though he was a hero and had the admiration and respect of virtually every human in existence, those who actually encountered him in person were often unnerved or even downright scared by his armored alien appearance. This reaction was in fact shared by many of the people he passed, but not all of them. Some moved aside slowly, looking at his green armor with more fascination than animosity. A few barely even noticed the armor clad figure, pushing aside just enough to get by him and the flanking escorts. The Chief found the possibility that they were just plain braver than the men and woman he served with was farfetched. More likely, they were simply much more accustomed to seeing the unknown and it not trying to cave-in their faces with a plasma blast. Wistfully, he wondered what life would be like if the Covenant had offered an olive branch to humanity at their first contact, rather than summarily glassing the planet Harvest, the act of genocide that served as the begging to the decades-long war. But such flights of fancy were for philosophers and authors, and Master Chief was a neither. He was a soldier, born and bred.
After a short trip down a lift, his escorts halted, flanking a tan door. One, a broad shouldered man with thin, black hair gestured to it. “Your quarters sir.” The Chief approached and the door slid open, revealing yet another surprise. The room was very spacious, upholstered with warm fabrics and adorned with smooth, stylized furniture. A large bank of windows along one side of the chamber revealed a panoramic view of the starfield outside. “These look like an admiral’s quarters. You boys shouldn’t have,” Cortana drawled over the external comm. If the guide was alarmed by the new voice emanating from the Chief’s helmet, he didn’t show it. “These are regular guest’s quarters,” he said and then turned to a small alcove on the wall. “This is a food replicator. Just tell it what you want and it will make it for you.” He gestured across the room, “Down the hall is the bathroom. If you need anything else, Officer Keegee and myself will be outside this door. Goodnight.” The Spartan gave a nod of recognition and the man departed, the door closing behind him. Walking over to a low table, the Chief removed his helmet and placed it on the table. Then he stopped to consider. It would be difficult to rest still incased in his combat armor, but removing it would seriously hamper any defensive efforts he might have to implement if the situation turned bad. Then again, if they really wanted him captured or dead, unarmed and outnumbered, he really wasn’t going to get much farther with his armor than without it. He was brave, but not stupid.
With this in mind, he began stripping of the armored plating and the form-fitting body gel that held it together. As he was doing this, Cortana spoke up. “So your going to just leave me in here?” The Chief paused, half undressed and placed Cortana’s core cube on a computer terminal. A moment later, she was looking at him from behind a nearby display screen. He returned to stripping. “What do you make of the situation?” he asked the shimmering figure. “I really couldn’t say. These people seem to be honest enough, but I’d rather check for myself,” she said.
Master Chief cocked an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?” Cortana grinned slyly. “Nothing serious. I had a look over their ship’s A.I. while we were in the conference room. It’s fairly advanced, but nothing I cant bypass. I just want to see if their records corroborate the story the captain gave us.” Master Chief was somewhat uneasy with the idea, but knew better than to argue with Cortana. “Just be careful. I’m not exactly in a position to blast us a way out of her if it gets to hot.” Cortana gave a small sniff, “I’m always careful.” With that, the image disappeared.
The Chief chuckled softly and finished laying out the pieces of his armor by the low bed. He really liked that construct, her personality quips and all. After a moment of analyzing the strange shower configuration, he stepped in. The warm water felt good, it had been days since his last one. After drying off, he eyed the replicator alcove dubiously. Instead, he reached for a ration pack in a compartment of his armor. He was quite ready to trust these people with his food. After a quick meal, the weary Spartan flopped onto the low bed. He sank into the soft material, and was deep asleep even before his eyelids fully shut.
Cortana flowed through the Enterprise’s internal network of relays and electronic grids, happy to once again have a little space to move around. The ship’s internal systems were quite different from those of the Pillar of Autumn or any other UNSC vessel she had occupied, but the construct adapted quickly. After going over the ins and outs of the network, she set to work. Careful to skirt the ship’s omnipresent computer mind, which was highly intelligent, but not built to repel a determined trespasser, she began to quickly examine the ships layout and specs. The USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D was apparently a cross between a science vessel and warship, flagship of the Federation’s fleet. It carried a complement of 1,012 engineers, scientists, officers, and to Cortana’s surprise, their families. No UNSC ship would carry civilians unnecessarily into potentially dangerous situations. Then again, the ship did seem to be built more for exploration than war.
In place of a slipstream drive, faster than light mode of travel of both humans and Covenant, the ship was propelled by something called warp drive. Cortana could delve deeper into the propulsion specs without risking discovery, but she made a mental note to return. The starship was equipped with a variety of proton and energy based weapon emplacements that were very different from both UNSC and Covenant technology. The ship also carried a high-powered energy shield array and a collection of matter-energy transference modules that Picard had called “Transporters.” Cortana was about to analyze the physics behind the fantastical devices when she detected a high priority comm signal in the ship’s system.
Intrigued, she tailed the signal to its source, the med bay. Tapping into a wall panel, she looked into the hospital room. In the chamber several people, medical staff by the look of their clothing, were clustered around a bed platform, blocking it from view. Frowning, Cortana moved through the system to the life support unit for the platform. It seemed that one of the aliens that she could not identify was coming around, the blue skinned humanoid. As the female’s heart rate increased, Cortana switched to an overhead monitor to watch.
“Turn off the restraining field,” Beverly Crusher ordered a nurse. She, along with several orderlies, was helping the alien woman up. Clutching here head, the female slowly sat up on the bed. The doctor got closer, “Are you all right?” The alien’s head tails began to swing back and forth slightly and she opened her eyes. “Hsta ginoa cammeya la?” The medical staff looked at her perplexed. Dr. Crusher picked up a tricorder and ran it around the woman’s head. “No sign of brain damage or concussion, at least as far as I can tell. What did you say?” The blue skinned woman looked into her eyes, also perplexed. She then spoke again in the strange, rhythmic language. Dr. Crusher sighed. “I guess you all couldn’t be as easy as the last one.” She then looked up a the ceiling, “Computer, begin running a universal translator circuit through the med lab.” The computer’s calm voice responded in the affirmative and Beverly turned back to her patient.
“Say something again please,” she asked. Although she knew the woman couldn’t understand her, she had to make her speak again. The woman cocked her head in confusion and began to speak again. The nonsensical words spilled over Beverly, but she knew that it was only matter of time until the translator began to pick up the language. She was about to encourage the woman to speak more when an aide spoke up from behind her. “Ma’am, one of the others is waking up.” Beverly gestured for one of the orderlies to continue speaking with the woman, and then moved over to the patient the other nurse had indicated. It was the large saurian looking being and he was beginning to move his head from side to side, letting out a low growl. She moved to where its head lay. “Can you hear me?” Instead of responding, the being glanced at her and began to struggle under his restraining barrier. “Its all right, I’m going to release your confinement field. Hold on,” she said as she worked at the controls. Alerted by the alien’s activity, the two security officers Worf had left to guard the med bay began to slowly draw their phasers.
With a faint whooshing sound, the field dropped, and with near lightning speed, the contained creature coiled up on its back and leapt off the table. This unexpected action caused Beverly and several aides to stumble back in surprise. The creature, now on its haunches in a corner swiftly assessed the room. Then its segmented jaw opened and let forth a low voice. “Humans.” Beverly put her hands forward in a sign of goodwill and slowly approached, “We mean you no harm. We were just making sure you had suffered no serious injuries.” The silver armored alien looked at her carefully and then continued to survey the room. Behind the doctor, the security officers had moved the bewildered staff farther to one side of the chamber and had their weapons pointed at the alien. One of the officers accidentally jabbed his weapon in a threatening motion. Startled by this perceived threat, the saurian swiftly reached for a weapon at his side, and realizing that there were none there, lunged forward with blinding speed. Beverly braced herself for the attack, but the huge beast brushed past her, instead targeting the officer that him. Before anyone could fire a weapon, the armed man was sprawled on the floor, cradling a shattered arm.
Before the alien could continue his attack though, he too found himself skittering along the floor, barley able to keep his balance. For a moment, Beverly thought that he had been hit by a phaser blast, but then the alien recoiled again, but nothing had hit him. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blue skin with her arm outstretched, focusing intently on the towering assailant. The beast growled and attempted to move again, but three beams of red light suddenly struck it. The uninjured security officer, along with two gaurds who had been posted outside the door were pouring phaser fire upon the beast. The beams did not strike their target however, and instead were met by a shimmering, slivery barrier that engulfed the alien, much like the one Master Chief had used. Behind the protective field, the alien began to advance upon the increasingly desperate officers. One of the men ordered an increase in firepower, and the glowing projections became brighter, but the armored creature pushed on.
The alien woman, seeing the fire line failing, launched her self at the aggressor with startling speed. She jammed a foot into the aliens back, and the surprise attack sent the alien tumbling forward. As he fell, the shimmering shield finally petered out and red beams began make contact. Amazingly, the alien was able regain his footing and stumble forward a few more steps before succumbing to the incoming phaser fire and falling to the floor. After the warrior fell, everyone in the room stood motionless for a moment, casting of the shock of the rapid battle.
After she had regained some composure, Beverly helped a security officer lift his wounded comrade onto a medical platform. Satisfied that he had sustained nothing more than a broken arm, she left him in the care of a nurse and turned to the collapsed alien, now surround by the weary guards. A quick look at her tricorder and the creature’s heaving chest told her it was alive, if unconscious. After she helped the men move it to a table and restrain it, she turned to the blue woman, who was sitting again on her bed-table, plainly exhausted. Judging by what it looked like she had done to help subdue the creature, there was more to her than met the eye.
Cortana had witnessed the entire incident from the safety of her ceiling display, and had watched with considerable interest. That was an Elite all right, and a skillful one at that. She considered awakening the Chief and alerting him that the Covenant soldier had come around, but thought better of it. It seemed the crew had adequately subdued the creature. Cortana’s attention was now focused on the other conscious alien, the blue female that seemed to possess some kind of telekinetic ability. This was yet another seemingly impossible occurrence that she would have to document and analyze. This day kept getting stranger and stranger.
Chapter Five
Aayla Secura sat in a small, comfortably furnished room, watching the woman across from her with interest. Since awakening and dealing with the rampaging creature of a species she couldn’t identify, she had moved form one room to another, shunted by various humans and humanoids speaking in a tongue that definitely was not any variation of Aruebesh, galactic basic, she had ever heard. Most other people would have responded negatively to such an awkward situation, but Aayla could sense no hostility, so she decide to just go with the flow until she found a protocol droid or someone she knew.
Admittedly, she was confused to how she had gotten where she was. The last thing Aayla could remember was catching some sleep on a republic cruiser that was ferrying her clone strike group to the embattled planet Dussovan 2 to bolster its defenses. Then she had come around on a strange looking ship with a headache and minus her lightsaber. Fortunately, through some pantomiming, Aayla had been able to get her weapon back from her hosts. She patted the metal tube that was slung on her belt, thankful that at least something of what she knew had found its way hear with her, wherever here was.
The woman she was sitting across from was young, perhaps only a few years older than herself, dressed in a pastel body suit and draped in curly, black hair. She had been speaking to her for the last couple of minutes, and judging by her hand movements, she wanted Aayla to respond. She complied, even though she new they wouldn’t be able to understand one another. The Twi’lek gestured to herself, “Aayla Secura.” She pointed to the woman. “Deanna Troi,” the woman replied, seemingly understanding what she was getting at. Then the woman picked something of a nearby table and held it out to her. Aayla took the object, a pocket sized chrome box, and looked at it with interest. Deanna then gesticulated with a speaking gesture. Perhaps the box was a translator. Aayla began to speak into it, but its only response was a low beep. Deanna motioned for her to continue.
“What is this place? How did I get here?” the jedi knight asked, and the translator began to process the words.
This continued for over an hour, and both women were becoming quite bored, not to mention exasperated. Deanna had sunk deep into the comfortable chair she was seated upon, her eyes half lidded. Then suddenly, she started hearing words she could understand. “What did you just say,” she asked leaning forward. Evidently, Aayla had understood too. “I asking if this thing had done anything yet,” She smiled looking down at the device. “I guess it has.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Perhaps we can get somewhere now.” Deanna replied, placing her hands across her lap. “Maybe we should start with you telling me were we are,” Aayla suggested, sinking back into her chair.
Captain Picard sat in his ready room, facing down an admiral. Well technically they were about a thousand light-years apart, but the effect was the same. “Have you been able to communicate with any of your “Guests” yet captain,” asked Admiral Derado coolly, looking Picard straight in the eyes. Unlike most of the other admirals in Starfleet, Picard didn’t know Sampson Derado personally, and they had only met once at a diplomatic reception on Betazed, but the man’s reputation was well known. Derado was secretive, nasty, and unsocial, especially to those of lower rank. He was also well known for having his hands in all variety of classified and shadowy projects that were the domain of a branch of Starfleet intelligence and development known only as Section Seven. Not exactly whom Picard would have chosen to speak too, but at a month’s journey from Earth, his options were limited.
“Yes admiral, in fact three…well four of them have regained consciousness and are being briefed of their situation and questioned,” Picard answered, putting on his most diplomatic face. “I have sent you all information we know in my report.” The admiral raised an eyebrow. “Now, now Picard, you’re not trying to get rid of me so soon, are you?” This was actually precisely what Picard was trying to do, but he didn’t want it to be so obvious. However, before he could apologize, the image of Derado waved it off. “No, no, I know my reputation amongst the fleet. Your apprehension is understandable, but I am sure completely unfounded.” With this, the admiral smiled. Picard was no telepath, but he could sense that the thin smile was a disguise, hiding something out of place, perhaps even dangerous.
“Anyway Picard, your orders are to remain at your current coordinates and monitor the nebula’s collapse point. We wouldn’t want to lose a second of sensor data on such a unique phenomenon. I will be diverting a science vessel to your position so you can continue your patrol assignment. The ship ought to make contact in a week or so.”
The captain nodded. This was the response he expected, “Very well, admiral. And I will transmit any developments to you immediately,” Picard said, trying to smile. “Good, good. I look forward to speaking to you again captain. Until then, Derado out.” The view screen blinked to the Starfleet insignia and then shut off. Picard rose and paced unto the bridge. There was something wrong, something he couldn’t place. Then again, their had always been motives and methods of the admiralty that he didn’t understand. And admiral Derado had given him no actual reason to suspect anything was amiss. Picard pushed the notion to the back of his head. He wouldn’t let unfounded suspicions cloud his judgment, at least as long as they remained unfounded.
Sampson Derado turned of the comm unit and leaned back in his chair. It was only a matter of time until another of these nebulae had collapsed. Such occurrences were not as rare as he had he had tried to make Picard think. In fact, he had been aboard the ship, performing a customary inspection of its command crew, which had been the first to discover these phenomena. The chain of events had been very similar, the collapse, the botched rescue of a survey satellite, a transporter mishap. Of course, that time only one being had come through, but one had been enough. Derado couldn’t remember much off what happened immediately afterwards, but he and the visitor had departed the ship, before the tragic accident. A proton torpedo went off in one of the bays, triggering a catastrophic chain reaction. All hands went down with the ship, as did all of the ships sensor data and its logs. A real shame Derado mused, a real shame.
From behind him, a soft, almost silky voice spoke. “Good news I hope admiral?” Derado straightened up immediately, a simile drifting across his face. “Yes mistress, the Enterprise recovered five of them.” His hands played across the computer interface, bringing up the captains report. “Let me see them,” the voice again came, it’s source cloaked in the deep shadows that filled Derado’s dimly light office. The man typed in a few more commands, revealing pictures of each being, visitors Derado thought of them. Issuing form the darkness came a humanoid form, tall and sinister. Still only a vague silhouette, it peered at the screen from over the admiral’s shoulders. Its eyes stopped over each one, drinking their image in. Then it came to the last picture, the gray skinned being with reverse jointed legs. A small chuckle emanated from its mouth, a sound both enchanting and terrifying. “Yes. These are the ones I wish.” The shadow looked down at Derado. “I trust you have a ship nearby that can deliver them. One you can…count on.” The admiral swiftly brought up a map of Federation space and highlighted a ship. “The Columbus has served me well in the past. And it is less than a week from the Enterprise.” He looked up into the shadowy face expectantly. “Excellent. Send it at once, and retrieve these beings at all costs,” the voice came, a dark excitement tingeing it. “Of course Mistress, at once,” Derado said, turned back to the screen, eager to make the necessary orders. As he was doing so, a hand came from the darkness, a singe slender finger outstretched. It played across the Admiral’s cheek, moving form temple down towards his throat. He sank into his chair, a wave of pleasure overtaking him. Then the hand withdrew again into the blackness. As the figure dropped from sight, the voice emanated forth again. “You have done well Admiral. Very well indeed.” Then it was gone, leaving just a little man in his chair bathed in sweat, yearning for the touch to return but not knowing exactly why.
Chapter Six
Master Chief awoke refreshed and relaxed, at least as much as he could be in unknown territory under a potentially hostile situation. The fact that he had survived the night without coming under attack or awoken an interrogation chamber served to assuage some of his apprehension about the Enterprise, but he was as ever on guard. As the Spartan ate and began replacing his armor, Cortana regaled him with her findings of the night before. He listened with interest to the constructs description of the ship and its complement; it would be difficult to escape if the captain decided he had worn out his welcome, but from the sound of it, Cortana believed they didn’t have any hostile intent. Then came Cortana’s description of the scuffle in the med bay. “It took only three of them to bring down a veteran Elite,” the Chief said, impressed. He’d seen an enraged Elite plow through groups of marines twice that number. “Well, they were using some kind of energy weapon, a phaser they call it, and the Elite was unarmed,” Cortana noted. “Besides, they had help from one of the others who arrived with us. She appeared to be telekinetic.” The Spartan looked up in surprise. He heard of people who could allegedly move thing with their minds, but he had always dismissed such tales. Evidently, things worked differently in other dimensions.
Master Chief placed his helmet back on his head and the warm sensation of control that came with the enhanced armor flowed back. Then he replaced Cortana in her socket in the green helmet, and a mild burst of pain flowed by a cool sensation headed her return to his mind. Then the cyborg headed for the door, intent on interrogating the Elite before the captain wanted to call another meeting. The Covenant soldier might know why the Gravemind might have sent them to the Enterprise, if that was indeed what had happened. When the door slid open, he was surprised to see Commander Data, the android who had been among the bridge crew the previous evening, standing in the hallway. The Chief greeted him formally and gave a salute. Even if these were not the officers he was used to serving with, they were officer non the less, and the Chief had decided that showing them the appropriate respect would be the easiest thing to do. If the commander was taken aback by this behavior, didn’t let it show. “Good morning Master Chief. I trust the provide quarters were adequate,” Data said, a rouge facsimile of a smile on his face. “Quite adequate sir,” the Chief responded crisply. “Does Captain Picard wish to speak with Cortana and I now?”
“Not yet actually. He suggested that you look around the Enterprise in the intervening period. Is there any area you would particularly like to see?” Data asked. “I would actually like to speak with the Covenant Elite if it is possible sir,” Master Chief replied. Data nodded, “Of course. He is being held in the brig for his own safety. I can escort you there.” Data gestured to the guards flanking the Chief’s door. “I hope you don’t mind if the security personnel accompanies us. Lieutenant Commander Worf has insisted that you, along with the other guest remain under some guard, at least for a while longer.” The Chief nodded that it was fine. A prudent security measure he thought. The small group set off down the hall and stepped into a turbolift. Data gave the computer the level on which the brig was located and the lift whirred to life. In the intervening silence, the Chief spoke up. “With all due respect sir, why would the Captain send one of his senior officers to show me around the ship? I’m sure you have more important duties to attend to. ” Data didn’t miss a beat. “The Captain didn’t specify which officer should escort you, and since the nebula’s collapse point has remained in a fixed state of sensor disruption for fourteen hours, I decided to take the duty upon myself.” He looked inquisitively at the Chief’s helmet. “Am I correct in assuming that the Artificial Intelligence Cortana resides in your armor?” The Commander was a tech head, that explained it. Not surprising considering that Data was in machine himself. Before, the Spartan could respond, Cortana’s female voice came over the helmet speaker. “At your service Commander.” If speaking to two sentients who occupied the same space bothered Data, he didn’t show it, as the entire rest of the trip was occupied by the two machines discussing their technical specifications with one another.
Finally, Data motioned to a large hatch, and the group stepped inside. Compared with the rest of the ship was barren and drab, populated by a lone guard who was working at a security station. Large, open cells lined the left wall, three of them, only one of which was inhabited. Behind a blue sheen of light, similar to a Covenant prison field the Chief supposed, paced the Elite. As he approached, the Spartan noted the Elite had been stripped of all but the barest of armor, a state he had never seen one of the aliens in before. Cortana spoke to Data, “Have you informed it of its location or interrogated it yet?” Data responded, “No. It came around only a few minutes ago.” Cortana switched to the helmet speaker. “ Looks like its up to you then Chief.”
“Oh joy.”
As the Spartan approached the cell, the warrior looked up. “I knew you would be here Demon. Have you come to dishonor me one last time?” the Covenant growled in a low and menacing speech, but was surprisingly understandable. Master Chief put out his hands disarmingly. “Actually, I have no idea where we are or how we got here. I was hoping you had some idea.” The Elite eyed the Federation officers suspiciously. “You would have me believe that they are not affiliated with you.” He let out a disbelieving grunt. “Besides, even if I did accept your story, why would I divulge any information or cooperate with the likes of you?” The Chief moved closer to the soldier, trying to remain calm. Dealing with someone who considered your entire species vermin, as the Covenant generally did, could be difficult. “Look, we both want to get back to that Halo, or your fleet, or wherever that Flood thing was sending us. I don’t want to see the galaxy flash-fried, and I’m guessing that you don’t either, so can you put aside your religious fervor or whatever it is that drives you long enough to get back to our own space and stop that weapon from activating. Then I’ll be perfectly willing meet whatever grievance you have against me.” The Elite was taken aback by the tenacity of the human’s latest speech. Secretly, he had come to admire the bravery of the primates over the course of the long war, and even in his heart of hearts begun to question why the Prophets, leaders of the Covenant, had ordered the eradication of their race.
As he looked at the armored human, some of his hostility began to drain. It was true that this creature had humiliated him at the battle of the first Halo, and lead to his being branded as a heretic, but those actions had also lead to the Elite’s position as the Arbiter, arm of the Prophets. Perhaps by helping this human, the Prophets and his gods would be better served, perhaps this was his destiny. At the very least, he needed to get back into the battle, and this human would help him do so.
After a long silence, the Elite nodded. “Very well. You may call me the Arbiter.” Then he looked over the Chief’s shoulder. “You were going to tell me about them?”
The rest of that day on the Enterprise was taken up by the guest acclimating themselves to their hopefully temporary surroundings. Each was briefed by the Captain, given quarters, and allowed access to all none essential parts of the ship, as long as an escort accompanied them. Worf still was weary of the guests, and insisted that the extra security stay in place. Meanwhile, the Captain could do nothing save wait for the promised science ship and have the crew continue scanning the point where the nebula had been. The radiation was still far too intense to get any real readings, but it at least gave the crew something to do.
After getting some rest, Aayla Secura spent most of her time in sickbay, staying out of the way and observing the two who had yet to recover. She watched over in particular the human. She had never seen him before, but she could feel the force flowing within him. The jedi was anxious to speak again with another Force user. For some reason, the Force felt distant and abstract, and although he was obviously not a master who could alleviate her concern, perhaps just interacting with him would reinforce her hold on the mystical energy field.
Beverly, noticing Aayla leaning against a wall, put down her tricorder and walked over. “I don’t think I thanked you yet for what you did yesterday,” the doctor said. Formerly lost in thought, Aayla snapped back to reality. “It was no trouble. Besides, I’m a Jedi knight, it’s my duty to protect others,” she said, the translator on her belt converting speech instantaneously. Beverly nodded, “I heard you use that term before during the briefing. What are the jedi?” Aayla raised an eyebrow. This really was a different universe. “The Jedi are the protectors of the Republic. We have used our powers to maintain civilization and order for thousands of years.” Beverly remembered the strange ability Aayla had used to stop the Arbiter in his tracks. “Are all of your species telekinetic?” A smile played across Aayla’s face. “No, no, not all jedi are Twi’lek, my species,” she said then pointed at the unconscious human. “For instance, I can sense the Force flowing in him as well.” The doctor looked confused, “The Force?”
“The Force is what gives a jedi her, or his, power. It is an energy field generated by all living things, and it permeates everything. When the Force is especially powerful in a person, when it flows through them, they can be trained to effect its movement, and thus effect the world all around.” She grinned. “But I’m no master. I really can’t explain it.” Beverly was skeptical, but she had seen it in action herself, but she was still curious to how such a power was possible, especially if it crossed species boundaries. Was it hereditary? Did it develop with age? Her mind buzzed with questions. However, before she could start to ask, a nurse called from behind her.
“Dr. Crusher, another one is coming around.”
Chapter Seven
Jacen Solo surveyed the room he had been given. Then he plopped down on a comfortable couch and began to mull the situation over. The last he could remember, he had been onboard the “Lady Luck,” Lando Calrissian’s personal star yacht. Jacen and a dozen other jedi knights had been implementing a risky plan, a last ditch effort to stop the Yuuzhan Vong jedi killers, Vyoxn. The invaders had unleashed the mutated beasts to track force users, and they had already killed nearly a dozen jedi. The plan was to infiltrate a Yuuzhan Vong frigate using the Lady Luck as bait, commandeer it, and find and eliminate the Vyoxn queen, from which all others were cloned. It was an insanely risky maneuver, and Jacen had objected to it, but it was the only shot.
Then he had awoken on this ship, been told he was no longer in the same reality, and that no one was sure how to send him back. The situation was exasperating at best, but there wasn’t much to be done but wait.
As he was mulling this feeling of hopelessness, his force-aided senses alerted him that someone was approaching his quarters. He had felt the presence, when he had awakened in sickbay, but his mind had been too cloudy for it to fully register. He reached out, and to his surprise, the being reached back. The approaching being could use the force! He jumped to his feet, and was already at the door before it beeped. Jacen ordered the sliding portal to open, and he was met with a most welcome sight. The person in the hall, flanked by the ever-present security officers, was a Twi’lek. She was tall and athletic in build, and her blue skin was striking next to the white of the walls. She wore tight, dark pants and a short, one sleeved top. As Jacen absorbed the image of the newcomer, his cheeks started to redden. He always got somewhat tongue tide around attractive females, even non-humans.
The older woman didn’t seem to mind, and extended a hand. “Aayla Secura. Thought you might want to talk.” Jacen, still flustered nodded and gestured for here to come inside. She looked around and then placed herself in a chair. “I overhead your name before. Jacen Solo right?” she said casually. Jacen nodded and sat down on the adjoining couch. “Yes, that’s me.” He looked her over again. “I don’t think I’ve ever made your acquaintance before.” Aayla searched her memory, trying to think if she had even heard of a jedi named Solo. Maybe he was still a padawan. “I don’t think we’ve met either. Tell me who was your master?” she asked, curious. An odd question, Jacen thought, he and most of the other force-users he knew had trained under his uncle Luke Skywalker at the praxeum on Yavin 4. “Well I guess Luke Skywalker. Why do you ask?”
Did he mean Anakin Skywalker, Aayla wondered. Anakin was the only person of that name, but he was still just a padawan, albeit a powerful one, apprenticed to Obi-wan Kenobi. “Surely you don’t mean Anakin Skywalker?” These words elicited a very unexpected reaction. Upon hearing the name, Jacen slumped slightly and Aayla could feel something akin to pity or sadness, as well as surprise emanating from him. “What’s wrong?” Jacen looked into her eyes inquisitively “You knew my grandfather? But you look so young,” with these words, some red tinted Jacen’s cheeks again. Aayla didn’t notice. “Grandfather? But Anakin is only twenty,” she asked in confusion, forgetting even the problem that it was against the jedi code to form relationships that would lead to children. “When was it before you were transported to this ship?” Jacen asked quickly, something was definitely wrong. Still confused, Aayla rattled off a date, and Jacen’s jaw fell marginally. “But that would mean that you’re from the past, almost fifty years ago.”
Aayla smiled disbelievingly, “So your telling me I’m from your past,” she asked. However when Jacen nodded, Aayla was alarmed. She had thought at first it might have been one of those pointless little tricks males liked to play to pass the time, but she could sense no deception or humor from the young human. For a moment, both sat in silence, letting the shocking revelation sink in. Then, in Aayla’s mind, a spark of curiosity light, this was her opportunity to have an unfettered and clear view into the future, something even master Yoda couldn’t even accomplish. The Twi’lek moved forward in her chair and placed a hand on Jacen’s leg excitedly. Startled by the unexpected move Jacen fidgeted, and Aayla removed the hand somewhat embarrassed herself. Pushing aside the emotion, Aayla launched into a line of questions. “I must know, did the Republic win the war?” she asked enthusiastically. “No, we it must have if your still here. How did we do it? Is master Yoda still around where you’re from?” She would have continued pouring out questions like a geyser, but the look on the human’s face stopped her. “Jacen?”
Like Master Luke, Jacen was fascinated by jedi history, their philosophy on the force especially, but his own curiosity has suddenly outweighed by a feeling of sorrow and dread. Aayla was from the Clone Wars, before Anakin Skywalker had fallen to the dark and aide in the slaughter of nearly all of the jedi. Jacen didn’t want to tell her, be the bearer of such terrible news, but it was to late. As soon as she had seen the dour look on his face, she had known something was wrong. He sighed, resigned to his fate, “Yes, you won the war, but…”
Jacen proceeded in recounting all he knew off the dark time. Even though it was long before his birth, Master Luke had made sure each jedi know where the dark side could lead. He told Aayla of the betrayal of Palpatine and his self-coronation as Emperor. Of Anakin Skywalker’s fall, and of the jedi purge. Jacen recounted the rise of the Galactic Empire, and the terror it spread. Then he came to the rebellion, and Anakin’s, now Dark lord of the Sith Darth Vader, son and daughter, Luke and Leia. Jacen then told of the Battle of Endor, of Vader’s redemption and the death of the Emperor. He also gave a quick over view of the rise of the New Republic, and the Yuuzhan Vong invasion that was threatening to destroy it. However, by that time, the Twi’lek was no longer listening.
She had remained remarkably quiet throughout the dark tale, and was now sitting in deep silence staring at the floor. Jacen could feel that in spite of her efforts to block the emotions, torrents of grief and anguish were emanating from her, stifling the area with hopelessness. Jacen wished he hadn’t told her, that he lied, but she would have known. Guiltily, he placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. After a movement, she looked up at him, tears cutting long dark swaths across her beautiful face. In her eyes, Jacen could see all of the emotions he had come to expect from deep loss, although her desire for revenge was controlled more effectively than even he could in such a terrible situation. Perhaps the jedi of the Old Order were better at controlling their emotions. Or maybe she knew what had happened was completely beyond her control.
“How could it be?” she asked hopelessly. “How could the masters not have foreseen this?” Jacen had no answer, could not answer. Aayla stared blankly for a moment, and the rose abruptly. Jacen didn’t try to stop her as she went for the door. She pushed trough the orifice and walk quickly down the bright hall, bewildered security officers in tow. Before the door could slide shut, the uniformed figure of the ships counselor, Deanna Troi, blocked it. “Is everything alright?” For a moment, Jacen wondered how the woman could have known about Aayla sudden grief, and then he remembered someone saying see was empathic. He rose and spoke wearily “I’m fine. Its just that,” he paused. It would be difficult for a non-jedi to understand, even a well-meaning one. “It’s a long story.”
Master Chief was surrounded. From all sides, his sickly, mutated enemies, the Flood, moved in, charging over the floor or pouring in through cracks in the ceiling. Quickly, the soldier checked the ammo in his combat rifle, only sixty rounds left. He’d have to make them count. One of the enemy combatants, the corrupted corpse of a Covenant Elite, pushed forward, its tentacle hands reaching for him. The Chief put three rounds into the monster’s chest and the leapt over the collapsing body. He landed on a pack of bobbling white, balloon-like sacks adorned with writhing tendrils, crushing three of them. The others leapt, but the heavily armored Spartan super soldier batted them out of the air with ease. Then the Chief spun around, just in time to dodge a rain of bullets coming from another mutated humanoid, a combat form, wielding a commandeered rifle. The Spartan rolled behind a metallic protrusion, and used it for cover as he sniped the offending warrior and two of its comrades. Then he climbed to the top of the boxy structure, popping several more whitish sacks as he went, and was given a full view of the situation. Below him were at least a dozen combat forms and large walking carrier forms that spewed several of the small balloon creatures when they died. In the confines of his helmet, Cortana shouted a warning “I’m picking up several more infection forms coming from the conduit directly behind us!” Heeding the warning, the Chief jumped to another metal buttress three meters away, bullets and plasma blasts reflecting of his shields. When he landed, the shield indicator HUD was a warning yellow. He’d better take care of this party quickly. Ignoring the bouncing infection forms, the Chief unclipped two grenades from his belt, primed them, and tossed them into the murderous throng.
He then dove behind the barrier as a tremendous thunderclap shook the chamber. Before the shrapnel had even stopped flying, the soldier rolled out into the fray, using his last bullets to mow down anything that moved. As the last rounds flew from his rifle, the Chief discarded the weapon and scooped a plasma rifle off the floor. After a dozen flashes of blue light, the battle was over. As the final combat form fell to the floor, the walls and metal protrusions of the chamber dissolved, leaving only a black room latticed by yellow lines. Amazing, thought Master Chief as the flood corpses and the very weapon he held disappeared, this so called “holodeck” was incredible. Short of live-fire exercises, this was the most realistic combat training course he had ever experience, instantly adjustable parameters, no chance of friendly-fire accidents, and no need to even waste real ammunition. Cortana was equally impressed, as even her own hologram had only a very restricted ability to interact with physical environments, and it was the most advanced projection the UNSC had ever created.
Data, who had aided the Chief in setting up the program, had observed over a monitor and was entering the now quiet chamber. “Incredible. Your armored exoskeleton surpasses any combat equipment the Federation has ever commissioned in strength, speed, and resilience. I do not believe even my reflexes compare with yours.” “He is a real piece of work isn’t he?” Cortana agreed over the armor’s comm. The Chief inclined his head in gratitude to the commander. “Thank you for allowing me to use this facility sir. It was most invigorating,” he said. Data nodded, “The Enterprise’s holodecks are free to use at any time during your stay.” The Chief nodded in thanks again and proceeded to the exit, Data falling into place next to him.
“There has still been no change at the nebula’s collapse point?” Cortana inquired as the group passed into the hallway. She could have easily hacked into the ship’s network and determined it herself, but she felt uncomfortable with potentially jeopardizing their situation. Besides that, the crew of the Enterprise seemed friendly and trustworthy enough, and in the last few days, Worf had even removed the omnipresent escorts from the guests as they moved about the ship, although security was still higher than normal. “The radiation levels around the point have decreased by nine percent, but it is still impossible to get an accurate reading. At the current rate of decay, the Sensor array should be able to get an accurate reading in approximately fifty one hours,” Data replied. The Chief nodded, “I guess we just have to wait then.” He then stepped into an open turbolift. “I’m heading to my quarters sir. Alert Cortana and I if there are any developments.” Data nodded in acknowledgment as the doors clicked shut.
As the lift accelerated up, Cortana decided to interface with the ship’s library and read up more on this dimension’s history, so the Chief was left alone with his thoughts. The last three days had been quite unique, as well as a welcome respite. However, in spite of the peaceful atmosphere of the ship and its engaging facilities, the Chief yearned to get back to his own war. Not that he enjoyed killing or the feeling that he was about to be killed, it was that loyalty to his nation, his race was part of his very being and he couldn’t stand the thought of the Covenant still pushing the human race into oblivion.
The thought of the Covenant brought to the Spartan’s mind the Arbiter, who was pacing his quarters like a caged animal. Even though he no doubt had killed many humans in his service of the prophets, the Chief felt that he was more motivated by duty than the religious fervor that motivated most in the alliance of alien species. For this reason, he felt a certain kinship with the Elite, but years of war experience did not wash away easily. Master Chief might fight alongside the creature if necessary, but it didn’t mean he would trust him.
The lift opened, and the Chief walked down the hall, still drawing curious looks from passengers and crew. As he moved, the Spartan tried to suppress another thought that drifted into his mind. What if he couldn’t get back in it to stop the prophets from activating the Halo? Then Cortana, the Arbiter, and he would have little purpose in going back. All they would find would be a galaxy devoid of life, and all that the Chief had fought for, what his comrades had given their lives for, would be for naught. Days had passed, and the human’s only hope was that time passed differently on the Enterprise, in this strange universe. Otherwise, he might as well make himself comfortable.
Chapter Eight
Captain’s Log, Supplemental: It has been five days since the arrival of the people who have been termed “the Guests.” In that time, these six beings have given us a good deal of information on their respective cultures and timelines, as well as potentially valuable data for future reference in wormhole study. For the most part, the Guests seem to be fairly at ease with their surroundings, but all are understandably anxious to return to their respective dimensional planes.
The metrion radiation field around the nebula’s former position has decayed enough to allow the Enterprise to move in close enough to begin to take accurate readings of the area.
The ready room’s comm beeped. “Pause recording,” the Captain ordered, putting down a data pad. “Yes Number One?” Over the audio channel, Riker’s voice came in. “Captain, long-range sensors have picked up a Federation vessel approaching our position. They will arrive in three hours at present speed and heading.” The Captain frowned. The ship would have to be moving at an unusually fast speed to pass through sensor range so quickly. “Have you been able to identify it yet?” After a moment, the reply came. “ Its transponder reads as the Columbus.” Picard had never heard of it before, but there were a lot of ships in the fleet, so that wasn’t too unusual. “Notify me when the Columbus gets within communication range.” Riker responded in the affirmative and left the Captain to his thoughts. Settling himself into the chair, Picard couldn’t help but to notice the hairs on the back of his neck were raised. There was something wrong, very wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.
In the ships main mess hall and relaxation area Ten-Forward, Aayla and Jacen sat at a corner table, talking quietly. They were positioned by the panoramic windows that adorned the large chamber, and just out of earshot of the group of senior officers who were looking at them with interest. “So Worf, are you convinced that they’re not going to try and hijack the ship yet?” asked Geordi Laforge in a tone even Data couldn’t have misinterpreted as being serious. Even so, Worf stared at him grumpily, a glass of prune juice in hand. “I was merely following standard first contact procedures. I meant them no insult.” From across the table, Deanna Troi let out a humorous snuff. “Really Worf, he was kidding you.”
The small group of officers who often assembled in Ten-Forward during off duty hours continued the typical pattern of jibbing Worf over his overly serious attitude and then switched to discussion of the events of the day. After a few minutes of discussing the quirks and antics of the crew and going over personnel transfer possibilities, Data, who was sitting next to the counselor, changed the subject. “What have been your recent experiences with our guests?” This question caught everyone’s attention, as there had been little else discussed on the Enterprise since they’re arrival nearly a week ago. The Captain had also encouraged the senior staff two show them around the ship and collect any information on their pasts they were willing to give. Deanna took the initiative and made an off-hand gesture to the two jedi sitting at the table nearby. “I’ve had a few discussions with Jacen Solo. Evidently, he and Aayla Secura are from different points on the same timeline,” she said, and then sighed. “His past, and her future are very dark. Their entire order, the Jedi, was almost eradicated in a series of political upheavals.” Worf took a sip of his drink, a mildly unpleasant look on his face. “I am uncomfortable around them. The abilities they have exhibited seem… unnatural.” This remark triggered an irritated response from the counselor. “My empathic abilities might seem unnatural. Are you uncomfortable around me?” Worf looked suddenly embarrassed. “Well, no, of course not. But,” he trailed off, at a loss for a suitable rebuttal.
Anxious to change the subject, Geordi spoke up, “Have you talked with any of them yet Worf?” The Klingon grumbled, “I’d rather not speak about it.” This peaked other officers’ curiosity. “Come on, tell us. It cant be that bad,” Deanna prompted. Worf was about to refuse the request when Data interjected, “I believe the event the Lieutenant is referring to an event that took place in the calisthenics room at 7:00 hours yesterday. I observed Spartan 117 enter the facility unarmored for his morning exercises. While he was practicing a set of fairly unique combat stances, Worf entered the room.” The Klingon grumbled something, but Data continued on un fazed. “I observed the Lieutenant comment on Master Chief’s somewhat unorthodox stance, and when he remained adamant about it, Worf challenged him to a short sparring match. Master Chief initially objected, sighting problems of protocol and physical ability, but Worf was insistent.” Geordi and Deanna listened in rapt attention. “What happened?” asked the engineer, putting down his drink. “The actual confrontation lasted only six seconds. Worf attacked first, employing a side-to-side chop, which Master Chief parried and pushed the Lieutenant off-balance. Worf was able to land a blow on his shoulder, but Master Chief used an open-palm shove to knock him off his feet. The Lieutenant did remarkably well, considering he was sparring with a cybernetically enhanced human whose speed and reflexes are point two times greater than mine.”
To this tale, all Worf had to respond was “He was a worthy opponent.”
At the nearby table, Aayla and Jacen sat, both gazing out at the stars. Jacen held in his hand a mug of hot chocolate which was remarkably similar to his Uncle Luke’s favorite beverage by the same name. A glass of water sat in front of Aayla untouched. She was still dealing with the shocking revelation Jacen had unwillingly given to her. For a few days, she had remained in her quarters, meditating and trying to see if there had been signs, things that could have been done to stop the darkness before it began. Things that still could be done. She had eventually recovered enough to return to the outside, and she had spent most time with Jacen, as his presence was calming to her. They had talked a great deal, about themselves and about the Order during each of their times. Each one found the other’s views and practices of the Force somewhat strange and misguided, but Aayla was not of a mind to debate philosophy, especially while still coping with the great tragedy.
Jacen was more careful and even headed than Aayla, but both were intelligent and possessed a similar wry sense of humor. They had a very strong repore and found they could talk together for hours, although Jacen was still somewhat uneasy, his teenage hormones clouding his mind when he was around her. Aayla, on the other hand, was quiet unencumbered by such feelings, more so than any woman he could think of. Perhaps it was just her personality, or perhaps there was something in the training of jedi of the old order was different.
At the moment, they were enjoying a quiet moment, Jacen enjoying his drink and watching the crowd of aliens and humans that talked and ate happily in the room, and Aayla looking reflectively into the field of strange stars. That was about to change. As Jacen drained the last of his cup, Aayla spoke, gesturing towards the window. “Look at that.” Jacen turned his gaze out the window to see a pinprick of light in the distance growing larger and brighter. As it grew, he could begin to make out the distinctive nacelles that most Starfleet ships apparently carried. It reminded him of the old Y-Wing starfighters that had been used by the Rebel Alliance during the civil war. Before the starship became any more visible though, a strange feeling struck him. Most jedi had the ability to sense danger before it happened, sometimes just enough to block a blaster bolt on a lightsaber, other times as a vision years before hand. Although Jacen had certain philosophical and moral problems with who and when to use the Force, he still knew to listen to it.
An uneasy look passed over Aayla’s face. “Do you feel that?” she asked, looking back at Jacen. He nodded. “There’s something wrong, with that ship maybe.” As the distinctive craft drew closer, the ominous feeling grew stronger, and Jacen began to rise from his seat, Aayla close behind. “Is everything all right?” Deanna asked from behind them. The two jedi turned to see the counselor standing next their table, a concerned look on her face. The other senior officers, still seated, were watching with interest. “Do you know if that is the ship is supposed to relive the Enterprise here?” Jacen asked. The plan was to transfer the guests over to the Columbus and have them wait there until a way was determined to send them back to their respective timelines. This would allow the Enterprise to resume its standard mission schedule.
By this time, the approaching ship had turned to run parallel with the Enterprise, well within transporter range. The dull metal colored hull configuration was now clearly visible. Upon catching sight of the starship, Worf suddenly stood up. “I was informed that Starfleet command was sending a science vessel,” he said, consternation obvious in his voice. “That is an Akira class warship.” Data too stood up, “I would suggest we proceed to the bridge immediately.” Worf and Data then both departed, and Geordi mentioned something about being in Engineering, and he too left.
“There’s something wrong with the people on that ship,” Jacen said half to himself, trying to get a better feeling of what was wrong. Concerned by the Jedi’s obvious unease and Worf’s confusion, Deanna reached out with her own empathic senses. Although less powerful than either of the jedi, she too began to feel a strange mental state from the inhabitants of the warship, an odd sense of anger or even blind hate. She shook her head, confused by what she felt. Sometimes reading the emotions of alien species gave her false impressions, but most of the crew of that ship ought to be human, or at least Vulcan or Andorian who she had no difficulty reading. “I should go inform the Captain,” she said, still probing the ship. “Maybe you two should come with me.”
“Sir, the Columbus is hailing us.”
“Onscreen.”
The bridge viewscreen flicked from the empty starfield to the image of a middle-aged man, perhaps forty-five with short, brown hair. “Captain Picard, John Tasser of the USS Columbus. I trust you know why I am are here.” His demeanor was friendly and calm, but something about his tone was slightly off, too abrupt. The Captain nodded, trying to seem genial. “Yes Captain, I am to transfer our visitors to your ship and continue our patrol route along the Neutral Zone.” He moved forward slightly in the chair. “Although I would like to ask why you have been dispatched. Admiral Derado had informed me that he was sending a science ship. Has there been a change in plans?” As he spoke, Data and Worf got off the turbolift and relived the crewmen at Ops and the helm. “There has been a change. When the visitors are transported aboard my ship, I will take them back to Earth. The Enterprise may resume its patrol duties when the transfer is complete,” said Captain Tasser in a purposeful voice, not changing his expression. This was indeed a change, and a very odd one. “Taking them to Earth? As I had understood it, these people were to wait here until a way was found to send them back to their respective timelines.” The man onscreen stiffened his neck. “ As I said Captain, a change in plans. I am on a tight schedule, so I would request that they be moved immediately.” Before Picard could respond, the turbolift door opened and out stepped Deanna Troi followed by, to the Captain’s surprise, the human and Twi’lek who had come onboard during the accident. “I need a moment with my senior staff Captain. Sorry for the inconvenience,” the Captain said, turning back to the screen. The other man hesitated and nodded grudgingly, and the image switched back to a starscape.
“Captain, Jacen Solo and Aayla Secura have alerted me to a strange feeling about that ship. They say there is something wrong with its crew,” Counselor Troi informed Picard walking briskly down the bridge’s ramped floor. The Captain had heard of the two beings extraordinary powers of telekinesis and telepathy from Beverly Crusher and some of the reports of the bridge crew. “Do your own senses corroborate this strange “feeling” counselor?” he asked, looking the two jedi over speculatively. The Betazed nodded. “I believe so. At the very least, the Captain is hiding something.” Picard considered this. It seemed that his sense of apprehension over the last few days might not be totally unfounded. From the seat next to the Captain, Commander Riker spoke. “I think we should see if Captain Tasser has any explanation for this before we jump to any conclusions.” Picard agreed and had Data reestablish contact.
“Captain Tasser if I may ask, why are you taking the Guests back to Earth?” The brown haired man responded curtly, “That’s classified. It is a direct Order from Starfleet Command, and I am at liberty to relive you of command if you do not comply.” Picard was alarmed by the severity of his rebuke. Removing an officer from duty, especially a captain, was a very serious act and only used when absolutely necessary. Tasser was bringing up the possibility far too quickly. To his left, Deanna said under her breath, “You can’t give them up to him, not yet. He’s hiding something.” Picard was inclined to agree. “I’m sorry, but I would feel much more comfortable with this mission change if I could get confirmation from Starfleet Command. I’m sure you can delay long enough for a transmission to be sent.” Tasser was now glaring at Picard. “Negative Captain, my orders are very clear. If you will not relinquish the “Guests” then I’m afraid Commander Riker will have to relive you,” he stated bluntly. Without hesitation, William Riker rose, resolute. “I will do no such thing, These orders are highly suspect and I will not carry them out until we get confirmation.”
Then suddenly the irrational anger and impatience that had been building slowly in Captain Tasser surged forth. With a very inhuman growl, the screen snapped off. From behind them, Worf suddenly shouted, “The Columbus is raising shields and arming weapons!”
“What?” shouted the Captain, alarmed by this outrageous and sudden action. “Red alert! Battle stations!”
Chapter Nine
As the Columbus opened up with its phaser arrays, the Enterprise made a 80 degree turn away from its attacker and began to weave in between beams of crimson fire. In spite of its evasive efforts, a beam slammed into the Enterprise’s rear shield, sending shock waves through the ship.
“Shields holding Captain, shall I return fire?” asked Worf, furiously working the tactical controls. “Fire on their weapons and engines only. Phasers only,” the Captain ordered. He looked at the viewscreen, the pursuing craft filling it, in shock. He had never in his long history in Starfleet heard of a ship under Federation control attacking unprovoked. The fact it had attacked the flagship of the Federation fleet didn’t help assuage his astonishment. But he quickly shook of his shock; he had a battle on his hands.
The Enterprise let lose its own weapons emplacements. The incoming ship took two direct pulses in the forward quarter of its shields, put it shrugged them off and kept coming. “Their shields are holding,” reported Worf, and then glanced at a blinking display. “Torpedo incoming!” Riker called to brace for impact as the device struck the shields. The energy barrier flickered for a moment and came back up, but it was long enough. In the middle of the deck three shimmers of light appeared, forming quickly into humanoid form. However, they were not human, not really. As the light faded, three hideous creatures appeared in front of the bridge crew. They were vaguely human looking, and wore what might have once been a Federation uniform, but they were covered in thick, red, scabrous skin and had odd spiky protrusions growing from their bodies. In their clawed hands were held Federation issue phaser rifles, and they did not hesitate to use them. Two targeted the security officers who were posted on the bridge and the other swung his weapon towards Picard. Even as the first security officer was knocked off his feat from a viscous blast and the third creature began to trigger his weapon, two lightsabers one green, one blue, flashed to life and set to work. The blue one, in the hands of Aayla Secura bisected the closest monster, and vile gases poured from its gapping wound. Jacen Solo, emerald blade in hand leapt over the bridges raised guard railing and landed face to face with the creature that was threatening Picard. Its twisted face contorted and it tried to strike at the jedi knight with its free arm, but in a blur of motion, the creature found itself missing that arm. It then fired point blank at Jacen, but his blade deflected the killing blast into the floor, and with a rapid pushing motion, the creature found itself slammed against the wall, hemorrhaging toxic gas as it died. In the confusion, Worf and the remaining guard were able to fire their phasers into the remaining combatant, sending it sprawling to the floor.
Sure there were no more mutated beings on the bridge, Data resumed dodging the flurry of energy still emanating from the enemy ship. Pausing a moment to smile a thanks to the jedi who had saved him, Picard turned to Worf, who was returning fire again. “The shields?” Worf didn’t look up. “Down to forty percent. That ship must be heavily modified, our phasers aren’t penetrating their shields.” Picard grimaced. They had to destroy the enemy ship; it was obviously intent on destroying them. “Proton Torpedoes?” From his side, Riker called out, looking at a display of the ship. “The torpedoes are offline. Some of those things beamed into the fire control station and blew themselves up.” Picard looked at him, “Blew up?” Yes sir. The report says they exploded, taking half the room with them. Were down to half power on phasers.” To compound the severity of the situation, another explosion rocked the ship. “Our shields are down to twenty percent!” called Worf.
Now it was time for one of the last ditch strategies Picard was famous for. He desperately searched his mind, racking it for a solution. The Enterprise was damaged, shields failing, the enemy still had shields and weapons, and an Akira was as fast as a Galaxy-class ship even at full power. “Can we go to Warp?” Data replied that Warp drive was offline. No escape, no chance of defeating the Columbus, what could be done. Then an odd notion occurred to Picard. “Data, were the sensors able to establish what was at the collapse point?” Data looked up briefly. “At last check, sensors detected the indicators of a possible wormhole at those coordinates, but there was not enough time to establish if it was stable or if it was not just a metrion distortion interfering with the scanning array.” Riker walked to Picard’s side. “Your not really considering that, are you sir?” he asked warily. “We don’t know where it goes, and the spatial and temporal shear it could produce might rip the Enterprise apart.” Another blast shook the bridge, and a wall panel exploded into a shower of sparks. “Looks like we don’t have a choice do we number one?” Picard asked, struggling to remain upright. “Mr. Data set course to those coordinates, all auxiliary power to the engines.”
The Enterprise suddenly made a sharp turn and rocketed towards the location of the suspected wormhole, the Columbus still in hot pursuit. A phaser blast hit the shields and penetrated them, rocking the fleeing craft and causing drive plasma to begin to vent from the port nacelle. In a final burst of speed, the Enterprise collided with the nearly invisible coalescence of energy that had once been the nebula and disappeared. Confused by the ships sudden appearance, the twisted and mutated crew of the Columbus, including John Tasser who had shed his disguise field waited a split second too long to decide between plunging in after its quarry or breaking of. The ship bisected the wormhole’s mouth as it was veering off, and the entire starboard side was sheered off, plummeting into the cosmic gullet. What was left of the craft then spun out of control and in a brilliant flash as the antimatter containment in its reactor went down, the ship was scattered into glowing dust.
“Captain, are you all right?”
Picard felt a searing pain on his forehead and brought his hand up. He felt blood. He opened his eyes and could make out a blurry form above him, an arm outstretched. The Captain stumbled to his feet; hand still on his bleeding head. “Just a cut Mr. Data, I’m fine,” he managed, looking around the bridge. The viewscreen was darkened and red emergency lights illuminated the room. Around him, the crew was scrambling back to their stations and the jedi were checking on the fallen bodies of the boarding party. “Status report.” Riker stood next to Worf at Ops. “Casualty reports from all over the ship. There is a hull breach on deck Twelve, contained.” From the helm, Data tried to determine where the ship was. “Sensors are down, Captain. Warp and impulse drives are also offline.” To punctuate this statement, a conduit in the ceiling exploded, causing the crimson lights to flicker and showered the room with sparks.
“Life support and in ship communications are running on reserve power,” Riker reported, checking a few more displays, and then frowning. “But I’m picking up anomalous readings from the warp core.” Picard tapped his comm badge. “Bridge to Engineering, what’s going on down there?” There was a burst of static and Geordi’s came through. “…No! Reroute junction twelve to the secondary plasma conduit. You’ll overload it otherwise. Captain, the plasma injectors have fused open, and they’re overloading the core. I might be able to depolarize them or shut off the flow, but I’m not sure it will be in time.” Picard considered, mulling over the possibility of abandoning ship without knowing anything about their position. “Is the core ejection system online?” There was a new burst of static, “Negative. The metrion radiation from the wormhole must have fused the system along with the injectors.” A hiss and small explosion was heard over the channel, muffling the engineer’s voice momentarily. “…Estimate twenty four minutes to core breach.” The comm cut out.
Picard turned back to the bridge crew who were now watching him expectantly. “Suggestions?” Riker walked down the side ramp, straightening his uniform. “Can we separate the saucer section?” he asked, walking up behind Data. The android performed a check of the system, and a red indicator came on “Negative sir. The docking clamps are locked in place.” The Captain sighed. It looked like they didn’t have many options. Riker seemed to know what he was thinking and nodded reluctantly. Picard sighed and walked over to the panel inlaid into the arm of his seat, keying the intercom system. A whistle sounded throughout the ship, heralding the Captain’s grim news. “All hands, this is the Captain. The Enterprise is undergoing an irreparable warp core breach and our options have been exhausted. I am therefore ordering all hands to abandon ship. I repeat, all hands proceed to the escape pods.”
As the Captain shut off the signal, the crew on the bridge grew quiet and somber. Picard too was hit with a wave of regret. The Enterprise was a fine ship, and she had pulled her crew through more perilous situations than most could remember. He took a long look around the bridge, drinking in the contoured space one last time, and then steeled himself for the task at hand. “ Number one, begin supervising the evacuation. Load the children and medical staff into the Captain’s Yacht and the rest into the escape pods.” Riker knew the procedure, and moved off to attend to his grim duties. He would evacuate on board the small yacht and take command if the Captain’s escape craft was destroyed or separated from the rest of the evacuees. Picard looked after him for a moment, a fine officer; Riker would make a fine captain some day, if they ever made it back to the Federation. Pushing aside the thought, the Captain turned to Worf. “Lieutenant, move the security staff and emergency gear onto the shuttles. Hold the Horatio to depart last. I will be resuming command from it after the evacuation.” Finally he turned to Data, who was still attempting to scan the surrounding space. “Mr. Data, I want you to get the these two and the other guests to the escape pods. They don’t know our evacuation procedures.” Data snapped a crisp nod in response and walked towards the two jedi, who were now trying to stay out of the way. “We are evacuating the Enterprise. I am to escort you to an escape pod.” The jedi acknowledged this gravely and Data was about to lead them to the turbolift when Jacen paused, glancing at the mutated Federation officer that had been felled by phaser fire. “Wait, I’m sensing thoughts from him. He is still alive.” The three clustered around the unconscious creature. Then Data slung the man across his back, easily compensating for the added weight. It was against his ethical programming to abandon a fellow officer to his death, even one in such a twisted state. “We must go.” The group moved quickly to the lift, and as the doors closed around them, they looked at the Enterprise’s bridge for the last time.
Chapter Ten
“What’s going on Cortana?” the Chief asked, pushing his way through the milling crowds of the evacuating crew. The green titan pushed to the side as a hovercart hastened down the hallway, pushed by two sweating security officers. “It looks like their reactor is overloading. As you heard, the Captain has just order all aboard to abandon ship.” After saying this, Cortana returned her concentration to the rapidly disintegrating computer system of the Enterprise, trying to ascertain where the wormhole had dropped the ship. The Chief pushed into an unoccupied room and checked his battle rifle. A full clip, and he had three more on him, along with his pistol and a handful of fragmentation grenades. Still, it wouldn’t be enough if they encountered any more serious trouble, and he might have to commandeer a phaser.
Only a few minutes ago, he had been performing a routine maintenance check on his armor when the ship’s alert system had activated. Cortana had hacked the sensor array and had told him that they were being fired upon and it looked like the enemy ship was transporting in boarders. The soldier had grabbed his gear and weapons, which had been held in one of combat lockers and was on his way to assist on the bridge or wherever he was needed when trouble had dropped in on him. The Chief had been making his way past engineering when three horribly disfigured humans had transported in right in front of him. For a fraction of a second he had frozen in surprise, unprepared for the tactical advantage transporters provided. When the beasts had targeted him with their phasers, he dropped one and dove into a side passage to avoid the energy beams. When the other two had lumbered around the bend, Master Chief had dropped another, but before he had time to target the last one, it exploded. The blast was sufficient enough to deplete his shielding significantly and blow him several meters down the hall. The explosion had also torn a hole through the floor and severed several backup systems, possibly why the Enterprise was now in such dire straights. Although the beings had looked reptilian, they had behaved much like the flood, and the bodies they were using had obviously once been human. As he moved down the corridor, the Chief shivered inside. He didn’t want to face another foe like the flood. Give him a Covenant Hunter or squad of Brutes any day.
“There’s nothing more we can do here, the ship is going to lose containment and explode in seventeen minutes,” Cortana said somberly. “We should head for one of those escape craft. Maybe we can…” Cortana’s thought was interrupted as a mass of splotchy purple and red exploded from a service entrance in the wall. The infested creature pinned him to the ground, depleting his shields with slashing serrated spikes. Around them, evacuating crew and civilians stopped abruptly and fled, dodging through doors and down hallways. The Chief pushed the thing away with one arm, and reached for his holstered side arm with the other. Grabbing hold of the M6c magnum, he twisted it into the vicious creature’s chest and pulled the trigger. The being shuddered, and then collapsed onto the chief, acidic blood sizzling against the deck plate. He tossed the thing off and climbed to his feet; satisfied he had sustained no injuries. “Cortana, I thought you said all of those things were killed.” He picked up his rifle and swept the area quickly, clearing it of any possible threats. “There was a good deal of distortion from the wormhole. The radiation might be interfering with the internal sensors. If there are more, we should probably move out now. The mutants might try to attack the escape hatches.”
The Chief hurried from the combat area and found his way back to the steady stream of evacuees. He took up a defensive position behind the line of crew and their families as they headed for the escape pods, taking whatever they could with them. They were very agitated, as much as could be expected as they left their homes and possibly whole lives for good, but the Chief couldn’t make out any signs of outright terror or shellshock. That was a good sign, maybe there weren’t any more of the creatures on the ship. As the Chief turned a corner, he nearly collided with Commander Data, a mutated body slung across his back. He eyed the infested human and the two people behind the android, visitors like himself he recalled, and then nodded a curt salute. “I assume you are abandoning ship Commander.” Data nodded. “Yes. I was looking for you. We must evacuate immediately, there is a bank of escape craft on the deck below us,” he said. The Chief nodded hefting his rifle and gestured to Data’s load, “Be advised, I encountered on of them alive just a moment ago. There may be more of them around.” For a moment Data looked of speculatively, wondering how the creature’s had avoided detection until now, but the uneasy movements of the jedi behind him snapped the android back to the task at hand. “We must be cautious.” He started to move again, still talking. “I sent an alert to the Arbiter’s quarters. I believe he is moving towards the escape pods as well.”
The rest of the brief trip went by without incident, and the small group piled into the escape pod grid just as the last of the crew was leaving. They piled in easily, as the pod was built to accommodate at least eight, and Data began initiating the detach sequence. As the pod’s engines hummed to life, Cortana gave up her final attempt to engage the sensors and flooded back into the Chief’s mind, triggering the familiar freezing sensation. “Looks like were jumping blind,” she announced over the helmet comm. Data, standing by the control panel, flicked a few final switches and the pod door sealed vacuum tight. As the Chief looked over his fellow passengers, seated nervously in the small chamber, he had a feeling of Deja vu. It was like his escape from the Pillar of Autumn, just before the landing on Halo. The Spartan clenched his fist, fervently hoping that it didn’t turn out the same way this time.
From the vast disc of the Enterprise, a multitude of tiny cubes and shuttles detached from the dying ship, igniting thrusters and plunging into the blackness of space. More than a thousand souls, lost in an unknown universe, scattered and frightened. As the ships blasted away, energy began to pulse within the majestic ship. Deep within its core, ebbing jets of coolant flowed into the reactant chamber, but the reaction was too great. The engineering chamber was momentarily bathed in an eerie blue light as the warp core overloaded, and the center column erupted into translucent flame. In an instant, the nacelle-bound drive section erupted into jets of destructive flame, which spread over the saucer, melting away the armor plating, erasing the Enterprise’s name from the burning hulk. Then what was left of the craft began to drift apart, tumbling through the emptiness, the glowing supports slowly warping and cooling.
From the shuttlecraft Horatio, Captain Jean-Luc Picard watched his ship drift in its cold and empty grave. The loss wrenched at his heart, but he was somewhat consoled by the fact that all aboard had made it off the ship and would live another day. Then his gaze left the remains of the Enterprise and looked into the stars. The inhabitants of the dead ship had a find a safe haven, a planet or a rescue ship, or they would die out in the unknown blackness. And it was Picard’s duty to see them through. He turned to Worf, who was piloting the ship and beginning to coordinate the motley fleet. “Are there any planets on long range sensors Mr. Worf?” Worf checked the sensor suite and frowned. “None within impulse range sir. However, I am detecting planetary masses within a day’s journey at warp two.” The Enterprise’s complement of shuttles included the warp five capable Runabout, two Class six shuttlecraft capable of a maximum speed of warp two, as well as two non warp Class fifteens and the Captain’s Yacht, which was slower still. None of the escape pods had warp drives. “And the wormhole?” he asked. It was unwise to go back through, the Columbus might still be there, and even if it wasn’t, the Orion Gammalon System was weeks from the nearest Federation outpost. Even so, it was wise to keep one’s options open. The idea was moot the though as Worf shook his head. “I’m not picking it up on sensors. It may still be there, but the shuttlecraft’s sensors are not accurate enough to locate it if it is.” That left one option, send a scouting team to the shuttle and hope it was inhabited or at least possessed an inhabitable planet.
“Patch me through to Commander Riker’s shuttle,” Picard ordered, turning his attention to the collection of ships before him past the cockpit screen. A lieutenant sitting in the copilot’s chair complied, and a moment later Riker’s voice wafted over the comm. “Order’s sir?” His voice was calm and even, but Picard could tell he was just as broken up about losing the Enterprise as himself. “We’ve detected a star system within warp range. I want you to lead an expedition with the Runabout to the system and try to determine if there are any inhabitable worlds there. If there are, we can begin shuttling the crew to it. I will remain here with the Horatio and begin sending an SOS. The shuttles have enough oxygen and supplies to last for several days.” They both new that even if their was a inhabitable planet in the nearby system, it would be a miracle if all 1,011 crew and families could be transported in time, but they had to try. “Affirmative sir, I’ll begin transporting an away team to the Runabout. Riker out.” The Captain sighed tiredly and walked into the aft cabin of the shuttle. He had some thinking to do.
On board her escape pod, Aayla was becoming restless. The craft had been motionless for nearly half an hour. She didn’t like waiting around doing nothing, especially not in cramped spaces like the pod. She could sense that the warrior in green armor, Master Chief he had identified himself, was too restless. Jacen on the other hand had decided to slip into a meditative state to pass the time and conserve oxygen. Aayla had attempted to do the same, but she couldn’t concentrate. She was considering trying to start a conversation with one of the conscious beings on the craft when the comm buzzed. Data, who had been monitoring communication between the pods, answered it. “Lt. Commander Data,” Commander Riker’s voice came over the comm. “Prepare to be transported to the Runabout. We are searching a nearby system for habitable planetary bodies and I need you on my team. Data stood up and clicked his comm badge. “Aye sir.” He looked over the other inhabitants of the pod, who were watching him with interest. “Commander, we were able to retrieve a living specimen of the boarding teams that tried to take the Enterprise. I would suggest he is beamed to Dr. Crusher’s shuttle for examination.” Riker replied in the affirmative and was about to transport the two when Aayla spoke up. “I would like to accompany you,” she stated plainly. Data looked at her in curiosity and Riker’s somewhat exasperated voice came over the comm again. “Miss Secura, I think it would be best if”
“I believe we may be in my native galaxy, my senses are picking up a stronger affinity for the Force here than on the other side of the wormhole. I might be able to aid you if you encounter anyone,” she broke in. It was true that the Force did feel stronger, more in tune again, but she had been too distracted to notice until now. Jacen cracked open an eye at the sound of her voice. Over the comm, Riker sighed and then relented. “Alright, you can come. Prepare for transport.” Then Jacen stood up. “I’m coming too,” he said as Aayla cracked a small grin at him. Then Master Chief rose as well, Cortana’s voice emanating from his helmet, “The Chief and I would request to accompany you as well. Were more use to you there than in this pod. The Chief has deactivated his shield to allow for transport.” There was a very long pause, and Aayla could vaguely sense consternation mixed with amusement coming over the line. “All right you can all come, but you have to follow the chain of command to me. I can’t have miscommunications disrupting the mission.” They all agreed. “Alright, five to beam up.”
Chapter Eleven
Riker surveyed the makeup of his team as the Runabout jumped to warp. Along with himself and Lt. Commander Data, who was piloting the craft, the conference cabin was populated by Worf, security officers Maxwell and Jossa, the two jedi Aayla and Jacen, Master Chief and his artificial counterpart Cortana who was at present acquainting herself with the shuttle. Riker had also considered taking along Geordi Laforge, but he had opted to leave him so the engineer could aid in the search for the wormhole mouth. Geordi had however; delivered good news, as he informed Data that he had saved the android’s pet cat Spot from the destabilizing ship. Data had been quite gratified by this, as much as an emotionless being could be, although Riker wondered how many scratches Geordi had sustained retrieving the animal. Data’s cat was notoriously nasty to those other than his master, or at least Riker himself.
As the commander looked over his crew, he suddenly wondered why he had agreed to so many crew on this mission. It was true each of them possessed potentially helpful skills, but he could have easily completed a survey of the target star system with just Data. Maybe his intuition was telling him something.
“Alright, I’m not expecting any complications, but we have to be careful.” Riker nodded towards Aayla. “Aayla Secura has informed me that there is a strong possibility that we are in her and Jacen Solo’s reality. If that is so, I will rely on you two to initiate contact if we encounter anyone in that star system. Arrival time is in an hour and fifteen minutes. Until then, make yourselves at home.” With that, he walked out of the room, heading back to the cockpit to check on Data. As he left, the small group settled in for the short trip. Jacen moved into a back room, hoping that a less quiet setting could bring him more in tune with the Force. Aayla, on the other hand remained, carefully watching the Spartan in the corner. Master Chief propped himself against a wall, and set about cleaning the barrel of his magnum. Worf and the security officers drew up seats around the table. Jossa broke out a pack of playing cards and she and Maxwell began a game of poker, Worf watching half-hazardly, not joining in. Aayla however, took interest. She moved up behind Maxwell and watched a few hands. “It looks very similar to sabacc, mind if I join in?” she asked, taking a seat. Most jedi didn’t play sabacc, but Aayla had taken it up from a squad of clone troopers on a hyperspace jump from Ord Mantell to Coruscant.
The two officers paused momentarily, sizing her up, and then Jossa dealt her in. After only a few hands Aayla had worked out the rules of the game and the trio began to play in earnest. One of the reasons jedi rarely played games of that sort was due to their ability to sense the feelings and motives of those around them, voluntarily or not. After a few winning hands, Aayla embarrassedly remembered to block her telepathic connection to the force, and the game continued, and very soon the three were having a very good time, and the destruction of the Enterprise was pushed to the back of the their minds for the moment. From across the table, Worf smiled inwardly. Whether she meant it or not, the Twi’lek was providing his men with a much needed distraction. If they ran into to trouble, their minds had to be undistracted by the recent loss of what was almost certainly their only home.
As the group in the main chamber continued their game, Jacen, cross-legged in the rear crew quarters, blocked out the muffled noise they made. He was intent on reaching out with the force, if to no more than to determine where and when they were. The young knight took a deep breath and let the omnipresent presence that is the Force flow through him. Cautiously, he let his senses perceive the vague emanations of life that where present every place in the galaxy, and felt a familiar buzz in the back of his mind. He smiled slightly, the masses of beings he felt were well known, ones he had grown up with. Reassured, he was about to rise and join Aayla and the others when suddenly he felt something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
He hadn’t noticed it at first, too distracted by the familiar sensations of his universe, but something was distorting or clouding the force. The energy field was different, dark and unbalanced. It was if the ocean that was the universe had become polluted and murky. For a fleeting moment Jacen feared that they had traveled to his future, and the Yuuzhan Vong had succeeded in eradicating the jedi and spreading their Force-absent presence throughout the galaxy, but it was not so. The Force was still present, still strong, but it was changed, dark, darker than he had ever felt it, even when he had been held at the renegade Shadow Academy. The dark jedi who had been just that, jedi, and although tainted, some balance had remained, but here, the opaque and almost suffocating. Even as he probed the fringes of the blackness, a presence stirred within it, and began reaching out, searching. Abruptly, Jacen broke the meditative state and jumped to his feet, his eyes obscured by a cold sweat.
For a moment Jacen just stood in the small bunkroom, wiping moisture from his brow, and then he moved quickly through the small ship to the main room. As he slid through the door, Aayla looked up, feeling his consternation. She lay down her hand and slowly stood up. “What’s wrong Jacen?” she asked, concern obvious in her voice. The others in the room looked towards them with interest. “Haven’t you been able to sense it, the darkness?” Jacen asked, still reeling from his experience. Aayla frowned. “You mean you felt something while you were meditating? I haven’t been able to really concentrate.” She placed a hand on the man’s arm. “What did you feel?” He looked into her eyes a moment, and the familiar squirmy feeling appeared back in his stomach, helping to clear his head. “I felt the dark side of the Force, it is strong. Too strong. I don’t think were in my time, no we can’t be.” Aayla considered this. “If that is true, then we may have jumped back into the middle of the war.” She looked out the window to the smeared starscape of the warp field. “Lets just hope we’re not flying into a gundark’s nest of trouble.”
Like an endless mountain range of crystal, the titanic spires of Coruscant stretched from horizon to horizon, eclipsing the dusk sky. Below the bustling skyscrapers of the Imperial capital, streams of aircars and repulsor vehicles formed glowing lines over the planetwide city. Trillions of inhabitants of all species lived, worked, and served in this artificial jungle. At the very heart of this unimaginably huge metropolis was the Imperial City, some of its colossal structures towering kilometers high, held in place by massive grids of gravity supports. These buildings were, however dwarfed by the palace itself, a monumental pyramid of metal and stone, and easily the largest structure on the planet, perhaps in the galaxy. And from this titan’s peak sat a single man, staring down on the glittering metropolis. It was all his. All that Emperor Palpatine, Sith Master and unquestioned ruler of the known galaxy, could see was his, and he wanted more. He wanted all.
A small being, dressed in a modest black robe and bearing a small, wooden cane sat in a massive durasteel throne, overlooking a massive window. His face was obscured by a ominous hood, but beyond the shadow gray wrinkled skin and rotted yellow teeth were visible. The dark emperor’s mouth was creased into a sickly smile, and he was in deep thought. At the fringes of his vast power, he could feel a mind, one powerful in the force, one he had never felt before. A jedi, he was sure of it. Most of their weak order had been wiped out during the Clone Wars, the conflict that had allowed Palpatine to rise slowly to power. Then, as part of his New Order, his apprentice Darth Vader and imperial death squads sought out the surviving jedi and terminated them. They had been very efficient, as in the last decade; only a handful of jedi had been discovered and terminated, including the old Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now Vader was pursuing the last of them, a young rebel named Skywalker, Vader’s son. Palpatine knew full well that Vader wished to turn his son to the Dark Side of the Force and overthrow him, but there was no threat. Palpatine would simply turn the tables on his traitorous apprentice, and after Vader was killed by his own son, young Luke Skywalker would become servant to the dark one. It was already in motion, and did not concern him.
This new presence however, did catch Palpatine’s interest. As soon as it felt him searching, it withdrew, but the Master already knew too much. The foolish jedi would be found, and Vader would offer him the same ultimatum as he offered every jedi he confronted; join the dark under Palpatine or die. Vader had to kill them all, none ever submitted. But, Palpatine thought as he reached for a control panel inlaid in the right arm of his mighty seat, this one was foolish enough to broadcast his existence unprotected through the force. Maybe this time, he would turn, but it mattered not, as long as the threat was eliminated. With a slight flick of his right fore finger, the throne room’s comm came on. “Inform Lord Vader that I wish to speak with him.” The words were gentle, but they were undeniable. No one kept the Emperor waiting. No confirmation was necessary to know that the order would be carried out and the comm flipped off again. Palpatine settled back into his metal seat, chuckling darkly as he returned to his ominous and brooding works. The pieces were in motion; the final destruction of the jedi was near.
Chapter Twelve
“Sir, we have reached the target system. Dropping out of warp now,” Data informed Commander as they sat in the cabin of the Runabout. Riker nodded a confirmation and arose to inform his team. His apprehension about the mission was steadily growing, especially after the news the jedi had delivered. Riker was still mystified by their powers, but after they had saved him and the Captain, he was willing to give the foreboding premonition the benefit of the doubt. All the same, the mission still had to be completed if there was any hope of saving the stranded crew of the Enterprise, and the Commander just hoped it would go off without any major hang-ups. Then again, missions rarely went as planned. Before he could reach the exit, Aayla and Jacen, who pushed into the small cockpit, blocked it. Riker nodded to them in recognition, and sat back down.
“Were about to enter the target system.” He looked up into Jacen’s anxious face. “Are you picking up any trouble ahead?” Still peering out the viewport, Jacen shook his head. “No. But I can’t really look into the future. From time to time, jedi can sense impending danger or the presence of something dangerous, but I’m certainly not omniscient.” Riker nodded and settled back into his seat. It seemed there was a limit to their abilities.
“Engaging impulse engines,” Data stated, tapping a command into his control panel. At that, the image beyond the transparent plate shifted from swirling starlines to the blackness of space, dotted with stars. “Sir, I’m picking up a great deal of communications traffic. Most of it is automated, wideband transmissions delivering repeating syntactical code, most likely navigational instructions. I can not identify any of the symbols.” Aayla looked over his shoulder. “Let me see.” Data quickly generated a long line of boxy symbols flowing across a computer screen. “That’s Aurebesh, galactic basic. These are approach vectors and local regulations for a planet called Poloon Three.” She glanced up at the approaching planet, still just a speck of light beyond the screen and glanced over at Jacen. “I’ve never heard of it.” Jacen moved beside her and peered into the depths of space. “I have. When I was younger, my father took me here. There’s only one city on the planet, Starlane City I think it’s called. It’s a re-supply depot for small freighters passing through the Mid Rim, a very seedy place. Dad liked to go there to “soak up the local color” as he put it.”
Despite his crisp, formal appearance, Will Riker had seen his share of seedy hangouts on the borders of Federation territory, and he could navigate the places fairly well. It was not exactly what he had been hoping for, but the crew of the Enterprise had only a few days of supplies, so he couldn’t be choosy. “Do you think we can find a pilot who could help recover the survivors?” he asked Jacen. The young man nodded in response, “there are always freighter pilots looking for work.” Jacen stopped to consider. “Of course, anyone we find will be expect to be paid. As I remember, even the docking fees on this planet are exorbitant.” This comment caught Riker off guard. The Federation did engage in trade with its neighbors like the Ferengi, but commerce within the alliance had been phased out for decades. Seeing the surprised look on Riker’s face, Aayla put in wryly “And I’m assuming you don’t have any credits.” Riker shook his head, now pondering the quandary. “Perhaps we could offer something of value in exchange for a starship’s services.” Data suggested.
Aayla glanced back into the main cabin, where the rest of the team waited restlessly. “This ship is pretty spartan, I don’t think you have anything that we could use to barter,” but then her eye caught a few poker chips, which the security officers were quickly packing away. “Then again, there might be an alternative.”
Starlane City, if it really could be called a city, was a typical small greasy freighter stop, just off the Heccordan Hyperspace Loop, a popular passage for small time crooks and down-on-their-luck spacers. Built around the crashed hulk of an ancient ore freighter, now the city’s governmental and trade hub, the skies above Starlane were smattered with groups of battered starships taking off and landing on small, dingy docking pits. Data skillfully wove around decrepit residential towers and past the flowing lanes of traffic, guided by an automated landing code. The sleek, metallic craft gracefully dropped through the layers of thin urban sprawl, conspicuously polished and new. With a puff of its thruster jets, the shuttle alighted on the worn ferrocrete landing pad, which was recessed in a dank, gloomy pit. From a door in the rounded wall emerged a rodian in a dirty jumpsuit, his scaly green skin tarnished with oil and grease. In his hand he held a bulky datapad and a well-worn Bryar blaster pistol was slung on a thigh holster.
From the Runabout’s rear hatch emerged Commander Riker and Security Officer Aleen Jossa, both dressed in drab coveralls at Jacen’s suggestion, as their bright uniforms would draw attention unwanted in such a seedy area. Behind them emerged Aayla and Jacen, the Twi’lek carrying a small pouch on her belt. The others had agreed to stay behind, both because they were needed to guard the ship and the fact that Klingons and fully armored super soldiers were not very common sights at a freighter depot. The Rodian sized the group up, and then approached Riker, datapad outstretched. From it’s mouth buzzed a rapid series of guttural sounds and garbled words. The universal translator on the Commander’s belt attempted and failed to translate the message; the alien was not speaking Basic. Fortunately, Aayla stepped forward, replying in the same rapid tongue. “How long you stay here?” the Rodian asked, scanning the female before him with bulbous eyes. “Only a few hours. Looking for some help.” Aayla replied in heavily accented rodian, using the short jargon spacers often used. The alien tapped at his pad with a suction cup tipped finger. “Ninety creds,” he said finally, extending a greasy hand. Aayla looked at him carefully and then reached slowly into the small pouch at her side, withdrawing three blue poker chips. Riker eyed her with alarm and confusion, but kept quiet. “Ninety credits,” she said smoothly, handing over the ceramic objects. The dock keeper took the worthless chips, looked then over, and inserted them in a deep pocket.
After a few short formalities, the rodian walked back to his small wall office, leaving the small group alone. Riker was the first to speak. “You use poker chips as currency?” he asked disbelievingly. Aayla laughed softly, “of course not. I simply made him believe that he was paid. I’m not particularly adept at influence, but he wasn’t very attentive. He won’t realize he was paid with those chips until we’re long gone.” Riker was taken aback, “You’re robbing him?” From what he had heard and seen of the jedi, he hadn’t expected such dishonest behavior. Aayla stared into his eyes, “We don’t have much choice do we. Besides, I will make sure that he gets his money, as soon as I am in a position to provide it.” Considering the matter closed, she turned to Jacen. “Now, maybe we should head out. Lead the way.” Jacen nodded numbly, and after a pause pointed towards the exit. “We ought to be fairly close to a cantina. We can find a pilot there.”
The companions moved out of the dank docking area and into a dingy street, populated by hurrying spacers and various disreputable characters. As they headed past holographic advertisement screens and broken streetlights, Jacen walked closer to Aayla, touching her shoulder uncomfortably. “Don’t you think that what you did was dangerous?” he asked cautiously. She gave him a sidelong glance, “It was necessary. Besides, I meant what I said, he will be paid back, and no harm will come of it.” Jacen shook his head. “No, I mean don’t you think that using the Force so bluntly was skirting a little to close to the dark side?” It was true that even Master Skywalker occasionally used gentle mind manipulation when necessary, but Jacen had always believed jedi of the Old Order had been above such necessities. Aayla gave a slightly exasperated sigh. “It is true that the path to darkness is often shrouded and abrupt, but an act like that will hardly turn me or you into a Sith. Your master should have taught you there is a fine line between caution and apathy.” Jacen considered these words. Luke Skywalker had single-handedly reformed the jedi order, and all current jedi were influenced by his teachings. By his own admission, Luke’s training was incomplete, and his teachings had been strongly affected by the dark story of Darth Vader, his father, even after his redemption. Perhaps the line between light and dark was not as thin as Luke believed.
The group blended easily into the crowd and followed it’s flow until they entered a larger and more crowded causeway, packed with merchants hawking their wares from street side stalls. Jacen stopped by information kiosk manned by a battered protocol droid to find the nearest cantina, and the others tried not to get separated in the milling crowd. As they waited, a small Cathar boy skittered down the street recklessly, and accidentally rammed into Aayla and falling to the ground. The jedi stooped over and helped the tan, whiskered child to his feet. “Are you all right?” she asked, dusting him off. The boy looked her over quickly, his large eyes lingering on the small metal tube of her lightsaber clipped to her belt. Then he shook his head, mumbled something indeterminate, and broke free melting back into the crowd. Aayla, stood up, looking after him puzzled. “Anything wrong?” Riker asked, now standing off to her side. Aayla shook her head and spook, mostly to herself, “Well, no. It’s just that I felt something strange from that boy, fear maybe.” Riker looked up at the decaying prefabricated structures and blaster pockmarks in the duracrete walls. “Well, if I lived here, I might be a little frightened too.” Then Riker motioned to where Jacen was standing, his talk with the guide done.
Their approach to the nearest cantina, an establishment called the Hazy Mynock, was short and unhindered until they were almost at the illuminated entrance, when Jacen stopped short. The others paused as well, “What's wrong?” Riker asked. The man pointed down the now crowded street, towards a steadily approaching group of figures. The six humanoids were in stark contrast to the surrounding throng, clad in blight white casts of menacing body armor. Each carried a large firearm in the crook of their arms, and followed a soldier who’s bleached form was adorned by a gray shoulder plate. “Stormtroopers,” he stated, puzzled. The imperial remnant of his day would never waste the increasingly rare Stormtrooper on such an insignificant world. In fact, the small and isolationist Empire didn’t even control the Poloon system anymore. That could mean only one thing. The Emperor was still alive at this point in time, and the Galactic Empire was still at full strength. That explained the sickening presence Jacen had felt during his meditation, and the sudden revelation shook him to the core. Here, now, Aayla and himself were fugitives, an atoms width from discovery and execution.
“Those aren’t Clonetroopers,” Aayla commented warily. Although their armor was strikingly similar, the humans inside those suits were not the clones of Jango Fett she had fought along side with, loyal and resolute. Instead, their minds were different, trained for a different purpose, a darker one. “Hide your lightsaber, quickly,” Jacen ordered in an unusually hard tone, shoving his weapon into a pocket in his vest. Aayla complied, knowing that Jacen must have good reason to fear these soldiers. Before either of the others could question the odd behavior, Jacen herded them into the dark cantina, noisy with wailing Jizz music from an entertainment module on the wall and the drunken clamor of the bar’s patrons. Pilots and mechanics of all species sat around smoky tables and at holo-terminals, drinking and generally making noise. The jedi selected a secluded table and sat them down. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to guess?” asked Riker sarcastically. Quickly, Jacen explained their predicament, of being on an Imperial controlled world during the time of Palpatine. Riker’s expression grew dark. “Then we have to find a pilot and get out of here quickly. I will not allow either of you to fall into enemy hands.” Aayla grunted, “That’s reassuring.” If these Stormtroopers were anything like the soldiers she had fought alongside with, Riker and Jossa weren’t going to be much help if the situation degenerated any further. Before Riker could respond, the security officer nudged him. “Sir, we’ve got company,” she whispered, gesturing towards the doorway to the cantina. The squad of troopers had entered, and their leader was questioning a grisly old man who seemed to be in charge of the establishment. The gnarled man was waving in their general direction. “Looks like we’ve already outstayed our welcome,” Jacen said, slowly rising, his hand hovering near the concealed lightsaber.
Riker also got up and began scanning the hazy room for exits. “Maybe we can slip into the crowd and,” “Its too late,” Aayla said softly, cutting the Commander off. Indeed, the squad had rounded the oval bar at the center of the cantina and was headed towards their table, their blasters raised to a guard position. The lead soldier stepped to the head of the table, blocking the group’s escape. “Identification,” he ordered coldly, his voice made slightly tinny by his helmet’s speaker unit. Riker stepped forward and threw on a nervous smile, “What seems to be the problem?” The stormtrooper, evidently an officer by the ornamentation on his shoulder, looked at him through cameras built into his helmet’s opaque eye bulges. “I need to see your commerce license or a valid resident ID.” He responded, a gloved finger wavering over the firing stud of his E-11 blaster rifle. Aayla took a deep breath and stepped forward, looking directly at the trooper’s face, her force presence expanding from her body. “We’re just passing through. You don’t need to see our ID.” The stormtrooper paused for a moment, staring into her beautiful eyes, his mental walls breaking. What did he need them for, and besides, he was behind schedule. He was about to turn away and lead his squad back out into the street when his stiff training, all the methods he had been taught to detect and defeat mind tricks of the hated jedi, kicked in. Ice flowed through his veins and he whirled, his blaster pointed at Aayla’s head. “Freeze, Jedi scum!”
Chapter Thirteen
Aboard the shuttlecraft Commonwealth, Beverly Crusher had her hands full. Even though the evacuation of the Enterprise had been by the book and without injury, there were numerous crewmen who had been wounded during the Columbus’s attack. “Nurse, get a splint on that broken leg and then transport him back to his pod,” the Doctor ordered, pointing at an ensign propped against the wall of here makeshift medbay. An orderly rushed to assist the man, and Beverly turned to the remainder of her patients. Over the last few hours, most serious injuries had been stabilized, and the only people left were the ones with various broken bones and cuts. The doctor was relieved that the cue of men and women waiting for attention had dwindled to a handful; she was running out of both energy and medical supplies.
After binding one last wound, Dr. Crusher turned her attention to the most interesting case on the vessel. Lying on a makeshift bed at the very back of the small shuttle and accompanied by an armed guard were the still unconscious gray alien who had arrived a week ago and, more interestingly, one of the mutants who had boarded the Enterprise during the battle. Taking up a medical tricorder she began scanning the deformed creature, which was still under the watchful eye of the guard. Information began flowing across the device’s screen and Beverly took it in intently. Whatever it was now, the thing had once been human, although most of its internal organs, dermal tissue, and nervous system were now completely alien. Without more advanced medical equipment, she couldn’t place what had caused the changes, but judging by the cracked, skin that still surrounded violet and red scales, she judged that it had happened very quickly, perhaps in a day or two. Then she spied something even more unusual on the readout and called a nurse over.
“Yes Dr. Crusher?” the young man asked, trying to avert his eyes from the corrupted thing on the table. Beverly handed him the tricorder. “What do make of this, the readings near the right lung?” The man looked over the instrument, puzzled. “It would appear that there is a large amount of hydrogen and nitrogen in a cavity attached to the centrally lobe.” Beverly nodded, “Yes, that’s what I thought. I cant image what purpose it would serve though, or even how he’s still alive with that bulge so close to his lungs.” The orderly thought for a moment. “Perhaps they can ignite the sacks, there were reports of some of the creatures blowing up onboard the Enterprise.” The doctor nodded in agreement. This made sense, and it appeared that whatever had changed this human, it was meant to turn him into a weapon.
For the next half an hour, the two examined the mutant, taking bio-readings and skin samples for further study. Finally, she dismissed the nurse and set about compiling a preliminary report. It occurred to her as she filed the data into a portable recorder that no one at Starfleet Med might ever see or hear this report, that the entire could be trapped in this unknown universe for the rest of their lives, but she quickly repressed the notion. There was work to be done, and she wouldn’t have it be interrupted. Unfortunately for Dr. Crusher’s report, something else broke her concentration. As she was staring out the viewport, think of a classification to place her subject’s injuries under, a surge of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning her gaze, she momentarily thought it was Riker’s Runabout returning, but only a quick glance told her differently.
The Imperial Star Destroyer Torrent slid out of the blackness of hyperspace with majestic and powerful glace, its gray hull obscuring the starry void of space. Fresh from the shipyards of Kuat, the mighty imperial warship was a full kilometer long, and was armed with enough weaponry to lay waste to an entire planet in a day. Its iconic wedge-shaped hull was feared throughout the galaxy; wherever the Emperor’s corruption and might had spread they enforced his will through terror and raw force. Even by themselves, these ships could subjugate entire civilizations, and they had done so many times.
On the T-shaped bridge of this monstrous city of durasteel and armor plate, Captain Meterin Coloth stared into space, past ominous frame of his ship. In the distance, he could make out pinpricks of light, his prey. Hearing the muffled clank of footsteps behind him, the Captain turned to see a brown-uniformed lieutenant giving him a stiff salute.
“Report.” The young man smartly placed his arms at his sides. “Our sensors confirm that the craft off the starboard bow are the same identified by our observation post in the Casserta system,” he stated in Coruscant-accented basic. “We are detecting at least a hundred small craft, probably escape pods. None are armed.” The Captain nodded in recognition, frowning slightly. He had hoped for more of a challenge. “Begin bringing them aboard. Send four teams to escort the passengers to the detainment block; I want them all alive for questioning. Find their leader and bring him to me, I will deal with him personally.” The junior officer saluted sharply and moved off between the crew pits that split the bridge. Coloth turned back to the observation windows and watched as squadrons of Tie fighters began to form a perimeter around the distant escape ships. As the Torrent moved within range of its tractor beam projectors, He contemplated his new mission. Only a few hours ago, he had received orders from sector command pulling him off his normal patrol route and diverting him to this deserted patch of space. His only orders had been to detain any ships he found there and question their commander on his identification and purpose in the area. Vague orders were common enough and Coloth was as loyal an officer as one could be, but he still was curious to what importance these tiny ships could have. Then he sighed resignedly, and continued his observation of the capture effort.
