Prologue
- 35 ABY-
The sounds of cheering could not be heard in the vacuum of space, but within the hull of an antique Mandator-class Star Dreadnought, joyous voices rang out ceaselessly. Men and women dressed in rag-tag, whitewashed armor took to the halls to cheer and celebrate. An echoing cheer began to take shape, “Down with the False Empire! Down with the False Empire!”.
On a standard ex-imperial star vessel, such remarks would be labeled as treason, and all supporters would be quickly herded to the airlocks for termination. But aboard the Liberator, even the strictest First Order regulations hardly held any actual weight. This ship and the entire Spearpoint Fleet around it were under the direct control of the Admiral, and the Admiral was a man whose hate for the False Empire was second to none. So, without hesitation, even the Command Deck was filled with cheers, laughter, and even tears.
One grey-dressed man with a scrawny physique and oily black hair escaped the festivities to a dim side passage. A sweet voice called after him, “Get back here soon, Av-doe, tonight we celebrate!”
As much as the Communications Officer Aviador Guantash desired to stay and rejoice, business came before pleasure. The news he had received firsthand had to be passed up the chain of command. With a wave of acknowledgment, he picked up his pace and called back, “Don’t break out the Euphi-water without me!” A wave of laughter followed him into the hall.
After traveling a ways, the younger officer paused, adjusted his collar, and plastered a serious expression on his pale face. Moving briskly, he transversed the ship's twisting halls until a panel-like door appeared before him just like any other. Nervous, he gulped and repositioned his grip on the holo-board containing the latest intel on the Battle of Exogal. His fist was inches from the door as he prepared to knock when, with a whoosh, the panels slid open. A calm and strangely soothing voice called from within, “Come Aviador, I've been waiting.”
Panic sprouted within the young man's heart as he hurried forward, the exit sealing behind him. Up until now, he had given reports to the Admiral himself only twice and each time the experience left him frantic and listless. After all, Admiral Primidian was a hero if not a legend.
He had explored deeper into the Unknown Regions than anyone ever before. And when the Great Empire first fell and the New Republic rose he returned and stayed true to the people: advocating peace and tolerance while also dedicating his fleet to defend against pirates and marauders. It was also a widespread rumor that Primidian was a close confidant to the Great Emperor Palpatine and wise in the ways of the Force. How much of the rumors were true and how much was fiction, no one knew for sure. But what Aviador knew for certain was that under the Admiral's command, neither the fallen Rebel Alliance nor the now all but destroyed First Order dared oppress them. It had taken his Uncle a dozen favors to get him a position on the Liberator, and after several years of hard work, he had finally earned himself a spot on the Command Deck.
As panic began to fill his mind, a tall window facing the chair began to turn and the Admiral spoke out again, “You look so nervous. Today is a day worth celebrating, is it not?”
With a brief stammer, the communications officer managed, “W-why yes sir, absolutely sir, I mean…” The chair finished turning, in which a relatively thin man sat. He appeared in his mid 40’s and was very fit for his age. His face was marked by slight wrinkles, though it was hard to tell if they came from smiling or frowning. Atop his head, he still had plenty of hair, though it was as grey as the uniform he dawned. The thing about the Admiral that always took people by surprise was his eyes. They were a deep golden color that seemed to radiate warmth and despite this, were piercing as if they could see into one's very soul. It took a moment for the young officer to break away from these eyes and hold the holo-board forward, “Here are the files Sir.”
The Admiral chuckled as he took the board and added, “Be at ease... Now, what do you have to report?”
Naturally, the Admiral already knew what was going on and the holo-boards had all the specific data, but the verbal report was not only a tradition but a sign of respect as well as training. It proved that as a leader, he cared about the views of his men and also prepared them for combat when there was no time for reviewing long, comprehensive files. After taking a breath Aviador found his discipline and spoke with focus, “Reporting Sir. Our agents have just reported that the hidden fleet at Exogal has been destroyed. The Resistance sent out a distress call, and many of the remnant forces of the Rebel Alliance responded. The Exogal Fleet moved too slowly and were trapped in orbit, they were outmaneuvered by the smaller class ships and have all been destroyed...”
A clear and bright smile appeared on the Admiral’s face, “Good, the Exogal Fleet has had me worried for some time now. With this, the Final Order will end before it even began, and the last great hurdle to peace is finally behind us.” The man's smile turned distant as though his mind drifted elsewhere, but he quickly added, “And what of the False Emperor?”
