|
|
|
|
|
||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||
|
|
|||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||
|
Chapter 28 |
 |
||
|
|
|||
|
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
2200 hours. Admiral James Rumsfield sat hunched over
the desk of his temporary quarters on the USS FELIX, draped in shadow. Only the gentle light of the stars outside
the yawning space-windows afforded the older man any light, save for the
diffused glow of the small computer monitor in front of him. The screen cast
Rumsfield’s face into stark relief, the drapes of his skin becoming dark
valleys and his eyes turning into deep, recessed wells. On any other night at this time, Rumsfield would be
asleep, resting up for another twelve-hour shift starting early at 0500. But
this night was different, and not only because the admiral had elected to stay
up; there was a strange tension in the air—a kind of dark electricity that
filled the room. A chime of the computer cracked through the silence, loud
enough to startle had Rumsfield not been expecting it. “The time is now
2201, 53 seconds.” Break time. By now, Main Engineering would be deserted;
the night shift having taken leave of their stations to share a drink or two in
the StarSyde Lounge. The interlude was scheduled to last for about ten minutes,
but Rumsfield knew from studying Lieutenant Ortega’s duty shift logs that it
would most likely about fifteen. Seven seconds passed. “Computer,” the admiral spoke in a
soft reserved voice far different from the authoritative tone he often used on
duty. “Activate program ‘Copper Green.’” The FELIX’s
computer chimed in acknowledgement, “Standby, processing directive.” The system
quietly began to beep and whir, running calculations and commands through the
nearest isolinear sub-processor before speaking again. “Accessing
communications command subroutine; routing point-to-point transmission request
through sensor junction 8224—lateral sensor array. Warning: command paths have been encoded.” The old hound brushed his thumb through his moustache.
“Confirm all records of this transmission are being erased in real-time and the
appropriate isolinear processing farms have been bypassed.” “Confirmed.” The admiral nodded, satisfied. “Open a channel.” “Acknowledged.” Rumsfield leaned closer to the computer terminal and
lowered his voice, instinctively hushing as if someone nearby might hear him.
“Governor Tarvik . . . this is Admiral James Rumsfield aboard the USS FELIX. I’m sending this transmission on
a secured access frequency and using the same encryption as for our normal
contacts. I apologize for the unorthodox method of this communiqué, but I
cannot risk talking about this over normal channels. We must meet—face to
face—to discuss an issue of some urgency. Respond to these coordinates on this
exact frequency in exactly twenty-four star-hours and we will arrange a time to
meet. Transmission ends.” ————————————
Night
had long since fallen on the crimson dome of Sovereign Kain’s palace and the
capital city called Kadan. The ebony sky above was clear and shining with
billions of twinkling pearls of starlight. Captain Xavier considered the stars
silently; they were strange to him and their patterns unfamiliar. He had looked
up to the stars on at least one-hundred-fifty other worlds; considered the
patterns and constellations and knew how they related to one another in
three-dimensional space.
He
could tell the head of Equuleus on
Earth from the whip of Rogu on
Ferenginar, and understood how the same group of stars could form quite
different shapes depending on which planet you stood when you looked at them.
But he could make out no familiar pattern from the thick cluster of suns that
twinkled distantly overhead, and the minor frustration only served to remind
the captain of how truly lost he was.
Xavier
sat quietly beside a fire in the main courtyard atop the palace mount,
Sovereign Kain and Zannah Lyles with him. The smuggler was silently
contemplating the flames before her, but the Sovereign seemed distinctly
preoccupied, his gaze seeming to look through
the fire to something unpleasant beyond.
After
a moment, Zannah looked aside at Kain, noting his somber mood. “Does something
trouble you, Master?”
Xavier
quirked a brow but remained silent. Master?
The
monarch’s expression turned to a slight grimace as his mind returned the
courtyard. “A chill in the Force,” he spoke faintly. “I feel as if something
terrible has happened.”
Zannah
frowned, “I thought it was just the breeze.”
Kain
gave an abbreviated smile, “When you’ve had over two centuries as a Jedi to
listen to the Force, you develop certain sensitivities
. . .” There’s that word again, Xavier thought, ‘Jedi.’ Zannah had mentioned it briefly to him while they were still
onboard the shuttle and seemed rather incredulous when he didn’t know what the
term meant. At that time he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk; she’d tried
some sort of strange mind meld on him that had less than pleasant consequences.
But now, out here, truly lost in the unknown—Xavier couldn’t help but indulge a
bit of his curiosity. “Jedi—“ he spoke up, “—you mentioned that before. What
does that word mean?”