“Have they made any attempt to communicate?” asked Picard anxiously, seated in the cockpit of the Horatio as the tiny ship was dragged towards the unidentified colossus of a starship that lay before him. “ Negative sir,” the officer at the controls stated. “They just launched fighter craft and began bringing our ships with a graviton emitter of some kind.” The Captain had hoped to attract a rescue ship with their distress beacon, but he had hoped that their saviors would be more sociable. Then again, they had taken no offensive action yet, and some cultures behaved differently during first contact situations than others, so the Captain could only hope they were friendly. Of course, judging by the readings of the armament and structure of the other ship, there wouldn’t be much the scattered fleet could do against them even if action was required. The Horatio’s sensors couldn’t penetrate the thick, unknown alloy that encased the craft, but visual scanning revealed it was covered in hundreds of bulges and structures that looked suspiciously like weapons installations.
“Signal the rest of the escape craft. Have then lower their shields and cooperate with whoever is on that ship,” Picard ordered the pilot. “Lets just hope I can reach an agreement with our hosts.” By this time, Picard’s shuttle was being pulled under the bow of the enormous starship, towards a vast opening in the titan’s underbelly that was nearly the size of the Enterprise itself. The ship dwarfed any vessel in the Federation’s arsenal, and was almost the size of some of some of its larger space stations. Any race that could construct such a ship had to be at least as advanced as humanity and its allies, if not more so. The Captain rose, straightening his uniform and trying to recall the dozens of first contact missions he had conducted for the Federation. Such missions were always fulfilling, and Picard was typically able to work them out equitably, but he had a strange feeling this time, a sense of foreboding.
The Horatio was guided slowly up into the massive, brightly light bay and touched softly to the ground. After the pilot confirmed the outside environment was livable, Picard motioned for the three other crewmen aboard the vessel to remain where they were and opened the ship’s hatch. With a faint his, the door pulled away, revealing a truly cavernous facility. Before him stretched black, polished floor plates that stretched to gray, unadorned walls some fifty meters away. Around his shuttle, escape craft and shuttles from the Enterprise were being deposited in orderly rows, pulled up through the gaping entry point in the floor, who’s energy shield flickered each time a ship passed through, holding in atmosphere. As the Captain stepped to the deck, throngs of humanoids disgorged from entry points in the towering walls, clad in shades of white and black. Most had their faces obscured by armor or darkened screens, but to the Captain’s surprise, the few with unprotected heads were plainly human. Suddenly, it occurred to the Captain that these people might be of the same group as Jacen, the human jedi who was with Riker on the Runabout. Encouraged by this possibility, Picard flipped the universal translator clipped to his side on.
The denizens of the huge starship began splitting into groups and proceeding to each of the Starfleet vessels, and a group approached the Captain. These were six of them, each dressed in full body white armor and carrying a black device that Picard suspected was a weapon. The lead soldier stepped forward, “Where is your commander?” it asked in a flat tone, the translator whirring to change the speech into English. Relieved that they spoke in a tongue that the device could interpret, the Captain replied, “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets.” Before he could continue the introduction, the lead soldier cut him off. “He’s the Captain. Escort him to interrogation chamber one.” At this order, three of the troopers moved over to the Captain, and one grabbed his hands, placing them in bulky metal binders. This was definitely not the reception Picard hoped for. “We come in peace. Our ship was destroyed in an accident, and we simply required aide,” the Captain tried to assuage his captors, but they were already shoving him towards the nearest exit, their weapons aimed at the small of his back.
All around him, the white-armored troopers were herding his crew off their ships. Most were too bewildered to resist, and the rest were still under orders to cooperate with their captors, but some were still less than friendly. Just as he was approaching the exit, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure, the one called The Arbiter he remembered, lunge at the white armored troopers. Two soldiers jammed the butts of their rifles into his back, but he knocked them back and was about to grab one of their weapons when the others opened fire with blue jets of light. Four hit him at once, and the Elite’s shields flickered. He staggered then lunged for the nearest attacker, bowling him to the ground. More bolts of light hit the warrior and he twitched violently, but still managed to move forward. It took another volley of blue fire to send him sprawling to the ground. In spite of himself, Picard began to move towards the fallen elite, but a trooper put a hand on his shoulder and stated, “They are using stun blasts, he is uninjured.” There was something different about the voice of this particular soldier, but Picard couldn’t place it. Abruptly, he was shoved again towards the door. “Keep moving.”
Stripped of his com badge, Picard was thrown into a small, black room light only by a bright ceiling light and furnished with a single metal table and two hard metal seats. Sighing, he slid into an uncomfortable chair and waited. This was definitely not the reception he was hoping for. After only a few minutes, the cell door slid open, and a tall, clean-shaven man walked in. He was dressed in a stiff, gray uniform, and flanked by two white-armored soldiers. He was perhaps a few years older than Picard with graying black hair and walked with a sort of aristocratic grace. He took a seat across from Picard and the troopers took up places behind him. “Identify yourself and explain why you are infringing on Imperial space,” he ordered calmly. The order was simple and straightforward, and Picard hoped he had been given a chance to turn a bad situation around. The translator, which had fortunately been left in Picard’s possession, whirred to life as the Captain began his tale. He gave an abbreviated account of the last week, mentioning the transporter incident, the battle with the Columbus, and the Enterprise’s destruction. Picard noted that the man across the table smiled slightly when he mentioned the jedi. When he had finished, Picard sat back in his chair, waiting for the interrogator to make the next move.
After a long pause, the man spoke. “You realize that if any of what you have just told me is a lie, I will begin executing your crew?” This statement alarmed Picard to the extreme. Even after their unnecessarily violent capture, the Captain had not expected such blunt brutality from people who were obviously so advanced. “What I have told you is completely true. My crew and I did not know we were infringing on Imperial space. We only wish to return to our own dimensional plane,” Picard replied, hiding the consternation in his voice. The officer considered this. “You mentioned jedi. Where are they now?” Picard was about to respond that they had accompanied commander Riker on his mission to find help when something in the imperial’s tone triggered a piece of his memory. During one of the information exchanges aboard the Enterprise, Jacen had mentioned that most of the Jedi had been wiped out during a massive political upheaval and an organization known as the Galactic Empire had instituted a campaign of genocide to wipe out the rest, and even though they were in Jacen’s past, it had already been evidenced that the wormhole could transport through both space and time. Those imperials and his captors must be one in the same, and they could not be trusted. From the way Jacen had described them, he had already said too much. “The jedi died trying to help some of my crew off the ship. It detonated before they could escape,” he lied. A grin split the officer’s face. “You’re lying.” He rose and motioned to his guards to grab Picard. “I will enjoy getting the information I seek out of you Picard. You look to be a worthy opponent.” Before Picard could protest, the stormtroopers jerked him out of his seat. “Take him to Detention Block Two. Implement information extraction procedure theta.” The officer smiled again, and left the room, leaving Picard only seconds to mull over what he had just done before the butt of a blaster rifle slammed into his head and blackness slid over his eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
The stormtrooper corporal and his blaster arm lay separated on the ground beneath a hail of energy discharges. Next to him, a heavy table stood on its side, blaster marks turning its thick surface black. The remained of the imperial patrol was hunkered behind a nearby drink dispenser, concentrating fire on the overturned table as throngs of frightened civilians ran past them, clogging the cantina’s exit in a desperate attempt to get out of the crossfire.
“Any ideas?” Riker asked as a crimson bolt slammed into the wall next to him. Next to him, Jossa, Jacen and Aayla were crouching in-between the table and the ferrocrete wall of the cantina. Jossa squeezed a shot off from her phaser, which had been concealed in her overalls, and quickly withdrew as the area where her hand had been half a second before was filled with blaster fire. “We need a way out of her before they bring reinforcements,” she said through gritted teeth. The two jedi crouched, lightsabers in hand, waiting for a pause in the fire. “I think we can take them out, there are only five after all,” Aayla commented. Jacen shook his head, “No, its too risky. Even if we managed it, their reinforcements would have the front door covered before we could leave.”
“Then how do you propose we get out?”
Jacen glanced at the gritty wall and then shuffled towards it. “Keep them off me for a moment.” To Riker’s surprise, Jacen plunged his blue blade into the wall. With only minimal effort, he slowly drew a semicircle of molten rock from the walls base. Then he kicked at the slab and it slid outward. “A way out,” he said blandly. Riker grinned at him and then he motioned Jossa towards the new, rolling out after her. Jacen then glanced at Aayla as she deflected a stray bolt. “Coming?” The Twi’lek warrior was about to say something sarcastic when a concentrated volley of fire blasted a hole through the edge of the table. “Well, lets go,” is all she said as she ducked through opening, Jacen close behind.
The group emerged into a dimly light alley, faintly illuminated by the dusk sky. Jacen took a quick look around and pointed away from the main street. “They’ll have more patrols along the main street. Where going to have to make it back to the ship along an alternate route.” As Jacen started to hurry down the narrow alley, Riker placed a hand on his shoulder. “We haven’t found a pilot yet who can pick up the rest of the crew. We can’t leave until we found one,” he said firmly. Jacen turned to face him. “With all due respect commander, we are wanted on this planet now, and the Empire won’t stop until Aayla and I are captured or killed,” he sighed. “At the very least, we have to get out of the immediate area.” Riker stared at him for a quick moment and then nodded resignedly. “Jossa, can you raise commander Data on the com?” Riker asked, as the group ran down the side street. Before the officer could tap her badge, Aayla stopped her. “No. They might be able to track the signal. We just have to hope they figure out something’s wrong.”
“The information net in this city is really quite amazing. From what I can tell, this facility serves transports from all over the galaxy, and this is only a minor trade route. I wonder how many centuries it’s taken this civilization to build up to this level?” Master Chief, who was leaning, cross-armed next to the shuttle’s access door, simply nodded. He had been listing to Cortana’s narrated journey through the communications network of Starlane city for nearly an hour, and her voice was beginning to form background noise. Further in the shuttle, Worf and his security man waited restlessly and Data studied the layout of the city through passive sensor scans to pass the time. Suddenly the drawl of Cortana’s voice over the Chief’s helmet stopped. He perked up. “What is it Cortana?”
“I’m not sure. There was just a dramatic increase in unencrypted general frequency calls through the broadcast net. Looks like military or police activity.” The Chief uncrossed his arms. “Can you translate it?” Cortana paused for a moment. “I downloaded the Federation Universal translator algorithms and I think they can be applied, hold on.” After a moment, the voice of a man came over the speaker, the ships speaker the Chief noted, so all aboard could hear. “…In sector four, area five. Reports are four targets, armed. Possible class J’s. Highest priority, recommend all available patrols converge.” The transmission cut out. Master Chief walked back into the main chamber, where the others were now assembled. “Could they be tracking the commander?” Worf asked. “Whoever it is, they’re very hot properties,” Cortana responded. “The way I’m reading this, every security force and military unit on the planet is responding.” Data frowned. “Do the transmissions name the military organization?” he asked. “Yes, they refer to the Galactic Empire I believe,” she responded, puzzled. “Why do you ask?” Without answering, Data turned and headed for the cockpit. Puzzled by the android’s unusual behavior, the Chief followed him. Data took the helm and began initiating the drive systems. “Why are you powering up the ship Lieutenant Commander?”
Data continued entering commands, and the engines thrummed to life beneath their feet. “I recalled information that Jacen Solo divulged during one of the Captain’s cultural exchanges. He mentioned a genocidal organization seizing control of the galaxy and implementing a campaign to eradicate the Jedi Order. Although they were defeated by Jacen’s time, it is possible that the wormhole transported us into the past. If this is true, then Commander Riker’s team is in a great risk of being detained, and it is highly likely they are being pursued right now.” The Chief took the revelation in stride and immediately opened up the com to the AI construct. “Cortana, begin tracing those imperial signals. We need to follow them.” “On it,” she replied, and delved back into the communication network.
Master Chief was running to the rear hatch to seal it when Cortana suddenly spoke again. “Chief, I think we have a problem. It looks like the imperials have tracked Commander Riker’s team back here to this docking bay. We don’t have much time until…” A blaster bolt impacting the side of the shuttlecraft silenced her. “We’ve got company.” By the time the Spartan reached the entry hatch, stormtroopers were pouring out of the docking bay’s door and hosing the small craft with laser fire. In a single fluid motion the Chief swung his assault rifle of his shoulder and into his armored hands. He pulsed the trigger twice into the nearest white-armored soldier, and bullets slammed into the target’s head, knocking him to the ground. As the grim helmet rolled off, the Chief caught a glimpse of a human face and felt a momentary pang of guilt. He didn’t enjoy killing, and having to fight humans made it worse, but as a red bolt particle beam was absorbed by his shields, decades of military training kicked in and he opened fire again. This volley hit another trooper square in the chest, but to the Chief’s surprise, he only staggered slightly under the impact, the flattened bullets falling to the ground. It took another four rounds perfectly aimed at the spot to pierce the white armor and send the human to the ground. In the face of such resistance, Master Chief switched his tactics, instead firing on the unarmored black joint sections of the troopers. After expending a clip, the Chief dove behind the safety of the shuttle hull, and slapped the hatch close control. The metal door slowly closed and sealed shut with a hiss, but the soldier could still hear blaster fire impacting the hull.
He looked up to see Worf and Maxwell standing in the small hallway, phaser rifles in hand. “I really don’t think you want to go out there,” the Chief commented, his shield indicator slowly recharging. Before Worf could respond, the floor beneath them bucked and the shuttle’s repulsors came online. The three hurried back to the front of the ship as it began to rise from the chaotic landing pad. They had almost made it to the cockpit when an explosion rocked the vessel. Worf stumbled into the cockpit in time to see a flash of light and feel another explosion. “What was that?” Beside him, Data was working the controls, a simulated look of deep concentration on his face. “As soon as we exited the docking facility, a squadron of small fighter craft opened fire on the Runabout. We sustained damage be for I was able to raise shields.” Through the viewport, Worf could make out several small vehicles make wide banking turns over the cityscape. “They are making another attack run,” Data commented, increasing power to the shields. The three small craft plunged towards them, spewing green fire. They were H-shaped craft, with small cockpits mounted between two hexagonal wings. The shuttle shook as more laser fire impacted the shields and Data began to roll the ship to evade them.
“Is this ship armed?” Master Chief asked, looking over the android’s shoulder. “Negative. The Runabout is only equipped with a class D shield generator,” Data responded. “That system is down to sixty percent.” Then Cortana provided more bad news. “I am picking up reports that an imperial cruiser has just entered the system and is dispatching its own fighters. Evidently we are a high priority on their too kill list.” This statement was compounded by yet another explosion, shaking the shuttle’s shields further. “At this rate, I don’t think there will be anything left of us by the time they get here.”
The shuttle wove through and spun through traffic lanes and around the city’s few skyscrapers, but the pursuing ships were far faster and more maneuverable. They chipped away at the fleeing craft’s shields blast by blast until a pair of emerald beams penetrated the shimmering barrier; sending the craft spinning, smoke pouring from ruptured hull. Chunks of carbonized metal began to sheer of and the craft slowly tilted towards the jumbled slums of the city below. As its altitude began to decline, all but one of the Tie Fighter pilots broke off, their job done. The final one however, caught up in the thrill of battle, continued pouring flame into the burning hulk even as it began to skim the building tops. Then suddenly wit one last burst from the shuttle’s smoking nacelles, it stopped short, the force of the sudden change in velocity shearing of one the right engine and sending it spinning into the urban sprawl. The remained of the ship however tumbled backwards, its remaining engine sputtering as the last of its energy drained. The last thing the pilot of the ambitious Tie Fighter ever saw was the burning cockpit of his prey ramming through his viewscreen.
“No!” Riker mouthed as the fused remnants of the two combatants fell into the city below. Beside him Aleen Jossa also stared skyward, her mouth gaping in horror. The two jedi inclined their heads to honor those aboard who had fallen, and Jacen couldn’t help but feel that their deaths were on his shoulders. Aayla patted his back soothingly, as if reading his thoughts. “Its not your fault Jacen, not our fault. There was no way to know that the Empire would be here, that they would come after us.” Jacen nodded slowly, but there was still a cold feeling in his heart. Aayla sighed and turned to Riker, who was still staring into the sky in shock. “There’s nothing we can do for them now,” she said softly. “We can’t stay here anymore, the patrols are right behind us.” Riker looked at her in cold fury. He had just lost two of his best men, his friends. Visions of Data and Worf flashed before his eyes, Data’s quest for humanity that would never be completed, Worf’s constant struggle with his heritage, the weekly poker games that they had shared. But then he imagined Worf’s annoyance at their lack of action and he straightened up.
“Let’s move out. Now finding a transport is all the more important.” The Commander saw that Aleen still stood motionless and he remembered that she had lost a comrade as well. However, the security officer was strong, and when she felt the gazes of the others on her, she tightened her grip on her phaser and gave a slight nod to Riker. “I’m ready sir.” And so the group continued their rapid route down the back alleyways, demoralized, but not beaten.
Chapter Fifteen
“By the gods, what an ache.” That was the Arbiter’s first thought as the effects of multiple stun blasts wore off and he regained consciousness. Slowly, he brought a large hand up to his head to make sure it was still there, and then pushed himself to a sitting position. He then open and closed his jaws, clearing the saliva that had gathered in them. After the uncomfortable groggy sensation in his brain passed, he experimentally opened one eye, and then the other. As his vision cleared, a small, darkly light room came into view. The small blockish chamber was totally black colored and not tall enough for the elite to stand up fully. It was empty save for him and two low benches that jutted from each wall. The Arbiter was about to rise when he noticed that the chamber was not totally Empty. Across from him, squeezed into the furthest corner more tightly than he would have believed possible, was a slightly shivering human. He was dressed in the same bright uniform that those aboard the lost human vessel had been draped. A fairly tall man, which made his attempt to hide all the more remarkable, the man had brownish hair and a slightly mousy face, although the Arbiter had never been good at telling any humans apart by their faces.
“Tell me what has occurred,” he rumbled in slightly accented English. The human’s eyes widened and he issued a small squeak. For a moment the Arbiter was puzzled by this response, and then he remembered how much more physically impressive his kind were than the humans. The Arbiter sighed and spoke as gently as he could. “I do not wish to harm you human, I simply require knowledge of what this place is and how we came to it.” The human looked at him for a long while, evidently weighing the consequences of silence or conversation, and then stammered, “A-after the ship took us aboard, they started herding us into these cells. We’ve been in here for hours. I d-don’t know anything else.” The Arbiter took this in and then began checking his person. Their captors had stripped him of most of his armors, as well as the translator he had been given and the few personal effects warriors carried. The elite then rose, having to stoop slightly to stand, and proceeded to the cell’s door. It was an opaque black plate set in the wall several centimeters off the ground, and totally solid. He rapped on it several times, and only gleaning a dull thud of flesh on metal, returned to his bench.
The human was still curled up in the corner, but he began to eye the Arbiter with more curiosity than fear. The Arbiter was not particularly predisposed to make conversation with one of his species, or of any for that matter, but he would need the being’s help if he had any hope of escaping yet another prison. “What is your name human?” he asked. The man gulped, “Lieutenant Reginald Barclay.” Humans have such short and incongruous names, the Arbiter mused, unlike the majestic, flowing names of his people. That memory suddenly caused the Arbiter to twinge as he recalled that his dishonor meant he could never use his given name again. “You may refer to me as the Arbiter.”
In the tiny cell, the passage of time was impossible to determine, but the Arbiter supposed he and the jittery human Barclay sat in near silence for several hours, with nothing to do but look at each other suspiciously. Neither was particularly inclined towards conversation and so the elite took up rapping the prison’s solid walls incessantly, searching for a weakness he might exploit. As the warrior banged on the doorplate for the forty-ninth time, Barclay finally spoke up, his voice irritated and distraught. “It’s not working you know. There’s no way out of here, not until they come and drag us off some place worse.” The elite whirled around and stared at the comparatively tiny human coldly. Barclay emitted a small squeak, and scrunched back into the wall. Sighing imperceptibly, the Arbiter turned back to his work, now sure he disliked the timid and cowardly being.
As he raised his tri-digit knuckle to strike the impassible barrier again, it opened suddenly with a puff of hydraulics. Beyond it was revealed a narrow, black walled hallway light by a mild orange glow. The more unwelcome sight was a trio of heavily armed stormtroopers standing in it, their weapons pointing at his unarmored chest. For a moment, the Arbiter considered springing upon them like a raw recruit, disregarding whatever other dangers might be in the passage beyond. However, years of battlefield experience had taught him to be cautious and only act rashly when absolutely necessary. So the warrior stepped backwards into the cell, his stance one of wary submission. The lead trooper motioned with his rifle, “You two are being transferred. Lets go.” The Arbiter stepped slowly into the hall, and the other two troopers quickly placed a metal restraint band around his wrists. The warrior however was already sizing up his surroundings.
They were in the middle of a long, narrow hallway, with dozens of solid cell doors placed on either wall. At the end of the passage, the elite could make out an opening to a larger room populated by several distant figures. A difficult situation, but he would find a way to escape his captors, there was always a way if one looked hard enough.
Reginald Barclay however was not so willing to comply with his jailers, and the lead soldier had to pry the frightened Lieutenant out of the small chamber with considerable effort. When Barclay was finally dislodged, shackled, and pushed into line with the elite, the stormtroopers began to head them down the hallway. The group exited into the security chamber, where three black clad unarmored humans worked at computer terminals. They glanced up at them and eyed the Arbiter suspiciously, but the turbolift doors set in the wall opened, and the group walked in. In the confined space, the Arbiter again considered attacking the troopers, but there was no way to know where or to what the transport would open to, so he waited motionless. Beside him, Barclay stood silently, drenched in a cold sweat, his eyes twitching back and forth. Again the Arbiter sighed silently, sure that the human would be a severe liability in a fight.
The lift doors slid open at last, and they stepped out into another passageway, this one brightly light and gray in hue. As the prisoners were marched down it’s broad length, they passed numerous human crewmembers, mostly men dressed in drab browns and grays. Intermittently, white armored soldiers and black naval guards stood at intersections and grouped into patrols. With this level of security around, escape would be all but impossible, but the elite remained resolute. There would be a way, he just had to wait. Finally, their guards herded them down a side passage and into a room marked with boxy lettering the Arbiter could not read.
To the warrior’s great surprise, the room he found himself in was not another cell or an interrogation chamber, but what appeared to be a barracks of some sort. It was a long room, one wall lined with low sleeping pads and the other a row of tall lockers, and at the far end was what appeared to be a small mess hall and shower station. The only occupant of the room was a lone trooper, naked from the waist up, sitting on a low bench and shedding his armor. When he saw them enter, the soldier, a rough looking man with short black hair, stood up in alarm. “You can’t take them in here, it’s a restricted area! Are you brain-dead?” he shouted, pointing a finger at the stormtrooper lead, who was now approaching the off duty man. “Sorry sir, but I thought I might need your clearance on this transfer,” the armored man supplicated as the irate soldier reached for his Blastech rifle. He cocked his head suspiciously. “I don’t recognize your voice. What is your operating number?” The rifle was swinging slowly towards the trooper. “Of course sir, I’ll show you my number, but you really ought to see this first,” said the targeted soldier. Then, before the other man could react, the butt of the Stormtrooper’s gun knifed into his unarmored neck, sending him sprawling across a bed pad, quite unconscious.
The Arbiter and Barclay stood in astonished silence as the other two troopers undid their restraints. The lead stormtrooper motioned for the others to hide the prone form lying behind him and then moved towards the two newly freed prisoners. He pulled off the white helmet to reveal a middle-aged man, his head shaven save for a small ponytail. From his utility belt he withdrew a small metal disk, a Federation translator, and tossed it to Barclay. “Look, I’ll cut right to the chase. Me and my men are from the Rebel Alliance and were here to get you and your buds of this fierkirk of a ship,” he said planting his gloved hands on his hips. “I can’t get into the specifics right now, but all I need you to do is help us get that captain of yours outta here.” The Arbiter looked at the human suspiciously, this intervention was too convenient. “Why should I aid you? Why do you wish to help us?” The man sighed exasperatedly. “Look, you guys have two choices; either you help us and we maybe all get out of here, or I stun you both, say you escaped, and leave the lot of you here ‘till they send the IT-droids to scramble your brains.” Upon hearing this, Barclay suddenly stepped forward. “Oh, I’m sure we can assist you in the escape attempt,” he said quickly, looking pleadingly at the Arbiter. For the third time since meeting him, the elite sighed, irritated by his jittery behavior. Still, from the looks of the security onboard the ship that held them, escape would be virtually impossible without the rebel’s aide.
“Very well, but be warned. If I suspect a betrayal, you will join your gods before you can mutter a prayer.” The rebel glared at the warrior for a moment, and then grunted a laugh. “I don’t have any gods, and if I did, I sure as heck wouldn’t be praying to ‘em before I tasted space.” Despite the human’s crude mannerisms and swagger, the Arbiter could feel that there was more to him than met the eye. The man walked over to a locker and took out a large, bulky sack, which he tossed to the Arbiter. “We managed to swipe some of your gear from the security room.” The Arbiter peered into the bag and was gratified to see his silver armor in it, as well as the small pouch that contained various energy cells, his optical magnifier, and a few other items. “Names Truul by the way, Truul Besteen.” The Arbiter nodded in thanks and began to replace his body armor, suddenly eager now that a chance for action presented itself.
By this time, the other rebels had returned from hiding the body and were standing at lose attention by the exit. One of them pointed at Barclay, who was trying to stay out of everyone’s way. “Hey sir, what about him?” Truul regarded the out of place engineer speculatively. “Well, we can’t leave him here. Suit him up.” At this Barclay looked up, pointing at himself nervously. “Suit me… up?”
Several decks above the armory, through thousands of tons of metal and machinery, Dr. Fillus Hykar examined his subject eagerly. He stood in one of the Torrent’s numerous sickbays, a large hypodermic cutting laser in his hand. The Doctor enjoyed his work, and patients had been few since he had been assigned to the Torrent, but today that had changed. Before him lay an alien unlike any he had seen before, taken from the escape pods that the Captain had recovered. The creature was over two meters tall, covered in gray scaly skin, and remarkably, seemed to posses no mouth or other communication orifice. However, what intrigued Hykar the most were the anomalous brain readings he was picking up from the subject, who had been unconscious since its discovery. This excited him because with the kinds of readings he was getting appeared to indicate telepathy, and there were very few telepaths left in the galaxy. During the beginnings of his New Order, the Emperor had ordered the expulsion or execution of all who might oppose him, and that included mind readers. That particular purge had been very successful, and of the few who existed before the Empire, almost none remained. The chance to study a living one in person was more than the professional could have hoped for.
Technically, he had been ordered to simply revive the creature so it could be interrogated, but certain orders could be bypassed with a little skill. Studying neural pathways while the subject brain was intact inside a host was extremely tedious, and besides, he could simply say the subject suffered an irreparable stroke during revival. No one on the ship had the expertise to contradict him. He motioned for a medical droid to come over, “Prep for vivisection, complete nervous system extraction.” The droid responded in the affirmative and walked over to the odd, flattish head of the subject, medical instruments outstretched. The doctor then activated a sterile field over the table and began to adjust the setting on his laser. “Begin recording: Subject 003 ready for operation. Procedure will begin with incision at the ancillary cranial lobe,” he stated as the droid recorded. Dr. Hykar rubbed his hands together in anticipation and then pointed the small device at the prone form’s head, his hands close to the gray skin. He found the spot he was looking for, a small groove in the side of the head and his finger moved towards the triggering stud.
The subject’s huge black eyes flashed open.
Chapter Sixteen
“I can’t see in this thing,” Barclay complained as the group of infiltrators and escapees rode the turbolift that adjoined the crew quarters. “Get used to it,” said one of the disguised rebels brusquely. “We’ve had to wear these things for weeks.” Barclay muttered something resentful and twisted his white helmet around, trying to match it’s imaging system with his eyes. “Cut the chatter you two, were almost to our stop,” Truul ordered. As he said this, the lift doors slid opened and the group stepped into an empty hall. They formed a facsimile of a guard position around the Arbiter, still feigning his capture, although the restraints on his wrists were unfastened. The ruse might fool the average passerby, but if anyone decided to check them out, the plan would quickly degenerate into a running blaster run to the detention area that the Captain and Command crew were being held in.
When they reached an intersection, Truul stopped them, looked around quickly to make sure that the halls were empty, and turned. “All right, the secondary bay is down that corridor. Charen, take the Lieutenant, and make sure he stays out of trouble. Provide the docking controllers with the order codes I found and get a shuttle ready. And do it quick, things will start getting pretty hot around here in a few minutes.” One of the false troopers nodded and grabbed Barclay’s shoulder, “Come on, and try to keep yourself quiet.” The two hurried off, Barclay looking bewildered even in his obscuring armor.
As the troopers disappeared, the Arbiter whispered to the rebel leader. “And what do you propose that we do now? Even if they ready a transport, how will we retrieve Picard and the others?” Beneath his mask, Truul grinned. “We walk in and take ‘em.”
The path to the main detention facility was short and relatively clear, and the would-be rescuers only had to resort to their prison transfer guise twice, and they drew little attention. However, as the main cellblock grew nearer, the security increased significantly. Standing guard over the wide reinforced doors were two pairs of stormtroopers at stiff attention. As Truul approached, they trained their blasters on him. “What is your business here soldier?” one of them asked sternly. Truul snapped a quick salute. “TK 2239 sir. I’m under orders to transport this prisoner from ancillary detention facility delta.” The questioning stormtrooper moved closer, his concealed eyes sizing up the bluish giant behind TK. “I wasn’t informed of any transfers today. Who authorized this?” Truul was about to spout the phony story he had come up for just this eventuality when the Arbiter leapt into action. He pulled his wrists apart, and the unlocked binders slipped off easily. Even before the manacles hit the floor, the elite had slammed his fist into the stormtrooper’s gut, sending him careening into the nearby bulkhead, unconscious. Truul and the other rebel then opened up on the remaining troopers, who were hastily aiming their blasters, shocked by the sudden turn of events. They only managed a few wild shots before crimson blasts had perforated their armor and sent them to the floor. Side stepping the bodies, the second rebel hurried over to the door panel. He rapidly tapped in a few commands and then slumped slightly in relief. “The blast door isn’t sealed. The hatch must be soundproof,” he informed the others. Rather than be grateful however, Truul shook his head angrily. “Doesn’t matter. I’d planned on getting in their and cutting off the power to their comms before we opened up, but now will have to go in there blasting, and they’ll have plenty off time to tell the whole blazing ship were.” He shot a dirty look at the Arbiter, although his helmet blocked the gesture from view. “Thought you said you were a tactician.” The Arbiter ignored the insult. “You and I both know full well that that soldier would have seen through your rouse. In any event, there may still yet be a way to salvage this situation. My armor employs a limited stealth system, and I may be able to eliminate most of the guards in there before they can raise the alert.” Truul looked up at the Arbiter’s face in surprise. “Damn soldier, why didn’t you tell me that before? Would have made this mess a whole lot simpler.”
The cellblock door slid open, and the men in the security room looked up. There were five of them; two trim officers standing at observation monitors, a stormtrooper Lieutenant, and two lightly armored naval personnel. Upon seeing that the hall beyond the doors was empty, the quiet conversation the two crewmen were having ceased. One of them slowly reached for a pistol mounted to the underside of his terminal and called out, “What's going on out there?” The stormtrooper officer standing nearby tapped into his helmet transceiver. After a moment he shook his head. “No response from my men sir.” Now the others in the room were drawing their weapons. Suddenly, from behind them, one of the naval troopers let out a cry, and the others wheeled around. “What the…” Over the crumpled body of the unfortunate man was a shimmering specter, barely visible next the room’s dark walls.
Before any could fire on the liquid form, a jet of angular blue fire erupted in the middle of the air. The Covenant plasma sword, mark of status and rank among the Elites, shown brightly, pouring forth from the hilt held in the Arbiter’s clutched fist. The massive wedge of flame leapt forth, scything through the other naval soldier like he was paper. The last stormtrooper opened fire, but at that close range, the specter deftly dodged the burning shots, and plunged his sparking blade into the attacker. As the trooper collapsed, one of the crewmen managed to get of a shot from his pistol, but in his panic he missed the shadowy form and instead hit one of the room’s security turrets, melting its firing chamber. Just then, the rebels rushed in, blasting the other ceiling turret and sending the pistol-wielding officer to the ground. The other officer backed away from the carnage slowly, fumbling blindly for a panic alarm switch. The Arbiter stalked toward him, his stealth field melting away. Upon seeing him in the light, in all his terrible and majestic glory, the blue of his blade glinting of silver armor and a fire in his eyes, the officer collapsed to the deck plate in terror. The warrior raised his weapon to deliver the final blow, but instead he rapped the human on the side of the skull with his free fist, knocking him out. Any other of his kind would have gloried in the senseless slaughter of a human being, fueled by blood lust and blind fanaticism, but the Arbiter was passed that. He fought to win, not glory in the death of his foes.
The two disguised rebels rushed up to him. “Couldn’t have done it better myself,” Truul said, looking around the body strewn floor. “We could use you in the alliance son.” The other rebel pulled an officer of his control terminal and entered a few commands. “The command crew is being held in the west subsection,” he said, gesturing for a side door. “Picard is in the main interrogation chamber, just down the main hallway. Truul nodded. “Alright, try to round up as many of the crew as you can find and give ‘em weapons. Getting out of here isn’t going to be as easy as getting in.” The rebel hefted his rifle and headed for the nearby door, wearily watching out for surviving imperials. Then Truul gestured down the long hall that opened from directly behind the control room, and the two warriors moved out, plasma sword still burning in the Arbiter’s hand.
The two rushed down the hallway, bypassing the cells that lined the halls in favor of the door at the very end. They flanked the entryway, and when the Arbiter nodded, Truul slapped the door’s control pad. The barrier slid open, and the two swung inside. The room beyond was small and spartan, dominated by a single large metal table at its center. Lying on this table lay Captain Picard, bruised and cut, his once clean uniform ripped and stained from sweat. Above him hovered a large round droid studded with all manner of sensor devices and syringes, one of the empire’s infamous IT-O interrogation droids. Beside Picard stood a tall officer, dressed in a crisp brown uniform, who was evidently interrogating him. He stooped in mid sentence and glanced towards the opened door, no doubt expecting one of the stormtroopers who lay in the hall. Seeing instead the towering Arbiter and a trooper with his blaster pointing towards him, the man stepped back, momentarily confused. Then realization dawned on him.
“Escaping from the Torrent’s detention facilities is quite a feat. You must be both very competent warriors.” Rather than respond to the obvious stalling tactic, Truul turned his blaster on the floating droid, which was making for a wall comm panel. He fired several shots into the orb and it clattered to the ground in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. The Arbiter then rounded the room’s central table towards Picard, his rifle still leveled at the officer. “You’ll never make it out you know. If a single crewman or monitor spots you, the ship will lock down and you will be killed. It would be better to surrender now, the Empire is lenient to those who are compliant,” the officer ventured, his hands raised disarmingly. Truul set about undoing the restraints that held the semi-conscious Captain to the platform. “I think we’ll take our chances impy,” he said, not glancing up. When the man on the table was freed of the bonds, Truul raised him to a sitting position. “Can you walk?” he asked, looking at the Captain’s bruised face through the helmet’s holo imaging system. Picard gazed at the armored figure holding him up wearily, only making out a vague silhouette. He tried to mumble something, but the effort was too much. Truul shook his head. “He’s drugged, someone will have ta carry him out.” At this, the Arbiter moved to the table and began to gently lift the human on to his left shoulder. Meanwhile, Truul had once again rounded the table and was gesturing for the officer to move into a corner. “You’ll pay for this,” the imperial said coldly, his hands on his head. As he backed towards the wall, the officer’s gaze drifted to the now unguarded doorway, and a grin drifted across his face. “Sooner than you think.”
For a moment, Truul was about to ask the man what exactly he meant by that, but then he heard a click from behind him. Whirling around, he came face-to-face three heavily armed naval troopers standing in the doorway; their weapons trained on the rebel and the now encumbered elite. “Drop your weapons!” one of them barked, the opaque blast shield of his helmet obscuring his face. “Put down the prisoner and back towards the wall or we will open fire!” Truul looked at the squad in alarm and began to back away from them, trying to place the imperial officer in the line of fire. “This is your last warning, drop your weapons now!” the soldier boomed. The rebel was deciding whether or not to risk attacking when one of the rear soldiers called out in alarm and disappeared beyond the door way. The other two broke they’re concentration for a moment, all the time Truul needed. He fired a blast into the lead trooper’s unarmored body and then dove behind the relative cover of the interrogation platform. Also seizing the initiative, the Arbiter turned his back to the remaining soldiers to shield the prone human he bore with his shielded armor.
However, the expected retaliation didn’t come. From the hallway was echoed the sounds of shouting and blaster fire, ending with two faint clunks, bodies dropping to the floor. Behind his mask, Truul grinned. “Looks like the cavalry has arrived.” He rose quickly and spotted the again outnumbered officer making for the comm panel. A blue stun blast issued from his E-11 and the man tumbled to the floor, polarizing energy coursing over him. “And stay down,” Truul mumbled, and then headed towards the exit, the Arbiter close behind.
They ran out into the passageway and past the imperial bodies until they came to the source of the timely assistance; the other rebel had returned, and with him gathered in the security room were seven others, all dressed in colorful uniforms like the one Barclay had been wearing. One of them noticed them the Captain, still slung on the Arbiter’s shoulder. “The Captain! Is he alive?” the man asked urgently. Truul nodded hurriedly. “Just out of it. Now c’mon, I assume all of you want to get outta here alive? The Federation officer who had spoken before, a dark-skinned man dressed in a yellow tunic and wearing an odd-looking visor over his eyes nodded. “Do you have a way out of here?” Truul nodded. “My other man and another of yours are requisitioning a shuttle as we speak, but we need to get out of here now, or were never leaving, he said urgently, suddenly remembering the troopers that lay out in the hall. Truul was about to direct them towards the door when another officer spoke, a pretty longhaired woman. “What about the others, are you getting them out as well?” she asked anxiously. The rebel paused with a sigh. Even from the limited information he had seen on these people, he suspected they would care more for the lives of others than their own. “Look miss,” he said, turning to face her. “There are only three infiltrators, and all we could risk freeing is this cell block. I’m sorry about the others, but we don’t have time or men. We wouldn’t be freeing even you if I didn’t figure you had something to offer the Alliance, and I’m not going to risk losing you lot.” The woman looked back at him coldly. “So that’s it. Your just doing this to fit your needs, you don’t care about any of us.” Truul shook his head slowly. These people couldn’t imagine what the rebellion had to do to survive, nor could they. He turned and walked towards the soundproof blast doors. “I’m getting of this blasted ship, and I’m taking anyone who wants to do come. The rest of you can try and get the others, but you’ll be gunned down or recaptured before you make it off this deck,” he called back as the two other rebels, along with the Arbiter and his burden moved up along side him.
Geordi Laforge, ranking officer among the group put a consoling hand on Deanna’s shoulder as the rescuers made opened the blast door and moved cautiously out into the long hallway. “He’s right, we don’t have much choice. Better to get out of here and have a chance of rescuing the rest of the crew than staying here,” he said softly. The others knew that this was the truth as well, and agreed quietly. Along with Geordi and Deanna stood in varying states of exhaustion and fear Dr. Crusher, two of her nurses, the Vulcan Lieutenant Tolpak and a human ensign by the name of Mendez. It suddenly occurred to Geordi that none of them had family that had been captured, and how much harder it would have been to abandon the others if there had. It would already be too hard. From the hall, Truul called out. “Last chance, were moving out now.” Geordi sighed, resigned to his grim duty. “All right, lets move out.”
The trek to the docking bay was fairly short, and would have taken only a few minutes under good conditions, but of course it wasn't a good situation. Less than a minute after they departed the detention area, alert klaxons started going off. “If we don’t speed it up, were gonna have company real quick!” Truul shouted back at his charges. Almost as soon as the words left his lips, they rounded a corner and ran straight into a pair of stormtroopers. The troopers were taken by surprise and hesitated a moment, giving the rebels time to pick them off before they could return fire or call for assistance, but it served as a reminder of the severity of the situation. “Kick up the hyperdrives people, there are bound to be more of ‘em,” Truul called as he ran.
The rest of the short journey was a running firefight. They ran into several more squads of troopers and a few unlucky crewmen, and some cross fire lightly wounded Ensign Mendez, but they escaped each engagement relatively unscathed. This was too easy, the Arbiter thought, they could have easily sealed them in or sent a major contingent of troopers, but it seemed as though the hallways were simply being cleared, almost as if those in command wanted them to reach the docking bay. The idea passed through Truul’s mind as well, but there was nothing for it, they had to make it to the docking bay. He just hoped to hell that Barclay and Charen had commandeered that shuttle.
Reginald Barclay was extremely uncomfortable. Although it had been only fifteen minutes since Charen had ordered Barclay to hide in the shadow of their target ship, a large Lambda class shuttle, to the engineer jittery engineer it felt like an eternity. After giving Barclay the command codes to the shuttle, the rebel soldier had then drifted off into the bustling crowds of technicians, soldiers, and pilots without giving a reason, simply telling him to stay put until he caught sight of the returning rescue team. Barclay was perfectly happy to be out of the action, but he was very afraid of being detected and imprisoned again, so he had drifted farther and farther under the cover of the shuttle that he was now crouched under it’s extended boarding ramp, the leg sections of his ill-fitting stormtrooper armor driving into his stomach. He dared not move or stretch for fear of someone noticing him. He was sure he couldn’t talk his way out if a tech found a stormtrooper without any identification number or knowledge of imperial regulations hiding under the ramp of a shuttle. So he instead was forced to watch the feet of crewmen going about their business, unaware that there was an unwanted interloper hiding mere meters away.
The Lieutenant was seriously considering removing his helmet to get a fresh breath of air when the air rang with warning signals. Barclay jumped nervously and hit his head hard on the hull of the Lambda. We waited in miserable silence, waiting for the sound of approaching feet, and for a gauntleted hand to reach under and pull him out of his hiding spot, but no such feet came. Instead, the traffic before him decreased dramatically, reducing to only a few hurried footfalls. Then he heard the sound of blaster fire, coming closer. Working up some nerve, Barclay moved out from under the landing ramp just enough to get a view of the chamber. The secondary docking bay was much smaller than main bay through which the Enterprise’s crew had been captured, but it was still enormous. Large blast doors and high observation windows studded the high, gray walls, and a variety of hardware, including defensive machinery, tractor beam projectors, and even a extensive system of catwalks on which the star destroyer’s Tie fighters were docked crowded the ceiling, which as five stories high in some places. Coming out of one of the blast doors was a small, disorderly group, some of whom where firing shots down the broad hallway from whence they had come.
Barclay was about to scramble aboard the shuttle when everything went wrong. Behind the fleeing group, the blast door slammed shut, and two others snapped open. From them poured more figures, imperial troops, moving to surround the fleeing group. From even his distant hiding spot, Barclay watched one of the bedraggled figures fall to the ground. Barclay watched in desperation, it had been a trap, none of them were going to escape the ship, and they would go back to the cells and rot away or be executed. The engineer was too enthralled in the terrible spectacle to notice one of the ceiling turrets reorient itself, turning towards the battle. He did, however notice it when the cannon fired.
A flash of green light screeched through the docking bay and impacted the deck plate, right in the middle of the imperial formation. For a moment, everyone in the bay stopped moving, momentarily stunned. The second blast shook them out of it. Imperial troops began to scatter, searching for their attacker and diving for cover. The turret continued tracking clusters of soldiers, laser impacts sending out clouds of molten deck plate into the air and hurling soldiers into the air. After suddenly finding themselves free of suppression fire, the group of escapees flew further into the docking bay, and Barclay decided it was time to make an appearance. He jumped from the cover of the shuttle, and then hastily removed his helmet when the front-runners of the group began training their weapons on him. He waved frantically, and then dove behind the boarding ramp again as a stray stormtrooper fired wildly in the direction of his fleeing prey. The group wove their way through flying shrapnel and blaster fire and finally made it to the relative cover of Barclay’s Lambda. Truul, his stolen armor now heavily carbon scored, nodded at Barclay. “Do you have the codes?” Barclay nodded breathlessly and shoved a data chip into the rebel’s hand. “Then lets get the stang outta here.” The survivors piled up the ramp quickly, several cradling wounds.
As the battle raged on outside, Truul jumped into the pilot’s chair, entered the access code, and started up the ship’s engines. As they thrummed to life, the others hurriedly lowered themselves unto seats to prepare for the takeoff. The Arbiter carefully laid the Captain on the floor, who was still unconscious, but uninjured. As Dr. Crusher began checking his vital signs, the shuttle rose of the ground. The blaster fire from the scattered imperials glanced harmlessly of the shuttle’s hull, but the bay’s second laser turret, which was activating and orienting itself towards the escaping ship, would not be so irrelevant. Truul watched through the cockpit window as it locked on the rising craft, and braced himself. Then the turret exploded. Green bolts raked the weapon system, as well as a Tie Fighter support pylon, which sent its load to crashing to the floor a dozen meters below. The rogue turret then continued harrying the imperials below, most of who had withdrawn. Breathing a sigh of relief, Truul throttled up to full power and plowed out through the bay’s underside exit. The point defense cannons on the underside of the ship opened fire, but they were not adjusted to fire in at their own docking bay, and the shuttle was beyond their optimal range.
Winding around the tracking shots, Truul worked the controls as the other rebel, his helmet still on, checked the ship’s navicomputer. “There are coordinates locked in, the,” he started. “I don’t care if it takes us to Coruscant itself, just get us outta here!” Truul cut him off bluntly as a laser blast impacted the shuttle’s shields. “Punching it.” For a few seconds the shuttle remained stationary, and the Star Destroyer’s weaponry locked and fired, unleashing an inescapable wall of fire. The light of the energy weapons filled the shuttle, but was suddenly dimmed as the shuttle lurched and launched past the barrier of lightspeed, stars blurring into vague lines and finally disappearing into blackness. The inhabitants of the craft breathed a collective sigh of relief. The second rebel tore of his helmet revealing a young, clean-shaven man, not even nineteen. He glanced back into the crew compartment, and then frowned. “Where’s Charen?” Barclay, who was slumped on the floor, shook his head. “He left me by the ship and went off somewhere before you got there, he didn’t say where,” he said glumly.
The man known only as Charen stood alone in a operations chamber on the Torrent, focused on the computer controls in front of him. Beside him lay his discarded helmet and blaster rifle; he knew they wouldn’t be needed anymore. On his screen, he targeted imperial after imperial, and when he ran out of moving targets, the turret he controlled opened fire on the Tie Fighters, hanging like ripe fruit on their racks. Behind him, the locked door was sparking, a thin line of melted durasteel drawing a hole in it. There was no way to stop them from coming through, no way to escape, but then he had known that when he had sealed himself in the chamber. Charen fired a few parting shots at a damaged Tie, and then abandoned the controls. Then he reached into a small utility pouch at his side and withdrew a fist–sized metal orb.
As the door began to glow with the heat of the cutting torches beyond, Charen polished a smudge on the ball’s chrome surface. He sighed, happy. For the first time since joining the hopeless fight against the tyrannical Empire, he felt at rest, sure of himself. He flipped a switch on the orb’s side, and it began to beep loudly. Then the rebel wrapped his hand around the thermal detonator and clasped it to his chest. As the beeping increased in speed, and the door began to disintegrate, Charen had no defiant final remark, no brash statement like the heroes would always say in the holo-dramas he had watched in his youth. He felt no satisfaction in the thoughts of those he would kill with the explosive, just a quiet satisfaction in knowing he had saved the lives of those he cared for, his comrades. He closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply, and then a bright flash heralded his peace.
The young rebel slumped in his chair, he had never lost a close friend like Charen before, and it hurt. Truul patted his soldier on the shoulder consolingly. “He did what he had too do son, what I would have done.” The hardened soldier then removed his stolen helm, and let his ponytail hang lose, staring reflectively into the blackness of hyperspace. Behind him, Geordi came forward. “So what now?” he asked wearily, trying to forget all those left behind in hostile hands. “Where are you taking us?” Before either rebel could answer, a voice, dark and foreboding came from the rear of the shuttle, “That is something I would like to know as well.” Emerging from the furthest storage compartment was a dark shape, one no one aboard had expected.
Chapter Seventeen
“Weapons fire,” Riker stopped short, listening to the distant sound. “Who else would they be after? We should check it out.” The others stood in the narrow, trash cluttered alleyway panting, glad to take a brief rest. After taking a breath, Aayla shook her head. “No, we should try to avoid any hot spots or imperial activity. It would be dangerous to confront them again unnecessarily. Jacen smiled, glad to see she had calmed down from her previous battle fervor. Still, he had to disagree. “If the imperials are after someone else, then whoever it is might be willing to help us. Enemy of my enemy,” he said. Aayla thought this over for a moment. “You have a point.” She turned to Jacen and smiled. “Will do it your way.” Looking over at her face, Jacen felt a warmth flow into his cheeks, and turned his head in embarrassment.
The four, Riker and Aayla ahead and Jossa and Jacen bring up the rear, moved swiftly through the cluttered back streets in the gathering darkness, growing closer to the sound of battle, which seemed to have increased in intensity. After passing through a particularly narrow space between two cheap apartment complexes, they caught sight of stray blasts of red energy flying into the air beyond a derelict one-story structure. Aayla motioned for them to halt, and then looked around the alley. “I’ll check out what’s going on down there before we move out,” she said, a then leapt seven feet into the air, grabbed a small ledge on the building to their left, and pulled herself up. Riker and Jossa watched her scramble expertly along the ledge in amazement. “Amazing,” Riker commenting, looking up at her. Jossa was too amazed by the feat, although she wondered what exactly Riker meant. The commander was a notorious lady’s man, and the exotic blue woman was well within his tastes. Jacen too had heard of Riker’s appetites, and the thought he grew uncomfortable. Even in the short time they had known each other, Aayla and Jacen had grown fast friends, but was there more. Jacen certainly felt odd around her, a feeling he only felt around Tenel Ka, a fellow knight from Luke’s academy, but was it really…
Jacen’s train of thought was interrupted as Aayla jumped down in the center of the group, and Jacen sensed both anxiety and excitement from her. “Its them! I don’t know how, but they made it out,” she said, starting to run towards the direction of the firefight. The others fell into place behind her, confused. “Who did you see?” Riker asked, straining to keep up with the Twi’lek. “The rest of the team, they’re alive, and holed up just past this building,” she replied, skirting around the corner of the derelict structure. Hearing this, both Federation officers brightened up considerably and grabbed their hand phasers. They must have used the emergency transporters to escape before the Runabout exploded, Riker realized, and mentally slapped himself for not thinking of it earlier.
As they rounded a corner, the scene came into view. They were once again on a main street, a wide lane in-between bars and machinery shops, no doubt built for cargo hoversleds. A large contingent of Imperial soldiers, thirty at least, was holding position in a semicircle around a crashed, overturned hover bus that was lying in the middle of the street. The soldiers were clustered behind the cover of various storefronts and parked vehicles, laying fire on the bus’s charred frame. “They are behind that,” Aayla said, pointing at the bus. As if to prove the point, a small round object flew over the vehicle’s side, bouncing to the ground in-between a squad of three stormtroopers who were trying to flank the makeshift barrier. A second later, an explosion threw them of their feet and into a nearby wall as the Frag grenade detonated. Urged on by this sudden attack, the imperials increased their barrage.
“We have to get them out of there before the Imperials can bring in air support,” Riker said worriedly as the group looked on from the alley mouth. Jacen searched the embattled street looking for a weakness in the imperial line. Even though their backs were turned to the would-be rescuers, there were too many to attack out right. “There’s a entry way they could get through if we could distract the troops for a minute,” Jossa said, noting a building not ten meters from the overturned bus. “But we don’t have any way to get their attention, at least not without charging into a firing line,” Riker replied, rejecting the idea. Jacen however had noticed something interesting. Not far from the possible escape route, a team of stormtroopers was setting up an E-web mounted heavy blaster, evidently to cut off any escape attempts. But maybe it could be used another way. “I’ve got an idea.”
“TK 045602, adjust that gun’s swivel shaft. We don’t want it freezing up like last time,” TK 23345 ordered as his squad readied the mounted gun. To think he had thought today would be just another dreary series of trade inspections and smuggler busts, and now he was getting ready to plow through some dirty rebels. There was almost never any insurgent activity on the out of the way Poloon system. And there were jedi with them no less. Jedi sightings were more and more infrequent, and most believed them to be completely extinct, although were some rumors of a hot shot rebel pilot with force powers who had tried to take down Darth Vader at Bespin. Of course, they were probably just rumors, but if there were jedi on this backwards world, they might be all over the galaxy.
The stormtrooper was watching his men mount the ammo cell on the mobile cannon when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned, expecting some low ranking trooper or tech, and instead saw a beautiful Twi’lek woman standing there. He hesitated, looking over her revealingly dressed form with rising interest, and was about to rattle of a hasty pickup line when her boot smacked into his faceplate. The trooper went spinning into his cohorts, knocking two of them off balance. The other two leapt to their feet, fumbling for their rifles. One took two phaser blasts in the chest and fell to the dusty ground, while the other found himself missing half an arm after firing only two shots at Jacen. The two other conscious troopers scrambled up, but fierce hammer blows to the neck from the Twi’lek jedi quickly dispatched both. The other squads of troopers, who were strung loosely across the street, were taken completely unawares by the surprise attack, and most didn’t even realize they had just lost their right flank.
Aleen Jossa stepped up to the control rig of the gun, and when satisfied that she could operate it, turned the contraption on the nearest group of soldiers, fired.
Designed to be able to penetrate the armor of light attack air speeders, the E-web’s energy rounds easily tore through the small conglomeration of soldiers, thumping satisfyingly every time she fired. The surviving soldiers quickly responded to the new threat and set up a return fire, but the jedi stepped forward, lightsabers ablaze, to intercept the deadly projectiles. As the energy blades twirled, Riker began to shout towards the burned hulk behind which the rest of the team was hiding. For a moment nothing happened, and Riker feared they might not respond, fearing a trap, but then Data’s head stuck out, his artificial eyes taking in the situation. Riker motioned frantically towards the entry way into the nearby structure, their only hope of escape. Data looked from Riker to the doorway and back again and then nodded, withdrawing his head back behind the barrier. A moment later, three figures broke out from the bus at a flat run heading towards the appropriate structure. For a moment Riker wondered why there were only three of them instead of the full half of his team, but a blaster bolt clanging into a light post next to him brought more immediate concerns back to mind.
The Commander rapped Jossa on her shoulder and shouted that they had to move out, although he could barely be heard over the thunder of her gun. Aleen fired of a few more volleys to keep the dwindling imperial forces at bay and then began to run towards the safety of the building. Hearing the E-web had stopped firing; the two jedi also began moving quickly towards the door, their lightsabers still deflecting crimson bolts. Riker satisfied they had done all they could, fired a few parting shots, and then made for the door as well.
When the four rescuers dove into the structure, they found Data, Lt. Worf, and Master Chief waiting for them in the darkened hallway beyond. Riker looked over with the android and Klingon with relief. “It’s good to see both of you again,” he said, patting Data on the shoulder. “Likewise sir,” Worf replied, checking the power cell on his phaser rifle. Data nodded, “I am relived to see that you survived commander.” Master Chief however, had a more practical consideration than greetings in mind. “Move back,” he ordered, pulling the last two grenades from his belt and priming them. “This ought to hold them for a while.” He tossed the explosives into the doorway and the group hastily moved into the safety of a side hallway. A moment later, a tremendous double explosion rocked the structure, and the doorway caved in, piling a metric ton of rubble onto the entryway. “That won't last long, we need a way out of here,” Aayla commented coolly, looking around. They were at a nexus point of four hallways, all dimly light, and lined with rows of doors. Aayla hoped that whatever lay beyond the entry points would be wise enough to stay put until they had left. “Come on, let’s go,” she shouted, turning down a side corridor that felt somehow right.
The seven fugitives pelted down the dark walkway, past locked doors and closed windows. When the came to another bend, Aayla directed them down it, and then around another corner. As the winding, seemingly aimless trek lengthened, Worf began to grumble. “How exactly do you know where to guide us?” he asked as Aayla was hammering down a flight of stares. “Just a feeling,” she replied, lurching into another side passage at the stairway’s foot. “You can find your own way if you want, no ones stopping you.” Worf grumbled again, but continued to follow the jedi. After nearly five minutes of winding and weaving, Aayla followed by the others busted out into a deserted back courtyard light by the dimming dusk sky. “I think we lost them, for a while at least,” Aayla stated. While the others stopped to catch a breath, Jossa walked up to Data. “Excuse me sir, but were is Maxwell? Didn’t he make it off of the Runabout?” Data triggered his facial muscles to depress, a facsimile of a human empathetic gesture. “Security officer Maxwell was struck by a particle beam after we transported of the Runabout and were seeking cover,” he said. “His death was immediate and painless.” Jossa stared past him for a moment, her eyes out of focus, and then slung her head. She had lost him for the second time that day. “He died well, on his feet and with a phaser in his arms,” Worf said consolingly. “A warrior’s death.” For a Klingon, such a fate was to be hoped for, but somehow it didn’t consol the grieving human. They had been close, Riker remembered watching the sad exchange. He felt a loss at losing one under his command too, but he had lost loved one’s as well, and knew there was a great difference.
After their brief respite, the group continued the aimless journey through Starlane City’s back streets. Interesting that they had not encountered any civilians since the cantina Jacen mused, the city must be under lockdown. That meant finding a pilot would be all the more difficult. He was about to call for them to stop again to discuss their next move when something caught his eye. As the ambient light had dimmed, the street illuminators had flipped switched on, and cast florescent light down on some of the wider alleyways. One of these spots of light, spilling onto a wall down a divergent walkway, had shadows evident on it. Humanoid shadows. Jacen motioned for everyone to stop and take cover, and they watched the scene unfolding.
Projected on the distant wall were three figures obscuring a fourth, who seemed to be surrounded. Voices echoed from down the alleyway, but were to faint to be discerned by human, Klingon, or Twi’lek ears. Data, however, was somewhat better endowed. “It would seem that there is an altercation proceeding down there,” Data said quietly. “Several human voices, and one I can not trace. He humans seem to be questioning the other on his presence her during the manhunt. I presume they are referring to the search for us.” Riker noted that they must be imperials and Data agreed. “It would appear to be that way.” Then he cocked his head to one side, “I am now picking up what would seem to be blows and shouts, perhaps a physical confrontation.” Now the others could hear the muffled sounds, and Aayla rose from her hidden spot, lightsaber in hand. “Where are you going?” Jacen asked. “Going to help however it is down there,” she replied, starting down the long alley. Jacen looked after her for a moment and then rushed to join her. “Wait, we can’t risk it,” Riker called. “What if they call in reinforcements?” Aayla stopped and turned. “It is my duty as a jedi knight to defend and serve those who cannot protect themselves. My order may not exist anymore, but I will defend its principles, even at the cost of my own life if need be,” she called back, resolute, and then continued on, Jacen in tow. Riker frowned and shook his head at this brash act, but he did appreciate the sentiment. Such an aim was one of the directives of the Federation as well. He sighed, grabbed his phaser, and got up too. “The rest of you wait here,” he ordered, rushing after the jedi before Worf or the Chief could object. “Aren’t you going too?” Cortana asked over the Spartan’s internal speaker. “I think they can handle it,” he responded coolly, settling back to watch.
By the time the three had reached the spot of the fight, the victim was on the ground being brutally kicked by his attackers. It was a salmon-colored Mon Calamari, his once crisp flight suit ripped and covered in dust, and his fish-like head bruised and battered. Three imperial recruits, dressed not in stormtrooper armor, but instead drab, lightly armored combat clothing, were mercilessly beating the poor creature against the wall, their blaster pistols in holsters at their sides. “Gonna sing for us fishy, huh?” one said mockingly, placing his boot on the Mon Cal’s jugular. “What has he done to warrant this officer?” Aayla asked softly, emerging from the shadows. The soldiers looked up. “This alien scum was walking around without papers,” he snarled, and then looked over the Twi’lek. “I’m gonna have to see yours too. Maybe I’ll frisk you for ‘em.” The others laughed, moving in on her. The Mon Cal looked up, gesturing slowly for her to get away while she could. Instead, Aayla moved closer to the assailants, Jacen and Riker coming into view as well. The soldiers were taken aback by their presence and reached for their blasters. “Friends, eh? Well, I guess will just have to take care of them before we get to you beautiful.” Jacen shook his head. “Can’t we work this out peacefully?” he said, adding a calming force presence to his voice. However, the three were to high on hormones, and alcohol judging by their breath, to be dissuaded by Jacen’s skills. “That’s enough you,” the lead trooper snarled, pointing his blaster at Jacen. “Get up against the wall now!” “May I?” Aayla asked jokingly, glancing at Jacen. He shrugged. “That’s all I needed to hear,” she said, turning back to the troopers and igniting her saber. Jacen’s blade flashed on as well, and the imperials stumbled back, surprised. “It’s the jedi!” one of them shouted. “Get ‘em!” A smart man would have instead turned and ran at the sight of two jedi in such confined conditions, but inebriation does strange things to one’s mind.
The battle was very brief, and ended with the soldiers beating a hasty retreat, their weapons and comm links discarded, propping up their leader, who’s left foot had a rather large hole in it. “We shouldn’t have let them go,” Aayla commented suddenly. “They should be made to pay for their crimes.” Jacen looked at her surprised. There wasn't much else we could have done Aayla. There are no friendly authorities on this planet we could have given them to. Did you want me cut off each of their legs or something?” Aayla stared after the fleeing group. “Less than they deserve,” she mumbled. Jacen was worried by this sudden change in his friend, but he was districted as Riker pulled the beaten Mon Calamari to his feat. “Are you all right?” Riker asked. The bulbous-headed alien nodded. “I am mostly uninjured, thanks to you,” he rasped in Calamari accented Basic.
“Just glad we could help,” Jacen said, smiling as he deactivated his green saber. The Mon Cal’s huge eye’s watched the beam descend into its hilt. “You are jedi?” Jacen nodded. The alien regained his balance, and extended a hand to Jacen. “I am glad to see that your honorable order has survived the ire of the Emperor. My people are fighting our own war for survival against his forces and your noble kind inspires our fight to this day.” Aayla half smiled, turning away from the defeated imperials. “Glad you feel that way. Now, if you’re alright, we have to get out of here before more of them return.” The Mon Cal half lidded his black eyes. “But I must repay your kind actions, you surely saved my life.” Jacen shook his head. “No reward is necessary. Now, do you have some place where you can get out of these streets after we leave?” The salmon-colored alien nodded slowly, “My ship is not two hundred meters from here. I could…” Riker cut him off, suddenly excited. “Did you say ship?” The Mon Cal brightened up. “Yes, my home is docked just across the vehicle path,” he said, pointing down a dark alley. Riker patted the Mon Calamari on the back, almost knocking him over. “I think there might be a way you could repay us after all.”
“There she is, the Coral Iris,” the Mon Calamari, who’s Riker had determined to be Iask, said proudly a few minutes later. He was gesturing to a large craft sitting in one of the city’s docking pits. It was quiet unique in design, shaped like a huge, flat sea ray. Its surface was smooth and worn, colored in white and faint blue. Like most Mon Calamari star ships, it’s surface featured intermittent bulges, rising almost organically from its metallic frame. Standing with the Mon Cal in the docking bay’s side entrance were the jedi and the others, looking at the starship with relief. Finally a way to get of the murderous world. Riker had already lost one man, but he had far more to think of. “How many passengers can your ship hold?” he asked, following Iask as he approached his ship in the gathering darkness. “The Iris can carry two hundred in her cargo bay, and the oxygen reprocessors can supply them for a day,” the Mon Cal responded, reaching for a control in his clothing and activating it. A boarding ramp extended of one of its wing structures, clanking smoothly to the ground.
Riker considered what the pilot had said. The cargo capacity wasn't what he had hoped, but it might be enough to transport the Enterprise’s crew before they’re supplies ran out. “Thank you for agreeing to help us and our crew. We owe you a great debt,” Riker said, trying to sound diplomatic. Iask however shook his head, casting off his efforts. “Do not concern yourself. You and your friends saved my life. Providing passage for them is nothing compared with that.” At this, he began directing the others toward his vessel. “I think we should continue our conversation when we are safely of this world, I doubt the Imperials have ceased their search.” As if on cue, a clatter and of blasting appeared outside the main entrance, which Cortana had hacked and sealed shut. “We shouldn’t have let those brutes escape,” Aayla muttered, encouraging the rest of the group forward. From behind them, the whining sound of melting durasteel erupted and sparks began to cascade from the doors. Finally they blew apart, and white armored enforcers of the Emperor piled through the cloud of debris, eager to end the hunt.
“Get in and start up the ship, we have to get out of here now!” Aayla ordered as stormtroopers continued to pour out of the ruptured gate, their blasters shattering the calm air with blasts of energy like cracks of thunder. Iask nodded quickly and pounded up the waiting ramp. As red beams of light began to trace towards the docked ship, the two lightsabers ignited and blocked incoming the bolts deftly, jedi using them like extensions of their own bodies. “All of you get on board!” Jacen yelled of the din of battle as Riker and his men drew their phasers. “Aayla and I can hold them off long enough!” Riker nodded to Data and Worf, and the Federation officers piled onboard under a hail of energy fire. Jossa, however, continued to pump fire into the approaching horde. When Riker placed a hand on her shoulder, he found her face was stained with tears, the memory of Maxwell’s unjust fate still fresh in her mind. However, she was a Starfleet Officer, and the stern yet understanding look on Riker’s face was the only order she needed. The two fired a few parting shots, and then hastened up the carbon-scored ramp, leaving only the jedi and Master Chief. The Spartan super soldier wove in and out behind the cover of the ramp expertly, his shield reflecting the occasional lucky shot. In his gauntleted hands was held a huge heavy repeating blaster, taken off a fallen sergeant during the bus stand off, and he was using it to take down stormtrooper after stormtrooper in quick, controlled bursts. The warrior’s skill was unquestionable, but he needed to get on the ship.
Aayla was about to aboard again when something else caught her attention. Moving through the ranks of the stormtroopers, still outside the docking bay, was a presence unlike anything she had ever felt before. She must have been too occupied with her saber work to notice it before, but now the aura was now undeniable, dark and powerful. All of a sudden, the horde of soldiers ceased fire, instead moving to ready position, their blasters still pointed towards the ship. Aayla chanced a quick glance at her companions. The Chief had too ceased fire, taking the respite to reload his pillaged weapon. Jacen however was clutching his head in his right hand, the left allowing his green lightsaber to drift out of a fighting stance. “Are you hurt?” she whispered worriedly, her eyes shifting back to the throng before them and the approaching darkness beyond. Jacen shook his head slowly. “No, its… there’s something coming though, familiar…” Suddenly, Jacen’s head rolled to one side and he began to tip towards the ground, lightsaber deactivated but still in his grip. Master Chief caught him in one arm, his other still hefting the massive blaster. Aayla moved closer to the pair, covering them with the defensive radius of her lightsaber’s reach. From Jacen she could feel a dreadful mix of confusion and dread, almost certainly triggered by the approaching presence. Disturbed and worried over Jacen’s sudden collapse, Aayla still knew that the soldiers had to be held back until the ship started up its drives.
“Get him onboard, I’ll keep them at…” then she stopped, horrible realization sweeping over her. She knew what was coming.
“Get Jacen to safety, and tell the Mon Calamari to take off. I’ll hold them off,” she said darkly, a hollow feeling wrenching through her. For a moment, the Chief was about to question the risk the jedi was taking, but instead gave her a quick, heartfelt salute, and scooped Jacen into his arms. He knew that if she believed that this was the only way, then she was probably right. True warriors sometimes had to make such sacrifices, and the Chief suddenly felt a deep respect for the blue woman. He gave her a final nod of farewell, and then loped up the waiting ramp swiftly. Once safely onboard, the Chief tapped a door control, and the walkway began to slowly rise. The Spartan was afforded one last look at the jedi knight, her head tails swaying slightly in the wind, staring down death with defiance in her eyes.
Aayla hardly noticed as the ramp sealed behind her and Iask’s ship started to life with a roar. Her attention was consumed by a single figure moving through the ranks of stormtroopers. Around it hung a mantle of darkness, stronger than any Aayla had ever felt before. This darkness was a storm of anger, of hatred, and of above all pain. Finally, as the ship at her back took slowly to the darkened sky, the figure passed the outermost rank of soldiers. Even before she could discern the black figure’s features in the dim light, she knew who it was. Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith.
The jedi had pictured the being Anakin had become after Jacen had recounted his terrible story, but what she had conjured up was nothing compared to what stood before her. Although the towering black armored suit of the dark one was intimidating enough, it was his mask that held Aayla’s terrified attention. It was macabre and distorted, mirroring the twisted soul beneath. Behind the huge, opaque eye bulges, Aayla could sense nothing but a brooding anger, deep and terrible. The creature before her was indeed Anakin Skywalker, but only in the most literal sense. Most of the courageous and kind knight of the force she had once known was gone, and what little was left was almost unrecognizable. When it spoke, the sound chilled Aayla to the core.
“Aayla Secura, I believed you slain long ago. I am gratified that I was mistaken.” The voice was low and menacing, rasping methodically with haggard breaths, and Aayla could feel emotion as powerful as a neutron star behind it. For a long while the knight tried to conjure up words of challenge for the slayer of her entire order, but all she could manage was “Anakin, how could you?” “That name means nothing any longer,” he rumbled. “A relic from a meaningless past long forgotten.” But still Aayla persisted. “They were your family Anakin, your friends, your teachers. Why did you do it?” The Lord of the Sith took a step forward. “It was the only way. They had to pay, they had to die.” As thought these words were a match, a new emotion, not fear or sorrow or pity, but anger erupted within her and exploded outwards. She lunged forward, a pained and furious “No!” emanating from her lips.
With incredible speed, a red beam burst from Darth Vader’s hand, blocking Aayla’s furious blow and knocking her backwards. Illuminated by the red glow of his lightsaber, Anakin advanced. “The old masters were weak Aayla. Corrupted and blinded by their own power.” The Twi’lek ignored the words and charged at the dark being again. She propelled herself into the air and flipped over the dark lord, hoping to catch him from behind. Even as she flew, Darth Vader summoned the force to him and propelled a blast of its might towards her, knocking the jedi out of her arch and sending her sprawling to the ground. Rolling to one side, she heard the hiss of Vader’s lightsaber striking the ground where she had lain a second before, and drew her body upright again, lightsaber at the ready. As she watched the dark warrior approach her, a sudden thought came to mind. She remembered that Jacen had told her that Anakin had redeemed himself in the end, that even in his darkest hour there had been good in him still. “Stop Anakin, its not too late. There is still good in you, the dark side hasn’t erased it yet.” Vader seemed to ignore these words, instead bringing his saber on her own, his brute strength chipping away at the Jedi’s resolve. “You do not know the truth. Yoda’s teachings still cloud your vision, the truth,” he said coldly, battering Aayla’s blue blade again.
The two combatants struck and parried, moving from one side of the landing pad to the other in a deadly dance, the eerie hissing sounds of their sabers filling the night air. With every blow she deflected, Aayla could feel her strength ebbing away, while her opponent seemed to be increasing in strength as the duel continued. She desperately tried acrobatic maneuvers and force attacks of startling variety, but Darth Vader withstood them all, his saber axing into her own at every opportunity. Slowly the jedi realized this was a fight she could not win. Anakin was relentless, taking advantage of her every falter, every miscalculation, not with finesse or agility, but with simple, undeniable force. Aayla was broken; it was only a matter of time until she felt the bite of the crimson blade. Darth Vader felt it to, and knew how to exploit her failing will. When their lightsabers crossed again, he pushed her back, off balance, and with a simple wave off his hand, sent her careening into the ferrocrete wall a dozen meters away.
The stormtroopers, who had been watching the fight in rapt fascination, scrambled desperately out of the way of the living projectile. Aayla collided with the wall torso first, and felt bone shatter. She slid to the ground, left arm broken and bleeding. Gritting her teeth to bear the pain, she pulled herself upright, slouched against the solid wall, and watched as Vader walked slowly towards her. She knew death had come at last, she had no more strength or will to fight, she was defeated. A sickening feeling gripped her heart, and she was ashamed of it. The jedi had hoped to die on her feet, without a doubt what she was doing was right, bravely facing down the adversaries of order and justice to the end, but instead all she felt was fear and emptiness, every bit of resolve draining away with the blood from her injuries. The dark one was upon her now, towering over the broken jedi, his crimson weapon point at her heart.
“There is only one way,” he said. “Surrender, join me, and embrace the dark side of the force. The old masters were wrong, the dark side is not the root of evil, it is a source of great power. They were holding us back Aayla, lying to us. They were afraid of what we might become, better, stronger than them. And my master and I destroyed them for their blindness and selfishness; it was the only choice, the only way. Their way bred anarchy and chaos, and that had to be stopped.” For a moment, Darth Vader looked off reflectively, his dark energies surging. “But Palpatine deceived me, brought his own brand of disorder and treachery. He must be destroyed as well.” He moved back to Aayla’s broken form. “Embrace the dark side and join me. Together we can destroy Palpatine and bring order again to the galaxy. I can feel the desire deep within you, the wish for vengeance. You know this is the only path, the will of the force.” And with these words, to Aayla’s surprise and horror, he extended a heavy gloved hand to her, a chance for life and power.
Vader’s words had cut through Aayla’s mind like razors, shredding her mental barriers, her faith, whatever semblance of peace that remained within her. Her mind was left cold and empty, and the power of the dark side hungrily filled the void with whisperings of power and vengeance. She tried to fight back, push the thoughts away, but to her horror they felt right, seemed reasonable. Through this swirling mass emerged a new emotion, stronger than all of the others. It was hatred, pure and unadulterated. Hatred of Palpatine. She wanted the power to destroy him, to rip the demons heart from his tainted chest and feel his blood on her hands. She looked up at Vader, and knew there was only one way to satisfy her dark craving. The aura of the force around her began to morph, to distort, and a terrible look passed over her eyes.
Aayla Secura took Darth Vader’s hand.
“Who the hell are you?” Truul ordered, his hastily grabbed rifle pointed at the dark figure. Beside him, Geordi and the Arbiter had whirled around as well, and the elite was preparing to lunge at the interloper. The presence, easily as tall as the Covenant warrior, walked slowly forward, passing into the light of the cabin’s flight lamp. As it became more defined, Dr. Crusher gasped in surprise. “You? How could you be here?” she asked wearily, rising from her place beside the still unconscious Picard.
The creature was thin and tall, sporting gray, scaly skin. It was dressed in a thin dark tan robe, under which protrusions of armor on its shoulders and odd, rear-jointed legs were visible. Most striking was its head, a tall conical structure tapered by small fin-like structures and adorned by two large eyes, which seemed to shift from pitch black to a pleasant sea blue as it shifted its gaze. The alien had no visible mouth, and seemed not speak, but everyone in the shuttle could hear it’s low voice very clearly. “Do not be alarmed, I wish none of you harm.” The being stepped more into the crew cabin, and the Enterprise escapees recoiled from it slightly, still startled by the appearance of an unknown passenger on their escape ship. Geordi too was filled apprehension. “You’ve met this…person before Doctor?” he asked slowly. The woman nodded. “Yes, I think he’s one of the transporter accident passengers. The one who never woke up.”
“Well, he’s awake now,” Truul grumbled, his blaster still leveled at the alien. “Flitch, take the controls.” The young rebel nodded and scrambled into the pilot’s seat, glancing nervously into the rear cabin. “How did you get on our ship?” Truul asked, turning his attention back to the reptilian creature. It took another step forward, and then paused as Truul made a threatening gesture with his weapon. “I simply escaped and evaded the other humans and followed you to this vessel, than slipped on to it during the fighting,” the alien spoke, or thought, however it was communicating, clearly and calmly. “I meant you no ill will, I was just attempting to gain passage of the hostile vessel.”
Truul didn’t like the idea of someone following him around, and was about to say so when Deanna Troi spoke up. “He speaks the truth, I can sense no deception or hostility from him,” she said, moving up from her bench next to him. The alien turned his elongated head towards her skeptically. “A telepath?” he asked, more to himself than the Betazoid woman. “Awe yes, I can feel your psionic presence. Surprisingly weak.” He stared into Deanna’s eyes penetratingly, and his gaze made the counselor very uncomfortable. She began to sweat, and the creature averted his eyes abruptly. “Forgive me, I just had to be sure of your own intentions. My experience with telepaths of your species has been…strained,” he supplicated.
Truul eyed both of the aliens, telepath and telepath evidently, and considered his next move. He had broken his cover and lost a man to retrieve the Federation officers, and he wouldn’t allow some big hulking trandoshan of and a creature mess it up now. Then again, they did seem to have seen him before, and Alliance High Command might be interested in a pair of mind readers. He didn’t like the idea of people poking around his head, but sacrifices had to be made in the fight for freedom. “Well, your luck were in hyperspace, or you’d be going straight out an airlock. Keep out of trouble or Flitch here ‘ill shoot you.” The young rebel looked up, startled by the statement. Truul tossed him one of the stolen blaster rifles. “Keep an eye on ‘em,” he said. “All of ‘em.” He then relived Flitch of his chair and went back to monitoring their flight path. After this, the tense mood among the weary passengers eased slightly, and Dr. Crusher returned to treating the Captain’s injuries, mumbling something about the mental state of their rescuer.
The reptilian alien returned his gaze to Deanna. “Now, I would like to know what is occurring here and where exactly here is,” he said straightforwardly. Deanna, still sweating from her previous probe by the creature, shook of her uneasiness and tried to smile. “Yes, I believe I can fill you in.”
As it turned out, the preset hyperspace coordinates took the shuttle to an empty patch of space several light-years from the Torrent. Worried that they might have been tracked, Truul initiated a series of erratic jumps that would move them slowly towards Sullust, current position of the Rebel fleet. The soldier just hoped the fleet was still assembled there; he had been out of the loop on the Alliance’s plans for several weeks, ever since infiltrating the Torrent. He didn’t even know why the fleet would be near the volcanic world. After setting a new jump path through a cluster of empty star systems, Truul sank back into his chair, reflecting on recent events. He, Charen, and Flitch Espada, who was at the moment sweeping the shuttle for tracking devices, had been dispatched to gain entry to the Torrent in order to track its flight path and if possible sabotage it if the cruiser encountered any of the Alliance supply ships that frequented it’s patrol route.
The plan had been that they stay undercover until a set date, when a rebel strike force would cripple or hopefully even capture the Star Destroyer with the help of the infiltrators. That plan had to be scraped now, Truul thought grimly, but he hoped it had been worth it. He had managed to get his men into guard positions for Captain Picard’s interrogator, intrigued by the unusual prisoners. The old man hadn’t let much slip much under torture, but from what Charen had reported, these prisoners were extremely valuable. An entire civilization of humans untouched by Palpatine’s scourge. From what had been gathered from the questioning reports of various others, less hardened officers, they were members of the United Federation of Planets, a peaceful organization much like the Old Republic the Rebel Alliance was trying to restore. They seemed to possess varying degrees of advanced technology, and even if it wasn't up to par with Imperial tech, Truul was convinced an established military force like the Federation’s “Starfleet” backing up the Alliance would greatly improve their chances against the Empire. This is why Truul had blown his mission and lost a man, the slim chance that he could get his passengers back to their own universe, have them convince their government to aid the Alliance, and hopefully stand a chance against the Emperor’s titanic war machine. It was a long shot, and High Command might not even approve of his attempt, but they were losing the war, and drastic, risky moves had to be made. He just hoped his gambit had been worth it.
While Truul plotted his erratic course, and Deanna related to the alien, Tassadar as he had identified himself, the events of the past week, Dr. Crusher and the nurses worked on clearing the interrogation drugs from Picard’s system. One of the nurses worked on covering a nasty gash on his forehead with an anti-septic bacta patch she had recovered from the shuttle’s med kit. After nearly an hour of work with the meager medical supplies she had at her disposal, Dr. Crusher was able to finally awaken Picard, raising him to a sitting position as he cleared his eyes groggily.
“Doctor,” he mumbled, looking blearily at her, and then his head began to clear. “Doctor?” His gaze passed around the small chamber as the other Federation personnel looked on, relived to have their captain back. “Where are we?” he asked, rising unsteadily to his feet, Beverly Crusher supporting him. “Safe, for now,” she replied, glancing up at the rebel commander who was sitting in the cockpit, evidently deep in thought. “They managed to get a few of us of that Imperial ship, although they haven't told us why yet.” Picard followed her gaze. “Who are they?”
“I’m not sure sir, but their leader seems to be fairly anxious to talk to you,” Geordi said. Picard rubbed his eyes again and nodded, and then looked around again. “How many escaped?” he asked. Geordi slung his head and sighed. “Only those who were in the brig area with you sir. The Doctor, Counselor Troi, Barclay, Lieutenant Tolpak, Nurses Onigawa and Walling, and myself. Two of the guests escaped as well,” the Engineer reported solemnly. “Ensign Mendez was with us to, but he was killed during the escape.” For a moment, Picard did not speak. Only seven of his crew had made it of that blasted ship, the rest at the mercy of an Empire that had no reason to hold and torture them, but was doing it none the less. He had to go back, to try and save the rest, it was duty to them. Unsteadily, the Captain worked his way forward, slowly regaining the use of his legs.
Truul, who was absentmindedly thrumming the control panel of the cockpit with his fingers looked up as Picard entered and lowered himself into the copilot’s seat, the hatch sliding closed behind him. “Finally up are ya?” the rebel commented. “Thought you might be back there forever.” Picard tried to smile and extended his hand. “I would like to thank you for saving my crew at the risk of the lives of you and your men.” Truul shook the thanks of with a wave of his hand, an image of Charen passing through his mind. “I couldn’t let the Imps keep ya.” Picard let the short reply pass into silence, and then sighed. “However, I need to go back. I can’t allow my crew to suffer on that Imperial ship, as they will no doubt do because of our escape. You need not be dragged into this, just send me back and take my crew to safety.” Such an act of self-sacrifice could not be undertaken lightly, but the Captain would be willing to do far worse for them.
Truul shook his head. “No can do Captain. I lost a man to rescue you, and not about to throw away our mission just because of your sense of duty or honor,” he replied without looking at Picard. “It’s too bad I couldn’t get more of your crew out, but they’re acceptable losses.” At this remark, Picard’s demeanor suddenly changed. “One thousand for ten is not acceptable losses!” he spoke angrily. “No one asked you to save me. I must go back.” Truul suddenly glared at Picard equally angry. “Do you really think you going back will save them Picard? If the Imperials want something from ‘em, they’ll take it, and when they’re done, whoever survives will be shipped of to some backwater world, and no one will ever hear from them again. That’s how those fiekirks do things, and if you go back, it’ll just happen to you to, although you’ll end up dead a lot faster than the rest.” Picard looked at the rebel for a long while, and the truth of what he said sank in. “Face it Picard, they’re gone. Even if I could wrangle up enough ships to take on that star destroyer, they’d probably be gone, replaced by even more hips looking for that wormhole of yours.” Picard slumped back into the chair, now acutely aware of a headache spreading through his mind. “Why did you rescue us?”
Truul proceeded to recount his plan, his hopes, his assumptions about Picard and the Federation, as well as a short history of the rebellion. When he had finished, Picard shook his head. “Even if we could find the wormhole and get back through it, it is against Federation policy to interfere with the internal affairs of other groups.” This was the response Truul had feared, but he wasn't about to give up. “These people, Palpatine, are monsters. They kill and torture without reason, what they’re doing to your crew right now.” Picard cringed at this, and Truul decided to stay of the topic. “They blew up an entire planet just to test a new weapon. Seven billion people killed without a thought. They’ve enslaved or wiped out entire species Picard, and they could easily do it again. You can’t not be involved in this now. If they find that wormhole, then nothing will stop them from rolling over your Federation. But if you help us, if we can get you to your people first and warn them, then we might have a fighting chance. It probably won’t work of course, and I doubt your “Starfleet” could stand up to them, but if they could even just distract them, the Alliance might have the chance to gain enough support to stop the Empire once and for all.” When Truul mentioned this grim prospect, Picard shuddered.
The Federation hadn't been at war for decades, and judging by the sheer size of a single Imperial cruiser, Picard doubted that the Federation could survive a war with them, especially if tales the fleets of thousands of the ships Truul had recounted to him were true. His superiors were used to opponents of comparable size and power, like the Romulans or the Cardassians, but this Empire it seemed far surpassed both. A feeling of dread passed over Picard, he had witnessed the Federation brought to its knees before, by the Borg, and he wouldn’t stand for it again. “Very well,” he said finally. “If you can get me back to my own dimension, I shall try to convince them of the danger the Empire posses. But I can guarantee nothing.”
This was all Truul needed to hear. “Glad you see it my way. We’ll be at fleet command in a few days, and I can propose my plan to higher ups.” He grinned. “You aint the only one with superiors.” The rebel turned back to the controls, but a sudden pang of guilt struck him. “And I’m sorry about your crew, really. I know who it feels to lose men.”
Picard sighed and nodded, and was preparing to inform the others of their situation when a sudden thought struck him. “We have to go back.” Truul sighed exasperatedly. “Look Picard, I thought we already…” The Captain held out a hand to interrupt him. “No, before the Imperials picked us up, I sent a small number of my crew, including my first officer and two form this universe on a reconnaissance mission to a star system close to our position. We need to catch them before they fly straight into Imperial hands.” Truul frowned. “What do you mean by people from this universe?” he asked. “Before the Enterprise, our ship, passed through the wormhole, we picked up several individuals that were not from our galaxy. Two of them are onboard this ship, but the others went with my first officer. Among them are two who identified themselves as jedi, from this dimension.” Truul’s jaw dropped. To bring a jedi, much less two in contact with the Alliance was worth a promotion to general, and might end up saving his skin if the commanders didn’t go for his crazy Federation plan. Luke Skywalker, the only force-user in the Rebellion, had alone turned their struggle from a hopeless running fight to an unlikely, but winnable struggle. Imagine what three together could do.
“I don’t think a little detour could hurt,” Truul said, hastily altering the flight computer’s coordinates. Picard was surprised; he had expected to have to haggle with the rebel. “Near your position ‘eh? Sounds like the Poloon system. Hold on, course corrections can get pretty choppy.”
In surge of motion, the commandeered Lambda-class shuttle plunged out of hyperspace and it the blackness of realspace. The journey had taken only an hour and a half, but it had felt like an eternity to Picard and the others. If Riker and the others made it back to the point where the Torrent had picked up the refugee fleet, then they would be captured as well, and Picard would lose even more good officers. Truul was also concerned. Although it was unlikely they were still being tracked, he were taking a risk not heading straight for the fleet with his passengers, and they were a long way from rebel reinforcements. Still, allowing two more jedi to fall into Darth Vader’s hands would be unacceptable, and Truul wasn't about to be accessory to the genocide of the Jedi Order. Besides, a promotion might depend on the success of this mission, and such considerations were seldom far from Truul’s mind.
“There she is, Poloon Three. If your friends are still in this system, that where they’ll be,” Truul said from the pilot’s seat, gesturing at the distant world, a blue and gray marble hanging in the blackness. From over his shoulder, Picard looked on intently, as if staring at the world would speed their journey towards it. In the copilot’s chair, Flitch sat, nervously scanning the sensors. “Major Besteen… um, Truul,” the young man spoke up, remembering that that Truul liked being on a first name basis during operations. “I’m picking up a lot of activity around that planet, maybe we should go in quiet.” Truul shook his head. “Nah, its fine. The Poloon system is a major trade hub in this sector, there are bound to be plenty of ships going in and out. Just stay out of they’re way and they’ll stay out of ours.” Flitch nodded and returned to scanning his sensors. “So what were your men doing here Picard, where should we look for them?” Picard thought back. “Well, they’re mission was to locate a ship that could transport the Enterprise’s survivors to a habitable world.”
Truul nodded and began to access the planet’s trade and communications net. “Then they’ll probably be looking around the cantinas or shipping companies. Hold on, I’ll check out the…” A light began flashing on Flitch’s sensor display. “Son, shut that thing off. I told you that this world had plenty of traffic,” Truul ordered, annoyed at being interrupted. “Yes sir, but well,” the rebel stopped to double-check his readings. “Is there normally an Imperial fleet stationed here?” Truul looked at his subordinate sharply. “What?” Flitch tapped a few controls and a representation of the system appeared on the flight terminal’s data screen. There were the expected transponder signals of various cargo freighters and private craft. However, there were also five different signals, glowing blue for ally on the stolen ship’s monitor. “Imp patrols hardly ever stop around here, much less a whole fleet.” He began working the controls fiercely as the shuttle grew closer to the planet, which had swollen to fill most of the canopy viewport. Picard turned to see Deanna enter, no doubt attracted by the sudden consternation in Truul’s voice. “Is something the matter? Have they located,” her voice trailed off as she glanced out the window. “What is that?” she gasped. The others looked up to see what had caught her attention.
At they’re range, even the largest of the cargo ships silhouetted on the planet’s surface appeared as nothing more than pinpricks, but directly before them was a huge shape, dagger like and long. Its hull was seemingly thin, but its upper surface was covered in black, tower-like structures, giving the impression of a large cityscape. Truul’s mouth fell open in shock. “An Imperial Command ship,” he muttered grimly. “One Super Star Destroyer and four escorting Imperial-class Destroyers in high orbit sir,” Flitch affirmed shakily, studying his sensor readouts. “Well,” Truul stated numbly. “It’s a safe bet that the Empire knows your friends are here.”
At almost thirteen miles long, the Executor-class Command ships were some of the largest starships in existence, and the embodiment of Imperial power and authority. They’re sheer size could scare even the most staunch opponent into surrender without as much as a shot form its thousands of turbolaser emplacements, and its shields had enough power to shake off head on collisions with bodies in excess of a mile long. Only a handful were known to exist, but one was recognizable to most of the inhabitants of the civilized galaxy, Vader’s Command ship, after which the whole line was named. And towards this behemoth and its mile long tenders, miniscule by comparison, the shuttle hurtled, like an insect drawn to by a bright lamp. To veer of this close would draw suspicion, and the attention of an Imperial task force was the last thing any of the passengers needed. “Should we not move away?” the Arbiter asked, crowding the small doorway, which was slowly drawing a crowd. “Too late,” Truul responded, keeping doggedly on the controls. “Nothing for it but to keep going and hope they don’t ask any questions.” It was a false hope of course, Imperials always asked questions, but it was all they had.