Aviador nodded and continued, “Our reports say the False Emperor was vanquished by a Jedi who the Resistance know as Rey. The last of the Knights of Ren were also killed, as well as the champion of the False Empire, Kylo Ren. To our knowledge, there are no more Imperial Reminats with enough power to seek galactic domination.”
The series of emotions that flashed across the face of the Admiral was strange. There was joy but then sadness. A flash of anger, disgust, but then relief. His gaze grew thoughtful and then dismissive quickly and finally returned to attentive in but a few moments. He sighed, “This was within my calculations. It's a true loss for the line of Skywalker to end like this, but it’s worth it to be rid of the First Order and its fake idols.”
A smile emerged on the officer’s face. He was born after the Great Empire fell, but was raised on the tails of its glorious rise from the ashes of a broken republic. Ruled over by a Sith Lord capable of controlling the Force and powerful enough to purge the Galaxy of the hypocritical Jedi monks. The rise of the First Order and its False Emperor Snoke was the greatest possible disgrace to such a legacy. The Great Empire stood to bring peace and order to all worlds, whereas this False Empire only stood for its own benefit. To witness the final downfall of this great evil was perhaps the greatest joy in his life. With a rapid nod, he added, “Indeed Sir. We’ve also been contacted by three of the other five remaining Fleets. It seems a parlay is being called to plan for the future.”
Admiral Primidian nodded at this with a gentle kindness in his eyes, “Then we shall meet with them. Things will be progressing quickly now. May the Force guide us in our upcoming endeavors.”
With a proud and fervent look, the young man saluted and responded, “Yes sir!”
The communications officer turned and left recognizing he had been dismissed, the young man was ready to celebrate with his compatriots and revel in the coming of a new age. Once the door closed behind him, the Admiral couldn't help but shake his head at the poor, brainwashed youth. The fall of the First Order wasn't the last hurdle to peace, it barely qualified as stopping the galaxy's descent into chaos. The future would all depend on the upcoming days, the hearts of the people, and indeed the Will of the Force.
Letting these depressing matters slip away, a rather odd smile appeared on the old man's face. Soon it twisted as he lurched to his feet and began to laugh, a shout of anguish and joy escaped his lips “Dead! Finally Dead!... Sidus, you bastard, despite all your schemes, look at where you ended. All your efforts of life eternal and an endless empire, just to die in a rotten corpse on a deserted rock!” Tears began to roll down the man's face as his mad joy became tainted by endless grief. He clenched a fist and muttered, “Why?...” He breathed deeply as if hoping for an answer, but when none came to him, he delved further into the unknown, “ What was it all for?” He turned and walked to the window that looked out into the vast void of space and put a hand on the glass. “The Republic crumbled, the Jedi destroyed… How many lives have been lost, how many people have suffered?” He looked into the eyes of his reflection and smiled, then stepped away, “You should have listened to me.” His hand slipped away from the glass as the Admiral began to laugh once more, this time on the verge of joyous hysteria. Periodically he would blurt almost singing, “Dead, dead, finally dead!"
With shaking hands, he opened a drawer to his desk and took out a bottle and glass. The bottle had once held a very expensive liquor, but he had downed the bottle after a prior military victory. Now it only contained water, which was now all he ever drank. With a glass poured, he returned the bottle and glanced at the metallic cylinder that sat next to it. It was an elegant weapon from a more civilized age, which he trained with daily. The sight of the lightsaber calmed his hectic mind. He raised his glass in a toast to no one. In a clear voice, he called out as if speaking to a crowd of ghosts, “To Balance in the Force.”
He down the cup and smacked his lips, missing the flavor they had once known. Then, as though he was a puppet severed from its strings, he slumped in his chair, supporting his forehead in the palm of his right hand. After letting out a final sigh, he opened his eyes and began to contemplate the future.
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Chapter 1: Patience and Compassion
- 2 Years After the Battle of Exogol: 37 ABY -
Onboard a cramped Tantive V transport vessel, a dozen languages echoed throughout the hull. Being unlicensed by the New Republic made this ship just like almost every other. The security patrols only ran around the important systems, so being licensed hardly mattered anyway. Worst come to worst, a few New Credits or a little spare cargo could easily be used as a bribe. Like so, without fear of punishment, pilots piled in as many people as could fit and only offered private rooms for those willing to pay extra. Food and water you would have to provide yourself or be forced to pay triple the standard for only half a ration. In terms of sanitation, the last time the interior had been thoroughly scrubbed was likely pre-Empire.
In one particular corner of the ship, a mother, Hepholump, tended to her young baby. The poor thing cried and cried, trumpeting air through its trunk and flailing its chubby purple arms. In an attempt to calm the child, who appeared feverish and unwell, she chanted “Hoomm-pah-pa, Hoom-pah-pa, Melloski. Hoom-pah-pa.”