Kain
glanced briefly at his student and then smiled at Xavier, greatly amused by the
question. “Why—your friend really is
from out of town, isn’t he?”
“I
guess so,” Zannah nodded. “He’s rather tight-lipped about where he’s from.
But—if I thought him a threat I wouldn’t have brought him here.”
“Indeed,”
Kain nodded. “Indeed. So, Mr.—Mooarc,
is it?”
“Marc,” the captain corrected, noting the
Sovereign’s accent. “Marc Xavier.”
Kain
nodded, “Ma’arc.”
“Close
enough.” The captain smirked.
The
Sovereign eyed him, “There are no Jedi where you come from?”
Marc
shook his head, “’Jedi’ could be a soup, for all I know.”
A
brief nod, “and where exactly is it that you're from, Mr. Ma’arc?”
Xavier
paused; they had a right to be as curious about him as he was about them. Yet,
there was still the Prime Directive. “Let’s just say far, far away.”
“Must
be,” Kain nodded. “To not know of Jedi—and yet—I sense the Force is with you.”
That
brought about an even more quizzical look from the captain.
The
Sovereign noted the confusion in Xavier’s eyes and chuckled. “Jedi come from a
million different worlds; different species, different cultures, different
native tongues—but we are all bound together by the Force. That is, an energy
field created by all living things—it surrounds us, moves through us . . . it
binds the whole galaxy together.”
“Oh,”
the captain nodded. “So you are a religious order.”
“Not
exactly,” Kain shook his head, “True, we do have doctrines . . . ‘philosophies’
may be a better word. Becoming a Jedi is more about achieving a state of inner
calm and control, understanding the deeper nuances of the Force.”
“And
what is ‘the Force?’” he enquired, “if it ‘binds the galaxy together’ it must
include gravity.”
“No,”
Kain shook his head. “No it doesn’t. It’s an aura of energy produced by life; a
kind of a guiding—well—force that
helps prevent the galaxy from degenerating into chaos and darkness.”
The
captain nodded again, understanding but not believing. “And so you are a
practitioner of this—‘Jedi’ philosophy.”
The
Sovereign nodded, “Though it is more than a mere philosophy. Our understanding
of the Force affords us a special power—an ability to sense and interact with
it in a way that many people cannot.”
The
Sovereign closed his eyes and concentrated as the captain watched intently. To
him, it seemed as if the old monarch were going into a slight trance—a sort of
meditative state. It wasn’t until a handful of orange glowing coals lifted
themselves from the crackling fire that Xavier’s expression changed. Bits of
hot ash and embers whirled out from under the coals, flicked about by the light
breeze, and Marc raised a hand to shield his eyes.
Zannah
smirked to herself but remained quiet, watching as Kain demonstrated his point.
Xavier
was flabbergasted to say the least. Once the wind blew away the cloud of
embers, he lowered his hand from his eyes and stared at the floating cluster of
glowing coals. Immediately, he remembered the incident in the StarSyde Lounge
with Lizzy—the cup that had strangely floated into his hand.
A
smirk crept its way onto Kain’s face as he watched the captain, “Force over
gravity, Ma’arc.” This has got to be some form of telekinesis or
something, the captain thought, his
mind scrambling to rationalize the situation.
But
Kain again caught his eyes and shook his head. “It’s no trick; no slight of
hand.” He let out a breath and lowered the coals back into the fire, “It is
simply the power of the Force.”
Marc
was staring keenly at the Sovereign now, so distracted by his words that he at
first did not see one of the coals leap from the flames toward him. He saw the
cinder out of the corner of his eye and flinched instinctively, turning aside
and holding out a hand as if to deflect it—but the coal never touched him.
After
a moment, Xavier looked back up to see the ember floating mere inches from his
open palm.
Kain
smiled to himself, “The power of the Force, Ma’arc. A power which you share.” ———————————— Violet was in her nightclothes and Aris’ eyes were
bloodshot—she’d much rather be in bed right now. "Gomen,”
the Empress apologized, turning a helpless look to her guard. "There's
just something about him. Something I can't quite put my finger on . . .” Aris growled impatiently, “He’s cute. You said that an
hour ago.” "Mmm . . . no," The Empress shook her head.
"It's more than that." She returned her attention to the balcony and
watched silently as the captain and Kain continued to converse. "Need I remind you we have a war to worry about?" The other Amazon said, “You came here for
Kain’s advice—and then you rejected it. We’ve come for what we want—if we
remain we may put Daktia in danger.” Though Aris couldn’t see it, the words drained the
infatuation from the Empress’ face. “You’re acting like a child.” She continued, “I never
thought you would lose your head over a male . . . especially such a flimsy one . . .” “Go.” Aris stiffened and a look of surprise crossed her face.