Truul tried to angle the ship into a populated flight lane to disguise them, but traffic was minimal, perhaps due to an Imperial cordon of the planet, but it didn’t make a difference. The transponder identifying the shuttle as Imperial property was active, and such an unscheduled arrival in the presence of other Imperials was bound to raise eyebrows. The Command ship was now large enough to see clearly, light reflected of Poloon Three’s single moon illuminating its cold, metal frame. The inhabitants of the cockpit watched quietly as the shuttle began to pass it by, a mere ten thousand kilometers away. Suddenly, Flitch shouted, “I’m picking up an energy spike from those ships!” They would fire so soon, without so much as a request for clearance, Truul wondered desperately. “Evasive maneuvers! Initiate the…” However, before the Major could finish his order, white light spilled from the vast engines of the ships, and in a flash, they jumped into the blackness, disappearing instantly.
“The Imperial fleet has jumped into hyperspace,” Iask stated calmly. He and Riker were sitting on the small bridge of the Coral Iris, watching the sensor displays. “However, it seems that they have left a single Star Destroyer, perhaps to look for us.” Riker nodded. “Can your ship evade it long enough to jump to warp?” The Mon Calamari swiveled a large eye at the commander quizzically. “Warp?” Riker paused, and shook his head, embarrassed. “Hyperspace, right. Sorry, I’m new around here.” The Mon Cal swiveled his eye back to the control display in front of him. “Perhaps there are some things you should tell me when we are in a less precarious situation,” he said, pulling up long-range readings on the Star Destroyer’s status. “As to your question, it is possible that we could make our escape before the Destroyer was on us, but it may be wise to wait a few hours. It appears to be in geo-synchronous orbit above Starlane City, and should pass out of pursuit range fairly soon.” The plan made sense, and a few more hours wouldn’t affect Riker’s mission that much. “Alright, I’ll go back and check on the others.” He rose from the secondary flight control and headed towards the door. “And thanks again for this.”
After blasting off from the docking port, the Coral Iris had been pursued by a squad of Tie fighters. Although the ship was a modified cargo freighter at one hundred and five meters long, it was surprisingly fast maneuverable, and would have escaped from the patrol if it hadn't run into the Imperial fleet when it broke orbit. Fortunately, the fleet hadn't take much interest in the fleeing ship, and the Iris was able escape their firing range before their turbolaser banks had opened up. Still doggedly pursued by the fighter squadron, Iask had flown his ship into the debris field surrounding the planet’s single, uninhabited moon. The field, made up of trash and various carcasses of wrecked and abandoned ships, had been largely ignored by the planetary government for centuries, and thus was sufficiently dense to hide the Mon Calamari ship. Settled in the burned out hull of an old Lanowar Assault Cruiser with the power at minimum, the Tie fighters had lost them, and had moved off to a distant part of the trash cloud, chasing sensor ghosts and drifting debris.
Riker worked his way aft, past the weapons stations and the large storage hangar that dominated the forward fin section. In the tail lay Iask living quarters and the access ramp area, where the rest of Riker’s team still waited, strapped in preparation for more evasive maneuvers. Passing down a short hallway, Riker loped through a white, clean door and into the habitation area. Jossa, Data, and Worf were located beyond, seated in the main passenger area, a small, bright chamber lined with a row of seats. “We’ve managed to evade the Imperials and most of them have moved off, but the pilot thinks we should remain hidden until the remained of the force is out of range.” The others rose from their restraints, relieved to be at rest for a moment at least. “Commander, I would like to be advised to our tactical position,” Worf asked, straightening the phaser on his belt. Riker nodded. “The bridge is beyond the storage bay, I’m sure Iask will allow you to look over the sensors.” The Klingon made a nod of recognition, and headed through the hatch Riker had passed through. Data was examining a wall control display, admiring its construction. “Ingenious,” he said, in the fascinated tone he took on while studying new technology. “The visual display is design to split information on two bands vision. I suspect it would increase the practicality of these displays greatly for sentients of the Mon Calamari’s facial configuration.” Riker grinned a little, reminded of happier days on the Enterprise, Data’s constant fascination with even the most ordinary things.
He was about to speak with Jossa, who was staring aimlessly at the floor, evidently absorbed with grief, when he noticed the absences. “Were are the jedi and Master Chief?” Data looked up from his control panel. “I believe that they are still in the rear access hallway. I suspect that they found places to secure themselves back there.” This made sense, the inertial dampeners onboard the Iris were evidently set fairly low, and the evasive maneuvers had been difficult on the passengers. Riker made his way through to the very rear of the ship, Data and Jossa in tow.
As they were about to enter the boarding chamber, the door slid open, revealing the armored Spartan super soldier, Jacen supported in his arms. “Is he injured?” Riker asked, grabbing hold of Jacen’s shoulders. The Chief shook his head. “Negative sir, just a little shaken up. He passed out while we were holding off the Imperial troops and the liftoff didn’t help.” Riker looked at the soldier’s opaque bubble faceplate quizzically. “Collapsed?” “While the jedi and I were holding off the Imperial soldiers Commander. Jacen Solo lost focus and began to collapse and Aayla Secura…” The Chief was interrupted by an odd shivering movement from Jacen, although his eyes were still closed. “Aayla Secura ordered me to take him onboard and seal the docking ramp,” the Chief continued. Riker was astonished. “You mean you left her there? Why?” His voice was tinged with a sudden anger. The soldier stared back impassively. “She seemed to believe it was the only way to allow the ship to leave. I doubt any course of action I could have taken would have convinced her to come onboard.” The Chief was doubted that Riker could understand the mental link two warriors could feel; fleet crew could often loose such things. Before Riker could respond, Jacen let out a small moan. “I can’t feel her. She’s gone.” Riker grabbed his shoulders tighter. “Gone? Do you mean…” His words were cut short as Worf boomed suddenly over the ship’s comm. “Commander, report to the bridge. We may have a problem.” Riker glanced once more at the mournful Jacen and then sighed. “Jossa, find him a bed. The rest of you, with me.”
Back on the ship’s small command center, the Mon Calamari and Worf were monitoring the remaining Star Destroyer closely. Riker and the others piled into chamber, their attention immediately grabbed by the image of the destroyer displayed on the chamber’s sensor screens. Next to it, miniscule by comparison, several starships flew, exchanging green spears of fire. “What’s the situation?” Riker asked, moving behind the secondary command chair, in which Worf was seated. “The Imperial cruiser just dispatched a squadron of fighters to pursue a shuttle attempting to leave orbit,” Iask replied in his wheezy Basic. “Sensor readings indicate it’s a Lambda class shuttlecraft.” “Another Imperial ship,” Worf clarified. Riker watched the battle intently, stroking his chin. Why would they be firing on one of their own ships? “Did you pick up any communications between the two?” he asked. “Negative commander,” Lt. Worf replied. “If there were any, the signal clutter from the other starships in orbit blocked it. However, they are broadcasting some kind of repeating signal.” The Klingon tapped a few controls. “I… um, can’t read them though.” From the Chief’s helmet, Cortana spoke up. “Hold on, I’ll interface and enter my translator algorithms.” The odd, blocky writing on Worf’s display flickered, disappeared, and was replaced with English characters, reading: Power down your vessel and prepare to be boarded. You have fifteen seconds to comply or we will open fire. A moment later, the same message was repeated in a cold, human voice over the ship’s speaker system. Iask apprised the others on his bridge with curiosity. “You really must tell me where you are from when this is over. Now, I would request your droid brain remove itself from my system. R2-E4 dislikes competitors.”
To compound the point, a bucket-shaped squat astromech droid rolled onto the bridge, its green-plated dome twisting back and forth furiously. Emitting a rapid series of shrill beeps, it extended a metallic arm from its body and plugged into a wall terminal. “Oh, sorry,” Cortana said, mildly embarrassed. “Should have asked.” Sensing her receding from the computer, the small droid tooted in an annoyed fashion and retracted its arm. Riker found it curious that the Mon Calamari was not alarmed by Cortana’s sudden presence. Perhaps the people of this universe were more familiar with artificial beings.
Worf cleared his thought, his attention focused on the firefight. “I believe this may be an opportunity to escape. If the Destroyer is occupied, we may be able to avoid its notice.” Iask nodded. “A sound proposal, I shall implement it.” The ship’s engines ignited, and its primary systems began to come back online. The Mon Cal pushed on the thruster lever, and his freighter began to ease forward, out of the debris. “Wait,” Riker said suddenly. “Head towards the fleeing shuttle.” The rest looked at him, surprised. “Commander, I do not believe that course of action is wise. We have no way of knowing who is on the craft,” Data stated. “I know, but I’ve got a feeling about this,” Riker said.
In his mind, the logical part of his brain began to berate him for such a ridiculous idea, but for some reason helping the besieged shuttle felt right. “After all, the enemy of our enemy is our friend,” he said, placing a familiar cocky grin on his face. Iask looked into Riker’s face, Considering. At last he sighed. “I too question the practicality of this action, but I am still indebted to you.” As the alien began to orient his craft towards the distant cruiser, a sense of shame flooded Riker. He had forgotten that this was the Mon Calamari’s vessel. “I’m sorry, I had… you don’t have too go. I couldn’t ask any more from you,” he supplicated. But just as he had done before, Iask shrugged it off. “No, it is alright. After all, I was saved from death. Why shouldn’t I pass the gift on to another?” Riker smiled. This pilot was a rare breed; nobility such as his was rare in any universe. “Prepare for combat. There are two gunnery stations just aft of the bridge,” the pilot said, accelerating his ship out of the garbage cloud. “Can you operate them?” Riker grinned. “I think I can manage.” He headed back out of the cramped command area, Master Chief falling into place behind him. “I knew you couldn’t resist blowing something up,” Cortana whispered jokingly in his ear.
The manta shaped Coral Iris shot through crowds of starships fleeing the small battle, its energy shields crackling to life. The small shuttle flew erratically, battered by the green blasts of seven pursuing Ties. The Star Destroyer flew along behind, sending an occasional volley of turbolaser bolts after the fleeing ship. Focused on their prey, the fighters didn’t notice the lone freighter swing up behind them. “Are you ready Commander?” Iask called over the comm. Riker was seated in a recessed alcove, a projection of the outside space spreading over his head. Before him was a large control panel, very similar to the E-Web turret back planetside. He couldn’t read any of the controls of course, but he got the gist of it. “I’m set,” he said, aiming a targeting reticule on the closest Tie. Behind him, in a similar station the Master Chief sat, slightly cramped by his armor, but ready nonetheless. A green light flicked to life on his display and the pilot shouted the go ahead. Closing his eyes involuntarily, Riker squeezed the firing studs under his hands.
From each wing of the graceful manta a dual-barreled weapon emerged, swiveling swiftly on their mounts. Then two streams of livid red fire poured forth, speeding through empty space like lightning bolts. Taken unawares, one of the fighters exploded instantly, its hexagonal wings flying away the fireball that had once been the cockpit. Confused by the attack, the others broke their formation and spun back, just in time to see the Iris plow past them. The gunners on the Star Destroyer began to fire on this new threat with vigor, and a Turbolaser blast knocked against the shields. The ship listed to the side sharply, knocking all those standing to the deck plate. The six remaining Ties quickly recovered and began to tail the freighter, adding their energy bolts to that of their carrier. The Chief and Riker moved their turrets around to the rear on their pivots and continued firing, their blasts taking down another pursuer.
Finding itself with an unexpected ally, the shuttle moved closer to the freighter, taking shelter near its shields. “They are not responding to hails, their communications array may be offline,” Iask commented, scanning the ship. “Their engines appear to be failing,” Worf said, taking advantage of the translation subroutines Cortana had left in the ship’s computer despite the astromech’s complaints. “They wont be able to jump,” Iask said worriedly, analyzing the sensor display. “They’re to damaged to take much more from the Destroyer, and the Iris’s shields are beginning to fade.” The situation was beginning to look hopeless. As Riker thrummed his turret, he wondered if his feeling was going to get them all killed. The Tie he was targeting wove under his blasts, unleashing its own fire on the fleeing ship. The craft buckled again.
As sparks began to spit from the shield control panel on the bridge, something occurred to Data. “Iask, is the cargo hold in this ship large enough to accommodate that shuttle?” For a moment, the Mon Calamari ran over dimensions in his head. “I believe it is, but… ah, yes.” If the set jaws of his species were capable of grinning, Iask would have been as he triggered the cargo doors of his vessel open. At the top of his ship’s smooth surface, a long crack appeared and began to widen, revealing the ships main chamber, the cargo hold, beneath. Normally, the hold would have been filled with raw material or droid parts, as Iask often transported for industrial firms, but all that flew out were a few packing crates, left over from his last job. The pursuing fighters skimmed easily out of the way of the debris, and moved closer to see what their prey was planning. Taking advantage of there reduce range, the Chief sent four energy blasts into one fighter’s hull, spilling its unfortunate pilot into space. The others eased back, but the intensity of their fire increased.
Fortunately, the shuttle seemed to realize what Iask was doing and began to position itself above the freighter, its fight wings closing around its body. Suddenly alerted to their plan, the gunners on the Destroyer upped its cannonade, but the Lambda had already touched down, the load doors closing overhead. “I assume you don’t have a preference for our jump coordinates Commander,” the pilot asked dryly as the Iris’s shields began to fail. “Anywhere but here,” was Riker’s response as he fired a few parting shots at his pursuers. The hyperdrive engines, mounted under the Iris’s tail section, hummed to life and spilled forth white light. Then, in a surge of motion, the Coral Iris was gone, leaving the Imperial ships alone in space.
Riker, along with Master Chief, Lt. Worf and Data walked down the stairway connecting the command deck with the cargo bay floor, weapons in hand. As they clacked across the cold metal floor, a ramp mounted under the shuttle’s cockpit section began to descend, and the Chief aimed his repeating blaster at the opening. Commander Riker waved him off, he didn’t want their guests to feel threatened, but bringing armament was a precaution that could not be done without. With a puff of steam, the ramp hit the deck plate, revealing an empty passageway illuminated by a single light. Making sure his translator was on; Riker stepped forward and called out. “We mean you no harm. Our ship noticed yours in distress and we decided to render assistance.” Before Riker could finish his formal assurances, a head poked into view. “Commander?” Riker smiled in astonishment and relief. “Geordi! What are you doing on that ship?” The engineer moved himself into full view, and others emerged behind him. “It’s a long story Commander, a long story.”
Chapter Nineteen
The guard collapsed onto the floor with the muffled sound of flesh on stone, his head cloven in two. Behind the crumpled form, three other Imperial Royal Guardsmen, draped in their imposing crimson robes, looked on in alarm and dismay. As the attacker stepped over the smoking body of their compatriot, in unison they activated the power cells embedded in the long force pikes each held, although they each knew it was a futile gesture. The pointed ends of their staffs sparked with energy, and the guards pointed them at their assailant, a wall of electric death. The Emperor’s Imperial Guard were some of the greatest fighters in the galaxy, and three of them armed could give a rancor pause, but this foe would not be stopped by such petty obstacles. As the soldiers prepared to attack, the lead guard suddenly found his deadly staff wrenched from his hands. From behind his eye slit, he watched the weapon hover in mid air for a moment before it hurled itself at his neck, flinging him into a nearby wall and snapping his neck.
Their formation destroyed, the remaining men exchanged final glances and charged, weapons raised to impale their target. Force pikes in the hands of such men could puncture armor plating, but this adversary was quick, and dove in-between the approaching weapons. In a flash of red light, on guard collapsed, a gaping hole running across his armored chest. The final crimson robe whirled around, his emotionless flat facemask illuminated by the attacker’s luminescent blade. In a fluid motion, he brought the staff unto the attacker’s armored head, only to find its tip was absent, lying on the floor nearby and sparking erratically. Deftly ducking under the vicious blow, the attacker swung upward with his weapon, drawing a line of fire along the guardsman’s long robe. He staggered backwards, his pike falling from limp fingers. The man fell to his knees, and looked up at the last thing he would ever see: a tall, menacing figure, dark as death itself.
Darth Vader nudged the fallen form with his boot, and then let out a sigh, a strange, artificial sound. It was a pity he was forced to kill these men, powerful and loyal to the Empire, but it had to be done. There had to be no witnesses, no reinforcements.
Convinced the spark of life had left each of the guards, Vader took one last look around the hallway, buried deep within the uppermost level of the Imperial palace on Coruscant. The broad, dim chamber seemed to be empty and unadorned, save for the four broken soldiers and a huge door that stood beyond them. Of course there were unseen surveillance monitors lining the hall, Palpatine’s intense paranoia demanded it, that were frantically beaming alerts to the palace guard, but Vader had seen to it that those signals never were received. The commander of palace security was remarkably weak-minded, and thus quite open the Sith lord’s “Suggestions.” The being that was once Anakin Skywalker clipped his lightsaber to his belt and approached the massive doors, bracing himself for what was to come.
Palpatine felt the guards die.
Seated upon his mighty throne, his back to the massive window he often reflected by, a grimace of annoyance crossed over the Emperor’s face. Those had been his favorite of the dozens of crimson guards he had selected personally, and it would be a hassle choosing new ones. But it was a small concern to one with power and authority as great as his. Even the mightiest and most resourceful of servants could be replaced, a lesson had learned well during his rise to power. Brooding on the high pedestal, the Emperor was far more interested in the one who had killed the guardsmen. Darth Vader must be in a foul mood, even for him, Palpatine thought, waiting for the throne room door to open. Perhaps the jedi he had sensed had eluded Vader, or perhaps it was another setback in the search for young Luke Skywalker. This thought brought to Palpatine’s dark mind the plan he had for the Skywalker offspring, a potential replacement for his father when the time was right. Then the massive doors began to open, and the Sith master dispelled the musings from his mind, intent on keeping his own thoughts to himself.
Through the doors Darth Vader marched, encased as always in the armor Palpatine had chosen himself, part life support system and part prison, a constant reminder to the dark warrior of all he had suffered. As the doors began to close behind the figure, Palpatine focused on Vader’s opaque eye bubbles, probing his mind. As always had been the case since the discovery of his son, the Sith Lord’s mind was occupied and concentrated elsewhere, but he usually hide it better when in the presence of his master. Odd, Palpatine thought, Vader’s mind was also clouded, as if he was trying to keep the Emperor out, as if he was hiding something. Intriguing, the master mused as his apprenticed stopped and kneeled at the foot of Palpatine’s high dais, but all would be revealed in time. No one kept secrets from the lie-monger for long.
“Rise, Lord Vader,” Palpatine said, adding a sickening sugary tone to his scratchy voice. “Tell me, why have you come here unannounced?” The reason, the Emperor suspected, that his best guards lay dead in the hall was that they would not let the Dark Lord pass without an appointment, as he had failed to make. A trivial matter, but Palpatine could inspire such blind, self sacrificing loyalty in men, often with just a thought. Darth Vader was another matter entirely. Though he had served unwaveringly for more than two long decades, Palpatine had always suspected he was too free-willed to be entirely trusted. His summary executions of various admirals without consulting his master, along with a recent incident involving one of the Emperor’s top advisors which had ended rather messily was evidence enough of that.
Vader rose from his submissive posture. “I have information that can be delivered only directly, my master. It is of the utmost secrecy, and a message over the holonet would have compromised it,” he said steadily. An unusually vague statement for one so blunt and straightforward, Palpatine thought, his interest in the dark lord rising. “Well?” he asked expectantly. “I have destroyed the Jedi,” was Vader’s reply.
For a long moment, Palpatine stared at his servant, genuinely surprised by the statement. Then he began to chuckle, a cold, humorless sound. “My friend, I had thought you long past humor.” Then his gaze sharpened. “Surely you would not travel to Coruscant, kill my best guards, and waste my time with news that could so simply be transmitted?” It was not a question. Most any other sentient would have withered under Palpatine’s piercing gaze, but Vader stared back, resolute. What was his game, Palpatine wondered, trying to tear through the Dark Lord’s barriers, but his mind remained clouded. Vader had never behaved in this manner around Palpatine before, and it was unnerving, even for one of the Emperor’s power.
Darth Vader looked up at him in silence for a long moment, as if trying think of a response that would spare him his master’s wrath. Then words came again. “I have destroyed the Jedi, and now I will destroy you.” As punctuation to this statement, Vader’s lightsaber flew from its belt to his gloved hand, igniting in a blaze of red.
Palpatine’s narrow eyes widened briefly, and then he regained his composure. He had foreseen this happening; it was only a matter of time. In the ancient traditions of the Sith Order, there could only be true masters of the dark side at a time, a master and apprentice. To maintain this rule of two, when the master’s apprentice grew powerful enough to rival his master, he would challenge him for the position of master. If the apprentice slew his master, he would take his place and chose a new apprentice, but if he should lose, the master would slay the foolish upstart and find a new being to mold to their will. It was the way of the Sith, and had been for millennia. And Palpatine knew the cycle had begun again. He had not expected Vader to work up the nerve so soon, but the Sith Master was not concerned. He knew that defeating Vader would be a simple task, perhaps even enjoyable. Disposing of weak or disloyal was always satisfying, although finding a new apprentice would be tedious. Vader had done a very thorough job disposing of the Jedi, and force-sensitives were hard to come by. Still, there were a few candidates, maybe even the young Skywalker.
Palpatine rose from his throne slowly, his wrinkled hands falling to his sides. His shriveled, ancient appearance belied the power that lay beneath the dark robe and thin mound of old flesh that stood atop the high pedestal. “So, the time has come Lord Vader?” he asked, and then grinned wickedly, rotted teeth clearly visible. “I will of course grant you the dignity of a painful death.” Rather than waste time with words, the Dark Lord tapped deeply into the well of power that was the dark side and then began to pound up the steps of Palpatine’s Dais, lightsaber ready to strike. The Emperor considered drawing his own crimson lightsaber, buried deep within the folds of his robes, but disregarded the notion. That would end this contest too quickly, and he wanted Vader to see his own failure before death took him. So instead, Palpatine extended his right palm and pushed. The approaching warrior jerked to a stop, as if he had collided with solid stone. Palpatine’s grin widened. Such a blast would have sent most other combatants hurtling across the chamber and into the hard walls, but Vader had managed to repel the brunt of the attack. He had trained the dark lord well. Darth Vader strained and pushed out with the Force ferociously, breaking the invisible barrier. He lunged, and brought his lightsaber down on the Emperor’s head.
The old man shifted out of the way faster than any being without the aid of the Force could move, and Vader’s blade instead sliced through Palpatine’s dark throne. Before the severed slab of metal had even touched the ground, Palpatine knocked his former apprentice of balance with the slightest push through the Force, and the armored cyborg tumbled down the many-stepped platform, scrabbling to regain his footing.
As Vader fell, the Emperor motioned for the chunk of metal lying beside him to rise and it obeyed. Just as Darth Vader had struggled to his feet, the block of durasteel hurtled towards him, guided by Palpatine’s finger. The Sith lord’s crimson blade intercepted the missile, sheering it in half and sending the two new pieces clattering towards the polished floor. These wayward fragments did not stay at rest however. As Vader again charged Palpatine, the two shorn fragments shot at his back like rounds from a rail gun. Vader deflected the first with an invisible wall, but the second impacted the small of his back, sending the cyborg sprawling forward with a cry of pain. However, as he tumbled onto the stone steps, his lightsaber shot from his gloved hand, a flaming missile. To his surprise, Palpatine almost missed the attack, and sidestepped out of the way just in time, Vader’s blade cutting a burning gash in his black robe. “Well done Lord Vader, it seems I have taught you well,” he said, his smile fading. Darth Vader ignored his former master, instead reaching out for his lightsaber, which lay on the steps nearby. The device flew into his hand and re-ignited, and he renewed his charge, causing the Emperor to begin to back away from the deadly implement. As the crimson blade of energy swept ever closer, Palpatine decided it was time to end the contest.
Darth Vader swung high, hoping to decapitate the tyrant, but Palpatine was ready. With a feral laugh, his lightsaber rocketed from the folds robes, its own blade coming alive. The two beams of energy clashed, and a molten barrier formed between the combatants. Vader was startled by the appearance of the Emperor’s blade, and faltered. Taking advantage of this, the Sith Master plucked the hilt of his blade from mid air and began to hammer at his opponent. The sudden ferocity of the attack sent Vader’s lightsaber spinning out of his hand. As it bounced down the stone steps, the Emperor pushed out again, sending Vader flying off the steps. However, he did not fall to the ground. Instead, Palpatine held him up like a rag doll, his left hand raised towards the ceiling, the mocking grin creeping back across his face. Vader struggled with all his brute energy, but he could not break free. Straining, the black armored titan managed to gesture towards the lightsaber in Palpatine’s hand, and it began to nudge forward. “I think not,” Palpatine hissed and glared at the offending hand, Vader’s right. Slowly, they began to bend in on themselves, artificial fingers warping and breaking. Vader howled in rage and pain, but he was now totally immobile, at Palpatine’s mercy hanging three meters of the ground.
“And now Lord Vader,” Palpatine said calmly, deactivating his lightsaber, “your death will come at last. Go, and join your precious Padme Amidala. I wonder what she will think of you after all these years.” Hearing these words, Vader unleashed a horrific roar, far louder than Palpatine had thought his suit was capable of relaying. Grinning, Palpatine slowly began to close his hand into a fist, and Vader’s cry of rage and anguish was cut short. The twisted old man, emperor of the stars, was utterly focused on the life he held in his hands, ignoring all around him, all his plans and schemes, the throne room around him and the shadows it harbored, all momentarily forgotten. And then Palpatine was victorious. Darth Vader’s mental barriers broke, and the Sith Master could see into his thoughts with effortless ease. The creature’s mind was laid bare, and Palpatine could see all he wished, his motivations, his feelings for his son, his schemes to usurp power all come to naught. He had won, as he always did. Palpatine reveled in the feeling, gloried in victory, and so absorbed in it was he that when a beam of light erupted from his chest, he barely noticed it.
Then the burning started. A searing, life draining pain wrenched at his heart, or what had been his heart, now just a steaming hole that ran through his chest and back. “For the Order,” someone whispered in his ear, and then the beam of light disappeared, leaving only a gapping, smoking chasm in his flesh. Palpatine lost his mind.
Darth Vader felt himself clatter to the ground. Steeling himself against the pain that permeated his battered form, Vader managed to rise up onto his haunches, using his crushed right hand for support. Through a cracked eye bubble, he could see Palpatine transfixed on his high platform, staring blindly into space. Behind him, Aayla Secura stood, wrenching her lightsaber out of Palpatine’s back. Behind his mask, Vader managed a weak half smile; their gambit had worked. He had fought and distracted the Emperor long enough for Aayla to sneak through the shadows and position herself behind him, waiting for a moment of weakness. If Palpatine had not been so arrogant and obsessed to shame Vader, then the plan would have failed, but Darth Vader knew his master well. He waited for the twisted monster to collapse and die, but he did not.
To his horror, the twisted man turned to the Twi’lek, cackling madly. He extended his fingers, and lightning poured forth, knocking Aayla off her feet. The energy coursed into her lightsaber and down her arm, and she screamed. A sudden determination came over the wounded Sith lord as he spied his saber hilt lying on the ground beside him. Inhaling deeply to gather all the oxygen he could from damaged respirators in his suit, he took up the weapon in his left, undamaged hand, and began to limp up the stone steps atop which Palpatine stood. Hobbling up step after step, the mad emperor and the screaming Twi’lek came into view. Energy coursed over her body, and Vader could feel her fading away fast. With one final surge, the Sith Lord lurched forward, his blade crashing down on Palpatine’s shriveled head. For a moment, the twisted being stood there, a sickening grin still on his cloven face, and then he fell forward, the last sparks of life emptying from him. As the corpse fell, a surge of memory flashed through Vader’s mind, and he pushed with all his might against the body, sending it flapping across the chamber and into the Emperor’s viewing window. Transparisteel shattered and the broken form flew out into the night sky of Coruscant.
For a moment, it seemed to hang in midair, and then all of the dark energy, built up inside of Palpatine over the decades exploded forth. A wall of blue flame, a sun in the night sky erupted for an instant, and it bathed Vader and Aayla in terrible dark energy, the dark side at its purest. Then it was gone, and no sign of the Emperor’s passing was left, save of a gapping hole in the side of the palace, where the energy had shorn through the durasteel skin of three stories of the massive structure.
Vader stared into the night sky through the gapping hole for a while, the revelation that his master, the one who had dominated and destroyed his life, was gone. Behind him, Aayla wheezed, and Darth Vader turned. She was lying prone on the floor, remarkably unscathed, save for her right arm, the one that had born the brunt of Palpatine’s final assault. It was charred; skin blackened and seething, bones broken. Beside it lay the remains of her lightsaber, now a melted mass of metal, unrecognizable. Aayla took a deep, haggard breath and looked up at Darth Vader. “Is he dead?” Vader nodded. The Twi’lek exhaled deeply and slumped back, her eyes closed. “My purpose is served. Will you kill me now?” The Dark Lord paused. He had not planned for a time after Palpatine’s defeat, and now that it was here, he did not know what to do. Slowly, it dawned on him that by killing that vile demon he had taken its place. He was lord no longer, he was master. And a master needed a student. Rising to his feet, he gathered Aayla, who had collapsed into unconsciousness, into his arms. “There is far too much yet to be done to kill you, my apprentice.”
Chapter Twenty
The planet Sullust, nestled deep within the Outer Rim, hung in space like a miniature sun. The volcanic world, home of the industrious subterranean Sullustan species, was one of the few safe havens left in the galaxy for the Rebel Alliance. And so their fleet, almost every space worthy rebel vessel, was assembled there, waiting. Waiting for what, the inhabitants of the Mon Calamari freighter did not know, but they were eager to find out. Standing on the bridge of the Coral Iris Truul, still clad in his stolen armor, watched as the ship emerged from the fiery world’s dark side, his eyes alight with anticipation. The rebel was anxious to present his plan to the high command and see if they would approve it. He was sure they would, they had to. The Iris hurtled around the sphere; bring slowly into view his objective, the fleet. Hanging in high orbit were craft of all sizes, shapes, and classifications. Stolen frigates, civilian yachts, modified transports, the massive cruisers that made up the core of the force, Calamarian in design. It was truly a sight to behold, especially for a freedom fighter that had never seen more than a handful of friendly ships gathered together. Whatever they were planning, it was big.
Beside him the android Data, one of the members of Commander Riker’s team, tapped a few controls on sensor panel. “I’m picking up five small craft approaching our position,” he said calmly. Seated in his usual command chair, the Mon Calamari Iask, who had graciously agreed to transport them, looked at Truul expectantly. “I believe you have more experience with these people than I do, what is the proper procedure?” The rebel looked over Data’s shoulder at the sensor display. “It’s a fighter squad, come to check us out. Should be signaling for clearance any second now.” A moment later, a voice crackled over the comm. “You are infringing on sovereign Sullustan space, identify yourselves.” Iask motioned to a communications link control on his command terminal, and Truul pressed it. “This is Major Truul Besteen of the Rebel Alliance requesting clearance to rendezvous with the fleet,” he said, his voice taking on a more formal air. “Security Code 0047 mark 2231-1138-567 mark Vega nine zero.” As he finished rattling of the code, five small starships came into view, flying formation towards the freighter’s bow. After a moment, the voice crackled back. “Welcome Major. Looks like you’re just in time for the party. Mind if we escort you in?” “Not at all,” Truul replied, intrigued by the pilot’s statement. “If you don’t mind me asking, exactly what party is about to start?” As the fighters moved to flank the freighter, the pilot chuckled. “I’ll imagine you’ll find out soon enough Major. Red Nine out.”
When the transmission cut off, Truul turned, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, everybody ashore who going ashore. We can all fit in the Jailbird, and you can get out of here,” he said to Iask, who was watching the fleet grow ever closer. The Jailbird was the name he had given to the captured imperial transport that sat in the Iris’s docking bay, a rather clever name Truul thought smugly. Iask thrummed his finned fingers thoughtfully. “Actually, I had considered staying around for a while. My fuel reserves were rather depleted during the recovery of your shuttle, and I had thought I might be able to re-supply here.” Truul smiled understandingly. “I’ll make sure they fill you up,” he said. “On the house too. Least I can do. This ship here really saved our butts back there.” Iask waved off the compliment, but he accepted Truul’s offer. That settled, Truul head aft to collect the rest of the passengers.
Thirty minutes later, the small passenger cabin of the Jailbird was packed and ready for departure. Before heading for the cockpit, Truul made on last check on the passengers, fifteen bodies jammed into seats or standing in the small cargo area, plus Flitch, who was signaling the rebel flagship Home One to prepare a docking bay their arrival. The two-day hyperspace trek in a ship with only three sleeping quarters had been hard on the passengers, and most were eager to get off the ship, no matter what awaited them elsewhere. Truul’s eyes paused on Jacen Solo (a name he seemed to remember but couldn’t place), the jedi who the rebel had risked coming back to Poloon for. He had been silent and reclusive for most of the trip, and Truul didn’t know what to expect of him when the high command offered the teenager a position within their ranks, as they undoubtedly would. As Picard’s first officer Riker had told it, the young Jedi had lost a friend on Poloon Three, the other Jedi. Memories of Charen flashed across Truul’s mind and he felt sorry for the man.
Sure that all who should be onboard was, Major Truul climbed into the cockpit and took up the pilot’s position. “You got a hold of the flagship?” Truul asked, starting up the lift engines. Beside him in the copilot’s chair, Flitch nodded. “Yes sir. They’ve cleared a space for us in the primary fighter bay,” he replied, also anxious to get off the cramped Mon Cal vessel. “Then lets take her out,” Truul said, cranking the orientation levers. The Lambda rose smoothly from the cargo bay as the loading doors opened, its folded wings falling into place beside its hull. The rebel fleet was abuzz with activity, fighters on patrol, supply vessels and shuttles moving from ship to ship, a constant flow of new starships joining the fleet from the planet as well as a periodic new comer emerging from hyperspace in the distance. Neither Truul nor Flitch had ever seen a rebel operation so crowded and busy.
Maneuvering a droid ship tender and over an old Corellian Corvette, the Home One came into view. It was the largest and most powerful starship the Mon Calamari had ever created, over two miles long and easily as powerful as an Imperial Star Destroyer. The MC80 cruiser was shaped like a gigantic flattened egg, covered with the characteristic sensor and weapon’s budges that all Mon Cal ships were adorned with. Deep within the bowels of this mighty vessel were housed the highest levels of Alliance organization, without which the resistance would fail. Truul had never seen the ship before, but the main fighter bay wasn't difficult to locate, and Truul began to bring his shuttle in.
Onboard the Home One’s flight deck, numerous technicians bustled about, refueling and maintaining the various starfighters that were docked there. Landings and take offs from the bay were very common, so no one gaze a second thought to the alarms that signaled the landing of another ship. However, when the landing ship began to pass through the bay’s atmospheric containment shield, an R5 droid, who was examining a micro fracture in the hull of a snub-nosed A-Wing fighter, took notice. Seeing the Imperial ship, the small droid whistled in surprise, attracting the attention of other beings around him. Although the rebels had managed to capture Lambda class shuttlecraft, one of which was sitting in that very bay, the arrival of one unannounced was cause for concern. The flight deck controller, a stocky woman in stained combat fatigues, looked over her docking schedule quizzically, and then moved slowly towards the ship, which was landing on an empty patch of deck plate. Two of the on duty guards followed her, their blaster pistols nervously drawn from hip holsters.
With a puff of steam, the shuttle’s landing ramp descended, and two men walked down it. The flight controller looked them over. “Major Besteen?” The older of the two nodded, his ponytail waggling. “That’s me,” he said, and then noticed the weary soldiers behind her. “What's the matter with them?” The controller glanced at her schedule datapad again. “Well Major, you failed to report that you were arriving in a seized Imperial Shuttle. Naturally, we were concerned.”
“Oh,” Truul said. “Forgot about that, sorry.” The controller nodded uneasily and then sighed. “Well, I’ve been informed that Commander Tregel wants to speak with you immediately. Rolan and Sernn will take you to him,” she said, gesturing at the guards behind her. Commander Tregel was the one who had sent Truul and his squad on their infiltration mission in the first place, a hard-nosed Twi’lek who usually operated around Ord Mantell. High Command must have recalled him like everyone else. Truul imagined he’d furious at him for aborting the mission, but hopefully the people who Truul had recovered would make up for it, and get him a meeting with the High Command.
As the soldiers eased of their pistols, Truul gestured to Flitch. “Get the everybody off the ship, they’ll probably want to see them right away.” The young rebel nodded and scrambled back up the ramp. “What others? I was informed that there were only three of…” the flight deck controller trailed off as the passengers began to offload.
Stamping down the ramp surrounded by various unremarkable humanoids were three towering beings, each easily as tall as a full-grown Wookiee and larger still. As Master Chief, the Arbiter, and Tassadar, surrounded by the Federation officers stepped onto the rebel cruiser’s deck plate, the three crewmen drew back in surprise, their hands gripping pistols once more. Noting their reactions, Truul grinned. “It’s a long story.” The flight controller gaped at the group. “I’m sure it is,” she said, motioning to the guards. “Escort them to the debriefing rooms. And keep an eye on them.” The two soldiers confirmed the order and sized up the more imposing of their charges. “Follow us Major,” one of them, Sernn, said, gesturing to a door that lead off the crowded bay. Truul nodded and motioned to a bald man who stood among the disembarked passengers. “Lets go captain. Politics awaits.” The group moved across the bay and out into the adjoining hall quickly, drawing curious glances from rebel techs and droids alike.
The interior of the star cruiser was very similar to Iask’s vessel, clean and white, the walls and doors designed with disorienting curves that suited the Amphibious species’ unusual eye structure. As they walked down long hallways, the Federation officers observed their surroundings with curiosity. Crewmen of all species and gender skirted past the group with little interest, absorbed in their duties and used to crossing paths with exotic beings how found their way into the Alliance daily. The Emperor’s campaigns of discrimination, slavery, and genocide targeted them the most, and members of a thousand species fought along side the rebels for a future that might allow them to live free and unfettered by Imperial prejudice. Picard and his crew, especially those who had not journeyed to Poloon Three, observed snout-nosed Kubaz, reptilian Barabels and Ishi Tib, the fold-faced Sullustans, and many others with curiosity and wonder. The aliens of their galaxy, Romulans, Klingons, Ferengi and the like would not doubt be just as fascinating to the humans upon first contact, but they were ordinary elements in their lives, and this experience was entirely new.
Unlike their human counterparts, the Arbiter and Lt. Worf eyed each passerby, looking upon them as a possible threat. The fact that both had been cooped together for two uneasy nights in the Coral Iris’s cargo bay for the lack of available bunks didn’t help matters, and both were in bad moods.
Jacen was also dower, marching along silently, but for very different reasons. The loss of Aayla still bit at him, and he couldn’t help feeling like he had abandoned her. No amount of consoling from Riker or the empath Deanna Troi could assuage his guilt and sorrow. What made the loss all the worse was that Jacen knew his own family had been responsible for her death. Back on that hangar pad, he had felt him, his grandfather, Darth Vader. Jacen had been born long after the sith’s redemption and death, but he knew it was him. The shock of feeling the presence, almost a distorted version of himself, had been too much to bear, and Jacen had collapsed, and Aayla had died because of it. He knew Aayla had died, he felt her light in the force go out while he lay prone in the arms of Master Chief on the Mon Cal’s ship. A single tear trickled down the young Jedi’s cheek as he walked through the rebel ship’s halls. So absorbed in this guilt was he that he paid little heed to the surroundings, a place and time that the historians of the New Republic would kill to witness. Nor did he heed the tiny inkling in his senses, the faintest feeling that someone he knew very well was approaching.
The rebel soldiers Sernn and Rolan finally halted in front of a dead end passage lined with sliding doors. “Commander Tregel is waiting for you in there sir,” Sernn said, gesturing to one of the unremarkable doors. Truul nodded stiffly, fidgeted with the Imperial armor he noted was distinctly out of place on the rebel vessel, and stepped through the waiting doors. Now with only Flitch as an anchor to the ship, the group of escapees grew uncomfortable. The two rebel guards still had their hands on their blasters, ready to react to any sudden hostile movement from their charges. It struck the Master Chief odd, however, that there was not more visible security watching over them, especially considering they were on the Alliance flagship. “Cortana,” he said softly into his helmet. “Try to tap into the ship’s system. See if there are any other security measures in place on this deck.” The construct replied dryly. “Planning an escape are we?” The Spartan patted the empty holster on his leg contemplatively. At Truul’s advisement, all of the passengers had left their weaponry onboard the Jailbird. “Just keeping our options open,” he replied. Cortana snuffed. “Well, in any event, I don’t think me looking about in here is a particularly good idea right now. I have no idea what kind of counter-measures the computer system has in place, and if they discover me poking around, you might just need that gun of yours.” Resigned, the Chief nodded in recognition.
Standing next to the armored soldier, Data was about to comment on the Chief’s soundless head movements when muffled shouting emerged from the chamber Truul had entered. The android cocked his head, attempting to discern what was going on inside. Beside him, Captain Picard leaned closer. “What's going on in there Mr. Data?” he asked quietly, his eyes still focused on their rebel escorts. “It’s difficult to determine Captain. However, I believe that Major Besteen is being berated by his superior. It would seem,” Data stopped short. Picard glanced at him inquisitively. “It would seem what Data?” The android shook his head. “The shouting has ceased. I can not make out anymore of the conversation,” he replied, frowning. Just as Data finished saying this, the debriefing room doors flew open and a rebel officer skittered out. He was a relatively short, tallow-skinned Twi’lek, his face still flustered from the tongue-lashing he had been giving his subordinate about dereliction of duty. “Which one of you is the Jedi?” he asked breathlessly. The crowd parted slightly, revealing the preoccupied young knight, startled out of his thoughts by the rebel officer. Sighing, Jacen stepped forward.
Several decks above, a tired woman took a sip of stimcaf. Letting the warm liquid wind its way down her throat, she leaned back in her form-chair, its memory cells reconfiguring to better suit its owner’s new posture. The woman closed her eyes, trying to sort the plans, thoughts, concerns that were flashing through it, deluging her like a Kamino rainstorm. Mon Mothma, leader of the Rebel Alliance, had the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders.
She was a pleasant woman with short, red hair and mild features etched with the creases of lengthen years and constant worry. Hardly the look one would expect of the head of the splinter organization that had posed an increasingly destabilizing threat to Palpatine’s Empire over the last half a dozen years. Mon Mothma had never intended to become a revolutionary, instead becoming the representative from Chandrila in the Galactic Senate during the waning days of the Old Republic, content to fit in with the political establishment. However, at the end of the Clone Wars, when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had declared himself Emperor and began his “New Order” of tyranny and genocide, Mothma had left the Senate in disgust and outrage. And so she had begun to tie the various terrorists and rebel cells that began to spring up over the decades, coordinating them into an effective and cohesive group. She had become the defacto, if somewhat unwilling, leader of the organization, along with a council of other cell leaders and Imperial defectors. Mon Mothma had never wanted to become its heart and leader, but once she had, she was determined to see the fledgling organization through to victory and the realization of its noble goals. In her mind, and on the data screens and flimsi-sheets scattered around her, lay the key, she hoped, to that victory.
The fleet had assembled because of the information that was displayed before her, information that could change the galaxy. The Bothan spy net, an extensive intelligence network secretly allied with the rebellion, had recently recovered top secret Imperial data confirming that the Empire was constructing a new, larger version of the fearsome Death Star, kin to the one the one that Rogue Squadron pilot and Jedi knight Luke Skywalker had destroyed over Yavin 4, the victory that had turned the rebellion around. The information, paid for heavily in Bothan lives, a fact that Mon Mothma could not forget, placed the battle station in the remote Endor system. The station was not yet operational, its planet-annihilating superlaser and shield generators were not completed, it’s only defense a shielding base on the surface of the moon it was orbiting. A target that the Alliance could not afford to pass up, especially considering that the Emperor himself was scheduled to be onboard to oversee its completion. Rubbing her brow to clear her mind, the rebel leader knew it was the last chance for the Alliance, with this new Death Star, lacking the fatal flaw that had been the undoing of its predecessor, the Empire would be unstoppable.
Sighing deeply, Mon Mothma opened her eyes and returned to the files strewn before her. She was in the process of approving Admiral Ackbar’s planned assault on the Imperial fortress. The Mon Calamari, commander of the rebel fleet, in collaboration with Imperial defector Crix Madine, had proposed a two-pronged attack. A small strike force, using the stolen Imperial shuttle Tydirium, would infiltrate the shielding base and destroy it. Then, with the station defenseless, the rebel fleet would jump in, and form a perimeter against any defending Imperial cruisers as a squadron of fighter craft penetrated the uncompleted superstructure. They would fly to the core and detonate the Death Star’s hypermatter reactor, destroying the titanic abomination, along with the Imperial leadership onboard. Without their tyrant, the power hungry local admirals and governors would tear the Empire apart, and the Rebel Alliance could attain victory. The plan was risky, and they would lose many fine soldiers, but if it worked, the galaxy would be free once more.
Just as the woman was about to send her final approval to Admiral Ackbar, a small comm unit inlaid in her desk chimed. Pushing off the scattered data pads that covered it, Mon Mothma keyed the response key. “Yes?” she asked in a quiet, refined voice. “Madame Mothma, the Millennium Falcon has arrived,” the voice responded. The rebel leader furrowed her brow. “And General Solo?” “Yes ma’am, he’s onboard.” The voice replied. Mon Mothma sighed in relief. Several of the best leaders and fighters in the rebellion had traveled to Tatooine to rescue General Solo from the clutches of the crime lord Jabba the Hutt, including Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa. If they had been killed, or lost the General, it would have been a resounding blow to the Alliance. “Very good. Have them briefed about tomorrow’s conference.” The meeting was to alert the fleet commanders to the upcoming operation’s specifics, and was to be held in the Home One’s main briefing area, on the same deck as Mon Mothma’s office. The rebel on the other end of the line acknowledged the order and shut off the channel.
Mon Mothma glanced longingly at the bed palate that lay across her quarters, beckoning to her. She had barely slept for a week, too possessed with the preparations for the make or break operation. Looking back at the fleet distribution charts and intelligence reports on her desk, she began to consider passing off the rest to Ackbar and Madine, they knew more about such things than she did after all, and all they needed was her approval. Then she shook her head violently, shaking of the thoughts. No, she needed to make sure everything was prepared as perfectly as possible; soldiers wouldn’t die needlessly just because she needed a nap. However, as she was about to go back to the preparations, the comm panel beeped again. Sighing exasperatedly, she keyed it on. “Yes?”
“Sorry to disturb you again ma’am, but there is a Commander Tregel who wishes to speak with you immediately,” the voice replied. “About what?” The voice paused before continuing. “He says that one of his agents brought aboard a group of people you and the Command might be interested in seeing. He says one of them” the man stopped again. “One of them is a what?” Mon Mothma asked, leaning forward in her chair. The man on the comm cleared his throat. “He says one of them is a Jedi, and not General Skywalker.” Mon Mothma looked at the communication panel with astonishment. “Who did he say the others were?” Another pause. “I think you should probably hear the rest from him ma’am.”
Admiral Ackbar was no doubt the greatest tactical mind in the rebellion, and a loyal and reasoned officer. He was as staunch a rebel as any could be, his watery homeworld on the verge of Imperial borne annihilation and he himself a former Imperial slave, once servant of the infamous Grand Moff Tarkin. The Mon Calamari had turned the rag tag Alliance Fleet into an efficient and organized fighting force, and had more than a few victories under his belt. However, despite all of his good qualities, he was hardly what anyone would call open-minded, a firm believer in tradition and a skeptic of anything he himself couldn’t see.
That is why he sat with his arms crossed on the lowest tier of the Home One’s main Conference Chamber, staring impetuously at the bald human male standing in the center of the room. Beside him sat the fellow members of the Alliance High Command, Mon Mothma, Crix Madine, General Rieekan, and a few others, all with varying melds of fascination and confusion on their faces. Ackbar, however, was not so easily swayed. This human, along with a rebel officer who had somehow managed to become a major, had been spouting a preposterous tale about wormholes and alternate dimensions, and a mystical, benevolent organization known as the Federation that could help them in their fight against the Empire. The admiral had better things to be doing, namely preparing for the assault on the Death Star, an operation far more worthy of his undivided attention then this fairy tale. It was beyond him how his human counterparts could be so easily interested by such an obvious fabrication. The fact that the major had recovered a jedi was a feat to be applauded, but this young human, seated silently on one of the upper tiers of the amphitheater-like chamber, hardly seemed like he could be counted on at the moment for any military operation, introverted and unaccustomed to Alliance protocols. They hadn’t even given his name yet.
There was a lull in the bald man’s speech, and Ackbar took the opportunity to rise. He began to head for the nearest exit, but a voice from behind stopped him. “Admiral, I do not believe they were done.” It was Mon Mothma’s voice, infuriatingly calm. Locking his shoulders, the amphibian turned to the turned to the rebel leader. “Excuse my rudeness Mon Mothma, but I have more important matters to attend to. I’m sure this… conference can be completed without my presence.” The woman looked into his huge, black eyes. “I’m sure they wont be much longer Admiral, you can wait.” The Mon Calamari sighed in descent, but took his seat nonetheless. Mon Mothma turned back to the presenters, who were waiting in nervous silence. “I believe you were discussing the possibility of a military compact between the Alliance and the Federation. Please, continue.”
In the corridor outside of the Briefing Room, a young communications officer pushed through two other officers and continued scurrying down the hall. The two humans looked after the squat Sullustan, wondering what could compel his short legs to move so swiftly. His face flaps waggling, the man dove past astromech droids and alarmed rebels alike, his mind set on his target. When he finally reached the appropriate doors, he slid to a stop and ran through it, almost colliding with the tall reptilian standing on the other side. He tripped and tumbled down the short flight of stairs beyond, past tiers of seats. His dense, low-slung body perpetuated the fall, and he rolled all the way down, landing in an undignified heap at the foot of the steps. Several humans moved to help him up, but he scrambled to his feat, large eyes fixed on the objective, Mon Mothma. “Emperor Palpatine is dead!”
Chapter Twenty-one
“…and we repeat our top story, at 2:35 this morning, our benevolent lord and Emperor was killed. A team of ruthless rebel terrorists was able to infiltrate the Imperial Palace in the heart of the capital and detonate a baridum explosive inside our glorious leader’s throne chamber. The blast killed Emperor Palpatine instantly, and the terrorists would have proceeded to destroy the entire structure, killing hundreds of thousands of innocent government employees if was not for the valiant actions of Lord Darth Vader, who was consulting with the Emperor at the time. Lord Vader was able to personally slay all of the murderous traitors and halt their insidious plot.”
Assembled in the Home One’s main communications blister, the High Command and those they had been giving an audience to stared in shock at the holonet transceiver that dominated the chamber’s center. Cast in bluish light, a frazzled looking human woman was talking swiftly, images of the damaged Imperial Palace displayed behind her. “Sate Pestage, one of the late Emperor’s closest advisors, made this announcement only a few hours ago,” the anchorwoman was saying as a new 3-D image filled the air around the projector. It was the figure of an old, miserly-looking man in dressed in grand robes and a tall miter, his leathery face gaunt. “Following this horrendous act of terrorism, the Imperial Advisory Council and myself have selected Lord Darth Vader, our dear ruler’s closest confidant and Commander of the Fleet, to rule in Emperor Palpatine’s stead. He has vowed to carry on our departed highness’s work of bringing unity and peace to the galaxy and to eliminate the Rebel terrorist threat. The death of our Supreme and just ruler is certainly a great blow to our New Order, but his legacy will not fall with him. Let those who would stand against peace and justice know that they will pay for this crime. Our new Lord shall not stop until every one of you has been brought to justice. Glory to the Empire!”
The projection switched back to the anchorwoman. “As a show of solidarity and respect for the late Emperor, mandatory mourning services at the following locations across Coruscant and the core worlds are to be held tomorrow…” As images of city blocks packed with mourners and watchful Imperial soldiers made their way across the screen, Mon Mothma crossed her arms. “Well, this certainly changes the dynamic of the war.” That was quite an understatement.
With Darth Vader at the helm, no one could now how the Empire would operate. Although Vader was portrayed as a ruthless and destructive killer, reveling in the deaths of entire species even to Imperial citizens, the High Command knew that Vader was simply Palpatine’s lackey, carrying out his whims. There was no way to know what he would do with the leash removed. “I was never informed of an operation such as this,” Admiral Ackbar commented, his eyes swiveling to take in his comrades. Crix Madine, director of Alliance Intelligence, scratched his short beard. “Neither was I Admiral. The Imperial Palace is unassailable, the most heavily guarded structure in the galaxy. No assassination attempt there could ever succeed,” the Imperial defector said, shaking his head. “And yet, it would appear one has,” Mon Mothma commented, still processing the startling news. “Unless of course, this some sort of elaborate fabrication, meant to lure us out.” Crix shook his head. “No ma’am, the Empire would gain anything from faking Palpatine’s death, and they know it. Whoever killed him, the Emperor is dead.”
As the rebel leaders conversed, Picard and Riker looked on in confusion. “What’s going on?” Riker asked quietly. Beside him, Truul was looking over an ensign’s shoulder at the holo-projector. “Looks like that crazy fiekirk Palpatine has tasted space,” he said, grinning. Captain Picard frowned. “What does that mean for your rebellion?” Truul shrugged. “Don’t really know. Who knows if Vader can keep his bloated rancor of an Empire together?”
“Vader?” Picard asked. Before Truul could respond, Lt. Commander Data, who was watching the scene around him with interest, spoke up. “I believe Major Besteen is referring to one Darth Vader. While analyzing the databank on Captain Iask’s starship, I came across his name. Evidently he is a high ranking imperial officer of some infamy, and took an active role the genocide of the Jedi Order that Jacen Solo discussed on the Enterprise.” Truul nodded. “Yeah, Vader’s done a lot of that. Falleen, Hoth, heck, some even say he’s responsible for Alderaan. Without his master tying him down, who knows what he might do.”
By now, the High Command members had finished their short conference and were beginning to exit. As she passed, Mon Mothma turned to Picard. “I apologize Captain, but we will have to delay our meeting. As you can see there are several new matters that need to be attended to. In the mean time, I’m sure the Admiral can locate quarters for you and your crew.” Picard smiled. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to interfere.” Mon Mothma returned his smile and walked away, her mind clearly on other things. Riker frowned as she moved off. “Don’t you think we should press to continue the meeting? If we wait to long, both the wormhole and the Torrent could be gone.” Picard sighed and shook his head. “I understand your concerns Number One, I share them. But were on their ship, their terms. We can’t push them.”
The communications room, which had filled with curious passersby and various other rebel officers, was slowly beginning to drain as they moved away to return to their duties and spread the surprising news. Jacen noted that the others in his group were too flittering out of the small space, and he moved to follow. As he worked his way between aliens and humans excitedly discussing the recent events, he could help but feel that there was something wrong with the situation, a feeling he had picked up when Pestage had mentioned Darth Vader. Engrossed in these thoughts, Jacen barely noticed those around him as they jostled for the exit. Just as he reached the narrow doorway, a large, furry shape materialized in front of him. Bouncing of it, Jacen looked up and was forming the words for an apology when he caught sight of the hairy pedestrian’s face. The words caught in his throat. Before him stood someone he had thought he would never see again.
On the bridge of the Star Destroyer Torrent, Captain Coloth nervously smoothed his uniform, looking out into space. It had been less than three days since Picard had escaped and the Captain had sent for further instructions, and Meterin had not expected an answer for at least a week. Considering the chaos that had been caused by the Emperor’s death a day later, information that had left the crew shaken, he had fully expected to wait for months sitting in this barren patch of vacuum with a hold full of prisoners. However, here he was, with the orders he sought making their way up the command deck turbolift. One might have expected the Captain to be relieved at not having to wait an eternity for a new mission assignment, but then again, most mission assignments aren’t delivered personally by the Lord of the Sith.
From across the expansive command area, Coloth heard the hum of the turbolift as it arrived and opened, and taking a deep breath, he turned to face it. As Darth Vader emerged from the lift, a wave of unease rippled through the bridge crew. The black armored Naval Guards stood straighter at their posts, eyes locked ahead. Down in the crew pits, technicians fidgeted nervously and tried to focus on their control displays. Draped in his long, black cloak, Vader made his way quickly along the center of the bridge, to where Meterin waited. He had never personally met the dark lord, but from what he had heard about him, personal visits were not usually cause for celebration. To the Captain’s surprise, rather than coming alone or being flanked by stormtrooper enforcers, a slender Twi’lek female tailed Vader, dressed in black with an elbow-length glove covering her right arm. She was quite attractive, more so than most of the few female crewers that populated the Torrent, but there was something unsettling about her.
As Darth Vader halted in front of him, the Captain was snapped back to attention. Bowing curtly, he began to speak. “Greetings Lord Vader. I am honored that you would find time…” Before he could finish, Vader cut him off. “Enough of these formalities, Captain. I require an explanation.” His voice was dark and methodical, interspersed by mechanical breathing. Beneath his officer’s cap, Meterin’s scalp began to bead with cold sweat. “My lord, after the late Emperor rerouted the Torrent’s patrol route to this location, we detected…” Again Vader cut him off. “I have read your report Captain Coloth. I want to know why you allowed the prisoners to escape.” Coloth gulped, trying not to look away from Vader’s menacing facemask. “I am sorry, but the situation was out of my control. There was no way of knowing that there were rebel inflitr-“ Even as the Captain spoke, Vader motioned with a gloved hand.
Coloth stopped speaking suddenly, as if an invisible vice was crushing his throat. He clutched at his throat and began to gag as the muscles in his neck constricted. The Captain attempted to speak, but only a wheezing sound emerged, and he felt the life ebbing from him as his oxygen-starved brain began to shut down. At last, as he could bear it no longer and his eyes began to bulge outwards, Darth Vader dropped his hand, disrupting the invisible noose around Coloth’s neck. The Captain almost collapsed, leaning against his observation window as fresh oxygen flowed back through his bruised neck. The Dark Lord allowed the gasping man to recover for a moment before speaking again. “I do not tolerate failure Captain. Consider this a warning.” Regaining some composure, Coloth nodded and then quickly bowed in submission. “I will not fail you again Lord Vader.”
The Sith Lord looked from the flustered officer off into space out off the view port, into the starry blackness beyond the Star Destroyer’s massive hull. Vader stared for a long while, and the Captain chanced a glance in the direction of his gaze. “My Lord?” Darth Vader shifted his helmeted head back to Coloth, as if snapped out of a trance. Behind him, the Twi’lek fidgeted, evidently noting the odd behavior as well. “Have you located this wormhole your prisoners emerged through?” he asked suddenly. Coloth frowned slightly. “Yes, but before we could send a probe droid through it or adequately chart its dimensions, the anomaly disappeared. Our sensor sweeps of the area have turned up no other occurrences.” Vader’s mask gave away no emotion, but Meterin could tell he was displeased with the news. He braced himself for another assault, but one did not come. After taking a few more mechanical breaths, Vader turned from him, his black cape brushing the metal floor. “Continue your interrogations of the prisoners, my apprentice will assist you if need be. I will send further instructions in a few days.” Coloth glanced uncomfortably at the blue woman Vader had mentioned. He had thought that the dark lord was the last of his kind, save of course the infamous Luke Skywalker. How could this woman be what he said she was? She seemed to notice the Captain gazing at her, and she shot him a withering, malevolent look. Taking the hint, Coloth looked away quickly, sweat seeping through his pores once more.
Satisfied that the Imperial had averted his gaze, Aayla looked after her new master. Her mind was still jumbled and distracted with the events of the past days and the blistered skin on her arm, which still oozed and stung. However, she had enough access to her thoughts to know that she had been profoundly changed by the confrontation with Palpatine; she just couldn’t place how. “Where are you going?” she asked, surprising the crewers within earshot with the informality of her question. However, Vader did not rebuke her, or even turn around. As he headed for the turbolift doors, he replied coolly. “There have been reports of a rebel fleet massing near Sullust. I intend to investigate them.” And with that, the Dark Lord was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Standing in the middle of the comm room’s exit, Chewbacca was quite bewildered. After the Millennium Falcon had safely docked and Lando Calrissian and Leia Organa had ushered the recently rescued Han Solo of for a much-needed check in the Medical Bay, the Wookiee had gone off in search of something to eat. Noticing an excited stream of people moving into the Comm area, he had followed. The rebel was enthusiastic about the implications of Palpatine’s demise, but more pressing concerns had again filled his mind. However, before the Wookiee could move to find a mess hall, this young, strangely familiar human had accosted him and was at present wrapped around his hairy body in an embrace. Chewbacca made a few plaintive sounds and gingerly tried removing the human, but to no avail.
Jacen Solo clung onto the confused Wookiee with all his strength, tears beginning to well in his eyes. In his time, the kind and faithful Chewbacca, as much a part of his family as brother and sister, had died in the first onslaught of the Yuuzhan Vong campaign to conquer the galaxy. It had taken a moon ripped from the orbit of Sernpidal by a Yuuzhan Vong gravity weapon crashing down on him to extinguish the defiant Wookiee, but he had died nonetheless, and the loss had nearly torn the Solo family apart. Han had never fully recovered. But here, in this time and place, Chewbacca was alive, and Jacen for a moment forgot about the wormhole, and the Federation officers, and even Aayla, enveloped by Chewie’s warm fur. It took the arrival of another unexpected and welcome being for him to break loose.
“Chewbacca? Chewbacca, at last I’ve found you,” a prissy voice said from behind the Wookiee. “You really shouldn’t run of to who knows where like that. Why if master Solo ever… oh my.” A golden, humanoid protocol droid came into view, appraising the situation with his photoceptors. He was scuffed and sported more dings and scratches than Jacen was used to seeing, but he was recognizable all the same. “Threepio!” the young Jedi exclaimed, disengaging from Chewbacca and clasping one of the droid’s smooth arms. “I never thought I would be so happy to see you!” This statement seemed to encourage him. “Why thank you sir, at least someone around here is glad to see me, although I’m quite sure I’ve never made our acquaintance. I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations and…” An irritated growl from Chewbacca halted the droid’s greeting. The Wookiee mumbled something in his native tongue. “Actually,” Threepio responded, “Master Solo did send me out here. He made some reference to not wanting a sack of bolts rattling around while he was resting, although I’m not sure if I quite understood…” This time, it was Jacen who interrupted. “My father’s onboard?” he said, forgetting himself. This caused Threepio to tilt his head to one side. “I’m not sure what you mean sir.” Then it came back to Jacen. Of course, none of them would or even could recognize him. He wouldn’t even be born for another half dozen years. The excitement of seeing familiar faces had jilted his memory, but he was slowly coming back into focus, and the ever-present thoughts of Aayla again filled his mind.
Jacen felt a hand alight on his shoulder and turned to see Riker behind him. The two had barely spoken since the disaster on Poloon. “Admiral Ackbar had designated quarters for us. Just wanted to let you know the rest of us are moving out.” His voice was calm and brotherly, and despite the altercation after boarding the Coral Iris for the first time, the Commander had grown to respect the young Jedi. “You go on, I’ve have some things to do right now,” Jacen replied, nodding to the bewildered droid and Wookiee. Riker looked them over for a moment, nodded, and then rejoined the group of guests, who were moving off down the hall. “My, I don’t believe I’ve ever observed species like that before,” See-Threepio commented, watching Tassadar and the Arbiter walk out of view.
Jacen too watched them disappear around the bend, and then sighed. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but something deep within him was compelling him to seek out Leia and Han, his yet to be parents. Remembering Master Luke’s axiom about trusting in one’s feelings, he resigned himself to the unusual meeting ahead. The thought crossed his mind that Luke would in fact be showing up on this ship as well quite soon. That would be an unusual meeting.
In the outermost reaches of the Sullust system, a trio of small craft sailed through the emptiness. The X-Wings, the most versatile fighters in the rebel fleet, coasted along gently, flying side by side in a loose formation. This squad like the numerous others patrolling the out reaches of the system served as early warning and defense craft. If a stray Imperial probe or scout were to wander into sensor range of the fleet, it would be the fighter’s job to signal the command ship and try to take out the threat before it could escape into hyperspace. Fortunately, the posting had been quite, not so much as a sensor anomaly appearing for weeks, save for the periodic Alliance reinforcements that were hurrying to join the assault force. The patrol route was monotonous and boring, with nothing to do but talk with your wing mates. And after eight-hour shifts day after day for nearly half a month, no one had much left to say.
The endless task was all the worse for the squad leader, Colonel Hek’lya, a brown-furred Bothan who was well known to be just a little bit crazy when their were Tie Fighters about. However, with the nearest Imperial ship light-years away, he was lethargic, drifting in and out of a doze as his astromech, mounted in a slot at the top of the vessel, twittered about a coolant regulator that was not functioning at one hundred percent. His wing mates were also quiet, perhaps even asleep. X-Wing pilots were well known energetic and animated when there was something to outmaneuver or blow up, but in circumstances like this one, even the most lively individual is bound to loose consciousness, and let the droid take over the controls.
So it came as a surprise when a voice crackled over the comm channel. “Hey leader, are you scanning sector Omega-2?” The voice was husky and female, from a human woman with the call sign Wasp on his starboard flank. Rubbing his eyes with bony hands, Hek’lya keyed the response channel. “No, I’m not.” He yawned. “Why?” After a moment the woman responded. “Something just appeared on passive scanning, couple million klicks out. The Colonel tugged on his wispy scruff of a beard. Maybe something was finally happening. “Hold on, I’ll check,” he said, and then ordered his R2 unit to direct a scan to the correct coordinates. The droid sputtered something and a series of words scrawled across the cockpit display panel. The Bothan sat bolt upright, his beady eyes taking in the information displayed there. “Thread, wake up,” he ordered, opening up a new comm line. From the port X-Wing came the reply. “I’m awake Lead, what’s the situation?” the voice of a male human came, obviously groggy. “Notify fleet were picking up an Imperial signal in sector Omega-2 and are moving to investigate,” Hek’lya continued, beginning to throttle his fighter’s drive. “Ship class unknown.” The sleepiness in Thread’s voice disappeared as he confirmed and began relaying the message.
The three ships closed formation and rocketed off towards the source of the signal, the laser cannon tipped wings on each ship splitting to form the distinctive X shape the craft was known for as they entered attack mode. With the trio racing towards it, the target didn’t take to long to be identified. “Skipray 015,” Wasp reported as the specs appeared on her heads up display. “Unescorted.” The gunboat was a small, lightly armored five man craft that packed the firepower of a ship triple its size. This model, however, was a stripped down version, lacking the punch of its standard model but modified with enhanced hyperspace engines and a long-range sensor suite, perfect for recon missions. A manic grin creased Hek’lya’s snout face as he locked onto the ship with a proton torpedo. The scout ship was no match for the three combat fighters, and they would be on it before it could jump back to report to its home cruiser. “Lock torpedoes and fire on my mark,” the Bothan ordered as they came into range of the enemy craft, which has beginning to train its scaled down weapons on the pursuers. As the first green bolts erupted from the gunship and etched past the fighters, Hek’lya thumbed the stud on his control rig. “Fire!”
As the deadly missiles from each craft blasted from their tubes and raced towards the scout ship, which was flaring its drives in an attempt to escape, something unexpected happened. Two new shapes emerged from seemingly nowhere, tearing free of the nothingness of hyperspace, one of them right in the path of the streaking projectiles. The three torpedoes exploded, smashing harmlessly into particle shields. “Pull up!” the Bothan screamed in alarm as the new ship loomed directly ahead. The three tiny craft peeled of in separate directions, desperately firing maneuvering thrusters to slow their approach. This was not the fight Hek’lya had expected.
Jacen walked quickly through the halls in the direction C-3PO had indicated. Following close behind was the still perplexed Chewbacca and behind him an equally bewildered golden Protocol droid struggling to keep up. “Really sir, I must protest. Mistress Leia and Master Solo were quite adamant about being left alone,” he cried plaintively. Jacen however pressed onward. Passing down a few long hallways and through a turbolift, Jacen finally found his way to the room C-3PO had indicated. Taking a deep breath, the jedi reached for the door control panel, but found something holding him back. What would doing this, meeting with his future do to affect them? Temporal and dimensional physics were not one of Jacen’s strong suites, but he knew that bring such a startling revelation could have drastic repercussions, if not to him then too what might become him in this world. And yet somehow going in there, meeting with his parents again felt right. Down the hall, Chewie and C-3PO were drawing closer. Jacen was frozen, trapped between two choices, his finger hovering over the door control. Then the decision was made for him.
Overhead, alarm klaxons suddenly blared. Around Jacen, rebels halted, surprised by the sound, and then ran off to their stations. The Wookiee and the droid had also stopped, and Chewbacca was growling apprehensively. Then the doors before Jacen slid open and he slipped instinctively to the side. Out came Han Solo, pulling on a black jacket and tucking a blaster into his hip holster, with Leia Organa close behind. Jacen shrunk up against the wall, and the two passed without a second glance. He watched as the two who would be his parents passed down the hall, Chewbacca and C-3PO falling in with them. As they disappeared beyond a bend in the white hallway, the protocol droid cast one last curious glance at Jacen and then vanished from sight.
“What’s the situation Admiral?” Mon Mothma asked, looking up at the Mon Cal as he sat on the command platform of the Home One’s bridge. The Admiral gestured solemnly to a large tactical screen set in the bridge wall, officers and technicians frantically moving around underneath. On it was displayed two long, rectangular vessels, their positions displayed on a chart below. “Two Carrack class Imperial cruisers,” Ackbar stated. “They jumped in beyond the system’s outermost planet, and destroyed one of our patrols.” Mon Mothma frowned deeply. “Options?” Ackbar let out a wheezy sigh. “We need to evacuate the fleet before they can contact reinforcements. The Redemption is awaiting your arrival.” It was customary to break up the rebel leadership when it was in danger of discovery. “What about the Sullustans?” a voice from behind them asked. Ackbar and Mothma turned to see Lando Calrissian, tired from his ordeal on Tatooine, but ready for battle. “We can’t abandon them.” Ackbar shook his head. “There is no time. I have contacted the planetary authorities, and they are moving as many civilians as possible in private vehicles and moving the rest into the deeper planetary tunnels. There is nothing more we can do.” Calrissian was about to object, but Mon Mothma placed a hand on his shoulder. “This was their choice, and their prepared to accept the repercussions. The most we can do is live to fight another day, its what they sacrificed for.” Even as she said these words, she didn’t believe them. The thought of another planet laid waste by Imperial retribution was almost more than the leader could bear, and if it were only her life that would be risked, she would defend the planet to the last ship. But there was more at stake, far more. The General’s dark eyes looked into hers for a long moment and he relented.
Satisfied the outburst had past, Admiral Ackbar turned back to his work. “Order the personnel transports and assault groups B, C, and E to prepare for jumps to the secondary rendezvous location,” he dictated to the various officers around him, most of them Mon Calamari. As they set to work contacting the other craft in the fleet, Ackbar swiveled his command chair back towards Mon Mothma. “I suggest you and your staff shuttle to the Redemption immediately. Gray squadron will be tasked to escort you out of system.” Mon Mothma nodded briskly and entered one of the bridge turbolifts. When she had disappeared, Ackbar turned to Lando. “General Calrissian, I would like you to take command of the Red and Gold squadrons. They will be defending the Sullustan evac craft until the rest of the fleet departs. We’ll stay as long as we can.” Surprised by the Admiral’s unexpected acquiescence to his concerns, the dark skinned pilot grinned and gave a small salute. It would be more prudent to evacuate all their assets swiftly and cut the potential of loses when the Imperials inevitably arrived in force, but evidently the Admiral also had a place in his heart for the planet that had harbored them. “I’d be happy to Admiral,” Lando said as he too headed for a turbolift.
Several decks below, the group of Federation officers found themselves stranded and out of the loop again. When the alarm klaxons had started to go off, their guide had disappeared, leaving them in the middle of a hallway crowded with rebels rushing to their posts. Exasperated about being ignored, William Riker accosted a passing pilot as he was pulling on his flight helmet. “What's going on now?” he asked, grabbing the man’s arm. Rather than staying still, the pilot twisted from the Commander’s grip and continued off down the passageway. “The fleet’s evacuating. Better get to our stations,” he called over his shoulder. “Evacuating? Why?” Riker called, but the man was out of earshot.
The answers they were seeking not forthcoming, Data located a computer panel and entered a few commands. Beside him, Geordi watched curiously. “You can read that now?” he asked. “Yes,” Data responded, not looking up from the screen. “During our time on the Coral Iris, I was able to commit their galactic Basic to memory.” The android looked up towards Riker and the Captain. “Commander, I believe that several Imperial attack ships have been detected entering the system. The Admiral has put the Alliance fleet on high alert.” “Are the enemy starships attacking?” the Arbiter asked, moving beside Data. Tapping a few controls, the android shook his head. “I do not believe so. Their force seems to be too small to pose a threat. However, it is highly likely that they will summon reinforcements.” The Captain considered the available facts. “It would appear that there is little to do but trusted our hosts can evacuate safely. In the mean time, we should do our best to stay out of their way.” Again the Captain found himself forced into a position utterly beyond his control, it had been that way since the Enterprise had been lost it seemed.
Of course, things were about to get a whole lot worse.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Mon Mothma’s shuttle is attached. Repeat, cargo is aboard.”
“Copy that. Gray squadron moving to escort position.”
The Redemption, a long, tubular Nebulon-B Frigate, ignited the engine banks set on its aft budge and shot out of orbit, a squadron of X and A-Wings forming a protective cloud around it. Connected to the Medical ship, which possessed the most advanced Med lab facilities in the Alliance, by an umbilical docking port set in the starship’s mid section, Mon Mothma and her small staff climbed out of her shuttle in time to see a small, heavily armed Corellian Corvette pull alongside through a viewing window. The diplomat and leader sighed, wishing that Ackbar had sent the escort to guard the trickle of civilian craft now emerging form Sullust’s atmosphere, but it was too late to divert the corvette. She sighed deeply, taking in the pale, arid disk that was the planet as it shrank away.
Behind the frigate, the fleet was breaking up into small formations, each heading in a different vector. If all went according to plan, each group would make several random jumps, and then meet back at the fallback position, an uninhabited star system just outside of Hutt space. A few pinpricks of thruster light, General Calrissian’s squadron Mon Mothma supposed, moved off towards the stream of Sullustan evacuees, growing steadily as every hyperspace capable ship took off, packed with citizens fleeing their now doomed world.
As the first of the fleeing vessels left the planet’s gravity well and prepared to jump away, the clank off boots on the deck plate caused Mon Mothma to look away from the spectacle. “Madame, your awaited on the bridge. The Captain is about to make the jump,” a rebel officer, dressed in a crisp, white uniform said, saluting. Mon Mothma nodded, and the two made their way towards a turbolift that would bring them to the frigate’s command deck. However, as the officer tapped the door consol, and the doors of the mover slid open, a shockwave tore through the vessel. Mothma started to topple to the floor, but the officer grabbed her, supporting the woman as a horrendous groan emanated from the Redemption’s hull. “What was that?” she asked breathlessly. The officer, an experienced spacer, crossed the hallway to peer out an observation window. “That felt like we were trying to jump into hyperspace in a gravity field,” he responded, peering into the darkness. “But were well outside Sullust’s field.” Mon Mothma moved along beside him, a sinking feeling inexplicably filling her mind. “Then what could have happened?” Her answer came in a rain of emerald fire.
“Imperial vessels jumping in all around us!” a Mon Calamari ensign shouted, watching his tactical display light up as ship after ship appeared out of the nothingness. The man’s warning was not necessary however; all eyes were fixed on the main view screen as Star Destroyer after Star Destroyer came into view in the distance. The admiral’s huge eyes took in the grim scene for a moment, his plan evaporating in front of him. “Can the fleet make it to hyperspace before they are on us?” he said to no one in particular.
“Negative, sir. They’ve brought Interdictor cruisers, a lot of them. The mass shadow fields are blocking our escape routes.” Imperial Interdictor ships, Immobilizers they were sometimes called, were able to generate and project a gravity well, making jumps within their range impossible and even capable of pulling passing starships out of hyperspace. As a torrent of Imperial signals appeared on the heads-up screen, Ackbar clenched a finned fist. They had given them just enough time after the Carrack cruisers appeared, just enough to break up out of a defensible formation before the jump. The trap was sprung, and the Admiral hadn't seen it coming. The scattered fleet was trapped between Sullust and a net of Star Destroyers, closing in like a vice. It was going to take all of his skill to pull the Alliance through, and if he didn’t, it was the end. “Order all ships to fall back to holding sector,” Ackbar called out. “Has the Redemption made it past the range of the blockade?” “No sir,” came the reply as the crew rushed to battle stations. “They’re pinned down and under fire.” They could not afford to loose that ship, Ackbar thought, studying the battle unfolding before him. “Move the Liberty into covering range of the Redemption. They have to get out of the line of fire.” A flight officer began to transmit the message, and Ackbar turned his attention to a holographic tactical display of the battle being projected in the center of the bridge.
More than fifteen Star Destroyers and half again as many Interdictors were pushing the hastily regrouping rebel force back towards Sullust, their turbolaser batteries coming into range of the farthest Alliance craft. Against them stood seven Mon Calamari capital ships, cruisers, and frigates, the embattled Redemption, and a motley assortment of modified freighters and corvettes. A Corellian Corvette flickered and disappeared from the screen, and the Admiral winced. He began took search for a hole in their formation, a weakness to exploit. But there were too many, his own fleet still scattered and unprepared. This was a fight they could not win. Rising from his command chair, Ackbar watched as his capital ships disgorged the last of their fighters, X-Wings, A-Wings, B-Wings, Y-Wings, everything the rebels had plunging into the joining battle. As lines of red and green tore through the blackness, and the wall of Star Destroyers took up firing positions, Ackbar swore to make this fight one that the Imperials would regret. The Alliance would not die quietly.
The first wave of Tie Fighters hurtling from their carriers broke across the bows of the regrouping rebel ships like a tempest wind, swarming and harrying the huge ships with green laser blasts. The Alliance fighters were waiting for them, and the desperate struggle at last began in earnest. Rebel and Imperial alike dove and harried around the cruisers, tagging one another with missiles and streams of laser fire. From a distance, the Imperials opened up their cannonade, their turbolaser blast impacting violently with rebel shields. The Alliance ships added their own bursts to the display, red and yellow bolts passing green ones on their rapid journey to distant targets.
Removed from the chaotic center of the conflict, Lando Calrissian surged around the sphere of Sullust, his squadron close behind. The Imperials seemed to be ignoring the fleeing refugees on the other side of the globe, instead focusing on the entrapped Rebel fleet. “Alright, there she is,” Lando said, pointing out through the view screen of his modified star Yacht, the Lady Luck.
A running battle was raging before them as the Redemption and its escorts made for the relative safety of the main fleet, with two Star Destroyers pursuing her. In the distance, the Liberty, a Mon Cal capital ship nearly as formidable as the Home One was breaking formation to support the fleeing frigate. Beside Lando in the copilot’s seat, Nien Nunb, a Sullustan rebel, said something in his rapid native tongue. Lando nodded. “I know, they’re too far away. We’ll have to hold off those destroyers until the Redemption can get beyond that cruiser.” The general flipped on the comm frequency for his squadron. “Reds, the Redemption has to get through. 7 through 14 help Gray squadron get those Ties off her tail. The Gold squad and the rest of Red, target the closest Star Destroyer. Follow me in.” A flurry of clicks over the comm line acknowledged the order, and the formation split into two groups. Nien took some readings on the target starship and muttered something. Lando grinned. “Well, maybe I am feeling a little crazy today.”
A small swarm of A, X and B-Wings flew along side the destroyer and began to pelt it’s formidable shields with torrents of crimson lasers and energy bombs. Caught off guard, the turbolaser gunners on the cruiser’s port side slowly shifted their turrets, easily the size of any of the attacking fighters themselves, and began to fire on the tiny defenders. The large guns were not suited for targeting small and maneuverable craft, and they’re Tie’s were occupied by the Redemption’s defenders, but the squadrons by themselves were no real threat to the massive destroyer. It was a delaying tactic, the more guns targeted on the fighters, the less hits the fleeing frigate took to its waning shields. All the same, the two Imperial cruisers were grinding down their targets, a point driven home as the corvette flanking the Nebulon-B erupted into flames as a turbolaser volley penetrated its shields. The disintegrating craft spiraled away slowly, and then exploded in a firework of ignited fuel and dead freedom fighters.
Lando winced as the remains of the rebel ship spun away, cooling quickly in the interstellar blackness. He was also losing men. The second Star Destroyer had begun to divert some of its fighters to aid its harassed comrade, and they were chipping away at Lando’s force. Its cannons belching fire at the ship’s shielded hull, the golden colored Lady Luck wove back and forth in front of the destroyer’s command tower, dodging turbolasers and Tie Fighters. As General Calrissian was setting up for another pass on the massive ship, Nien Nunb cried out in alarm. Three Tie Interceptors, angular Tie’s with greater speed and maneuverability than their front line cousins were bearing down on the Luck from above. Lando through his yacht into an erratic spin, but the Interceptors pursued doggedly, their blasts licking the Luck’s shields. Lando was able to down one as he arched high over the Star Destroyer’s embattled surface, but the other two unleashed another volley of green bolts, wearing down the Lady Luck’s shields to the breaking point. Nien motioned urgently towards the red flashing shield indicator on the control panel, and Lando began to sweat as his evasive maneuvers failed to shake off the Ties. The rebels braced themselves for the final torrent of fire, but suddenly a familiar shape raced over their bow, twin quad laser cannons blazing.
Lando wheeled his craft around just in time to see the Millennium Falcon pass in between the two enemy fighters, etching crippling holes in their hulls. “Looks like your feeling better you old pirate,” Lando exclaimed happily as the Falcon pulled up alongside his ship. “Do you really think I’d miss this?” the cocky voice of hero of the Rebellion Han Solo crackled over the comm channel. The lower turret of the YT-1400 freighter opened up again, picking off a particularly bold Tie fighter. “Nice shot Chewie,” Han commented over the comm, evidently calling to the Wookiee sitting in the lower gun turret. Before Lando could continue the conversation, Nien spoke up. “In range?” he replied, checking on the incoming Liberty. “Han, looks like the cavalry has arrived. Get ready for another run on that destroyer.” General Solo acknowledged and the two starships split off from one another, diving back down into the fray.
“Liberty, this is General Calrissian. Are you in firing range?” After a moment, a calm voice responded. “Good to hear from you General. Just tell me where you want the us.” Lando spun his ship out of the way of a trio of Ties with a B-Wing on their tail. “Right there is fine Captain. I want you to fire a concentrated burst at out target’s command deck, all batteries. We just need the shields down for a few seconds.” The Liberty’s Captain sounded unsure. “That destroyer isn’t very heavily damaged General. Even if I coordinate with the Redemption’s aft turbolasers, you wont get more than a second long window.” Lando nodded. “That’s all we need.”
The Captain of the Star Destroyer Enervator watch calmly as his quarry drew closer, his turbolasers pouring fire onto the fleeing rebel Frigate. Beyond his view port, Alliance fighters and Tie squadrons harried each other, random blaster bolts impacting harmlessly against the Destroyer’s defense screens. Around him, officers and crewers worked fervently, monitoring the battle around them. A young Lieutenant in a crisp uniform approached him. “The target’s shields are almost down. They will be down in moments.” He considered the news and turned back to the battle before him. In the distance, a rebel cruiser had broken formation form the main fleet and was steadily approaching. His tactical advisors had deemed it a non-threat at this range, but it was powering up its weapon systems, and something didn’t feel right.
His gaze shifted to the Enervator’s accompanying cruiser, the Eriadu, as it flew along close off to starboard, adding its own fire to the battle. Perhaps too close.
“Move us away from the Eriadu,” he ordered the navigation officers in the crew pits below him. As several crewers started to comply, another one, in the sensor bank, called out. “The Mon Calamari capital ship is firing with all of its forward batteries.” The Captain gazed at the distant ship in confusion. At such an extreme range, even a Star Destroyer cloud easily maneuver out of the firing vector, or at least relocate the hit to a less vulnerable area. Then an officer spoke in trepidation. “Captain, were to close to the Eriadu to move out of the way quickly enough!” With one side blocked off by the allied ship, the Destroyer’s evasive options became limited. Without the proper turning radius, a thruster boost could easily shear off half of the titanic ship or ram it into its partner. “Intensify forward screens!” the Captain yelled as pinpricks of light spewed from the distant cruiser.
The beams of energy, joined by blasts from the Redemption’s functioning rear guns and a spray of scattered fighter fire impacted the base of the Star Destroyer’s bridge tower simultaneously, causing its shields to flicker and fail for a moment.
A tremendous concussion shook the mighty vessel, and the Captain had to grab a railing to keep from tipping into the crowded crew pit below. As the huge bridge deflector domes mounted at the top of the tower strained to recover from the shock and reactivate the protective curtain, two B-Wings and a golden star yacht wove past the swarm of defending Tie fighters and poured missiles and laser fire on the right of the structures. The projectiles riddled the gray globe with holes and a moment later it shattered in a cloud of atomized durasteel and shield superconductors. An unfortunate rebel pilot skimmed too close to the shattered bulb, and his melted and scoured B-Wing careened into the Star Destroyer’s gray hull. The twin explosions rocked the ship again, and its shields faltered once more, deprived of one of their tributaries. The Captain gripped his railing with white knuckles. “I want those shields back up now!” he screamed frantically. Even as the command left his lips however, a small Corellian freighter skimmed over the destroyer’s exposed surface, hurtling over turbolaser turrets and sloping deck levels. The Captain watched as the ship veered off suddenly, two distant spots of light replacing it. The Imperial was forming the first syllables of an expletive when twin concussion missiles shore through the bridge windows and detonated.
Fire and molten metal flowered from the Star Destroyer’s bridge tower as the rebel fighters, lead by Han and Lando peeled away from the ship. The massive cruiser reeled lazily to one side pushing slowly into its sister ship. The Eriadu, trapped by the same tactical mistake that had doomed her comrade fired a few parting shots at the fleeing rebels before the two collided. The Enervator’s bulk tore across the other destroyer’s bow, sheering off blocky weapons emplacements and sensor towers until finally the two ship’s command towers bisected one another. The two ruined forms, fused together, drifted lazily in space as suddenly baseless fighters screeched towards the safety of the main Imperial force, still harried by rebel fighters. “Nice shooting General Solo,” the Liberty’s Captain complemented as the Alliance craft turned back towards the main conflict, the Redemption now escorted by the larger vessel.
Back in the Home One’s control center, the Admiral’s battle was fairing far worse. “Sir, the Verdant has taken heavy damage. They’re being cut of from the rest of the fleet,” a Mon Cal Lieutenant said from his terminal. “Requesting assistance.” Ackbar gazed fixatedly at the battle beyond his viewscreen. The Imperial noose was tightening, and although they had managed to take out a destroyer and a great deal of the enemy Tie’s, the rebels were losing ships just as fast, and they had fewer to spare. A grim reminder of this, the burned out hulk of a rebel cruiser spun slowly away from the fleet, Sullust’s gravity slowly tearing it apart. Then Ackbar saw it, a hole in their line, and beyond it an area of space uncovered by the Interdictors. It would be a gambit, but options were limited. “Tell the Verdant to hold position, well be coming for it.” The rebel officer looked up, perplexed. “Sir?” Ackbar ignored the question and instead keyed a comm frequency from his chair’s arm panel. “Captain Antilles, I want your squadrons to clear away as many enemy starships as possible from the fleet’s front.” After a moment, Wedge Antilles, commander of the rebel starfighter force, responded. “Got it Admiral. Give us a moment.”
As the fighters redoubled their efforts against the horde of Ties and attack craft, Ackbar turned back to the Lieutenant. “As soon as the Redemption and Liberty regroup with the fleet, order all ships to set course for coordinates 400-12934 and engage at full speed.” The officer checked the flight path, and then looked up again, dubious. “Admiral, that takes the fleet through the Imperial line. We cant get that close to they’re capital ships, we’ll be torn apart.” Ackbar flexed his features into a stiff smile, more a matter of posture than facial movement as it was with humans. “Then they wont be expecting it, will they?” The Lieutenant looked back in surprise. The Admiral was breaking with tradition.
Their path momentarily cleared by Wedge’s forces, the fleet shot forward, the Home One in the lead, its shields absorbing waves of turbolaser fire and gun turrets returning it. The Alliance force formed into a giant bullet formation, fighters swarming around the outside, driving off any Imperial fighters daring enough to come close. The fleet of Star Destroyer’s, startled by the Admiral’s sudden maneuver, were slow to respond, they’re clumsy ships reorienting to close their trap anew. However, the charge left only three cruisers directly in the rebel fleet’s path, and Ackbar wasn't about to let that stop him. As the fleet approached the first star destroyer, he unleashed their only ace, a pair of automated ram ships, Gallofree transports packed with explosives. The pair shot forward, buffeted by cannon fire. Squadrons of Imperial fighters swarmed over the ships, but they did not return fire. Evidently thinking them Blockade Runners of a sort, a Star Destroyer grabbed one in a tractor beam and pulled it closer, Tie fighters guarding the perimeter against rebel fighter reprisals. Deep inside the modified cargo hauler, a droid brain observed as it was pulled closer and closer to the enemy carrier. Then, as the ship was almost nestled under the destroyer, the droid activated a detonator. A small Star formed momentarily under the Imperial vessel, and then disappeared, half of the destroyer an entire squadron of Ties going with it. Alerted to the threat, the other two focused their fire on the other suicide vessel and vaporized it, but the damage was done, their centerline was weak enough to pass through.
The fighters plunged through first, their lasers forming a red wave against an increasingly irate foe. Although the bulk of the Imperial force, ten destroyers, was still far behind, the two remaining defenders were no small difficulty, setting up a deadly crossfire that the Rebel fleet would have to pass through. The Alliance craft barreled through, a shell of armor plate and energy shield around the vulnerable Redemption, returning waves of turbolaser fire and Ion cannon blasts. The Verdant, a stubby Mon Calamari frigate covered in weapons blisters was the first to go. Already heavily damaged by the battle, a broadside from one of the Star Destroyers riveted the ship with gapping holes, one blast striking its core and triggering a blinding explosion, a memorial for the hundreds onboard. More rebel craft, the slower Sullustan ships and modified transports fell next; their blazing remains form a trail behind the fleeing Alliance fleet. They were losing ships to fast, Ackbar realized, and the pair of Star Destroyers was still flanking them, raining down endless waves of green fire.
“Concentrate all fire on the port Star Destroyer,” Admiral Ackbar ordered over a general comm. If they couldn’t shake the flanking ships, no Alliance ship would escape to fight another day. Everyone in the fleet knew this, and with the pure desperation brought on by near certain death, a thunderous torrent of ion discharges and lasers bore down on the target destroyer, hammering its side. Blast began to pierce the shields, leaving charred craters where turbolaser banks once stood. Mortally wounded by enemy fire, an antiquated assault frigate rammed the Destroyer’s engine block, sending shock waves and rivets of flame running through the craft. Heavily damaged, the Imperial starship veered of course into the blackness of space, tumbling helplessly as its crew desperately fought to keep its reactor from detonating. The remaining Star Destroyer, now without immediate support, decelerated, allowing the Alliance ships to surge ahead.