A young Mirialan with a near-human complexion, aside from her light green-yellow skin, couldn't handle the noise. She turned and looked up to the cloaked figure beside her and pleaded, “Master, can we please move?” To a mere 10-year-old girl, a four-hour trip through hyperspace backroads was torture enough without a crying Hepholump to tolerate.
The guardian to whom the child's words had been addressed sighed, exasperated, “Patience Fama, it’s just a bit of noise.”
In response to this, the black-haired child closed her eyes, leaning against the ship's wall. The baby Haphalump’s crying suddenly intensified and the mother's chanting grew flustered, “Melloski… Hoom-pah. Hoom-pah.”
The youth's calm demeanor broke down at this and turned back to the hooded figure, “Can’t we do something to help? The kid looks sick.”
With a calm tone that carried wisdom in each syllable, the ‘master’ responded, “A Jedi must know when to intervene and when not to intervene. This ship bears passengers with many backgrounds, some will bear us no goodwill.”
Fama retorted in a hushed tone, “ But isn’t a Jedi also supposed to help those in need?”
The master shook her head slowly, “We should not help others for selfish reasons, nor interfere if doing so is unnecessary. The port we’re traveling to has a New Republic medical clinic; the child will receive treatment in time.”
Thoroughly defeated, the padawan slouched back and grumbled, “Fine.”
The teacher sighed once more and responded, “You will understand in time, for now, meditate.”
Fama nodded, looking slightly ashamed of her behavior; being told to meditate meant she had made a mistake. She closed her eyes and mumbled, “Yes, Master Skywalker.”
Not even a minute had passed before a group of thuggish Rodian’s appeared before the cloaked duo. The green-skinned, blue-eyed leader had a blaster brazenly holstered at his hip. In a gruff voice, he called out loudly, “My man says he overheard a couple of Jedi scum…” He looked at the two figures before him suspiciously, “I wonder if this is true.”
Fama’s face went dark yellow with embarrassment while her master let out a breath and responded, “Your man was mistaken. We’re just travelers on our way to visit relatives. On Cerasuant.”
The small gang’s boss pulled his baster out and waved it around wantonly, “Cerasuant. Big things are happening on Cerasuant. People say there may very well be peace soon.” He aimed the blaster at the smaller of the hooded people, “I hate peace.”
Fama looked up without fear and snapped, “Peace will come whether you hate it or not!”
An underling jerked forward, cursing in an uncommon dialect, “Shut it, little girl!”
The grunt was shoved by his boss, who continued his threats, “Peace talks are exactly where one would find Jedi terrorists. I’ll have to invite the two of you back to our room till we arrive at Brentaal.” His men all drew basters, and he added in an overly gracious tone, “Or till we can get the matter of your identities worked out.”
The Padawan looked ready to fight through the Master responded unphased, “Those who have nothing to hide have nothing to fear. We will gladly accompany you.”
The gang surrounded them and then muscled their way through the halls before arriving at a door with two guards. Whispers followed their movements, though no one intervened, avoiding eye contact. The gang boss entered the room with a swagger and claimed a spot in a throne-like chair set before a long table covered messily with food and drink. A foul smell made Fama gag and the surrounding thugs chuckle. The girl tugged her teacher’s sleeve with a concerned expression. In response, the brown-haired woman turned to the youth and smiled with confidence before ushering the child over to a pair of seats.
A thug moved behind them and pulled back their hoods. A gasp and then frantic murmurs resounded through the small room. One underling spoke absentmindedly with a shocked voice, “We’re going to be rich.”
The boss broke out in joyous laughter and cried, “What an honor, what an honor!…” He breathed in and composed himself before finishing “To host the great Rey Skywalker.” He glared at his shocked men and shouted in their native tongue. They all quickly came to attention and spread out, aiming their blasters at the two women. The boss shook his head, looking exasperated, “You idiots finally did something right. The Remnant Generals Faction will pay any price for these two.”
Rey remained unfazed and responded, “My Padwan and I are happy to be your guests, but we will not be held as prisoners.”
Said padawan looked over to Rey, confused and managed in a worried and befuddled tone, “Master?...” She was stopped by a slight nudge to her side while the lead thug broke out in laughter once more.
After regaining his breath, he managed, “I, bounty-hunter Gavin Mandunin, don't believe that you…” he emphasized the last word, pointing at Rey, “ Master Jedi, understand the situation you are in.” He glared at the legendary woman and continued, “But if you won't let me tell you.” In slow and meticulous bursts he elaborated, “You are my prisoner. If you try to escape, you and your girl will be shot. Am I clear?”