She had always been more than willing to give Violet a piece of her mind when
she thought it appropriate, and the Empress had always heard her out—at least
in private. But the snap order for her to depart was unusual and Aris did not
know at first how to respond. “W—wha—?” “I said go.”
Violet’s tone was resolute, “I want to be alone.” The other Amazon held her tongue, knowing it wouldn’t be
wise to aggravate her further. She turned on a heel and started toward the
door—only to bump into a tall blue-haired Daktian woman. “Oh—excuse me,” The woman apologized; a look of urgency
on her face. “I’ve an emergency message for the Empress.” Violet turned from the balcony and stepped back into the
room, “An emergency?” “Yes, your highness,” she nodded. “We’ve just received a
transmission from orbit.” “Well, what is it?” Aris prodded. “About a group
called the—Green Berets—they said you
would know what that means.” Violet’s face turned a shade more pale, “What about
them?” The woman swallowed, “T—they’re dead. Most of them, at
least—maybe all—there was apparently a firefight onboard the OSSUS—they tried to hijack a shuttle.” The words hit Violet like a physical blow and she
staggered back a few steps. More bloodshed; more lives lost because of her
decisions. Like a bitter pill, the news went straight to her stomach, making
the young empress feel ill. “Otrera look
past my foolishness,” she mumbled. “More dead because of me . . .” ———————————— Violet was met by Kithain Tiharr and—awkwardly enough—Sonchu
Ackbar as she debarked from her ship onto the deck—the same deck where the
firefight had occurred. Of course, crews had cleared the place of bodies, but
the telltale carbon scoring against the floor and walls told an eerie tale of
what had happened. Tears fought at the back of Violet’s eyes, but she held
them as she looked somberly over the scene. “Were there survivors?” “A handful, yes,” Kithain nodded. The Empress looked at him gravely, “You were here
when—weren’t you?” Kithain nodded, “Aye, I was.” “How could this
happen!?” The general searched for the words but they wouldn’t come
to him. He stumbled over his explanation, knowing it to be inadequate but
unable to express it any more clearly. “It was a—misunderstanding. It
was—tensions were high—on both sides—and then all it took was a spark. We tried
to stop it, but—“ “Who shot first?” Kithain swallowed and turned a momentary glance at
Sonchu, “It was a—“
She
met him with a pleading gaze, desperate to understand how such a tragedy could
have occurred, “You were here . . . you know what happened. Who shot first?”
Tiharr
took a reluctant breath and was about to speak when Sonchu cut in.
“I
think this discussion could be better conducted in priva—“
That
set Violet’s eyes aflame and all in one instant, she understood. She wanted to
yell, but somehow when she spoke, she couldn’t speak in anything more than a
pained whisper. “It was your men—wasn’t it?”
Sonchu
opened his mouth to defend himself, but he knew the Empress wouldn’t be at all
interested in the fine details. Her morality and perception of the universe was
a simple one, divided plainly into black and white, with little room for
ethical abstractions like “necessary evil.” He let out a sigh, “Yes, we had—“
“You had to kill them?” She took a step
back, “What kind of barbarians are
you that you murder your own kind!” In that burst of emotion, the tears she had
been trying to hold back got the better of her and began to stream down her
cheeks. But she defiantly wiped them away, hardening her resolve not to bawl. “They were a security risk!” Sonchu insisted,
raising his voice. “They could have given away the location of the entire—“
“No secret is worth someone’s life . . .”
Violet interrupted, speaking through clenched teeth.
Kithain
looked pained, “Empress—maybe it would
be best to continue this in priv—“
“No,” she snapped. “I will not have this hidden away. Those people didn’t have to die.”
Sonchu
huffed; Violet’s foolishness had gone far enough. He hissed at the woman and
glared up at her, his words cutting and concise. “Maybe in that deluded fantasy
world you live in—but out in the real world people use live ammunition, and
it’s either you or them.”
The
Amazon considered him a moment, her eyes meeting his. “Your war isn’t about
justice . . . it isn’t about freedom . . . it’s about revenge.”
The
words stunned Sonchu to silence for a moment; the seriousness of the accusation
almost too much for him to wrap his mind around. For years he had spent his
life trying to restore freedom and peace to the galaxy—to realize the failed
dream of his father. And this . . . this woman
. . . who had at once seemed to be the
His
oily skin turned a few shades redder, almost crimson as he spoke. “How dare you . . .” He met her eyes again
with a foul sneer. “Overtaxed citizens on the planet Ghorman peacefully protest the policies of the
Empire and Governor Tarvik crushes them
with a starship—and we are the
barbarians? The Imperials annihilate
a colony at Ruisto—fifty-thousand
unarmed civilians—and we are the
barbarians? They destroy an entire planet—Alderaan—just to make a political statement—and
we are the barbarians?