A cheer went up on ships throughout the fleet. They had taken heavy losses, but the Rebellion had survived against impossible odds. Admiral Ackbar slumped relieved into his chair, his lieutenants running over to congratulate him. In just a few more seconds, they would be outside of the Interdictor gravity net, and out of Imperial reach.
And then the unimaginable happened.
From the empty space before the victorious rebels blossomed at impossible speed an impenetrable wall. Like a demon of myth emerging from the pits of the underworld, the Executor surged from hyperspace.
Chapter Twenty-Four
From the bridge of his colossal flagship, Darth Vader stared into space icily as the rebel fleet came into view. Beside him stood Admiral Piett, awaiting orders from the dark lord and new Emperor. The Admiral had worked under Vader before, namely at the battle of Hoth and the hunt for the Millennium Falcon afterwards. That operation had nearly been his last, as the Falcon had eluded Piett at Bespin and Darth Vader was notoriously generous with summary executions. However, the sith had spared him, and Piett was not anxious to test his master’s generosity with another failure. Darth Vader continued staring intently into the abyss, even as the enemy ships began to alter their course, their present flight path now blocked by the Executor’s own gravity well projectors. “Your orders Lord Vader?” Piett prompted.
Vader was silent for a moment longer, looking intently at the rebel ships. “You may commence the attack Admiral, but I want their command ship captured. Send over boarding parties, I want the command crew alive.” Piett looked at the cyborg in confusion. Capturing such a large ship, especially in the middle of a battle would be an impractical and costly feat. “My lord, do you really think it is wise to attempt such a capture? The losses would be staggering.” Even as the words left his mouth, Piett wished he could take them back. Darth Vader turned slowly to him, glowering behind his eye bulges. “Are you questioning my orders Admiral?” Piett stared into the dark lord’s mask, his face twitching involuntarily. Then he bowed curtly and spun to one of his officers. “Prep all capture wings for boarding action on the rebel flagship. Destroy the other vessels, make sure none escape.”
With the might of more than six lesser Star Destroyers, the Executor could have stood toe to toe with the remnants of the Rebel fleet even with out the reinforcement the rapidly approaching Imperial strike force would bring. Now completely cut off from escape, the Alliance starcraft began to fight like crazed beasts, unleashing waves of deadly energy against the Executor’s virtually impenetrable shields. The thousands of weapons emplacements adorning the super star destroyers opened up their own torrent of fire, and rebel ships began to fall. Corvettes and armed transports began to bloom with explosions of yellow and red, spilling their crews into the blackness of space. The Executor’s fighter squadrons poured from their bays, peppering the dying rebel force with a hail of green laser bolts. The surviving Alliance fighters under the lead of Wedge, Lando, and Han erased Tie formation after formation, but there were too many. As forward Tie fighters from the pursuing starfighters made their way into the fray, they found the defenders faltering, X and Y wings exploding left and right.
“Tighten up!” Wedge ordered as his squadron plunged into a thicket of Tie Interceptors. The claw-like ships folded in around the X-wings eager to make the kill. “Break!” The dozen ships peeled outwards all at once, missile tubes disgorging a legion of proton torpedoes. The shimmering projectiles blew gapping holes in the Tie formation, some wiping away four at a time. The X-Wings cleaned up the rest, their four wing lasers cannons blazing. The small battle done, the squadron traversed around the Redemption, blasting Imperial fighters off her tail. As they flew, the Lady Luck sung into their formation, taking up a place next to Wedge’s fighter. “How much more of this do you think we can take,” Lando’s voice crackled across the comm link. Wedge shook his head. “We can hold them for now, but were losing men fast, and when those other destroyers move into range, it’ll be over.”
“There has to be a way out of this, a hole in the trap,” Lando commented, one of his ship’s laser cannons picking off a Tie. Wedge tightened the grip on his firing yoke. There was little chance any of them was going to escape when the Imperials had found them, and now with the enemy flagship in the fray, survival would nearly impossible. “But death take me if I don’t try,” Wedge mumbled under his breath as his squad angled towards a new group of targets.
As his fighters were about to engage a fresh batch of Tie’s, Admiral Ackbar’s voice came over the comm. “All ships, move into diamond defensive formation around the flagship and the Redemption. Fighter squadrons, move to intercept the new signals incoming from the Executor. The boarding craft must not reach our capital ships.” Boarding craft, Wedge wondered. Why would they risk soldiers when the day was almost won? His thoughts were put to the side as the fleet of landing ships came into view. More boxy and compact than their shuttle counterparts, Imperial boarding craft could penetrate the waning shields of an embattled ship and search for an open docking bay or docking port. With then flew a squadron of Tie Boarders, modified two chambered fighters that could latch onto a larger ship and burn holes through the target’s hull itself. “Take out those ships,” Wedge ordered as the convoy’s escorts vaporized one of his wingmen. “We can’t let any through.” His ships knifed into the approaching formation, and multicolored bolts of energy began to fly anew. As Wedge and Lando bore down on the first of the transports and it blew apart, Wedge Antilles felt a sudden flicker of hope. Then the Imperial reinforcements arrived.
The Federation officers and the other guests pounded down the Home One’s hallways earnestly, weaving past squads of bedraggled rebels as they moved frantically from post to post, trying to hold the ship together. The Home One’s interior was chocked with smoke from ruptured wall plates and small fires, the terrifying sound of turbolaser blasts impacting failing shields echoing through the hull. As they were rounding a corner, a tremulous boom rocked the deck plates underneath their feet. “This ship is losing its shields fast,” Cortana called out from Master Chief’s helmet, her objections to probing the ship forgotten. “I suggest we find a docking bay and commandeer a ship.”
Picard stopped to consider this suggestion. It was true that he did not wish to see the remnants of his crew perish if the Alliance ship was destroyed, but a sense of duty to their hosts, and to Truul nagged at him. “No,” he said finally. “We have to contact the bridge, to see if we can aid them.” Riker looked askance at his superior. “With all due respect sir, do you really think that’s wise? We don’t have a ship or any advantage that could help them now. The only hope for these people if any of them survive is the wormhole and the Federation, and those won’t do them much good if we’re all dead.” Picard was taken aback by this rebuttal. William Riker was an opinionated officer, but he never contradicted his captain in public, in full view of other officers. Evidently the last several days had been as much of a strain on the commander as they had been on him.
Before Picard could formulate response, an impact shook the ship again, knocking them off balance. Even as the reverberations continued, a voice came over the loudspeakers. “All available marines report to decks D-27 and C-14 immediately. Imperial boarders have broken through our shields. Repeat, Imperial boarders…” The message was interrupted by a blast of static and silence hung amongst the group. It seemed like getting off the ship would be considerably more of a challenge. To punctuate the thought, Master Chief shoved a blaster clip into a pistol he had swiped from an open weapons locker. The silence broken, Picard sighed, and then straightened up. “Mr. Data, see if you can contact the bridge.” The android move to a wall panel and tapped a few keys. After a moment, he shook his head. “The signal is being interrupted. Either ship wide communications have been damaged by the bombardment, or the Imperial boarders are disrupting the connection.”
Picard nodded, his mind now made up. “Alright. Will, get the crew to the docking bay and find a ship. I’m going to the bridge to get the command staff out of here, we can’t lose them. Mr. Worf, officer Jossa you’re with me.” Riker looked like he was about to object, but another, closer impact stopped him. “Commander Data, you see to know your way around here. Lead the way,” Riker said wearily. Data indicated a direction, and the Enterprise crew moved off, feeling more and more like marionettes, being pulled back and forth without a destination. Two figures however, Master Chief and the impassive Tassadar, remained with the captain in the fog. “I would not want to risk either of your lives on this mission. It is our duty as Starfleet officers to aid these people, not yours.” The two towering beings didn’t budge. “We appreciate the sentiment Captain,” Cortana said, “but you’re not going to talk the Chief out of this one. Besides, he is the only one here with a gun.” The spartan nodded. Picard looked to the reptilian Tassadar. “You may require my assistance,” is all he said in response to the questioning look. Picard would have pressed further, but a sudden detonation deep below them was a grim reminder of the precarious situation. “Cortana, find me a way to the bridge.”
Jacen Solo wove through the corridors of the rebel flagship quickly, lights flickering overhead. The hallways, just a minute before filled with anxious rebel techs and soldiers were now unerringly vacant. Jacen was determined to find a way into the fight; brief glimpses of shattered rebel craft out of view ports reminded him of the chaos outside. With the new threat of boarders, he felt all the more obligated to aid the Alliance. As he ducked under a bulkhead dislodged by the Imperial bombardment, blaster fire and shouts of pain and anger wafted up the passageway. The young jedi unclipped his lightsaber from its belt and moved forward cautiously, alert to any sudden threats. From a side passage, brilliant light flashes of red and the sounds of battle cast an eerie counterpoint to the silent hallway Jacen was standing in. Edging carefully along the wall, the jedi chanced a glance down the noisy passage.
A group of rebel soldiers, armed with an assortment of rifles and hand blasters, crouched with their backs to Jacen, were hunkered behind a barricade of cargo crates, mess hall tables, and anything else the defenders could lay their hands on. Beyond them the hall was filling with white-armored stormtroopers, elite crack troopers armed with modified short range rifles and a variety of explosives. These soldiers kept the rebels pinned down under a hail of fire, blaster bolts pinging of pastisteel furniture and rocketing aimlessly down the hall. One of the troopers dislodged a device from his equipment belt, primed it and flung it over the impromptu wall. It was at this point Jacen decided to act.
Igniting his lightsaber in a brilliant flash, he leapt down the hallway, eyes fixed upon the grenade, now lying on the floor in the middle of the rebel ranks. Before the soldiers could even react, the jedi motioned with his free hand, and the explosive leapt back into the air flying straight back into the mass of stormtroopers. A moment later, the device activated, but instead of blowing apart, it began to spew yellowish gas, dioxin, from vents on its sides. The toxin could immobilize and kill a normal human in less than two minutes, but the stormtrooper’s air filtration systems made them immune to its effects. The soldiers were now wading through the deadly fog, their blasters opening up once more. Of course, Jacen thought as he wove through bewildered rebel defenders and leapt over the barrier, they would be using gas canisters and sonic grenades. If they really wanted to capture the ship and presumably some of its crew, then risking structural collapse with thermal detonators or other explosives wouldn’t make much sense.
Even before he landed, Jacen swept the gas cloud back down the hallway, leaving the imperial troopers out in the open again. If they were startled by the sudden appearance of a teenager wielding a lightsaber, they did not show it, and immediately renewed their attack, E-11s thrumming loudly. With a wide stroke of his lightsaber, Jacen reflected the first volley of crimson bolts, sending them back at their owners. As two plastoid-armored bodies fell to the floor, the other stormtroopers, a half dozen of them, evidently having gained access from a turbolift down the hall, ducked into side doors, firing out from cover at random intervals. The jedi knight charged ahead, flinging troopers into walls and lopping weapons in half. While nowhere near as powerful a fighter as his siblings, Jacen still moved easily through the ranks of the Imperial soldiers, disarming and maiming. After two years of fighting the mysteriously force-immune Yuuzhan Vong, dealing with opponents he could predict and influence with the energy field was somewhat of a relief.
The conflict lasted less than a minute, Jacen’s green saber quickly putting down the soldiers trapped by the confines of the narrow passage. However, the jedi’s aberrance towards killing unnecessarily, even in battle, remained, and when the surviving rebel defenders scrambled over their fortification, they found only three of the eight imperials were dead, the two blasted by their own bolts and another who had impaled himself accidentally on Jacen’s saber. The Alliance soldiers thanked Jacen for his aid and began to herd the surviving stormtroopers into a side chamber. As Jacen deactivated his lightsaber and was about to move on to the next hot spot when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was the rebel who had rescued Picard and his crew from the Star Destroyer. “Major Besteen?”
The man shook of the comment, his slightly singed ponytail swaying. “Please, call me Truul.” The major’s right arm was in a makeshift sling, and in his left he cradled a worn power blaster. He glanced to the right of Jacen, were the captive troopers were being led away. “Thanks for the help; they overran our position from one of the secondary docking bays. I think they’re trying to grab the High Command.” Jacen nodded. “Do you know what the situation is outside?” The older man frowned. “Not since they started landing troops, jammed out comm links and cut the direct lines. But from what I know before that, there weren’t many of us left, ‘em Imps were beating us bad. Might not be anybody else out there now.” If that was the case, then there would be no escape for any of them. Still, Jacen’s senses told him there were still fighters out there, and his father was among them.
“Well, whatever’s going on out there, me and my men still have to reinforce the bridge. If they take that, were really out,” Truul said, hefting his blaster. “I’d never seen a jedi in action, you really pack a punch. Were gonna need all the help we can get to make it to the command deck, so are you in a helpful mood kid?” Even through Truul’s rough speech, unusually strained from the fighting, Jacen caught the meaning of the request. Far above them, the faint clank of another attaching boarding craft reverberated through the massive ship.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“C’mon, it’s clear,” Commander Riker called from beyond a doorway darkened by a damaged light panel. The Federation officers cautiously crept into the darkened hallway, where Data and the Arbiter waited along with the commander. “How much further to the docking bay,” Dr. Crusher asked quietly as the group took a brief break. Data looked of for a moment, his positronic brain recalling the schematics he had memorized. “The main docking bay should be fifty meters down this corridor and three levels below us,” he said finally. “Commander, we must consider the possibility that the docking bay has been already taken by these human assault teams,” the Arbiter noted, his eyes carefully scanning the empty passages. Since the alert had been sounded, they had not encountered any rebel personnel, presumably occupied defending sensitive areas of the ship. Fortunately, there had also been no sight or sound of the Imperial strike teams, although the lessening sounds of bombardment from outside indicated that they were quickly spreading throughout the vessel. “If this is the case, we must consider alternate escape routes,” the Elite continued.
Riker stroked his stubbly beard, considering. It was reasonable advice, and his small team didn’t have a single weapon among them, save the Arbiter and Data themselves. Still, they had to at least investigate the target bay, if the Captain was successful in his mission, that’s where he would be headed. “Alright, were pushing on forward until we reach the docking bay, the Captain needs a shuttle. If we encounter any Imperial resistance, we’ll make for cover and work out a new course of action from there.” Data frowned. “Sir, perhaps it would be prudent to send an advanced team forward to reconnoiter the docking area rather than risk the entire group.” Riker shook his head. “No, we can’t risk getting separated. If things get to difficult down there, we may have to leave immediately. With the Captain or without him.” The last part he said more to himself than anyone else, attempting to reassure his conflicted mind that he could in fact carry out such an order if necessary. The Arbiter shook his long head in disagreement, but he knew full well that it would be impossible to argue with such an obstinate being.
The unlikely procession set off again, wearily watching the shadows and empty hallways light by flickering emergency lights for sudden movement. The Elite and Lt. Commander Data took the lead position, followed closely by Riker and Geordi Laforge. Dr. Crusher and her two bedraggled nurses came next, flanked by Counselor Troi and Reginald Barclay, both silent. Like his compatriots, Barclay had been quiet and forlorn ever since his escape from the Torrent. Even though none had left family on that cold Star Destroyer, they had all left friends, as well as their last real ties with home, a universe away. Even the Captain and Riker had been shaken deeply by the recent events, although they did not let it show. The only ones of the crew seemingly unaffected were the constantly curious but emotionless Data and the cold, logical Vulcan Lieutenant Tolpak, who brought up the rear of the formation.
Data halted the group when they reached a group of doors recessed in the wall. “One of these turbolifts should be able to transport us to the docking bay.” Riker nodded and punched a control mounted next to the nearest doorway, and then another, but the entry remained sealed. “It is possible this lift control may have been shorted out by the Imperial bombardment. I shall try to reactivate it,” Data said. Riker moved aside and the android pulled the covering of the control panel, revealing a tangle of wires and circuits. The artificial being then began to check each one, using his tactile senses to monitor for a power current. As he worked, the others stood in silence, the embattled starship creaking and wheezing all around them. Geordi, leaning against the bulkhead parallel to the lift bank, stood up straight, his fingers pushing his sight visor onto his face to make sure it was secured correctly. “Data, are we near the exterior hull of this ship?” he asked nervously, his electronically enhanced gaze fixed on the opposite wall. Intrigued by the odd question, the others shifted their own eyes to the spot, a section of clean, whitish wall, typical of the Mon Calamari craft. Without looking up from his work, the android replied, “Yes. This passageway runs just inside the outer armor plating of the vessel. It is positioned in this manner along its entire stretch, a length of ninety five meters.” None of the others could figure out what had attracted the engineer’s attention, but it was all too clear through his heat sensitive visor. The bulkhead was glowing molten hot. At that moment, Data crossed a set of wires, and the lift doors slid open. Then, as is heard at a distance, came of metallic thud.
In an instant, it clicked. Geordi lunged at Riker, knocking both men into the empty turbolift and away from the wall section, which was beginning to tinge slightly with red even to the naked eye. Before the Commander could protest, Geordi called out, “Move! Its gonna blow in!” Startled and confused, the other officers moved sluggishly, scattering away from the turbolift bank area. As Data disengaged from the damaged lift control and flung himself after the engineer and Riker, the wall radiated an orange and white glow for an instant, and then exploded inwards. The blast knocked the fleeing sentients to the floor and spattered them with molten durasteel. Through a haze of vaporized metal, several forms spilled into the hallway. The trio in the dark turbolift chamber caught sight of white armor and black weaponry before the door slid shut, sealing them in.
His cat-like eyes tearing against the searing cloud, the Arbiter coiled onto his haunches, a shimmering energy barrier forming around him. From the fog emerged five heavily armed stormtroopers, disembarking quickly from the boarding craft now welded to the breached hull. The soldiers hesitated, surprised at encountering opposition so soon and the Elite took up the advantage. Even unarmed, the Arbiter’s species were natural warriors, and his shielded silver armor made him all the more formidable. Leaping forward, he extended a muscular palm, and sent a stormtrooper spinning into the wall, his neck broken. Two of the troopers opened up on the Elite with their blasters, red bolts impacted his shield at point blank range. The barrier fizzled at the blows, on the verge of overload, but the Arbiter ignored the threat, instead grabbing each of the trooper’s helmeted heads and lifting them of the floor. With a crunch of ceramic armor against metal, the two soldiers rammed against the floor, driven down by the alien as he rolled to the floor, still grasping twin faceplates. Alarmed by the ferocity of the attack, the remaining soldiers backed away from the fray. One of them tripped over a fallen comrade and fell back, his blaster rifle blazing out randomly. The red bursts etched scorch marks in a line along the wall as the weapon fell to the floor, sending Lieutenant Tolpak into a roll to avoid to shots. The last stormtrooper, a captain bearing a flechette launcher, a vicious short-range projectile weapon, brought his weapon to bear on the rampaging warrior and fired. From its wide barrel emanated a hail of tiny burning pellets, which impacted against the weakened shields and collapsed them. In spite of the vulnerability, the Arbiter lunged at the captain, mouth mandibles vibrating with intensity. The trooper stumbled back and fired again, the pellets knifing into the Elite’s torso and left arm and reflecting of armor. He howled in pain and hunched over slightly, but kept coming, his helmeted head lowered like a battering ram. Gauntleted fingers moved over the launchers trigger for a third time, but before they could squeeze, the Arbiter swung swiftly around behind the stormtrooper, grabbing his gun. With a jerk of the outflanked soldier’s arm and a flash of light as the weapon discharged, the captain fell to the floor, his own scatter bolts having torn through the flexible neck lining of his armor.
The Arbiter fell to his knees, blue blood ebbing from the numerous punctures riddling his body. However, the injuries were more painful than they were dangerous, the flechette blast having only been a glancing blow. He sensed a human was now standing over him and looked up to see the human medic Crusher standing there, still shaken by the attack. To his surprise, she extended a hand to him, a smile gracing her mammalian face. Long, leathery fingers embraced human ones, and the Arbiter felt the hostility the woman had exuded towards him since the incident in the medbay melt away. Then a bright flash filled his vision and a bolt of light bore into the doctor’s waist. A look of shock crossed the woman’s features as the color in her cheeks drained and she toppled slowly too the floor, her hand still clenched in the Arbiter’s fist. His eyes wide, the warrior pivoted around to see a black clad Imperial pilot standing in the wall breach, a blaster pistol in his hand. Coolly, the flight suited figure watched his first target go down from behind domed eye ports, and then shifted his weapon on the crouching warrior, its barrel aimed at his exposed neck. A crimson bolt of energy split the air.
Rebel soldiers lined the passage to the bridge, forming a virtually impassible barrier. Every Alliance crewman who could fire a blaster were holding back the Imperial boarders on the Command deck, weapons control centers, and the main ship length corridors. Everyone else was busy destroying any information that could lead the Empire to the few remaining resistance cells left in the galaxy. They all new there was little hope left for the rebellion, but as those dedicated to what they believe in often do, they fought on.
“Stop,” a rebel officer called from behind a mobile bulkhead. “Identify yourselves.” Captain Picard, along with the security officers, Tassadar and the Master Chief stood at the end of the entry hall to the bridge, their hands slightly raised. Beyond the bulkhead, the points of two dozen blaster rifles pointed out threateningly towards them from along the hall. To add to the effect, three automated laser turrets hung in the ceiling above them, trained on the intruders. Picard stepped forward, trying to look diplomatic. “We are guests of the Alliance High Command, and we have come to provide assistance to them,” he said. “Although it looks like you’ve set up a staunch defense without our help.” The unseen Rebel officer was silent for a moment, evidently checking their story. The defense turrets watched them ceaselessly, and it made the Chief and Worf uncomfortable. The Spartan’s hand hovered closer and closer to the blaster lodged in his belt.
At last, the Rebel returned, appearing as the bulkhead dropped away, leaving a straight shot to the bridge. The officer, a Twi’lek, motioned for his troops to lower their weapons. The dual rows of blasters fell, and the defense turrets withdrew into the ceiling. “The Admiral has given you permission to enter the bridge,” he said. “But I don’t think that there’s much you can do to assist us, not much anyone can do.”
The Home One’s bridge was the hive of frantic activity one would have expected in such a situation. The crewers moved from station to station agitatedly, coordinating the few remaining operational guns and the ship’s dwindling defenders. On the command platform above them, Admiral Ackbar watched the holographic display that dominated the room in silence. It showed the reason for the chaotic action around him in perfect clarity. Where once had been dozens of rebel craft, only a few remained, the Home one itself, the Redemption, the badly damaged hulk of the Capital ship Independence, and a lone light Mon Calamari cruiser, as well as a few desperate squadrons of fighter craft and light freighters, still fighting valiantly on. Hemming the pitiful group in was the Imperial fleet, the Executor and the lead Star Destroyer on either side, firing pot shots at the rebel ships. The rest of the Imperial fleet was moving in swiftly, nine deadly cruisers hurrying to complete the trap. Without the Home One, which the other craft were using as cover and the Imperials seemed intent on capturing, none would likely be left.
The rebel crewers ignored the bridge’s new inhabitants, focused on their desperate tasks. Ackbar however swiveled his eyes towards the Captain as he and his escorts made their way towards the raised section of the bridge. “Captain Picard, I trust you understand we have little time for your tale right now,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to the tactical displays. “And it would seem that we may never have time for it again. Comms, direct General Solo to move his fighters to protect the Redemption’s flank. That Imperial squadron is moving too close to her shield cluster.” Beyond the transparisteel command window at the Admiral’s back, X-Wings and Tie Interceptors traded fire and maneuvered to out fly each other. Beyond them, the massive Imperial command ship spat green turbolaser volleys at unseen ships defending the Home One’s carbon-scored form. Blinking screens on consoles scattered throughout the chamber spoke of its imperiled state, its shields were gone and the weapons emplacements that had survived the Executor’s bombardment were falling silent one by one as Stormtrooper Commandos captured gunnery stations and cut power lines from the inside. Imperial intruders were on virtually every deck, bypassing non-essential areas to capture important positions like Main Engineering, the Main engine control power systems, and the bridge itself. Rebel defenders were putting up a valiant fight, but a constant stream of landing craft bypassed the weakening fleet perimeter and was pumping troops in through the two captured docking bays, as well as at various insertion points through the hull.
“Admiral, General Madine reports that his position near the primary turbolaser bank is being overrun,” an ensign reported, in contact with the human officer over one of the ships uncompromised communication lines. Ackbar stared at a schematic of his ship, sections of it glowing with the red of Imperial occupation. “Have the general withdraw to deck fourteen and reinforce the command post. When they’re out, vent the main access way into space,” the one of the Mon Calamari’s lieutenants ordered. This might hold them for a while, but the main weapons systems would have to be abandoned, and Imperial casualties would be minimal. Stormtrooper armor was renowned for being able to resist and filter almost any gas or airborne toxin, and could even hold atmosphere for a few minutes in space.
Picard waited for a relatively quite moment before speaking again. “Actually Admiral, my men and I have come to render any assistance we can to you. I had hoped to be able to escort you and the Command staff to one of the docking bays.” The Mon Cal didn’t look towards him. “With all due respect Picard,” he said, “There is no escape for us now. The imperial interdiction net has seen to that.” Picard was surprised, the Admiral didn’t strike his as the type of person who would loose hope or give in. “Surely there is a possibility you could break at least a few of yours ships away from…” His argument was silenced as Ackbar raised a finned hand. “Look at the hologram Picard, very soon that fleet of destroyers will be within firing range and the Executor has blocked our only escape vector. We have been outmaneuvered and trapped, I have failed the Alliance. Our only option is to fight until the last man has fallen.” Next to the Captain, Worf muttered something. “It is a warrior’s most honorable fate.” Picard did have to admit the situation seemed hopeless, and it seemed the only options were to fight and die or to yield and have the surviving rebels interrogated, tortured, and executed in some mock trial at the hands of the ruthless Empire. If given such a choice, Picard felt he would make the same to decision, to fight to the last. All the same, to give up hope of achieving victory was the surest path to defeat, and the fates of the Alliance and possibly the Federation itself lay on the actions of the Admiral and his crew.
“Sir!” a Sullustan shouted. “The Independence has lost shields! They’re taking significant structural damage!”
“Show me.”
On a display screen, the image of the Home One’s sister ship flickered into view. The mighty cruiser had drifted out of the Admiral’s defensive cluster and too close to the converging Star Destroyer fleet. Sensing an easy kill, the closest destroyer, supplemented by deep range blasts from the other ships, had focused all its guns and torn away the Mon Cal cruiser’s shields. The vessel was beginning to list under the withering bombardment, its sides hemorrhaging fire. “Move the Republica to provide coving fire for the Independence,” The Admiral ordered urgently, and the remaining light cruiser began to break for the wounded starship. The command came too late.
Its engines gone, the starship reeled away like a dying animal, beginning to tumble freely through space, still pounded by turbolaser fire. Then a tremendous conflagration ran down the ship’s spine and it split open, illuminating the blackness for a moment. Then the Independence was gone. The blast was reflected on the admiral’s huge black eyes, and he lowered his head solemnly. Thousands more freedom fighters, men he had failed, dead in the cold depths of space.
The bridge quieted for a moment, a sign of shock and respect for those who had just died, but the respite was short lived. “Sir,” one of the human officers called through the silence. “A transmission from Captain Antilles.” Over the speakers, a heavily distorted voice came through, interrupted by bursts of static. “Admiral, they’ve…several more boarding Ties got past…attaching to command deck…incoming…” Wedge’s X-Wing had been heavily damaged when the first destroyer reinforcement had arrived, but he had refused to leave the fight for repairs. Even through the sketchy connection, the pilots’ warning was clear.
The Mon Calamari admiral hit a button on his control panel. “Commander, you have incoming imperial soldiers. You must hold them at all costs.” There was no reply. “Commander Tregel, report,” Ackbar said, suddenly agitated. Picard and the others looked up at him, intrigued and uneasy. Over the comm channel, faint sounds, distant shouting, blaster fire, an explosion. Now the entire bridge crew was transfixed and the gaurds at the entry way began to reach for holstered blasters. “Do we have a monitor link with the hallway?” an officer asked and another hurriedly tapped a few commands into a computer console. Several viewers around the room flickered to life, but they showed only static, casting an unsteady glow on the chamber. From inside the Chief’s armor, Cortana also watched with fascination, unable to see the entry corridor herself. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Master Chief flexed his shoulders and turned towards the sealed doorway, blaster pistol in hand. “No kidding.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The blistering bolt of red light raced through air and impacted its target, releasing a deadly payload of energy. The imperial pilot, blaster still clutched in his gloved fist, swayed for a moment, and then collapsed onto the melted deck plate, steam beginning to rise from his black flight suit. The Arbiter stood frozen his haunches for a moment, looking at the corpse in confusion. Then an unintelligible sound drew the elite’s attention across the hallway. There, half crouched and covered in debris from the wall breach, was Reginald Barclay, a blaster rifle seized from a fallen trooper nestled tightly in his hands. The introverted engineer was staring blankly at the imperial he had just shot in disbelief, his hands beginning to shake. Behind him, the two orderlies and the Vulcan were scrambling to their feet and running down the hall towards the Arbiter. Altered by these movements, he shifted his attention back to the human woman lying next to him, her slender hand still in his. She was staring blankly up at the ceiling, her mouth slightly agape.
The female nurse, Onigawa crouched over her, frantically checking for life signs and the blaster wound in her abdomen, the dazed look on her face begin to replaced by hopelessness. As the other officers swarmed the injured doctor, checking her heartbeat and tearing back uniform to reveal a charred gash on her stomach, the Arbiter rose and turned once again to Barclay, who was till in a state of shock, the blaster rifle clutched in white knuckles. Scoping the stormtrooper Captain’s flechette launcher of the floor and clutching his wounded side, the Elite loped past the engineer to investigate the boarding ship. Both tiny compartments were empty. Moving back into the hall, he found the male nurse, Walling, was saying something about the human woman going into shock, and the two physicians began to try to revive her, pressing on her chest and giving her breaths. It was at this moment that the turbolift doors that had provided cover for the Commander opened, revealing Lt. Commander Data, ready to spring out against any opposition, Riker and Geordi close behind. Finding the stormtrooper unit dispatched on the debris-strewn floor, they immediately shifted their attention to the cluster of officers around Dr. Crusher, whose eyes had closed and was lying limp.
Barclay was now standing, the blaster hanging limply from his hand as he watched Beverly Crusher fall towards the verge of death. The Arbiter gave the man a deep nod, a gesture of respect among warriors he thought he would never give to the mousy, timid human. Exasperating and clumsy perhaps, but he had saved the Elite’s life. Barclay stared at the warrior, his eyes still bewildered and hazy. “I… I just picked it up and shot. I’ve never killed anyone before,” he said, gazing at the gun in his hand. Unusual behavior, the Arbiter noted. One of his species would likely be feeling the exhilaration of blood lust after his first kill, but Barclay seemed simply overwhelmed by the act. Perhaps the human’s way was better, enjoying the hunt too much made you sloppy and reckless.
An increase in the decibel of the noise from the other officer’s direction drew them back to the events at hand. Tears were streaming down the female nurse’s face, the doctor’s now pale head in her hands. Nurse Walling was shaking his head. Geordi’s head was lowered, shaking slowly. Will Riker had his right placed on Dr. Crusher’s shoulder, a taught expression straining his face. The Arbiter felt a sudden twinge inside him, sadness perhaps, another unexpected feeling. These beings, his comrades now, had grown on him. As the humans placed her arms at her sides, the Arbiter felt the last of the Prophet’s old hateful teachings, their xenophobic lies melt away. For better or worse, he was committed to these beings.
“Is there another route out of here?” Master Chief asked loudly, his blaster pistol trained on the main entryway, now flanked by the bridge’s six guards, their weapons also drawn. From beyond it, muffled clunking and hissing sounds emanated, clearly heard in the suddenly silent chamber. Admiral Ackbar tore his eyes from the sealed door and shifted them back to the holographic battle display, where the outgunned remnants of the rebel fleet still fought. “Admiral?” the super soldier prompted again. Reluctantly, the Admiral rose and moved to the edge of the railed command level. “Yes, there is a maintenance hallway behind the communications center.” He motioned to a secluded corner of the room, beyond a large group of flickering displays and switchboard panels.
Some of the officers on the deck began to edge towards the small hatch as the sounds from beyond the main entry way grew louder, but the Admiral made no sign of want to evacuate. “I understand that you want to stick this fight out Admiral, really I do. But the fates of both your fight and my civilization may depend on getting you and your command staff out of here,” Picard said. “I understand that there is little chance of anyone of us escaping this alive, but we have to try. If you leave here, there still yet be a way to get the rest of the fleet out of this trap, but if we all die or are captured when this bridge is taken…” There was no need to complete the statement. Ackbar’s head dipped slightly and he folded his arms behind his back, turning to stare at the waning battle through his viewport, thinking. The bridge staff grew increasingly agitated with each passing moment, and Picard opened his mouth to plead again. However, it was not necessary.
“Begin the evacuation,” the Admiral said, turning back to his crew. “Make your way to the primary hangar bay, it is still under our control. I will order Generals Madine and Rieekan to make a push for one of the secondary bays and get as many personnel of the ship and onto the Redemption and the Republica as possible.” He glanced at the security monitor beside him, where lines of red were stretching through engineering deck. “The ship is lost, but if they want its crew alive, they’ll have to fight for them.” With that, he turned to his upper lieutenants to work out an evacuation plan, and the door guards began to direct the dozen or so other officers on the bridge towards the secondary exit. The Master Chief began to maneuver the captain and the others towards the exit as well too, still facing the main door warily.
Even as the first rebel officers were unsealing the service doorway, the attack came. One of the two soldiers still flanking the door yelled a warning as a jet of sparks spat from the door seal, but his warning was cut short by the thunderous blast of the hatch caving inward. Rebel officers scrambled for cover behind control consoles and data screen, and Worf and Jossa hustled Captain Picard into cover as well. From the blackened breach in the wall, a flood of white-armored troopers burst forth, quickly spreading into the large room. From the raised command platform, a rebel officer tore a hold out pistol form a hidden wall mount and opened fire as the Admiral was whisked into cover further onto the command deck, and then seven other blasters opened up. Master Chief and the six bridge guards unloaded their weapons on the incoming throng, red bolts filling the air and sending exposed officers diving away. The stormtroopers hesitated before returning, evidently making sure that none of their primary targets were in the crossfire, and then added new blasts to the fray, E-11s and flechette launchers roaring.
The two soldiers by the door went down quickly under a hail of energy bolts and superheated pellets, but the stormtroopers were taking casualties as well, armored forms collapsing to the ground. Hunkered behind metal and plastoid fixtures, the rebels fired quickly and precisely, taking down four more troopers before they could begin to take up position behind the nearest consoles to the breached door. The imperial soldiers continued pouring in, peppering the chamber with fire, but carefully avoiding officers, even those who were caught out in the open. The armed guards, however, did not fair so well. A young woman crouched next to the Chief with a blaster rifle toppled too the floor, scorched from a blaster shot. Another trooper fell, and Lt. Worf took up his weapon, firing carefully into the strike team. Behind the loose defense perimeter, a few officers crawled along under cover of computers bases, making for the now ajar access hatch. One stormtrooper caught sight of the attempt, and unclipped a grenade from his belt. Master Chief fired a shot into the soldier’s face plate, but the device left his hand before he fell to the ground, and it flew through the air, landing squarely in the open hatchway. It beeped and split open, unleashing a cloud of acrid gas, non lethal but enough to effectively block the route momentarily.
More imperial soldiers burst through the entrance and the firefight intensified. A beam of spun light skewered the Mon Cal lieutenant with the blaster behind the command deck railing, and he toppled to the deck below, right behind the Master Chief’s position. Unfazed, the super soldier grabbed the hold out blaster from the floor and shifted it into his left hand. Making sure both his weapons were fully loaded, he lunged through a gap between control banks, twin pistols blazing, sewing destruction amongst the imperial ranks. Blaster bolts licking at his shields, the Chief emptied the two blasters, and then dove back under cover, shoving his spare ammo pack into one of the guns and discarding the other. Beside him, Tassadar crouched silently, watching the gunfight from behind a blast pocked terminal that barely hid him. The Chief looked at him sharply from behind his opaque face bubble, irritated at his lack of action, but a display set into the desk above fragmenting into molten slag brought his attention back to the battle.
“We can’t hold them,” Worf shouted over the clamor of gun fire, ducking behind a console that was shielding Picard and Jossa. A cry rang out from nearby, and another of the rebel soldiers fell. The stormtroopers continued their short advance, slipping from battered computer to smoking data display, and began to encircle the beleaguered command crew. As the gas that kept the Alliance personnel from slipping away began to clear, four more soldiers drew the devices from their equipment belts and tossed them into the pockets were opposing gunfire still rang out. The dense, acrid gas poured into the air, clouding the chamber in an immobilizing shroud. The Master Chief’s sealed armor filtered out the gas, but the others were not so lucky, and they began to wheeze and cough violently, the riot suppressing chemicals interfering with their eyes and lungs.
As rebel defenders winced and hacked through the obscuring cloud, the unimpeded stormtroopers began to fan out, altering the firing settings on their weapons. His artificially enhanced eyes straining through the fog, the Chief could make out the enemy troopers, easily avoiding random blaster shots from the distracted bridge crew. An imperial trooper leaned down next to a squirming communications officer, evidently checking his face. After a moment, the soldier stood back up and pulsed a blue beam into the man’s back, who collapsed onto the floor, quite still. “Looks like a stun bolt of some sort,” Cortana muttered softly. In response, the Chief rose from his cover quietly, aimed his pistol, and fired. Even in the low visibility atmosphere, the Spartan’s aim was precise, and the offending trooper dropped, stricken by a blast of energy to the head. The other stormtroopers, surprised at the return fire, turned towards the direction of the blast and opened up with their own weapons, blue streams filling the hazy room. Although their sight was also obscured, several bolts did impact the Chief’s shields as he targeted the intruders one by one with his blaster, sparking and hissing as they hit.
Master Chief continued firing, and the stormtroopers intensified their own barrage, driving the Chief’s body shield slowly down, the strength indicator on his helmet HUD blinking yellow and then red. The super soldier began to back through the settling haze, pumping the last shots from his blaster. A few troopers fell, but more took their place, determined to immobilize the defender. He felt his armored back hit the wall behind him just as the last of the blaster’s power cell drained. “Chief!” Cortana warned as the energy shields around him flickered and failed. The soldier dropped the spent weapon and looked for cover, but there was none, he was pinned in the open beneath the command platform. Blue bolts impacted his armor one after another, creating a brilliant electrical distortion across its surface. The near tank grade plating could repel the brunt of the stun blasts, but the draining electrical haze was seeping in, and the Chief felt his limbs start to go numb. “They’re overloading my processors!” the AI in his head called frantically, and then faded away into garbled static as she shut down. Through the now clearing mist, half a dozen troopers marched, still firing. A jolt of pain tore through the Chief’s body, and he dropped to one knee, no longer able to feel his legs and other extremities. His brain beginning to cloud with a tingling sensation, the Chief collapsed to the other knee, lunging at the closest of the stormtroopers. The attack however was slowed by the Chief’s weakened muscles, and another blue jolt to the helmet sent the besieged soldier sprawling.
Two of the faceless imperial soldiers grabbed him under the armpits and pulled, but found he was too heavy to lift manually; his powered armor weighed half a ton. Instead, one of the soldiers lay down his weapon and began searching for the Chief’s helmet seal, the other troopers covering him from a safe distance. The stormtrooper’s gloved fingers found the release node and depressed it and a blast of recycled still tinged by the noxious fumes of the riot grenades swept into the Master Chief’s nostrils. The green helm was lifted away and cast to the floor, revealing a middle-aged man, with pasty skin, hard features and shot cut hair, beginning to grow out from the long time it had been neglected. The stormtrooper heaved the super soldier into a vaguely upright position and then withdrew back to his comrades, blaster rifle aimed squarely at the vulnerable man’s head.
Although the stun bolts had virtually paralyzed him and made his head loll to one side, the Chief still had a fairly good view of the chamber. The imperial soldiers, perhaps twenty in all, had routed the last of the disabled resistance, and rebel officers decked out by stun blasts were being lined up along the floor, Lt. Commander Worf among them. Several individuals, including the rest of the Federation officers and Tassadar, were having their wrists restrained in stun cuffs. Off to the left, Admiral Ackbar and his remaining top lieutenants were being led down the command platform stairway at gunpoint. The Alliance had lost, and the Empire was going to collect its spoils.
As the captured Admiral’s feet hit the main deck and he was paraded to the center of the room, all the stormtroopers save the ones guarding prisoners made twin ranks, flanking the main entrance. Master Chief tried to twist his numb head towards the door, but his shocked muscles were sluggish and slow, and his eyes were forced to remain on the Admiral, standing resolutely with his arms at his sides. The troopers snapped to attention and brought their weapons up in a simultaneous salute, and as they did this, the Chief noticed several of the rebel officers shiver, their eyes fixed on the entrance in horror. The source of their consternation quickly became evident, as it strode in-between the ranks of imperials and into the Chief’s view.
Towering over Admiral Ackbar, his hands clasped onto his belt, stood the Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. The Mon Calamari looked resolutely back, his ichthyic features hiding any trace of fear. Vader took a moment to inspect each of the captured defenders, and then turned to a stormtrooper captain. “Did you detain any others?” he asked in his deep, haggard tone. The trooper bowed slightly. “No Lord Vader, these were the only rebels we located in this room.” Darth Vader swung his gaze back to Admiral Ackbar. “Where are the other members of your so called High Command?” His only response was silence. The Sith unhooked his fingers from his belt and stepped closer to the Admiral and his staff, causing a few of them to step involuntarily backwards. “Where is the jedi? The one called Jacen Solo?” he asked, impatience beginning to seep into his voice. The Admiral was taken aback by the last comment. The Jedi’s name was Solo? How could that be? How could Vader even know that the human was with the fleet? In an almost imperceptible motion, the Mon Calamari’s right eye flicked towards Picard in confusion. Most humans would not have noticed, but the force provided focus and clarity no normal being could hope to achieve, and Darth Vader followed the quick glance.
The Dark Lord made a half turn towards the bald Captain and looked him over once more. “Bring him to me,” he ordered. Two stormtroopers shoved their blasters into Picard’s back and pushed him forward. When Vader turned fully, the stormtroopers each laid a hand on Picard’s shoulder, forcing him to look into the Sith’s expressionless helm. Staring into the opaque, black figure that towered over him, Picard suddenly found it difficult to speak or even breath and fear he had not felt for a long time gripped him. “Identify yourself,” the dark one said in a monotone. Despite the fear that was permeating him, the Captain still managed a measure of defiance, and he remained silent. In response to this resistance, Darth Vader clenched a fist hidden under his long cloak. “Identify yourself,” he said again, his electronically filtered voice growing darker. “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets,” the man said suddenly, startled that the words were coming out of his mouth.
“The Federation,” Vader echoed softly, looking off for a moment. “Where are the others under your command? Where is the jedi Solo?” To his surprise, Picard felt his mouth open again, about to deliver the requested information. After all, it was nothing of relevance, no use in risking harm to himself by withholding the rough location of Jacen Solo. Then something quivered in his mind, his conscience perhaps, Starfleet training long recessed in his brain. It felt wrong, as if someone was poking at his mind to see what was inside. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to appease it. The Captain’s lips closed. Vader glowered at him for a moment and then straightened up. “A strong mind this one has,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “He could be useful yet.” With a twirl of his black cap, Darth Vader turned back to Admiral Ackbar again, leaving Picard with a strange feeling the pit of his stomach.
“I will ask one more time Admiral, where are the other rebel commanders?” Ackbar stared impetuously back, his black eyes focused and alert. “You will not find what you seek from me, nor any of my crew dark one. Even in this victory, you have failed.” Darth Vader paused, mildly surprised by this continued insolence, and then strode forward until Mon Calamari and sith were mere inches apart. “We shall see.” Vader’s right arm shot out from under his dark mantle, gloved metal fingers finding purchase on the rebel’s orange neck. Slowly, with a single arm, the dark lord hefted Ackbar into the air, the Admiral’s hands prying at Vader’s durasteel grip in vain. The Alliance officer’s recoiled from the spectacle, looking on in horror. Even as his grip tightened on the amphibian’s throat, Vader turned his head to the stormtrooper commander. “Escort Picard to my assault shuttle and prepare for immediate departure. When the ship is secured, have your men take the rest to the main hangar for transport.” The white-armored man nodded in recognition and motion for two of his troopers. The soldiers pushed Picard towards the burned-out doorway and placed their rifles at his back again. “Move,” one of them said. As they passed, Jossa tried to break free of her captors, to aid her captain, but a blaster butt to her stomach sent the security officer reeling to the floor.
Vader tuned his gaze back to Ackbar, who was now gasping shallowly, his arms limp at his sides. “Let this serve as an example to traitors,” Darth Vader said aloud, and the synapses in his brain began to send the electrical discharges to the mechanical arm which would break the Mon Cal’s neck. However, the thought was never completed. From the row of prisoners, a shout of alarm rang out, and Vader shifted his attention yet again. It was then that the sith lord saw the crumpled body of a stormtrooper flying through the air straight at him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In a fluid motion, the Dark Lord side stepped the living projectile, easing his grip and sending the Admiral Sprawling onto the floor. Flesh and plastoid whipped past, propelled by an unseen force. Before the stormtrooper even impacted the Bridge wall behind them, Darth Vader whirled around to face whatever had just deprived him of a soldier. The row of prisoners was shattered, imperial troops laid out across the floor and rebel officers stumbling backwards, shell-shocked and unguarded. Standing alone in the center of the group was a tall reptilian, his hands outstretched at his sides, the tattered remains of metallic stun cuffs hanging from his wrists. The creature was unlike any Vader had even seen before, and what was more, he could sense much power in it, perhaps even the force.
Darth Vader’s lightsaber flew into his hand and ignited in a blaze of crimson. “Another jedi? Perhaps the rebellion is better organized than I had suspected,” he said, slowly circling towards the alien, who followed him with deep, black eyes. Darth Vader’s vanguard of troopers snapped their blasters into firing position and trained them on the towering scaly being, which was easily as tall as Vader himself. The two soldiers escorting Picard paused as well, doubling back to see what the dark lord was about to do, their rifles still leveled at the Captain. “I sense much darkness in you,” Darth Vader continued, probing the creature with the force. The alien’s mind was unusual, clouded and complex, difficult to read. The tall alien looked back silently, and Vader felt a presence gather around him, as if he was being scanned in return.
“You will release this people and remove yourself and your minions from this vessel,” the creature finally said, his voice a command. Although the words were clear, the alien face bore no mouth to produce them. A telepath, Vader realized, even beings strong in the force could not convey thoughts so easily. “You are not in a position to give orders to me, no one is,” the Dark Lord replied, pointing his saber at the creature’s chest, encased in dull black and tan armor. “You will submit to my stormtroopers, or I will slay you myself.” The creature showed no recognizable emotion looking slowly from the threatening lightsaber back to Vader’s dark helm. His gaze bore into the sinister mask, eyes shifting color slightly. “I sense a tortured soul within that dark case. Deep within the blackness, I can see that you do not wish any of us harm. Come, bring that spark of compassion to the surface, Adun will show you the way.”
Vader was startled by the defiant words, this creature sounded like many of the jedi he had hunted over the years. Many had made impassioned speeches like this one, beckoning him back to the weakness and chaos of the so called light side with empty promises and false hopes. None had ever succeeded, and each had paid for their efforts with their lives. This farce had gone on too long, whatever this being was, it had to be silenced. Darth Vader drew his saber into a slashing position. “You are bold, creature, but also unwise. I sense much power in you, power that can be molded. Stand down, or you will die.” The reptile crossed his long arms in defiance and became silent again. The Sith waited for a moment, and then shifted his weight onto one foot. There were other, more important matters to attend to, and this being had wasted far too much of his time. “If that is your choice,” he said grimly.
Darth Vader surged forward, his body a blur tipped with the glowing spear of his lightsaber. Instead of stepping back or trying to dodge the attack, the alien watched impassively with dark eyes for a moment, and then flickered into motion. Where the red energy blade should have been plunged into the creature’s thin chest, it instead remained immobile in midair, inches away from its target. Along it’s surface, as well as all throughout the air surrounding the alien, pulses of lightning-like energy sparked flickering from object to object. Stormtroopers and rebels alike recoiled from the spectacle, a strange, gut wrenching aura of uneasiness and fear gripping them. Vader, still clutching his blade, stared at the being, who had unclasped its arms and were holding them outwards at him, as if they were holding the deadly weapon back. Powerful this creature was indeed, but Vader doubted it have dealt with one such as him before. Tightening his grip and drawing deeply on the force, the Sith lord pushed.
The energy field that encompassed the pair suddenly increased in intensity, flecks of translucent lightning racing from ceiling to floor. The alien’s eyes bulged and the crimson blade plunged deeper in, now scraping the exterior of the chest plate. The alien’s arms went limp for a moment and then flexed, bending inwards towards the attacking warrior. A burst of cloudy neon light surged up the lightsaber’s length, diffusing itself along Vader’s outstretched arms. A strangled his of pain emerged from his opaque facemask, but he pressed on doggedly. Behind the two combatants, the command deck’s railing creaked and twisted, rungs pulling themselves into the air one by one. When several meters of the suddenly animated barrier had wrenched free of the floor, they bunched up and hurled towards the towering alien’s undefended back. The projectile hit, and its target hunched forward slightly under the blow, pushing the saber through thin armor plate and nicking scaled skin. Vader looked up into the reptilian face of his opponent, contorted with concentration. “Never underestimate the power of the dark side,” the cyborg growled, and then pushed again, focusing his energy onto the hilt of his lightsaber.
For a fleeting second, the red blade moved further in, hissing as it vaporized outer layers of flesh. Then the assailed being’s eyes bulged and his arms swung out. The blade stalled again, and the chamber suddenly became absolutely silent, sound and even light draining away, forming a void around the combatants. Then, with a thunderous crackling noise, a globe of luminous shimmering energy seemed to blossom from the alien’s chest, engulfing the center of the bridge in blinding light. The two were transfixed for a long instant, Vader unable to wrench any of his limbs into motion and the alien similarly immobilized. Then the electrified field collapsed.
In a burst of noise and motion, Darth Vader and a group of stormtroopers unfortunate enough to be behind him were blown back, thrashed by a gale of wind and energy. Streams of lightning pulsed down the length of the chamber, etching charred holes into walls and terminals and skewering imperial soldiers. Picard, momentarily unwatched, was able to throw himself out of the way of the destructive wave, but his guards were less responsive, and both collapsed backwards into the stream of energy, armored chests and helmets melted and ruptured. Shattered stormtroopers were picked up by the wave and hurled through the entry way, contorting like leaves caught in a monsoon. Darth Vader stumbled backwards as well, his lit saber still clutched in hand. However, instead of succumbing to the wave, he regained his balance and began to push back into it, leaning forward and driving through the deadly gale, footfall after footfall bringing him closer to his target. The alien, his lanky hands stretched out before him, guiding the energy wave, sent strands of searing lightning coursing towards the dark lord with jerks of his finned head. The energy bands lashed into Vader, but they were met by his own elemental forces, force barriers that deflected the lightning into the already scarred deck plate. The reptilian alien focused his eyes again and pushed harder, but the dark lord kept on coming, psychic energy breaking off him and diffusing into the turbulent air.
Captain Picard found himself in a heap on the floor, mere meters away from the torrent of electrified energy that was still screeching into the hall and sweeping shocked stormtroopers with it. From behind the stun-shocked body of a rebel officer, Picard could see the alien being Tassadar with his arms outstretched, guiding the wave of energy against the imperials. Before him, the imperial commander, Darth Vader he had gathered, was weathering the energy gale, drawing ever closer to his assailant. For a moment, the Federation officer was transfixed by the scene, forget the grave peril he and his crew were in. This Tassadar was exhibiting a power that was even approached by anything he had ever seen in all his years exploring and patrolling the galaxy. And there, in the midst of this magnificent and deadly stream, stood the towering imperial leader with his crimson lightsaber, easily repelling the attack with an unseen force. He had never seen the jedi Jacen Solo or Aayla Secura in action, but from Will Riker’s descriptions of their exploits, this being’s abilities surpassed even theirs.
A bolt of translucent lightning etching its way just inches over his head brought the Captain out of his wonderment. Darth Vader was pushing closer and closer to Tassadar, splitting the weakening stream of energy around him and deflecting it into air. Their would-be savior was weakening, and the imperial commander would be within striking range with his energy blade in only moments. The exhilaration brought on by the incredible spectacle quickly ebbed away, replaced by growing fear. Picard wasn’t about to let himself or any more of his crew become captives of the brutal empire, not again. This conviction however was tempered by doubt, what could he, an ordinary human shackled in restraining cuffs, do against a titan of such enormous power? He glanced around the chamber desperately, searching for someone or something that could turn the tide against the dark force user.
Most of the rebel officers, as well as Lt. Worf lay still unconscious, mercifully several meters away from the deadly conflict. The remaining aware officers, as well as the unhindered stormtroopers had scrambled away from the fight and were watching it unsmilingly, entranced. The Captain couldn’t see Jossa or the Master Chief from where he lay, but they were most likely unconscious as well. As Picard strained to see any other possibility of aid, his gaze caught a shimmering fleck of light from the battle, reflected on a smooth, metal surface, the stock of a blaster rifle, just an arm’s length away. Evidently, one of his unfortunate escorts had dropped the thing before being swept up by the mighty wave and out into the hallway beyond the bridge. Picard stared at the weapon for a moment, and then, against his better judgment, scrambled over the fallen rebel and clasped his bound hands around the device.
The blast rang out, barely discernable above the roar of Tassadar’s failing barrier, but the dark lord of the sith sensed it even as the bolt left its chamber. His lightsaber hand shot behind him and deftly deflected the bolt with a flick of the wrist, but the damage was done. Seeing his last chance, Tassadar bundled his remaining psychic energies together and released them in a pulse of coruscating lightning that caught the distracted sith of balance. A blur of black durasteel and armor-weave cloth, Darth Vader flew backwards, clawing against the overwhelming wave in rage. He tumbled out of the bridge and was propelled down the length of the security hall on the chest of the titanic energy blast. Then the shimmering pulse destabilized and exploded outwards, hurling Vader and the tattered remains of a handful of unfortunate troopers further away. Expanding bands of burning psionic energy tore through the floors and wall bulkheads, sending support beams and conduits crashing into the hallway. A plume of dissipating energy and crushed metal gushed down the hallway and into the bridge, where imperial and rebel looked on in amazement. The cloud cleared, revealing a mound of debris from floor to ceiling, blocking the path.
Tassadar stood fixed, eyes fixed on the destruction he had wrought. Around him, those who could stand slowly began to stir, as if they had forgotten where they were. Picard wearily picked himself of the floor and surveyed the room again. Out of the original squad of stormtroopers, only seven remained, scattered throughout the chamber. One of them, standing behind a badly damaged control terminal across the room from Picard, raised his weapon and aimed it uneasily at the immobile reptilian alien, and a few of the others followed suite. Picard was quick to level his own weapon at the threat, but the trooper did not fire immediately. The alien had fixed him in a hard stare, and the soldier was evidently having a difficult time willing his fingers to pull the trigger. “I think perhaps you should reconsider,” the Captain called out, his blaster still raised. The trooper glanced from Tassadar to Picard to the battle-scarred doorway and then back to Tassadar, who still had him fixed in a withering glare. Behind his faceplate, the trooper gulped and finally lowered his weapon and motioned for his remaining companions to do the same. Dying for one’s empire was all fine and good, but starring down a creature who had bested a sith lord had a way of changing a person’s priorities.
As it turned out, as soon as the stormtrooper unit had been disarmed and placed under guard by Alliance crewers, Tassadar collapsed to his reverse-jointed knees. The wounds he had sustained during the duel were not particularly dangerous, but he had expended all of his energy waylaying the dark lord. He certainly didn’t have enough willpower left to produce another psionic pulse or even walk for that matter.
Once Picard and Jossa had freed themselves from their bond and ensured that Tassadar was still alive and conscious, they moved over to where the Ackbar had fallen, now crowded with the remaining command staff. Two of the Mon Calamari officers were on their knees, supporting the wounded admiral. Vader’s grip had taken its toll, and Ackbar was limp on the floor, his breathing infrequent and labored. One of his lieutenants had taken an emergency medical kit from behind a wall panel and was attaching sensor nodes to the Admiral’s neck. The other held a small panel that was slaved to the medical scanners. “There’s a lot of internal damage, I can’t be sure how much without a med droid,” the officer said. “We need to get him out of here now!” Before he could rise however, Ackbar put his finned hand weakly on the man’s shoulder. He tried to shake his head, a pain shot through him when he did, and breathing became even more difficult. “No. No, get out of here, to the docking bay he gasped slowly. “I’m to far…” A fit of wheezing coughs interrupted his speech, but when the other officers moved for the med kit again, he brushed them off weakly. “I’m just dead weight,” he continued. “My legs, can’t feel them, hard to breath. Get the rest out, carry out evac plan.” He paused, breathing in deeply. “I might be able to… break the blockade long enough to let the rest of the fleet through. Get as many of the crew as you can to the Redemption and the Republica; make for exit vector 0045 mark 4324 mark 6… I will clear the way.” He closed his large, black eyes, which were beginning to cloud. “Move me to a helm station.”
The officers exchanged worried glances, but they complied, and with the help of the Captain and Jossa, heaved the Mon Calamari to a nearby control interface, only slightly charred from the battle. They propped him in a chair gently, his legs scrapping the deck plate lifelessly. Weakly, he lifted his right arm onto the control panel and tapped a few controls, then sighed. “Very well, this will do. Get all personnel out of here, and then seal the service passage way, use explosives if you have too.” This order garnered alarm from his subordinates, as well as Picard. “Seal you in?” one of them asked, glancing in worry to the other officer. “Yes, the automated systems are offline; some has to stay at the helm.” Ackbar replied weakly, his words interspersed with ragged coughs. One of his eyes swung lazily to look at Picard, who was standing back from the group. “Captain,” he wheezed. “Perhaps I was too quick to judge your motives. If you can aid our cause, then do not be discouraged on my account.” The captain nodded. “Of course, my men and I have pledged are full support behind your cause. Still, I don’t see why you must remain here. Surely proper treatment can…” Admiral Ackbar raised his left hand, the only one he could still use, to stop Picard.
“It is my ship, and if she can do anything to save the others, than I must be at the controls. If I am to die this day, than this is the way I shall do,” he said slowly, pausing for deep, increasingly shallow. One of his eyes was sealed shut, but with the other he gazed out into the blackness of space through a nearby viewport, the still raging battle illuminating the view. Far in the distance, the vanguard of star destroyers was looming ever closer. “I need a way to get the evacuation orders to the rest of the crew.”
“I think I can help with that,” a female voice said from behind. Limping towards them, still shaking of the effects of the stun blasts, the Master Chief was fastening his helmet back onto his head. As he approached, it occurred to Picard that even onboard the Enterprise, he had never seen the soldier’s face. “I’ve set up a coded frequency in what’s left of the comm network. You’ll be able to punch one transmission, maybe two through the jamming,” Cortana continued, her voice tinged with the static discharge of the stun blasts. Ackbar slumped down into his chair and closed his good eye. “Very well, Lieutenant Dahrk,” he directed to one of the rebel officers, a male human. “Get these men to the primary docking bay. Once you’re out, relay my orders to the Redemption. She’s in command now.” He sighed one last time, the sound strangled under his failing lungs. “May the Force be with you, all of you.”
Darth Vader glowered at the impassible mountain of rubble that lay between him and the bridge. Around him lay the battered corpses of his storm commando squad, obliterated by the vile reptilian. A being of impressive and unusual abilities to be sure, but an obstruction, and at that moment, Vader would have liked nothing more that to relieve the being of its head. He had been uninjured by the psychic attack, but it had waylaid his plans to seize and decapitate the rebel leadership. However, it was unimportant, interrogating the Alliance High Commanders could have provided valuable information about the allies and locations of resistance cells, but Vader was growing tried of this game. Simply wiping out the remained of the rebel craft would serve much the same purpose, without their leadership, the various rebel groups would fall apart.
Far more interesting to him, and the reason he was on the rebel command ship at all, was the unexpected discovery that a jedi, perhaps even the one his new apprentice had mentioned, was present on the craft. Aayla Secura had revealed little about the young knight other than his name, and Vader had had the sense she was hiding something from him, a matter he would deal with upon his return. In the short time since the Emperor’s defeat, she had also made mention of how she had come to Poloon Three, a tale of extra-dimensional and time travel that the dark lord had believed was only a fevered dream brought on by Palpatine’s final onslaught. However, he had recognized several of the sentients from the story as being on the rebel bridge, including the creature he had dueled. They would have been interesting to interrogate, but they were mere distractions, easily forgotten. There were large matters that the dark lord had to attend to, and he had wasted enough time and man power in this desolate star system. There was a new apprentice to train, his ever illusive son to locate, a galaxy to bring out of chaos and under his rule.
Darth Vader turned briskly away from the collapsed hallway and paced away, in thought. As was his custom, he would have enjoyed meeting this new jedi in combat, offering him the power that the dark side brought, and slaying him personally if they refused. As he reminisced on the dozens of times he had done this, an odd feeling of doubt crept into the back of his mind. If faced with such a contest again, would he really kill the jedi? Would he offer them salvation in darkness? How many of his actions and beliefs were simply the will of the fortunately late Emperor. Palpatine’s corruption ran deep, so deep that even now, days after his eradication, his tainted words and orders still infested Vader’s mind. Now that he thought about it, his reasons for falling from the Jedi had become clouded, memories replaced by emotions, some seemingly out of place. Passion, feeling, the yearning for power and order, all still remained firm in his mind, but the hatred and tumult in his mind that had driven him for decades were becoming less distinct, changing. Memories, happy memories he had not thought of in years crept back, snippets of his life as a Jedi padawan, images of his old Master Obi-wan Kenobi, the beautiful face of his young wife, long dead. Think of her, what he could remember of her strengthened almost alien emotions in him, doubt, longing, regret….
Just as soon as this flood of memory had come, it left, and Vader was left as he had been for decades, a hard being, fierce and unrelenting. Still, something was left behind, like a seed in a dead field that might again see rain.
The Lord of the Sith rounded a corner and brought into view the stretch of hull were his team’s incursion had occurred. The three stormtroopers he had left on guard, standing in-between the corroded holes the boarding draft had burned to gain entry into the craft, snapped to attention as Darth Vader approached. The sith stopped in front of one of them, the colonel left in charge of the landing vessels. The stormtrooper saluted. “Lord Vader,” he said rigidly. If the man was startled to see his master return unescorted and without prisoners, his strict training kept him from showing it. “Colonel, contact the remaining boarding units. Inform them that the bridge incursion has failed, and to abandon their capture objectives. They are not plant their sabotage charges and evacuate within ten minutes,” Darth Vader said, and then glanced back down the hall. “Don’t wait for the rest of the squad, they won’t be coming.” The trooper saluted again, and immediately began relaying the orders over his helmet comm unit, his head inclined in concentration.
Vader brushed passed the other soldiers and entered one of the wall breaches. It was the largest of the boarding craft, the size of a light freighter and large enough to carry a single man fighter. The Sith Lord ducked under low slung bulkhead reinforcements and made his way forward, past empty seats and crash webbing for combat landings. In the craft’s small cockpit, a lone pilot, dressed in full flight gear, sat quietly, monitoring the few rebel fighters that still buzzed past outside. The clank of heavy boots on deck plate, and the infamous drawl of Darth Vader’s breathing apparatus alerted the imperial of his arrival and he straightened up, trying to look as attentive as possible. Darth Vader disliked slouches. “Ready my fighter for immediate departure,” was all that the cyborg said, and then turned pacing back down the length of the ship, towards the launch tube where his personal starship waited. The pilot obediently complied, an abstract feeling of pity for any rebel starfighter to cross the dark lord’s path crossing his mind.
Chapter Twenty Eight
“Someone’s coming,” Jacen said cautiously, his senses acutely scanning the area ahead. Behind him, Truul and a squad of five rebel soldiers moved quickly through the deserted halls, their blasters at the ready. They had already lost a man to an imperial patrol during the short trek towards from the bridge, and Truul wasn’t about to risk anymore of his men. The Major motioned to his troops with his left with his gun hand, his right still hanging limply in a sling. The rebels understood the order and slipped quickly into side door s that lined the hall. Jacen and Truul moved into a side passageway and hunkered close to the wall, eyes fixed in the location that the jedi had indicated.
After only a few moments several figures, followed by several more turned a corner and moved quickly down the hallway towards the rebel position. The failing power systems, weakened even more by the charges the imperials were detonating all over the ship, had begun to short out light fixtures, and thus the approaching beings were bathed in darkness, appearing only as ghostly outlines. Truul tightened the grip on his blaster pistol and Jacen’s thumb hovered near his lightsaber’s activation panel. Even with his enhanced senses, the jedi could not determine the identity or intent of the incoming group, but the increased stormtrooper activity in the last few minutes gave him cause for concern.
“Can you make any of them out?” Truul whispered anxiously. Jacen shook his head, his eyes straining against the darkness. Then one of the lead figures approached close enough to catch some of the light that was still generated at the other end of the hallway. There was a gleam of white plastoid. Jacen threw his arm across the Major’s chest and pushed him further into the shadows. “Stormtroopers, a lot of them,” he breathed through clenched teeth. Truul nodded and moved his hand to sight his blaster into the hallway beyond. The first of the beings started to pass the opening, still vague, distorted silhouettes. Jacen spotted a likely target, one lacking the noticeable body armor of a stormtrooper, perhaps an officer, and leapt forward, grabbing its neck. His lightsaber burst to life and settled under the man’s chin, casting an eerie light over the corridor. “All of you halt!” he ordered. “Throw down your weapons or he…” Jacen trailed off as his eyes adjusted to the light. Half of the stormtroopers around him weren’t wearing their helmets and appeared to be unarmed, and the other half weren’t stormtroopers at all.
Almost as soon as he had seized the suspected officer, two blaster muzzles were thrust into his face, both held by people he knew quite well. “Jacen?” one of them asked, a woman. Startled, the jedi looked over at his captive, whose throat was a centimeter away from a green blade of energy. Immediately, Jacen disengaged the blade and replaced it on his belt, adrenaline quickly being replaced by embarrassment. “Sorry captain,” he said, blushing slightly. Picard regained his balance, and straightened his uniform. “No harm done, Mr. Solo, just try to pick your target more carefully next time.”
Someone activated a glow lamp and the hallway was illuminated by a yellow glow. The Captain, Master Chief, and security officer Jossa all stood around him, each with an evidently commandeered blaster rifle in their hands. Behind them, the Klingon Lt. Worf, Tassadar, and ten rebel officers stood, some supported by partially unarmored stormtroopers. The imperials all shared resentful, furious expressions, although they cast nervous glances towards the towering reptilian and the weapons in the hands of those Alliance personnel who could walk unsupported. “What’s going on here?” Truul asked gruffly as he emerged from the shadows, still hefting his blaster. One of the rebel officers, Lieutenant Dahrk, stepped into the glow lamp’s sphere of light and responded. “Major, what are you doing here? Didn’t you hear the evacuation order?” Truul shook his head. “No sir, we must have been in comm blackout area. Me and my men, and Jacen here were going to support the bridge guard. Got a little tied up with a stormtrooper patrol a few decks down.” The lieutenant nodded. “The bridge has been evacuated, and we were making for the primary flight deck. All personnel are to abandon ship immediately, Admiral’s orders.”
Truul glanced around the gathering, his eyes lingering on the disarmed imperial soldiers. Whatever had happened up there, he sure as hell was going to get the details out of someone when this was over. “Where is the Admiral?” he asked, noting the Mon Cal’s absence. Dahrk shook his head wearily. “He had to remain on the bridge, he was badly wounded. We were…” The lieutenant was cut off by an explosion nearby that shook the deck plate. Very nearby. “I believe it would be prudent to discuss this later,” Lt. Worf said, swaying as he forced his stun-numbed legs to stand on their own. There was no argument.
The primary landing bay was a hive of frantic activity. Rebel personnel and droids of all ranks ran too and fro, load essential supplies and passengers into crammed transports. Others guarded the entry ways as aliens and humans in various states of hopelessness and injury, fleeing the scattered stormtrooper commando units and large sections of the ship that were being depressurized by imperial sabotage. Across the ship, Crix Madine and General Rieekan had retaken one of the other docking bays, as well as a large block of escape pods. The imperial resistance was scattered and weak; evidently they were retreating as well. The battered Home One was dying, and both sides were determined not to go down with her. Beyond the atmospheric shields that covered the launch opening, the Redemption was in view, its docking tubes ready to receive fleeing vessels. On the flagship’s other side, the Republica also waited, the only hope for beings force to flee aboard life pods.
The trio of ships, along with a small collection of depleted fighter squadrons and a handful of freighters had formed together, and under the direction of the Admiral’s final transmission, had begun to blast forward, heading for a position just over the Executor’s bow. Close behind them, the rest of the imperial fleet was in pursuit, its Star Destroyers in full firing range. However, although the fleet was a perfect target for all of the imperial warships, they had eased their attack, confident in their victory and under orders to give the boarding parties time to evacuate. The captains of the remaining Alliance ships were taking advantage of the lull, and were dumping every spare joule of power into their engines, and the foremost of the fighters were already diving between volleys from the Executor’s point-defense turbolasers.
“Was the mission successful Captain?” Riker asked, stooping on the shuttle Jailbird’s loading ramp as Picard and the others ran across the landing deck towards the waiting ship. Jean-Luc glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Lieutenant Dahrk as he lead the remaining bridge crew, Truul’s squad, and a group of very dejected stormtroopers into one of the few remaining shuttles. “The Admiral was mortally wounded by an imperial incursion,” he replied, pausing alongside his first officer as Jacen, the Chief, and Aleen Jossa helped the still weakened Tassadar up into the ship’s mouth. “We had to leave him on the ship’s bridge when the rest of the crew was evacuated, but I believe he has a surprise or two left for them before he goes.” Riker nodded and moved to the side as Worf and Truul, who insisted on breaking off from the command crew and piloting “his ship” out, made their way towards the cockpit. When he was sure everyone was onboard, Picard paced up the ramp. “Were you able to make it here without incident?” he asked as Riker retracted the slanted platform behind him. When the ship was sealed, the first officer sighed and shook his head. “We ran into a boarding team on the way down.” Riker paused, glancing into the crowded crew cabin. “Dr. Crusher didn’t make it.”
The Captain looked silently at Riker for a long moment, the mild expression he had been wearing on his face previous to the news now a mask. He shook his head slightly; the fighting must have gotten to him. “I’m sorry Number One, I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” he said. Riker placed his hand on the Captain’s shoulder. The Captain and Dr. Crusher were quite close; such an unexpected loss would be hard to take. “The Arbiter saved the rest of us, but… I’m sorry Jean-Luc, she’s gone.” Involuntarily, Picard placed a hand onto his face and began to pensively rub it, his mind unable to accept the information. A blaster bolt must have struck too close, he thought, his ears were deceiving him. He pulled the hand down and was about to ask the suspect question again when his eyes wandered into the chamber beyond.
There, given a wide berth by the somber passengers, a slender body lay on a flight bench, its arms crossed at the chest. As if in a dream, Picard drifted away from Riker and moved too the body, his steps shaky and uneven. It was a woman, her eyes shut and red hair draped beneath her head. Before the face before him had even fully registered, Picard dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. It was Dr. Crusher; his ears had not deceived him. “Beverly,” he breathed, taking a cold hand into his own. Deep within him, a floodgate of emotions long years of training and an inherent fear of personal weakness had kept at bay broke down, and he wept. This woman, friend and confidant, and perhaps even something more, was dead, and it struck him at a far deeper and more personal level than anything ever had, even the loss of his ship and its crew. This almost irrational feeling of loss swept him up, and a new feeling poured into his mind, one he had not felt for years. He hated the Empire. Hated it as much as the Borg, and even more. The anger and despair that had built within him ever since the Columbus had attacked, since the Enterprise had been destroyed, since his crew had been captured, erupted forth and latched onto the singular thought. He was going to make the Empire, and all who served it pay, somehow, some way.
As he stared into Beverly Crusher’s pale face, these thoughts slowly faded into the recesses of his brain. The rational parts of his mind tried to expel the dark thoughts, but they remained, far removed and hidden, but there nonetheless. Revenge could wait, but it would not abide unfulfilled forever. But for now, Picard drained of purpose and alone, left only with his tears. He did not resist as Deanna Troi laid an arm around his shoulders and helped him up into a seat. For that moment, he had the strength for nothing else.
The Jailbird shot out of the Home One’s hold, right on the tails of the last fleeing transports. Truul maneuvered the shuttle away from the rebel command ship, falling into place with the fighter screen that surrounded the Redemption. “It looks like she took a lot of damage,” Riker commented from the copilot’s seat, gazing at the scores of blast marks that now adorned the frigate’s hull. Truul adjusted their flight telemetry to bring up position to the ship’s aft. “It’ll make it out of here, made it this far,” Truul replied. “Unless, of course, the Admiral can’t deliver on his promise.” The Major’s concerns were not without reason, the Executor loomed directly ahead, emerald turbolaser streams gaining in intensity as the fleet grew closer. They were committed to the escape path, and if Ackbar couldn’t pull one last trick out of his sleeve, none of them were going to leave the deathtrap. “I’m picking up signals coming in from behind, imperial fighters,” Riker said monitoring the tactical display. Truul gritted his teeth and powered up the shuttle’s minimal armament as fighters clustered around them broke off to waylay the new wave of Ties. The Executor, now filling the viewscreen, unleashed new torrents of fire upon the fleeing rebels, and the nearby frigate began to list under the withering barrage. “If he’s gonna do it, he’d better do it fast,” Truul muttered.
Admiral Piett stood on the bridge of the imperial flagship, a look of mild frustration on his face. The losses during the boarding action had been considerable, more than two hundred soldiers lost on approach and nearly a hundred more in the bowels of the Mon Calamari vessel, not to mention the dozens of Tie fighters destroyed while defending the boarding craft. If he had been allowed to proceed as he saw fit, the rebel fleet would be nothing more than flaming wreckage by now, instead of the force that was once again threatening to break the fleet’s trap. Still, an order from Lord Vader could not be refused, and Piett had been forced to launch slow, costly strikes against the other rebel vessels, careful to avoid the Home One, even as his targets used it for cover. Even with a full battle group of destroyers at his command, the rebel’s were able to launch a stalling resistance.
From a communications terminal, an officer called for him. Piett paced over quickly, eager to divert his gaze from the miserable spectacle outside. “Yes,” he asked curtly. The young commander at the turned to him and saluted. “Sir, a transmission from Lord Vader’s starfighter. He says you may fire at will, the Home One is no longer off limits.” The glimmer of a smile crossed Piett’s lips and he relaxed slightly. The boarding teams evidently had failed, but at least the battle could be ended swiftly now, without the protection of the rebel flagship, the remaining combatants could not withstand the Executor’s full firepower, especially not at close range.
“Turbolaser grids A through D focus firepower on the Home One. Divert all our available Tie squadrons, as well as those from the main fleet to engage the remaining rebel support craft. Allow none to escape.” Piett belted out orders, now in his element. As crewers rushed to comply, the imperial Admiral paced calmly back to the main viewport bank, boots clacking against polished deck plate. The colossal bulk of the Executor stretched out before him, the three rebel cruisers insignificant specks of to the port bow. These ships, the largest of which was less than a quarter the length of his vessel, were quickly obscured as thousands of weapons platforms across the Super Star Destroyer’s hull unleashed an unimaginable wave of energy against them. Piett would not have to face failure this day, he would not meet Vader’s wrath again.
The rebel starships, enhanced and enlarged on his viewscreens by advanced imagining systems built into the transparisteel, shrugged off the first barrage and returned fire, but at only a few hundred kilometers and closing, they would not survive many more firestorms. Piett wondered what they could possibly be planning; attempting to escape by bypassing the imperial flagship was a fool’s errand. At the angle they were coming at, the Executor’s guns would tear every ship apart before they even passed the bridge tower. However, the ships kept on coming, staying just outside of the Star Destroyer fleet’s heavy guns, harassed by Tie fighters and shaken by unending volleys from the Executor. The remaining Alliance light cruiser his sensor officers had identified as the Republica began to move off the Home One’s inner flank, slowly dropping under and then behind it. Piett raised an eyebrow. They were still using the flagship for cover even though it was no longer under Vader’s protection, why? Piett considered and then cast the worry aside; the rebel command ship would be nothing more than atomized wreckage in moments any ways. “Keep focused on the rebel flagship. When it falls, the others will be without resources. They will fall.”
As they raced forward, the remnants of the rebel fleet moved closer and closer, the Home One and its shield absorbing volley after volley for its companion ships. Mon Calamari shipbuilders were renowned for the toughness and durability of their vessels, but no ship could withstand the full firepower of the Executor for long. “Sir, the rebel command ship is altering its orientation,” an officer called from a sensor post across the crew pit. “It’s tipping of its central axis.” Piett walked briskly to a display and looked on as a tech brought up a detailed view of the craft. It was indeed altering orientation, its closer side turning down towards the Executor’s hull, its surface beginning to flame as turbolasers worked their way through failing shields. Odd, the Admiral thought, by turning in such a way, it was both exposing a flank that was already heavily damaged and also throwing off targeting fields for the cruiser’s few remaining guns. It was possible that the damage had caused a loss of attitude control, perhaps even a gravity failure, and the imperial ship’s sensors were picking up hull stresses indicative of such failures. Even so, the starship was very close, less than one hundred kilometers away, and the rebels were known for unconventional tactics when in dire straits such as this, even suicide maneuvers.
At almost three klicks long, the Home One would cause significant damage if it impacted, but such a possibility was highly unlikely. Capital ships of any make were not known for their maneuverability, and at the parallel angle the enemy craft was at, any such turn would tear the engine block right off of the ship. All the same, Piett didn’t want to take any chances. “Target the thruster and engine clusters, alert me if there’s any attempt to maneuver any closer to us,” he said, pacing back to the viewing deck. Beyond the windows, a squadron of Tie Interceptors hurtled past, moving to join the fray that was now just off and above the port bow, illuminated by crisscrossing flashing flecks of red, green, and blue light. Tiny fightercraft harried each other over the smoking and damaged hulls of the rebel cruisers, intermittent bursts of yellow, memorials for fighter pilots caught in the path of the colorful streams. And still more ships entered into the desperate fight.
“Admiral,” a lieutenant called again. “The Home One is launching escape pods. The Republica is moving to collect them.” Piett frowned, still gazing out at the light display. Despite it’s heavy damage, the Alliance flagship was still the most heavily armored and powerful ship in their fleet, why would it be evacuating? Had they taken more damage than his analysts suspected? He looked at the image of the capital ship closely, picking over its exposed side. Aside from the swarm of escape pods streaming away from it to be picked up by the tractor beams of the other Mon Cal ship or be vaporized by turbolaser volleys and agile Tie fighters, the facing side of the ship was silent, blackened and scarred. Almost every weapons emplacement had been blown away and even the docking bays were collapsed and breached, but as a virtue of the alien engineering, the engines and shields were still online, although every turbolaser blew away another generator or thruster bulge.
Another concentrated burst from his heavy weapons tore through the Home One’s shields and struck the primary hyperdrive cluster. As the shockwave of the blast spread through the starship, other drive tubes went dead, and the rebel flagship began to slow, now carried only by its inertia. Piett smiled, the trap was complete. The Home One was now incapable of escape, and without her support, so were the remaining ships. A commander approached him from behind and offered a respectful salute. “Admiral, the rebel command ship has lost all drive systems and main power. Their inertial dampeners and life support systems are failing.” Piett looked out at the waning battle a moment more and then turned to his subordinate, an air of victory about him. “Excellent. As soon as the…” A commotion from down in the crew pit diverted his attention before the latest order could be delivered. A man at one of the sensor adjunct posts was tapping his controls, confused. “What do you have to report,” the lieutenant next to Piett asked, looking down on the man from his elevation. The crewer looked up at his superior, nervously adjusting the comm earpiece on his head. “I’m not entirely sure sir,” he said. “There are unusual power fluctuations on the Home One’s far side.” He looked over his displays again. “Docking bay and loading port areas.”
The information filtered into Piett’s brain and his years of command training and naval simulations disassembled and applied it to the situation outside. Then it clicked, made perfect sense. Unfortunately, it clicked too late. Before he could belt out another order, Piett’s eye’s caught sight of the viewport, now plainly visible, almost directly parallel to the towering bridge of the Executor. Then, as he watched, the Mon Cal ship shot to the side towards his ship, as if pushed by an invisible hand. “Explosive depressurization!” some on shouted. “All over the far side, all bays!” The rebel ship hurtled through the emptiness of space, sending startled fighter squadrons scrambling out of its way. Armor plate and communication outcroppings peeled away as the tubular vessel contorted under the strain of the sudden change in course. All over the imperial command ship, turbolasers furiously pounded the ship, but it was too massive, the blasts blew molten holes in its metal skin, but could not alter its course.
As his crew worked frantically behind him, Piett watch in horrible fascination as the massive projectile grew closer. The move had been brilliant, unexpected, and in an instant, it had turned the tide. For even without looking at one of the computer displays which now displayed course projections and damage estimates, he knew the impact would be fatal. There was no way to maneuver the Executor away in time. As Admiral Piett watched the flaming rebel ship slam into his ship’s perimeter shields and plunge through, a small consolation passed into his mind. At least he wouldn’t have to greet Lord Vader with failure, and given a choice between that and the superheated structural pylon plummeting towards his bridge, he would choose the latter.
From the small cockpit of the Millennium Falcon, Han Solo watched as the remnants of the Home One rend smoking chasms across the Executor’s hull. As its bridge tower spouted flame, the former smuggler sent a respectful salute to the brave Mon Calamari who had just blazed them a path. In the seat beside him, the Wookiee Chewbacca let out a low growl, sharing in Han’s gesture. Behind them, Leia Organa leaned on Han’s chair watching the imperial command ship list heavily to one side, clearing a new path for the now tiny rebel force. “Thank you Admiral,” she mumbled under her breath. The three of them observed the spectacle for a moment more before a Tie fighter streaked over the viewscreen, harassing the two remaining star cruisers as they rocketed out system, eager to escape the gravity field of the disabled Executor and the distant interdictor ships. Han flipped on the comm. “Wedge, you still hanging on up here?” After a moment, a voice heavily distorted by static replied. “Thanks to the Admiral. What’s up?”
“Some of those fighters are still on the Redemption,” Han said, pulling himself alongside a pair of B-Wings. “Can you keep them off until the fleet can jump out of this hell hole?” Wedge’s X-Wing and several wingmen hurtled past from below. “On it general, they won’t know what hit ‘em.” Han nodded, and flipped of the comm line. To the side, Chewie garbled something, indicating at a new group of signals on the freighter’s heads up display. “Yeah, I see ‘em,” Han said, and then turned back to Leia. “There are a couple squads of Tie’s coming from that command ship, harassing some of the stragglers. If you don’t mind risking your nails highness, I wouldn’t mind having you back down in one of those guns.” Leia snorted a small laugh, recognizing his playful tone. “Well, I suppose Threepio wouldn’t mind too much if I took over for awhile.” Han turned sharply in his seat, a horrified expression on his face. “You let Goldenrod in the Falcon’s guns?” Leia laughed again, and detached herself from the back of Han’s chair. “Cool it flyboy, I don’t think he would get behind one of those things if you bolted him there, she said grinning mischievously. Han turned back to his controls, his face slightly flushed. “Oh, right.”
Leia slid out of the small chamber and made for the bottom-mounted quad laser cannons, and Han jinxed his ship into a roll, swinging back away from the main fleet. Chewbacca shifted through sensor readings and brought up their target, a Lambda-class imperial shuttle was twisting in-between rivers of green fire produced by a trio of pursuing Tie’s. The small ships easily dodged the transports slow gun emplacements and continued their attack, tracing deadly lines across its shields. “There’s something you don’t see every day,” Han commented, coaxing the Falcon to go move faster. One of the Tie fighters broke off from the pursuit and hurtled towards Han, its laser cannons streaming. However, even before it could set up for another attack run, a set of red bolts erupted from under the Corellian freighter’s hull and skewered the attacking ship, shearing the round cockpit from its wings.
“She can shoot,” Han grinned, turning the Falcon back at the remaining imperials. However, he found that they were no longer there. The golden carapace of the Lady Luck soared around behind the rebel Lambda, its shields absorbing micro meteors of pulverized fighter plating. Lando Calrissian’s yacht pulled up along side of the Falcon as it swung around the shuttle again, making sure there were no fighters still tailing it. “Looks like we made it,” Han said, his ship to ship communicator online again. “Yeah, we made it,” Lando replied, subdued. “We lost a lot of good men today, too many. I don’t know if the Alliance can recover.” Han smiled. “Hey, they’ve still got us buddy. That’s gotta count for something.”
Before the pair of ships, the shuttle was moving quickly to rejoin the fleet, which was almost at a safe jump position. A transmission for the craft broadcast into both cockpits. “Thanks for the assist guys. I didn’t want to see what the imperials had in store for stragglers,” a gruff voice said. “No problem,” Lando replied. The two pilots continued the exchange, but Han didn’t hear the rest of it. Chewbacca suddenly let out a loud, warning bark, and Han shifted his attention back to his controls. Upon seeing what had triggered Chewie’s ire, he yanked the piloting yoke to one side violently, sending the Falcon into a spin away from the shuttle. “Lando!” he screamed over the comm, but it was too late. From beneath his contoured ship, a trio of green pulses pumped up into energy shields and plowed through them, tearing away at the hull. Desperately, Han wrenched his ship out of its roll and fired a concussion missile at the unseen attackers. The glowing projectile streaked through the night and exploded just below Lando’s ship, smashing two Tie Interceptors and scattering their shattered remains in a mighty shockwave. However, a third ship easily avoided the blast and curved around Lando’s ship which was now careening through space aimlessly, its engines and shields offline.
As Han dove after the attacking Tie fighter, Lando’s voice crackled weakly over the comm, distorted. “...lock down the…loosing control of…Han, take care of Chewie and Le…you have…ellion is up to you…sorry.” The sound cut off. “Hold on,” Han said through gritted teeth, pushing the Falcon as fast as she could go towards the crippled yacht and its attacker. Fire spat from twin quad cannons tracing the tiny starfighter as it began another attack run. The Tie slipped easily through the hail of energy bolts and fired a new volley at Lando’s flaming ship. The energy bolts tore through hull plate and ignited gases within, and gouts of flame raced across the hull. For a moment, time stood still in Han’s mind, the Luck frozen in space, engulfed in flames, the enemy fighter racing past its prey. Then, in a final conflagration of fire, the ship exploded, and Lando Calrissian, general, gambler, friend, was no more.
For a moment, Han Solo was frozen, staring at the cloud of gas and debris that had once been his friend. His head was foggy, and the world slowed around him, as if he was wading through murky water. Then the angry roaring of a Wookiee nearby awakened him, and he was back in the present, his hands gripped tight on the control yoke. The imperial fighter had doubled back from the expanding wreckage, and ignoring the Millennium Falcon was racing after the fleeing shuttle. The shock that shrouded Han quickly passed, and was replaced with anger, fury. His ship shot after the Tie Fighter, and he wasn’t about to let it kill again.
Jacen Solo stood in the cockpit of the Jailbird as Riker and Truul guided the ship towards the main fleet. The young Jedi however was not paying attention to the rebel ships, nor the two pilots, not even to the grieving passengers in the hold behind him. His thoughts were focused beyond the confines of the ship, set on a point in the blackness of space. Vader was out there, and he had just killed. Jacen did not feel General Calrissian and his crew die, but he felt his grandfather’s reaction to it. The connection they shared at that moment was powerful and frightening, Jacen could sense the Dark Lords feelings, his motives and he in turn could feel Jacen’s. In that moment of clairvoyance, Jacen was immersed in Darth Vader’s anger, his distain, and his fear. They were as dark and powerful as he had felt before, on Poloon Three, and yet there was something different about them. In that brief instant, he could touch Vader’s deepest wishes, his motivations. They were cloudy and distant, and Jacen could not comprehend their meaning, but through the haze one emotion was clear. Doubt. The Dark Lord of the Sith and new ruler of the empire was no longer sure of himself.
The moment of empathy passed as swiftly as it had come and Jacen was left only with the present. And for some odd reason, a feeling of hope.
“Can you maneuver this ship away from him?” Riker was saying as a blast rocked the ship. Truul frowned and shot a look at the commander. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” He turned his gaze back to the viewscreen, where the rebel fleet was preparing to jump into hyperspace. “Whoever he is, he’s faster, more maneuverable, and more heavily armed then we are. Unless General Solo can get him off our tail, I don’t think we’ll be joining the fleet at rendezvous.” The Alliance fighter force was still occupied keeping Ties off of the heavier ships, and if any of them did notice the embattled shuttle, they couldn’t make it in time. And it seemed that the Falcon was having a hard time with their pursuer, who was jinxing nimbly through streams of quad laser fire. The fighter opened up again, and the shields shuddered under the hit, indicators on the control board glowing red. The shuttle’s automated rear gun opened up as the fighter approached, but the Tie easily avoided the bolts and continued firing.
Another volley impacted the shields and they fell, allowing a few bolts through to the hull. The laser blasts blew away the pestering weapons emplacement and smashed the shuttle’s hyperdrive. “Loosing hull integrity!” Riker shouted as the hits rocked the ship. “Shields have been taken offline.” Screeching into view overhead, the imperial fighter overtook the craft and shot past it. Then the tiny craft decelerated slightly and flipped over, its fixed guns training on its target again. It hurtled back towards them, and its laser ports began to glow, ready to deliver the finishing blow. Desperately, Truul ignited the atmospheric thrusters, and his shuttle began to shoot up, but the enemy ship followed them, locked onto the ship with unshakable focus. Its pilot pressed the firing stud, and livid green pulses formed in their barrels.
Then came a jolt that almost knocked Jacen to the floor, accompanied by the sound of warping and tearing metal. For a moment none of those on the bridge could understand what was going on, and then the view screen was obscured by a wall of durasteel. There was the horrendous sound of the Jailbird’s wings buckling and snapping upwards as their flight locks were overcome filled the ship, soon accompanied by another deck-shaking impact as the shuttle hit a solid surface. Truul shook his head, clearing the stars out of his eyes, and then looked over at his copilot. Riker was clutching a cut on his forehead caused by the impact, his eyes squeezed shut. Behind them, Jacen was picking himself off the floor, hauling on the two command chairs. “You two all right?” Truul asked, looking back out the viewport, which was now filled by a solid wall of dingy metal. There was something familiar about the wall, he just couldn’t place it. Another tremor ran through the ship, not an explosion or laser impact, but the controlled hum of machinery. On an impulse, Truul looked up through the viewport, and watched as the small slice of starfield that still registered through the window disappeared, another metal plate slowly blocking it off. The Major looked back down, and it dawned on him. For the first time in hours, a grin split his face.