Rey sighed and shook her head, “That does put a damper on our relationship.” She glanced around with calculating eyes and counted 11 members of the gang. In a stern voice, she added, “ Now, bounty hunter Gavin, I will tell you the situation you are in.” She paused for emphasis and continued, “ You and all of your men are but moments away from experiencing a lot of unnecessary pain. In lieu of this, I propose you let me and my Padawan leave here peacefully, and all of us put this messy business behind us.”
In an outraged voice, the bounty-hunter shouted, “Stun them!”
At this very moment, an invisible force shoved the hands of every gang member in different directions. As shots went off, the various aqua-colored energy blots missed their intended targets and 5 of them ended up hitting allies. The remaining 6 men, including Gavin, lurched forward, shouting. Rey stood up swiftly and spun around, she felt out with the Force and identified the outlines of her attackers.
Her own master, Luke Skywalker, had told her she bore a gift that was rare even amongst Force users, and that was the ability of Battle Meditation. This aptitude enabled one to dominate nearly any battlefield: enemies’ motions would grow slow to the eye, the mind would grow calm and focused, one would be able to predict oncoming attacks and know by instinct how to defend or counter them. Such a blessing was so rare many believe it to be the stuff of legend through the Sacred Jedi Texts had confirmed its existence and guided her training. In the beginning, this ability was more like a sixth sense, though after years of training in the Force, she had gained a greater mastery over this power. The Jedi Text even stated when fully trained she would be able to use this ability to strengthen her allies and weaken her enemies.
The power of Battle Meditation was not omnipotent and made little difference in ranged battle or if there were too many enemies; however, when it came to this stumbling mob trapped in a tight room, it was her time to shine.
At times, Rey would regret the slowness of her training, knowing how useful such a mythical skill would have been when fighting the First Order. She would then find her remorse ironic, considering how Luke claimed she was the most gifted Force user in a millennium. In the end, fixating on the past was not the Jedi way, and she would try and remain grateful that during such times as this, she was able to defend herself.
In a rapid series of fluid motions, Rey grabbed the arm of one Rodian and aimed it at another as the blaster went off. She squatted and pulled on the arm, flipping the one she was holding onto the table. Curses and shouts filled the air while, with a quick burst of speed, the Jedi dodged a blaster bolt and arrived before another thug. She slammed his blaster-bearing arm to one side and landed a palm on his chest, sending him flying across the room via the Force.
With three down, only three remained, and Fama helped by charging one and then ducking around him. When the Rodian tried to turn, she interlocked her legs with his, causing the man to trip. The girl quickly snatched his blaster and leaped away. The gang member lunged at her but was stunned by his very own baster. Fama turned and had just enough time to shout, “Master behind you!”
Rey needed no warning to sidestep the incoming blaster bolt and see the blue beam of energy pace millimeters from the top of her nose. In an intricate dance, she dodged a volley of shots from the gang boss and his last subordinate. The grunt was closer and thus was soon struck, flung across the room via the Force, and rendered unconscious. Realizing he was now alone, Gavin, the bounty hunter, looked back and forth between the Jedi and padawan, then dropped his weapon. In a scared voice that was trying to be charismatic, he managed, “I think we can reconsider our relationship.”
The padawan glared at the man and snorted, aiming her blaster at the man. Rey let out a breath then and chimed, “ Come Fama, we’re leaving.”
The girl and bounty-hunter looked shocked while the youth called out, “But Master, he’ll rat out as soon as we land! We should turn them into New Republic security!”
Rey nodded and retorted calmly, “Everyone on this ship likely knows about us by now one more won’t hurt.” She began to walk away, herding the child and adding, “Also, turning this lot into New Republic security is no different than a death sentence these days. They only tried to capture us.”
The girl resisted and retorted, “Yah, capture and tossed to the Remnant Generals. You said being caught by them would be worse than dying.”
The master sighed, “Yes, but their bounty-hunters, it's what they do. They're just trying to make a living. Hopefully, this will serve as a good lesson for them. Now let's go back and meditate.” Fama’s expression went from venomous to resigned very quickly. She peeked around her master's legs to look at Gavin and stuck out her tongue. Rey smiled at this and rubbed the girl’s hair while taking the blaster away. Quite naturally, she turned and shot the gang leader in the chest with a stun bolt. Looking at her padawan, she asked with raised eyebrows, “Happy now?”
Looking sheepishly, the girl nodded and smiled back, “Meditating sounds nice.”