It
was all Sonchu could do to keep from raving, “They steal, enslave, and murder for the sake of greed and
power—you’ve not had to live a life under their dominion or watch a million
civilizations wilt under their brutal heel—and
you act as if you have the right to critique my motives?!” He took a breath
in an effort to calm himself, but Sonchu had reached his boiling point. “They are sadists! They are beyond
redemption!” he shouted, “and I
am trying to breathe life into a resistance that will someday free all the peoples of the Republic from the
Emperor’s ruthless tyranny! And that—dear
Empress—is a cause worth dying for . . . worth
killing for.”
It
was then that Sonchu knew absolutely that any possibility for a lasting
Violet took a breath; she
usually didn’t handle being yelled at
very well. The last time Sonchu had done it was different, an angry and
passionate response to the situation—pure emotion. But this time the
significance of the exchange was all too clear; this was a reasonable anger—a
deep-seated position forged in Sonchu’s own ideologies and ultimately
incompatible with her own views. She turned aside, giving General Tiharr a
polite nod. “Please,” she spoke quietly. “Take me to see the survivors.” ————————————
“Hmm—that’s
odd.”
Admiral
Zinc looked over toward one the control pits on the bridge of the INTIMIDATOR, where a group of Com-Scan
officers were busily looking over a series of displays and meters. “Is
something amiss, crewman?”
The
young man seemed to nod, though the motion of his head could just have easily
been him looking down from his control screen to his keypad. “Captain Ceteris
was scheduled to return to dock approximately forty-five minutes ago. I’ve just
sent a confirmation signal to Yag’Dhul station to see if he left on schedule.”
Zinc
snorted, figuring that Ceteris had run into some form of delay. Knowing the
captain, and knowing Yag’Dhul, the thought that Ceteris had become “distracted”
by something wasn’t too difficult to believe. “And?”
“They’ve
not responded, sir—well not exactly.”
The
admiral stepped over toward the pit and crouched down, his interest growing.
“’Not exactly?’ What exactly does
that mean?”
“Well,
sir.” The officer searched for the words, “I’ve been able to read normal
hypercomm traffic to and from the station—mostly civilian, but the secured
Imperial channel seems to be broadcasting nothing but static.”
“Encoding,
perhaps?” Zinc quirked a brow.
The
officer shook his head, “it’s no Imperial code; and as far as I can tell it
looks like what it is—background noise.”
“Don’t
let Governor Ywin fool you so easily,” a still, cold voice came from behind
them.
Admiral
Zinc looked up to meet the sickly yellow eyes of Ysanne Lisard. “Ah, Director
Lisard—returned from your chambers, I see.”
Ysanne
made a grimace, “Indeed. Jarvis Ywin is not experiencing any accidental communications difficulty.
I’ve just received an ancillary report from the Ubiqtorate. It appears Captain
Ceteris was killed in a violent altercation aboard Yag’Dhul station, involving
a gang of bounty hunters.”
“A
shame,” Zinc nodded, though more as if stating a fact than making a remorseful
aside. “I trust you’ve arranged for a replacement?”
“Of
course,” Lisard nodded, “and dealt with the one for Ceteris’ demise.
However—there is one issue still of some concern.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,”
the Director nodded, stepping toward the space-windows at the front of the
bridge and folding her hands behind her back. “It appears Ceteris’ shuttle has
been stolen, and its location transmitter shut off.”
“The
prisoner was intercepted?” Lisard nodded grimly, “It appears so.” “But—how could a single shuttle escape from the
headquarters of an Imperial Grand Moff?” Lisard licked her lips, a telltale sign of annoyance. “Incompetence, of course. Jarvis Ywin bought his way into that title—he’s a
criminal governor who runs a sector full of criminals. Doubtlessly he was
preoccupied with one of his pet Twilek-women when this debacle was in
progress.” “That would make him—“ “Culpable, yes.” Lisard finished for him, “Com-Scan.” “Yes, Director?” “Patch your communications in through frequency 17263,
priority communiqué.” “Yes ma’am. Frequency 17263.” It only took a moment for the pointed face of Grand
Moff
Ywin to appear on one of the auxiliary displays, though he wasn’t looking at
the image scanner. Instead, he seemed to be rather—occupied—with trying to win
the affections of a reluctant young female Twilek. Ysanne never flinched, but simply cleared her throat, a
sound loud enough to alert the governor that his communications panel had been
activated by remote. The weasel of a man turned a pair of beady black eyes
toward the monitor and immediately froze. “Governor Ywin,” Ysanne spoke steadily. The man gaped for a moment and then quickly shoved the
woman he had been harassing aside. “Get
out.” He pulled on his jacket and sat up, leaning closer to the scanner.