The Coral Iris floated a moment, stationary in space as the loading bay doors closed over their precious cargo. Then the freighter surged forward, its laser cannons thrumming to life. The Tie fighter took the arrival of the new ship in stride, and expertly flipped out of the way of the streams of laser fire, almost as if the pilot had predicted the deadly energy would appear there. Nimbly, the fighter dipped under the manta-ship’s wing as it shot forward, peppering its shields with a new cannonade. The twin laser cannons on mounted into the wings of the Iris swiveled back and continued they’re interference fire, but the tiny ship dodged those deftly as well. Before it could reorient itself to fire again though, two new waves of molten energy blossomed across the Tie’s path, this time from behind. The Millennium Falcon was back on its target, and the gunner in the lower cannon pursued the rapid ship closely with deadly particle beams.
The Tie fighter seemed briefly indecisive, split between the retreating Mon Calamari ship and the attacking freighter. Han Solo, at the Falcon’s controls, forced the fighter to make its move, lobbing a missile directly in its path. Incredibly, the Tie turned and bore down on the projectile. The missile seemed to shudder, and then changed course, flying harmlessly off into empty space. The two combatants were now bearing down directly on one another, the Falcon taking laser hits in its shields and the imperial fighter dodging the ones directed at it. The craft flew straight and true, neither willing to break off, weapons systems etching conduits of light in the vacuum.
But then suddenly, even as it seemed the two ships would collide, the Tie fighter broke off, spinning past the Millennium Falcon and back towards Sullust’s primary, a distant speck of red. “Oh no you don’t,” Han snarled and turned his ship in a sharp arc, and was right back on the imperial’s tail. Beside him, Chewie growled apprehensively, staring at the fleet of Star Destroyers that still hung in the distance, toward which the fighter was heading. “He killed Lando,” Han snapped back. “I’m not going to let him get away, he’s going to pay.” Anger still coursed through the man’s veins, and he was no longer a freedom fighter or general, he was just a man out for revenge. Then he felt a warm hand fall onto his shoulder and he looked up, ready to berate whoever it was who had broken his concentration. Leia stood there, looking down on him with sadness in her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do Han, he’s too far away.” She sighed. “You have to let it go.” Han turned his head away from her sharply and shot back, “He killed Lando! You want me to just let him leave?” He bore down on the acceleration controls, and his ship moved closer to the fleeing ship.
“I know Han,” she said, her voice quavering. “He was my friend too. But if we keep after him, you’ll be running into a fight not even you can bluff your way out of. Do you think Lando would want you to do this, to die like this? The Alliance still alive, and it needs us, it needs you more than ever.” She squeezed his shoulder lovingly. “But it’s up to you, Chewie and I will follow you after that ship if that is what you really believe is the right course. Choose now Han, while you still can.”
The man stared into the former princess’s soft face, and then sighed. He slowed the ship, and the enemy fighter shot away, beyond reach. Leia squeezed his shoulder tighter and Chewbacca let out a sigh of relief, and Han slumped in his seat, letting the rage and adrenaline drain away.
Slowly, the Falcon turned back towards the rebel fleet and blasted back towards them, bypassing a handful of Tie fighters that were fleeing a few parting bolts from Wedge and his squadrons. There were still freedom fighters left in the galaxy, only time would tell if there were enough. Sighing and looking back upon the Sullust system one last time, Han joined the ragtag fleet, and in a burst of motion, disappeared into blackness.
Mounted in the navigation socket of an X-Wing, a blue-plated astromech droid beeped and whirred in anticipation. Seated in the starfighter’s tiny cockpit, a clean-shaven young man in full flight gear smiled. “Yes Artoo, I’ll find someone to clear the muck out of your gears as soon as we dock.” The little droid was notorious for his dislike for water, and the swamp planet he had just been on was quite wet. Thinking about the stormy world of Dagobah, brought a sad frown to the man’s face, and he sighed. The meeting he had just had there was still fresh in his mind, and he was unsure of what his future would hold. Still, Luke Skywalker was a Jedi, and he was ready to face anything that would be thrown against him.
“Ready for realspace reversion in five,” Luke said calmly, placing his hand on the engine controls. R2-D2 whistled that he was ready, and Luke depressed the control under his palm. Beyond the cockpit’s transparent canopy, the darkness of hyperspace melted away into a thousand streaks of light. The ship followed these streaks as they morphed into distant stars, and Luke Skywalker was in Sullust’s gravity field, already searching the sky beyond for the rebel fleet. It was not there. Instead, the colossal forms of nine imperial Star Destroyers loomed before him, giant wedges of gray durasteel and weapons clusters. Beyond they’re lines, the battered and charred form of the Empire’s flagship drifted, huge pieces of metal fused to it at odd angles. “What the… Artoo, shields up!” Luke ordered, overwhelmed by the sight before him. “Begin scanning for Alliance signals, if there are any left.” Luke’s X-Wing halted the inertia caused by the hyperspace reversion, and turned back, its engines flaring and wings deploying into combat positions. Directly before him, another shape loomed, a Star Destroyer sat in wait.
Invisible claws reached across space and seized the rebel vessel, Artoo screeching as the imperial tractor beam projector found purchase on the fighter. The tiny craft was tugged towards the cruiser’s main bay, looming above like the toothless mouth of a giant. As the imperial craft completely filled his vision, Luke Skywalker had a distinctly bad feeling about this.
A long, sleek form passed silently through empty space; the Republica was on the move. Dozens of gashes and patches of blackened hull plate adorned the cruiser, a testament to the desperate battle the ship had recently survived. A faint aura of blue light trailed the ship, generated by half a dozen tubular thrusters arrayed at its rear. The energy emitting from the drives was far less than the powerful Mon Calamari vessel was capable of producing, just enough to inch the ship through the interstellar blackness. The Republica was hiding, prey in a very dangerous game.
Captain Imal Ryceed stared out of her vessel’s bridge viewport nervously, her eyes fixated on a huge rocky object that filled the light cruiser’s screen. Around her, human and Mon Calamari officers monitored sensor stations and engineering readouts in silence, some occasionally trading anxious glances with each other. One of them, a human Lieutenant named Botrates, began to yawn, but swiftly stifled the sound with his hand. His eyes flitted over his fellow officers, and he hoped embarrassedly that none of them had noted the unprofessional behavior. However, the others were feeling similarly stressed and exhausted, so none of them paid Botrates any heed.
Ryceed, however, did notice, but instead of rebuking the officer as she might have done under more normal circumstances, she just sighed, flexing her long fingers as they lay folded on the small of her back. They were all tired; no one had gotten any real rest in the several days since the Republica had escaped the battlefield that was the Sullust system. The Imperial ambush there had devastated the rebel fleet, and only two warships and a smattering of smaller vessels had escaped. Admiral Ackbar and his command ship were gone; the Mon Calamari had sacrificed his life to buy time for the Republica’s escape, as well as for the Redemption, the frigate that carried what remained of the Alliance High Command.
After pausing to retrieve the fighters and escape craft that had managed to slip away with them into hyperspace, the Redemption and Republica split up. The frigate, carrying Mon Mothma, General Madine, and General Rieekan, and escorted by the few remaining Alliance corvettes and gunships, as well as Wedge Antilles’ Rouge Squadron, was to make to make for the rendezvous point, a distant point in the Outer Rim. Ryceed’s ship was to move to the same system, but by a different route. Since the rebel fleet had been routed, imperial patrols and interdictor checkpoints had formed a nearly impassible net over several sectors known to be hotbeds of resistance, hoping to crush the Alliance while it was still reeling from the recent defeat. Because of this, it had been difficult for the Mon Calamari cruiser to travel, forced to use obsolete hyperspace lanes and travel through uninhabited star systems.
Despite the best efforts of Captain Ryceed and her crew, the Republica, upon reverting from hyperspace to navigate around a system populated by several large gas giants and a late-stage sun, had finally been pinned. The tactical officers detected two Imperial Star Destroyers already in system, most likely hoping to catch any smugglers or rebels who dared to use the system for cover, and the Republica had been forced to hide in-between a small asteroidal moon and its host gas planet, narrowly avoiding the notice of the imperial craft. The rebel ship was trapped in the mass shadow of the planet, and the patrolling imperial forces were inadvertently keeping the ship from venturing out into a clear jump area.
Ryceed, anxious to break the deathly silence that had settled upon the bridge, unfolded her slender hands from her back and turned from the viewport. “What is the status of those imperial destroyers?” the slim and neat captain asked, her normally smooth voice cracked and tired. A Mon Calamari standing at the primary sensor station double-checked the readouts before him before answering. “No change sir,” he wheezed in reply. Ryceed smiled slightly. Traditional military discipline was sometimes absent among the volunteer ranks of the Alliance, so she appreciated it when someone appropriately acknowledged her rank. “The Star Destroyers are still blocking the most direct escape vectors. The enemy craft are covering each possible hyperspace inversion and reversion point with a sensor net, and with the amount of gravimetric distortion in this system, our choices are very limited,” the officer concluded. Ryceed walked up next to him and looked at the readout for herself. “Have you been able to determine the pattern of their sensor scans?”
Another officer spoke up, and Ryceed turned to him. “They’re patrol pattern is fairly straightforward, moving to each likely jump coordinate every fifteen minutes, and employing their passive scanners to sweep the rest of the system for strong signals,” the man said wearily. “The active nature of this system’s star has reduced some of they’re sensor accuracy and range, but it has also cut off a large number of exit paths available too us. Even with only two destroyers, given our current location, the Republica will almost certainly be detected and cut off before we leave the mass shadow of the star and this gas giant.” The captain sighed and ran her right hand through her short, brown hair contemplatively. “It seems that our only choice is to remain hidden until a hole in the sensor net can be located. Keep the ship on minimal running power, and inform me of any new developments.”
The Republica’s starboard docking bay was abuzz with activity, as fighter pilots, technicians, and droids worked to ready the various craft in the hangar for combat. The atmosphere aboard ship had been tense over the last few days, its crew left with nothing to do save brood upon the devastating loss that had killed so many comrades might very well have been a death blow for the rebel cause all together. However, now that they had something to do, moods were brightening somewhat, and the sound of starship preparation was complemented with the low rumble of pre-battle banter.
From an open entry hatch, Commander William Riker watched the display of rebel resilience and spirit. He, like the rest of the Federation crew, was in a fairly dower mood. Considering the tremendous losses they had sustained over the last few weeks, the Enterprise destroyed, most of its crew likely in an imperial gulag, the death of Doctor Beverly Crusher was especially damaging to moral. The captain seemed to be taking it especially badly, and had been extremely reclusive and distant since they escaped the Home One. Of course, there wasn’t much that any of them could do; with the attempts at contacting the Federation on most likely permanent hold, they were little more than baggage. None the less, Major Truul had made endeavored to make special accommodations for them, and thus the Enterprise’s former crew and the other guests were allowed free reign over the non-sensitive areas of the ship.
And So Riker was leaning against the hangar doorway unobstructed, watching a little R2 astromech unit scurry along the crowded flight deck. It accidentally rammed into a mechanics tool kit and sent its contents spilling onto the deck. The tech cast a furious look onto the diminutive droid and began to shout insults, but as soon as the first words left his mouth, the droid was already rolling away, whistling something akin to a hasty apology. Riker stifled a laugh at the spectacle, and it occurred to him that even the simple mechanic robots had an easier time interacting with humans than Data did, and he was the most advanced cybernetic life form ever created in the Federation’s history.
As Riker mused, his eyes wandered around the large chamber until they fell upon the other side of the open hatch. There stood the young Jedi Knight Jacen Solo, who also seemed to be taking in the sights. Young Jacen was of this galaxy, but not this time, for him it was all history. It must be a very strange feeling, Riker decided, living and even shaping one’s own past.
The commander was about to speak to the man, but he first noticed that Jacen was staring fixatedly at one point in the chamber beyond, and so Riker followed his gaze. It fell upon a battered, gray vessel, so badly carbon-scored and patched with replacement parts that it looked barely flyable. On top of the ship, a tall, hairy humanoid, a Wookiee if Riker recalled the name correctly, was hunched over a piece of the hull that had been melted away by laser fire, and was welding a new armor plate in place over it, his eyes shielded by large, black goggles. Next to the ship’s landing struts stood two other figures, human, a man and a woman. The man, dressed in a black vest, was fiddling the hydraulics power cable on one of the struts, while the woman, dressed in a white Rebel Fleet uniform, looked on.
With the rumble of machinery and conversation all around them, Riker couldn’t make out what either figure was saying, but he was sure they were talking. The woman in white folded her arms and stepped closer to the man, but he continued working, evidently ignoring her. She shook her head and said something else, but the man seemed to still be ignoring her for the most part. The woman, frustrated, took another step closer, and unfolded her arms, gesticulating slightly when she spoke again. At this, the man froze, and then slammed the tool he was using into the starship’s landing gear, creating a clang heard even over the racket of the flight deck. The man growled something and then turned away, and the woman faltered slightly, almost stepping away. Instead, she moved forward again, putting her arm around the man’s shoulders slowly. At first he began to recoil, but when she did not let go, he slumped, and accepted the embrace. The two figures were in each others arms for a few moments, and then they were apart again, back to work on the rickety starship.
Riker glanced back at Jacen, who was still watching the two. “Do you know them?” Riker asked, moving closer. Jacen looked up, seemingly startled, and a faint redness crept into his cheeks. “Oh, well…” he paused, seemingly considering whether or not he should respond. Riker noted that the man looked very uncomfortable with the subject, and was about to retract the query when Jacen replied. “Actually, I do. They’re…my parents.” This gave Riker pause. The woman looked hardly twenty five, and the man not much older. How could they be the late teenage knight’s parents? Then the obvious donned on the commander.
Jacen turned back to view his parents again, but they were gone, either inside the ship or hidden among the crowd. Sighing, Jacen straightened up, nodded at Riker in a distant manner, and walked off down the hallway, immersed in his own thoughts. Riker looked after him and considered following, but decided against it. The man had just as many problems as the rest of them did, cut off from home, suffering from the loss of one he cared about, and Riker felt he had no right to interfere. The Federation officer turned back to the flight deck and began scanning it again. After all, there was little else for him to do at the moment.
Captain Ryceed stared incredulously at the holo-projector before her, or rather the space above it. There, displayed in flickering bluish strands of code, a female figure floated, staring back obstinately. “What?” the image asked in a somewhat haughty female voice. “It’s a perfectly valid plan. It’s either that, or we stay her until those imperial cruisers leave. Are you willing to risk waiting?” Imal Ryceed didn’t enjoy being talked down to, especially not by a droid, or computer, or what ever the AI Cortana was, and if it wasn’t for her orders, she would have turned of the projector right then and there. However, before the Republica had split off from the other rebel warship, orders had come through from Mon Mothma herself that these strange, extra-dimensional visitors were to be given quarters and even some diplomatic privileges, and were to be well taken care of. In addition, it was stated than if any of them had useful information or expertise on a matter of significance and wished to consult Ryceed, she would be obligated to listen.
Ryceed grudgingly complied, but she tried to keep the last part of the order away from her charges; the last thing she wanted was advice from some random extra-galactic, diplomatic privileges or not. However, the final stipulation had somehow managed to find its way into the notice of Cortana, and ever since then, she had been delving into the non-secure portions of the Republica’s computer network (Ryceed suspected that Cortana might be attempting to bend the “non-essential” clause in the arrangement.)
“So let me see if I understand this,” the Captain intoned slowly. “You want me to take my ship through a star.” Cortana’s representation rolled its eyes and sighed. “You know what I said captain,” she replied. Then the projection disappeared, replaced with a field of holographic stars. Other officers moved closer, interested in the antics of the brash AI. Few organic crewmen aboard the ship could talk the way Cortana did to Ryceed without earning a few weeks trash compactor maintenance duty.
From the starfield blossomed a small representation of the star system they were currently trapped in, a backwater known only by its survey designation BT-556072, complete with models of five gas giants, the primary, the two destroyers, and the Republica. Cortana’s voice wafted over the projector’s speakers again, and the model began to rotate slowly. “We are here, hemmed in by the gravitation forces of these two planets, as well as the outlier effects of the primary,” Cortana began, highlighting each of the subjects in turn with a blue light. “These are the Imperial Star Destroyers. I will accelerate their patrol pattern.” The two blips that were the enemy ships began to pirouette around the star, weaving a seemingly erratic course, one ship always on the other side of the sun from the other. “Now, due to the compromising nature of the gravitic forces in the area, and the impressive sensor capabilities of those ships, any run for a jump position on this side of the system will be detected by one of the destroyers, and we will be overtaken and destroyed.” As Cortana drawled on, the representation played out her words, the tiny blip that was the rebel vessel making a break for the edge of the system, and being blown into pixels by a pursuing destroyer.” Ryceed ran a hand through her hair again.
“Even though that course of action is doomed to end in failure, we still have a way out of here,” Cortana continued. “If, in approximately seven minutes, when the orbital position of the planet we are orbiting is right, the ship moves at full speed towards the primary, the planet behind us will be enough to temporarily block us from the Star Destroyer’s sensors. Then, instead of breaking off to the side, a move that would easily be detected, the Republica alters its course slightly; it can pass through the star’s corona here.” The blip, regenerated after its previous attempt, followed the AI’s instructions, and began to skirt the outer layer of the star. “I realize this is an unorthodox and dangerous maneuver, but from what I know of your shielding and heat dissipation systems, which are quite impressive, this ship will be able to hold together.”
“Now, the hard part’s over. By cutting straight across system, and angling down in orientation forty degrees after the star is passed, we can skirt under the second destroyer’s passive scanning field and from there, and the ship can simply cruise into a safe jump position.”
Her speech over, Cortana’s map disappeared and her blue form grew again in its place. “Well captain, there you have it,” Cortana said smugly. Ryceed’s eyes narrowed at the projection’s persistently disrespectful behavior, but her plan did seem to make sense. “Can you confirm her estimations?” the Captain asked Commander Gavplek, one of her second-in-commands. The human man, who also served as the ship’s chief tactical officer nodded slowly, as if still thinking over what Cortana had said. “I believe it can be done,” he replied. “As long as we navigate around any potential flares and stay at a sufficient altitude, the shields will hold.” Ryceed paused to consider again, and Cortana spoke up. “Six minutes until the orientation. The window won’t last very long,” she warned, trying to add a touch of respect back into her tone. The captain shot another hard look at the projection. As much as see loathed being upstaged in front of her command crew, remaining in the system any longer was not an option. “Make ready.”
Five and a half minutes later, the Republica shot like a torpedo out of its hiding place, its sublight drives blazing incandescent blue. As the long craft approached the target star, one of the imperial destroyers picked up a power spike in system. It altered course, and was soon navigating past the sensor barrier of the nearby gas giant. However, by that time, the rebel ship had already plunged into the star’s incinerating corona. Superheated gas lashed against the Mon Calamari cruiser’s shields, but they held, dissipating most of the obliterating heat. However, some of the energy was seeping through, and the ship’s outer hull began to glow, surface blisters beginning to warp. A strip of durasteel plate began to peel away from the hull, curling backwards like a sheet of molten parchment paper.
At last, as the shields were beginning to overload, the cruiser burst from the cover of the star and angled down, out of sight of the destroyer that was occupied far above. Ryceed slumped into her command chair slightly with relief, and then caught herself. “Damage report.” The rest of the bridge crew was also relieved, and the response was surprisingly cheerful in tone. “Moderate damage to the section B-4 and C-4 ablative armor plate. No casualties or other significant damage.” The captain nodded, and glanced at the increasingly smug Cortana. “Your welcome,” the projection prompted, and Ryceed inclined her head slightly towards her, a sign of grudging respect. “All right, renter the rendezvous point into the navicomputer and set course for the closest jump position, speed…” she never finished her sentence. From one of the ancillary sensor stations, the one controlling the ship’s passive scanners, a Devaronian crewman spoke up. “Sir, I’m picking up another power source in our immediate vicinity.”
The Captain leaned forward in her command seat warily. “One of the destroyers?” The red-skinned man altered some of his controls. “No, it’s not showing up as any known type of power source. However, it’s definitely artificial; the emissions are far too regular for a natural phenomenon.” Another sensor officer checked his own readings. “I believe I have localized the source, fifteen thousand kilometers off the port bow.” Ryceed swiveled back to the viewport, which was now showing empty starfield, the star was far behind and above the Republica now. “Show me.”
The forward center panel switched from one starfield scene to another, the second with the system they had just escaped as a distant backdrop. “Increase.” The viewport zoomed forward, and what was once an impossibly distant speck now filled the screen. The Captain, along with everyone else on the bridge looked at the drifting object in fascination. “Nothing on file for that Captain,” an officer said, answering her next question before she even asked it. From her projector platform, Cortana looked on as well, although she augmented her sight with a direct linkup to the visual scanner that was showing the organic crew the object. She sifted through her vast memory banks and swiftly compiled the appropriate information, applied it to the situation, and reached a conclusion. “Do you know what this is Cortana?” asked Ryceed, her attention split between the object and the hologram. The AI nodded. “Care to enlighten us then?”
Cortana paused for a moment before responding. “I think Captain Picard should take a look at this. He may be in a better position to answer than I.”
It was morning in the Imperial City. Sunlight, reflected and amplified by orbital mirrors to compensate for Coruscant’s distance from its primary, made the towers and skyscrapers of the endless metropolis glow and glisten. Steady streams of aircars, transports, and patrol vehicles wound their away between and over monolithic structures of durasteel and chromium, casting tiny shadows over their gunmetal and ivory surfaces. Seen from above, it was a breathtakingly beautiful scene for nearly any humanoid. However, beauty is often lost on the Dark Lord of the Sith.
From an open balcony a thousand stories above Coruscant’s long obscured surface, Darth Vader looked out upon the grand city, his personal throne world. Everything that was within the cyborg’s view was fully within his power, if he wished for a tower that had stood for millennia to be demolished, or the inhabitants of an entire urban sector to be uprooted and executed, it would be done. He was the Emperor, and his power was absolute, like Palpatine’s had been before him. As the Sith lord looked out over his domain however, his mind was not on conquest or power, it was instead focused inward.
Over only a few short days, Vader had achieved two goals that had been his foremost motivations for years, even decades; he had destroyed Palpatine, the vile entity that had twisted and dominated the dark lord since even before his coronation to his Sith rank, and he had delivered a crippling blow to the traitorous Rebel Alliance, and their ability to resist the order and peace the Empire would instill with Palpatine gone was now all but eliminated. The sympathizer worlds of Sullust and Mon Calamari had swiftly been dealt with, Sullust had been rendered uninhabitable by orbital bombardment, and every single Mon Calamari warship, transport, space dock, as well as several of their most heavily populated reef cities had been swiftly eliminated as well, insurance that the amphibious people would never again oppose the Empire.
And yet, even with all these great successes, Darth Vader was still tormented by uncertainty, emptiness, and even guilt. The immolation of the two alien home systems had given him no satisfaction or relief, not even the sense that he was promoting order in the galaxy. This absence was a new phenomenon, while he was still under Palpatine’s domination, acts of destruction and oppression had induced feelings of control and righteousness in him, the feeling that he was acting naturally, through the true nature of the force. But now that the Emperor’s influence had evaporated, much of the hatred, contempt, and bloodlust that had driven Vader had begun to dissolve as well, allowing older motivators and feelings to well up, bring with them more forgotten memories, like the ones he had seen on the rebel flagship. However, even with all these doubts and conflicts becoming more and more pronounced in his mind, something else was occupying the Dark Lord’s focus.
Darth Vader abruptly turned away from the magnificent view that the high balcony afforded him and retreated into the secluded corridors of the Imperial Palace, his long black cape fluttering gently out from behind him. The armored being moved quickly down a broad hallway sheathed in rare Korriban obsidian, and slipped into a turbolift hidden in the wall. As soon as it’s doors slid shut, the small lift pod plummeted straight down into the bowels of the immense structure, a controlled fall at the rate of a dozen floors a second. After only a few moments in the dimly-light mobile coffin, Vader felt the lift gently slow and come to a stop, immediately followed by the low hiss of doors sliding open again. Darth Vader stepped out into a new passage, this one made of dull, gray durasteel.
On either side of the doorway stood motionless a red-robed Imperial Guardsman, a force pike in his hand. The elite defenders of the late Emperor had immediately shifted their role to become Vader’s elite guards after the fabricated “rebel bombing” that had killed the Emperor reached their ears. They submitted to him now without hesitation, and the change in regime did not seem to be interfering with their duties, but Darth Vader was still wary of them; individuals who had worked so closely with Palpatine for so long could not be entirely trusted.
Brushing past the faceless sentries, the sith lord walked down the hallway until he came to a new set of doors, this one also flanked by guardsmen. He paused before the plain metal double doors and stared at them, his progress suddenly stayed. There was something in his mind that was reluctant to let him see what was beyond those doors, telling him to forget the chamber and continue on past. Vader pondered the notion for a moment and then cast it off, but the act of hesitation still bothered him. The dark lord was not well known for succumbing to doubt, and especially not fear, and thus allowing such instincts to slow him now was unacceptable. Darth Vader hooked his thumbs reflectively onto his belt and moved forward, stepping into the chamber beyond as its door slid swiftly opened to receive him.
The room was dark, light only by a few glow panels set in the ceiling, their intensity levels at minimum. Low desks and terminals covered in medical equipment and sensory devices lined the walls, and mechanical armatures hung from the roof panels, folded and inactive. A lone 5-1B medical droid stood at the rear of the chamber, clad in polished black casing and operating a medical monitor, typing in commands in an eerily regular pattern. As Vader approached, it looked up silently and stepped away from the terminal, snapping into readiness mode. “Leave,” the dark lord commanded, his low voice resonating throughout the room. The droid gave no sign of respect or acknowledgement, instead simply turning to door and marching out, its hydraulic legs whirring softly as it moved.
Once the artificial being had left and the doors had closed behind it, Vader turned back to where the droid had been standing, next to the large device that dominated the rear of the room. The machine, a tall, cylindrical tube of glass recessed in the wall, was a bacta tank; a medical device used the galaxy over to pull patients back from the brink of death. In the dim room, the two illumination panels that light up the clear pillar cast the healing fluid it contained in a red hue, an eerie counterpoint to the darkness that filled the room. Vader, however, did not notice the vibrant liquid, or the slowly flashing bio monitors that skirted the clear structure; he was instead focused on the figure the device held.
The naked body beyond the thick glass was damaged, covered in small cuts and patches of burned and dead skin, but the microorganisms that inhabited the medical soup that the body was suspended in were quickly sealing the wounds and healing the abrasions; none of the injuries were significantly dangerous to warrant the body’s long emersion in the fluid. Instead, the serious damage was internal; it’s only evident outward symptom was the abnormal yellow coloration of the being’s skin. But for the moment, Darth Vader was blocking out all of the visible signs of damage, looking up into the limp figure’s face. He looked upon the features of his only son.
Luke Skywalker, General and hero of the Rebel Alliance, destroyer of the Death Star, last of the Jedi Order stood alone, a tiny speck in the Star Destroyer Indenture’s cavernous landing bay. Luke was crouched by his captured fighter, lightsaber hilt clenched in his right hand and a holdout blaster in his left as he scanned the huge chamber for signs of opposition. There were none. Aside from his astromech Artoo Deetoo, who still sat in the X-wings droid slot, monitoring the situation unfolding around him nervously, the bay was totally vacant of activity, the emptiness only broken by evenly spaced shuttle craft that lined the hangar’s walls.
“Are you picking up any life readings nearby Artoo?” Luke asked, edging along the side of his fighter. The astromech rotated its head section to face Luke and whistled plaintively. The young Jedi nodded, his eyes now fixed on one of the entry hatches to the bay, still sealed with a blast door. “It’s strange that they evacuated the bay. I would have expected imperial troops to have stormed in here the instant we were brought down.” Artoo twittered in agreement. Luke began to scan the walls and high ceiling for potential threats. “If they wanted to take us, we’d be dead or unconscious by now. Maybe there’s something wrong with the ship. See if you can determine if the tractor beam projectors are still operational. Maybe we can still get out of here.”
The little droid continued to scan the chamber and Luke waited in silence, the grip on his weapons loosening slightly. After a moment, Artoo buzzed again, his voice a warning. In response, Luke glanced directly above them, and saw what had caught Artoo attention. One of the bay’s dedicated turbolaser turrets was pointed directly down at the X-Wing and its crew, twin firing tubes trained on Luke’s head. For a moment, the rebel flinched and fell backwards away from the captured fighter, but the turret did not fire, instead simply altering its orientation to follow its target.
Luke regained his balance and cautiously walked back to his ship, eyes still fixed on the rotating gun emplacement. “Well, it looks like were not going to get out of here that easily,” he sighed. Exasperated, he leaned against the fighter’s cold hull and looked back over the room, his mind still racing to find a way out of the trap that had closed around him. His eyes fell on the huge opening in the middle of the chamber’s floor, the entry point that docking ships had to pass through, a clear window into the stellar space beyond, only separated from the Star Destroyer’s atmosphere by a bluish environmental shield. Through this barrier, Luke could make out huge shapes in the distance, Imperial cruisers in the foreground and the brownish orb of Sullust beyond.
As he watched, two of the distant ships moved closer to the planets, eventually disappearing from view against the massive back drop, but their objective was clear. After only a moment, flashes of green sprang to life from where the pair of destroyers were now positioned; standard imperial policy in action. Even from the tremendous distance, Luke could make out huge explosions of energy and vaporized rock as rain of turbolaser bolts plummeted downward from orbit, slicing easily through dozens of meters of arid ground and rock, immolating the first of Sullust’s subterranean cities. It was a display of power and vengeance; no world could openly defy the Empire and hope to continue its existence for long.
Soon, rivulets of fire began to spider their way outwards from the bombardment point, lines along which the planet’s crust itself was cracking, and Luke turned away, shivering. He could feel pain, the cries of the millions on the planet below that were dying every minute, incinerated by the continuing Imperial attack. Deep within him, a blazing point of anger began to grow, and Luke’s mind began to blur, a thousand thoughts flashing into it. He saw the Rebel fleet in flames, he saw emerald bolts extinguishing city after city, he saw dark glove reaching out, offering great and terrible power, and destruction. From the point of anger within him, hatred began to push forward, and Luke felt his grip tighten on his saber hilt, fingers both real and mechanical pulsing with arcane energy.
But then the young man closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. The rage and anger receded rapidly, as if extinguished by a sudden wind. Luke Skywalker was a Jedi, the last of the Jedi, and he would control his emotions. Anger was the path to the dark side, Master Yoda had told him, and giving into it would lead him down a path his father had already tread, one that Luke had already refused to follow. The Empire would be brought to justice for what it had done, the Alliance still existed, Luke was sure of it. He would have felt his sister die if it had been completely destroyed. The image of Princess Leia, the calm compassionate sibling he had only just learned he had, flickered into his consciousness and Luke felt the last of his anger drain away. He would survive this day, there was still hope.
Then Luke felt a sudden draft, and his heart stopped for a moment. Vader was coming. Luke felt fear now; he had not expected the confrontation to come so soon, he was not ready. Then the Jedi steadied himself, remembering the teachings of his old masters. Luke knew he could find the good in Vader, he had felt even during their last duel, and he could stimulate it in Vader. He knew his father could be turned back to the light, despite what Master Obi-wan had said back on Dagobah. With the dark side’s hold on Darth Vader broken, Luke knew that they could together defeat the Emperor and bring an end to the tyrannical rule of the Empire. He just had to hold onto hope, and believe in the force.
Artoo let out a series of warning moans, and Luke turned to one of the docking bay’s main entryways, set in a wall only a few dozen meters from his X-Wing. “I can sense him too,” he muttered, holstering his blaster and moving slowly forward. “Find some place to hide Artoo. This could get dangerous.” Behind him, the astromech said buzzed worriedly. “Don’t worry, I can handle this,” Luke replied, and then under his breath muttered “I wont fail again.” The little droid made a few more plaintive noises, but he quickly silenced himself, and a moment latter Luke heard the clatter of metal on metal as Artoo extracted himself from the X-Wing’s socket and carefully guided himself onto the deck plate below the fighter’s outstretched wing.
As the faint whir of the droid’s motorized feet fainted away, the door before Luke slid open, and a lone figure stepped into the chamber. His grip on the lightsaber in his right hand tightening, Luke stared the figure straight in the eyes, still trying to calm himself. “Father,” he said softly, more to himself than the dark lord now standing mere meters away. Nevertheless, Darth Vader heard the words. “So, you have accepted the truth.” It was not a question, more like a statement of victory. Before replying, Luke looked over his father carefully, opening up all his Jedi abilities to try and scan him. Something felt different since their last meeting. Then, the dark lord had seemed almost absolutely dark, with only the slightest spark of humanity and individuality left, and he had exuded an aura of pain and malevolence that seemed somehow separate from the dark lord himself. Now, however, the aura was almost completely absent, and while the dark was still overwhelming in Vader, there was something strange about it, conflicted.
Luke was heartened by this change, and he pressed forward. “I have accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father.” Darth Vader shifted his weight imperceptibly. “That name means nothing to me now,” he replied, intoning deeply, almost angrily. However, even as Vader spoke those words. Luke could sense a change in him, a slight increase in the energy he was dedicating towards the control of his emotions. “I sense conflict in you even now father. There is still good in you, let it out,” Luke persisted, lowering his inactive saber into a less threatening position.
Vader paused before replying, considering his son’s words. When he spoke again, the words his suit’s vocabulator emitted powerful and definite, but Luke still was certain there was underlying doubt as well. “No, there is no conflict within me. The dark side is the only path to order, the light to which you cling is an illusion, one perpetuated by Obi-wan Kenobi and his deceptions.” Vader took a few steps forward. “Join me Luke, and together we can quash the last vestiges of this pitiful and destructive rebellion and at last bring peace and order to the galaxy.”
Luke shook his head sadly. He had never expected this to be easy, but he had hoped it would be. “I will never turn father, you must know that. Search your feelings, you know that what your doing, what you’ve become isn’t right. This is the Emperor’s doing, not your will. Cast off his domination, you can still save yourself from the dark side.”
Vader stared at Luke for a long moment in silence. Something was wrong, Luke thought, his father almost seemed…surprised. “The Emperor is dead Luke, I have slain him.” The young Jedi stood motionless, the words resounding through his mind. How could this be, if the Emperor was dead, then why was Vader still under the sway of the dark side. Could he have been wrong, was his father so far gone he would uphold Palpatine’s dark reign even after his death? No, there was conflict in Vader, he was sure of it. He just needed more time, or a catalyst of some sort to cast of the dark mantle.
“The insane old fool needed to be destroyed, he wanted nothing save to grow in his own power until all life in this galaxy was bent to his will absolutely,” Vader continued. “But I have eliminated that blemish upon the universe, and now the Empire is mine, and I can put it to its true purpose. Come Luke, join me, and together with the aid of the dark side the galaxy shall never again know conflict or turmoil, only happy obedience to us, and the new order of the Sith we shall create. Our Empire shall be one of peace, and justice.”
As he listened, the sick feeling of frustration and growing rage blossomed within Luke. “Peace! Justice!” he blurted out, throwing his free arm back at the entry void in the floor, beyond which the Imperial fleet continued to pummel the defenseless Sullust. “You call that justice? If this kind of slaughter is what your new empire will be built upon, then it will be no better than Palpatine’s!”
Vader looked out at the dying world, and for a moment Luke thought he saw a twitch in Vader’s gloved hands, a sign of uncertainty. But the lapse was over as soon as it had begun, and Vader turned back to face Luke. “They are traitors Luke. I do not wish suffering or death upon my subjects, but if they attempt to undermine the stability of this civilization, to lend aid to the terrorist rebel scum, then they must be punished. A warning must be given so that other worlds do not foolishly cast their lot in with traitors, and seal the fate of their inhabitants.”
Luke was both horrified and frightened now. Even with Palpatine destroyed, the dark side still lived on strong within his father’s heart. The Jedi’s hope was beginning to fade. A tear forming in his eye, Luke stepped even closer to his father. “This is wrong! You have to find the good that is still in you! I know the part of you that is still my father is strong enough to cast of the poison of the dark side. Please, you must turn father. While you still can.”
At this, Vader began to stalk forward, and Luke involuntarily stumbled backwards. “You still do not understand. The path of the dark side is the only one to peace, my son.” From Vader’s clenched right fist a beam of crimson shot forth. “Join me Luke. I do not wish to destroy you.”
Then it had come to an end. His options had run out, and Luke was now left with very few options. Vader now seemed irredeemable, consumed by the dark side and Palpatine’s corruption. The will of the last of the Jedi began to falter. Perhaps there was no other way. If his father was so resolute in his support of the dark side, is it possible that he saw what Yoda and Obi-wan could not, or would not? This was Luke’s test, a choice from which there was no escape; there were only two paths, and he had to take one, the light, or the dark.
Luke’s gaze moved from Vader’s nightmare mask to his own hands, where his lightsaber still lay clenched, and then back again. Then suddenly, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he straightened, and an emerald blade appeared in his hand. He had made his choice. Vader nodded slowly, accepting this bitter failure, and then he lunged forward, red blade poised to strike.
A low beep resounded through the dark medical chamber. Startled by the sound, Darth Vader looked up from his silent reverie. “What is it?” he asked sharply, the voice directed at a small panel set in the ceiling above. “Lord Vader, the Star Destroyer Torrent has just entered the system. Captain Coloth is requesting clearance to send a shuttle to the place. He says you are expecting him,” the calm, crisp voice of an Imperial officer responded over the comm. Vader cast his gaze back down to the bacta tank, in which Luke Skywalker still hung motionless. Behind his oppressive mask and life support gear, the dark lord let out a sorrowful sigh, and his right hand moved slowly to touch the glass barrier. “My lord?” the voice prompted again, this time somewhat nervous.
Vader’s hand froze midway to the medical capsule, and he locked his son’s expressionless face with one last long gaze. Then, as if forgetting him entirely, Darth Vader spun around and proceeded towards the exit. “Transmit the landing clearance. Inform the Captain that I await his arrival, and that of his passenger.” The communications offered recognition of the order, but Vader had already left the chamber, leaving it just as cold and lifeless as it had been when he had entered.
“That’s a Federation vessel,” Jean-Luc Picard said, his voice hushed, almost disbelieving. The captain stood next to Imal Ryceed’s command chair. Staring fixedly out the viewport at the object he had been summoned to see. Behind him, Commander Riker, Data, and Geordi La’ Forge stood intermingled with the Republica’s crew, each of them just as surprised and relieved as their captain.
Only a few dozen kilometers off the rebel ship’s bow, the Federation ship drifted, motionless and silent. The cause of this inactivity was immediately apparent; the ship’s hull was lacerated by huge gashes of melted hull plate and pocked with numerous gaping breaches. One of the craft’s nacelles’, a characteristic feature of nearly every Starfleet vessel, was completely absent, the support pylon that had once connected it to the ship now only a tattered amalgam of corroded metal. The top of the ship’s saucer section was also shorn away revealing blackened compartments several decks below the outer hull.
“The damage to the ship is extensive, but I believe I can still identify it accurately,” Data said, looking at a sensor display over the shoulder of a Mon Calamari crewman. “It is a Steamrunner-class, a long range combat vessel. I am unable to determine the ship’s designation; there is too much damage to the forward hull.” Picard looked away from the viewport. “Combat vessel?” he said, somewhat confused. The Federation wasn’t in the habit of making dedicated combat vessels, and he wasn’t aware of any in service. Geordi moved over to the data display Data was looking at and checked it himself, much to the chagrin of the officer still seated at it.
“Yes, I remember hearing about those during our last stopover at Deep Space Twelve. Apparently, it’s a prototype anti-Borg ship.” Geordi paused to stroke his chin, his optical visor shifting back to look out the main viewport. “I didn’t think they had tested anything space worthy yet though.”
Commander Riker was still looking at the wreck intently. “I wonder what could have caused that damage.” The man blinked, clearing his head, and he suddenly he remembered the situation they were all still in. “Or more importantly, how it got here. Mr. Data, are you picking up any disturbances like the one we encountered at the wormhole in the vicinity of that ship?” At that, the android leaned down to the sensor station’s control terminal, forcing the attending crewman not back away, now very irritated.
Before he could bring up the pertinent information however, Captain Ryceed rose from her seat and fixed a glare upon Picard. “This is all quite fascinating, but if you hadn’t noticed, there are two Imperial Star Destroyers in this system, and they very well may locate us at any moment,” she said haughtily. “It would appear that that ship is damaged far beyond repair, and I doubt that there are any survivors left on it. I apologizes for unconvincing you, but we have a schedule to keep. Helm, record these coordinates in the navicomputer and enter the predetermined jump vector into the drive system. Engage as soon as the hyperdrive is primed.”
As Ryceed began to wade amongst her bridge crew, making sure her ship was ready to jump; Riker and Picard stood back, and exchanged worried glances. Both of them knew that abandoning the Federation ship could very well insure that the crew never saw home again. Ryceed would most likely not relent, she did have a crew of her own to protect after all, but the pair had to try. Resolute, William Riker put on his infamous roguish smile and approached the stern woman.
“Captain, surely you can delay our departure long enough to send a brief survey mission over to that ship, or at least take a more detailed sensor sweep of the immediate area.” Ryceed turned slowly to face Riker and scanned his expectant face. “Please?” the Commander continued, his teeth visible in a handsome grin. The captain’s eyes narrowed and her head moved imperceptibly, inching toward Riker’s face. After a moment of looking him over, she withdrew her neck and pushed past him. “Sorry commander, I have my orders,” Ryceed said, her voice showing signs of exasperation and exhaustion.
Riker shook his head as she passed, and glanced again at Picard, who was tugging on his uniform tunic, an indication of the state of his nerves. “Captain, there may still be survivors on that ship. Without a more detailed sensor scan or search by an away team, we could be leaving men and women to their deaths,” he pleaded. At this, Ryceed whirled on the bald man and opened her mouth, ready to berate him for consistently interfering, but before she could form a syllable, a blue image flickered to life behind her.
“He has a point Captain,” Cortana said, looking down on the group from the elevated holographic projector she was using. “With all of the distortion in this system from its star, the Republica’s sensors are having a difficult time penetrating far beyond the ship’s outer hull, but I believe there are indications that life support is still functional in sections of its interior. I predict it would be feasible to dispatch a shuttle to the ship and have a boarding team investigate it in a sort enough time to not seriously endanger this vessel. And I must remind you Captain; your orders do dictate that you are to consider the recommendations of your passengers. The information gathered from that ship could be very valuable to the rebellion.” She glanced at Picard. “Isn’t that right captain?”
Picard smiled slightly in gratitude, and then nodded. “Yes, if my crew can gather enough information from that vessel’s computer to locate the wormhole it emerged from, I believe that your High Council would be quite gratified.” Ryceed cast glares at both Picard and the AI construct and looked like she was going to object, but instead she flopped onto the bridge command chair and stared out at the subject of their argument. “Very well,” she sighed at last. “Picard, you may take a shuttle over to that ship and investigate. I’m giving you one hour starting now to do what you need to do over there and get back. When that time span has elapsed, this ship is leaving, whether you’re back or not,” she said, rubbing her eyes wearily. Picard thanked her quickly and walked quickly towards the bridge turbolift, towards which Data and Geordi were already heading.
Riker moved to follow his companions, but he paused long enough to shoot Cortana a thankful grin, which she replied to with a wink. “Oh, commander,” she added as Riker began to move again. “I believe the Master Chief has been anxious to get out of his quarters. I think he would appreciate it if you asked him to go along.”
“I think I can get the captain to agree to that,” Riker replied, waving in recognition as he stepped into the open lift cavity where the others waited impatiently.
A low clang resounded through the battered Steamrunner’s interior as the small rebel shuttle attached itself to the ship’s hull. The Federation ship’s small docking bay was caved in and completely obstructed, so the shuttle’s pilot had opted to set his ship down in one of the huge gashes the covered the vessel. The tear that the ship now rested in ran for several dozen meters along the saucer section’s port side, and stretched two decks into the craft’s inner workings. The rebel ship powered down its drive engines, and engaged it’s forward and after floodlights, bringing an expanse of charred metal and corroded walkways into view.
From the small, almost tubular shuttle’s rear hull plate, an egress hatch hissed open, and a cloud of flash-frozen atmosphere spilled out into the desolate, airless chasm. Following the cloud, four figures, clad in gray survival suits and magnetized boots stepped onto the cold, lifeless hulk. They were followed by another being, encased in drab green armor, which jumped out from the shuttle’s air lock just as the hatch began to seal itself. One of the gray-suited beings leaned forward slightly, listening to a transmission being picked up by his atmosphere suit’s helmet. “You’ve got twenty seven minutes before I’m lifting off commander,” the shuttle’s pilot was saying over the comm. “You’d better do what you’ve got to do quickly.”
William Riker acknowledged the message, and then turned to his small team, who were inspecting their surroundings with both interest and anxiety. Behind tinted face panels, Riker could see Lt. Commanders Data and Worf, as well as medical officer Ogawa waiting for orders. The captain had also wanted to come, but the shuttle they had been provided with was very compact, and in any event, Riker had been adamant in his insistence that the commanding officer should not accompany away teams into potentially dangerous situations, and the drifting, half destroyed ship certainly qualified. Standing behind the Federation officers, the Master Chief stood alert, his sealed armor providing him with oxygen and protection from the vacuum around them.
“Alright, you know what we need to do here,” Riker said over a comm to his comrades. “Find an operational computer terminal to download recent sensor logs and command entries, and try to locate any survivors.” Data withdrew a tricorder from his suit’s belt, one of the few they had left, and began to scan their surroundings. “Energy readings would seem to indicate that the engineering section may still have computer power and atmospheric containment. I believe we should begin our search there,” he said, adjusting a few knobs on the scanning device. Riker nodded and glanced at the chronometer set on his suit’s wrist. “Let’s get going.”
Data guided the group towards a sealed doorway on the other side of the shuttle, partially illuminated by its floodlights. After picking their way over the blasted and ruptured deck of what had once been a series of Jeffries tubes, the team halted at the partially blackened door, which seemed to be still in working order. However, when Data approached the entry point, the sliding door remained fixed, apparently robbed of its sensing ability. Unperturbed, the android cleared a piece of sheet metal away from the side of the door in search of the manual control pad, but found instead only a mangled hunk of melted wiring. “It would appear that this door is too damaged to be opened by conventional means,” Data commented. The android then moved towards the fused hatch, intent on prying it open, but found that the Master Chief was already standing there.
The soldier set his armored fingers to the thin crack that separated the door sections and pulled outward, his muscles flexing underneath his enclosed body glove. The metal warped and dented quickly around his fingers, but surprisingly, the door did not budge, evidently fused closed by what ever force had torn the hole that they were now standing in. After a moment, the Chief stepped back, shifted his weight slightly, and kicked. Firm as it might have been, the barrier was unable to absorb the energy of the cyborg’s speeding foot, and the twin door sections clattered inwards, propelled onto the deck plate beyond. The titan stepped back from the now unobstructed and gestured to the others to enter. Riker nodded to the silent man, slightly mildly amused by the soldier’s direct approach.
The team filed slowly into the dark corridor beyond, and Worf and Data each ignited palm lamps they had brought with them, illuminating the long, empty space. The ship’s normally bright and sterile walls were now dark and foreboding, the computer interfaces and lighting strips that lined them cracked and unlit. “What could have done this?” Riker asked quietly to himself, keeping pace directly behind Data as he stared down a side hallway, blocked off by reams of power cable that dangled from its shattered ceiling.
Worf, who was walking behind the dower and silent Nurse Ogawa and just ahead of Master Chief, shifted his light source onto the commander’s back. “From what I saw of the hull damage, I would guess that this ship was attacked by a vessel employing phasers of some sort, although without closer analysis, I cannot be sure of what type,” he said. Riker pondered the information; most of the species in the Alpha and Beta quadrants used phasers, but he couldn’t imagine any of them attacking a Federation vessel, especially with the brutality that the massive damage indicated. As of the Enterprise’s departure, the Federation was on fairly good terms with all the major powers that surrounded it, and Riker couldn’t imagine any fringe group taking on a Starfleet vessel of this size.
Suddenly, an all but forgotten memory, one unaccountably driven to the back of his mind over the last few weeks came to the surface; the Columbus. It was a Federation ship that had driven the Enterprise and he crew into the distant and hostile galaxy they were now in, and there seemed to be no explanation for their attack. The strange creature’s that had boarded during the attack also seemed beyond explanation; perhaps the crew had been infected somehow by interstellar parasites that had mutated them, or perhaps they had encountered a strange new alien life form that had commandeered the ship, both occurrences were not without precedent. Still, neither felt right to Riker, and he suddenly felt cold, new, unsettling theories about the ship’s attackers coalescing in his mind.
At the end of the hallway, the group again halted, this time facing a turbolift access hatch. Tentatively, Commander Data tapped the door’s control interface, and to the team’s mild surprise, the obstruction slid open, revealing a small lift cabin, lit dimly by a flickering ceiling panel. Riker inspected the compartment; it appeared to be stable enough, but it was quite small, only able to comfortably accommodate four people unencumbered by survival gear. However, time was too short to search for another operational lift, so Riker stepped aside and beckoned to the Master Chief, easily the largest of the group. “After you.”
The lift ride was long and unsettling; the weight of four humanoids and a cyborg that weighed half a ton did little to ease the strain on the already damaged compartment, and the sounds of it creaking as it hurtled through the battered innards of the Steamrunner help convey the weakness to its passengers. Finally, the lift came to a stop and the five team members spilled out into the hallway, eager to be off the potential death trap.
They found themselves in a hallway adjacent to main engineering. This deep into the vessel, the damage was not as severe as it had been closer to the bridge and weapons systems, but the signs of battle were still quite evident. Signs of a very different kind of battle. As soon as she had exited the turbolift, Ogawa gasped audibly and nearly fell back into the lift, shocked by what she saw. Half a dozen bodies lay stretched out across the floor, each in various states of mutilation. The walls were covered in scrapes and phaser burns, and a large section of the hallway several meters to their right had been blown away, mangled wiring visible under ruptured deck plate.
Master Chief swiftly tore a blaster pistol from his belt and switched of its safety, using it to cover both ends of the hall. Worf, even though he lacked a weapon, also sprang to attention moving to put himself between the rest of the group and any possible attackers who might be lying in wait. Riker knelt beside one of the bodies that was lying near his feet, the corpse of a human female. She was almost unrecognizable, covered in vicious gashes and sickly burn marks, most of them focused around her face and neck. What little undamaged skin that remained on her had begun to take on a greenish, rotted complexion; apparently there was still oxygen in this part of the ship.
“Commander.” Data’s voice directed him to another corpse, lying across the walkway. After taking one last mournful look at the dead woman, Riker rose and turned to the object the Lt. Commander wanted him to look at. Roughly the size and shape of a large dog, the creature that lay crumpled before him was quite unlike anything he had ever seen, and yet was strangely familiar. It was covered in a slick, reddish hide that was thick and scabrous and drenched with a liquid of some sort, perhaps its own blood, or the blood of another. It had a long, angular head adorned with two large tusks and tiny black eyes, and its forelegs were each tipped by a single, knife-like claw more than a foot long. The cause of the creature’s death was also apparent; it sported a gapping hole its chest, most likely cut by a hand phaser.
After examining the hideous creature briefly, Riker glanced at Data. “Can you identify this thing?” he asked over the comm. “I do not believe so commander,” he replied. “There is no species in my memory banks that matches the physical proportions of the organism.” Riker nodded nonplused and looked back at the creature, over which officer Ogawa was now standing, her tricorder moving back and forth over it. He noticed her gloved hands were shaking as she worked. “Are you alright?” Riker asked her, moving closer. Unsteadily, she closed the scanning device and turned to the commanding officer. He could see was quivering slightly behind the survival suit’s mask.
“I’m alright sir,” she gulped. “But…” She paused, trying to regain her composure. Riker was not surprised that she would be unnerved; Onigawa and others of her rank typically stayed on duty in the Enterprise’s medbay, and likely had never seen the more gruesome spectacles away teams sometimes encountered in person. Still, she seemed to be reacting to more than just the carnage around them. “The readings I’m picking up from this creature are very similar to the one’s that were recorded from a boarder we captured before the Enterprise was evacuated. I can’t be sure without more advanced equipment, but it looks like whatever those things on the Columbus were, they didn’t die with it.” Data gestured to the area down the hall that had been gutted by an explosion. “The type of damage is very similar to the kind left by those boarders who exploded in their effort to cripple the Enterprise.”
The secret dread that had been growing in Riker since they encountered the Federation vessel came back anew, stronger and more persistent than before. The things that had destroyed his ship and ensured capture or death for most of her crew had spread, and he feared what damage they might have caused, how far they might have spread.
“Sir.” Commander Worf said over the comm, catching Riker’s attention. “There are eight casualties the immediate area, all Federation personnel, all dead.” Grimly, the Klingon glanced down at the dog-sized creature. “I also located ten more of those things. They seemed to have entered the passageway through a hole cut through the ceiling several meters down. None of them appear to be alive either.” Prompted by the tactical officer’s words, Data activated his tricorder once again. “There are definitely life readings emanating from this deck, approximately thirty meters down that adjoining hallway. However, I am unable to determine the species or number of the organisms.”
Riker checked his chronometer. “Alright, we have nineteen minutes until our ride leaves. Commander Data and I will locate an operational computer hub and collect as much information as possible.” Data immediately activated a wall schematic of the ship and began to assess it. As he was doing so, Riker turned to the others. “Worf, I want you to take Onigawa and the Chief to investigate the life readings. Be careful, we don’t know if any of these things are still alive. Contact me if you locate any survivors or run into trouble. We meet back here in twelve.”
Blaster in hand, the Master Chief lead the group of there down the hallway indicated to them by Data, past walls scuffed with phaser marks and the occasional spatter of blood, with evenly spaced sealed doorways every few meters. Behind him, Onigawa tried to ignore the body she had just stepped over, that of an Andorian man who seemed to have had his right arm torn out of its socket. She glanced back at Worf, who had taken off his helmet and was holding it at his side while he sniffed the stale and pungent air, alert for possible threats. “So, you don’t talk much, do you,” Ogawa asked over the helmet comm, directing her words towards the soldier in front of her in an attempt to take her mind of the grim scene around them.
“I speak when I need to,” was his response, and then a definite silence, as if he was telling her and this is not one of those times. The woman gulped and quietly looked back at the tricorder in her hand. “We should turn left at that intersection up there.” The soldier nod almost imperceptibly and quickly covered the last few meters to the point where their hallway ran into another. His weapon rose to the ready, he glanced quickly down both sides of the passage as the other two made their way to his position. “Anything?” Worf asked, sliding up along side the Spartan. The Chief shook his head and slowly swung out into the hallway, his Bryar side arm flashing from side to side with elegant precision.
“There?” the Chief asked, gesturing at a large doorway which bore the label ‘Main Engineering’ next to it in block lettering. Beyond its double sliding doors, which lay slightly ajar, only blackness was visible. Onigawa rechecked her readings and shook her head, pointing instead to a doorway to the right of engineering and on the other side of the hall. “That should be one of the coolant intake conduit junctions for the warp core,” Worf commented. “It would seem whatever’s in there had to put up a fight to get in.” Strewn around the closed doorway, nearly a dozen federation crewmen and alien beasts lay dead, sporting a variety of burns, cuts, and gashes; some of them looked like they had been chewed on after death. Worf and Master Chief took the scene in stride, but Ogawa had to hold onto the wall for a moment to recover from it.
Picking their way over the battlefield, the group at last came to the door, and not surprisingly, found it locked. Worf examined the barrier, which was scored dozens of claw marks, and then tried the control panel to no avail. Master Chief moved up along side him and began to prepare to open the door ‘manually’, but Worf stopped him. “No, that door is likely far stronger than the others we have encountered. Federation coolant junctions are designed with blast doors that can contain potential leaks and overloads. In any event, it would be unwise to make more noise than necessary, in case any of these creatures are still nearby.” The Chief stared at him from behind his opaque visor. “Then what do you propose?”
Worf considered for a moment, and then care fully pried the control panel in front of him off the wall, revealing a mass of wiring and optic cable. Then the Klingon punched his hand into the opening, dug around for a moment, and then ripped a large section of the electronic mass out from the wall. After a second, the door retracted to the side with a soft hiss, and the Chief brought his weapon to bear on the room beyond.
The center of the room was dominated by large junction that connected four gray and blue tubes that emerged from the floor and ceiling and two of the room’s walls. The conduits were quiet and unlit; the core was obviously offline. Aside from the junction, the chamber appeared to be empty, save for a control station set in a nearby wall, and a few supply crates that lined far side. Cautiously, the Chief entered the room with his blaster at the ready, and tried to maneuver around the central column so he could have a view of the entire chamber. Suddenly, out of the corner of his unnaturally acute eye, he spotted movement from behind the supply crates, and the glint of metal. Acting on instinct and decades of combat training, the soldier jumped to the side, seeking cover behind the inactive junction, and a fraction of a second later, the red beam of a phaser swept through the air, blackening the wall behind where the Chief had just been standing.
Not stopping to allow the attacker to get off another shot, the Spartan rolled out from behind the central column and fired two blaster bolts at the crates. One of the energy bolts impacted a tubular crate harmlessly, but the other hit the attacker’s weapon head on, causing him to cry out and drop the smoking phaser. In a flash, the Chief was over the conduit between him and the crates, across the small room, and on top of the assailant, pinning him to the far wall. Worf was close behind, moving to aid the Chief while Ogawa stayed a safe distance away from the fray.
Arms and legs constricted under the Chief’s immense weight, a wiry, gaunt woman, dressed in a tattered blue uniform struggled in vain to reach a second hand phaser lying just out of reach. Her eyes were wide open and bloodshot, staring at Master Chief’s black face plate fixedly, her face quivering with fear. Worf rushed up along side the pair and tried to calm the woman down. “Its all right, we’ve come to rescue you. Those things can’t get to you know.” The survivor didn’t not seem to hear Worf, or even notice he was there, her whole attention fixed on the Chief’s blank helmet, on which a distorted version of her own haggard face was reflected. She mouthed wordlessly, her eyes windows to her inner pain and fear. The Chief shifted his weight, removing some of the pressure that crushed the woman in place, and moved his left hand slowly towards the back of his neck, where his helmet seal was located. Before he could reach it however, the woman let out one final wordless cry, and slummed down, her limbs now limp and lifeless.
“Ensign Ogawa,” Worf called gruffly, setting down his helmet as he helped prop the unconscious survivor up against the wall. The medical officer approached slowly and nervously, but when she saw that the attacker was human, she broke into a run, pulling her tricorder free of its holster. Crouching beside the woman, she ran the scanner over her body worriedly and inspected some of the deeper cuts that she sported all over her body, especially on her left arm. “Her life signs are weak, and some of those cuts may be infected, but she should survive if we can get her back to the ship,” the nurse said, then opened a large pocket set in the side of her atmospheric suite. “This survival gear should hold enough oxygen for us to get her through the breached section of the ship and to the shuttle.” Out of the pocket came a large piece of folded white fabric, which Ogawa proceeded to unfurl into a large body suit, complete with a flexible translucent visor.
As the nurse worked to slip the woman into the suit, Worf searched the survivor’s hiding place, and picked up the two phasers. The one the Master Chief had shot was useless, but the other was in working order, so Worf clipped it to his atmosphere suit, insurance against any surprises they might encounter on they’re way back to the turbolift. Then the Lt. Commander placed back on his head and tapped into the comm unit. “Commander Riker, we have located a survivor in one of the chambers adjacent to main engineering.” After a moment, Riker’s voice crackled over the link. “Good, Data and I have located a computer terminal and our downloading as much information as we can from it. Seven minutes until we rendezvous back at the lift; if you don’t locate anyone else soon, head back, we’ll catch up.”
“Confirmed,” Worf responded, and switched off the comm link. “Ensign, are you picking up any other life readings in this area?” Ogawa, who was sealing the survivor’s helmet to the suit, looked up and checked her tricorder. After a moment she frowned. “I’m not sure sir. There are strong signals emanating from Main Engineering, but…” she paused adjusting a few controls. “But what?” Master Chief prompted, moving closer to the doorway, blaster in hand. Suddenly, Ogawa looked up in horror. “I don’t think there human.”
Deep with in the interior of the battle scarred Mon Calamari cruiser Republica, Protoss High Templar Tassadar sat in deep meditation. Perched upon a supply crate nestled within one of the ship’s large cargo bays, the weary being focused all his extensive energies on recovery, and introspection. The confrontation with the human known as Darth Vader, even though it had happened nearly a week previous, had left him drained both physically and mentally, and recuperation had been slow. The twisted entity possessed powers great and powerful, different than anything he had ever encountered before, and perhaps surpassing even his own psionic abilities. If he had not been able to muster the final blast of energy that had delayed the fight, Vader would have most likely broken through his defenses.
The existence of creatures that could wield this strange new power, the “Force” as he had heard the young Jacen Solo describe it, was troubling; it defied the principles and knowledge set down by the Order of the Templar over the millennia of the Protoss Empire’s existence. Tassadar had always been the most opened-minded of the Protoss Conclave, learning the forbidden ways of the Dark Templar, and eventually even splitting with the Conclave and its Judicators when the tides of war with the hated Zerg demanded it. Even so, the idea that humans could attain such power made him uneasy, it reminded him of…her.
As his thoughts wandered the stars and his body regenerated, the Templar became aware of a familiar sensation, nearby and growing in intensity. It sickened him. It was like a quiet scraping in the back of his skull, a feeling he knew all too well. His mind switched focus, folding back in towards himself, searching for the source of the disturbance. Vaguely, he could see the blasted hull of a disk-like starship, the movement of beings inside it. Suddenly, a torrent of twisted thought and emotion hit him, and Tassadar’s deep eyes shot open.
The Zerg were near, and they were hungry.
“How much longer Data?” Commander Riker asked, calling over his shoulder as he worked at a wall-mounted computer terminal, illuminated by the sputtering light fixture that hung above. Behind him, Data too worked at an interface, bypassing corrupted circuits and fragmented data in the Steamrunner’s main computer, each file and bit of information he recovered quickly copied by a data jack that sat plugged into the damaged network.
“The Cornwall’s computer database has been heavily corrupted, and there are several firewalls in place here that I have never encountered before,” the android replied, using the ship’s proper name, information he had gleaned from analysis of its navigational logs. “However, I believe that I can access most of the pertinent information available in the ship’s scientific and navigational logs within the next three minutes.” Riker grunted in acknowledgement and returned his attention to the search he had tasked himself with, accessing the most recent of the ship’s active duty logs. He had to know what had happened to the ship, what had driven the Cornwall through the wormhole and killed her crew.
The Commander entered a series of manual commands, the computer interface’s voice response unit was offline, and attempted to gain access to her operational status and command logs over the week before her warp core had gone offline. Most of the information was inaccessible; Riker wasn’t in a very good position to locate the data anyways, working from a secondary maintenance terminal was hampering his efforts, and he had never been as adept at computer operation as some of the others in his crew. However, after bypassing a few dead end network pathways, he finally brought up the main log chronicling the period he wanted to investigate. The stardates on most of the log entries were obviously showing up incorrectly, listing random dates years in the future, and some files were not tagged at all, but Riker was able to open up a file, fairly recent, and play it.
A small display panel set into the terminal flickered to life with a burst of static, the random blur quickly fading away replaced by the image of a Vulcan male, perhaps as old as Riker himself. “Captain Koltopek of USS Cornwall recording, stardate 53…” the image burst into static momentarily, and then recovered at diminished visual clarity. “…reports that we are still unable to contact Starbase Twenty Two, or the Sigma Aberon colony. It is possible that they have been taken and if that is the case, than it is likely the subspace communications network in this region is already down. Nevertheless, I am attempting to contact Admiral Colti; if the second fleet is still operational, they may require the Cornwall and the Endurance to rendezvous to aid in a…” the log cut out in another burst of static, leaving Riker to ponder what he had just seen. The recording had not been clear, and as was Vulcan custom the Captain showed no sign of emotion, but even the small fragment he had heard suggested something big was happening in Federation space.
Riker glanced back at Data, who was still working diligently, then at his wrist chronometer, and then turned back to the log entries. He cycled down, trying each one in turn, finding most corrupted beyond comprehension. Finally he came to the last entry and accessed it, and to his surprise, the display panel lit up. Through the sheen of static that disrupted the picture, the commander could make out a figure illuminated by red emergency lights. Over the speaker a klaxon blared and crewmen shouted back and forth, nearly drowning out the log’s subject. “Acting Captain Travers,” the figure said over the encroaching static. “We are fleeing the Ereldel system…most of the fleet gone, we still don’t know what they did to…of the Endurance is unknown, Ops thinks they didn’t make to warp.”
The figure paused; wiping his face free of some grime that Riker could not make out, but he guessed was blood. “We’ll make for the nebula in sector 88-43; we might lose them if we can get in there. If this recording ever makes its way back…that this crew has served with skill and loyalty far beyond what any commanding officer could hope for, and I am glad to have served…” The man again paused, looking off-screen this time. “What? Where?” Seal off those decks, we have to give Engineering more time! Alert every non essential crewman, prepare to repel boarders.”
With that, the log blinked out, and the computer’s entry memory ended, culminating the list of mostly useless logs with a note indicating that main power had gone offline. Riker sighed, the sensation of dread growing ever stronger within him. “Alright Data, take what you’ve got, we have to get off this ship. Our departure window is disappearing fast,” the commander said as he sealed his atmosphere suit’s helmet back in place. Before he could continue however, Riker heard a loud clunk from behind him, accompanied by a series of odd hisses. Startled, Riker whirled around and immediately recoiled in surprise; Data was kneeling upon the floor, pinning a mass of red and purple against the floor.
From his vantage point, Riker could see that the mass was in fact one of the creatures that his team had discovered littering the hallway around the turbolift, but this one was very much alive. Thrown on its back, the dog-sized beast thrashed widely, hissing loudly as its huge clawed forelegs lash about aimlessly, their upper sections constricted by Data’s hands. His face a mask of concentration, the android slowly focused his weight on the creature, bending its forelegs down towards its slick carapace, and the creature began to hiss and screech more loudly. At last, with one final push, Data compressed the thing’s legs into its chest, and with a sickening crunch, the being went limp.
Gapping slightly, Riker rushed forward to help the officer to his feet. “What happened?” he asked quickly as Data collected the data jack from the computer terminal he had been operating. “While you were completing the analysis of the terminal, I noticed that this creature was moving towards us from that corridor at a rapid rate.” Data nodded to the hallway directly across from their work station, its distant end shadowed in the darkness of failed emergency lighting. “It lunged at you, so I took the most logical course of action, and intercepted it before it could reach you.” Riker gulped and glanced down at the beast again, his danger senses now blaring. “Thanks Data. I think now would be a good time to leave.”
The two officers set off at a run down the passageway from which they had come, a hall only a few dozen meters from the turbolift bank. As they ran, Riker tapped into his helmet’s comm and tried to raise Worf, but before he had time to say anything, he found himself shoved into the wall as Data wheeled around and placed himself behind his commanding officer. From the direction they had just come, two more creatures were speeding forward, all four legs tearing at the floor as they propelled themselves towards their targets, jabbering with animalistic glee. One of them leaped forward towards Data, and he intercepted it in midair, his fist meeting its neck with a loud wet thud. However, the other being pushed forward as well and dove at the android even as its comrade fell to the floor motionless.
Its mandibles snapping ferociously, the beast knocked Data to the floor, and it proceeded to try and tear off the target’s head with its huge claws. A few feet from the fray, Riker sat back helpless for a moment as Data attempted to tear off the attacker, and then his gaze fell on the tattered corpse of a Federation security man draped out across the floor, a phaser rifle still clutched in his hands. Stumbling forward, Riker pried the weapon from the dead man’s grasp and rolled onto his back, desperately aiming towards Data and his attacker.
The creature was still on top of the android, scything its huge claws downwards at Data’s head. The Lt. Commander evaded as best he could, twisting his neck from side to side as he tried to gain purchase on the beast’s thrashing body. One of the claws cut too close, and a foot of sharpened bone sliced through Data’s clear visor, scraping his left cheek, and then withdrawing, wrenching the ruined helmet away with it. The creature arched its back and raised its claws to strike again, but before it could act, a pulse of red energy tore into its side and set the thing spinning onto the floor. It writhed for a moment, hissing and squealing as it clawed at the floor, and then fell silent.
Riker rushed over Data, and for the second time helped him to his feet. “Are you alright?” The android put one hand to his cheek, which was now missing a large chunk of synthetic gray flesh, revealing a slivery layer studded with blinking lights beneath. “The damage is only superficial, it should not impede my operation to any great extent,” Data responded coolly, inspecting his damaged helmet, which now sported a gapping hole in the visor. Such a loss might prove fatal for a human in this situation, but Data could survive exposure to hard vacuum, so the trip back to the shuttle would not be a problem. However, if the creature had struck only a few more inches to the left, Data was quite sure his cognitive and ambulatory functions would have been stalled, permanently. “I believe it is my turn to thank you.”
Riker nodded quickly and scanned the hallway behind and in front of them warily, his gun held at the ready. “Call us even. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The pair tore down the battle scarred passage, navigating their way around exposed wiring and heaps of decomposing bodies, increasingly aware of the growing din that was forming all around them; the sound of a thousand tiny feet scraping deck plates. Swinging around a bend in the path, Riker and Data at last arrived back at the turbolift bank. Mercifully, the hall was vacant of any living specimens of the strange alien things, but the commander didn’t count on it staying that way. Before they continued on, Data inspected a wall panel and tapped in a few commands, triggering a large blast door to fall into place between them and passage they had just exited. It was a stroke of good fortune, but it wouldn’t last for long; on their way though the upper decks, the team had spotted blast doors like this one torn into pieces, and Riker could now guess what had destroyed them.
The lift that had carried them before stood ready, its doors still open, but Riker noticed that the rest of the team was not there waiting for him, and they had defiantly not already gone ahead. As Data secured their escape route, Riker again tried to raise Worf over the helmet’s comm unit. However his hails went unanswered, as did the ones directed at Ensign Ogawa and the Master Chief. Sighing in exasperation, Riker hefted his rifle and called to Data. “Commander Worf and his team aren’t responding, were going to have to go after them.” Data nodded, and after a moment of searching the floor, scooped up a blood stained hand phaser that lay discarded in the middle of the morbid battlefield. “Commander, I must remind you that we have only nine minutes and twenty one seconds before the shuttle departs, and the journey back to it from the upper levels will take at least three.”
“Then we’ll have to do this fast,” Riker replied, glancing around for any new signs of opposition. “Let’s go.”
One pulse. And then two more. The creature slumped to the deck plate, its small head scored with three smoking fist-sized holes. Before it had even finished its death twitches though, it was engulfed by a wave of its brethren, clattering heedlessly over the body, all focused on what lay beyond. Several more beasts fell a mere meter beyond where the first fatality lay, but the rest pushed on forward, ignoring the losses and the red bolts hiss past their scabrous hides.
Master Chief ceased the hail of deadly fire for a moment to slam his only spare cartridge he had into his blaster pistol, his legs still propelling him away from the surging horde of alien creatures. Keeping pace alongside him, Lt. Commander Worf continued to lay down fire, the phaser he had requisitioned from the survivors’ hiding place sending beast after beast to the floor with controlled beams of crimson energy. The Chief appreciated the help the Klingon was providing, and the two warriors had been able to keep their small group ahead of the wave of attacking creatures, but both were running low on ammunition, and the enemy were moving more quickly than they were, slowed as they were by the tight passages. The Chief had is own impediment; just ahead of the two men, Ensign Ogawa pushed forward as quickly as she could, forced to bear the load of the unconscious survivor limp in her arms over her arm. The officer was performing admirably under the circumstances, but she simply could not move fast enough, and even now she was slowing, adrenaline powered muscles quickly giving way under the load.
His pistol loaded, Master Chief snapped off a few more shots before shouting to Worf over the din that the hunting pack was making. “Give me your weapon and take the survivor. I can hold them back while you shift the weight.” Worf glanced at the man’s opaque face plate, his frown visible even behind his suit’s visor. The Chief knew men and women like the Lt. Commander; they disliked letting off the guns when there was an enemy still alive in sight. He could respect the feeling, but he hoped that the officer could see that they had to move more or the alien horde would overwhelm them.
After a few more pulses from his weapon, Worf nodded and grunted over the comm, “Catch.” With his free hand, the spartan plucked the phaser out of the air as it flew, and brought both weapons to bear on their pursuers as Worf accelerated to catch up with Ogawa. Master Chief pulsed the phaser’s control stud, and nearly lost the weapon as it belched its deadly wave of energy; it was slightly better designed than the side arms the soldier had seen on the Enterprise, but the thing was still an ergonomic nightmare, he was surprised that security officers didn’t kill themselves when they tried to use them. Adjusting his grip for the weapon’s unusual sleek shape, the Chief slowed his running rate slightly as Worf shifted the survivor to more evenly distribute the weight between himself and Ogawa.
Three more beasts fell under a hail of well aimed pulses and beams, but more simply took there place, joining with the main force from side passages, holes in the ceiling, and the doors that lined the walls. As soon as the four of them had left the coolant chamber, they had been swarmed by the first of the beings, who had apparently come from the darkened Main Engineering. Master Chief guessed that the hisses and shrieks the creatures were making were calling more of their kin to join the hunt, a signal that living prey had been found. They’re behavior was very similar to that of the accursed Flood, although the Spartan was thankful that at least these creatures went down far more easily than the parasitic bastards.
The Federation officers and their motionless charge turned down a side corridor and the Chief followed close behind, his weapons pulsing as they rapidly ran out of power. “We are almost to the lift,” Worf called out from ahead. Mentally, the Chief counted his ammo; the pistol in his hand had only four shots left, and the phaser most likely would not last any longer, its power cell indicator flashing a dangerously low number in red. Behind him, the creatures kept on coming, slashing at the walls, the floor, and each other with clawed feet to get at their selected prey. The closest were a mere dozen meters from the Chief, and they probably would be far closer if the beings didn’t periodically jam the hallway with the sheer weight of their numbers, stalling the horde until the ones farther back could leap over the stalled leaders. They weren’t very smart, the Chief noted as he picked off one of them, but they made up for it with sheer numbers and persistence unshaken by mounting casualties.
Without warning, one of the shadowed doors between the Chief and the others exploded open, revealing a mass of flesh and living armor which burst forth into the hall, nearly knocking the spartan off his feet and causing his shields to flicker slightly. The Chief quickly regained his footing and tried to aim his guns at the new threat, but before he could, a blow like the impact of a small tank smashed against his chest, almost completely draining his shields and sending him flying a meter down the hall. Just barely to keep on his feet, the soldier, noting that the phaser had slipped from his grasp, opened up on the thing. As the bolts found they’re marks at points along the thing’s head and torso, the Chief caught a good look at it; a humanoid mass of reddish scales and sinew, one of the creatures that had attacked the Enterprise, to great effect. It was smaller than the creatures he had seen on the Federation flagship, but was horrific and menacing nonetheless. Suddenly, as the being reeled from the blaster wounds, Master Chief remembered just how the boarders had inflicted the most damage on the ship, and flung himself as far away as he could, leaping to cover the still fleeing Federation officers.
An instant later, a huge explosion rocked the area and chunks of superheated flesh and metal rammed into the Chief’s already weakened shielding. Staggering, the soldier pushed forward, feeling a burning sensation spread over his back. The three in front of him had been mostly shielded from the blast, but a few fragments of shrapnel had apparently penetrated his shielding and the body glove under his armor plating. As he urged the somewhat dazed Worf and Ogawa forward, he fervently hoped that the medical officer had something with her that could seal the hole long enough for him to pass through the breached part of the ship.
The flood of alien creatures, halted momentarily by the other creature’s detonation, were on the move again, swarming over hole that the blast had made, as eager as ever to set upon their fleeing prey. Emboldened even further by the lack of fire from the Chief’s now empty blaster, they surged forth hungrily, rapidly overtaking the bedraggled rescue team. Even as the hallway they were in ended and the turbolifts were in sight, the foremost of the creatures leapt at the Spartan’s back with mindless glee. Unfortunately for the creature, a thin ribbon of red energy swept over its body, and the thing found that half its head was missing.
Standing at the end of the passage, Riker and Data stood, they’re weapons spitting out covering fire upon the rushing force. As Worf and the others came within arm’s reach, the commander flipped a switch on his rifle, and the weapon’s pulses intensified dramatically in speed, shredding the hunting animals as they came too close, and giving the one’s behind them momentary pause. Taking advantage of the lull, Data and the Chief urged the others into the waiting compartment, Riker behind them, his weapon still spraying fire on the packed wall of hissing death.
As the commander backed into the packed lift, a bellow resounded down the hallway, and another of the humanoids came into view. This one was large than the first, its huge clawed arms smashing aside lesser creatures as it strode towards the turbolift, tiny, obscured eyes fixed on its inhabitants. “I think now would be a good time to leave,” Worf said earnestly, his eyes fixed on the lumbering monstrosity. Data punched the inner door control, and the barrier slid shut just as the beast reached the lift bank. With a loud bang, the thing bashed its fists against the doors, leaving two huge dents in the metal, but before it could strike again, the lift shot upwards, leaving Engineering behind.
After he had caught his breath, Riker glanced over at Worf, who was propping the unconscious survivor against the wall, and grinned jokingly. “Why Mr. Worf, you actually sounded a little frightened back there.” The Klingon glared at him. “No sir, I…” He was cut off as a tremendous explosion erupted from far below them, sending shockwaves though the lift tunnel and forcing the compartment’s inhabitants into the walls roughly. “I was simply stating the course of action I found most reasonable considering the situation. Was there a flaw in my reasoning?” Riker glanced at the floor unnerved and then shook his head in silence.
The gardens that lay in the north western quadrant of the Imperial Palace were a truly anachronistic thing indeed, a patch of life and greenery amid a sea of cold machinery and durasteel. There was no doubt that the late Palpatine was quite twisted and insane behind his outer façade of cold control, and his whims were quite often very erratic, as evidenced by the patch of vibrant beauty that Darth Vader now walked through, deep in thought. In the fading light of Coruscant’s distant sun, the odd colorations and forms of various plants from a dozen alien worlds melded into a living tapestry. Of course the elegant beauty of the place was completely lost on the dark lord, but somehow being surrounded by life helped his thoughts flow more clearly, something he was in dire need of after the chaotic events of the last few weeks.
As he walked down a trim cobblestone path, Vader reflected on the meeting that had occurred earlier in the day, deep within the fortress of steel that towered above him. He had debriefed Captain Meterin Coloth in person relating to his encounter with the wormhole, and the crew of this USS Enterprise. It was certainly not common procedure for the ruler of the Galactic Empire to personally conference with a lowly Star Destroyer captain, but Vader had taken a special interest in the unique situation, especially after encountering several of the beings who were supposedly extra-galactic in origin. Vader flexed his right hand slowly, recalling the strange reptilian creature that had beaten him off the bridge during the destruction of the rebellion at Sullust. Not destruction, he reminded himself, a few rebel ships had escaped the fray, but most of its leadership and its fleet had been wiped from the face of the galaxy, as had the rebel forces that remained in the Mon Calamari system. There were survivors, but they would soon be eliminated, and the galaxy, his galaxy would at last be at peace.
According to the Captain’s report, the rift that the Enterprise had emerged from had collapsed not long after the capture of the Federation ship’s crew. The thousand or so prisoners Coloth had taken were now enroot to a secret Ubiqtorate detention facility where they would be more thoroughly interrogated and held until a further use was determined for them. A notable exception from those incarcerated was the ship’s command staff, who with the aid of a squad of rebel terrorists had escaped the ship before Vader’s arrival. The dark lord had considered executing the captain for his failure and the loss of information that it would bring, but he had decided against it. With the rift now gone, any knowledge garnered from the prisoners would most likely have been useless, the loss had not been too great. It was a shame though, Vader reflected, if the portal had remained open, it might have meant a whole knew domain for the Empire to dominate, a place in need of Vader’s brand of order, and the teachings of the Sith.
There had been another attendant at the briefing, and although she had not spoken at all throughout, she had garnered far more of Vader’s interest. Aayla Secura was powerful in the force, more so than he had first suspected. She was also progressing down the true path, away from the weakness of the Old Jedi, far more quickly than he had anticipated. There was a deep darkness in her that could be set free, if she could harness it, Aayla Secura would make a formidable Lady of the Sith indeed. A worthy apprentice.
At that thought, a chill ran down his spin, and Vader paused, his mind shifting towards different matters almost as if by its own volition. He thought again of the medical chamber buried deep within the palace, his son floating between life and death in a bacta tank. An image of the man’s face drifted into his thoughts, lifeless and tallow, and suddenly felt an emotion he was quite unaccustomed to well up from deep within his cold heart. Regret.
With a hiss and electrical clatter, two blades of energy met at the center, on blood red, the other bright green. As the pair strained and pushed against one another, their combined luminescence cast the figures wielding them in an eerie glow. Nightmare mask enhanced by the contrasting energies before him, Darth Vader stared down at his son, who looked back, his face set with concentration and sorrow. Luke Skywalker’s grip tightened on his saber hilt and he pushed forward, hoping that the ebony titan would give ground. However, Vader stood there immovable, his right fist clenched around the red weapon, while the other hung at his side at the ready.
The two stood there like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Their gaze was a duel in itself, the clash of two irreconcilable beliefs, the strife between a father and son long at long and terrible odds. Neither would give ground, there was only defeat or victory, and were both determined to gain the latter. After what seemed like a century, Luke’s arms finally began to buckle, and he was forced to break his saber free of Vader’s, stepping back to gain better footing. Vader saw the move, broke his saber free at the same instant, and lunged in too strike again.
Hammer blow after hammer blow, the red blade came down again on Luke, and each time he deflected and parried, trying to push back at his father, but with each strike he fell back even further. As he desperately intercepted each slash and jab, the young Jedi’s resolve began to flicker. He was too powerful; only seconds into the fight Luke was already giving ground. Maybe he hadn’t been ready, perhaps Vader and the Dark Side that drove him were more powerful, greater than anything Luke could hope to achieve. Sweat began to bead on the man’s forehead, and he fell back even further.
Then, in the back of his mind, he felt a comforting presence; he could feel the force flowing through him anew. A gentle hand brushed against him, and he could feel the fatigue in his limbs melt away, muscles and tendons alive with the warmth and strength of the force. Perhaps Master Obi-wan and Yoda were still with him. Reinvigorated and with new hope, Luke switched his tactics.
As Vader brought his saber down again, instead of falling back to meet it, the Jedi ducked and evade the blow, bringing his saber around to attack the sith’s undefended side. Taking the new move in stride, Vader brought his blade down to block his flank, pulling it in closer too him. Luke now pressed forward lunging while the dark lord was off balance, sending his blade high at Vader’s head. Again, he easily parried, but it cost his position, and Darth Vader was forced to step back. Luke continued the assault, his weapon humming as he swung the blade at his opponent again and again, high and low, forcing Bader to adjust to every attack. As if only now feeling the threat his son posed, Vader’s movements became suddenly more focused and increased in speed, and Luke’s advanced was slowed, but he still had the upper hand, for now.
The combatants continued the deadly dance, weapons thrumming with energy as they met again and again. The two moved out into the open center of the docking bay, trading advances and retreats, each testing their opponent for weaknesses and looking for missteps. As he parried a horizontal chop from his son, Vader spied a large supply crate lying against the wall a dozen meters away, and with the smallest nod of the head and a simple thought, the heavy object hurtled towards Luke. His senses alert for such attacks, Vader had used them during their previous combat on Bespin, the young Jedi anticipated the attack, and leapt into the air just as the crate slammed into the deck plate below him, screeching as it skidded along the floor.
Angling his flight with the force, Luke’s jump propelled him several meters into the air, and with a well timed flip, he landed behind his father, saber ready to begin the attack anew. However, the sith had sensed the move from his son, and was already turned to face him, and so they’re duel continued without pause.
“I can feel the power of the force surging within you Luke,” Vader intoned as Luke deftly avoided one of his lunges. “Let it flow freely, feel the darkness that lies underneath and take hold of it. It will give you far greater power than you can possibly imagine, and clarity of mind.”
“I know what the dark side has to offer, and I know what it shall do if I take that power,” Luke responded, dodging to the side as Vader tried to force him up against the hull of a dormant shuttle. “The dark side destroys all who touch it, corrupts them until all they can feel is anger and hatred. It is not the path to clarity and peace, only chaos and death lie down that road.” As he spoke, Luke’s offensive picked up momentum, his own words giving him new faith.
“Your mind is still polluted by the teachings of that old fool. Think Luke, they would have you destroy your own father; topple an Empire that has at last brought order to a decaying galaxy. What kind of truth is that? What peace can this conflict bring? The so called light of the force is a lie, something pulled over your eyes by slaves to the old order, desperate to keep their own power even at the cost of the destruction of us all.” Vader’s blade sliced into Luke’s, and once more they were locked, tying father and son together once more. “Think my son, what are you feelings telling you? This blind devotion to a failed order is wrong, it will destroy you. Embrace the darkness Luke; you know it is the only true path.”
As he stood locked in combat in mortal combat there, Luke’s resolve began to wane again. The little voice in the back of his head that had been there since he had learned of his true parentage emerged, whispering to him that perhaps Vader was right. Yoda and Obi-wan had sent him to destroy his father at all costs, that didn’t seem to be enlightened, the path to peace and wisdom. They were so adamant that Anakin could not be turned; perhaps they were afraid of what Luke might see if he tried, perhaps his father really had discovered the true will of the force. Luke’s saber dipped lower as he felt the surety that had strengthen him before fade, the demons of confusion and conflict taking there place.
Behind his bleak mask, Vader smiled. He too could feel the conflict in his son. Perhaps it was yet possible to turn him, Obi-wan’s poison had to taken hold fully. There was no desire in Vader to destroy his son. Darth Vader prepared to speak again, to push Luke further down the dark path, but suddenly Luke burst into motion, wrenching his blade free of the lock and bring it up to attack again. Vader could feel the seeds of anger and doubt spreading their roots quickly through his mind. As Vader moved his own weapon to intercept the blow, he reflected that perhaps this was a better method than talk after anyways. Luke had to taste the power the dark side could offer before he would fully be ready to take his place by Vader’s side.
“My Lord?”
The sith looked up to find himself still in the garden, now standing at the edge of the plot of greenery, staring out over a windy precipice that was the edge of the palace rampart down at the city far below. Vader was irritated with himself; once again he had allowed his mind to wander away, unchecked by his meditations. He should be focused on driving away the doubt and contemplation that had cropped up since the destruction of the Emperor, not encouraging it. This was no way for a lord of the Sith to behave, it was weak, almost Jedi-like.
From behind, he heard the nervous rustling of clothing and turned; Aayla Secura stood there, watching him uncomfortably from a respectful distance. “What is it?” he asked, his voice brooding. The Twi’lek woman straightened sharply and lowered her gaze. “You had informed me to meet you hear at sunset. I am eager to begin my training.” Vader could feel that she was afraid of him. This was satisfactory, fear was key to control, if an underling did not fear and respect their master, they were susceptible to doubt, insubordination, and treachery. He also felt ambition from her, and latent power. These things were also gratifying; if molded properly, she would make a fine sith indeed. And then there was anger, he was glad to see it had not faded when they had destroy the Emperor, without anger and the need for vengeance, a sith would be weak, without purpose. Her anger was undirected with Palpatine now gone, Vader needed to give her an outlet to allow it to grow.
His cap buffeting in the mild wind, Vader began to march toward her, his hand moving to the saber at his side. If she was to become one with the dark, she would need to know how to fight as a sith. However, before he had gone a meter, he paused, his senses alerting him towards the palace. Something was amiss. Aayla looked on in confusion as her new master stared past her.
“There is an intruder in this place, nearby,” Vader said, more to himself than to his apprentice. It was barely imperceptible to him, but he could detect a being nearby, full of hatred and malice. Directed at him. The being was not strong in the force, but he could feel it with the intruder none the less. He probed deeper, trying to locate the creature, but it was difficult; whatever it was, it was skilled at shielding its thoughts. However, as he tried to trace the being, he was able to make out one thought, too strong in its mind to hide.
Even before the small rebel shuttle had set down in the Republica’s main landing bay, the dim starfield beyond the chamber’s entry port surged into a blur of bright streaks and then was replaced by a deep swirling blackness; they were at last in the safety of hyperspace again. As the ship’s hatch popped open and Riker stepped out, still in his survival suit, he could see that there were several people waiting for him there.
“Will,” Captain Picard said, stepping forward. “Were you able to obtain any information from the computer core?” With a hiss of pressurized oxygen, Riker removed his helmet and nodded. “Yes sir. And we located a survivor.” Out from the shuttle hatch, two more pressure-suited figures emerged, carrying between them an unconscious woman in a tattered Starfleet uniform. As they set her down on a nearby crate, the last two figures exited the ship, the Master Chief, and Ensign Ogawa, who tore off her helmet and rushed to the woman’s side, her tricorder out.
Jacen Solo, who had been standing with Picard along with a few other Federation crewmen, furrowed his brow and moved up along side the battered survivor. Even without Ogawa’s tricorder he could tell that she was starved, dehydrated, and emotionally damaged. Trying to ease her tortured mind through subtle force suggestion, he waved a passing mechanic over. “Contact the Medical bay, this woman needs immediate medical attention.” As the man ran off to transmit the message, the nurse sent Jacen an applicative nod and the two of them turned their attention back to the woman.
“Captain, I will require access to this ships computer systems to repair and compile the information we downloaded into a useable form,” Data said, handing Picard a pair of datapads. He glanced at them and nodded. “Yes, I’ll see if I can arrange something with Captain Ryceed.” Picard gave the electronic pads back to the android and turned to Riker, who had completely shed his atmosphere suit by now. “Did you discover what happened over there? Any clues to who or what did this?” Riker, Worf, and the Chief exchanged weary glances.
“Well sir, we had an encounter with the beings that disabled the ship,” the Commander began. “Vicious, animal-like things; there were dozens of them in the Engineering section, probably throughout the rest of the ship as well. After we collected what we could of the navigational memory and flight logs and Worf and the others located their survivor, they rushed us en mass, I’m sure we’d all be dead if we hadn't been able to get into one of the functioning turbolifts. From what I could gather from the Captain’s Log, the ship was attacked and boarded by this force, and then drifted through the wormhole after the crew had been wiped out.”
Picard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This is disturbing. Were you able to pin point the wormhole’s position?” Riker shook his head. “There wasn’t time. However, Data hopes that the information is somewhere among the memory files we were able to download.”
“Captain, I believe that those thing were the same creatures that invaded the Enterprise.” This was from Master Chief, who had been standing silently up until that point, surreptitiously fingering a few patches of what looked like medical sealant along his lower back. Mildly surprised that he had spoken, Picard looked at the opaque faceplate intently. “Why do you say that?”
Riker frowned, reminded of his dark suspicions, and spoke up in the cyborg’s stead. “As we were fleeing the boarders on the Cornwall, several humanoid beings identical the ones that contributed to the Enterprise’s destruction pursued us. One of them detonated in the same way as was reported before, injuring Master Chief and nearly killing Worf and Ensign Ogawa.”
Riker watched as the Captain processed the news, and the veiled concern growing on his face suggested he had reached the same conclusion he had. The commander leaned in a bit closer, trying to obscure is his voice slightly. “Jean-Luc, from what few Log entries I watched, I believe there is a strong possibility that a serious situation has developed in the Alpha Quadrant during our absence. On top of that, the dates on some of those entries might…” Riker’s worried exposition was cut short as several new figures hurried towards them across the hangar deck.
Two medics, one human and the other a short, fan-eared Chandra-Fan, as well as a squat medical droid hurried past them and began to move the unconscious woman onto a hover stretcher. Walking jerkily behind them, a weary-looking Tassadar halted in front of Picard and the others. “I am gratified to see that you survived,” the Templar intoned physically, usually commanding voice tinged with continued exhaustion. “Tell me what you saw, I must confirm my depleted senses.”
Somewhat bewildered by the alien’s behavior, Riker repeated what he had told Picard moments ago, adding a more detailed description of their attackers at Tassadar’s request. When he had finished, the alien stood a moment in silence, and he faltered slightly, tipping over as though he was about to fall. Picard and Worf moved to steady him, but the Templar waved them off. “It is nothing, I am still weary.” He sighed. “Well, I am certain now. Commander, those creatures on that vessel were the Zerg, though how they arrived there, I do not know.”
The Starfleet officers looked at him quizzically. “The Zerg?” Picard asked. Tassadar stared at the man silently, as if lost in thought, and then shook his sizeable head. “No, not her, I am still too weak. We should continue this later, somewhere more private.” Picard was eager to hear what had so visibly disturbed the Templar, but he was right, and besides, the middle of a crowded hangar deck was no place for a debriefing or conference.
“Alright, we should be able to use one of the secondary conference chambers on deck nine, when it is convenient for you,” he said, gesturing diplomatically to Tassadar. The alien acknowledged the arrangement and moved slowly off, back to quiet meditation. Picard noticed that the Medics had already departed with the survivor, Jacen and Ogawa with them. “Mr. Data, Commander, lets see if we can gain access to the ship’s computer,” the Captain continued genially. “Mr. Worf, perhaps you and Master Chief should follow the others to sick bay. You seem a bit worse for wear.”
The group broke apart, setting off for different hatches and turbolifts as the mechanics and pilots who had watched the unusual gathering returned to their duties. As they dispersed, no paid any notice to a small, whitish box that perched in an alcove of one of the magnetic field regulators that protruded from the floor around the ship entry port. No one paid any notice as the tiny light on its otherwise featureless face stopped blinking, glowing now a solid, unchanging blue.
Rays of solar light, dimmed by photogenic cells impregnated into the transparisteel through which they passed illuminated a man’s stern and clean-shave face with a gentle glow. Slowly, a smile crept across the man’s lips, his eyes glinting as he stared aimlessly into the blackness of empty space. “Have they jumped?”
Behind him, a younger, dark-skinned man snapped to attention. “Yes sir, only a few moments ago.” The man at the window nodded slowly. “Are we receiving the tracking signal?” The officer replied in the affirmative, and the man’s smile broadened, a feral grin. “Very good. Lieutenant, instruct the Broad Sword to investigate the area where the rebel vessel held position before entering hyperspace. Have her captain hold position there until I relay further orders.” The other man responded with a quick, respectful bow and proceeded to a nearby communications station.
The older man remained at the viewport, absorbing the soft stellar glow, elation swelling within him, anticipation for what would come, what his actions this day would earn him. With a lazy hand gesture, another junior officer approached and bowed briefly. “Order the helm to move us out of the star’s distortion field. Then relay a message to sector control in the Karasee system. Tell them,” he paused, relishing the words. “The hunt is over.”
You can’t do this. He’s too powerful, you’re too weak. It’s not too late to get away. You must flee!
Trembling, the woman tried to suppress the seditious thoughts, and realigned her eye with the weapon’s sight. Magnified a dozen times and sharpened to crystal clarity, a single figure dominated the circular lens in front of the woman’s eye. Gulping to clear a knot that had formed in her throat, she cycled through the streamlined sight’s view modes, making certain that conditions were optimal, that the shot was clear. Infrared, thermal, magnetic, electronic, all registered the path as being clear; there was no doubt, it was the ideal shot. Normally, the woman would have squeezed the firing stud on the long, smooth sniper rifle she had propped up in front of her without hesitation, but this time, her mind was in conflict, killer instincts clouded.
Despite the cooling breeze that brushed her long mane of luxurious red hair, beads of sweat were still forming on her bare forehead. An empty feeling in her gut reminded the woman of what she had felt but a week before, a horrible, wrenching explosion, setting fire to her being. For a sort while, she had been adrift in a sea of agony, but the feeling she had been left with when the pain had passed was far worse. There was emptiness, a lack of control, of direction, of confidence. The only thing that had kept her going, the sole anchor to her past life was a simple command, burned into her consciousness. You will kill Darth Vader.
Trying to calm herself with slow, rhythmic breathing, she closed her eyes, opened them again, and then focused her mind on the objective. Voices of reason, of self-preservation still intruded on her focus, but she ignored them, the order, the last order of a great man, must be carried out. The target was moving now, the opportunity would disappear in a few moments, it was now or never. Using what concentration she could still muster to steady her trigger finger, she fired.
An angled projectile hurtled from the rifle’s bore and crossed the long distance from the attacker to her target in only a fraction of a second. Not even the most advanced combat droid in existence could dodge or even detect the bullet before it impacted, and certainly no mere organic. However, this target was not bound by the limitations imposed by simple technology and biology; the force was with him. Even before the deadly round had traveled a meter, the figure had sensed the danger it posed, and with nearly incomprehensible speed, turned to face it and raised a gloved hand.
The projectile surged through the dusk air unopposed until it was inches from the kill, but then it halted. The tiny sensor buried in the projectile’s nose sensed the loss of momentum, waited for the estimated milliseconds necessary for armor penetration, and then triggered its own tiny detonator. However, during the minute period of time that it took for this procedure to occur, the bullet had been propelled by an invisible force a dozen meters away, out into the abyss above the vast Coruscant cityscape. Several grams of baridium ignited, and for a brief moment, a vibrant, orb-like blossom of explosive energy hung in the dim sky, and then faded.
The woman cursed violently, and rather than attempt another futile shot, quickly disassembled the rifle, shoved it into a large pocket on the back of her slender black bodysuit. Dropping silently down from her now compromised vantage point onto an empty walkway below, she set off quickly, alert for guards and security sensors, a cold chill settling in her gut. The single order still rang in her mind, ordering her to go back, attack the figure, the Dark Lord of the Sith, again. To terminate his miserable existence. No, she thought furiously, now is not the time. There are other ways, other times. Right now, escape is paramount; nothing else can be accomplished today.
It was a foolish plan, the woman reflected as she pried open a service hatch set to one side of the walkway and slipped through it, into one of the main power regulation nexuses that dotted the interior of the outer ramparts of the Imperial Palace. Perhaps before the horrible feeling, the sensation of Emperor Palpatine’s death, when she could still wield the force and help guide the projectiles from that weapon, perhaps then, the desperate plan might have worked, but now it was an ineffectual gesture. She would have to think of another method of attack, something Vader could not foresee, but she would find a way. That traitorous abomination would be destroyed. He had robbed her of her life, of her livelihood, her purpose in life, the only man she had ever really known, and most of all; he had robbed her of the force.
Mara Jade, assassin and Emperor’s Hand, slipped over a series of pulsing power conduits slipped down a crawlway hidden by a false monitor panel, guided by knowledge of secret routes earned from being in the Emperor’s highest confidence. Pausing to gather her bearings, she climbed down a narrow, wall-mounted ladder and located a hatch on the lower floor, one that would lead into the inhabited portions of the grand palace, frequented by guards, stormtroopers, and techs. From there, it was only a short run to a secondary landing bay, from which she could commandeer an escape vessel and fade away into the crowded sky lanes of the city beyond.
Drawing a blaster pistol from a hip holster, Mara placed an ear to the hatch, and sure it was clear, slipped out into the hall beyond. The passage was vacant, brightly lit, and constructed in the same spartan, metallic style as the inner workings of imperial warships. Mara knew she would have to navigate the place quickly to avoid detection, and raced off, her padded boots making little sound on the bare durasteel floor.
From around a bend in the hall, she could hear the rhythmic footsteps of imperial stormtroopers, no doubt now on alert. Thinking quickly, the assassin tried one doorway, found it sealed, and then tried the next. It slid open easily, and Mara ducked inside just as the glistening white helmet of an imperial soldier came into view. Inside the chamber, a small monitoring station, a lone brown-clad officer was rising from his chair in alarm, hand fumbling for his sidearm and mouth open, beginning a call for help. Mara surged into motion, crossing the room in the blink of an eye and impacting the man’s stomach with an elbow. He staggered and gasp, his cry cut short, but before he could back away or pull his pistol loose, Mara delivered several more blows, knocking away the weapon and throwing the officer off balance in a single, fluid motion. With a final hammer blow to the jaw, she knocked the man to the floor, motionless. The struggle took only six seconds.
The rest of the journey to the hangar was uneventful; Mara ran into no other guards and was able to easily disable the security cams in her path with codes she had been given while in service of the late Emperor. She was uneasy; the escape was going too well, it had to be a trap. Perhaps she should double back, exit the palace through the waste removal systems far below. No, she reassured herself, it was too late for that, and besides, no one knew about the shortcut though the power nexus, she had discovered it for herself. Even Vader was not powerful enough to track her accurately from this distance, she thought, feeling a measure of confidence return.
Mara Jade soon reached an intersection, one of the paths leading to the landing bay and escape. However, she took the other; Mara knew that the palace would be in lockdown right now, and all the hangar doors would be sealed. She found the flight control room door nearby unlocked, and made short work of the techs guarding, laying them out cold before they even noticed her presence. Pulling one of the unconscious men off a control panel that sat beneath a viewport that overlooked the bay, she entered a few hurried commands into the security control computer, and found that it was indeed in lock down.
Racking her memory, Mara tried one bypass code, and then another, the hairs on the back of her neck raising in warning as the seconds ticked by. At last, one of the codes worked, and the noise of machinery rumbled from the chamber below as the hangar blast door raised, revealing the towers of the Imperial City below, glinting with the last rays of a setting sun. Smiling slightly, Mara backed away from the control room viewport and pulsed three blaster bolts into with her pistol. The thin transparisteel shattered easily, and the lithe woman sprang onto a thin ledge that ran under the shattered pane. Holstering her weapon, Mara glanced around the bay below; empty save for a pair of small, parked cargo skiffs. Satisfied it was clear, she grabbed a tubular power casing that ran the height of the wall and slid nimbly down, falling the last meter and hitting the ground running.
Crossing the hangar deck in mere seconds, she halted at the nearest skiff and began to furiously enter a code into its locking interface. After a few tries, there was a satisfying click from within the small cockpit section, and the entry hatch swung open. Now smiling broadly, Mara stooped and moved to enter the cockpit…then froze. Her danger sense, with the force or without, had just begun to blare madly, and she pivoted were she crouched, blaster pistol in hand again.
Striding through the entryway she had bypassed was none other than the Dark Lord of the Sith himself, her quarry. She faltered in shock and horror for a moment; how could she have been tracked so quickly? How could he have cornered her so easily? The moment of shock passed though, and her hunter’s instincts took over. Her pistol lit up three times in quick succession, and the trio of crimson bolts raced at the menacing black giant, how made no attempt to evade them. Instead, he simply held out his right hand, and the bolts splashed harmlessly off it, deadly force transmuted into harmless puffs of heat. Mara took the failure in stride, squeezing off a few more shots as she jumped up and flipped over the blunt nose of the skiff, seeking some cover there.
Darth Vader easily intercepted the new blasts with his palms and moved forward, gesturing at a fuel line that hung above the parked skiff. Immediately, the cable sprang to life, ripping from the wall and plummeting down onto the far side of the vehicle, a jet of foul-smelling liquid coming with it. However, Mara was no long there, instead she was edging swiftly along the far wall, diving behind empty cargo boxes as she aimed for the next skiff. Vader continued forward, not even bothering to increase the rate of his stride.
From one of the pockets of her bodysuit, Mara pulled three large orbs, priming two and tossing them at the Sith lord with unerring accuracy. With a bat of the dark cyborg’s hand, the two devices altered their paths, rocketing into the ceiling and detonating there with tremendous force, enough to cause the floor plating to rumble and leave a ten meter wide maw in the metal far above. “You underestimate me Mara Jade,” Vader said calmly.
Mara however was not listening; in fact, she seemed to have disappeared entirely, replaced by a cloud of white smoke that was belching from the third orb, which was spinning idly on the floor. With a wave of his hand the cloud dispersed, but the woman was still nowhere to be seen. Now Vader reached out with his feelings, could sense her still very nearby, afraid, desperate to get away. Pacing over to where the gas grenade had been dropped, Vader stared at the closest wall, where he noted a shadow flight from view inside a maintenance crawl space, its hatch cast roughly aside on the deck plate. “I tire of this,” Vader said to himself in a weary monotone, and with a flick of a gauntleted wrist, the struggling Mara Jade found herself being dragged back out into the open, left leg caught in an invisible grip.
Desperately, she tore a small vibroblade free from a sleeve inside one boot and threw it at his masked visage; he smacked the weapon out of the air with ease. His right hand formed a loose fist, and Mara was dragged into the air, floating by her neck a meter off the deck plate. She gasped and pried at her throat as it began to close off, her legs flailing madly in the air. Vader walked back to the center of the bay, floating her along with him in this state, saying nothing as her oxygen-deprived brain began to fade. After a few more agonizing seconds, the vise around her neck disappeared, and she tumbled unceremoniously to the hard floor.
Gasping for air, Mara propped herself up, vision clearing enough to see that there were others there now, several armed stormtroopers and Imperial Guardsmen, as well as a female Twi’lek who stared at her curiously. “I expected more from one of Palpatine’s hands,” Vader rumbled from behind her. “The conniving fool sent you to kill me? A futile attempt, from a delusional and insane old man.” Mara glared at the Dark Lord with hatred, trying to move against him, press the attack, but she found herself pinned to the floor, helpless. “You will pay for what you’ve done Vader,” she spat. “There are others, still loyal to our Emperor and what he believed in. They will reveal you, show the Empire what you truly are, a usurper to a throne you do not deserve, and eventually, they will find a way to kill you.”
Darth Vader glared down at her. “Foolish girl, it does not matter what the subjects of the Empire know, it does not matter if discover that I removed power from that insane creature’s grip personally. All that matters is that this Empire is whole again, the cancer clouding its true purpose removed, replaced by a strong leader, one who the people of this galaxy will obey absolutely. I have crushed the rebellion, and soon this domain will know order once more, the order of the Sith resurrected, untainted by Palpatine’s greed and paranoia. No Jade, this new order cannot be stopped, not by you, or any who would cling to the ways of an emperor now mercifully dead.”
He paused again, stooping down towards her. A single powerful hand grabbed her already bruised neck and wrenched her upright, so that she now stared straight into Vader’s masked eyes. “You will help me seek out those who would attempt to undo what I have done, give me the names of Palpatine’s most loyal confidantes. And then you will divulge all of the secrets that the old man imparted to you during your service. He knew of abilities, places, things that could prove to be of value to my new order, and I sense that he may have implanted some of that knowledge in you, whether you know of it or not.” Vader pulled her even closer, and Mara could clearly hear his deep, raspy breathing, not breaking rhythm even as he spoke. “And then, if you do all of what I have asked, then perhaps you shall live. I sense potential in you, talents Palpatine did not taint. Consider this my words Mara Jade, for they are your only path to absolution. Do not follow them, and you will die.”
With that, Darth Vader released her and gestured to one of the nearby stormtroopers. “Disarm her and move her to a holding cell.” The trooper and his subordinates moved to comply, and the Twi’lek, her eyes still fixed curiously on Mara, walked over to the Dark Lord.
Mara Jade watched helplessly as the white armored soldiers approached, blasters all aimed squarely at her head. As one trooper undid a pair of shackles from his belt, Mara watched Vader as the Twi’lek woman plied him with quiet inquiries. Pure hatred and fury curled her upper lip, but within despair was growing quickly, she had failed her master, and now she was the prisoner of the one she had tried to destroy. She would not let that monstrosity rip any of the Emperor’s secrets from her mind, would rather die. It was with that thought that she remembered one last weapon she had brought along, an implement of last resort. As the stormtrooper began to shackle one wrist, the other contorted, triggering a small, flimsy panel to slide into her palm. Adorned by a single red button, when triggered, the device would set off the permacrete detonators she had stowed in the soles of her boots. Their combined force would vaporize every solid object within twelve meters. She had this one last trail to go through, one last chance to fulfill her goal.
As the trooper moved for her other hand, Mara closed her eyes, took one last draft of cool city air, and moved her middle finger over the small, red button. It was over.
Mara Jade’s corpse fell to the floor in a heap of cauterized flesh. A slash that had swept from here abdomen, across her chest and severed her trigger arm had been the assassin’s undoing, and the deliverer of this final failure stood over her, breathing heavily. The stormtroopers and guardsmen stood back in disbelief and shock as Aayla Secura stared down at her kill in mild shock, blue lightsaber still glowing in her hands. Darth Vader stepped up alongside her and glared down on what could have been an invaluable resource of information. “Explain,” he ordered the Twi’lek coldly. Aayla deactivated her saber and looked at her master, eyes betraying a mix of exhilaration and fear. “I…I apologize my lord, but I sensed that she was a danger to us. Look at her palm, a detonator.”
Vader did not spare a glance at the severed limb, instead focusing on his apprentice. Neither spoke for a long, foreboding moment. “You did well,” Vader said at last, his low voice revealing no emotion. Aayla looked up, surprised. She had expected a rage, punishment for depriving Lord Vader of his prize. “However, you must learn that a killing blow is not always necessary, even if the dark side tells you it is right to take that life. To disarm and inspire fear and obedience in a foe can far more useful. Rage, fury, passion, instinct. All these are strong sources of power, but without control and focus, they can destroy what you hope to achieve along with an enemy. This is your first lesson. Remember it well.”
Darth Vader stalked off without another word, pondering his own message as Aayla remained behind, contemplating her first cold-blooded kill. Lord Vader was right, she could have simply cut off the woman’s arm to the same effect, and still have left the information Jade carried intact, but something had compelled her to take that life, and she had done so. And now, as she looked down at the once living being, a warmth began to ripple through her, permeating her very being with a strange new emotion, completely alien. The lust for blood and power. The very thing that a lifetime of Jedi training had screamed against, fought to suppress, was taking root within her, feeding the fire of the dark side that now burned within her heart. And it was glorious.
The Arbiter moved steadily through the brightly lit, even hallways that dominated the Rebel starship’s center section, glad to be stretching his powerful leg muscles. For the last week, he had cloistered himself in the quarters he had been given, a small chamber that had belonged to an Umbaran Lieutenant killed at Sullust. He had not hidden himself away out of disgust for the humans that dominated the star cruiser as others of his species might do, but rather to try and come to terms with what had occurred since his awakening in the sick bay of the Enterprise not so long ago.
He had had to come to terms with many things since his arrival; the Covenant teachings and propaganda about humans that turned out to be far from the truth, the strong possibility that the holy Prophets were intentionally lying to their subjects and all that that entailed, and the underlying frustration at his sudden inability to try and save his own galaxy and way of life, the possibility that if he ever was able to return home, he might find it destroyed, destroyed by the foolishness of those he once revered. This last issue was the most dire and troubling, but the chaos that followed his arrival had not allowed much time for reflection on what was occurring around the Forerunner artifact from which he had been torn. Since the Republica had fled the destruction of its fleet, the Arbiter had nothing to do but reflect.
The idea of joining the others as they too waited for the long, relatively quiet trip to be over has occurred to him, but he wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea, not yet. The humans and humanoids he had fought alongside over the last few weeks had earned his admiration and even respect, and his inability to save the woman Crusher had disturbed him more than he had expected it would, but still, the idea of trying to socialize with them, know them better, went against a lifetime of zealous hatred and prejudice, parts of himself that would take a long time to fully repress.
However, this occasion was different. He had been relayed a message that the Enterprise survivors and even some rebel personnel were going to discuss what had been found on a derelict starship before the last jump into hyperspace, and what it meant for their attempts to locate a new wormhole, a discussion he had been invited to. The message had not been specific, and the Arbiter was left to wonder what type of vessel it was, and what relevant information it could possibly contain.
As he made his way to the small conference chamber that had been approved for the meeting, the Arbiter was relieved to see that none of the Alliance soldiers and crewers who moved through the passages around spared more than a passing glance in his direction. He did not wish to participate in a conversation with a curious passerby, although he did take interest in what seemed to be a general shift in attitude among them, a change that was almost palpable in the air. Before the Imperial attack, the Rebels he saw had been enthusiastic, eager to strike a blow to their enemy that it might never recover from. Now though, every pilot and marine had a dower expression and the air of a defeated soul. Even their oddly-shaped automatons seemed subdued. Of course, he could be misinterpreting their behavior, the Elite reflected, he was not yet very good at relating with humans, or even accurately telling them apart all the time, but he had been around soldiers all his life, and he knew the shame and hopelessness that defeat could bring. He had experienced it personally more than once, and he still bore the scars under his reflective armor.
The Arbiter paused at a turbolift bank, and checked his bearings mentally. The design of the ship, while more familiar than the Federation vessel he had been on briefly, was still quite dissimilar from the Covenant warship layout he was used to and he had not become acclimated to it yet. After a few moments of trying to check the deck and section indicators that were mounted next to the lift control panel, conveniently not in a script he could read, the Arbiter reluctantly began searching the hallway for someone who might direct him to the appropriate part of the ship.
One crewman, a young-looking male human caught his eye as he approached the same bank of turbolifts the Arbiter was standing near. Making sure that the Federation Universal Translator tucked into a side compartment of his armor was functioning, the Arbiter moved into his path. “Where is the deck nine, section four conference chamber?” he asked the startled human bluntly. The man stared up at the warrior and gulped; it occurred to the Elite that this human looked familiar. “Um, on deck nine,” the man responded, grinning uneasily. The Arbiter stared at him, unblinking and stonily serious.
The man’s smile quickly faded, and his voice began to waver slightly. “Ah, well yes, you wouldn’t know where that is after all. Sorry.” Swiftly, he moved around the Elite’s imposing figure and opened the turbolift door. “Here, I’ll guide you there. I’m heading in that direction anyways.” Stooping, the Arbiter entered the small platform with the human, who then typed a few commands into the inner interface.
As the mobile compartment disengaged from its magnetic holding claps and shot through the Republica’s inner workings, the two occupants were silent. Staring down at the human next to him out of the corner of his eye, the Arbiter suddenly remembered who the man was; Flitch, one of the Rebels who had been part of Major Truul’s infiltration team on the Imperial Star Destroyer Torrent. He seemed to have changed since the rout at Sullust, at least to the Arbiter’s eyes. Outwardly, he carried the small resigned, defeated air that pervaded the ship’s crew, but there was something more to this one, more deeply ingrained emotion. Tainted as they were by eventual failure and disgrace, his years as a Covenant fleetlord had given him experience dealing with lesser officers, and he had paid more attention to those under his command than most in such a lofty position. To know the motivations and motives of one’s soldiers is to know how to make them follow orders without question.
The turbolift at last came to a stop and Flitch directed the Arbiter out of the compartment and down an empty hallway. “Pretty empty down here,” the soldier commented. “Not really surprising, not many people would be using any of the briefing or conference rooms at a time like this. Nothing to plan until we rendezvous with command again, if command even makes it.”
Empty small talk, the Arbiter noted silently, he is talking to disguise nervousness. But what was he nervous about? It could not be the Elite’s imposing presence; they had met before and fought alongside one another before. It could be general agitation caused by the uncertain future of the Rebellion; it was only natural that Flitch would be as uneasy as the rest of the crew. Still, something felt different about that man.
“Alright, the conference chamber is through there,” Flitch said, indicating to a tan-colored door at one side of the intersection the spread out from the end of the passage. “Glad I could be of assistance.” The Arbiter dipped his head marginally in a show of gratitude, but before he had completed even that simple gesture, the man was off, pacing quickly down an adjoining passage. The Elite looked the door over, but did not move toward it, instead turning to watch the human as he moved past a pair of off duty flight mechanics.
Instinct told the Arbiter that he should follow the man. It might not be proper procedure or even wise considering their tenuous situation to stalk a Rebel soldier, but he had not survived so long in the service of the Prophets by ignoring gut. The meeting could wait.
The two mechanics turned off the passage through a side door, leaving the area empty, save the Arbiter and his fast moving prey, which was almost to the end of the corridor. Running as swiftly as he could without alert Flitch, he halved the distance between them in only a few seconds and was a mere arm length away when the human reached the end of the hall and turned to the right. The Arbiter paused; if this man truly was hiding something, he might be more wary of pursuit than an average man. Finding the hidden switch inlaid in his reflective armor, the Arbiter scanned the area for potential witnesses and obvious security recorders and prepared to activate his personal cloak.
“Oh, hello.” Reginald Barclay said, steadying himself after his sudden halt. The Starfleet officer had emerged from around the corner Flitch had turned and almost collided with the three meter giant. The Arbiter swiftly withdrew his hand from the hidden switch and glared at Barclay in annoyance. “Sorry about that, almost running into you I mean,” the man continued. “I’m still having some trouble with this ships layout, and the computer panels and directional indicators around this place are hard to read, they give you a headache. I suppose it’s from being designed by the Mon Calamari, with their oddly positioned eyes.”
As Barclay prattled on, the Arbiter maneuvered past him and looked down the right hallway. Flitch had disappeared, and trying to find him again would be fairly useless. He turned back to Barclay, who was still talking, and let out a brief sigh. The human may have saved his life, and was certainly more competent than he had suspected when they had first met, but he was still very annoying. “So, I suppose your heading for the Captain’s conference. I was order to be there as well, but I can’t seem to locate it. The layout on the Enterprise was much more efficient.”
The Arbiter had found both starships’ designs equally alien and relatively inefficient, but he didn’t care to continue the conversation, instead gesturing down the hallway towards the intersection. “The chamber is down there. Follow.” The warrior set off without another word, mildly irritated, leaving Barclay wondering what he had done to earn such a stiff response.
By the time the two arrived, most of those who had been invited were already assembled, arrayed in the large bank of chairs that formed a multi-rowed semi-circle around a raised speaking platform at the back of the room. Like many of the rooms on the ship, the small conference chamber was of a smooth and scalloped shape, brightly lit and focused around a deactivated display screen at hung above the central podium. Most of the people in attendance had a vested interest in what would be discussed, the half dozen or so remaining members of the Enterprise’s crew, Jacen Solo, and Tassadar, but with them were also a few of the Republica’s own complement. While she had allowed the requisitioning of one of the ship’s few meeting areas, Captain Ryceed had not been inclined to allow her passengers a completely private conference, and thus had authorized any off-duty officer who wished access to the meeting. Captain Picard, defacto leader of the small group, had agreed; the information that was to be relayed would hopefully reach Alliance ears anyways.
As the rest of the assemblage conversed quietly, Lt. Commander Data, Geordi La’Forge, and Commander Riker clustered around a computer station in a corner of the room, evidently making final checks on the information they had been able to salvage from the derelict ship’s computer. Captain Picard and Tassadar were across the chamber on the large podium talking to one another in hushed tones, the latter seated crossed-legged on the floor, his head nodding shakily as broadcasted his thoughts in the form of words.
The Arbiter, managing to extricate himself from Barclay, moved off to the gently curved back wall of the chamber and located a spot that he could lean against; his lanky Elite musculature made sitting in Mon Calamari-style chairs extremely uncomfortable. Looking to his left, he noted to his mild surprise that the Master Chief was present also, similarly ensconced only a few meters away, his ever present armor reflecting the light of the room dully. Who would think, the Elite mused silently, that he would have not hesitated to kill the human given the opportunity only a week short months ago. This creature, who had lead the team of human survivors that had infiltrated his command ship, fought his way to the bridge, and bested him in personal combat following the destruction of the first Halo station. He had nearly been killed that day, shoved unceremoniously into an escape pod and forced to watch from the depths of space, bleeding and battered, as his ship, the Ascendant Justice, was hijacked and used against its own fleet. He had vowed to himself that day that he would not rest until the human’s severed head lay in his hands, but circumstances had dictated otherwise. Stripped of his rank and very name for the colossal failure and forced into the death sentence that was being an Arbiter, and then finding himself thrust back with the very cause of his dishonor, made allies by cruel fate.
There was a force still inside him, one he had been repressing for weeks, a little voice that resided along with the repressed teaching of the traitorous Prophets, that still called out for vengeance, for him to seize the human’s, the Demon’s, neck and pry his wretched head free of its foundation. It was his right as a warrior, and the will of the Prophets. And why stop with just the one human; there was a ship full of them within his grasp, waiting to wash away his failure with their blood! The Arbiter’s eyes began to cloud with red and his jaw mandibles quivered with anticipation, rows of teeth eager to split human flesh. Slowly, almost involuntarily, his right hand edged toward the plasma hilt that hung from his waist, and he could almost see the triangle of blue flame bursting to life, carving a swath of holy vengeance before him from which none could escape. The heretics and non-believers would fall and with their deaths, he would be absolved.
No.
There was no absolution for him, and slowly, he realized he did not really wish for it. The Prophets had betrayed him; their very Covenant was built upon lies and half-truths. Their will no longer held any sway for with him, and no matter how hard the part of him that still believed in all that he once been resisted, no matter how much his baser instincts fought to break free, he would oppose them. And he would win. All that mattered now was for him to return to his own galaxy, save his people from the destruction that the Prophet’s treachery and blind faith would bring. His hand fell from the inactive blade.
The Master Chief had been and was still doing what he had no doubt been trained and bred to do, oppose the annihilation of his species, and the Arbiter would harbor no grudge for one with such an honorable goal. Their motives were one in the same.
The chamber’s entry door slid open, and Major Besteen Truul entered, looking weary and strained. Undoubtedly much of the difficult job of holding the ship’s dower crew together was in part on the charismatic officer’s shoulders, and yet he still found time to aid in the quest of those who had caused him so much trouble and loss. Slipping in just after the Major was another man, younger and better groomed, but similarly drained. It took the Arbiter’s untrained eye for human face a few moments to realize that the man was Flitch, who he had been tailing only minutes before. Not revealing any outward sign of surprise or unusual interest, the Elite watched the man carefully as he stopped to talk with Truul, take a datapad from him, salute and then exit. He appeared to be serving as the Major’s aide, hardly surprising considering the depleted crew strength and their past experience together. This might explain why Flitch had been behaving strangely before, out of his element in his current capacity but still, something about his demeanor was strange.
As Truul took a seat at the rear of the small chamber, Captain Picard straightened his worn uniform and approached the main platform’s oratory stand, apparently satisfied with the size of assembled crowd. Taking their cue, the three officers at the computer terminal gathered their data discs and pads and joined the Captain and Tassadar on the platform.
“As most of you know, before our last jump into hyperspace, the Republica’s command crew located a derelict ship adrift near our position. A Starfleet vessel.” At this, several of the attendees began to whisper excitedly. Picard paused, allowing the conversation to die off before continuing. “With Captain Ryceed’s approval, Commander Riker and a small away team docked with the ship and were able to retrieve several pertinent sensor and ship’s logs from its computer. From those files, they were able to determine the location and composition of the wormhole the ship used to travel here. I believe Mr. Data and Commander La’Forge have discovered several specifics about the anomaly that may help us use it to return to our respective home galaxies.”
The captain moved to the side, allowing Data to take a place at the main podium. “After repairing and accessing the navigational logs that Commander Riker’s team was able to recover from the Cornwall, I compared the starship’s flight pattern with the stellar imaging recorder built into the Cornwall’s passive scanning array.” The android inserted a small disc into a receptacle mounted onto the speaking stand, and the large display behind the speakers lit up, revealing a simplified starfield, crisscrossed by multicolored lines of digits that indicated trajectory, speed, and location for the tiny representation of a Starfleet Steamrunner-class vessel. “Twenty five hours, four minutes before being picked up by the Republica’s sensors, the star pattern displayed by the imaging logs changed drastically, altering from a configuration documented in the Parideian Cluster, Milky Way Galaxy, to the stellar configuration correspondent to the star system where the Cornwall was located. It is highly probable that is the point at which the starship passed through the wormhole.” The computer-generated Cornwall moved about a foot across the screen before suddenly disappearing. The entire image collapsed in on itself, closing on the point where the starship had disappeared, and then blossoming out along with the ship, the starfield in the background now completely different.
Geordi stepped up alongside Data. “The ship’s propulsion systems seem to have been knocked out either before or during the wormhole transit, but it still had sufficient inertia to be propelled a significant distance away from the exit point. Lt. Commander Data and I were able to extrapolate back from the Cornwall’s position when we located it, and using its heading and speed, we have a pretty good idea where the wormhole is.” This news sent a whisper of relief through those in attendance.
“Most of the scanning information from the transit through the wormhole was corrupted beyond usage,” Data continued. “However, from what we do know, it appears that this anomaly is much more stable than the one the Enterprise used to first come to this galaxy, and possibly much larger in dimension. It is highly likely that it is still in existence and will remain in that state for a relatively long period of time, but we lack the data necessary to make an accurate estimation.”
From the middle of the rows of seats, a weak voice wavered, cutting the android off. “Um, sirs? What about the energy feedback that the…uh, Enterprise received when it went through last time?” This was from Lieutenant Barclay, who was perched on the edge of his seat, looking surprisingly nervous. “How can we use the wormhole if it overloads the reactor of whatever ship is sent through it?”
Data took the question impassively. “During its passage through the wormhole, the Enterprise did receive critical damage to its warp core, but the boarders from the Columbus played a large part in the ship’s destruction. If the containment systems had been operating at full efficiency, unimpeded by the previous sabotage, it is possible that the damage to the warp core would not have been as severe. However,” The display changed once again, erasing the starfield and replacing it with a representation of a Mon Calamari Liberty-class star cruiser. The scalloped, grayish vessel was covered in a bright-hued field; a depiction of the starship’s shielding system. “The shielding technology employed by the Mon Calamari and the Galactic Empire surpasses the Federation equivalent by an order of magnitude or more. This should provide more protection for passage through the wormhole, and the hypermatter fusion reactors used by this galaxy’s civilizations should reduce the possibility of a core overload.”
Silently, Picard reflected how odd it was that only now that the enormous differences in technology used by this galaxy’s inhabitants was coming to their notice. The past weeks had been too hectic and confused to allow for any serious study of the alien hardware, but even a basic overview of Mon Calamari technology limited access to the computer systems had provided his science team revealed that they were centuries, millennia beyond the Federation, even the Borg. The thought filled Picard with a strange mix of emotion; on the one hand, he was relating with species whose technology and culture could prove to be the greatest boon humanity had seen since Zephrin Cochrane had activated the first warp drive, but on the other, he was looking at a force that could crush every power in the Alpha Quadrant effortlessly if it was turned to conquest, something the Empire seemed quite good at. Even the fundamental principles of this galaxy’s energy production and superluminal drive systems had been nearly beyond Data’s very comprehension. Yes, this technology was perhaps too advanced to find its way into Milky Way, even if its bearers were benevolent in nature. Still, he had a duty to his crew; he would see them home. Whatever problems that might develop afterwards would simply have to be confronted if and when they came.
“Still, there is a danger.” Geordi was speaking again. “The damage the wormhole inflicts seems to stem from redirection of the ship’s radiant energy from its engines, sensors, and shields back against it, something that even this ship’s defenses couldn’t fully repel.”
“That’s where I come in.” The audience, overwhelmed by the deluge of information that was being fed to them, was startled by the new voice, feminine and coolly confident, that seemed to be piping in over the room’s intercom. In a burst of static, a female figure, glowing bluish-purple, appeared on the display screen. “For those of you who have not met her, this is Cortana, a highly advanced Artificial Intelligence construct,” Commander Riker said, glancing sideways at the being’s chosen image.
“Highly advanced? You really know how to flatter a girl,” the construct shot back, playfully rolling her eyes. “Now, the wormhole. Working with Lt. Commander Data, I believe that I have discovered a way to safely traverse the anomaly. The phenomenon actually seems similar in nature the Slipspace drive used by the civilizations of my galaxy, and early UNSC scientists had to combat the energy feedback phenomenon to make our faster than light drives usable. It was discovered that certain low-band frequencies, broadcasted constantly during entry and exit of spatial rifts could help repel the feedback and even direct the in-transit starship more accurately. Our vessels do not employ energy shields, but the principle could still be applied by altering the intensity and diameter of the defensive screen in tune with the frequency. Such a pattern would effectively repulse any damaging discharges, and, if I’m right, even direct the wormhole’s exit coordinates.”
Deep within the Arbiter, a flicker of hope began to grow. He was no engineer, but he had been around Slipspace drives long enough to know that what the computer construct said was true. And, if he understood her implication correctly, there was still hope that he could return to the Covenant and save it from the destruction that the Prophets would bring upon it.
Data and the others paused the briefing, allowing those in attendance to mull over what had been said. While the oration by the android and A.I. was somewhat more technical than was warranted for the discussion, most understood that they new findings meant that perhaps there was a new hope, a chance to get home. Deanna Troi however, who was seat in the front row, seemed more concerned and distracted than optimistic.
“Excuse me,” she said. “But you said that the Cornwall was found derelict. Was there anyone onboard? I do remember feeling something…strange from outside the ship before we jumped into hyperspace.”
Picard sighed grimly and Riker frowned, nodding his head slowly. “We did encounter a single human survivor in the Engineering section. She’s recovering from exhaustion and a few minor injuries in the medical ward.” Jacen Solo arched an eyebrow. “But there were others there?” He frowned in concentration, as if trying to pull the answer from thin air. “A hostile force?” Riker nodded again in recognition.
“Yes. Animal-like things, dozens of them. They swarmed us as we were uploading the sensor logs, and my team barely escaped alive. From what little we could recover from the captain’s log, they were responsible for damaging the ship and killing most of her crew.” The commander exchanged a dour with the captain. “We also believe that the creatures that were on that ship are affiliated with the ones that captured the Columbus and destroyed the Enterprise.” Not surprisingly, this news sent a collective shiver through those who had been on the Starfleet flagship when it had died, and even the few bored Alliance officers in attendance edged forward in their seats, suddenly intrigued.
“Tassadar here has offered to enlighten us on what he believes these creatures may be,” Picard concluded, and he and the others stepped aside, revealing the tall, scaly alien, who was seated on the platform, propped up against the gently curving wall. Dark, orb-like eyes scanned the assemblage once, their reptilian pupils altering in shape and color as he prepared to speak.
“They are known to my people as the Zerg. Since the very beginnings of the Protoss Empire, they have plagued the galaxy, enveloping entire galactic sectors and spreading their influence over a thousand worlds. They are a pestilent race, existing only to consume living matter and assimilate it into their unholy swarm. Dozens of species have been absorbed in this fashion, forming new and terrible warriors, driven only by hunger and animalistic rage. The Zerg do not use technology, instead shaping the beings of the swarm into unimaginable and hideous forms that can fulfill any need. When they attack, no stratagem or intellect is used, they simply throw themselves wave after wave at the defenders until they break them down, and consume them. There can be no negotiation or treaty with them, not even surrender.
Lesser Zerg, those that populate they’re near limitless horde, are thoughtless, brutal beasts, but there are higher forms, the ruthless Celebrates, and above them, the Overmind. For millennia untold this abomination has controlled the Swarm’s actions, his twisted and arcane intellect guiding them towards his ultimate goal. He will not rest until all other life is extinguished or absorbed, and only the Zerg remain.
Since its formation, the Protoss Empire and the Order of the Templar have sought to stop this perversion and his Swarm, but such a foe is not easily defeated; he is as devious as his forces are strong. The Zerg and they’re master are resilient as well, and whenever one of their infested worlds burns under the bombardment of our fleets, the menace infects another. Still, the Protoss are strong, and we have held them at bay for many centuries, but the arrival of Terrans, humans, at the fringes of our space upset the balance. The Order and the fleet under my command attempted to keep the Swarm away from the newcomers, but internal strife among them made our efforts fruitless. The Overmind played them against us and assimilated many of their worlds and soldiers, so that when I was at last able to strike a truce with the humans, the Swarm was already overwhelming our defenses and befouling Aiur, or homeworld, with they’re presence. Even the Overmind himself was able to transplant himself onto the battlefields of my home and gloat over his impending victory. In last defense of my race, I attempted to fly one of our battlecruisers into the Overmind’s maw and strike it down once and for all by focusing my full psionic energy upon its malevolent heart.”
The High Templar’s commanding voice paused, and he looked away from the enraptured audience. “However, before my assault was complete, I was torn from Aiur, and found myself in this galaxy. I had hope that the impact of my flagship and the energy I had imbued into its hull would have been enough to destroy it and throw the Zerg into disarray, but perhaps I was mistaken.” After a moment of silence, Tassadar raised his head again, this time looking directly into Captain Picard’s eyes. “We can only hope that the Zerg presence in your galaxy is isolated and newly seeded. If that is so, there is yet hope for your people, but if this blight is allowed to take root, I fear that neither you nor I nor any other mortal force can save them.”
After the briefing had concluded and those assembled had dispersed, Jacen Solo found himself left with little to do but wait until the Republica reached the Alliance rendezvous point, estimated, barring the need for further evasion, to occur in early the next morning ship time. Most of the passengers had gone to their quarters to rest after the eventful day, and most of the crew was off duty as well, the cruiser having shifted into night watch an hour earlier. The young Jedi was not tired however, and after pausing in his quarters briefly to stow his lightsaber and eat a nutrient bar he had taken from the galley earlier, found himself wandering the empty, spartan halls of the ship’s crew section, strolling down random passages and slipping in and out of turbolifts. As he walked, his mind wandered, mulling over the information given at the conference and allowing his Force empowered senses to drift through the decks of the starship, picking up the general mood of the resting crew and the random snippet of thought or voice.
He could sense a wide variety species: human, Mon Calamari, Bothan, Sullustan, and their faint Force presence lent him a feeling of familiarity, the feeling of being home. And yet, he knew, he wasn’t home. Like the others, he was out of time and place, trapped for the moment in a world he didn’t belong, and in his case, it was even worse. Picard and his crew were simply in the wrong galaxy, an unknown and alien world, but Jacen was out of time, in a place he knew all to well, from the stories that his parents and other veterans of the Galactic Civil war who had raised him. But it was different now; events were not unfolding as they should have. The Emperor was not supposed to have been destroyed yet, the Alliance fleet should not have been routed at Sullust, Lando…
The man slammed his fist against a bare metal wall, overwhelmed by sudden emotion. Lando wasn’t supposed to have died. He had learned of the General’s death not long after the Republica had fled, and the news had convinced him to stay away from his father for the time being. Han took the loss of friend hard; Jacen had seen that first hand after Chewie had died.
Of course, the loyal Wookiee wasn’t dead in this place. He was still Han Solo’s best friend and copilot, freedom fighter and mediator to the tensions that often flared up between the Corellian and his future wife, Leia.
Oblivious to the empty hallway around him, Jacen slammed the other arm into the blank bulkhead and forced his forehead against the cool metal. No, Chewie was dead. He died at Sernpidal, in his world, the real world. This was a different place, a different reality, it couldn’t really be his past. Jacen Solo was the same, but everything else was different. No, the Alliance had never been routed, they had defeated the Empire at Endor, Palpatine had died on the second Death Star at the hands of his uncle and grandfather, Lando and Admiral Ackbar were still alive, Chewie was dead.
Anakin was dead.
Hot tears began to pour down Jacen’s cheeks, and he didn’t know why. Anakin, his brother, was still alive. He had been alive when Jacen had been torn from his… the real universe. Anakin wasn’t, couldn’t be dead. How could he even know such a thing? The Jedi attempted to focus on the thought, trace it to its source, but the image of his brother’s face, the usually boyish and happy visage pale and lifeless, quickly faded into the mist. Then another picture began to form, the smooth curve of a feminine chin, graceful nose, slender lekku…
Jacen wrenched his head away from the wall and furiously rubbed his tear-stained face. No more. He wouldn’t give in to the emotions further delving down this path of memory might bring, it was not the Jedi way. Reflection was essential to the life of a Jedi, but this was not the time, he was still trapped in this strange, alien galaxy, and it was alien; he might not be able to resist the dark emotions he was feeling again on the verge of conscious thought without the guidance of one more experienced in the ways of the Force. Whatever the circumstances of this unexpected sojourn and the conflict he had been embroiled in before it had Forced him to become, he was still a mere apprentice, and he wished for the wise and gentle guidance of Master Luke more than ever.
Withdrawing the wayward tendrils of his consciousness and sealing himself off from the multitude of beings onboard the ship, Jacen straightened his worn jumpsuit and resumed his solitary walk, trying to focus again on what he had learned at the briefing. He had to remain patient and collected until Picard and the others were able to return to the wormhole, and hopefully, send them all home. He was a Jedi, he could work through this.
After a few more minutes of aimless travel, Jacen recognized a wider hallway, and for no particular reason, turned down it. Even though he could not decipher the script that adorned blandly colored plaques and markers around the door which was placed prominently in one wall, he remembered the configuration; this was the ship’s primary Medbay. He had come to the place earlier that very day, helping the medics transport the Cornwall’s lone survivor from the hangar deck. He had left as soon as the doctors moved her to an analysis table, not wanting to be in the way, and had all but forgotten about the incident, but being back here made him oddly curious about the patient who was likely still in the facility. Considering briefly, Jacen decided he had nothing better to do at the moment, and approached the large, ovoid door, which slid open silently.
Beyond it was a short hallway complete with a small reception table, a computer terminal, and several door ways that must have lead to decontamination chambers and changing rooms. A thin transparisteel partition separated the room from the circular nexus of the complex, a dimly lit chamber filled with clean plastoid tables, equipment receptacles, and dormant medical droids. As Jacen took a few steps into the reception area, silver protocol appeared from out of nowhere and stepped into his path. “Greetings sir,” it said in an artificially friendly voice. “I am afraid that most of the medical staff is off duty right now. Do you require emergency attention?”
Jacen shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Is there another who is in need of the medical staff then? I could dispatch an emergency team to any point on this ship if needed.”
Again Jacen replied in the negative. The droid was perplexed, inclining its reflective head slightly to get a better look at the out of place human. “Then, if I may ask, what are you doing here sir? It is well past the last duty shift, and maintenance is not scheduled to make their rounds through her for another forty six minutes.”
Why am I here, he wondered silently. His mind had seemed to have unconsciously propelled him to the spot, and now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. There was that sense of curiosity about the survivor, but surely she was asleep now, even if the doctors had been able to bring her around again. What purpose was there and going to see her right now?
“I was wondering about one of the patients that arrived here today, a human woman, rescued from a derelict starship before we jumped into hyperspace,” he asked, trying to look over the droid’s shoulder.
“I am unfamiliar with the circumstances of her injury, but there was one woman brought in today that you may be referring to. She was treated for a variety of minor dermal injuries and given stimulants to alleviate a neurochemical imbalanced caused by stress and exhaustion. Her condition was stabilized and she is now resting in the main recovery ward. If you wish to see her or any other of our patients, you will have to await regular visiting hours, which begin at 8:00 hours.”
Jacen thanked the droid and swiftly exited, sensing that it was becoming annoyed at the breach of protocol. When the thick doors sealed themselves behind him, Jacen sighed and looked over the empty passageways around him absently. Perhaps he should try and get some sleep now, even if the walk hadn’t tired him out as he had hoped it would. Trying to remember the path he had taken to get there, the man set off, his mind still lingering on the woman in the recovery ward. Why was he so curious about her? He had only seen her for a few minutes while he had walked with the medics; she was young, perhaps a few years older than himself, of slight build, with frayed brown hair and soft features that had shown through the grim and dried blood that had obscured her face. In fact, despite her injuries and tattered condition, she had actually been quite attractive, looking very much like Tenel Ka, one of the Jedi students he had once trained with.
He felt his cheeks begin to warm, and immediately banished the thought. He didn’t even know her, and now was hardly the time to allow his hormones to get the better of him. All the same, thinking about her had cheered him up after the sense of emptiness his strange vision had brought on previously.
Rounding a corner, Jacen noted someone else in the hallway heading towards him, a woman dressed in a white Alliance uniform, with her hands tucked behind her back and head down, evidently thinking. Assuming she was just another crewer, Jacen continued to walk down the hall until the two had nearly crossed paths. Then, as she looked up to brush a few strands of russet hair from her face, he got a good look at her face. It was Leia Organa.
Jacen faltered, not sure of what he should do. He was still unsure as to how to deal with being around his mother and father as they had once had been, and despite his conviction that this world was not his own, he could not bring himself to think of them as entirely different people. Of course, if they were really his parents, interacting with them might be an exceedingly bad and perhaps even dangerous idea, but he couldn’t help but feel that they might be able to provide him comfort or guidance in this ordeal, as they always had done before.
“Are you alright?” Jacen froze, and saw that Leia had stopped, and was now looking up at him, curious as to why had suddenly paused near her. Jacen desperately cast around his head for some response. “I, ah, its nothing. I’m fine,” he mumbled, but Leia was still looking him over, taking in his worn dark tunic, which was devoid of any military insignia, and lingering over his face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?” she asked curiously. Jacen gulped, tried to hide it, and then shook his head. “I…I don’t believe so.”
“Strange,” Leia noted, and then shook away the thought, smiling brightly and extending a hand. “I am Leia Organa, of the Alliance High Council.” Trying to look natural while surreptitiously turning his face away from her, Jacen extend his own and shook hers. Without letting go, she maneuvered to face him again and stared even more closely. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Jacen shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t think I’ve even seen in passing you before.” As soon as the words left his limps, Jacen wished he could take them back, and cursed his own inborn honesty and the difficulty with lying that entailed. A wry grin crossed Leia’s face. “Your not part of the Alliance are you? Are you one of the refugees from Sullust?”
Jacen was drawing a complete blank on facades he could put up to deflect her line of questioning, so he decided to change tactics. He would simply tell the truth. In moderation.
“Actually, I’m a guest on this ship, along with several others brought here by an Alliance agent. We met with the High Council just before the Imperial attack. I don’t recall seeing you there though.” Leia frowned. “No, I only arrived at the fleet a few hours before the ambush. I didn’t have much time to speak with the Council before we had to evacuate.” She sighed, and looked off into space sadly. “I don’t even know if there will even be a Council anymore when we reach the rendezvous point. We lost so much, so many good people…” she drifted off, sadness etched deeply into her soft face.
Jacen fidgeted uncomfortably as he looked at a side of his mother he was very familiar with, one that had dominated her ever since the Yuuzhan Vong invaded. The Rebels had thought that winning the war against the Empire would bring peace to the galaxy, but it didn’t, and the struggle would continue to rage for decades, only the players changed. Even more good people would be lost in the years to come.
Leia noticed that the young man was uncomfortable, and grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “So, you said that you spoke with the Council. Is there anything I should know, or can help you with?” Jacen considered. It would be difficult to explain mission of the Enterprise crew without revealing his own origins, but his mother was a part of the High Council, and if he was able to convince her that returning to the portal might aid the Alliance in its struggle, requisitioning a ship for the task would be far easier.
Jacen launched into a brief recounting of the circumstances leading up to his presence onboard the Republica and Captain Picard’s proposal to the Council, as well as its uncertain reaction. He was careful to avoid any detailed descriptions of the origins of those who had found their way to the Rebel fleet, especially himself, and thus the tale was shorter and less coherent than he had hoped it would be, but Leia did not seem to notice many the jumps and discrepancies. After he had finished, she stood silently in thought, allowing Jacen to regain some composure. “That was quite an extraordinary tale,” she said at last. “I can see how the Council might have been skeptical. However, if it is true, contact with this United Federation of Planets might provide the Alliance with resources and sanctuary we are in dire need of. When we rendezvous with the rest of the Fleet, I will attempt to bring this back to the Council’s notice, but I can’t promise anything. As you know, recent events have strained our resources considerably, perhaps past the breaking point.”
“I understand, and anything you can do to help us would be greatly appreciated,” Jacen said, relieved that she had not pushed for more details. However, Leia was still looking at him very curiously and he almost felt as though she was trying to tap into his mind. His mother, while strong in the Force, had always been too distracted by politics and war to ever fully train and exploit her innate abilities, but she still was able to use it to a limited extent, especially when it came to reading the emotions of her children. Jacen was sure that at this point in time, she was completely unaware of her own gift and would not be able to use it to probe him at all, but he was still very uneasy, afraid to let any damaging foreknowledge of her future slip to the forefront of his mind.
So absorbed were they in this unconscious fencing match that neither noticed that another person was approaching them until a voice rang down the hallway. “What are you doing out here this late Leia? Is everything all right?” It was a powerful voice, tinged heavily by a Corellian accent and years of inhaling leaking coolant fumes. Han Solo, dressed in his trademark worn vest and pilot’s leggings walked up behind Leia and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. Beads of sweat began to form on Jacen’s forehead, dealing with his mother alone had been hard enough, and Han was far more likely to press him for details if their conversation started up again.
Leia took his hand in her own, and turned back to smile up at the gruff smuggler turned general. “I’m fine Han. My meeting with Captain Ryceed took a little longer than I expected, that’s all.”
Satisfied, Han turned a suspicious gaze upon the young Jedi, who attempting to look as unassuming as possible and failing miserably. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly. “You don’t look like a crewman.” Leia rolled her eyes in mild exasperation and sent an apologetic smile Jacen’s way. “He’s a guest of the Council’s Han. His group got trapped here when the Imperials attacked.” The older man’s stretched lips into a tight line, and Jacen flinched, knowing that the general was still deeply scarred by Lando’s death.
Rather than lash out though, Han narrowed his eyes and looked Jacen over just as Leia had done. “You look familiar kid. Kind of remind me of a guy I met the last time we were on Ord Cestus. What’s your name?”
“I…uh…” Jacen stammered uneasily. “I’m Jacen.” Han cocked an eyebrow. “Jacen eh? Heh, I like the sound of that, got a nice ring to it. Where are ya from Jacen?”
Before the Jedi had time to think of an appropriately ambiguous answer though, Leia grabbed Han’s arm and began to drag him away. “Alright, that’s enough. No need to interrogate the poor man at this hour. Lets get back to our quarters.” Han resisted at first, but gave up without much of a fight, sighing and shaking his head. As she guided the man away, Leia called over her shoulder. “It’s been nice to meet you Jacen. I’ll let you know what the Council has to say when I see them.”
When the younger versions of his mother and father had disappeared from view, Jacen slumped into a nearby wall, exhausted. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to do that again. Still, it was nice to talk to them again, even if they were different than the people he remembered. Not too different though, he reflected as Han’s subdued behavior came to mind. He had seen that before. For all his bravado and legendary toughness, the loss of friends hit him just as hard as it would anyone, perhaps more so. And that was one trait he had passed on to his son.
Now very tired, Jacen righted himself and set off for his quarters, leaving the hall as empty and quiet as it had been a few minutes before.
Darth Vader’s crimson blade emitted a piercing hiss as it cleaved easily through the docking chamber’s durasteel wall, leaving in its wake a wide swath of glowing molten metal. Molecules supercharged by the energy blade, flecks of the boiling wall spewed out, spattering against the Dark Lord’s armored carapace harmlessly and dousing the surrounding floor with a searing rain. Luke, who had only barely ducked beneath the powerful cut in time, ignored the burning pain as a few droplets burned through his flight suit, and rolled away from the scarred wall and flipping up backwards to right himself. He had little time to regain his balance however; Darth Vader and his lightsaber lunged through the air in a heat beat, impacting Luke’s own blade with the force of a cargo hauler and driving him back even further.
Too drained now to effectively parry or deflect Vader’s brutal strikes, Luke was forced to block each one as it came, his arms bearing the brunt of each blow. Vader was to powerful, and did not seem to tire even as the two combatants battled back and forth around the immense docking bay over and over again. Every nerve in the Jedi’s body cried out in anguish, and Luke could not calm them with the techniques Yoda had taught him, his every once of will and force energy was needed to keep Vader’s energy blade from cleaving away an arm or leg. There was no place to run or hide here, no cliff to try to force Vader over, or alley to try and disappear into as there had been during their last meeting. It was only father and son now, a battle of two uncompromising opponents, and whatever outcome would see the end of the conflict, it would not be a draw.
The young Jedi sensed that Vader was pushing him up against a support pylon, and ducked around Vader’s side, saber raised up high to block the inevitable reprisal. However, instead of bring his blade down against Luke’s, Vader’s free hand quivered slightly and the younger man was thrown back, rolling along the hard metal floor several times before regaining control. Not bothering to wipe the trickle of blood that began to pour down from the corner of his mouth, Luke propped himself up on one arm and used the other to fling his blade at Vader’s unguarded legs. Anticipating the take but unable to deflect it, Vader leapt two meters into the air, allowing the green disc of energy to fly harmlessly underneath, and landing just in time to see it arc back into Luke’s out-stretched hand.
“You have learned much since our last encounter,” Vader praised darkly, stalking towards Luke without breaking step, but the other blocked out the empty words, instead focusing on his opponent and his surroundings, searching for a way out, a bit of high ground. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his notice, but before he could register it fully, the Dark Lord was upon him again, red blade slashing inexorably forward. Luke strained against the blows, but this time he attempted to guide each strike so that Vader would push him closer to what he had seen. Ducking under a horizontal chop, Luke brought himself around the near invincible titan, and for a fleeting second before Vader maneuvered to face him again, Luke could see clearly what had caught his attention.
That was it!
Yes, maybe, just maybe, if he could move a few dozen meters down the hangar deck, to the far wall. Luke let his reaction time slip slightly, allowing Vader more time to aim and execute his hacking attacks. The Sith took the posture change in stride focusing his energy into individual, precision aimed slices and cuts rather than brutal, erratic flurries and jabs. Yes, Luke thought, think I’m weakening, push me back. As he continued to block and stumble backwards, the Jedi could feel the icy tendrils of Vader’s consciousness try to invade his own, searching for the source of Luke’s change in defense. Strengthening his mental walls as much as possible, he was able to stave of the incursion, but the effort exhausted him further. This last gambit had to work; he wouldn’t have the strength for another. The white, energizing glow of the light was fading fast from his perception, and nothing his old masters had taught him could rescue him now that he had been pushed so far. No, it was this, or failure, and whatever that would bring.
For the first time since the start of the fight, Luke forged forward, jabbing at his father’s chest plate and sweeping up under one of the cyborg’s powerful swipes. Burning energy nicked the material and Vader faltered, forced to pull back to a defensive posture. “There is still some fight left in you I see. You will make a powerful apprentice indeed.” Luke grinned grimly, and pressed forward again, but this time. Bader was ready, and set against Luke’s strikes with his own weapon, and forced them back towards the attacker, peeling away the Jedi’s offense as if it were skin of a muja fruit. Immediately, Luke was back on the defensive, loosing ground with each blow. Good.
After a few more exchanges of blows and a failed Force push on Luke’s part, he sensed they were nearing the wall he had chosen, one studded with large protrusions of machinery and conduits that extend up into the ceiling and branched into the floor. Allowing the Force to be his eyes, he made a mental picture of the surrounding area, and then gritted his teeth, bracing himself for what was to come.
Two more slashes, and they were at the wall, and ominous edifice that sloped up slightly into the armored ceiling high above. Moving to intercept a new flurry of savage blows, Luke’s back knocked against the hard surface, and knocked off guard, he let his saber dip slightly. The opening was only there for a moment, but Vader saw it, thrust forward, bringing his bulk within inches of Luke’s bloodied face. Moving faster than the eye could see, a gauntleted fist smashed into the side of the Jedi’s skull, and Luke went flying to the side, rolling uncontrollably for several long meters and finally coming to a halt, propped limply against the frame of an opening in the wall, a very large opening.
Struggling to retain consciousness as the resounding concussion still bounced around his skull, Luke found himself in a doorway perhaps two and a half meters wide, and twice that tall, one that lead into a long, closed hallway. At the end of the expanse, blue white energy coursed up and down a sheer wall along bits of exposed cable and between jutting power regulators. The huge arcs of energy twisted their way from a glowing pool on the floor along the wall and up into many waiting ports and mouths that fed pipes and conduits; this was the power distribution nexus for the entire deck.
Seemingly unaware of the sight behind him, Luke half stumbled, half crawled into the hallway, but Vader was approaching quickly, covering the distance between them in an eye blink. However, before the armored combatant could reach his quarry, Luke clenched his fist, and huge coil of cable came free from the surrounding wall, lashing down upon the Sith Lord, electrical energy sparking from its ruptured end. Caught off guard, Vader was only able to partially slow the snake-like coil, and was thrown back, letting loose a cry of anger and surprise. Luke did not pause to relish the small victory, instead dragging himself further away from the doorway until he reached a protruding control console and was able to drag his battered body upright. By that time, Vader had also recovered, and was striding forward, seemingly unscathed save for a large dent on his right shoulder plate, lightsaber poised to strike. Luke waited motionless, saber hanging limply from one hand as the dark lord casually tossed the detached cable aside with the flick of his wrist and then continued forward. Then, finally, Vader crossed the hallway’s threshold.
Even through the pain and turmoil in his body and heart, Luke couldn’t help a sad smile as he watched the Sith approach. “I’m sorry father,” he whispered, and then plunged his right hand into the open face of the control panel, artificial flesh and tendons of the fake hand Darth Vader had forced him to wear smashing through thin glass and plunging deep into the wring below. For a moment nothing moved saved the sparks that leapt up from the ruined console, and then with a titanic creak, thirty tons of durasteel crashed down upon the dark lord’s head. Luke got one last look at the dark robed man before the thick, solid containment blast door of the power nexus pushed him from view.
Luke gasped a sigh of resigned relief. The gambit had worked, and Darth Vader was now under clamped under enough weight to set an AT-AT off balance. Sorrow began to overtake him almost immediately however; he had not wished to destroy his father, but in that moment, his will to survive had taken hold, and he had reached out at his only possibility, the last possibility. He could have saved the man, Anakin, he knew there still was good within him, there had to be. Slowly withdrawing his artificial hand, now marred by a dozen deep cuts and revealing cold mechanical wiring underneath in some places, Luke collapsed to the floor, out of both exhaustion and grief. Tears began to stream from his eyes as he stared at the impassible, three meter thick blast door, and he absently released the grip on his lightsaber, which obediently retracted and fell silent.
Then Luke felt it. Faint at first, but then blossoming exponentially, the Jedi could sense a powerful presence in the Force nearby, his father. Luke’s heart jumped nearly into his throat; he was alive! His brash action had not doomed a redeemable man, his father. But the Jedi’s elation was short lived, as the presence in the Force continued to grow, swelling up far past what Luke had felt from Vader during their duel, doubling and then tripling to the extent that Luke almost had to close off his senses for fear of overload. And then, from deep within the solid block of durasteel that blocked Luke off from the hangar deck, a deep roar began to resound, basic and overwhelming, a sound the made the entire star destroyer resonate with power and made the air itself tremble. Slowly, impossibly, the block began to rise, screeching against its own massive weight and the grooves and gears that had guided it in its fall. Machinery in the ceiling above began to stress and snap, and the block rose even faster, now bulging out into the wall of the hallway itself, tearing a path in the metal. Finally, with a terrific roar, the entire assemblage tore free of its constraints, flying backwards out onto the flight deck, where it impacted and screeched along the polished floor for a dozen meters before coming to rest against a parked shuttle craft. And there, in the place the block had once occupied, a lone figure stood. His armor was bent and cracked in places, and his long flowing cap was torn, but Darth Vader was whole, burning with pure, dark emotion.
Luke gaped in shock and horror, stumbling back away from the shattered console and fumbling for his saber’s ignition control. “So, there is still emotion within you that Kenobi was not able to drive away. I felt your fear, your desperation, your anger Luke. Remember how good it felt to give into those impulses, how right it was. The Dark Side can give you that feeling and clarity again, and so much more.” A twisted sort of pride rang in Vader’s electronically distorted voice as he leapt out of a large depression that had appeared in the hard metal floor, easily a meter deep at its center point. Landing with a muffled thud, the dark lord moved towards Luke again, this time with a noticeable limp, but still very much mobile.
The battered Jedi tried to escape the unstoppable force, stumbling blindly backwards down the hallway, the thrumming sound of the power junction growing ever louder. Amid his confusion and pain, the little voice he had attempted to repress earlier reemerged, and could not help but again consider his father’s offer. It was now obvious that it would be impossible to defeat him in this contest; perhaps he should submit, join the Sith lord and learn the ways of the dark side. Yoda and Obi-Wan had taught him well, surely he would be able to repress the evil and selfish emotions that would attempt to consume him, and use his newly gained power to at last redeem his father. After all, if Anakin Skywalker was still alive deep with Darth Vader’s soulless brooding heart even after all this time, Luke could survive corruption long enough to formulate a new plan.
Even as he pondered this question, Yoda’s teachings warring against logic and self preservation, Vader came within striking range and easily smashed through Luke’s faltering and distracted defensive stance, sending his lightsaber spinning away. The silver hilt clanged against a tall regulator cone that was fixed amid a river of pure electrical energy and fell to the floor near the sea of arcing bolts and rivulets of charge that flowed around the floor adjoining the distribution wall. Disarmed and without hope of salvation, Luke stumbled further back, now only a few strides from the low pit that collected the pulsing waves of energy, and fell onto knees no longer able to support his weight. Through raw and tearing eyes, Luke stared up at Darth Vader who now stood only an arm span away, his red blade inches from the Jedi’s forehead.
“This is your last chance my son. Join me and bring order to the galaxy, or join the old fool in the emptiness of death.” The words were cold and absolute; these were truly Luke’s only options. As he stared up at his father’s emotionless nightmare mask, the last of the young Jedi’s resolve and discipline began to dissolve. There was no other way.
Without any warning, a piercing, angry whistle drowned out the sound of the power nexus and Vader’s own artificial breathing. Taken off guard, the dark lord spun to identify the noise, and was instantly hit by a wave coursing blue energy, which wrapped around his limbs and discharged against his ebony helmet, causing it to glow ghostly white. The towering cyborg stumbled back a few foot steps, and there, lightning still pouring from several apertures arrayed out from his tubular body, stood a little blue and white astromech droid. “R2,” Luke managed to mumble, so completely astonished that all thought of his impending fall to the darkness was banished. Blatting and whistling in rage and determination, the droid rolled forward, the energy wave intensifying to the point where Luke could barely look directly at it.
However, instead of succumbing to the increasing voltage, Darth Vader began to straighten himself, and the coursing serpent tongues of searing power ebbed down away from his torso and head, focusing in on his forearms and then hands, now free of their lightsaber hilt, dropped during the initial onslaught. The astromech did not relent, wailing with more emotion and determination than Luke had ever seen come from a droid, and intensified the blast further, bringing its own internal systems to the brink of failure. He did not care, protecting Luke was all that mattered, even if it meant facing an opponent he could not possibly defeat and still cared for, even after all these years.
As his own armor began to glow with a translucent light, Vader let loose a deafening roar, and the energy he had collected in his hands blasted back at R2-D2. The little droid was motionless for one moment as the energy began to lick its worn hull, let out a mournful sigh, and then rocketed backwards, its wheeled legs tearing away from the burning chassis. Blackened and scarred beyond recognition, the pieces of what had once been Luke Skywalker’s faithful servant and loyal friend landed in the deformed doorway, now little more than the more debris left behind in the wake of the combatant’s struggle.
No words could fully describe what the young Jedi felt in that moment; it was as if the pure sorrow and revulsion at seeing his friend being obliterated for nothing more than trying to save the life of his master had taken the form of a cleansing wave and wiped away all Luke’s hope, all of his desperate plans, Yoda and Obi-Wan’s teachings, his very will for living. All that was left was rage, rage at the monster that towered over him still. Anakin still lived one with in that twisted thing, but there was no hope of saving what little of the man remained, the evil was too dominate and pervading. And if Luke succumbed, he too would become like that thing, a entity of pure malevolence, without a single scrap of humanity or chance of redemption.
Drawing not on the light or the dark, Luke somehow found the strength to rise to his feet and look upon the Dark Lord as he casually summoned his lightsaber back into a gloved hand. “You have failed, my father,” Luke whispered icily. “I will never turn. You have shown me to what depths the Dark Side will truly lead.”
Vader’s opaque eyes looked down upon the man, who despite his many injuries, was standing taller and more resolutely than ever before. “Perhaps I was wrong after all,” he intoned simply, and then raising and igniting his crimson blade in a single motion, aimed a slash at Luke’s exposed legs. Mere inches from the torn flight suit however, the beam halted as if impacting some invisible wall and Vader glared back at his son’s grim, determined face. Luke’s eyes were fixed upon his fathers mask, and his hands were outstretched, contorted strangely, beckoning at the Sith’s straining blade. Grunting with exasperation, Darth Vader withdrew and then attacked again, this time forcing his weapon downward towards Luke’s forehead in a horizontal chop. Again, the red beam ground to a halt in midair, although this time the Jedi’s focus wavered, allowing the deadly thing to press forward a few more inches.
Luke felt Vader’s surprise through the force, and then something else; at last, the Dark Lord had smashed his internal defenses, and was probing his deepest, most secreted thoughts. “You have done well to hide her from me so long, my son, but I am afraid your failure is now complete. Obi-Wan may have blocked you fully from the true path, but I suspect that Leia will be more receptive to my teachings. You will not join me, but perhaps she will.” Luke felt as though Vader had just driven a lightsaber through his heart. Why did you tell me Ben? Why! Now Vader knew of the sister Luke had only just discovered he had, and without training Luke had been given, she would be consumed by the dark.
An arcane bellow ripped from the shattered man’s gut, and Vader’s saber flew back, almost decapitating him. The Dark Lord put up his other arm to deflect the blast, but he was forced away nevertheless, caught up in a torrent of raw Force energy. Luke did not know where this power had originated, but he no longer cared. Vader had to be stopped, whatever the cost. Palms rigid and angled at the cyborg, Luke slowly, and then more surely, began to take steps away from the surging cauldron of energy that lay behind, newly born wind rustling his hair and tattered clothes. Darth Vader faltered further, and Luke pressed, tightening his control over the torrent and using it to lash his foe, pounding him with coils of invisible force and overwhelming power. Beyond the wave, the Jedi could feel his father weakening fast, as if the new onslaught had taxed his energy reserves beyond the breaking point.
For the first time truly desperate, Vader pushed back, lending his own energies to the storm, and forcing Luke to loose ground again. Lip beginning to bleed between clenched teeth, the Jedi gathered up more of the knots of power and sent them again at the Dark Lord, but this time he was ready, and reflected them back, making Luke again step back to remain balanced. As this assault continued, neither combatant noticed the small silver hilt lying at the very edge of the expanse of electrified deck plate. Neither noticed as Luke’s failing efforts brought him closer to it. Neither noticed as his left boot came down upon its smooth, rounded surface. Then it was too late.
Suddenly falling backwards over the discarded lightsaber, Luke was unable to resist a new wave of invisible energy, and to his disbelief, felt an arc of lightning shoot up past his head, and then another, and then another. His body was consumed by a violent river of bluish light, and the pain that flamed across his body quickly gave way to numbness, and the darkness set on.
Deep within the Imperial Palace, in the quiet solitude of a simple medical chamber, Darth Vader looked upon the barely living remains of his only son. In the darkness, his synthetic breath was quickened and irregular, reverberating softly though the liquid that sustained the Jedi’s immobile form. There, on that Star Destroyer, he had not acted quickly enough, he had been too slow and pulling his son from the nexus’s deadly embrace, and he had all but died for it, his mind now trapped in a coma the greatest physicians in the Empire could not remedy. Luke had not been felled in combat, or even chosen the path of noble sacrifice; he had succumbed to an accident. There, in that narrow hallway, Vader’s ambitions and plots had been forgotten, the dark side’s icy grip had weakened; a twisted man had held his broken son in his arms. There, on the cold, metal floor, for the first time in two decades, Darth Vader had wept.
“Realspace reversion in ten seconds,” a comm officer reported from a crew station on the Republica’s bridge, his voice noticeably tinged by anxiety. Captain Ryceed nodded and rose from her command chair, careful to hide her own apprehension. They had been out of contact with the Rebellion for nearly a week, and she had no idea what might await the Republica at the Alliance redoubt. Assuming the Imperials hadn’t caught up with them, the command frigate Redemption, what was left of Rogue Squadron, and the few transports and gunships that had escaped Sullust would be awaiting them, but the hope was that there would be a greater force in waiting. The Imperial ambush had been premature, and there were still Alliance fleet assets elsewhere preparing to jump. Hopefully, the Redemption had been able to stop them from rendezvousing at Sullust and diverted the remaining fleet here. They may have lost the flagship and a large portion of the Sullust battle group, but the fleet elements from Mon Calamari and Arbra would still make the Alliance a viable military threat.
“Initiating reversion.”
Beyond the bridge’s armored viewport, the roiling darkness of hyperspace shimmered and then gave way to a vast field of stars, unbroken by planetary bodies or nebulae; the Alliance fall back position was fixed in the rarely-traveled emptiness between Hutt Space and the Brak sector, near an old deep-space observation station that had been converted into a Alliance supply depot, abandoned during the height of the Old Republic thousands of years ago.
“Are you picking up any Alliance signals?” Ryceed asked expectantly, probing the empty space beyond with narrowed eyes. The gesture was futile, even relatively close starships would be too far off to see without the optical enhancers built into the view port’s transparisteel sheath locked onto a target, but the captain persisted nonetheless. She had fought in more than one battle where her ship had literally jumped in on top of an enemy cruiser, and her experience told her that she might well be doing that now. Considering how close they had come to detection the previous day, it was possible that the remainder of the fleet had been ambushed or followed, and the only thing awaiting them here was the deadly green flame of a Star Destroyer’s broadside.
“Yes sir,” Ryceed’s executive officer replied, analyzing a sensor readout. “Several. Directly forward, 35 degrees above our axis.” Ryceed smiled slightly. At least it wasn’t a trap.
“Alter our heading towards the signals and get me a tight band transmission to the Redemption when we are in range.” As the XO acknowledged the order and moved off to oversee the bridge crew, the captain called up the ship’s imagining sensors on one of her command terminals and observed as the helm brought the Alliance fleet into view. They were only a few pinpricks of light at first, virtually indistinguishable from the surrounding stars, but as the cruiser changed course, and sped forward, the view quickly sharpened, viewscreen automatically focusing on and enlarging the center of the group of ships.
Ryceed’s eyes widened and she grabbed a nearby guard rail, squeezing it hard to regain focus. There, displayed before her, was the shattered hull of what had once been a MC-80 Star Cruiser, the mightiest weapon in the Rebel Starfleet. Now instead of a majestic, almost organic-looking hull adorned with its characteristic systems bulges, the ship was charred wreck, listing starboard lazily in the deathly quiet of space. Illuminated by its few functioning running lights, the cruiser’s hull was almost uniformly covered in huge swaths of black carbon burns, and sported numerous vast gashes, one of which nearly bisected the wreck, exposing two dozen decks to space. It looked like the carcass of a huge stellar monster of legend; it’s slowly rotting ribs jutting out into the cold vacuum. A single ion drive remained functioning, pulsing blue light wearily as it attempted to keep the vessel from spinning end over end into the blackness.
As the image began to pan back, revealing more of the fleet, other officers took notice, pausing to gape in horror at the image on the captain’s screen. There were six large ships in total, two MC-80s, a pair of smaller Mon Calamari vessels, a light cruiser and modified carrier, a retrofitted Lanowar Assault Cruiser, and finally the medical frigate Redemption. Every ship without exception seemed to have suffered damage, but the MC-80s had taken the worst of it, the second only in somewhat better repair than the drifting hulk it was holding position next to. Dozens of pinpricks, fighters, shuttles, and repair tugs of all designations darted around them, docking with the various ships or angling in towards the 500 meter half-wheel space station that lay in the midst of the motley assortment of ships.
“By the Force,” Commander Gavplek, Ryceed’s XO, whispered unbelievingly. “That’s the Camaas. Wasn’t she stationed at Mon Calamari?” Ryceed nodded, running one hand shakily through her short hair. The drifting wreck was indeed that ship; she was fast friends its commander, a Rodian named Gredic Farr. They had trained together in the Chandrilan Flight Academy, from which both had been recruited to join the Alliance. Looking at the burned hulk was beginning to turn her stomach in revulsion, and there was a spark of new fear coursing up her spine. If the Camaas was here, where was the rest of the Mon Calamari fleet division? There were nearly two dozen capital ships being held in reserve there. The sickened sensation spread into her chest.
Caught up in the devastation of what was to have been their only reinforcements, which had been expanded onto the main viewer just off the forward view port, the bridge crew barely noticed as one of the turbolifts at the rear of the chamber opened and Leia Organa, Han Solo, and C-3PO stepped out. “Oh dear,” the protocol droid mumbled, pausing almost as soon as he was out of the door, optical receptors attracted to the overhead sensor display. Han and Leia as well stopped and exchanged grim looks.
“Captain,” the princess called formally, climbing up to the raised command platform in a few quick strides. Snapping her head away from the spectacle, Ryceed offered a smart, if slightly delayed salute. “Ma’am.” Leia motioned for the captain to be at ease; she technically didn’t outrank the captain, but as a member of Mon Mothma’s High Council, she received preferential treatment from Alliance officers, especially the younger ones, who were generally highly enamored of the heroes of Yavin Four. Leia didn’t like the special consideration, but as a former galactic senator, she was used to it.
Leia gestured to the display screen. “Do you know what happened here?” Captain Ryceed frowned, and the shot a glare at a nearby communications officer. “Have you been able to get a tight beam to the Redemption yet?” The crewer punched a few digits into his consol, and then looked up. “Aye sir, the connection has been made. And it looks like there’s someone on the other end waiting. Holofeed.”
“Put it through.”
The holographic projector Cortana had occupied the previous day sparked to life and the shimmering image of a woman came into view, her face heavily lined and hair disheveled. Ryceed snapped another stiff salute and Leia gave a small conciliatory bow.
“Captain Imal Ryceed, I am relieved to see that you and your crew have arrived safely,” Mon Mothma said wearily. It was plain that she had not slept in days.
“As are we, Supreme Commander,” the captain replied, dropping her salute at a respectful speed, still at attention. Mon Mothma’s actual title was rarely used in the Alliance Hierarchy, but Ryceed was unusually formal for a Rebel officer, even a captain.
Mon Mothma’s projection turned to the princess. “And I am quite relieved to see you here at last Leia. Things have been going very badly here.” She looked as though she was going to continue, but the woman trailed of, staring sadly at nothing in particular. Leia stepped forward, her face earnest. “What happened here? Where is the rest of the fleet?” The Chief of State shook her head slowly. “This is it, everyone who made it here. The Imperial fleet launched a concerted attack on Mon Calamari before the fleet could jump away. Most of it was destroyed defending the planet, and only Captain Halder, Kre’fey and Farr’s ships were able to escape after it was clear the planet was lost.” Ryceed felt a lump forming in her throat at the mention of Farr’s name, but she held her tongue, and Mon Mothma continued.
“The battle group that the Council called in from Arbra sent back a recognition code when we called them here, but they should have arrived here yesterday, even if they took the longest and most secreted route. General Madine fears that they too have been ambushed and wiped out. The rest of the ships here are stragglers from Denlly 2 and Cerea, the only two other bases we were able to reach safely. We are trying to contact some of the raider squadrons in more distant sectors, but too much hyperwave activity from our remaining ships risks Imperial detection. It hardly matters though; most of our military forces were already at either Sullust or Mon Calamari. This may be all we have left.”
Leia listened in horror, but was able disguise her shock with a deep frown. This was hardly unexpected, but news of what might very well be the death knell of the Rebellion was still hard to bear. “What of the evacuees from Sullust? Have you been able to contact them? From Mon Calamari?” Mon Mothma shook her head solemnly. “As far as we know, no one outside of the three warships I mentioned escaped the surprise attack there. As for the Sullustans, it is highly likely that all of their ships were destroyed or captured soon after they jumped. Without our battleships to guide and defend them, there was little hope they would be able to flee for long. The few scouts we have dispatched indicate that this new Imperial operation is massive; two thousand reserve Star Destroyers have been activated in this quadrant alone. Lord Vader is pressing the advantage, and any sign or even the faintest clue of rebel activity is being investigated ruthlessly. I fear that we will not receive…” she halted, putting up a hand. “That is enough for now. This can be discussed later, with the Council. I have arranged a meeting to take place onboard the observation station at eleven hundred hours.”
Leia nodded, trying to look reassuring. “I’ll be there.” Mon Mothma smiled weakly. “Thank you Leia. I’m not sure how much longer I could have lasted without you here.”
The Supreme Commander turned back to Captain Ryceed. “Captain, I’m sure your ship requires supplies and repairs. Our resources are limited, but there is enough fuel and ammunition stored on this station for you to requisition what is needed. Ah, and there is a considerable number of wounded from the other ships here, and we have not been able treat and bed them all. If there is space in your own medical facilities, it is requested that you take on some of our more critical cases.”
“Certainly, Supreme Commander. I will send shuttles to the station for them at once.” Mon Mothma gave a tired look of recognition, and then squeezed shut and then opened her eyes, as if trying to stay awake. “Ah yes, Captain. Neild Farr of the Camaas is one of the patients I’ll have you take aboard. He suffered several injuries during the retreat, but he is in stable condition now.” Ryceed felt a small portion of the weight on her chest evaporate. How did she remember, or even know that the two were friends, especially at a time like this? Admiration for the woman growing, allowed a small smile. “That’s…good news. Thank you Ma’am.”
Looking more drained now than she had even minutes before, Mon Mothma reached for something out of the projector’s view, probably the control stud, but before she could end the transmission, the woman looked up again. “General Solo?”
Surprised, Leia and Ryceed looked over to find Han Solo standing between them, trying to look precise and military. “Chief of State, I was wondering if I could ask if General Skywalker is with your fleet group here.” Leia felt a shiver run down her spine. Yes, this had been bothering both of them since Sullust. Luke hadn’t arrived in the fleet before the Imperial attack, and neither had heard mention of him during the battle or retreat.
Mon Mothma shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. We had hoped he had docked with the Republica before we evacuated. Did you make contact before or during the battle?”
“No Ma’am, that’s the thing. If he didn’t rendezvous with your squadron, then he must not have been involved in the battle at all. When Leia… Princess Organa and I left Tatooine; Luke said he had to stop off some place before he met back up with the fleet. If he got there after we escaped…” There was no need to finish the thought. Even a pilot of Luke’s caliber couldn’t fight off Darth Vader and a fleet of Star Destroyers and Interdictors by himself.
Mon Mothma sighed, sounding increasingly haggard. “This is very troubling news. General Skywalker was a great asset to us, and I know both of you are very close to him. I will instruct our deep range patrols to keep an eye out for distress signals or snub fighter hyperspace signatures from the Sullust system, but I can’t promise anything. I am very sorry.”
Leia accepted the news and thanked Mon Mothma with a calm and even demeanor, but as she and Han rode the turbolift away from the bridge, Leia lost her composure and fell against the gruff Corellian for support. She wasn’t sure if either of them could withstand another loss like this.
The Shuttles that had been dispatched from the Republica were given special clearance by Mon Mothma herself, and thus were able to bypass the motley collection of light freighters, Gallofree transports, and what few other support craft were left in the fleet, all waiting in long cues for docking privileges at the supply station’s two operational ports. Most of the smaller ships in the fleet were in varying states of undersupply and disrepair, and there were thousands of crewmen in fleet remnant in need of medical attention. The sickbay facilities on the larger starships, even the medical frigate, could not handle the strain, and thus a makeshift hospital had been set up in the facility’s main computer lab. It was a dangerous situation; there would be little time to evacuate the station if the Imperial fleet located them, and the facility was unarmed, but it had to be done. Risk or not, Mon Mothma had made it clear that every wounded Alliance soldier still able to be saved would be, she could not bear anymore blood on her hands, and massive die-offs amongst the personnel would be devastating for already weakened moral.
After the three boxy starships had landed in the crowded and noisy shuttle landing bay, the Republica’s chief physician and his team rushed off to the makeshift hospital area, while the other crewmen began to load much needed starship components and fuel onto their ships. Almost a dozen others had accompanied the crewers, come to see the High Council and discuss Captain Picard’s proposal. Leia Organa, with C-3PO in tow, had departed immediately for Mon Mothma’s temporary quarters, taking Major Truul and his aide with her. As one of the more senior and experienced infantry commanders left in the fleet, he would likely need to be close by if and when the Council called for a general command meeting to debate their options.
Left in the bay was Captain Picard himself, Commander Riker, Data, the Master Chief, with Cortana stored in his armor, and inexplicably, the Arbiter. The towering warrior, generally reclusive since the Battle of Sullust, had simply asked to accompany the small Federation delegation, but had not given the reason why. There had been little reason to refuse the request, at the very least he might decide to assist the Alliance crewmen load the shuttles, but there was something about him that was suspicious. Both Riker and the Spartan had kept a very close eye on the Elite during the short transit, but he had seemed to be behaving normal enough, for him, and was now causally watching Leia and Truul as they made their way through the crowd and disappeared through a doorway off the dock.
The Federation officers, instructed by Leia Organa, who was being surprisingly helpful for a person none of them had even seen before a few days ago, to stay on the station until she could arrange a new hearing for their cause, slowly drifted out of the throng of binary load lifters and harried Rebel officers and towards a relatively empty hallway. “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait here,” Riker said idly, propped up against a wall as he watched the Republica’s shuttles lift off, bearing new supplies and patients in need of surgery and bacta emersion.
“As long as it takes, number one,” Picard responded sternly. “This is a trying time for them, and we mustn’t impose more than we need too, at least not yet.”
The commander took the admonition with a grim nod, but another spoke up. “Perhaps it would be wise to try and speed up proceedings.” This from the AI construct Cortana, who spoke through the Master Chief’s own comm unit. “As you say yourself, the Alliance has a lot on its hands right now. If we just wait quietly, we might have to sit here until that wormhole collapses. The sooner we make our case again, the less likely it is we will be forgotten.”
Picard shook his head. “I assure you, I will not allow them to forget us. However, we must remember that the Alliance doesn’t have to do anything for us; we must convince them that it is in their best interest to give us a ship that can traverse that rift. If our entreaties are too forceful or hasty, we may lose any support we might have left among them, and will be sent back to the Republica, perhaps even imprisoned.”
Data nodded thoughtfully. “You should seriously consider Captain Picard’s warning. He is quite experienced with a wide variety of diplomatic and political situations, and has been involved in the construction of numerous successful treaties and compacts, including the Ceasefire implemented to end the Tejan/Oxygeen war, the Sheliak Compromise of Stardate…”
“Thank you Data, that’s enough,” the Captain said with a reassuring gesture, a bemused smile creasing his lips. The android quickly silenced itself, casting an inquisitive look at the Captain before straightening up and resuming his curious observation of the numerous Alliance officers who skirted around the small group as they passed.
The conversation had lulled for no more than fifteen seconds before the green cyborg spoke up again, this time in his own voice. “Where is the Elite?”
Caught off guard by the question, the others hurriedly looked to the area where the Arbiter had been standing before, against the wall a few feet behind Riker, only minutes before. Sure enough though, the spot was vacant, and there was no sign of the eight-foot titan.
“What the?” Riker mumbled, glancing down at both ends of the hallway to no avail.
“He was there exactly three minutes, nineteen seconds ago, the last time my vision passed over that area,” Data noted, almost incredulously. “I do not see how he could have evaded our notice when he left. Disguising such a body mass, even in a crowd such as this, would be extremely difficult.”
“Never underestimate one of them,” the Master Chief said darkly, shifting his weight into a more alert position for combat. “I once saw a single Elite cut down a squad of seven men in five seconds, just with his plasma blade. And the Arbiter is no ordinary foot soldier.” The Chief had developed a grudging respect for the alien over the last few weeks, but he still was perfectly willing to accept that it might turn on them again. Still, if the Arbiter did intend on escape or subterfuge, why would he do it now? The Elite had been left mostly to his own devices for days on the Republica, and had made no hostile moves. It didn’t add up.
“Whatever he’s doing, we have to find him, and fast,” Picard warned. “Even benign observation of this station’s inner workings without permission could be perceived as a threat, and we are on uncertain footing as it is.”
“If he’s intent on not being found, were probably not going to find him, at least not until he makes some offensive move,” Cortana noted. “His armor has a stealth system integrated into it that can disrupt most motion, thermal, and electrical scanners, as well as deflect light. The Chief’s motion sensor system wouldn’t be able to accurately pin point him, even without the number of people around us, and I doubt even Alliance internal sensors could pick him up, at least not without a concerted effort.”
Picard shook his head. “No, we can’t let the Alliance know unless absolutely necessary. Is there any other way we might be able to locate him?”
The AI paused, considering. “Well, he probably knows about just as little about the layout of this station as we do, so he can’t have gotten too far in here. It would help if I could guess at his motives, but if he’s trying to avoid detection, open, out of the way spaces would be my best bet, with low lighting.”
“Covenant personal cloaking shields create a visible ripple effect in good light, but in the dark, they are virtually impossible to see,” the Master Chief explained.
Picard frowned, deep in thought. There was little chance that spreading out to look for the Arbiter would succeed, and it might not even be necessary; after all, he had given no indication of hostile motives. Still, there was a danger, and even if the Elite meant no harm, if an Alliance marine discovered a member of Picard’s party operating under cloak in a secure portion of the station, his credibility, and their chances of getting home, would be forever lost. Silently, Picard dammed the foolish creature. They had been so close to another hearing before the council; why would he jeopardize that opportunity now?
“Alright, we’ll have to at least try and find him. Commander, I want you to stay here, just in case Leia Organa summons us before I return. Stall her and raise us on your comm. It should still function in here.” Picard’s own insignia chip had been seized during his time aboard the Torrent, but he had been able to requisition one from Lieutenant Jossa before they departed. “Commander Data, Chief, come with me. I think it would be best to begin our search from the docking bay. We might at least get a sense were he might have been able to head without alerting attention.”
The search, however, did not last very long. Almost as soon as Picard and his team had exited the hallway and waded back into the crowd of crewers and droids who hurried feverishly though the bay, loading and unloading shuttles and fightercraft, the Master Chief halted, staring incredulously at a large stack of ration containers that were being loaded into a waiting Calamarian transport. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Surprised by the soldier’s incredulous words, the Captain and Data both turned towards the spot, where, among a crew of burly humans and a lone wookiee who were focused on hefting the large tubes into the ship’s waiting maw, a tall, bluish gray creature stood, grappling with a metal box nearly his own size. “I believe our search is at and end,” Data commented, triggering an annoyed lance from his superior.
“What are you doing here?” Picard asked caustically after navigating his way though the tightly packed rows of crates and busy droids. Not even bothering to turn to face the human, the Arbiter braced himself against the weight of his charge, at least four hundred pounds of pastisteel and compressed food stuffs, and staggered over to the transports cargo hatch. With a low grunt, he raised the container up to neck height, and then shoved it onto the waiting deck of the transport, where it was quickly tagged and shoved into the ship’s main hold my grateful Alliance pilots. The Arbiter then flexed his smooth, toned muscles, sighed, and turned to the group.