“D—Director Lisard!” he spoke, still not believing. “Wha—what an unexpected
surprise . . .” “Indeed,” she simply raised a brow. “Governor, please
hold.” Someone in the Com-Scan pit muted the transmission and Ysanne turned
aside. “Patch in a three-way to Admiral Khal’Saad aboard the IMPERIOUS.”
Thousands
of light-years away, Admiral Sher Khal’Saad was in the middle of his own
conference, his steady gaze passing over the assembled faces of the commanders
of his strike fleet, holographically projected along the inner surface of his
command pod. “You have your orders, gentlemen,” he spoke lowly. “Now carry them
out. Report as scheduled.”
The
admiral dismissed the men with a wave of his hand over the hologram’s sensor,
and as he did so, an incoming transmission alert sounded on his console. He
glanced aside and seemed surprised a moment to discover who it was from. No
communiqué with Director Lisard had been scheduled . . . he keyed the channel
open and waited for the small hologram to achieve resolution, the form of
Lisard appearing before him. “My greetings, Madam Director . . . to what do I
owe the honor of a direct communication?”
“I’ve
an intelligence update for you, Khal’saad.” The woman said simply, “But first—I
require your services.”
“Hm?”
the tiger perked an ear, “What is it you wish of me?”
“Unmute.”
A
moment passed and a second hologram appeared beside Lisard—Governor Ywin, who
was still half dressed and more than half unsettled by this unexpected turn of
events.
“Admiral
Khal’Saad,” Ysanne nodded. “I would like to introduce you to Governor Ywin of
the Yag’Dhul Sector.”
The
slender man nodded, crumpling his hat in his hands, “Pleased to meet you,
admiral. Director Lisard—if I may ask—what is this abo—”
“Khal’Saad,
I would like you to kill the governor, please.” The nonchalance with which she
made the request even was a surprise to Sher.
Ywin
instantly erupted in protest and disbelief, “What?! Lisard—I—!”
Ysanne
ignored the man's pleas, continuing. “He has been a continual burden to the New Order
and his latest offense I would rather not waste my time going into the details
of. I have full authority of the Emperor to request his execution.”
Had
Jarvis known who Khal’Saad was, he would have put a blaster bolt through the
holoscanner and made a quick exit from Yag’Dhul and into obscurity. But
unfortunately for him, he had not realized that the Director’s request—or
Sher’s capability—was to dispose of him immediately. “Please, Lisard. Give me a
chance to ex—“
An
invisible hand reached out and closed inside of the man’s chest, pinching off
part one of Jarvis’ coronary arteries—then another, and another. Khal’Saad
nodded to Lisard cordially, “My pleasure, Madam Director.”
Ywin
clutched his chest, his eyes bulging as a bolt of pain shot through his torso.
Ysanne
sighed slightly, “Our intelligence on the Amazons is woefully out-of-date; not
even the Emperor foresaw this turn of events. I’ve dispatched spies and made
contacts with some of the out-of-favor elements of their government, but such
efforts will only yield useable intelligence in the long-term.”
Khal’Saad
nodded, understanding, his gaze fixed steadily on the Director even as Ywin
struggled to speak; the pressure on his heart growing. “My own efforts are only
in their formative stages as well. We’ve followed up dozens of leads, but
nothing that might lead us to the whereabouts of the Rebel fleet has yet been unearthed.”
Lisard
nodded, “I do however have something
that may yet prove to be of use to you, Khal’Saad.”
Ywin
let out a desperate groan and staggered, the lack of blood flow causing a fatal
heart-attack. He fell to the floor, lifeless. Sher nodded, “Indeed?”
“Based
on some navicomputer core fragments we recovered, we’ve managed to piece
together a general point-of-origin for the hyperjump that brought the Rebels
here.”
Khal’Saad
raised his brows.
“It
appears the trajectories lead back to the star of Mon Calamari.”
“That
can’t be right,” Sher shook his head. “That planet is dust . . .”
“I
sympathize, admiral. However, this is what the records indicate. Investigate
this lead and report back to me.”
“As
you wish, Madam Director.” |
||
|
|
|||
|
Chapter 28 |
|
||
Star Trek vs Star Wars - The
Furry Conflict™
[ STORYLINE |
AUDIO DRAMA |
BACKSTAGE |
FAN FICTION |
COMMUNITY |
PRESS |
MERCHANDISE ]