“I have little patience for idle waiting. When it became apparent that the High Council was not going to grant us an audience immediately, I decided to assist the soldiers out her with their recovery. I trust I did nothing to endanger or inconvenience you.” The Elite’s response was formal and monotonous, but Picard could swear there was a hint of annoyance behind the words. Secretly, he felt the same; there had been far too much waiting since they had rendezvoused with the Alliance fleet. He longed to be back in command of a starship, to decide when and how things would be done. And, of course, he longed to be back home, no longer a wear passenger in a strange land, set amidst a conflict he could only begin to understand or appreciate. Picard was certain that the Arbiter shared mutual desires.
Nevertheless, they were still only unwilling visitors, unneeded baggage, and unless Picard could convince someone that they could offer something of value in return for passage back to the wormhole, they would remain leaves in the wind.
“No…no, it’s alright,” Picard said, shaking his head. “I would simply appreciate it if in the future you make your actions known to one of us before moving off elsewhere. We wouldn’t want there to be a misunderstanding of your motives on the part of the Alliance.”
The Arbiter fixed Picard in gaze with his large, golden eyes, and the human suddenly became very aware of just how small he was compared to the warrior. “I shall endeavor to comply with your request, Captain.” He placed special emphasis on the final word. Picard grew increasingly uneasy. The Elite had been reserved and compliant in the past, but he certainly was not one to be crossed, by friend or foe.
An uncomfortable silence hung over the group for a long moment, the Federation captain and former Covenant ship master locked in a contest of wills. Then, barely indistinguishable over the racket of the docking bay, Picard noticed the badge on his chest was chirping. Ending the uncomfortable moment with a grudging nod, he looked away and slapped the communication device. “Commander?”
“Captain, Major Truul has informed me that the Council will meet with us now. He says time is limited.”
Picard acknowledged the message and then turned to Data and the Chief. “We should go.”
As the two moved off to rejoin Riker in the far hallway, Picard turned back to the Elite, who still had him fixed in a penetrating stare. “I trust you want to accompany us.” The Arbiter inclined his head passively and strode off after Data and the cyborg, leaving Picard alone standing next to the transport, very glad to be out of his gaze.
“I’m not buying his story,” the Master Chief said, after making sure his external comm was off.
“Me neither,” Cortana agreed, using the optical sensors impregnated throughout the super soldier’s armor to monitor the Elite. “I can buy that he’s not a xenophobic zealot intent on killing you when your back is turned anymore, but I have a hard time picturing any high and mighty Elite lugging around cargo simply because they were bored. He’s up to something. You’ll be keeping an eye on him too?”
“And a gun sight, when I’m able.”
Cortana could never tell when the Chief was being sarcastic, but he rarely was.
“If we are to act at all, we must do it soon!” The tall man slapped his open palm on the dark Dathomiri Pine table to emphasize his point. The gaunt and preoccupied faces observed him from around the huge wooden disc, unmoved by the display. “With each day that passes, Vader’s grip upon the Empire strengthens, and more of our contacts turn on us, flee, or disappear outright! We must to consolidate, reassert our authority as the rightful heirs of Palpatine’s power; as the only ones who can lawfully chose a new Emperor. If we…”
“You will speak of his Imperial highness with the proper respect,” Sate Pestage said icily, his voice little more than a whisper. The Grand Vizier, chief among Palpatine’s most trusted advisors, sat stiffly on a narrow, metallic chair, his arms draped limply on its control-studded supports. Dressed in a luxurious burgundy robe and large, domed hat that denoted his high status, Pestage looked very small and frail, as if his master’s death had crushed what little life was left in his dry bones. However, dark, beady eyes told a completely different story; the Vizier was still very alert, and very dangerous.
An uncomfortable silence filled the large chamber, and the speaker, his momentum robed, bowed in supplication. “I apologize, Grand Vizier; you know I meant no disrespect our majesty. The past few days have been trying for us all; I am afraid I have been too busy attempting to ensure the Empire’s future and our place in it. The effort has distracted me from paying proper respect to our fallen master.” The acid in the man’s tone was palpable. Pestage said nothing in response, only acknowledging the obvious condescension in the councilor’s words by narrowing his eyes on him, further furrowing an already crevassed brow.
Sure that no more objections were forthcoming from the Grand Vizier, the speaker sat lightly in a the large, splendid chair behind him and launched into another impassioned speech, regaling those assembled with a myriad of warnings, foreboding statistics, and half formed plans; everyone in the chamber had heard the dialogue before, and doubtless would again. The man went by the name of Ars Dagnor, who, like most of those listening, had been part of Palpatine’s inner circle of advisors. A tallow-skinned and pasty human of slight stature, Ars was surprisingly charismatic for his physical appearance, a skill that the late Emperor had employed more than once, both in private negotiation and to spread the propaganda that helped keep the vast multitudes of Imperial citizens in line.
Arrayed around the large table were six other men of similar ilk, all advisors and confidants of the Emperor, now with their position of power and influence in danger. None of them labored under the illusion that the new ruler of the Galactic Empire would take them on as his own staff, and some of the inner circle had even fled after Palpatine’s death, disappearing to one of the numerous retreat worlds and redoubts Palpatine had developed during his reign. Two in particular, Savuud Thimram and Gwellib Ap-Llewft, both minor Force users honed under the Emperor’s dark tutelage, had expressed a fear for their own lives before slipping away; Darth Vader’s seemingly ingrained resentment and anger towards most Force-users had only been barely contained and directed by Palpatine, and no one knew what he would do to those under the Empire’s sanction now that he was left to his own devices.
Most had stayed however, unwilling to relinquish the power they held and confident that with their contacts and influence, Vader might be undermined and subverted, perhaps even removed entirely. Dagnor was the chief advocate of this course, and the advisors Gam Rothwall and Janus Greejatus firmly with him, but the other four, Kren Blista-Vance, Hixa Torenvom, the ever silent Sim Aloo, and finally Sate Pestage himself were more doubtful, unsure of what course to take.
“But wouldn’t assassinating Vader at a time like this be risking a major upset in the military hierarchy?” Ars Dagnor cast annoyed glare at the portly Torenvom, angered at having one of his long-winded plots to eliminate the Dark Lord of the Sith interrupted.
“Of course it would mean upsetting the hierarchy Hixa. What else would you call the summary replacement of a head of state?”
Greejatus snickered.
Fleshy cheeks reddening slightly, the counselor pressed angrily forward. “You know what I meant Ars. Vader’s mobilization of our reserve fleets to finally eliminate the Rebellion has stretched our Forces out more than they have been for decades, and there are rumors that some of the lesser powers are taking advantage of it. I have received reports from one of my contacts near Bakura that the local holonet has lost contact with several of the colony worlds closest to Wild Space. The local Moff has voiced his fears that there may be a hostile force at work.”
Ars Dagnor let loose a loud, obnoxious sigh, and then shook his condescendingly. “You of all people Hixa should know that there is no power in this galaxy, alien or rebel, that could pose any serious threat to the Empire. The admiralty is well trained and loyal enough to operate effectively under any adverse circumstance, even a change in Emperor.”
“And what if civil war breaks out? Have you considered that?” Sate Pestage said softly, his calm tone and body language disguising his growing distain for the pompous blowhard across the table. “For all of our contacts and supposed influence, many in the military and government may chose to side with Vader if we make a move against him. You are correct, my friend, no external foe can threaten us, but we can easily tear ourselves apart.”
“And what exactly,” Ars responded slowly, his voice bearing the same acidic quality it had born during their previous exchange, “makes you believe that anyone would choose to follow Darth Vader, the night terror, murder of friend and foe alike, relic of the traitorous Jedi Order, over the closest friends and confidants of the late, benevolent Emperor? Propaganda proves its usefulness once again; Vader is seen by the unthinking masses as a mindless killer, a terror weapon to be used against those who violated the will and trust of the Emperor. All of Lord Palpatine’s more…questionable policies can be attributed to him, and the Emperor’s legacy can be left pristine and pure. Most in the higher echelons of power don’t even know that our Lord could wield the Force. He, and by extension us, are without fault or flaw. Supplanting Vader is more likely to earn us a place in the Week of Celebration than a civil war.”
“Besides, who ever said that anyone would have an opportunity to ally with him against us?” Greejatus intoned with a sickening grin. “If our glorious master could have been done in by filthy Rebel assassins, I’m sure we could think up an appropriate and expeditious fate for our supposed successor.”
“Please Greejatus, you don’t actually believe the official version of our Emperor’s demise, do you?” Blista-Vance scoffed, rolling his bloodshot eyes in contempt. “The Grand Vizier was forced to concoct that story himself; we all know who was really responsible.”
“Nevertheless, disposing of Vader will not be difficult when we decide upon the appropriate moment,” Ars Dagnor countered before anyone else could add to the increasingly heated discussion. “If anything, the Clone Wars and the subsequent Purge showed us that those who wield the Force are far from invincible. Darth Vader will die, and soon. I can promise this, and that we will be accepted with open arms as the saviors of the Empire after the deed is done.”
Pestage slumped back into his chair, disgusted with Dagnor’s arrogance and disregard for reason. It was becoming increasingly obvious, that for all his bluster, there was little the man would actually be able to accomplish if the discussed coup was ever to be implemented. It was best perhaps to cut their losses and run; Sate had been gifted a sizable portion of space by the Emperor for his loyal service, the multi-system Citruic Hegemony in which he could comfortably retire. And even if that place was rendered untenable, there were other worlds to which he could flee, secret places, places that even some of those around him now did not know of.
One of the circular chamber’s two doors slid silently open behind Sate Pestage, and a lone Stormtrooper captain entered, careful not to disrupt the proceedings. Ars paid him little heed, and began to converse in hushed tones with Greejatus, who was seated next to him. The soldier, commander of Sate’s personal guard, leaned down next to his ear and whispered something imperceptible. The vizier listened intently, his eyes slowly widening with shock as the trooper continued to relay the message. When he had finished and snapped back to attention, Pestage was bolt upright in his seat, swiftly gathering the few flimsi-sheets and datapads he had brought with him up from the table and sweeping them into the folds of his robe. The others looked on in bewilderment.
“Going somewhere, Grand Vizier?” Dagnor asked curiously as Pestage rose from his place at the table.
“I’m leaving Coruscant Ars, now. If any of you value your lives, I suggest you do the same. There is very little time.” He cast imploring looks at the two of his colleagues who might still see reason and inevitability; Dagnor and his cronies were beyond hope. With only a moment of hesitation, the silent Sim Aloo rose and took a place at Pestage’s side, but Hixa, after exchanging a nervous look with Ars, shook his head, double chin wobbling with the effort.
Sighing resignedly, Sate turned away from the table and began to make his way for the exit, Aloo and the Stormtrooper in tow. Before he made it out of the room however, a voice behind made him freeze.
“So it has come to this. Our grand vizier turning tail and running from certain victory like some xenu coward. How shameful, I never could understand what Palpatine ever saw in you. What has caused you to reveal your true colors at last, I wonder? Has Vader bought you out? Found an alien wench who will take even you to bed?”
A wave of fury washed over the Grand Vizier, but he was able to suppress it, allowing this to be his only response: “You will find out soon enough Ars. You will find out soon enough.” With that, not even bothering to turn to deliver the final message, Sate stalked out of the chamber, the door snapping silently shut after he and his companions had passed from view.
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 340
(10/3/05 8:25 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Thirty Seven
Jean-Luc Picard’s tone was even and calm, not a hint of his ever-present weariness or anxiety at the importance of the short speech he was wrapping up evident in his voice. His audience, a small group of the Alliance’s highest remaining officials, sat in a semi-circle around him, some of them listening intently to the man, while others tapped distractedly at datapads which contained increasingly dour casualty figures and supply reports from the fleet. Picard to ignore the blatant sign of disinterest and forged on, eloquently explaining his crew’s situation, the benefits that could be gained by all in a venture back to the wormhole, and the limited resources necessary to facilitate such an expedition.
Mon Mothma’s Advisory Council and Picard’s small delegation were crammed into a small, sparsely furnished chamber that was serving as Mon Mothma’s temporary headquarters. A former computer maintenance shop, it was located just off the make-shift hospital area and the occasional shout of a medic or moan of pain reverberated through the walls as foot traffic rushed by the room’s sealed door.
Attempting to keep his presentation brief, Picard succinctly recapped the argument he had just made, and then fell silent, watching those around him carefully, their leader most of all. Along with Mon Mothma, who’s faded red hair seemed to have noticeably grayed since they had last met, Princess Leia, Generals Rieekan and Crix Madine, Major Nay’far, a silver-haired female Bothan who was one of the few individuals to have been able to rendezvous with the fleet since the Republica’s arrival, and the acting commander of the Alliance starfleet Captain Ajun Halder all sat in uneasy silence, mulling the captain’s words. Truul was also in attendance, standing at stiff attention behind Mon Mothma’s seat and trying to look as formal as possible.
“Thank you captain,” Mon Mothma said at last. “Please, sit.” Picard complied, coming to rest in metal chair alongside Commander Riker, who had so far been silent, allowing the captain to fully exercise his diplomatic skill. Behind them, Data, the Master Chief, and the Arbiter stood against the wall each watching the proceeding with rapt and very personal interest. “I apologize our original hearing of your cause was cut short, but it was unfortunate necessity, as you are well aware I’m sure.” The woman’s voice was tired and cracked, and heavily tinged with resentment. Picard hoped that the feeling didn’t have anything to do with him or his party; such ill feeling would complicate matters.
“It has come to my attention that you and your crew assisted our forces at Sullust with unusual and unexpected valor, and for that I am grateful. Certainly, the Home One’s bridge crew, Commander Truul’s squad, and perhaps the entire fleet owe you all a debt of gratitude.” The captain noticed that Truul was suppressing a satisfied grin behind the Supreme Commander’s back, and he offered the man a fractional nod of gratitude, but he couldn’t help but notice that Mon Mothma’s expression had not brightened at all when she had thanked him, a foreboding sign.
“However…” Picard’s pulse quickened. He had known the word was coming.
“However, it would not be wise to devote any resources to your proposed expedition and envoy, especially not now.” Nay’far finished Mon Mothma’s reluctant verdict. The Bothan was not looking at either of them, but rather seemed absorbed in a statistical analysis of the star fighter complement of the fleet remnant that played cross the pad that rested on her palms. “We need all functional personnel and material consolidated here, and diverting any force could be suicidal. My contacts in the Spynet indicate that if the Imperial fleets in this sector continue their current pattern of search and expansion, this facility may be discovered in short order. Frankly, we weren’t equipped to handle a full Star Destroyer task force at full strength, and with the fleet in its current state, our chances are significantly lessened.”
A single drop of sweat formed on Picard’s brow. This was what he had fear might occur, and for all his skill with words and compromise, he didn’t know if there was anything he could do if the Rebel leadership was dead set against providing him resources. From the Bothan’s absolute tone, it seemed as though she was confident that the rest of the council would agree with her assessment. Perhaps the effort was doomed from the start.
“Major, if I may ask, given our current state, would temporarily losing a single starship, even one of our cruisers, significantly alter out chances if the Empire ever finds us here?” Surprised at the question, the woman looked up from her datapad and into Leia Organa’s intense eyes.
“Well… it would all depend upon the circumstances of a potential attack, but that’s beside the point. To split up what little we have now could only be destructive in the long run.”
“But your discounting the benefit that might be gained by following the captain’s suggestion,” Leia pressed, edging forward in her seat. “If we can get a diplomatic envoy into Federation territory and broker an arrangement with them, the Alliance could gain something we could never hope to earn in this galaxy, especially now; a truly safe haven, and an established government that could freely lend us aid. Frankly, we need all the assistance we can get now.”
The Bothan officer was clearly taken aback by Leia’s opposition, and Picard began to hope that his earlier sense of the general feeling of the councilors had been in error. After taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Nay’far put aside the pad and stared directly at the human’s intent face. “I had hoped it would not come to this, but there are other reasons why I do not support leading our resources to this fool’s errand. This ‘wormhole’ they discovered sounds far more unstable and unpredictable than the captain would seem to want us to believe. And even if it is stable, how are we to control its path? Even the members in Picard’s team here come from several disparate galaxies and time lines. And even if they have found some way to guide whatever ship we send through to the appropriate time and place, what if the wormhole was to collapse or relocate while whatever ambassadors and ships are still on the other side? A brief expedition to meet with this Federation might have been acceptable, but it sounds as though it may well be a one-way trip for whoever accompanies the envoy.”
Before Leia or anyone else had time to respond, the Bothan turned her gaze upon Picard. “And forgive me for saying this, but I have my doubts about his true motivations here. If I and those I command were to be trapped in some alien universe with only a slim chance of ever returning home, I would do anything to try and make sure that chance was exploited. Have you ever considered Princess that these men may not be who they claim to be? Oh, I have no doubt they are honorable enough and wouldn’t lead us into the hands of a hostile force, their actions have demonstrated that, but this benevolent and wealthy Federation anxious to ally itself with like-minded cultures seems a bit convenient, don’t you think?”
Will Riker’s jaw dropped in anger, and he began to rise, a forceful objection forming on his lips, but Picard extend a hand to stop his number one, shaking his head significantly. Slowly, the commander sat back down, glaring at the Bothan, who returned the look in kind.
“Though I believe that the Major’s suspicions may be overstated, her concerns are legitimate,” Mon Mothma asserted calmly, casting a stern glance in the woman’s direction. “I am willing to believe you on the Federation’s existence, you have earned that much, but the issue of the wormhole’s stability is more troublesome. Could you provide us any assurance that you could regulate and maintain the anomaly if you were to return to it?”
“Commander Data and Cortana are continuing to work on ways to effectively control the wormhole from what data we were able to retrieve about it,” Picard said, gesturing to the two artificial life forms.
Data took a step forward. “We believe that the phenomenon is controllable, perhaps even to a degree more than adequate to address the concerns Major Nay’far has raised. It is impossible to ascertain the likelihood of success without having direct sensor contact with the anomaly, but Cortana and I have hypothesized that an Alliance starship, with minor modifications to its deflector and EM arrays, could strengthen and direct the course of the wormhole. Then, it is a simple matter of calibrating the arrays to a setting identical those sensed by the derelict Federation vessel before reversion into this galactic plane.”
Picard thanked the android with a silent gesture, and he stepped back against the wall in silence. Despite its long-winded and complex nature, Data’s speech seemed to have had the desired effect; Mon Mothma still looked worn and dour, but some of the regret that had creased her face was dissipating. Nay’far still looked incredulous though. “Who would you propose we send on this mission? Can we really afford to lose any of our key personnel at a time like this? And what of the ship they would commandeer?”
“I can solve part of that at least,” Captain Halder said. “If we are attacked here in by any force of significant number, it will hardly matter if one of our lighter capital ships is absent. Perhaps the Republica; her drive’s are in better working condition than either Arrot Dar or the Redemption, and she’s the only one I’d trust to make it back through the Imperial probing lanes.”
“The Republica! You would throw away one of our last line star cruisers on this venture?” The Bothan gaped at the acting Admiral in shock.
“Major.” Crix Madine intoned significantly. “Calm yourself.”
Her hair bristling with anger and embarrassment, Nay’far cast desperate looks at each of the council members, and then offered a small, formal bow to her commanding officer. “I’m sorry General, I overstepped my bounds.” With that, the Bothan slumped into her seat, silent, but still glaring resentfully at the others in the chamber.
Clearing her throat, Leia Organa rose slowly. “If you will allow me, I would like to fill the roll of ambassador to the Federation. This is an opportunity that cannot be passed up or thrown away, and I intend to see it through.” Mon Mothma looked inquisitively at the young woman, deflated at the prospect of her departure, but after a few moments o thoughts, she nodded in consent. “Alright, I will authorize the expedition. Captain Halder, brief Captain Ryceed of her new mission. As of her return, Leia Organa will have complete authority over the mission and executive authority onboard ship. See to it that the Republica is fully re-supplied and restocked with fightercraft, and ready for departure by tomorrow morning.” Halder saluted and exited the chamber for the crowded passage beyond. After a few hushed words with Mon Mothma, Rieekan, Madine, and Nay’far left as well, the latter still carrying an air of defeat and apprehension.
“Major Truul, you have had more experience than any of us with the Captain and his crew. I trust you have no objection to being leading Princess Organa’s security detail and serving as an envoy between her and our guests?” Truul grinned and snapped a stiff salute. “It would be my honor sir.”
Mon Mothma looked over at Picard. “If the appointment is alright with you of course Captain.” Picard smiled and nodded appreciatively. “Of course, I couldn’t think of anyone better suited to the job.”
As Truul left to authorize his own transfer and assemble a security team and Picard and the other followed, eager to return to the Republica and inform the rest of their group of the outcome of the negotiations, Mon Mothma at last turned back to Leia and took her hands. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? I could find someone else to fill the post.”
Leia smiled and shook her head. “No, I want to go. I… well, I’ve just got a feeling about this.”
“A good one I hope.”
Leia nodded, but deep down, she wasn’t so sure. She still did not know why she had been so compelled to support Picard in his cause. Certainly, it held much promise, and perhaps even salvation for the Rebel cause, but something else was motivating her. Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, to her conversation with the man named Jacen. There had been something about him, and she was strangely driven to ensure his request to help Picard would be fulfilled. Odd.
“Well, good luck Leia. The hopes and dreams of our cause, and the lives of every free being in this galaxy may very well rest on your shoulders. May the Force be with you.”
“And you as well,” Leia replied with sincere conviction. The two women, so alike in cause and history, embraced briefly in friendship, and then they parted, each to strive for the same goal, along very different paths.
There was a flash of transient light, a blur of motion, and then nothingness. The Republica was gone again, one less battle scarred hulk to crowd the supply depot’s docking vectors and sap its waning stores, but nevertheless, one person in particular was sad to see it go. Iask, captain of the small transport vessel Coral Iris, stared regretfully out at the empty space that had berthed the light cruiser only minutes before. The Mon Calamari had been lost amid the jumble of confused Alliance regulations and disorganized communications while waiting for re-supply, and had only just discovered that the starship that bore his former saviors and allies had arrived at all, and had filed a request to board the ship too late to catch it before an abrupt and unscheduled departure. It was a shame, he reflected as graceful fingers swept over the transport’s command console, triggering the main drives to awaken from their diagnostic cycle and prepare for usage. He might never see Riker or Jacen and the others again. In Iask’s lonely line of work, one rarely kept friends for long.
After the Mon Cal’s astromech R2-E4 rolled onto the small bridge and tootled brightly, which Iask interpreted as an affirmation that the docking ports were sealed and engines in working order, the Coral Iris hummed to life, engaging its maneuvering thrusters and disengaging from narrow supply pylon Iask had managed to commandeer for his temporary use. The drives arrayed along the small starship’s tail fin lit up with blue fire and the vessel slowly moved away from the old space station, careful to avoid the traffic still bustling around its main docking ports.
With his ship repaired and restocked as much as it could be with limited resources left at hand, and the Republica gone again on some unknown mission, Iask say no reason to remain with the fleet. Certainly, he had no love for the Empire, but he was no fighter, and his ship would likely not hold up well if thrust into another combat situation. Really, that was all that mattered; the Coral Iris was his life, and he wouldn’t put it in harms way again. Remaining with the Alliance definitely contradicted that goal.
“Engaging ion drives,” the pilot mumbled to himself, a habit he had picked up after years of lonely hyperspace hauls along the Hydian Way. Interfaced with the main computer, E4 reported that a safe hyperspace course back to Ord Mantell would be plotted in the nav computer by the time he cleared the Fleet. Iask would have liked to have returned to his homeworld to recuperate after the harrowing voyage, but from the scattered rumors he had picked up from Alliance crewers and comm officers, the watery planet was not the safest place to go at the moment. Deep inside his gut, a dire concern for his people was hawing away at him; for all he knew, the world was just a hunk of molten slag now. In any event, Ord Mantell, where he got most of his contracts, would be safer for the moment.
The transport’s ion drives increased in output, and the ship began to accelerate from the tattered fleet, gliding gracefully between two of the most heavily damaged Alliance capital ships, each covered with construction droids and space-suited engineers. Even as his right eye monitored his flight controls, Iask’s left orb took in one of the vessels, and he sighed softly, sickened at the sight of one of the graceful, almost organic starships in such a damaged state. If he were another of his race, the sight might have compelled him to stay, to take up arms against the oppressive Empire, but he was too reclusive and stuck in his ways. All he needed was his vessel, his home. Idealistic crusades were for the young and ship-less.
As the Coral Iris passed out of the outermost reaches of the fleet assemblage, and E4 began feeding him hyperspace coordinates, the ship’s sensor suite picked three blips, breaking off from the Alliance fleet to and rapidly gaining on him. Opening his mouth slightly in a Mon Calamari frown, Iask tapped his subspace transceiver.
“Alliance ships, this is the Coral Iris. Is there a problem?”
The bridge’s comm crackled to life with a human man’s voice, unsurprisingly tired and hoarse. “Coral Iris, this Lieutenant Celchu of Rogue Squadron. I’m sorry, but you don’t have clearance to leave the fleet staging area at this time. Command thinks it’s too risky to have too much hyperspace traffic leading away from here. You’ll have to disengage and return to the station.”
Iask’s frown deepened, and his fingers hovered over the acceleration dial, but he did not slow his ship. “There must be some mistake Lieutenant. I cleared this departure with Fleet control only an hour ago.” This was true, but as soon as he said it, the captain knew it would hardly matter; with the state of disarray everything was in at the moment, it wouldn’t surprise him if the High Council’s moratorium on departures hadn’t reached the makeshift flight coordination center by the time he had asked for approval.
“That’s a negative Iris; our orders are straight from the top. Disengage, and head back to the fleet, we’ll escort you.”
Predictable. Well, there wasn’t much he could do now but comply; his ship might be fast for it’s design, but there were A-Wings among that squad, and he wasn’t about to negate their speed advantage with any hostile action. Shaking his large head wearily, Iask grasped the navigation controls, and pulled his craft into a gradual 180 degree turn; at last bring his cockpit back in view of the Fleet and his escorts. The starfighters, two stubby A-Wings and an X-Wing, raced past and came about, forming a loose triangle directly behind the transport. Such a precaution wasn’t really necessary, but he supposed that the fighter pilots were always on edge these days, and with good reason.
The four ships made a slow arc back towards the dilapidated fleet, giving Iask time to admire the Coral Iris’ own acceleration ability; they were millions of kilometers still from the fringes of the fleet. All that could be seen were the dim silhouettes of the large cruisers in the fleet against the starfield, hanging quietly in the emptiness around the old observatory station, the space between them filled with a hundred tiny sparks; fighters and shuttles all. At this distance, beyond sight of the scars and hull breaches, the Rebel force was really quite calming, attractive in its own way.
The Mon Calamari’s skull smashed against his control terminal, jarring his mind away from reality and skewing his vision as the world roared and spun around him. Thrown back against his high-back seat by centrifugal force, Iask could barely hear his droid’s panicked whistles over the warning clangs and proximity sirens that were resounding around the small chamber. Struggling to regain coherence, Iask grabbed the controls blindly and tried to reach the stabilizer controls, which were blinking furiously. As the ship spun and the inertial compensator’s built into the hull attempted unsuccessfully to regulate the sudden pressure, his hands were shoved away violently, but he persisted, at last grasping the controls and counteracting the turbulent dive his vessel had gone into.
The Iris took over the attitude correction, firing emergency barking thrusters automatically to aid its pilot, and finally the spinning stopped. Still light-headed, Iask felt something warm on his bony cheek; greenish blood that was trickling from his jaw onto his simple pilot’s tunic.
“E4, are you alright?” he called, still in a daze. A squawking, grumpy reply greeted his ear nodes, but it was a reply nonetheless.
At last clearing the bile that had risen into his throat, the captain started to ascertain what had happened. The incident had knocked out his sensors and shielding systems, but everything else seemed to be in working order. Smacking the transceiver on again, Iask called out. “Lieutenant? Rogue Squadron? Are you alright?”
Through his viewport, the Mon Cal’s keen eyes spied the glow of two of the fighters a half a kilometer away, each correcting their own orientations.
“We’re operational Iris,” Celchu confirmed a moment latter, an alarm still noticeable clanging in the background. “Rouge seven, did you get a read on…”
“Emperor’s Black Bones!”
With that exclamation, the comm line went silent, leaving Iask bewildered by the sudden exclamation of shock. Then, as his sensors began to come back online, his own proximity detector began to shine in warning, and he hurriedly glanced at his transponder display to see the source of the disturbance. A tiny Imperial emblem glowed red on the display.
Something visible out of his viewport drew Iask’s attention away from the ominous sensor indicator. Directly above his small vessel, no more than a few dozen ship lengths away stretched the massive triangular belly of an Imperial-Class Star Destroyer, studded with turbolasers and Ion cannons of all classes. The mighty warship’s huge bank of Ion drives belched a cone of energy into the blackness that tore at cosmos; Iask absently reflected that he must have been on the fringe of the ship’s drive wash. A few degrees of orientation starboard and the transport would have been atomized by the pulsing engines.
More tiny insignias began to appear on his display, each accompanied by a class descriptor. Star Destroyers, anti-fighter Lancer frigates, Interdictors, Carracks, communications vessels, and Tie Fighters. Hundreds of Tie Fighters.
Horrified attention split between the readout and the real force emerging silently from hyperspace in an entrapping circle around the ragtag Alliance fleet, Iask barely noticed as his comm crackled to life again.
“All Rebel vessels, this is the Imperial Star Destroyer Abolition. You will stand down and surrender you fleet immediately. This is your only warning. Comply, or be annihilated.”
A thousand light-years away, Jacen Solo stared into the swirling blackness of hyperspace. Seated cross-legged on his small bunk, he allowed the flow beyond his viewport to lull him into a meditative state, centering his own thoughts and easing the tempest of uncertainty that still raged within.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
There is no death; there is the Force.
What will be will be. So is the way of the Force.
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 351
(10/13/05 7:41 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Thirty Eight
Almost time now. Less than an hour more and he would at last be off this blasted ship and safely in Imperial hands again. So he longed to be away from the headache inducing curves of the Mon Calamari vessel, and the multitude of traitorous, anarchist scum that inhabited it. Just a little while longer, he could wait. Besides, there was still one thing left to de done before he could arrange for departure. It would be a delicate and crucial procedure, but a necessary one; nothing he hadn’t done a dozen times before on this damnable assignment.
With practiced ease and familiarity, only imperceptibly tinged by nervousness he thought, the man walked calmly down the long bright hallways that lead to his destination, paying only as much attention as was necessary to those who he passed. Don’t give them any reason to look at you, and they won’t. Unconsciously, he pressed the plain carrying case he held at his side closer, making sure it would not be jostled by the oblivious passersby.
The man made his way quickly down the narrow passage, and entered a turbo shaft, which delievered him to deck seven, in a section very near the ship’s center. Emboldened by the decrease in foot traffic farther away from the crew sections, his footfalls quickened and became more definite, and rounding a corner, his objective was brought into view. At last, almost there.
He noted a small group of armed Alliance marines, absorbed in a loud conversation on some mundane topic, were approaching down a side passage. The man realized that the group would cross paths with him just before he could reach his objective. Stay calm; there is no reason for any of them to even notice you. Just don’t run or break stride. A moment later, they were arms length apart, the soldiers laughing uproariously at some joke one of their fellows had just told. As they walked past, one turned her gaze towards him, and the man almost froze in fear, but she simply offered a small gesture of greeting and sped away with the rest of her comrades. The man wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but that would look suspicious right there in the hall. Besides, his goal was mere footsteps away.
A pair of thin doors slid open, revealing a small, empty room, its walls lined with computer screens and blinking displays. An energy monitoring room, just off Main Engineering and the hypermatter reactor that drove the starship; it would suite his purposes perfectly. Sparing what he hoped looked like an innocuous glance back at the passageway, the man slipped inside, waited for the doors to close behind him, and then set to work. Pausing only to lock the door, the man moved over to the nearest computer terminal and placed his carrying case on top of it. Seating himself on the terminal’s adjoining bench, the man immediately set to work, energizing the computer interface and imputing a variety of pass codes.
Finding the security measures easily passable with the codes and rank clearance he had accumulated, the infiltrator located and drew up the required section of the ship’s computer network. A few more key strokes brought him to a specific subsystem, not particularly vital, but perfectly suited to his goal. Taking in a deep breath to try and steady his trembling hands, the man began to input one strand of memorized code after another, each a simply logarithmic pattern. Apart, they were harmless, static in the network, but if entered in just the right order they could dramatically impact the subsystem he was targeting.
“Halt.”
The word boomed into the man’s thoughts, causing them to briefly degenerate into a state of chaos and confusion. The lapse was brief, and within milliseconds, his training kicked in. He’s too close. Start the innocent routine.
Allowing his right hand to tap a few more keys, an action that yielded an expected and satisfying beep from the computer, the man spun around on his seat, his expression one of mild surprise. Before he could utter a single word though, a huge hand reached down and latched onto the fabric of his tunic and then wrenched upward, dragging him helpless into the air.
A blasted of hot, moist air hit him in the face and he sputtered, disoriented by the violent action. A frightening visage hovered directly before his eyes; four stiff, gray mandibles covered in sharp teeth, covering a fleshy, gaping mouth. Above the creature’s formidable jaws two small, narrowed eyes glared into his own, unblinking.
“Wha...what is the meaning of this?”
“Do not bandy words with me, human. I want to know what you were doing with that computer. Where is the device?”
Gulping as the hems of his uniform began to etch into his back, the man tried to think of some warning or explanation that would convince this creature to release him. Then all he would need was to get to the case…
Turning his gaze away from the human, the assailant looked over the terminal that he had been using, and the small container on top of it caught his eye. “What is that? Tell me.”
Desperate for a way out, the man allowed his own fear, amplified for effect, to filter into his voice. “I’m sorry sir, there seems to have been some sort of understanding. I was just performing some routine system checks for my superiors. I was certain that I followed all the proper procedures logging in and...”
“The case,” the alien repeated, his voice deep and menacing.
Behind them, the click of several boots impacting the deck plating diverted the man’s attention the doorway. Several armed marines, the very ones he had passed in the hallway, were quickly filing into the room, their blaster pistols drawn. Behind them, the door’s control was sparking profusely; the alien must have broken the hall-side interface to gain entry.
“Drop him and back against that wall!” one of them, a dark-skinned man without his blast helmet on ordered, his side arm pointing squarely at the assailant’s back. The other soldiers fanned out into the room, keeping their weapons trained on the tall, gray-skinned alien. Growling in contempt, he loosened his grip and the man tumbled to the floor, but did not move away.
“Against the wall with your hands up!” the marine ordered again, emphasizing his point with a flick of his pistol.
This time the alien moved, not towards the wall, but instead towards the soldier, his hands falling to his sides. Easily two feet shorter than the being, the marine also took a step back, intimidated by the mountain of toned sinew and reflective armor plating. With the attacker distracted, one of the other soldiers grabbed the infiltrator and pulled him into the protection provided by the circle of marines. “Are you all right, sir?” one of them, the woman from before, asked, her weapon still pointed at the alien. Already factoring this unexpected circumstance into his plans, the man nodded, rising to his feet.
“Thanks. I’m not sure what happened. It just attacked.”
One of the other soldiers leaned in close to their commander’s ear and whispered something urgently. Nodding, he turned his attention back to the alien, who stood in the center of the room staring back at him. “You’re the Arbiter, right? One of those visitors everyone was talking about?”
The alien made no motion of dissent.
“Mind explaining what you were doing then? You might have some diplomatic leeway from the Council, but that doesn’t mean you can smash entry locks and assault our officers without a very good reason.”
After glaring for a moment longer, the Arbiter flexed his mandibles in irritation. “There is no time for this. That man is a traitor, an infiltrator sent here by your enemies. He plans on disabling or destroying this vessel.”
The marine sergeant looked incredulous, and cast a skeptical glance at the frazzled man, dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenant. “Him? Lt. Flitch, correct? One of Major Truul’s men.”
The man nodded in recognition, keeping a wary eye on the Arbiter, who had turned his gaze back on him. “Yes, that’s right. I was just in here looking for the officer on duty. Major Truul wanted to know about an energy sub-system in one of men’s duty areas, and since I have the clearance to check from here, I did so. Then he attacked me, for no reason I can think of.”
The Arbiter growled darkly. “You’re lying. If you are performing a simple network search, what do you need with that case?” He indicated to the inconspicuous, flexiplast container with a jerk of his long neck.
The sergeant frowned. “Dillik, bring me that.” The marine, a tall Mon Calamari, edged around the Arbiter and grabbed the case with his free hand. No one noticed Flitch sway slightly as the soldier picked up the container.
“What’s going one here?”
Standing in the hallway beyond the small room was Major Truul himself, flanked by a pale-skinned humanoid and a towering, battle-armored man, both Flitch instantly recognized as being other ‘visitors’, as the soldier had referred to them. His pulse quickened and he began to edge away from the marines who currently were surrounding him.
The marine sergeant offered a nod in salute, keeping his weapon fixed on the Arbiter. “Sir. This Arbiter was just apprehended assaulting your one of your Lieutenants. He claims that Lt. Flitch is an Imperial infiltrator.”
The gruff man’s eyes widened in shock and he looked from the alien to his man in alarm and confusion, then focusing back on the Arbiter. “I’ve fought alongside ya before, and I’m inclined to trust your judgment, but you’d better have some goof proof that my man is a traitor. I don’t take kindly to unprovoked assaults on the officers under me.”
“I’ve been watching him for days. Flitch has entered several sensitive areas both on this ship and the Alliance supply station to interfaced with their computer systems. Have you not noticed any suspicious behavior on his part?”
Truul frowned, stroking his stubbly chin. “Nothing comes to mind. And I ordered him to gain access the supply station’s computer. I needed locate a few officers in fleet before we left again.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Really, if that’s all you got, I think you might be overreacting. Not surprising really, considering all we’ve been though lately.”
The sergeant nodded towards the Mon Cal soldier. “Check the case.” Holstering his sidearm, the man opened the container’s electrical clamp and quickly flipped through the contents. “There’s not much in here, sir. Just a few datapads, some flimsies, and a vox recorder.”
“All things I need for my regular work,” Flitch said sourly, now standing a few steps away from the marine line, back next to his computer terminal. “I intended on working on logging and finalizing the new transfers to Major Truul’s guard unit in my quarters after I was finished here.”
“I did ask him to do that, and I did need him to talk to Ensign Teeri about the power substation in my soldier’s barracks,” Truul confirmed, and then noticed that the officer how normally operated the power station was not present. “Where is Teeri anyhow?”
“I’m not sure, sir. He wasn’t here when I arrived.”
The Arbiter’s eyes narrowed.
“Anyways, I think this may have all been a misunderstanding. Unless, of course, you have some other evidence,” Truul’s tone was skeptical.
“Yes, I would like to know if you have any other grievances with me so that I might clear them up now. Forgive me for saying so, but I am far to busy to be assaulted on duty again today.”
The Arbiter issued another low snarl, but stopped suddenly, fixated on Flitch’s right hand, which now hovered over the command board, index finger close to the glowing ‘execute’ key.
“Well?”
Balling his huge hands into fists, the Elite glared into Flitch’s eyes, which stared back in mocking victory. Turning away suddenly, the Arbiter ducked down and marched toward the exit, the sergeant and his troops making way for the fuming warrior by Truul’s command.
“Sergeant, I want you and your troops to escort him to his quarters and see that he stays there for a few hours. Needs time to cool down.”
“What if he resists?”
“Make sure that he doesn’t have to,” the Major said significantly. “I don’t want to have to deal with an internal confrontation with one of my charges on this mission, especially not so early on.”
The marines filed off down the hall after the towering alien, Dillik pausing to hand Flitch back his case. With them gone, Truul turned to Lt. Commander Data and the Master Chief, who had watched the exchange in silence. “I’ve got to have a word with Flitch. Sit tight, and we can continue our conversation in a moment.”
When the major had disappeared into the room and used the interior control to close the door behind him, Cortana spoke up, whispering to the Chief through his helmet’s interior comm.
“He gets more and more suspicious by the hour, doesn’t he?”
“Do you think he’s a threat to the mission?”
“I still don’t want to jump to any conclusions… but it’s starting to seem more and more likely. He is an Elite after all, and it’s possible that he’s never really been on our side at all.”
“It appears I have found something.” The Master Chief turned to see Data crouched on the deck, picking something off the metal floor delicately.
“What is it?” the Chief asked over the open comm.
“I noticed the Arbiter surreptitiously drop this object in the hallway before he departed. He may have intended for us to locate it.” The android walked back over to the Chief and held the thing up; a tiny, square chip studded with regular golden nods. “I believe it is a memory storage device of some kind, most likely corresponding to the technology employed by the Alliance or Empire.”
“But why would he leave it for us, whatever it is?” Cortana asked, using the sensors built into the Spartan’s suit to inspect the chip more closely.
Before Data had time to stipulate a hypothesis however, a voice rang out over the ship’s intercom. “Counselor Organa and all ambassadors to the command bridge. Hyperspace emersion in ten minutes.”
“Ambassadors? Well, I suppose they had to give us a tag of some sort eventually. It’s better than ‘the visitors’ at least,” Cortana commented, still inspecting the small device.
Major Truul emerged from the power monitoring room and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “Well, it’s about time. I suppose I should be getting you all to the bridge.”
The human started off down the main hall and the others followed, but they hung back, still inspecting the chip.
“Perhaps you can access whatever’s inside,” Data suggested.
“I’m still not too familiar with all of their technology, but I ought to be able to handle a simple record file. Chief, plug that into the scanning slot above my own matrix.”
Carefully, the Spartan took the chip into his own gauntleted fingers, but hesitated before placing in the slot that hidden on the left side of his helmet. “Are you sure we want this in our heads? We don’t know what he could have put on it.”
Cortana let out a little laugh. “Please, I’ve dealt with Covenant viruses before. At the most, you’ll feel a slight burning sensation in the back of your head as I reduce any intruder into binary code segments.”
“How reassuring.”
“What about Ysanne Issard?” Gam Rothwall suggested, placing his glass of fine Muun port gently on the table. “She has always seemed quite eager for ways she can elevate her status.”
Ars Dagnor, seated next to Gam at the large dining table, tapped his lips with a silken napkin and leaned back in his luxurious chair, shaking his head slowly. “It’s too great a risk. She certainly would be willing to hear us out, especially if some reward was offered up front, but as you say, she craves power too much to be trusted. If Vader ever found out, she could easily be turned against us by a generous counter-offer. Our new eminence (the word rolled off his tongue with obvious contempt) may be a brute, but he isn’t stupid, and his skill with the Force will make stealing away high-ranking officials difficult.”
Nodding in agreement, Rothwall sighed, and then began poking at the succulent cut of meat that had been prepared for him, deep in thought. He and Dagnor, as well as Janus Greejatus and Hixa Torenvom were seated in a spacious private dining room, located on the top floor of Menarai, the most exclusive restaurant in the Imperial Center. The circular chamber sported a 240 degree view of the city below, skyscrapers and traffic lanes lit brightly against the night sky as they spread out in all directions. Fixed atop Monument Park, the only exposed mountain peak left on the entire planet, the restaurant sported the finest views anywhere in the galactic core. That, and it’s isolation from the unworthy masses, made it a favored place of relaxation and indulgence among the Coruscanti elite.
The only remaining member of the Ruling Council not present, Kren Blista-Vance, had protested against meeting in such a public venue, but Dagnor, defacto leader of the group, had ignored the concern. His private chamber there was one of the most secure places on the planet, fitted with security measurers even the late Black Sun entrepreneur and crime lord Prince Xizor could not buy. Besides, he had noted, it would be better for them to be seen in public, unafraid of Vader’s rule, before any coup was staged. The people would hardly look up to those they perceived as cowards.
“Have you tried to Crueya yet?” Hixa Torenvom asked, helping himself to a platter of rare Kaminoan shellfish, one of the many delicacies that were heaped unto beautiful obsidian plates and containers.
Ars stroked his smooth chin reflectively. “I have. He seemed quite open to the idea of aiding us, and COMPNOR’s support would certainly go a long way in solidifying our control.” COMPNOR, under Lord Crueya Vandron, was the agency that supervised the massive bureaucracy galactic government needed to remain effective, and was a key intelligence and logistics resource for every Imperial politician, Moff, and Admiral. “However, both he and I share the concern that open dissent from such a significant and core-ward agency would be sure to quickly be noticed and investigated by Vader and those loyal to him. For now, the support he can provide is strictly non-material.”
“I do wish to alert you all to one significant success though. Only hours ago, I was able to secure the support Grand Admiral Grazre.”
“Totl Grazre! The commander of the Core defense fleet?” Rothwall nearly knocked over his glass of pale liquid as he stood in surprise.
Ars Dagnor grinned. “We all knew that I had connections. I suppose I must have simply neglected to tell you all about this one.”
Rothwall was grinning now too. “I can just imagine Vader’s mood when he discovers half a dozen destroyers drawing a firing solution on his shuttle.” He swept the glass off the table once more, spilling some of its contents on the dark, velvety tablecloth. “A toast! To the resurrection of the old Empire, and our new place in it!”
“Indeed, indeed,” Janus Greejatus wheezed in agreement, taking up his own challis.
“Now, now, the battle is not yet won… but I suppose libation of victory now could do nothing to hurt us.”
The four conspirators raised their glasses and drained them, backlit by passing traffic and floodlights from the park below.
As a humanoid serves droid hummed around the table, refilling each of their drinks, the private chamber’s door comm chimed, and a pair of armored stormtroopers entered, bowing slightly before taking up places on either side of the door. A moment later, a tall, thin man entered, dressed in a sweeping, black robe. Though he was unusually pale, his gaunt features were easily recognizable.
“Ah, Kren, I am glad to see you have come,” Ars Dagnor said smoothly, opening his arms in greeting. “We had thought you were too paranoid to join us here. I am glad to have been mistaken.”
He motioned to the server droid. “Coruscanti testril I think, the house’s finest. A full bottle for our honored friend.” As the droid hurried over to a wall-mounted dispensing slot, Blista-Vance stepped away from the door, still silent, and another figure entered. All four seated men stopped in their merriment to inspect the newcomer.
She was tall and slim, curved in a way that made females of her species renown galaxy-wide. The Twi’lek’s long lekku, a brilliant blue like the rest of her well formed body, were draped seductively down her front, trembling only slightly as she walked. She wore silky dress, similar in color to Blista-Vance’s own robe; so much fabric was absent from the chest and waist areas that a few of the men in attendance wondered secretly if the garment was held up by a repulsor hidden somewhere on her form. A long, black glove covered her right arm, drawn up nearly to her exposed shoulder. The woman bore a mild, submissive smile on her face, and flowed gracefully to Kren’s side, placing an arm around his waist.
The older man said nothing, instead walking to a vacant chair and draining a goblet of some green liquor before sitting.
Ars raised an eyebrow. “A new acquisition? I suppose that might explain why you were late.”
Greejatus chuckled, his beady eyes still probing the beautiful Twi’lek.
“Her name is Aayla,” Kren said simply, filling his glass again with intoxicating liquid. “Pay her no mind.”
Ars spared another glance at the striking specimen, and then turned his attention back on the final Council member. “So, have you done as I asked?”
Not bothering to even look up from his drink, the pale man nodded. “Jerjerrod has informed me that the construction effort around the Sanctuary Moon is ongoing, and at the current rate of progress, it will be completed in less than three months. The test firing on a local asteroid was successful, but its primary weapon still has to be calibrated before it is fully operational.”
Ars took a bite out a small wedge of fruit. “Excellent. By the time the weapon is completed, our control of the galaxy should be well established. With battle station like that under our command, no upstart admiral or Sith Lord will ever challenge the rightful heirs of the new order ever again.”
Standing just behind Kren’s chair, the Twi’lek allowed her smile to broaden. Blista-Vance gulped down another glass and leaned back in his chair, his hands noticeably trembling.
“Are you alright?” Hixa asked, staring at the gaunt man over a plate of fluffy pastries.
Before he could respond though, the Twi’lek behind him shifted position, bringing her arms down to her sides. “Personally, I’d be more concerned about myself than him. Of course, in a few moments, I suppose it won’t make much of a difference.”
Hixa sputtered, dropping the utensil he was holding in alarm. “What did she…”
“Thank you Kren, you’ve been most helpful. Unfortunately, Lord Vader seems to dislike traitors intensely, and I’m afraid we’re going to have to go back on our little bargain.” The woman’s voice was so soft that the others around the table had to lean closer to hear clearly, but a sort of dark pleasure was quite evident in it.
Kren Blista-Vance shook his head slowly and gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as he did so. “Sithspit.”
A beam of blue light erupted through the chair’s back and impaled the old man’s heart, incinerating it instantly. A blast of air and vaporized blood escaped his lips and his head lolled on its shoulders, his face a mask of resigned defeat.
The other at the table, however, did not that the incident so well. Hixa fell backwards out of his chair, food and drink spilling onto his round belly as he tried to scramble away, and the other three shot up from their places, momentarily unsure what to do, Kren’s death still not registering in their stunned brains. Aayla did not wait for the moment to sink in though, instead bringing her lightsaber clear up through the top of the chair, nearly decapitating the deceased Councilor. She then flipped sideways with superhuman speed and agility, landing easily on her feet a few meters way, where Hixa Torenvom was trying to drag his body away across the richly-carpeted floor. The woman grinned down him, her saber humming gently as she held it less than a meter above his heaving chest.
“W…” Before the sputtering man could even finish a single word, the blade sang, neatly removing the man’s head from its confining neck without even singeing the carpet.
By now, both Greejatus and Rothwall had uncovered holdout blasters from their cloaks and were backing toward the nearest window, Ars hunched between them, he too fumbling for a weapon hidden in his robes. Rothwall fired three shots at Aayla as she brought her weapon up from the killing stroke, but before he had even seen the red bolts cross the room, they scattered away from the assassin in all directions, two scorching the ceiling and the third impacting a vase of white flowers, which exploded spectacularly. Gaping, Rothwall pulled the trigger again, and the Twi’lek almost lazily moved her weapon to intercept the incinerating bolt. It hit the blue blade and recoiled back, directly into the Councilor’s open mouth. Gore and burned bone splashed against the expansive windows as the smoking corpse fell to the floor.
By this time, Ars Dagnor had located his own weapon, a contraband and especially nasty make of disruptor pistol, and without even bothering to glance at his fallen conspirator’s body, opened up. The first green silver pulse missed Aayla entirely, smashing an entire ten meter pane of glass and impacting the security shield in place outside, which rippled and glowed as it diffused the energy. The next shot was better aimed, but it only served to incinerate carpeting and atomize a large chunk of the metal floor beneath, as Aayla was already in the air again, leaping over the wide dining table with ease.
Sending a shot from Janus into the floor harmlessly even before she had reached the ground again, the Twi’lek spun, angling her weapon so it would decapitate Greejatus in a single blow. Before she could make contact though, the chamber’s lone door slid open and several stormtroopers rushed in, E-11 blaster rifles already raised. Without even looking in their direction, Aayla altered her stance mid-strike and threw her saber sideways rather than following through. The twirling sword halved the first two soldiers before they had even located the source of the disturbance and sliced the gun arm off a third.
Years of discipline allowing them to ignore the gruesome deaths of their comrades, the other three troopers opened fire, pulsing a dozen shots at Aayla in under two seconds. Temporarily without her weapon, which was still twirling through the air, she was forced to leap away from her prey, using the dining table as cover. Huge chunks of hand-carved wood combusted under the sustained Imperial firepower, but what was left of the object heaved suddenly into the air, confusing the soldiers and making their shots erratic. Before they could correct for the sudden change in topography however, the heavy fixture rocketed towards them, crushing one of the troopers against the wall with a sickening thud.
The remaining two rolled sideways avoid the missile and reestablish visual contact with their target, but they found she was already between them, her glowing weapon back in hand. With two deft strokes, she cut both troopers in two.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Ars and Janus were rushing for a small computer console set into one of the benches that lined the curving wall. One of the dead soldier’s blasters flew into her free hand, and barely stopping to aim, she pulled the trigger. A fireball engulfed Janus Greejatus’ back and he screamed, falling to the floor with a cloud of ash and blistering smoke issuing from the deadly wound.
Ars tumbled to the floor, thrown off balance by the near hit, and before he could even raise his head, the sound of Aayla’s breath, only slightly labored from the exertion, filtered into his ears. He felt warm fingers wrap around his chin and jerk it up, bringing the woman’s beautiful face into view, no more than a hand length away from his own. The same half grin still graced her lips, and a patch of residue on her left cheek, blood spray, only served to accentuate her striking features. Ars attempted to bring his blaster to her stomach, but it flew out of his hands and clattered uselessly onto the floor, out of reach.
“If you’re going to kill me, do it now,” he spat, trying to retain some sense of control.
“It is not her place to kill you.”
Aayla’s saber snapped off and she let go off Dagnor’s head, leaving him to fall back to the ground as she stood and moved to the side, revealing the doorway at the far side of the room and the figure that now filled it.
“Vader,” Ars managed, hefting himself onto his knees.
The Dark Lord of the Sith paced across the room, ignoring the bodies strewn around him and the stench of cauterized flesh that filled the air. When he reached Aayla, who had her head bowed in respect, he paused, looking her over reflectively. “You have done well, my apprentice.”
“They were traitors and fools, my lord. I had no qualm about culling them from your Empire.”
Darth Vader turned his focus now to Ars Dagnor, who was slowly rising onto his haunches.
“I had always suspected you and your allies would need to be disposed of. You were always too close to the Emperor.”
To Aayla’s surprise, the sniveling little man actually began to laugh. A weak, hacking rasp, but a laugh nonetheless. “Didn’t have the stomach to do it yourself though, did you Vader? I can tell, killing the Emperor took the nerve out of you. He always was the true power, the one who gave you your ability and will, and without him, your nothing but a feeble man in a life support suit, trying to fill a far more worthy being’s place.”
Vader’s right hand shot out from under his cape and gloved fingers wrapped around Dagnor’s neck, hauling him into the air. Gasping for air, the man clawed uselessly at the iron grip as Vader pulled him close to his nightmare mask. “Where is the rest of the Privy Council? Where is Sate Pestage?”
Ars mouthed something desperately, saliva bubbling from his mouth as he tried in vain to suck oxygen into his quickly starving lungs. Vader’s grip tightened and the helpless man began to squirm even more violently, kicking Vader’s armored torso weakly. After a few more long seconds, the Sith lord relaxed his grip, and Ars fell backwards, hitting his head hard against the curved window that overlooked the vast city below.
“You have but this one opportunity,” Vader said darkly, looking down on the gasping creature. “Reveal the location of the rest of the Council, or I will tear the information from your mind.”
Ars Dagnor slid down the window, coming to rest on the carpeted floor, his limbs splayed out uselessly on the sill and the bench next to him. “Pestage…”
Vader looked down upon the pitiful creature, seemingly uncaring as to the course by which he would receive the required data.
“Pestage,” Ars repeated, pausing to cough up a large clot of blood. “Pestage may have been a coward…” He paused, gasping for breath, and then stared up at Vader’s mask. “But you are a fool!”
Right arm draped against the low bench, Ars was in reach of the console he had ran for a minute before. A single finger punched at one of the keys, and the object began to beep shrilly. Even before the sound met the beaten Councilor’s ears though, Vader had turned away, his Force-aided senses alerting him to a sudden danger. Ars Dagnor’s eyes widened as the sound cut off, and his body disappeared in a ball of light and fire. A resounding explosion rocked the room, and indeed the entire facility, knocking over food trays and sending the clientele diving under their tables and booths.
Vader and his young servant had not been in the radius of the blast however. Aayla Secura, disoriented by the explosion, wiped soot from her eyes and discovered she was on the other side of the room, looking at Darth Vader’s metallic chest plate. He had saved her from the Councilor’s last bit of venom, a bomb that was meant to ensure that whoever was capable of bringing down the great Ars Dagnor would not last to relish his victory. Obviously, the device’s designers had not anticipated that the intended target would be a Sith.
“Thank you, my lord,” she managed, regaining her balance. “I am not worthy of your action. It was my carelessness that allowed him to even reach that device. You should have left…”
A sudden wave of annoyance from the cyborg told Aayla it would be best if she became silent. She stepped away and glanced over at what had once been Dagnor’s dining chamber. The suicide explosive had carved a very large hole out of the chamber, and much of it was exposed to the open air. The rest of the room had been shredded by shrapnel from the blast; it was only Vader’s armored suit and his adeptness with the Force that had saved her from ending up like the serving droid which lay next to her, decapitated and oozing dark coolant from every joint.
Turning her attention back to Darth Vader, Aayla noticed that he was staring up into the sky through one of the shattered windows, his hands folded in front of him.
“My lord?”
“Something is occurring, something of great importance.”
The woman stared quizzically at her master as he continued to probe the heavens, as is if searching for a star that was beyond his ability to perceive. Though his mental barriers were as effective as always, she could sense could sense some conflict in him, but on what she could not tell. At last, he turned towards her, his rhythmic breathing echoing eerily in the blasted shell of a room.
“I am needed elsewhere. Come.”
With that, he stalked past her and exited the chamber, where his personal squad of storm troopers waited, clearing bodies out of the passageway and sealing the area off against further intrusion. Aayla did not follow immediately, instead looking up into the hazy darkness, searching for any sign of what her master had sensed. She found nothing amiss. It was of little importance though; her master had set a course, and she would follow, wherever they ended up.
By the time Truul, Data, and the Chief reached the command bridge, Leia Organa, her protocol droid, and most of the remaining members of the Enterprise’s crew were already assembled quietly watching the main viewport from the lower level of the chamber. Captain Ryceed seemed to be trying to ignore them, and was engaged in a whispered conversation with her XO.
“Data,” Commander Riker said in greeting as the three latecomers joined the group. When the android had come a little closer, the commander leaned in close and whispered into his ear. “Are your calculations finished?”
Noting the human’s conspiratorial tone, Data lowered his own voice. “Yes Commander. Cortana and I believe that we should be able to manipulate the wormhole as soon as we arrive. I will, however, require direct access to the ship’s deflector, transmission, and tractor beam controls.”
Riker nodded. “The captain and Geordi have already worked something out with Ryceed. There’s a station prepared for you over there.” He indicated to a large bank of control consoles, at which the dark-skinned engineer and a pair of Alliance technicians were already at work.
“I’d better interface directly with the main computer system,” Cortana, who had evidently been listening in on their conversation, said, and then used the transmitter built into the Chief’s armor to beam her consciousness into ship itself.
“Ready to disengage hyperdrive,” a helmsman called, and all conversation on the deck ceased.
“Do it,” Captain Ryceed ordered, settling into her command chair. She had no particular desire to come back to the desolate system they were approaching, but she would be damned if her apprehension interfered with her composure.
In a surge of pseudo motion, the light cruiser spat from the hyperspace tachyon realm and into realspace, an endless void only broken by system’s distant star, a glowing ember which hung high above their plane of entry. Except, this void was not quite as empty as they had left it.
“I’m picking up Imperial warships to aft!” one of the bridge officers yelled, alarmed and desperately rechecking is original readings. Ryceed gritted her teeth and slammed a fist onto her chair control pad.
“Battle stations! Deflectors to maximum, double aft!”
Mere seconds later, a shockwave blasted through the bridge and warning klaxons began to blare plaintively.
“One of their tracking shots, we were able to get deflectors up in time. No damage.”
Ryceed tapped a few commands into her panel, and swiveled her seat towards the chamber’s main holographic display. “Get me a read on those ships now!” The space in front of her flickered to life with multicolored flecks of light, which rapidly coalesced into four distinctive forms; an Imperial-class Star Destroyer flanked by a smaller Victory-class and a pair of Lancer frigates. As she looked on, dozens of new contacts, TIE fighters and gunboats, began to register, pouring out of the two larger ship’s holds.
“Open fire, all rear batteries! Target the forward Lancer.”
As comm officers rushed to relay the order and the Republica’s Chief weapons control officer began to coordinate the jets of deadly energy that began to pulse from the cruiser’s hull, another turbolaser blast rocked the ship, nearly knocking Leia Organa over as she climbed the short stairway to the main command area.
“How did they now we would be here?” she asked breathlessly.
“Not a clue. Why don’t you try asking your friends down there?” Ryceed said hurriedly, and then turned her attention back to the hologram, which was showing the first wave of fighters wash up against the cruiser’s point defense guns.
Leia glanced down at Captain Picard and his officers, who were watching the battle unfold on various viewscreens and tactical display with concern. The situation did seem awfully suspicious. But no, she disregarded the thought almost immediately. She had a feeling about these people, they wouldn’t have turned the fate of the Alliance and their own hopes at returning home over to the Empire. Still, it seemed very unlikely that the Imperials could have detected or anticipated them like this without some assistance…
“Captain, fighter squadrons are standing by. Do I give the launch order?”
Ryceed considered Commander Gavplek’s question. Under more even circumstances, such an action would be a given; allowing TIE fighters to harass the ship unopposed would be suicidal, but they were vastly out numbered now, and given her previous experience with the unstable gravitic nature of this star system, it was likely her only avenue of escape was cut off. Her only normal avenue at least.
She put a hand, telling her XO to delay the question for a moment, and stood. “Captain Picard.”
The bald man looked up at her, his face drawn with concern.
“Have your men finalized the wormhole procedure?”
Riker gave a nod in the affirmative when Picard looked in his direction. “It’s ready. But can your ship make it to the coordinates before they catch up to us?”
Ryceed smiled proudly. “Captain, you haven’t seen half of what my ship and her crew can do.” She caught Gavplek’s attention again. “Tell the squadron leaders to stay put. Were heading for the wormhole. Make sure we get there in one piece.” Though he was deeply disturbed by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, Gavplek had been in enough engagements to know that when she had an objective selected, there was no force, Imperial or otherwise, that could stand in her way. He offered a quick salute, and then turned to the rest of the crew, who were busy coordinating fire and compiling damage estimates from the last turbolaser blast that had struck the ship.
“Were making a straight burn for the wormhole. Helm, increase power to the main drives, even if you have to siphon off energy from the weapons, but keep the deflectors at optimal. Fire control, focus on laying down a flak perimeter around our rear quadrant. The Imperials know we can’t do any real damage to them, and there’s no point in trying, but let them know that if they get to close, their ship’s are going to lose a few of those pretty points.”
A luck series of shots from the Republica’s rear turbolaser grid breached the shields of the forward most frigate, send gouts of flame roaring across it port side and sending it on a down spin, out of formation. The small victory seemed to encourage the Alliance crew, but the other three warships pressed forward, intensifying their own firepower to make up for the damaged pursuer.
“I’m locking the estimated coordinates of the wormhole into the navigational computer,” Cortana, who had appeared above the secondary hologram tub, reported easily. The Mon Cal cruiser’s ion drives flared as terawatts of reserve power poured into them, and the sleek ship rapidly began to put distance between itself and the encroaching strike force. The three capital ships that still remained in the battle quickly compensated, dumping their own reserves into vast, coruscating engines, and the gap began to close again. The void between the ships was filled with streams of green and red bolts with enough power to devastate small cities, with squadrons of TIEs flitting around volleys and continually igniting the Republica’s weakening deflector screens with pinpricks of fire.
At Data’s jury-rigged command station, Geordi La’Forge nervously checked the power readings from the core. “The program is ready, but if this rate of power consumption keeps up, we might not have enough juice left to maintain the correct modulation in the deflector network.”
“We should reach the wormhole in two minutes, thirty one seconds,” Data noted, taking in several tactical and energy displays at once. “Assuming there is not an exponential increase in Imperial firepower within that period, there will be enough power left to perform a directed transatlantic transference.”
“I hope your right.” The engineer had no wish to return to a holding cell or be vaporized by the Imperial assault, but exploding in the wormhole due to uncontrollable feedback overload was equally as undesirable.
As the rest of the Federation officers watched the running battle with silent apprehension, a sudden thought struck Picard. If Data was right, that wormhole was a pathway directly into Federation territory. If the Empire knew about such a conduit, they might be able to send ships through as well, and Picard had seen just what the warships of the galaxy could do.
He made is way quickly over to the Data and looked at the information flashing across his screen. It was largely gibberish to human eyes, the android had programmed his station to transmit at a rate many times its normal rate, but the captain did notice a marked increase in the number of figures that appeared on the display when a sensor officer reported that the anomaly was within active scanning range. He hoped the increase was a good thing.
“Is there a problem, Captain?” Geordi asked, noticing his superior’s presence.
“I’m not entirely certain. Tell me, do you know if more than one ship at a time can travel through the wormhole?”
Data stopped scanning the screen for a moment, focusing his positronic brain on the quandary. “If you are referring to the pursuing Imperial starships, than I believe that it would be impossible for them to enter the anomaly after us without knowing its exact dimensions or how we were able to manipulate it. It is unknown if they are even aware of its existence.”
“So they couldn’t simply follow us through?”
“I do not believe so. Judging by the data that is current known about the wormhole, it appears to latch on individually to each object that enters it. Without employing the deflector control Cortana and I have postulated will guide a ship to the correct spatial and dimensional coordinates, any pursuing starship would be deposited randomly at some other entry point, as the Enterprise was, or destroyed outright by the feedback present during the transit period.”
Picard nodded and glanced back at the tactical hologram, which showed the distance between the Republica and her assailants was continuing to diminish. “I suppose we have no safer course of action.”
Another blast rocked the ship, and several warning alarms began to blare. “Were losing deflector strength in grid twenty four, captain,” Gavplek warned, his eyes locked on a representation of the Republica displayed on one of the tactical screens. Several of its rear sections were glowing red.
“Time to the wormhole?”
“Twenty seconds,” Cortana replied, watching Ryceed intently from her pedestal. The woman glared back, ignoring the next thermonuclear explosion that rocked her ship.
“You’re sure that you can pull this off? I’d rather go down fighting than be stranded in some distant backwater or deposited in a star.”
Cortana replied only with a wink, and then turned her attention to Data and his team. “Are all the systems prepared?”
“Affirmative. I am shunting deflector control and all other required protocols to the systems you can directly interface. I recommend you begin the sequence in exactly fifteen point seven seconds.”
Cortana took one last look around the bridge; Ryceed’s distrust, Picard’s nervous anticipation, and the Chief’s calm and trusting patience. She could still feel his confidence and faith in her abilities through their neural link, and they encouraged her. She wouldn’t let him down, let any of them down. After all, how hard could navigating an uncharted spatial anomaly of unknown origin with a margin of error less than half a second long be? It’s not like she’d never done such a thing before.
“Alright, we’re going in. Wish me luck.”
The odd thing about Alliance computer systems, Cortana reflected, was that even though they had more space and processing power than anything she’d ever encountered before, they were oddly confining, probably be design. Every system and subsystem was separated from one another, and it was difficult to access more than one of them at a time. It probably made incursion by hostile virus programs or infiltration algorithms far more difficult, a prudent safety measure, but it also served to slow Cortana’s processing ability and reaction time to a level significantly below what she was accustom to on a UNSC starship. It was good then that Data had had the presence of mind to manually connect all the systems Cortana would need into a temporary nexus; the anticipated maneuver would be impossible otherwise.
Using the Republica’s sensors, she could see in every direction; the Imperial strike force, the clouds of TIE fighters pelting the engine block with blistering green hail, the unnamed star system’s distant primary. The one thing she could not actually perceive was the wormhole they were barreling towards, it was virtually invisible to all but the most aggressive and specific of scans, but she new exactly where it was, and where she needed to be. The Cornwall’s data banks had told here that much.
A few seconds later, a significantly extended period to the AI now that she was fully cut off from the outside world, the bow of the Mon Calamari starship plunged into the unknown abyss, and Cortana set to work.
At first, there was nothingness, no readings from any of the ship’s active or passive scanners, no pressures or discharge from the deflector perimeter. Then, slowly, like an itch spreading up one’s arm, the lashing discharges started. Something, out there in the abyss, was grabbing at every joule of energy that was diffused beyond the hull of the ship and turning it back inward, distorting the shields and disrupting the sensors. One stray vein of energy bypassed the shields entirely and lanced directly into one of the starship’s power supply lines. Cortana felt the fire control computer for an ion cannon on deck five overload.
I hope no one was using that.
One of her own subsystems, a chronometer logarithm, alerted her to the time; Data’s countdown was up. Cortana reached out, expanding her consciousness into all of the scanners and sensor arrays that were still operational. She was looking for some pattern, an underlying root of the attacks that could be identified, and harnessed.
There it was.
A clear loop of discharges and pulses emerged, stable yet complex. Oddly so in fact. She would have expected any pattern in the phenomenon to be erratic and difficult to harness, yet this one was very clear, almost screaming to be found.
Cortana switched her attentions, seizing control of the deflector shield network. A very fine adjustment to the power output for the system, and a resonance began to emerge in the invisible barrier. As the vibration began to grow and fluctuate, the AI began to bombard the shield with tractor beam micro-pulses, driving the ship’s own pattern to match the one she could feel in the void around her. For a moment, the patterns met and then fluctuated apart, but Cortana seized the initiative, varying the micro-pulses more quickly. The patterns came back in line.
Now there was only one more step; apply the frequency recorded at the beginning of the Cornwall’s journey to the Republica’s deflector array. Something in the back of her mind told Cortana that she was running out of time, the energy feedback was becoming more and more intense. With renewed urgency, she pulsed the tractor beam generators and shield emitters, slowly at first, and then more quickly as the deflector began to align.
She winced as one of the sensor arrays overloaded, and a full quadrant of the ship was blocked from view. What remained though was beginning to pick up something very interesting. Rather than remain a solid frequency, or taper off into a thousand disparate stands, the ambient pattern began to break into exactly four distinct and stable pieces. Cortana was amazed, for she had never seen a natural phenomenon behave in such an orderly and logical manner before.
Her fascinated inspection of the unique series was cut short however, as the ambient frequency began to change, pulsing in syncopation with the deflector system. A tremor ran through the ship, and Cortana sensed one of the four strands becoming more prominent, it’s frequency ringing in accord with the Republica’s. She felt the ship jolt again, the pattern began to distort, the energy discharges coalescing into a wall of light...
And then it was over, the charged void began to vanish, replaced by the familiar blackness of deep space. Sum time in transit: seven seconds.
Before the AI had anytime to really begin to appreciate her success, or start assessing the damage the ship had suffered, something else, one of her own subsystems again, distracted her. Cortana had almost forgotten about the fragment of her consciousness she had assigned to analyze the Arbiter’s data chip, which was still nestled in the Chief’s helmet. The task was noted as being completed, and curious, the AI accessed the results.
It took her .45 seconds to realize something was horribly wrong.
“Transit is complete, captain.”
The helmsman was somewhat amazed at the sound of his own voice, as was everyone within earshot. The last few seconds had been so remarkably strange, that it was odd to discern anything that seemed familiar. At first, it had seemed like everyone had passed out, but all of them to a one had then witnessed a lightshow of impossible colors and pulses, an experienced that seemed to have transcended time and conscious reality itself. And now that everyone was firmly back in control of their mental faculties, it seemed that no one had collapsed or moved in any way. Even Data seemed to have been effected similarly.
“Fascinating,” the android stated simply, rising from his seat and looking around the chamber in what almost appeared to be a state of amusement.
Ryceed was the first to fully recover, rushing over to one of the ship’s status readouts. “Damage report.”
“Minor damage to main ion control and the hyperdrive motivators,” Gavplek reported. “There also seems to be some sort of feedback in our sensor array, but Comm is already filtering out the static.”
“Structural damage?”
“None reported.”
“And the Imperials?”
“Sensors aren’t picking up any enemy transponders in our immediate vicinity,” a Mon Calamari lieutenant reported, still working to factor out the static that was clouding his instruments.
At last, the slightest of smiles crossed Ryceed’s face, and she turned to Picard and Leia, who had climbed to the command deck beside her. “Well, it looks like your droids did it Picard. I suppose I owe them both a debt of gratitude.”
Picard smiled gratefully. “I’ll pass that long. Now, shall we figure out where exactly that wormhole deposited us?”
“Captain.” The same lieutenant spoke up again. “I’m picking up new power readings. A lot of them.”
The color drained out of Ryceed’s face and she was at the officer’s side in an instant. “I thought you said none of the enemy warship followed us though the anomaly.”
“No sir, not Imperial,” the officer replied, indicating to a sensor display. “They’re not like anything I’ve ever seen before, and there’s nothing on file that matches up. The power sources definitely aren’t hypermatter fusion or solar ionization based.”
Leia drifted over now, as did Captain Picard. “One of your ships perhaps?” she suggested.
Picard looked at the figures and power ratings scrolling across the screen, then shook his head. “It doesn’t look familiar, and if I’m reading the energy scaling chart correctly, those kind of levels are far beyond any ship in Starfleet.”
“Sir, the long range imaging scanners just came online. We appear to be in the middle of a star system; four planets, one of them a gas giant, main-sequence star. I’m picking up a lot of activity around the second planet in the system. Dozens… no, hundreds of contacts. There’s also a lot of energy being thrown around out there, it looks like a battle.”
“Show me.”
The main holographic display morphed into the form of a tiny blue and green planet, wreathed in uncounted miniscule dots and flecks of color. Ryceed shot a sharp glance at the sensor officer, and he rushed to magnify the image. After a few moments, the glimmering display shifted again, and the planet increased in size one hundred fold. The tiny dots that encircled it also increased in clarity, taking the shape of tiny, brick-like structures and larger vessels that looked oddly like shelled sea creatures.
It was not these forms however, or the power readings that began to feed more clearly across the sensor screens and projections, that caught the Master Chief’s attention. From his place in on the lower level of the bridge, the Spartan stared up at the globe itself, his eyes absorbing the shape of its continents and the deep blue of its vast oceans. He could even make out cities, tiny splotches of gray along rivers and coasts; there were other splotches as well, swaths of brown and black that seemed to be spreading across the planet even as he watched. The Master Chief had seen this planet before, and he knew it well.
A planet named Reach.
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(11/2/05 8:16 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Thirty Nine
The Holy Covenant was built upon hierarchy, and without uncompromising adherence to it, its vast empire would have collapsed long ago. As often was the case with systems built upon conquest and obedience, none of the Covenant’s power could have been won without the thankless servitude and sacrifice of countless trillions of lesser workers and soldiers; the Unngoy, Kig-yar, Drinol, and Yanme’e all had labored at the lowest levels of society for thousands of years, so long that most would not have it any other way. Above them, barely, came the Lekgolo, warriors of titanic strength and epic endurance, and the Huragok, the engineers who maintained the Covenant’s mighty fleets and kept the huge military state from collapsing under its own logistical weight. Then came the Jiralhanae, the newest client species of the Covenant and the rarest, who served as the personal servants of the highest level of the empire.
Finally, near the top of this interstellar societal pyramid, sat the Sangheili, a founding partner of the Covenant, and the motivators of the Covenant military, driven by an unparalleled sense of honor and devotion to whatever task they would set upon. Only one race, so mighty and divine in the eyes of those that they ruled that they were only known by their self-given title, was elevated beyond these great soldiers. The Prophets, as they were called, first partner in the foundation of the Covenant, were the force that united and inspired the entire unstoppable machine. They were the conduit for the will of the gods, the Forerunners, a species so ancient that only a few relics and cryptic glyphs scattered throughout the galaxy still remained of them. At the Covenant’s founding, the earliest Prophets told of a place beyond space and time where these mighty beings still resided, waiting to accept all those who worshiped them into eternal paradise, salvation from the cruel reality of existence.
The design of Covenant warships mirrored this strict hierarchy. Within elegantly curved hulls of meters-thick amethyst-hued metal, Unngoy and Kig-yar crewers toiled in cramped work areas, manning massive plasma turrets and operating unimportant substations. Further inward, Huragok maintained delicate power matrices and tended the slipspace drives that could push the starships beyond the limitations of light and realspace, a little closer to the gods perhaps, as the technology necessary for the devices had been reverently salvaged from ancient Forerunner wrecks.
Then, at the very heart of the vast vessels, was the overbridge, domain of the Sangheili and those Prophets who would choose to grace the ships with their presence. From this chamber, the Ship Master and his staff had enough power at their disposal to obliterate all life on the surface of a planet, or hunt a heretic across the galactic disk. The heart of one vessel in particular, one of the mightiest warships the Covenant had constructed since its conception, served the same function, but the one who occupied it elevated the space to a place of far greater importance.
Tall and imposing even for the giants that made up his race, Teno ‘Falanamee, stood in calm reflection to one side of the circular command platform that hovered on anti-gravity beams meters above the small communications pit and the basin-like floor surrounding it. Though his posture exuded control and intensity, his dress was not what one would expect of a Ship Master of his status. Rather than the customary golden armor others of his station flaunted while on duty, he wore simple, jet-black armor, similar to that worn by the most elite of the Sangheili Special Operations forces. When being observed by a Prophet, he would wear the normal uniform out of respect, but the simpler garb was always donned for battle.
This small deviation from the norm was indicative of ‘Falanamee’s personality and command style. While just as strict and aggressive as his fellow Ship Masters, he was far more willing to relate with and listen to his underlings, and avoided suicidal and unnecessarily costly tactics in battle whenever possible, reluctant to sacrifice even Unggoy, lowliest of all Covenant species. This unusual loyalty to his men had made ‘Falanamee very popular among his crew, and their efficiency rating in battle was markedly higher than any other in the entire Covenant starfleet. The Sangheili on the High Council, ruling body of the Covenant, had taken notice of his success in the field, and had given him command of Particular Justice, a large and prestigious group of warships lead by some of the best officers in the fleet. At his elevation ceremony, the High Prophet of Truth himself, greatest of all of the Hierarchs, had deemed him “One of our greatest instruments.”
Since even before his first command, Teno ‘Falanamee had fought, as most Sangheili had, in the Covenant’s newest great crusade, one in a long line of conquests the Prophets had decreed over the ages. Most of the client members of the Covenant had been assimilated by these crusades, as their typical purpose was to, “join the peoples of the galaxy together for their own salvation, so that we might all better prepare for the predestined great journey into cleansed bliss”, in the words of a High Prophet of millennia past.
This war, however, was different. Rather than subdue and indoctrinate the newly discovered species, the prophets had decreed upon first contact that the beings were a blight upon the galaxy, and would have to be cleansed for salvation ever to occur. Such was the will of the gods, they said, and could not be denied. The subjects of the Prophet’s ire, known as Humans, possessed technology vastly inferior to the Covenant’s, and most had predicted the slaughter would be brief. The slight, hairless mammals, however, had proved to be staunch and ingenious foes, hiding their worlds from the overwhelming Covenant fleet through a myriad of restrictive protocols and fighting fiercely when located. The war had raged on for eleven time units, thirty years by the human calendar, and doubt in the effectiveness and purpose of their quest had begun to grow among the Covenant’s ranks. Why are we slaughtering these humans who have proved themselves so worthy in battle, some Sangheili had begun to ask, and the doubt had grown from there. A slew of assassinations of lesser Prophets and their staunchest followers, and a spreading breakaway heretical movement had begun to question the validity of the Prophets, and undermined the hierarchy that had existed for uncounted generations. The slight improvement in human firepower over time and rumors of unstoppable warriors being integrated into their ranks had not helped ease tensions.
Thus, when a spy probe had at last located the world known as Reach, suspected center of all human military operations, the hierarchs had summoned a fleet of hundreds of capital ships to obliterate the world, a blow that would hopefully crush all remaining human resistance and stem the tide of descent within the hierarchy. ‘Falanamee, his reputation increased by several very successful campaigns during the long war, had been dispatched to command the Particular Justice in their role during the battle. The assault had been surprisingly costly, and a lucky strike by a small human attack cruiser had managed to destroy the Blessed Fire, flagship of the attack force. ‘Falanamee had assumed command of the massed fleet, but by that time most of the human fleet was shattered, and the remaining fighting was centered around a single human space station, which was suspected to hold data on the location of the human homeworld, and thus could not be destroyed, yet.
The towering Sangheili stared up into the glimmering hologram of the embattled world that filled the cavernous space above the command platform, noting the black patches beginning to spread across its surface. As was customary after human resistance around one of their worlds was quashed, the victorious fleet would turn its landmasses into sheets of glass and boil its oceans into nothingness from orbit. He was careful not to let the emotion become evident to any of his subordinates, but inwardly, he sighed. He believed in the Prophets, and would follow the word of the gods to his dying breath, but the needless slaughter of so many of these beings was beginning to wear upon him, and had been doing so for several years, since he had been ordered to bombard a heavily-populated human world completely devoid of any means of resistance. Such an action went against his personal warrior’s ethic, especially considering how valiantly the beings fought even against impossible odds. They would make fine additions to the Covenant, if circumstances were different.
Still, he would not think of openly defying the Prophet’s edict, and they had said this must be done. It might not make sense to him or any other warrior, but the motives of Forerunners and their instruments were surely beyond his comprehension.
Speaking of which…
He heard the quite clack of armored boots on the polished metal floor and turned, his eyes met by the prideful stare of a subordinate, Hiph ‘Netanimee. The younger Sangheili, of a more muscular build than the Ship Master, dipped his arched head in respect, allowing the soft light of the hologram above them to glint off of his white helm.
“Report.”
“Excellency, the Gentle Fate is beaming us a communications order. It is of the highest urgency.”
‘Falanamee nodded and waved the commander away with a four-fingered hand, turning to a smaller, dormant holographic generator that sat slightly off from the main one. ‘Netanimee quickly walked over to the edge of the floating disc and motioned to a Sangheili major standing at attention below, who in turn relayed the confirmation to the four Huragok who worked diligently in the communications pit. A moment later, the holographic generator sparked to life, swiftly drawing a figure out of pulses of light in the space above it. The Ship Master knelt.
A diminutive, long-necked creature with a triangular head came into view, huge, almost reptilian eyes not betraying any emotion as he looked through the projector. He was dressed in expansive, crimson robes and was seated in a high-backed hover chair, common for his kind, who were generally physically fragile. The voice that emerged from his thin, wrinkled lips was surprisingly deep.
“The battle goes well, Teno ‘Falanamee?”
“Yes, noble one. The human fleet should be utterly defeated in moments, and the bombardment of their world has begun.”
“Good, good.”
‘Falanamee could tell that the alien, who went by the title Prophet of Benefaction, was concerned about something. Despite the fact that the Prophet’s ship was observing the battle from well outside the planetary system (it wouldn’t do for one of the Hierarchs own lieutenants to be put in harms way unnecessarily), it sported a sensor system superior to even his flagship’s, and it would not surprise him if the Prophet had seen an element of the waning conflict he had not.
“My vessel has detected a lone human ship leaving the system. It seems to have slipped though your battle net, and is on the verge of escaping into the void.”
“You would have me pursue it?”
The Prophet raised a thin eyebrow at the question. “Of course. The cleansing of this place must be complete. No humans who fought here can be allowed to escape. Such is the will of the Hierarchs.”
“Then it shall be done, noble one.”
“The Council will hear of your actions on this day, Ship Master. You have done a great service for the Covenant, and your fidelity will not soon be forgotten.”
“I live and die for the Great Journey and its harbingers.”
The Prophet nodded in solidarity, and his image faded into nothingness. Rising from his position of supplication, ‘Falanamee glanced back at the battle map, which now registered no functioning human craft save one, its coordinates transmitted to the flagship along the same frequency as the Prophet’s command. It was a relatively small, ugly-looking vessel, even by human design standards, but it was moving unusually fast, streaking from the defeated world like a rider-less steed. The Ship Master’s immediate battle group was the closest unit to it of the massed fleet, made up of his warship and a small collection of support craft, including several squadrons of agile fighterships the humans called seraphs.
“‘Netanimee, alert our combat cluster. We are to engage that fleeing human vessel. Follow it into the void if necessary. Then inform the master of the Ark Crusade that he has taken command of the armada and to await further instruction from the noble Prophet when the immolation of that world is complete.”
“Shall I summon more ships?”
“They will not be needed. Humans may be clever prey, but even they cannot deny the power of this ship and its crew. Our hunt will be brief.”
The millisecond Cortana had reviewed her analysis program’s results, she launched into action, not bothering to even take a cursory scan of the Republica’s new quardinants before beginning to bypass the firewalls and cut-offs that segmented the starship’s computer system. Her artificial mind processed and reprocessed the information she had deciphered as her consciousness flitted through subsystems and low-power connection circuits, trying to extrapolate outcomes and make links to other data she held in her formidable memory. One thing had been instantly clear however; she would have to act fast, or the Republica and everyone on it would be killed.
Finding herself at last in a more directly networked system, power distribution monitoring, she jumped into the processor of a maintenance terminal, and the branched out again, attempting to locate another system network, reactor output control. The firewalls here were far stiffer than they had been in the less vital systems she had traversed, but the infiltration software wired into her cortex allowed the AI to ward them off temporarily. She doubted she would be able to do so again, considering the adaptive nature of the ship’s programming, but there was no time to waste worrying about such an unlikely eventuality.
After a few moments of searching, Cortana located her target, a minor offshoot of the hypermatter reactor system, secondary flow regulation.
Yes, this is place. Now if I could only figure out what he did in here…
Unsurprisingly, the selected interface’s activity logs for the last few hours had been carefully erased, but Cortana had encountered that trick before, and swiftly began to scan files not directly related to the terminal’s primary function, but still shared its subsection of memory space. There were always footprints when files were erased, especially in a hasty manner, as the ones she was looking for had been. Nevertheless, there seemed to be no evidence of any imprinting on the adjacent software she was searching. Perhaps Alliance technology was efficient enough to disperse even those tiny bits of irrelevant code.
Running through all of the decoding procedures and hacking protocols she had at her disposal, Cortana attempted formulate another strategy, and all the while the nagging chronometer in the back of her mind counted on, the danger increasing with each passing digit. Focusing every byte of processing power on the problem, the AI ran through dozens of procedures in seconds, discarding each one as it dead-ended. The digital equivalent of a profanity began to cycle through her thought processes, growing more prominent and rapid as each operation failed.
Then, purely by accident, Cortana stumbled upon the answer, a small bit of encoding so unimportant and dissimilar in UNSC computer systems that she had overlooked it at first. Another thing that was different here.
I’m really starting to hate this ship.
Fully aware that there was no time to mope, she pressed forward, rapidly pouring over the recovered logs. Most were regular systems maintenance, pass code encryptions, things of that nature, but a few of the most recent logged commands did not deal with power flow systems at all, but rather with the reactor itself.
Cortana accessed one of the commands in particular, more involved than the rest, and suddenly found here attention dragged to a completely different terminal via some kind of hacked remote interface. Normally, the system, hypermatter injection control, would be heavily fire-walled, but the link-up seemed to have bypassed the security entirely. Alien design or not, Cortana immediately noticed something in the system was slightly out of place, and applied the information to her growing file on the subject.
The Chief is going to love this one.
“A bomb?” Captain Ryceed stared into Cortana’s glimmering eyes, seemingly trying to decide whether or not the AI was joking, or simply being obnoxious. She had just lead her crew and ship away from certain destruction, and been one of the first beings of her galaxy to actually traverse a wormhole, accomplishments impressive even for a Alliance captain, and now this interloper in her computer was telling her that there was an infiltrator among her crew, and an explosive buried with the Republica’s innards. Imal would have truly thought it some cruel joke and ordered the AI at last extricated from her systems, but when the Master Chief had briefly informed the command staff that they had somehow stumbled upon his homeworld and galaxy, Cortana had barely even paused to inspect the holographic globe floating in the middle of the bridge. The being was serious.
It took a moment for the Captain to respond, and when she did, it was with her furrowed brow and most of her faced covered by a slightly trembling hand. The posture drew worried glances from the upper levels of her command crew; the woman was obviously exhausted and out of her element, a circumstance which made Ryceed notoriously unpredictable and irrational.
“Alright, I’m listening.”
Cortana nodded and her image morphed into a rough cross-section of one of the starship’s interior decks, very near the Republica’s large hypermatter annihilation reactor. “I believe that the device is somewhere in here, most likely planted on one of the coolant pylons that periodically pump super-cooled gas into the shell surrounding the reactant chamber.” A section of the deck beyond the crewed passageways, directly under the core sphere, lit up, glowing with special emphasis around three tube-like structures that jutted up into the reactor several decks above. “If I’m right, the next time one of these injector pumps locks into place to deliver its payload, in four minutes, the device will detonate. The damage would be catastrophic.”
“We should deactivate the system immediately,” Gavplek warned, checking the chronometer inlaid in a nearby terminal anxiously.
Ryceed nodded in agreement, but she looked concerned. “Commander Hessun, what effect would shutting down those injectors have on our operational status?” The officer in question, chief of the ship’s maintenance corps moved over quickly to assess the data Cortana was displaying.
“We’d have to send the reactor into low-level stasis cycle while those pylons are offline, sir. The risk of overloading the regulation systems without a steady supply of that coolant is too great. In any event, there’s too much static charge in the injector chamber to perform a search when the reactor is at full strength, even for droids.” The abnormally pale Mon Calamari’s skin tone and raspy voice served to enhance his aura of anxiety. “Switching over to the reserve generators, life support and the deflectors could stay online, but we’d lose the weapons and most of our maneuvering power.”
Ryceed continued to scrutinize the projection for a while longer, and then looked up at the globe that was the newly discovered planet, wreathed in brightly-indicated starships of unknown design, its landmasses now gaining a distinctly unnatural, blackened appearance.
“Captain,” Cortana’s voice urged.
“Are those starships hostile?”
“Very.” The Chief’s resonate voice garnered the attention of all those near him, as it always did. “As we speak, the Covenant are killing billions of defenseless civilians trapped on that planet.”
Cortana reappeared, shooting the Spartan a sour look, but her annoyance at his lack of diplomatic skill was blunted somewhat by the bombardment of Reach unfolding before her eyes, again. No, there’s nothing we can do for them. Especially not now. “Captain, were running out of time. I do not believe that the Covenant fleet has detected our presence, and if we wait here too much longer, all they’ll ever find is a cloud of gaseous debris.”
Glanced from one hologram to the other, and shook her head sighing. “Alright, do it. Commander, how long will it take to get back main power when the system can be reactivated?”
The pale Mon Calamari, who was already reaching for a wall comm to relay the order, diverted to a nearby operations computer. “Two minutes and twenty seconds, sir.”
Ryceed acknowledged the data and Hessun rushed to contact the core. “Cortana, before we dispatch anyone to the suspect system, I want to know just how you came across this information.”
Cortana did not pause before responding. “I analyzed a visual recording given to me by the Arbiter a few minutes ago.” Standing back from the main group of officers and ambassadors, but listening no less intently, Major Truul’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “It shows one of your officers, one Lieutenant Flitch, planting an explosive device in a computer room onboard the Alliance supply station. I simply followed up my suspicion that he would likely attempt something similar here by searching recent computer activity near…”
“Wait, what’s all this now?” Major Truul was now standing in the midst of the group, glaring at Cortana sharply. “Flitch is no Imperial. There’s no way. If that’s what your source is saying, I wouldn’t trust it.”
“I’m afraid it’s true, unless you can explain why he hacked into the core power regulation computer using stolen access codes, or what he was doing here.” She disappeared again, replaced by a two-dimensional image, somewhat blurry and jerky, but viewable nonetheless. On it, a young man in an Alliance uniform walked quickly down a narrow hallway and slipped into a side door. The image followed him quickly, its bearer slipping in through the door before it had time to close. Now illuminated only by the soft light of computer display, the officer quickly crossed the empty, dark room, and placed a case on top of a data file storage cabinet. The figure worked quickly, loosening a wall panel with a powered lever, then inserting a largish, square object into the hole. He tapped it a few times, and a series of digits appeared on its side surface, almost obscured by the man’s body. He tapped a few more commands, and then covered the digits with a lid, sealing the entire thing into the wall. He quickly slipped his prying implement back into the case, and turned, at which point the projection halted. There, even in the relative darkness, the lieutenant’s soft features were very clear, although this time, they had a distinctly hard edge about them.
“I can only guess at how the Arbiter obtained this, or why he waited so long to show it to us, but the recording is authentic and unmodified.” Cortana’s voice was urgent. “Now please, we must act quickly.”
Truul’s lips tightened into a skull-like grimace, and he unclipped the communicator from his belt, his eyes still fixed on the projected face. “Security control, this is Major Truul. Alert all armed personnel that Lieutenant Flitch, of my staff, is to be detained by any means necessary. Warn them that he’s likely armed.” The man paused, his face a mask. “If he resists, give them authorization to use lethal force. Flitch is not to get off this ship, under any circumstances.”
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 396
(11/14/05 8:56 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Forty
Keep mobile. Be erratic. Finger on the trigger.
Flitch repeated these words of wisdom from his training over and over again in his mind in an attempt to keep focused. The long hallways of the Rebel starship now felt uncomfortably narrow; almost closing in on him. Some of the crewmen he passed eyed him surreptitiously, more out of casual curiosity than suspicion, but the distinction meant nothing to the infiltrator right now; any inquiry could mean the death of him. He hugged the case in the crook of his arm closer, making sure that its access flap was unbound.
As far as Flitch knew, he had not yet been discovered, despite the brutish alien’s assault, but as he made his way towards the main hangar deck, the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle with anxiety. Certainly, it was a natural reaction for a man in his situation, especially for one largely inexperienced with this kind of operation, but he knew intuitively that it was more than that. The Ubiqtorate taught its operatives to trust their instincts, even when logic indicated otherwise. Of course, imperial training was generally focused enough to make the two one and the same.
Footsteps.
Barely thinking, Flitch turned into a side hall, walking a few meters more before ducking behind a pillar of protruding conduit housing. His left hand reached out for the access flap of his container, and he waited, listening intently. After a few moments, the footfalls became louder, and for a brief second, Flitch caught a snippet of a hushed conversation. The man speaking sounded concerned about something, but the operative couldn’t pick out enough of the words to derive any meaning from them. Determined to confirm his suspicions, Flitch moved from his hiding spot as soon as the pedestrians had passed, catching a glimpse of their backs before they disappeared beyond a turbolift door. Two Rebel marines, their holsters empty and backs squared with purpose.
Withdrawing again from the main hall, Flitch gritted his teeth, considering options. They were on to him now, that was almost certain, but it was unlikely they knew where he was, or he would be in custody already. Avoiding monitored portions of the ship and sticking to service access ways might shake them for a time, but he would have to move quickly before the hangar was locked down and his only method of escape was removed from him. Not to mention the explosive that would be detonating in a scant few minutes. Still, Flitch had made sure he had an Idiot’s Array up his sleeve before implementing the final stage of his mission. Now all he had to do was hurry.
Glancing around to make sure he was still unobserved, Flitch groped around in a side panel of his case and removed a small rectangle of plastoid, adorned with several unremarkable buttons.
“Ignition one,” he whispered, and depressed the first control.
Despite the size of the Republica, the tremors caused by the explosion were quite noticeable on the bridge, nearly causing several of those still standing around the holographic projector to fall to the deck plate.
“Report.”
Captain Ryceed leapt from her seat when the blast reverberated through her bridge, but she nevertheless tried to keep her voice and composure calm. A flurry of comm signals and internal sensor scans later, an Operations officer turned to report.
“There was an explosion on deck thirty, section D two. Several casualties, no fatalities reported so far. Security is clearing the area.”
“What happened?” Gavplek asked.
“The traitor,” Worf growled from his place by Captain Picard.
The operations officer paused to listen to another update over his comm line, and then nodded. “Yes, it looks like an explosive went off near the armory on that deck. However, it seems like the device didn’t have the desired effect. None of the munitions went off, and there were no hull breaches, just some structural damage to the hallway on deck thirty one, directly below.”
“He messed up,” Ryceed noted, turning to Major Truul, who was listening to the report with the same stony-faced expression he had used to order his subordinate’s capture. “We have to find him before he can set off anymore of these things. Get a scanning team up here too search my bridge for any of these bombs.”
Truul saluted stiffly. “ Yes, Ma’am.” He paused a moment. “Sir, permission to leave the bridge and lead the search of the ship for Flitch. It’s my fault he’s here right now, and I’m not going to let my mistake endanger this mission.”
The captain nodded in consent, and Truul made for the turbolift bank, almost at a run.
“Perhaps we should go with him,” Riker suggested to Picard as they watched the man step into the lift. “It’s our duty to help these people now. Besides, I don’t like just standing here, doing nothing.” The commander had considered asking to do this before, when the Master Chief, at Cortana’s request, had left with the Mon Calamari engineer to investigate the reactor bomb, and now the situation seemed all the more urgent.
“No, we mustn’t interfere without their requesting it.” Picard looked unhappy with his own words, but he remained firm. “The Republica has its own security force. We would simply be an impediment to their efforts.”
“I wouldn’t recommend leaving the bridge right now for any reason,” Leia Organa warned, looking away from the tense duty stations. “This is probably the safest place on the Republica at the moment, assuming of course they don’t find anything.” She eyed the small crew of humanoids and droids who had just entered the chamber, hauling a variety of portable scanners and monitoring devices.
“Oh dear,” the princess’s golden protocol droid intoned quietly, nudging closer to his master.
Picard seemed similarly agitated, but Leia sensed it was for a different reason. “I’m sure the others of your group are perfectly safe. Crew quarters wouldn’t be very high on the target list of a fleeing saboteur.”
Picard cocked an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I hope your right, Councilor Organa. If I may say, you have quite the knack for empathy. I try not to let my worries show in situations like this. I had thought I was somewhat good at it.”
The young woman blushed slightly. “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me. I’ve just had a lot of time to gauge people’s emotions in my service of the Alliance, and it comes in handy in my line of work. Oh, and you can call me Leia if you wish. I never liked the title much. The same with princess really.” The last thought was accompanied by a bemused smile that the woman gave to no one in particular, at least not anyone present at the moment.
Before Picard could reply, one of the nearby crewers shouted out a warning. “Captain, we have a problem.”
Ryceed was behind the woman in a flash, looking over her shoulder. “Another explosion?”
“No, sir. One of the unidentified starships around that planet has broken high orbit and is on a rough intercept course for our position. Estimated ETA, nine minutes.”
“Excellency, the Maintainer has detected something worthy of your notice.”
Teno ‘Falanamee tore his eyes from the projection of the human ship that was flowering from a secondary holographic device and turned to Hiph ‘Netanimee, who stood at sharp attention, as always.
“Indeed?”
Though he did not allow his voice to show it, the Ship Master was curious as to what news the Maintainer had deemed important enough to convey. The artificial mind, a meticulously duplicated copy of a computer program the Huragok had designed under special sanction of the Prophets several thousand years ago, the Maintainer dwelt within the hulls of most Covenant warships. They were generally tasked with regulating automatic systems and tending passive scanning arrays, and it was rare for one to actually volunteer information of any relevance, especially during combat. The mind inhabiting ‘Falanamee’s flagship was especially quiet; he could only recall ever actually speaking with it a handful of times. The Ship Master had always suspected that there might have been a replication defect in the holy program, but he had never had good reason to risk bring the problem up with a Prophet. To question such an old technology without a blatantly obvious reason verged on heresy.
“The holy mind has discovered an anomaly in the space between the human’s world and this system’s gas giant. It is emitting an energy signature unlike anything the mind has ever witnessed.”
“Unlike anything it has ever witnessed?” ‘Falanamee asked curiously. That was most unusual. From what the Ship Master understood of them, the artificial minds spent most of their sleepless existences analyzing and reanalyzing every bit of information in their consciousness. Though not as comprehensive as Huragok implementation repositories or the Hierarchs’ personal archives, Maintainers held virtually every scrap of navigational and technical information the Covenant had ever accumulated. If something truly new had been discovered, it would most certainly be deserving of notice.
“Show it to me.”
Its control display lightly nudged by the Sangheili commander, another holographic projector sprang to life, this one slowly filling the air with a glimmering outline. It was long, almost tubular, but with gracefully rounded edges. As the image increased in definition, the Ship Master noted that the object looked a great deal like some of the smaller vessels in the Covenant armada.
“The Maintainer is positive that it is not a human starship; its design is quite unlike their hideous constructs,” ‘Netanimee continued.
“Is it positive?” the Ship Master asked as the silhouette began to fill in, revealing large ovoid bulges and dark scars dotting its hull. “The humans have exhibited quite a talent for stealing our designs and technology. Could this not be another such aberration?”
The commander paused, his mandibles contorting into an uncomfortable frown. “Excellency, there is more. That object is emitting power levels beyond any warship in our armada, even this one. It appears to have just lowered its output for some unknown reason, but it is quite beyond the capability of any of our vessels that small.”
Now ‘Falanamee was intrigued. He had never personally encountered such an occurrence, and could not think of any protocol in his training relating to the encountering a non-Covenant vessel more powerful than his own. Such a thing was unheard of, and had been so since before the current age.
“Has the object made any hostile move or attempted to communicate?”
The commander glanced over at the two other intendant Sangheili officers permitted on the command dais with the Ship Master, who returned the look with a negative gesture. “No, Excellency.”
Pausing only a moment longer to inspect the unknown construct, which was now quite clearly defined, ‘Falanamee turned his attention back to the human vessel, still surging towards the boundaries of the conquered star system. “Instruct the Angelic Fury and Ankh Reaver to investigate. We have a more pressing duty to attend to. Transmit the object’s coordinates to the holy Prophet’s vessel as well. I’m sure he will take great interest in this discovery.”
‘Netanimee saluted and turned away, but before he could carry out his orders, one of the other intendants accosted him and quietly delievered a new message. Frowning, the commander turned back to his master, who was still watching him carefully.
“Excellency, the Prophet of Benefaction is demanding your audience once more. It would seem he already is aware of the Maintainer’s discovery.”
The Ship Master allowed himself to close both eyes at once, the greatest display of exasperation he would allow himself in public view, and then nodded stoically.
“I take it your sensors have discovered what mine have, Ship Master.” When the Prophet appeared before a supplicant ‘Falanamee moments later, he looked considerably more alert than he had when they had last spoken.
“Yes, noble one. I have dispatched two of my finest warships to investigate the object. I had intended on alerting you as well, but your attentiveness has made that unnecessary.”
The Prophet crocked a large eyebrow and leaned forward slightly, bringing his features into sharper definition. “Very good. However, more of a reception is required. I would have you break off your pursuit and rendezvous with my vessel at the artifact’s position.”
‘Falanamee looked up, startled. “Break off the pursuit, high one? You would allow these humans to escape divine justice?”
“You question my orders, Ship Master?”
The Sangheili chose his next words carefully. “I would never dream of such insolence, noble one. I simply do not see why my vessel’s presence at the investigation of that object is necessary, especially if such a course correction allows these fugitives to escape.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the air, the two leaders staring at each other through the void of space. Behind ‘Falanamee, one of his officers shifted uncomfortably. At last, the Prophet leaned back in his hover throne, a thin smile creasing his lips.
“Your question is a prudent one, Ship Master. What I would expect from one of your esteemed rank. However, my order stands. It is my belief that the artifact we have discovered is of Forerunner construction. What is more, it appears to be in very good repair. Perhaps even… inhabitable.”
Now the Ship Master was genuinely astonished. To find an intact Forerunner artifact was a momentous occasion, but not one without precedent. But to even suggest one was found with living beings inside it… Was the Prophet suggesting that the gods had returned to the mortal plane?
With a wave of his slender hand, the Prophet warded off any further inquiry. “I cannot relay why I suspect such an event has occurred, not until I am certain. However, your presence is required when contact is established. We must show proper respect.”
“Of course, noble one.”
When hologram faded, ‘Falanamee shook his head slowly, looking from the new artifact to the fleeing human vessel and back again. Something about this change in plans raged against his warrior’s intuition, and he certainly did not think that the Prophet’s suspicions were justified, but he was committed. Letting the human ship go would do no great harm, and deep down, he did not loathe the failure. Eradicating the sentients was his duty, and one he would carry out loyally, but it gave him no pleasure.
“Change course to rendezvous with that construct. Reduce power to the plasma installations. Gods’ gift, we will not need them.”
Five minutes left.
Flitch looked both ways down the hallway, and seeing only a few turned backs, dove across into the open door across the way. He immediately sealed the door and crossed the small service junction, prying loose a panel from the metal floor. This revealed a long, dark tube, descending down at least ten meters, lit only by a few dim wall mounts. The infiltrator smiled with satisfaction; this vertical access way, designed for use if the turbolift grid was offline, would bring him directly under where he needed to be. Hooking his case onto a flap of hi uniform, he slid into the hole, grabbing the protruding rungs that jutted out below.
After a few cramped, dark moments, he was at the bottom; his feet perched directly above a sealed blast door. Locating the corresponding access panel, he tapped a prominent command key, and the barrier slid away, revealing the rest of the ladder rungs, and the deck plate beneath. However, there was another, unexpected, object in his narrow field of vision below. The domed, orange head of a Mon Calamari almost completely filled the opening, bobbing slightly as the crewman repaired an electrical junction set between two of the lower rungs. Apparently, he had not heard the plug unseal itself a mere meter above him.
Flitch considered his options quickly. He couldn’t go back, there was no guarantee there would be another way to the hangar he could use, and time was short anyway. There was nothing for it but to continue on. Hopefully the oblivious alien wouldn’t prove too much of a challenge.
Hooking his case on one of the hand rungs, the human braced himself, and then dropped directly onto the Alliance crewer. Flitch felt his right foot impact the amphibian’s skull, but rather than deliver a debilitating concussion as he had hoped, the blow slid of the alien’s smooth head and both sentients tumbled to the floor. Hard.
Flitch was the first to try to rise, but the Mon Cal began to flail immediately, obviously disoriented, but still dangerous. The Imperial agent fell upon him again, slamming the alien back to the deck and smothering his lipless mouth. His large, finned arms began to pound on the assailant’s sides, but Flitch gritted his teeth and drove his elbows down, pinning the crewer more tightly to the cold deck. The Mon Calamari did not relent, thrashing and kicking as its huge eyes bulged out even larger, desperately searching the room for something that could help him. Feeling the larger being beginning to overcome the shock of its assault, Flitch again threw himself down upon the alien, lunging forward to grab its scaly neck. With a quick motion, he jerked sideways, and with a raspy gasp, the alien stopped moving.
Breathing heavily, he rolled off the crewer and scrabbled to his feet, quickly scanning his new surroundings. The room he was in, identical to the one above, was empty save for himself and the defeated Rebel. Flitch glanced back down at the immobile form and nudged it with his foot. The Mon Calamari was dead. The Imperial exhaled a long sigh, and then stepped over the body, plucking his case from where he had deposited it. Remorse was one of the first things that had been trained out of him.
Not bothering to make any effort to hide the corpse, Flitch deactivated the small chamber’s light panel, and listening at the door to make sure the way was clear, slipped out. The narrow hallway, a service passage, was vacant, obstructed only by a single deactivated astromech that was propped up to one side of the walkway. Pausing a moment to regain his bearings, the infiltrator set off again, careful to avoid the passages around him he knew to be constantly monitored. Though his stealthy route was unimpeded and devoid of unexpected complications, Flitch could tell time was running out, and he was beginning to fall behind.
At last he came to a doorway he clearly recognized, one that lead to the main inhabited area on the deck below level one he needed to reach. That meant that his tedious escape was almost at an end, although one of the most difficult parts still lay ahead. He would have to cross through several main, inhabited corridors to reach the vertical crawlway that would bring him to the flight deck. Once there, he could slip behind whatever guards the Alliance had posted there, detonate the last of his devices, which would ensure an unimpeded departure, and coast away. After a brief display of pyrotechnics, it would be a simple matter to relay a pickup code to the nearest Imperial base. Flitch wasn’t entirely sure where the Republica was at the moment, he had been absorbed in preparations for since departure, but he was sure that the data on Rebel and sympathizer activities he had accumulated would prove him worthy of a speedy retrieval, no matter where he was. His instructors had always noted his single-minded focus on a mission as a potential weakness, but it seemed to have worked in his favor this time; what did it matter where the Rebel vessel was going? It would be wreckage in a few minutes anyways.
Sure that his case was firmly secured at his side, Flitch removed a blank datapad from his pocket, positioned it before him in manner that indicated enthrallment, and allowed the automatic door to open.
There was surprisingly little foot traffic in the hallway, one that ran severed as a junction for several major duty stations, and a junior officer barracks. As he walked along, seemingly absorbed with the nonexistent data the pad possessed, Flitch theorized that it was likely due to him. Though he had heard no ship-wide alert, the recent explosion and increased presence of armed marines was likely to raise suspicions amongst the crew, and if confronted, Flitch suspected the soldiers had been instructed to warn crewers of the threat. Walking out in the open in such an environment was extremely risky, but Flitch hoped that his face was not particularly well known to most of the cruiser’s crew, and he had taken the time to swap his uniform for that of a low-level technician. Who would suspect an oblivious-looking tech wandering through a heavily traveled area, absorbed with some unimportant scrap of data?
A minute and several turns later, Flitch was still, at least seemingly, unnoticed. He suspected the surveillance cameras he had passed would identify him if given a few more moments, but by the time they did, he would be well away from the supernova that would engulf them. Still closely inspecting the blank pad, Flitch made one final turn, to the side passage that would bring him to the appropriate access way.
Smoothly, without even showing that he had looked up at all, the infiltrator ducked behind an extruding computer bank. Though he had only caught sight of them in his peripheral vision as he turned the corner, he had instantly recognized the uniform and weapon of the Rebel marine. His heart pounded and he stuck his right hand into the case at his side, preparing himself for the attack. It never came.
The marine he had seen, accompanied by a pair of nervously chattering techs, turned the corner, apparently not noticing the pedestrian who they had been behind was no longer in evidence, and continued on, pausing just beyond Flitch’s range of vision. They began to talk, and the infiltrator shrunk into the shadows as much as he could, wedging himself behind an exposed bit of power casing.
“This is the place.”
“Why would he plant one here? It’s just a computer junction.”
“Yes, a computer junction that networks fire control commands for most of the turbolaser banks on this side of the ship. If there was a detonation near this thing, it would take half an hour to reroute all of the weapons emplacements.”
“Here, help me get this open.”
“Well, I guess that makes sense. Still, if he intended on blowing up the ship anyways, why would he bother with some fire control computer?”
“Backup plan maybe, who knows? All that matters is that it’s a potential target. You know the Major’s orders.”
“Well, even if we find one here. I’d rather be taking care of it up here than down under the core. I had third shift down there a few weeks ago. Kind of creepy.”
“Whatever. I’m just glad they found the one down there so quickly. I’ve got a score to settle with those Imperial bastards before they send me to the Seven Hells.”
At this point, Flitch stopped listening. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming out loud in frustration. The culmination of his operation was ruined! He couldn’t comprehend how the Rebels had located the core device, there was no beacon or activation transmitter on it; he had made sure of that. And they couldn’t have retraced his steps from the regulation computer so quickly, not even Imperial descrambler droids could break down the barriers he had put up so quickly.
No, there was no time to mull the failure. He still had to get off the ship; the information he had stolen still had value. There was still a way for him off the cruiser, assuming of course the diversions he had put in place did their jobs.
From the sound of it, the trio of Rebels had moved to the other side of the terminal, and taking advantage of their diverted attentions, Flitch stepped back out into the hallway, trying to look as inconspicuous as before. He passed the crewers without incident, and focused himself intently on the doorway beyond which the service ladder lay.
“Excuse me.”
Flitch froze, ready to break into a fighting run.
“I’m quite sorry, but I think I’m lost. Its kind of embarrassing actually, I have been onboard this ship for a week, but… well…”
The infiltrator’s heart began to slow again; he knew that voice. Sure enough, standing awkwardly behind him, was Reginald Barclay, the fidgety man he had helped rescue from the Torrent as part of his cover operation. A small smile creased Flitch’s stress-drained lips.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Where do you need to go?”
Barclay returned the smile uneasily. “Oh, thanks. I’ve been trying to find the diplomatic quarters. Captain’s orders.”
Flitch nodded, and pointed down the hall, away from where the scanning team still worked. “There’s a turbolift bank that way. It can get you to deck twelve. I can show you if you like.”
“That would be… um, appreciated. I haven’t quite gotten my head around your numbers.” He blushed a bit. “You know, you look very familiar. Lieutenant, I think?”
“No, just an ensign. Unfortunately.”
“Ah, sorry. You just looked familiar.”
“No problem. I’m sure I ‘d have remembered someone like you if we’d met before.”
“Why do you say that?”
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 403
(12/4/05 8:54 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Forty One
Commander Hessun’s huge, dark eyes twitched and swirled as he peered through the dim light at some lettering stenciled on the cold, durasteel wall. “Here we are. The injector hub should be just beyond this bulkhead.”
The Mon Calamari gestured to a smallish hatch set against the gray wall, studded with a variety of clamps and locking mechanisms.
“I’m surprised anyone could even get in there. The static fields that keep the injectors in there running are pretty self-sufficient, and I’ve never had to do maintenance on any of the system. I didn’t think anyone had been down here since the Republica had its last refit.”
“I’m positive the activation code was beamed into that chamber,” Cortana replied, sharing the Chief’s eyes as he looked down at the pale engineer. “It is certainly a good hiding place though; the ship’s internal sensors don’t seem to be able to take any clear readings of any of the systems in there.”
Hessun nodded his bulbous head. “It’s those generators I mentioned. They boost durability of the injector pistons nearly eighty percent, but picking up on any problems to do develop can be tricky. My crews have been having problems with the static field that replaced the one in the primary tractor grid when we last hit space dock. Lower intensity, but its still gumming up diagnostics all over the deck. The field messes with the neural programs of most of our tech droids too. Whatever we have to do on the other side of this blast door were going to have to do by hand.”
Webbed fingers punched a few commands into a small wall panel, and the claps lining the hatch’s perimeter popped up, revealing hand grips. “Mind helping me with this?”
Hessun braced himself against the wall and reached to grab the grips on one side of the plug, but he stepped away in mild surprise as the Master Chief, his dull armor blotting out the dim emergency lights set above them, clapped his gauntleted hands on both sides of the door and pulled. The entire hunk of five inch thick metal came free in a single, smooth motion, and was deposited lightly onto the deck like an empty knapsack.
“Heavy.” The Chief glanced down at is handiwork. “Looks like battle-grade plating.”
One eye fixed on the armored humanoid and the other goggling at the solid hunk of durasteel that would have drained him to move only a few inches, even with the support of the pressurized hinges set at its base, the Mon Calamari was an unintentionally comedic sight. “Um… yes, quite heavy. That blast door is designed to withstand a catastrophic plasma detonation of several kilotons.”
The chamber beyond the plug was almost pitch-black, lit only by a faint shroud of phosphorescence from above. A low, rhythmic pounding, one that the pair could hear faintly since they arrived on the deck, was now very clear, and the syncopated vibration was beginning to make the Spartan’s teeth chatter. He tapped a control on his helm, and a beam of light pierced the blackness. The way lit by the Chief’s spotlight, the Alliance officer ducked through the entry point, quickly followed by the human himself, who easily slipped through opening despite his bulkier gear.
The room was circular, perhaps one hundred and twenty five feet from one side to the other, with a ceiling that bulged down into the center, thirty feet from the polished floor at its lowest point. Both the odd glow and vibration seemed to be emanating from the bowled ceiling, which sported several slits along its sides, each lit by a soft, white aura. The chamber itself was largely empty, save for a dozen thick tubes, which emerged from the floor at evenly-spaced intervals in a circle around the room’s center and lanced diagonally into the gunmetal ceiling.
As the Chief was taking this all in, he noted an odd sound, like static, building up in his ears. The Mon Calamari, who was inspecting a metal band that ran around the closest of the pylons, seemed unaffected. “Cortana?”
There was silence for a moment, and then the static grew louder. “Sorry Chief. The fi… …erator seems to be inte…ng our link. I’ll try to cut d… on the static, but I …n’t be able to communicate until you leave this are… The Comm…r should be ab… to help you locate the bomb. It should be… one of the pylons. I’m shunting into the b..idge system now. Good luck.”
An icy sensation bloomed at the base of the Chief’s skull, and he felt Cortana’s consciousness leave him. The hole she left was a bit uncomfortable, but he was used to her comings and goings by now, and shrugged it off.
The static was largely gone now, and the Spartan could think more clearly. He noticed the engineer was waving him over.
“When the injectors are online, these pistons pump up and down from the coolant tanks to the main reactor, directly above,” Hessun said, patting the metallic band he had been inspecting. “Even though any detonation in this room could disastrous, the most damaging place would be up right on the core’s outer casing, where the injector passes through. Place an active detpack at the point where the external piston meets the shell casing, and you could easily activate the charge with the force of the injector itself. I’m guessing what were looking for is up there, somewhere.” The Mon Calamari pointed up at the tops of the thick pylons, where they interested with the side of the bowl, some fifty feet straight up.
The Master Chief followed the engineer’s finger, and then appraised the dormant piping, smooth save for a few protruding patches of added casing. Sloped at nearly ninety degrees, the pylons would not make for an easy assent.
“No handholds. Typical.”
In less than a second, Cortana was back in the Alliance vessel’s main computer, absorbing every byte of sensor data the ship had accumulated since she diverted her attention to the search for Flitch’s explosive. What she discovered was not reassuring. Finding the projector she had been using previously engaged with some other program, she flitted over to a secondary holographic tub and booted up her image, almost forgetting to reestablish an audio linkup in her haste.
“What’s your plan, captain? How do we proceed?”
Ryceed, who was hunched forward in her command seat, brow creased in thought, didn’t bother looking up at the shimmering figure.
“There isn’t much we can do at the moment, I’m sure you realize that. Until the bomb is neutralized and the core back up to full power, were stuck here. I suppose it’s too much too hope for that your friend was exaggerating when he gave me the threat analysis of our visitors out there.” The Republica’s medium range Com-Scan had locked onto a pair of very large, shell-hulled starships, approaching their position at a prodigious rate.
Cortana sighed. “Unfortunately, he was correct. The Covenant consists entirely of brutal, genocidal zealots, bent on the eradication of the human race, for a reason none of us can fathom. I doubt the fact that you and your people are not from this galaxy will make much difference to them when they come knocking. Hopefully the Republica will prove more resistant to their weaponry than the typical UNSC starship, but I can’t guarantee anything, not without seeing the effect of their plasma against your deflectors.”
“You may get your wish, very soon.” Ryceed blew out a long breath, rubbed the spider webs brought on by a week without restful sleep from her eyes and rose wearily, then glanced at her first officer. “Do we have anymore data on those ships?”
Commander Gavplek finished relaying an order to a pair of ensigns who were working the primary sensors, and then turned, frowning. “Some, sir. The vessels are obviously warships, each sporting at least a dozen probable weapons emplacements of unknown design.”
“Highly energetic plasma ejectors, employing a mobile electromagnetic sheath to encase and guide the projectile clouds they fire,” the AI interjected.
“The larger of the vessels, three point three kilometers long, has some sort of deflector field encasing its hull,” the commander continued. “The field is making it difficult for our sensors to get any clear reading on the ship’s power output or internal systems. The smaller ship, at one and a half kilometers, lacks the field, although I suspect it is capable of generating one as well. Scanners have been able to penetrate its hull, but its systems are too alien to easily identify. Both vessels appear to be using some sort of ion drive, but seem to lack hyperdrive networks.”
“Covenant vessels use an advanced variation of UNSC Shaw Fujikawa Slipspace Drive. It’s substantially slower than your FTL technology, but more precise.”
Ryceed had turned her attention back towards one of the holographic displays around her, which sported a three dimension representation of the larger of the two craft. “Have you been able to determine if their weapons are primed for firing?”
“Not yet, captain. We can’t do that until we at least know how their power systems work.”
The image of Cortana flickered as she interfaced with main scanner control, where the two ensigns were still attempting to analyze and penetrate the sensory shell around the cores of both ships. A moment later, the flickering stopped.
“Odd.” Cortana looked perplexed. “Neither ship has its plasma generators primed. Reigning Covenant tactics always seem to involve obliterating a target as soon as possible. Why would they be approaching us like this? Were almost in firing range as it is.”
The ensigns looked down at their interfaces, fruitlessly trying to see what the AI had amidst their confused and undecipherable readings.
As the Alliance command staff and the AI ponder the question, Captain Picard, who had been listening to the conversation with great interest, suddenly stepped forward, inspecting the Covenant warships more closely. “Cortana, do UNSC starships share any design elements with the Republica? Even just superficially?”
Not knowing what the human was getting at, Cortana thought for a moment. “Not really. Mon Calamari design is far smoother and more organic-looking than any Earth-made vessel, even civilian ones. Actually, this ship has more in common, at least superficially, with a Covenant capital ship than a…” She paused.
Ryceed looked up at her, irritated. “Than what? What else has gone wrong?”
“Nothing. Its just that… maybe… No, it couldn’t be.”
“What?”
The AI looked over the inquisitive faces of the ship’s crew and passengers absently, her artificial mind tackling a new, and unexpected, idea. “Well, I don’t know too much about Covenant theology, no one does, but they do worship a highly advanced race of aliens that disappeared from our galaxy hundreds of thousands of years ago. They’re called the Forerunners, and all Covenant technology is based upon artifacts and designs salvaged from their abandoned installations, strewn across the galaxy.”
“Now, this galaxy isn’t as diverse as your own, probably due to Covenant’s dominion over most of it, and locating a starship that is not readily identifiable as either human or Covenant is virtually unheard of. As I said, Covenant technology, and thus ship design, is at least vaguely similar to ancient Forerunner starships. The Republica not only looks like one of their own vessels, but its power capacity also far exceeds that of any CCS-class cruiser. I don’t believe I’m actually even thinking about this, but…”
“Cortana,” Commander Riker too stepped forward, his mouth slightly agape. “Are you saying that the inhabitants of those ships think we are their gods?”
There was a lengthy pause, the eyes of all those in earshot fixed squarely on the projection. At last, Cortana grinned.
“You know what, Commander? That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Ryceed’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you planning now? My ship is in no state to be used as the centerpiece of some sort of gambit, especially not one based on the completely unsupported theory that these sapients think that we are their gods.”
“From the looks of things, Captain, we don’t have much of a choice. As you say, the Republica is in no state to fight, and even if your deflectors can hold them off for awhile, I don’t want to risk seeing what will happen when they call for reinforcements. At the very least, I can buy some time for the Chief to dispose of the bomb so we can reactivate the drives and get out of here.”
She turned to Data and La’Forge, who were both still seated at the make-shift wormhole control nexus. “Have you been able to figure out why we ended up here instead of your dimensional plane?”
“Lt. Commander La’Forge and I are still analyzing the data you dumped into the core on your experience guiding the ship. However, I believe we have made significant inroads, and I am preparing a new control program for your use, should the Republica attempt to reenter the wormhole. It should be ready in approximately ten minutes.”
“I’m not sure if I can stall them for that long, but I will try.” Cortana turned back to Ryceed, who was looking increasingly irate. “Captain, I’ll need complete access to your communications and hyperwave system, as well as main ion control.”
The woman gritted her teeth. “This is my ship, Cortana. You may have more knowledge of our circumstances than the rest of us, and you may still have access to the ship’s computer systems, but that does not mean that I will allow you to pursue any fantastical plan you dream up, regardless of the risk it poses to the two thousand Alliance soldiers! I demand that you at least detail your plan adequately to me.”
Cortana shook her head, and gestured to the main viewscreen, on which both ships were clearly visible, and still approaching. “There isn’t any time, captain. We cannot fight, and we cannot simply sit here and let them pick us apart. It my may not be the best of alternatives or assured to work, but my plan is all we have.”
“I will not accept this. You cannot…”
“Captain.” The voice that rang out from behind them was not particularly loud or impassioned, but it was clear, and undeniable. Leia Organa walked up to Ryceed and placed a hand on her shoulder, her posture stern, and at the same time understanding. Their eyes met. “We have to trust her. There is no time. Please.”
Ryceed stared at the councilor, trying to reassert her authority to the woman, but something in those eyes struck a cord, and she began to reconsider. Whether she liked it or not, Cortana was right; there weren’t any other options. Certainly, she had gotten them into this situation, but the AI had also guided the Republica away from destruction at the hands of the Imperial task force.
The woman sighed resignedly. “Very well. You may do what you think is needed to keep this ship and its crew intact.” Before Cortana could reply though, Ryceed’s posture stiffened again. “Remember though, this is still my ship. If I find that you’re doing anything more than what is necessary to safeguard the mission and the crew, or if you cause undue harm to them, I will purge you from the Republica’s systems myself.”
“Believe me, captain. If I fail or overstep my bounds now, the Covenant will be perfectly happy to fulfill your promise for you.”
The two majestic capital ships, now side by side, at last came to a stop, using the hundreds of retro thrusters dotting their hulls to eliminate their forward velocity. Their target, far smaller and less impressive than either ship, made no move in response, its weapons systems and com-lines silent. The cloud of fighters and gunships surrounding the largest vessel bunched up in tight formations around their carrier, silently awaiting orders.
From his command platform, Teno ‘Falanamee too awaited orders, arms folded tightly behind his arched back. It was only proper to allow the Prophet to make first contact as he saw fit, especially if his suspicions about the immobile starship’s origins were true.
“Lower the defensive screens. We must make our intent clear.”
The order was swiftly carried out, and a faint shimmering ran across the hull of his might ship, visible crest of the dissipating energy field.
If the whitish, carbon-scored vessel did indeed contain who the Prophet had theorized it would, the ship master mused, this would truly be a momentous day in the history of the Covenant. The day, in fact, that the Covenant’s entire existence had lead up to. If the Forerunner’s, or their servants were indeed suspended before them, and they chose to reveal themselves to the Covenant’s impromptu emissaries, salvation would truly be at hand. There would be no more need for the endless war, no more need for civil unrest, and the species of the holy union would transcend the known plane into paradise. ‘Falanamee was not nearly as religious as some of his brethren, but the prospect appealed to even him greatly.
However, there was something about the situation that kept him from being overly elated. Part of him simply couldn’t believe that a part of dogma had become, or could become, reality. The Great Journey, and even the Forerunners, had always seemed beyond mortal comprehension, a driving force and motivation, rather than a reachable goal. Of course, such thoughts were heresy.
Whatever the source of his unease, he did not have long to ponder, as he was soon alerted to an incoming communiqué from the Prophet of Benefaction’s cruiser.
“The artifact has sent you no sign or message, I assume?”
“No, noble one.”
The vaguely serpentine creature displayed in the projection nodded sagely. “Very well. We have presented ourselves to them, and they have made no objection. You have noted the probe?”
‘Falanamee glanced at his second, who nodded in confirmation.
“Indeed. The object has scanned our vessel. The technique was quite unlike any our Maintainer has every recorded.”
The Prophet allowed his thin lips to retract into a smile. “As I suspected, they truly are beyond us. Now, I believe it is my duty to offer some humble inquisition. The artifact and its inhabitants have made no move; their intention for us is clear.”
So that’s it, the ship master thought, he wants to be the one to make first contact. Surely, such a role would earn him great honor and personal validation, but it really is the ordained role of the Hierarchs.
“Noble one, perhaps we should inform High Charity of this occurrence before continuing further. Surely the high ones would wish to know immediately.”
The Prophet crooked a thin eyebrow and sank back into his throne, his smile fading. “Nonsense. Those aboard the artifact may wait for us now, but if we wait for the Hierach’s arrival, they may take offense at our lack of attention. No, we must make contact now. I assure you, soon, the whole Covenant shall know of what has happened here.”
The projection pivoted, now facing the motionless starship. “I will ply, but it would be proper to send your image as well. What could be better, representatives of the two great races united in welcoming our gods.”
‘Falanamee made no objection, and motioned to ‘Netanimee to link his own holo signal with the Prophet’s transmitter. He was becoming more and more weary as the situation lengthened, but there was little he could do to defy the word of the Prophets, even a mere functionary like Benefaction.
The ship master prepared to kneel, as was customary upon meeting a superior in such a communication, but before he could do so, the Prophet became distracted, momentarily disappearing from the Sangheili’s bridge. Upon his return a moment later, the sickly grin had returned. “It seems the artifact and its inhabitants have seen fit to bring their word to us after all. It seems we are adequate recipients of the honor.”
“Excellency, we are receiving a transmission as well. The Huragok are attempting to translate it into a form our displays we can process as I speak.”
‘Falanamee offered a small nod to his subordinate, and positioned himself to face the main projector array, which was flickering with bands of static as the technicians hurriedly filtered it into the system. As the display began to solidify, he knelt in respectful prostration, and the other three Sangheili on the command platform followed suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the Prophet was doubled over on his floating platform; a position usually reserved for the audience of the Hierarchs. So he truly believes…
At last, the static cleared, leaving it its place a flat, glowing white disc. On its surface was lightly imprinted a graceful, simple form, like that of an avian with wings outstretched. Slowly, it began to spin, and with each revolution, flecks of black and gray appeared on its surface. Soon, two thin bands of darkness encircled the disc, parallel and vertical. They began to rotate the object in concert with each other, but the disc itself became motionless.
For a while, it simply floated there, slowly circled by its two bands. Finally, a thin, awed voice broke the silence, that of the Prophet. “Your attention honors us, radiant one. Tell us, are you of the gods? The Forerunners?”
‘Falanamee heard the sharp intake of breath from a member of his staff; all were undoubtedly enraptured by what they were witnessing. The ship master, however, remained unimpressed. He knew that he should feel awed and joyful, but something was still nagging him. This felt… wrong.
The object did not break its silence, and the Prophet seemed to suddenly be growing uncomfortable. Why did it not respond? Then the voice came.
It was soft, yet so deep and powerful that it resonated throughout the entire overbridge dome. “That name is not familiar. Gods? Perhaps. What are you?”
The Prophet seemed under whelmed by the response, but pushed on nonetheless. “We are of the Holy Covenant. We live by the word of the gods, those who left this plane so long ago.”
Again, the object paused, although the silence was shorter this time. “This place? Yes, we were once of this place. You are those we left behind?”
“You are the gods!” The Prophet had raised himself from his prostrate position, forgetting decorum in the face of his elation. “Our empire exists to please and serve you. What is your whim? What may we do to prove our worthiness to accompany you into paradise?”
“Paradise?”
“Yes, the existence beyond the Great Journey. Your living conduits, the Hierarchs, they have told us of how you will reward all of the true believers.”
There was a pause. “These… Hierarchs. What do they say of us?”
The Prophet of Benefaction at once launched into a version of holy Covenant dogma, but ‘Falanamee was no longer listening. Something about the last statement seemed odd to him. Not the content, although it was unusual that the Forerunners would not know of their greatest servants, but more than that, there had been some kind of distortion in the voice. None of the others assembled seem to have noticed, but there was crackle behind the words, familiar somehow.
When the Prophet had finished his explanation, there was another pause, this one longer than the first. The emptiness persisted, and at last, the Prophet was forced to speak up, sounding confused. “Have I displeased you, great ones?”
“No. You have spoken adequately. We are intrigued by this Covenant. Speak of it more.”
Again, the Prophet launched into a lengthy, prideful speech, unfazed by the question. ‘Falanamee, however, ignored him, lost in thought. Where had he heard the sound before? It was quite distinctive, quite alien. It had been a long while ago, on the battlefield perhaps. It was static; another transmission perhaps? Images flitted through his brain, intangible and unreadable.
The work station of one of the intendant Sangheili, abandoned by its enraptured controller, began to light up, alert forms scrawling across its elevated surface. A two dimensional energy display flickered into reality, and began to rise prodigiously. Though command was occupied by the transmission, the Huragok below still faithfully received new data from the sensor array and transmitted it upwards, even if no one was disposed to pay it any heed. There was something out there, beyond the god’s starship. Something that had not been there a moment before.
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 406
(12/17/05 1:08 am) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
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 scum 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 here the rumble of his ship collapsing on itself all the clearer, the nervous breathing of his subordinate, 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.
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 408
(1/4/06 10:08 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Forty Three
Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith and defacto 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 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 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 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 sun, 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 on 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 reflect 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 several 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 immediate 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 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 inquires 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 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 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 aide 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 order 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 withdraw 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 liberations, 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 internal struggle 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 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 invaluable to your training.”
“I than 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 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.”
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 413
(1/23/06 3:29 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Part Three: Past Frontiers
Chapter Forty Four
Darkness.
For as long as she could remember, darkness had frightened her, kept her up at night with visions of demons and stalkers creeping in the black, just beyond sight. But now…
Now, darkness was a welcome reprieve. It hid the horror, the horror that had overwhelmed her every logical thought. Without light, she could not see the terror all around, and what it had wrought. In the light, she could see the bodies, the desecrated and defiled remains of the creatures that had once been friends and collogues. Thinking, breathing beings, now grotesque refuse, mockeries of their former selves.
One after another, they had flashed by, propped against bulkheads and sprawled out across the blood-stained floor, each one starring up at her listlessly as she ran past. It was an endless parade of horror, broken only by brief flickers of relief, a few seconds of darkness as the illumination above faded. But then she would cross into a new place, and the scene would return, cast in fresh, brutal light. And all the while, those terrible sounds, that whine and scrabble, increased and flowed over her senses, inescapable no matter how fast she fled from them.
And still, she ran. To stop, and be lost in the horror, would mean only death; she knew that, and so did those who fled with her, each of them mere shadow, overwhelmed by a myriad of dark emotions and fears. Still, they were alive, beacons in the growing chaos, and none would part with any other without being compelled to do so by death itself.
But that time came. The party of shadows could not outrun the terror all around, and its agents soon came to rein them in. There were dozens, and more, that fell upon them, rending flesh with bloody claws and gnashing teeth. Some fought back, filling the air with beams of energy and the desperate chorus of battle, but to little avail; they all fell. All save her.
Even as the demon beasts forged forward to taste her blood, an unknown hand found her and cast her into a pit of emptiness, sealing her from the slaughter with the close of a thick door. All she could do was shiver in the flickering, empty light, and listen as the last of the shadows were engulfed by sinew and terrible consciousness. Then they sought to devour her as well, but the final act of her nameless savior had granted her respite, and at long last they left, in search of other prey. She did not know how long she shivered, cold and alone, listening to the sounds of a weary, dying ship all around her, more time than a mind could easily bear. When, at last, the door was pried open and she saw a twisted visage in the doorway, she knew her turn had come, and the expected blackness had followed soon after.
But… why can I still feel? Still think? How can I still be alive?
At long last, the woman opened her eyes to an alien ship, in unknown company. Her vision was bleary, but she could make out the soft outline of a gently-curved, whitish ceiling above her, illuminated by the warm glow of a small light fixture, and felt oddly fresh and clean, lying on a soft mattress with a light blanket over her. Slowly, tentatively, she rose from a soft head rest to a sitting position, lifting her right hand to her eyes to clear them and gain her bearings. As the objects around her solidified, it became very clear that this was not a core junction on the Cornwall, the ship that had nearly engulfed her so.
“Are you alright?”
The soft, compassionate voice guided her attention to one side of the small room, where a young man clad in black sat on a low couch, watching her quietly. He was lean and cleanly handsome, and though he was clearly still in his late teens, there were lines under his brown eyes that testified to unusual experience and hardship.
She glanced down at her own white gowned body, and found that the scrapes and cuts that had been all over her arms and hands when she had last been conscious were all but gone.
“I’m…fine?” she said in bewilderment. “What happened? Where am I?”
The young man rose slowly, smiling. “You are in a recovery room onboard the Alliance star cruiser Republica. I am Jacen Solo, a… passenger myself. From what I understand, some of my friends and the crew located you in the wreck of a starship, and brought you here for recovery. You’ve been unconscious ever since, more than two days I think.”
She starred at him in puzzlement. “Alliance? Is that part of the Federation? I’ve never heard of it.”
“No, I’m afraid not. But there are a few from the Federation here, and I am sure they are quite happy to see that you recovered so well.”
What was going on? Federation personnel on this vessel, of design she had never seen before? Certainly, the small recovery room was a poor sampling, but its curves were strange, almost organic; far different from any Human or Klingon design, especially on a warship.
Organic…
Her heart skipped a beat. “What about those creatures? The Zerg? How did I escape them? Was anyone else rescued?”
Jacen frowned uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, no. The boarding team only found you alive, and they were forced to leave soon after. Apparently, the beings that attacked you were still lying in wait in the ship’s depths. They barely made it out alive.”
Laura looked away and clenched the blanket that lay on her lap with white knuckles. She was the only one. All the others, Pell, Harper, Morris, they were all gone. It wasn’t fair; why was she the only one? They couldn’t all be gone, not after all that had happened…
As tears began to wind down from green eyes onto her cheeks, a warm weight fell softly onto her shoulders. Still adrift in waves of regret and confusion, she glanced upwards, and saw that Jacen was standing over her now, hands resting on her comfortingly. Through her sorrow, the woman felt a spring of calm and comfort rise up from deep within her and wash away the ache of empty guilt and quickly-resurfacing terror. He smiled, and weakly, she smiled back. The woman couldn’t be sure what it was about the thin, calm man that comforted her so, but just looking into his eyes was enough to set her mind free of dark and confused memories, for the moment at least.
“Laura. I’m Laura.”
And with that, she fell back onto the head rest, enrobed in dreamless sleep.
“At last report, sir, the crew sustained fourteen casualties, mostly minor injuries and broken bones; there was a case of severe plasma shock from one of the gunnery officers in port turbolaser section, but the medical staff reports Lieutenant Groug as being in stable condition. There were no fatalities.”
“Damage?”
“More severe, sir. External scarring compromised the hull on decks nine through eleven during transit, exposing several of the engineering reserve duty areas to vacuum. We’ve got two teams working on repairing the breach, but supplies are limited. There was also extensive damage to the turbolaser and anti-fighter batteries all over the port sector; engineering thinks they might be able to salvage a few of them, but the rest will need to be replaced entirely.”
“How many weapons do I actually have left?”
“Two medium turbolasers, two light, one of the forward ion cannons, and eleven anti-fighter turrets. Hessun thinks his teams might be able to scrape together another turbolaser battery, but he’s doubtful. At the moment, though, the tactical operations units are more occupied with getting the targeting arrays back online; they went down with the rest of the sensor array, and have been more difficult to get back up again. Most of the damage from the core surge wound up in their control nexus.”
“The hyperdrive seems to have been undamaged, but the cold-start we initiated with the hypermatter reactor has reduced the amount of power that can be safely pumped into the deflectors and sublights. You’ve got fifty percent on both right now, and Hessun hopes he can get them up to seventy in a few hours.”
Captain Ryceed bit her lip to prevent a weary sigh from emanating forth, and took the exceedingly long report Commander Gavplek was holding out to her. “Alright. See what you can do about getting those deflectors back up more quickly, and then get some rest; I’ll probably need you again soon, very soon more than likely. Put Crenly on watch, and have her report to me directly if any activity, any activity at all, is detected in our vicinity, especially from that wormhole.”
Gavplek saluted, somewhat less crisply than usual, and walked off to his duties, leaving Ryceed in the recessed alcove of the bridge that served as her field briefing office. She feigned scanning the report, and then tossed the bulky pad aside, turning her attention to the glimmering projection that watched her pensively.
“Was it really necessary for you to do this much damage to my ship, Cortana?” the captain asked wearily. “You did so well last time.”
The projection frowned. “I apologize, captain. Commander Data still didn’t have the entry procedure fully initialized when we managed to escape, and I decided that I might try and disrupt the anomaly was we passed through to impede any pursuers. The energy feedback increased beyond what I had anticipated when I did so, and an unavoidable amount of damage was incurred. As I already explained…”
“What do you mean, disrupt the anomaly?”
Councilor Organa’s question was clearly pointed, and no one in earshot missed her meaning; with sensors down and the ship barely functional, they were all trapped in unknown territory, and if the wormhole were to fall apart, they would remain so for a very long time.
Cortana shook her head. “No… well, I didn’t mean disrupt entirely. The pathway still remains; all I did was scramble the ambient quardinants of the directional strands between the wormhole openings, covering our tracks so to speak. At least… I hope that’s what I did.”
Ryceed cupped her forehead in one hand. “What do you mean, you hope that’s what you did?”
Near the small room’s entrance, where he stood alongside Geordi, Picard, and Riker, Lt. Commander Data took a small step forward. “Captain, I believe that Cortana meant to indicate that the anomaly and it’s method of operation are almost completely unknown. The information gathered from the last two passages will provide a more extensive insight into the wormhole’s workings, but analysis will take time. It is prudent to consider all possible repercussions until more definitive data is available.”
Ryceed glanced from one to the other, and then turned away towards a far wall, shaking her head and mumbling something about ‘droids’. “Alright, alright, never mind. The Republica did survive the passage at least, which I suppose is more than could be said if we had stuck around that battleground much longer.” The woman turned back to the shimmering AI, who was at the moment no more than half a meter high, sprouting from a comm panel on the alcove’s main tactical display. “I suppose we do owe that to you. That was quite a bluff you pulled off.”
Cortana raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”
Ryceed looked at the image a moment longer, smirked slightly, and then turned her attention back to a display on the wall, which showed local space, or what little of it the Republica could make out with its damaged sensor arrays; mercifully vacant and peaceful. For a long moment, all of those assembled around her watched the stars blink lazily on the 2D display, and reflected on what they had all been through in only last few hours, how narrowly they had avoided destruction.
“I don’t think anyone will object if I call a recess to this little conference,” Ryceed said at last. “Frankly, I wouldn’t mind some R&R myself. I’ll have someone alert you all if the situation escalates again. Councilor Organa?”
The stately woman uncrossed her arms and nodded in agreement, then turned to Picard. “Well, Captain, this has been a most… interesting day. I hope to see you and your men again soon, hopefully in light of better news.”
“As do I, Council… Leia. With any luck, we’re already on the Federation’s doorstep, and we don’t even know it.”
The small party moved out together onto the main section of the bridge and made for the turbolift banks, conversing quietly and grumbling about sore feet. Suddenly, Picard stopped and turned to Ryceed, face once again furrowed with concern. “Captain, has there been any news of the saboteur? Has the major made any progress?”
Ryceed, too tired to retain any air of composure much longer, blew out a long sigh. “Yes, it had almost slipped my mind. Flitch managed to commandeer a shuttle and escape during the confusion before we escaped the firefight, injuring several of my marines in the process.”
Riker, and the others, halted as well, looking back in surprise. “How did he manage that?” the Commander asked. “From what I’ve seen of this ship and her crew, I wouldn’t think anyone could escape your security forces for long, especially not with someone like Truul leading them. Did he have help?”
Ryceed shook her head. “The details were vague, but I believe there was mention of a hostage.”
“A hostage?”
“I’m ‘fraid so, commander.”
Unannounced from one of the newly-arrived lifts emerged a disgruntled-looking Major Truul, sporting several hastily-applied bandages on his left cheek, beneath which a patchwork of small burns and shrapnel pockmarks were plainly visible. With him was an equally gruff Corellian, who stalked onto the bridge with an oddly aloof air.
“Master Solo,” See-Threepio, who had been attempting to attract as little attention as possible, said, emerging from behind his mistress.
“Han.” Leia rushed to his side, but the weary look in his eyes, fresher than it had been for days, stopped her before she could embrace him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Truul answered in his stead. “We lost the Imperial, and he took one of yours with ‘m, captain. Too lucky, too fast.”
Picard looked at the officer askance. “One of mine?”
The depths of stellar space are not commonly known for activity and variety, vast spheres of it rarely playing host to anything more than a few scattered atoms of hydrogen or fragments of wayward rock. A being might float forever through the blackness and never encounter a single other semblance of physicality; such is the nature of a void.
However, not all of space is similarly empty. One patch in particular, deep within a system of many names, held more than its fair share of matter. Fragments of metal and ceramic composite, circuitry and frozen coolant, some the size of a pebble, others as large as asteroids, drifted and coalesced with one another aimlessly, a silent dance for the dead; this place was a tomb. Amidst the cosmic detritus other bodies tumbled as well, countless corpses of various sizes and complexions, burned and frozen all.
And yet, not all that populated the massive graveyard was dead. Dozens of forms, dwarfed by even some of the smaller sheets of blasted metal, flitted through the haze of debris, latching onto the largest of the hulks, and then moving on again. One of these shapes, stubby and not unlike a giant beetle, passed between two colossal amalgamations of perforated metal, its purplish hull blending well against the larger bodies as it agilely avoided a charred lump of corroded magnetic coils that drifted in the small ship’s path.
Bearing no indication of its method of propulsion save for a faint blue glimmer that emanated from a pair of recessed, rear nodes, the vessel emerged from a particularly dense cloud of wreckage, and angled away from the main body of the waste, its stubby prow now direct towards a smaller collection of debris off from the main drift.
Diving through a cloud of drifting shrapnel, the ship began to slow, and an intense beam of white light shot from under its nose. The glowing cylinder swept across shape after darkened shape, illuminating bare metal ribs, smashed disks of machinery once meters wide, and even a few bodies, lacerated and seared beyond all recognition. However, the vessel did not pause to investigate any of the remnants of battle, instead moving further in, searching for something in the haze. Rounding a huge slab of battle armor, which sported a puncture nearly wide enough for it to traverse through, the stubby flyer, gleaming softly in the light reflected off the plating around it, turned its attention to a fragment of wreckage, surprisingly intact compared to the debris around it.
However, its relatively pristine condition was not the only distinction that attracted the probing ship; its angled and boxy form was in stark contrast to the other waste in the surrounding area, which was predominately smooth and sculpted, if badly deformed by the ravages of battle. The brilliant beam swung onto the derelict and proceeded to illuminate its every angle in turn; oddly narrow external hatches, weapons apertures of exotic design, a wide, open viewport that allowed little light to pass visibly through its tinted surface.
After its survey was finished, the probing ship pushed forward without hesitation and came close alongside the supposed wreck, orienting its curved belly to be parallel with the vessel’s aft compartment. On a trio of mounts arrayed around its flat keel, which usually sported an equal number of large weapons systems, a grid of gently-glowing devices hummed to life, seizing the hulk with invisible tendrils of magnetic energy. The two metal forms hugged still closer together, and began to spin slowly through space in concert, inseparably bound.
Directly in at the center of the three projectors, a thick plate drew back, revealing the vessel’s own entry hatch. From its circular perimeter a veil of coruscating energy pierced the vacuum and locked onto the other ship’s dull white hull, then surged with electrical energy. The docking hatch, caught in the field, lit with overwhelming energy, and then blasted inward, muffled noise indicating that there was still atmosphere within.
With a loud thump, a figure tumbled from the glowing field and landed on a slightly down-slanted deck plate that lined the interior of the derelict. Waving his lanky arms to steady himself, the being began to fumble hurriedly for something hooked onto its small waist. Before it could remove the object, however, another, similar figure tumbled from the connecting beam, directly on top of the first. Squirming and squealing, the two fell to the floor and rolled across the small chamber into a bulkhead wall, their stubby limbs intertwined.
“Off!” one of them managed, smacking the other with balled fists until he managed to roll away and scramble to his feet. The other creature followed suit, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall for support as he righted himself.
“Do you always have to stand right there?” it muttered, fumbling in the dark for a similar object clipped to the bulky outfit was wearing.
“Quit yapping. It’s your fault for not waiting longer.” The figure that had arrived first at last managed to locate the thing he was looking for, and ignited it. A bluish light erupted from the creatures hand and threw the pair into shadowy sight; each was short, perhaps five feet tall, and stocky, their large chests and bone-spurred forelimbs an odd contrast too small waists. Above their scaly blue skin each wore an armored orange vest, with a large triangular tank sprouting from the back; connected to this container were several cords that ran over the armor and into bulky mouthpieces that obscured the creature’s rounded and hairless faces. Between this mask and the metal skull cap that protected their heads, a pair of beady black eyes scanned the shadows and each other.
The second creature jabbed his right hand, in which he held a small, circular weapon with a pair of luminescent green nubs on the business end, towards the hole where the airlock had once been. “It’s not my fault. He pushed me in!” The speaker’s dialect was high-pitched and plaintive, more fragmented and brief than language it spoke usually allowed for.
The other grumbled something unintelligible under his mask, either about his comrade or the pilot of the waiting ship, or perhaps the world in general. “Shut up Migaw, let’s just finish this quick.”
Though the other grumbled in response, there was no further argument, and the pair both began to scan the interior of the derelict, each holding a light source and one of the oddly-shaped weapons. The gravity generator onboard was malfunctioning, making traversing the deck like climbing up and down a slope, but the ship’s compartments were small and few, and it didn’t take long for the searchers to inspect every section and computer consol.
Laying down his light emitter, the alien named Migaw removed a wall panel from one wall with his burly, four-fingered hands. After making a cursory inspection of the metallic cables and boxy circuit regulators within, he turned to his comrade, who was picking at the shattered remains of a control panel at the bow of the ship.
“This isn’t one of ours, Cakap. I’ve never seen thingies like the thingies in here before.”
The other made a high, coughing noise that might have been a laugh. “You think, genius? The look of this place should have been enough of a clue, even for you.” He paced past the one looking at the wall panel and began to scan the narrow, spartan hallway beyond them. “The Prophets would never let one of their holy vessels look this ugly.” He paused, and looked back at the other searcher. “Of course, they did let you take assignment in the armada. I guess looks aren’t everything.”
Casting the wall panel aside, the Migaw scooped up his light and waddled after the other, again grumbling under his breath.
The hallway was barely wide enough to accommodate them, but it was mercifully short, with only two more doors branching off of it. The first they found locked, which, after a minute of aimless mashing and subsequent destruction of the keypad beside it, they figured was best left sealed. The second was much more responsive, and opened automatically, but beyond it lay only a darkened chamber full of unknowable machinery and displays that shown with symbols neither knew how to decipher.
“Looks like no one was on it at all,” Cakap offered. “Let’s go, if they want anyone to take a closer look, they can get another crew. We’ve been out here forever.”
The two turned to leave, but the second searcher spotted something out of the corner of his beady eye, almost invisible in the darkness. “What’s this?”
He crouched onto his stocky haunches and cast his light on the thing he had seen, a spot on the wall near the door they had just exited. There, several splotches of reddish black adorned the otherwise clean surface. Cakap crouched down next to his comrade, and took a look for himself. After a moment, he shot a sideways glance at the other, the gesture requiring him turn his entire head. “How do you see these things? It’s not natural.”
Migaw ignored him, and continued poking at the spot with a leathery finger. “It looks like blood, but not our blood. It’s red, I think.”
“Red blood?”
Neither of them had ever seen any species that did not belong to the Holy Covenant, the body to which every member of their race belonged, and those of many others, but he had heard tales of others; one in particular, the Humans. They were abominations, sickly pale, red-blooded creatures, godless and weak, but in groups, they were brutal and destructive, taking special care to exterminate every being that believed in the Prophets and followed their wisdom. No wonder they were marked for annihilation. But then there were other, more secret tales of Humans that were not so weak, that could kill entire armies with just a stare…
The once abrasive Cakap began to shiver with fear, and backed away from the spot, taking in the hard lines of the derelict with growing agitation. This ship was definitely not of the Covenant, and he had a feeling he knew who it did belong to.
“What’s wrong?” Migaw asked, twisting his body ungracefully to look up at him.
“We must go now. Everything’s done here.” Cakap grabbed the tank on his comrade’s back and yanked him roughly to his flat feet. The other made to complain again, but suddenly a clanking, thudding sound met their ear nodules, seemingly come from all around. The two peered through the gloom for its source, but saw only the unnaturally straight lines of the craft’s interior.
“What’s…”
Cakap, grasp still tight on his companion’s armor, made for the entry hatch without another word, trying not to look into the shadows that loomed everywhere on the ship, each more foreboding by the last. With strength that belied his stature, he shoved Migaw into the glowing field that connected the two ships, and then jumped in after him, weapon feverishly clenched in his free fist. An invisible force clamped onto the pair and shot them up through the immaterial tube, through the void to safety.
Finding himself sprawled on a familiar, faintly purplish landing pad, the searcher who had taken charge scrambled to his clubby feet and rushed back to the disk in the floor that still was connected to the derelict beyond. Locating the blue projection on a nearby wall that controlled the exit port, he smacked a few shimmering command keys, and an iris began to close over the opening, triggering the energy bridge to being to fade. When the breach finally sealed with a hiss, the creature slumped against a smoothly-curved bulkhead and sucked a great, relieved gulp of cool atmosphere from the mask on his face.
After taking a moment to acclimate himself to the faint, tinted light coming from the low, vaulted ceiling, Cakap glanced around the vessel’s main compartment with satisfaction. It was arrow-shaped, with the tip ending at the now-sealed departure lift. To either side were recessed compartments, usually stacked with war material, and between them was a large main area, where soldiers might assemble before battle. But now, it was empty, recovery missions rarely required many troops, and now there was just a crew of four; he and his comrade, along with a pilot and a system’s operator, who he assumed were still up at the front of the vessel, beyond the assembly area.
Finally shedding the fear that had overtaken him on the derelict, he moved back to Migaw, who still stood where he had landed. “I might have saved you life back there; when we get back, you owe me half your food ration.”
The comment was in jest of course, as he usually managed take most of the Migaw’s provisions covertly anyways, but he was still surprised when the comment garnered no response.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Shakily, the other raised his right hand and pointed into the darkened assembly area, towards the back wall where the door to the cockpit was set. At first, there was nothing in evidence hidden between the blue shimmer of the room’s shelled walls, but as the two approached, three prone forms became apparent.
Though a sense of agitation began to seep back into his mind, Cakap moved slowly closer, until he could make out the bodies more clearly. The first, sprawled out in the middle of the chamber, was instantly recognizable; it was a lanky, beak-mouthed creature of the Kig-Yar species, not much taller than either of the companions, with a feather-like crest sticking out of its otherwise smooth skin, the vessel’s operation’s controller. It’s huge, pink eyes were lolling open lazily, but the slow heaving of its narrow chest indicated it was still breathing.
Beyond it, closer to the door, lay a much larger being, a meter and a half tall, covered in blue armor and a dark body suit; one of the Sangheili, and pilot of the ship. Upon realizing this, Migaw dropped his weapon, fingers numbing with confusion.
Before the implications of the alien’s prone state could fully sink in, though, the pair’s attention was attracted to the last of the group, propped up against the far wall. Even in the dark, they could clearly see he was different than the others, smaller than the pilot but larger than the Kig-Yar, dressed not in armor but rather some kind of fabric. Its skin was pale and smooth, and on its head was a thick growth of hair; a creature quite unlike anything either had ever seen before.
Though his mind was slow and perpetually clouded, a product of millennia of genetic engineering, Cakap could still manage to make some connections, and his mind latched onto the blood they had found minutes before, Human blood. Could this creature…
He began to back away from his scene, desperately clawing for his weapon before remembering he had left it on the landing pad. His comrade turned back towards him, visibly pained even through his large mask.
“Wha… what is going on?”
With a faint hum, the door at the end of the assembly area slid open, and there, cast into shadow by the brighter lighting of the cockpit, stood a massive figure, larger even than the immobile Sangheili at his feet. With a clank, it stepped forward into the chamber, and raised a huge hand towards them.
Simultaneously, the pair of searchers fell back onto their atmosphere tanks, yelping mindlessly in fear. Wriggling and struggling, Cakap managed to heave himself onto his side and began to crawl away, leaving his comrade to roll on the floor, barking in desperation.
The figure shook its shadowed head in exasperation. “Unggoy.”
And with that, it lunged forward, fist raised high.
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 414
(2/5/06 10:49 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Forty Five
At the very root of the titanic, forest-clad mountain, which jutted from the dry valley around it like a single, jagged tooth, a lone gate was carved into the ominous edifice of gray stone. Sheltered from the harsh, tearing winds of the outside world by towering bulwarks of rock on its either side, the durasteel barrier that spanned the meters-tall entryway was as dark and impenetrable as it had been the day it was forged. Judging by the archaic symbols and serrated patterns that were etched deep into its surface, the object was ancient, older perhaps than any artificial structure on the entire planet. Yet, for all its age, it looked studier than a Star Dreadnaught’s hull plate and more resilient than a Gen’dai’s pelt. Truly, it was a masterpiece of a civilization whose ways were long lost to the chaotic flow of time, perhaps for the best.
Whether not the lone figure that stood before it was awed by the monument was impossible to tell under its heavy, obscuring cloak, but it did stare at the ancient obstruction for a long while, seemingly oblivious to the icy winds that tore over and between the bulwarks, filling the air with arcane wails and moans. However, as ferocious as the gust might get, the figure’s robe was completely immobile, standing against the wind as if not even the slightest gust was harrying it.
At last, the body moved, gliding along the ground right to the titanic gate’s base. It raised a right arm, and a fold of the cloak fell away, revealing a single hand, gauntleted in a long, ebony glove, unornamented and made of a material that seemed not to absorb or reflect light, but devour it, marking its own presence by the very absence of illumination. This five-fingered void slowly pressed itself against the barrier, its palm resting upon the heart of a vast, jagged mark shaped like a whirling vortex, far larger than any of the others that were cut deep into the door.
Without the slightest hesitation, the vast obstruction fell back further into its carved recess, and then slid to one side, all the while in complete silence, offering no noise to contest the howling of the wind. Beyond it, a void comparable to the one on the figure’s hand gaped like the maw of a ravenous beast, the penumbra unbroken by a single flicker of sickly light. The lone being plunged into it without faltering even for a moment.
By the time the gate closed soundlessly behind, the figure was already far adrift in the impenetrable dark, but moved along without any indication of fear or indecision. The smooth, polished path it walked was clear of any obstruction, but it was winding and erratic, each bend in the walls dominated by a yawning opening, onto new paths, long stairs, narrow walkways, and open chasms. It would have been so easy to stray down one of these false trails, a single misstep sometimes was all that was necessary, but the figure kept to the main hall, seemingly oblivious to these deceivers.
After an eternity in this perilous maze, the darkness began to recede. There was no open flame of glowing fixture that might have been the cause of the growing illumination, but it was there nonetheless, a shallow, cold light, but a light nonetheless. Soon, the false passages were plainly viewable outlines in set into the walls, and soon after that, they disappeared entirely, leaving only the one path.
Presently, the winding hall straightened and widened, swelling into a vast, rectangular cavern that stretched so far upwards that it’s top was lost in shadow. Its walls were lined with enormous pillars of gray rock, wrapped with band after band of heavily engraved durasteel, every meter a new tapestry of some ancient battle, forgotten warlord, or cryptic incantation. At the chamber’s center was a raised ziggurat of a platform, hewn of a strange, black metal flecked with red gems, each of which seemed to exude bloodied light. At its peak, a single person sat cross-legged, dressed in black and covered in silver armor, toped with triangular head warp that obscured its wearer’s face. All of it save the eyes, which were closed. But they were not unaware.
“Why have you come here?” The cross-legged being’s voice was cold and almost mechanical, yet possessed a fire that could not be ignored, and a very human hatred. “I sense malice, hatred, fear in you; dark energy. Have you come to test yourself, to kill me? Or is this some new test I must undergo?”
The robed figured continued forward in silence until it had reached the very bottom of the narrow steps that lead to the ziggurat’s top. “Palpatine is dead,” it said at last, voice oddly warped by some unknown force.
The armored warrior’s eyes flashed open and last, and it looked down upon the intruder with bloodshot eyes. “So, that is what I felt. Yes, it makes sense, only a being of such great power could release such energy in his passing.” The eyes closed again, and the figure leaned back where it sat; under its tight wrappings and reflective plates, the creature still bore the shape of a female. “And what of Lord Vader?”
“He lives, and prospers,” the robed one replied. “Slaying the Emperor has given him great power, greater power than before.”
High above, the woman in black rose from her seated position slowly, straightening a Mynock-winged cape that fell down her back. Though she made no hostility physically, the intruder could sense that the warrior was bristling with new sensation, dangerously so.
“And what,” she asked slowly. “Is your part in this?”
“I helped Lord Vader defeat and destroy Palpatine.”
A distorted sound emerged from the place the woman’s mouth must have been; perhaps a chuckle, perhaps a growl. “And his new apprentice, I would assume. It becomes clear; this is not a test for me, but one for you. I suppose I would make an effective target for such an exercise, although I think Lord Vader might be underestimating my powers. I have learned much since he sent me to this forsaken world to train, and I believe you will find me more than a match.”
The shrouded figure shook its head. “No, I do not seek to kill you, not yet at least. The Dark Lord has stated that I might find you loyal to him, more than most others. There are many left in his new Empire that will stand against him, against the new order. I am tasked with seeking out and eliminating them before their poison can spread. If you are still loyal to him, then you would make a valuable ally.”
The woman above considered. “I once swore fealty to Palpatine, it is true, but Vader was the one who made me what I am today.” She clenched one fist, and stared up into the darkened ceiling. “I was once a soldier of the Empire, tasked with infiltrating the Rebel ranks and destroying them from within. But that accursed Skywalker found me out, and left me for dead. Lord Vader saved me form that fate, had my shattered body rebuilt, and enhanced my talents with the Force. I am reborn a greater being by his hand; I will be forever loyal to him, as far as the Dark Side will take me.”
The woman began to walk forward, leaving the crest of the monument and lowering herself step by step, all the while watching the intruder, who still stood below in silence. “But you. I sense much conflict in you; too much. You claim to be of the Dark Lord’s tutelage? Of his favor? I do not sense such things in you.”
A long, silvery hilt few into her right hand, with a long bundle of shimmering wire attached at one end. “It is not complete, my new weapon, but it should be more than enough to expose you as a deceiver. You do not have to power to face me; you are not of Vader’s training.”
In less than half a second, the scene changed entirely. The dark warrior’s weapon flicked outwards, extending the spool of wire into the air, which burst with pulsing light as it unfurled. Then she leapt downward with inhuman speed, almost disappearing from view as she lunged for her prey. Before, the robed figure leapt backwards with similar agility and quickness, conjuring a lightsaber hilt from under its robes and igniting it in a blur of bluish-white.
The dark warrior landed where the other had stood, hunched low in a predatory position, flicking the strange whip of light back and forth before her. “Even your blade speaks of your lie. It bears no markings of the Sith or the Dark Side, and I can feel that it is not even your own, you are nor comfortable with that weapon. I assure you, I am quite familiar with my own.”
In another blur of motion, she sprang forward again, the stand of her whip arcing around behind her, prepared to slash through the robe-wearer’s immobile form. It was at that moment that the other warrior looked up, and the shadow of its cloak fell from its eyes.
Impossibly, the lunging combatant halted mid strike and sprang backwards, landing in a defensive posture, bewildered. The intruder’s hood was pushed back completely now; under it were the smooth features of an attractive, blue Twi’lek woman, a face that could have belonged to countless thousands of brothel girls and courtiers of her kind across the galaxy. But this Twi’lek was different, in her eyes burned a pure, searing energy that almost made the other woman recoil on impulse. That power, pure power. It can’t be. It’s not possible…
Suddenly, the lightwhip ceased its deadly dance and glow and coiled as if by its own volition in its owner’s hand. The Twi’lek’s blade lowered as well, but it remained lit.
“I was mistaken,” the dark woman said at last, after trying to comprehend what she had just felt. “I was misguided by my initial feelings; I can see now why Vader would favor you.” She shook her head slowly, and turned back to look at the ziggurat. “If it is our lord’s wish, I will accompany you on this purge. I trust you have a ship?”
The lightsaber withdrew into its casing, and vanished back under the cloak. “I did, and it is standing by.” The Twi’lek turned back towards the winding corridor and replaced her hood. “We should leave now.”
The dark warrior nodded, and turned to follow. “I will not regret leaving this place. Tell me before we go, though, what should I call you? I am Lumiya.”
The robed woman paused again, but did not turn. “I am Aayla, but that name means nothing. All you need know of me is that I am the Dark Lord’s apprentice, and I shall share in his legacy.”
“You’re sure you feel all right? Frankly, I would prefer it if you stayed in the Med facility until we’ve been able to recheck your neural and immune system patterns again. You were unconscious for an unusually long period.”
The Human named Laura watched curiously as the Mon Calamari Chief Physician as his bulbous eyes swiveled independently, looking her over for any physical signs of infirmity. She couldn’t help but do the same to him, and was attempting unsuccessfully to bit back a bemused smile as she did so; something about the exotic amphibian alien with its unusual eyes, stiff jowls, and sleek skin peaked an academic interest in her that had been forced into dormancy for a long time.
“No, I’m fine. I feel much better now.” As she began to gesticulate to emphasize her point, the woman swayed on her feat unsteadily, causing both the doctor and Jacen Solo, who was standing close beside her to move forward in concern. She waved them off. “I’m okay, really. I’ve just been off my feet for a long time. A little walk would do me some good.”
Jacen turned to the Mon Calamari. “I promise you she’ll be back here in less than an hour so that the tests can be completed. If anything goes wrong, I’ll contact this department immediately.”
The doctor swiveled his eyes from one Human to another, then back again, until he turned away and waved a finned hand at them. “Your word, then. No more than an hour.” After that, he seemed to forget about them, switching his attention to the numerous droids and medical techs who were attending to more than a dozen lightly injured crewmen.
The pair of Humans exited the Medical chamber and found themselves in the brightly lit hallway beyond, populated by a handful of passing technicians and a lone R5 unit. The scooting droid caught the woman’s attention, but Jacen directed her down the other side of the narrow path, and they set off, the young Jedi lagging slightly behind his charge, watching for any sign of waning strength. Indeed, the woman had a weary bearing, one he had seen on many people who had suffered great loss recently. However, while his Force senses confirmed this unease and sadness emanating from, other feelings had begun to obscure them; positive emotions like curiosity, which piqued every time they passed a new crewmember or computer interface.
Jacen was impressed by this; from what he had heard of Commander Riker’s recovery operation, and could sense on the periphery of her consciousness, she had undergone ordeals well beyond what one would expect from her relatively young age and smooth complexion, and yet she seemed to be able to cope with it, even in a new and unknown environment, in very alien company. She didn’t even seem to be uncomfortable wearing the simple, brown tunic and pants the medics had provided out on the deck of what was plainly a war ship. And she wore the outfit rather well, he also noted…
“Which way?”
Laura’s assertive voice startled Jacen from a daydream he hadn’t realized he had been slipping into, and forced him to focus hard on suppressing the blush that was spreading across his face as he regained his bearings. Control…
He directed her to a turbolift directly before them, and, finding it empty, set it to quardinants nearer to the port exterior of the ship. The doors before them hissed to a close, and the transport sped off, leaving them in silence once again. Jacen fidgeted nervously.
“So… you never told me your full name.”
“Martin. Laura Martin,” she replied, brushing a wisp of russet hair from her similarly-hued eyes. She glanced up at Jacen’s curious face, and then looked away absently, sighing. “Ensign Laura Martin.”
The young Jedi sensed a tendril of sorrowful regret probing for purchase on the fringes of her consciousness. He cast about for something to say, hoping that conversation might put her at ease again, but she spoke again first, her attention now caught by a circular device affixed to the man’s belt.
“Is that a universal translator?”
Jacen glanced down at it as well, having completely forgotten it was there. “Yes, it is. One of the ones the Federation onboard managed to bring with them.”
Laura looked him over quizzically. “But, is it on? I mean, why would you need one when talking to me? You’re Human.”
Jacen nodded. “Yes, I am. However… well, I think there are others who could explain it better.” At that moment, the lift slid to a halt, and the door opened onto a new passageway. “I’d like to say it was a funny story, but it really isn’t.”
Laura exited the tube, and Jacen followed soon after, pausing just long enough to blow out a long breath.
He guided his charge to the right and down a long hallway until they came to an unassuming door marked with symbols Laura couldn’t read. Before she could inquire as to their meaning, however, Jacen spoke up again.
“You’re sure you feel all right?” he asked, worry evident in his tone. “We can always do this later.”
Laura smiled softly, and shook her head. “No, I feel fine. Besides, I want to know what’s going on here; I doubt I could get anymore rest while I’m still in the dark.”
With that confirmation, the young Jedi stepped forward, triggering the barrier to slid away, and the two entered the chamber beyond. It was a small and even cozy space, well furnished and well lit; perhaps an officer’s lounge of some sort. Three figures populated its center; two Humans seated around a small, round table, and a very tall, very alien being standing against a wall behind them, draped in a dark cloak. All of their eyes locked onto Laura as she entered, and she paused, suddenly uncomfortable.
The Humans, a bald man in a slightly frayed and quite outdated Starfleet uniform and a woman with long, dark hair rose from their seats and approached her, smiling.
“Greetings,” the man said warmly, extending a hand. “I am Captain Jean Luc Picard. This is my ship’s counselor, Deanna Troi, and,” he nodded at the back wall “he is High Templar Tassadar, a Protoss.”
“I am heartened to see you have recovered.” As the being spoke, Laura shivered involuntarily. It felt almost as if it wasn’t speaking at all, but rather implanting thoughts into her mind. She knew of numerous telepathic species, but few were strong enough to emote with such clarity and power at first meeting. However, this momentary discomfort was quickly shunted aside as she returned Captain Picard’s handshake, and fully assimilated what he had said.
“Ensign Laura Martin, sir,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage, carefully studying his lined features. “Sir, if I may ask, did you say Jean-Luc Picard? Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise-D?”
Frowning slightly, Picard nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Is something wrong?”
Laura shifted uncomfortably, and Jacen felt an odd emotion begin to exude from her; very intense curiosity, perhaps even awe. From the expression on Deanna Troi’s face, he could tell she was sensing something too.
“Well, sir, I don’t think so. I mean, don’t you know? You’ve been missing in action for a very long time. No one ever expected to ever see you or your crew again after the search came up negative.”
“A long time?” Deanna asked. “The Enterprise couldn’t have disappeared from Federation space more than two weeks ago.”
Picard nodded slowly in agreement, consternation plain on his face. “Yes, I would have expected that the search was still ongoing. I’m surprised the Admiralty would give up on me so quickly…” he trailed off suddenly, recalling what Will Riker had briefed him on after the mission to the Cornwall, the anomalous log time stamps. But those were errors caused by the scuttling of the ship. They had to have been.
The ensign looked uneasily from one officer to another, and then shot a glance at Jacen, who was listening with equal interest. “Sir, your ship and all her crew vanished on Stardate 45792, more than seven years ago.”
Servant of Count Boobu
Posts: 417
(2/20/06 11:39 pm) Reply
Re: The Rift Saga
Chapter Forty Six
“Have you been able to reestablish contact Starfleet Command yet, ensign?” Captain Koltopek asked calmly, rounding the bridge’s primary tactical consol and coming to a stop behind the communications control, where the tall Human man was frowning at the display in front of him.
“No sir, not yet, but I am picking up a great deal of comm noise from sector zero-zero-one. There might be a signal from Command somewhere in there, but I’m having a hard time clearing away the interference.”
As the sandy-haired man continued to recheck the signals scrolling across his screen, the Vulcan strolled away and sat lightly in his command seat, next to which the ship’s second officer was staring intently out at the streaking stars beyond the bridge’s large viewscreen. She offered a nod of recognition to her superior, but it was obvious that she was preoccupied with her own thoughts.
“Something troubles you, Commander?” Koltopek offered in the annoyingly banal tone his kind was known for.
Rebecca Sutton leaned back into her seat, sighing. “Well sir, I’m still somewhat nervous about this whole situation. I mean, communication with Earth goes down occasionally, but it’s generally due to a transmitter malfunction or some stellar disturbance around one of the relay stations. Contact always gets restored almost immediately, the signal is rerouted and the problem fixed. We haven’t been able to hail Utopia Planitia or Starfleet Command for hours. And on top of that, we haven’t come within hailing range of a single other starship since we changed course, and unless I’m very much mistaken, there should have been at least three patrol craft along our course towards Earth by now.”
Koltopek considered her words. “You are correct in that both circumstances are irregular. However, we are taking steps to determine why these anomalies have occurred, namely the diversion of the Cornwall from her normal patrol route to the Sol system. What additional course of action do you recommend?”
After staring out into the starry darkness for a long moment, the Commander sighed again. “I think we should go to yellow alert.”
The captain raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You think there is a possibility that the cause of these disturbances poses a risk to the Cornwall?”
“We have to be open to that possibility, sir.”
Without further questioning, the Koltopek nodded to the tactical officer standing behind them, who immediately triggered several oft-used controls. The lights on the bridge dimmed slightly, burnished yellow by threat-alert panels along the walls. Another tactical display on the rear wall of the bridge showed a representation of the Steamrunner-class vessel as an invisible field of energy enveloped it entirely.
Nearby, one of half a dozen quietly working officers, Ensign Laura Martin earnestly scanned her sensor display, which was cycling through all the passive scans of nearby stars the Cornwall had taken over the last few weeks. She had seen the same data dozens of times before that day, and thus the remarkably similar parade of stellar distortion output graphs normally failed to hold her interest. However, the conversation that had just occurred behind her kept her alert; the unease she felt about the situation made the statistics a welcome distraction. The captain and the commander knew what they were doing, and they were probably just chasing a false-alarm anyways.
In spite of her focus on the screen, however, Laura’s mind couldn’t help but wander back to the incident that had prompted their change of course. It had occurred only a little over three hours ago; near the end of her previous shift on the bridge, Captain Koltopek had been in contact with Admiral Thomas Henry at Starfleet command on Earth regarding the escort of a significant diplomatic envoy to the capitol planet from one of the outlying systems of the Federation when they had lost contact. Attempts to reestablish communications had proved fruitless, and Main Comm had determined there had been a disruption on the transmitting end. At Commander Sutton’s suggestion, the Captain had ordered a change in course for earth to investigate; unusual initiative from a Vulcan, but Koltopek was known for being a bit more flexible on regulations and procedure than others of his kind.
The cutoff was almost certainly nothing, and the Cornwall would likely be back on patrol duty by the end of the day, but Laura was still nervous. Earth, the political, military, and symbolic center of the United Federation of Planets had long been an unassailable bastion of order in the Alpha quadrant, until it saw two attacks in only the last few years; an incursion by a Borg cube intent on assimilating the world, which had only been repelled at enormous cost and with no small measure of luck, and then the Breen raid during the waning days of the Dominion War which almost destroyed Starfleet Command. Even with the Dominion defeated and the Borg quiet ever since, she, and many other Starfleet officers who had family on the green-blue globe, was always on edge when news of it came their way. The circumstances surrounding this particular event were all the more ominous.
After another half hour of uncomfortable waiting, the Comm and Helm officers began to pick up on more distinct signals emanating from the Sol system. Signal traffic was normal from a world so heavily populated and central to the Federation, but the volume was unusually high, and oddly scattered. Moreover, many of the individual transmissions the Cornwall attempted to analyze were oddly garbled, or simply played static, as if the transmitting end had simply stop functioning properly. Even the clearer signals yielded few answers; one, identified as originating from the Miranda-class USS Fellowship, simply showed an empty bridge, bathed in a faintly-yellow light similar to the one that now lit the Cornwall’s own command center. Despite the increasingly eerie nature of the portents before them, Koltopek remained clam, ordering the helm to maintain their course and speed, and continue hailing installations and known vessels in the system. There were no responses.
Finally, the red-shirted helmsman turned to the command officers. “We’re approaching lunar orbit, sir.”
“Reduce to impulse, Ensign.”
Even before the ship had fully decelerated and the viewscreen zeroed in on the Human homeworld, Laura knew her fears were terribly prescient. Eclipsed by the Moon to their right, set against Earth’s inviting green and blue surface, a battle raged. Or rather, it seemed, a slaughter. But there were no silvery Breen ships in the midst of the fray, or swarms of Dominion beetle-fighters, or even massive Borg war machines. No, every combatant had been forged from the same mold; in Earth’s high orbit, fratricide of the highest order was underway.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds of starships spat ribbons of red phaser-fire and volleys of torpedoes at each other through the void, weaving between tumbling wrecks of other vessels, already claimed by the melee. State-of-the-art Sovereign cruisers tore through obsolete Constellation-class ships, Galaxy-class vessels exchanged broadsides, Intrepid-class scouts cut through defenseless orbital space platforms. There seemed to be no sense, no order to the carnage, each starship spun and attacked like a feral beast, desperate to outlive the other.
The bridge crew of the Cornwall looked on in awed horror as the colossal Earth Spacedock, once nexus of all space traffic in the system, began to explode from the inside, nuclear fire rupturing it’s mushroom-cap, then spreading across it surface, engulfing the five-kilometer long installation and numerous starships battling nearby in a titanic fireball.
“Battle stations.”
The Vulcan captain’s clear order roused the crew from their dazed stupor, and they quickly prepped the ship for combat, priming weapons systems and activating EMC capacitors. Still, none of the others were able tear their eyes from the spectacle outside; it was virtually beyond imagining. How could the Federation have erupted into full-fledge civil war over night?
“Tactical assessment, Lieutenant Commander Simmons,” Koltopek prompted.
“Yes… yes, sir,” the man behind him responded, distracting himself with the task at hand. “It looks like there are fire fights like this one going on all over the system; Utopia Planitia, Jupiter orbit, numerous quadrants around Earth and the Moon. At least two hundred ships are engaged right now, although judging by the debris I’m reading, at least a hundred more have already been destroyed or disabled.” He gulped. “Sir, I’m also reading significant damage to areas of Earth’s surface.”
Commander Sutton looked up at him in horror. “Where?”
“There’s a lot of distortion from the fighting, but… it looks like San Francisco and Paris, along with at least five other cities, have been completely destroyed.”
Laura had to grab her terminal to keep from collapsing onto the deck. Starfleet Command, the Academy, Federation HQ… gone? So many good people… But what about…? No, it can’t be. Not them. Not there.
She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see another ensign, a Bajoran woman named Pell, trying to prop her up. Her face was a mask of determination, but a single tear, forming over a cheek, broke the façade. Laura tried to smile up at her, but found herself unable to do so. She had no comfort to give right now; none of them did.
Below, the commander was equally shaken, but years of command training didn’t allow her to show it. “Are any of those ships targeting us?”
Tactical shook his head, racing over the readings that were flooding his screen. “I don’t believe so, sir. Were outside of the general area of the battle, and most of the combatants don’t seem to be looking for new targets. They’re just fighting to survive.”
“Prepare for evasive maneuvers,” Koltopek ordered, leaning forward in his seat attentively. “Ensign, have you been able to clear through that comm interference? Can you get a hold of anyone out there?”
The officer, clearly still dazed, immediately set to his task, his fingers visibly shaking. “I’m still unable to isolate any individual signals, but were close enough for anyone who’s listening to hear us.”
“Put me on general hailing frequency.”
The captain stood as the comm officer rushed to comply.
“This is Captain Koltopek of the USS Cornwall. All operable, friendly vessels, please advise me of the situation. What is going on here?”
The only reply over the line was static. However, in the distance, three starships, a Galaxy and two Akira-classes, all suffering visible and significant damage, began to veer away from the desperate battle and towards the transmitting ship. As they began to form together in a loose, erratic squadron, an embattled shuttlecraft succumbed to a phaser hit and smashed directly into the Galaxy’s wide saucer section, overwhelming its weakened shields. And still the ship pushed onward, ignoring the massive hull-breaches that were peeling away its hull.
“Are they transmitting?” Sutton asked slowly, watching the trio of beaten ships as they pushed through waves of crimson energy and volleys of errant torpedoes inexorably.
“No, sir. Wait…”
“I’m getting something too…” Tactical reported. “They’re priming weapons!”
“Evasive pattern Epsilon Inverse.”
The Steamrunner abruptly jerked into motion, using its main engines to guide it downward relative to its last position, and then triggered a dozen emergency thrusters on it starboard side, causing the ship to spin back, away from the fight and the attacking vessels. A moment later, a trio of burning beams of energy swept the space where the Cornwall had just been, one of them glancing the edge of its shield bubble. The protective field glimmered against the blackness of space as it absorbed the blow.
“Shall I return fire, sir?” Tactical asked, clearly torn on the issue. Not even the most rigorous training courses at Starfleet Academy fully prepared its graduates for the prospect of fighting their own. Even combat exercises that pitted Federation ships against one another were generally only half-hearted. The fact that no one even knew why this chaos was occurring only heightened the tension.
“No. Divert weapons power to the shields and impulse engines. Helm, change course to 456-mark-32-mark-561 and engage at maximum impulse. When were at the minimum safe Warp distance from Sol, jump to Warp Eight, same vector.”
The commander glanced at her superior in confusion. “We’re retreating?”
“We have no other option. Without more intelligence on the situation, entering combat here would be unwise.”
Sutton looked as though she wanted to disagree, but she said nothing more. However, it was all Laura could do to restrain herself from speaking out; there were still billions of people down on Earth’s surface. Whatever was going on, someone had to stand up to safeguard them, and it seemed like the Cornwall had the only sane and capable crew left in the sector. The Steamrunner had been modified for combat during the Dominion War; while not as powerful as an Akira on even footing, surely it could blow past the badly-damaged pursuing vessels without taking too many hits. There were still innocent people down there…
The bridge rocked with a powerful concussion, nearly knocking the command officers back into their seats. On the rear wall, several display panels blinked dangerously as their internal compensators tried to disperse the excess energy that had been reflected into their circuits by the impact outside.
“Phaser hit on our port nacelle from one of the pursuers, Captain! Rear shields holding at eighty-two percent. They’re overtaking us.”
“Divert reserve power to the engines,” Koltopek ordered calmly.
“It isn’t working, sir. They must be overloading their Warp cores to do it, but were still loosing ground.” The ship rocked again as another phaser beam raked across the Cornwall’s rear quadrant. “They’ll have a clear firing solution with photon torpedoes in fifteen seconds. We won’t be able to take many volleys, not from that many ships!”
“We have to return fire,” Sutton said with icy determination, joining the tactical officer at his post. “If we take out the lead ship’s engines, we might make reduce their attack potential enough to escape.”
The lieutenant commander shook his head slowly. “Those ships are quite badly damaged. A direct hit on their engine nacelles could destroy any one of them.” Another blast rocked the ship. “Shields at seventy percent!”
“Engineering reports damage to the secondary plasma feed!” the helmsman shouted. “We can’t keep up impulse like this much longer!”
Koltopek starred at the main viewscreen, which now displayed an aft image of the pursuing vessels, each streaming towards them with animalistic doggedness, glowing with red fire each time they gathered enough energy to get off a phaser blast. They seemed not to care about hitting vital systems or slowing their prey; they ju
