Author’s Note
As the time to post our stories draws closer, I find myself worrying more and more about my submission. Mostly I am concerned that it is silly and will be seen as something I threw together in response to the latest update/event in game. This is not the case. The idea is actually one I have been toying with for a while, in fact since the previous time Alderaan was used as the event location.
I wanted to give familiar dialogue and events, but with a twist. The plan was to begin subtly and let the divergences grow over the course of what I estimated would be around 3,500 words. I also chose to mimic the style of the very first Star Wars novelization. So, here is my imitation of Alan Dean Foster ghost writing for George Lucas. Some of the vocabulary is drawn directly from this source. In addition, I have used the original and Special Edition versions of the film, other novels and our good friend Wookieepedia. I hope you enjoy the results or at least are mildly amused. Criticism and commentary are welcome-- even encouraged.
PEACEFUL
The marbled, golden curve of the planet’s surface swept gracefully into view, filling the forward screen, heralded by its two closest moons, the luminescent pearl of Guermessa, and Ghormrassen’s mottled indigo. This idyllic prospect lasted only seconds before alarms screed and their quarry, the blockade-runner Tantive IV dropped into sight. It vanished briefly in a blinding flash light from its port side as it fired an illegal mining-grade missile back at the Devastator. This blast was immediately followed by a barrage of flame-colored turbolaser bolts as the Imperial ship gave chase.
The gunners returned fire, some targeting the over-sized block of eleven engines that comprised over half of the corvette’s mass making the so-called non-combat vessel so notorious for fast attack. Others of the artillery crew were ordered to focus on the hull, trying to drop its shields. These terrorists could not be permitted to escape.
Verdant bolts streaked towards the erratically moving CR90 as it dropped closer to the planet’s glowing atmosphere. It was going in hot with all reactors and the main hyperdrive still online. The insurgents clearly cared nothing for the delicate ecosystem of the desert world below nor for the two hundred thousand plus sentients who currently populated its surface.
Time was running short when one fortuitous burst struck the corvette in the starboard dorsal section just aft of the main turret. This hit ruptured a pressurized fuel cell and a cloud of glittering debris erupted from the breech. The ship shuddered. As the cruiser’s drives automatically shut down, the Devastator closed the distance, activating its Phylon 7 tractor beams and locking on to the smaller vessel. Slowly, the corvette was drawn towards the Devastator’s lower hanger bay.
The dark armored and robed figure of the sith lord turned slowly to survey the bridge. His features were completely hidden behind a helmet and integrated breath mask rumored to be essential for his survival. He gave a short nod.
“Well done,” he rumbled. “We have them within our grasp. Full quarantine measures will be in effect as we proceed with the boarding action. Remember that the fate of the galaxy may rest on what we achieve here.”
“But, sir,” quarried an officer, “if it’s just stolen data they have aboard, why…?”
Vader cut him off with an abrupt gesture.
“These terrorists deal in weaponized bio-ceuticals. They have no regard for life and no compassion even for their own. They are fanatics in the worst sense of the word – bigoted, annihilistic. They do not care how many they doom in their mad bid for power.”
His gaze again swept the room.
“We will use every precaution. Captain, you will remain here and oversee security. Only volunteers and only those in full stormtropper armor will be permitted to accompany me aboard that vessel.”
“As you say,” Wermis acknowledged. He hid his relief behind a crisp salute before moving into position near the central viewport. He clasped his hands behind his back, his square jaw jutting as he reviewed his subordinates.
Sparks flared around the perimeter of the hatch then brightened into an instant conflagration. Incinerated alloys blazed and smoked, filling the corridor beyond with fumes. Through this haze, stormtroopers advanced firing. The first through the door was a promising young officer, just out of the academy. He had been one of the first to volunteer. The cadet insisted on leading his squad himself and so became the first to be cut down by enemy fire. A high-powered bolt pierced straight through his white plastoid chestpiece, knocking him back. His squad-mates didn’t hesitate, continuing to press forward against the opposition.
Vader following them, paused with his hands on his hips. He turned first to the body of the young hero inclining his head, before sweeping his gaze over the fallen foe, weighing the sacrifice. He could not allow regret to overshadow his ever-present duty to the Empire. Grimly, he continued down the plasteel corridor as more troops filed in behind him.
Outside the corvette’s control center, another cadre of stormtroopers stood guard over a knot of sullen prisoners. As Vader approached, he was already reaching out with his senses, wary with the knowledge that anyone of these seemingly innocuous faces could hold a deadly threat, not just to him and his, but to the Empire itself. There. Just as his communications officer approached, he felt it. With one seamless motion, Vader stepped forward, closing his left hand around the neck of a short, mendacious man, of unremarkable appearance. The sith pressed his fingertips firmly into a spot he knew to be precisely atop the hidden implant.
“Nothing, sir.” the comm-tech reported, his voice crackling slightly over his helmet’s speaker. “The information retrieval system has been wiped clean. The plans are not in the main computer.”
Vader acknowledged this news with a barely perceptible nod. He immediately returned his attention to the felon he was holding. The man had raised his hands, prying at Vader’s gauntlet, but whatever threat had been grafted inside his flesh he was temporarily unable to activate it.
“Where is the data you intercepted?” Vader demanded. “What have you done with the information tapes?”
“We…intercepted… no information,” the man denied even as he struggled to trigger whatever lethal trap he concealed. “Err… or… This is a councilor’s ship … We’re on a … diplomatic mission.”
“Chaos take your mission!” Vader growled. How many times had he heard that excuse. Compile evidence against the terrorists – even catch them red-handed – and they claimed diplomatic immunity, hiding behind corrupt politicians and ruthless trader barons who cared only for their own greed. “Where are those plans!”
The officer squirmed again then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Only … the Commander knows.”
It was possible, Vader considered, but… “This ship carries the crest of Alderaan,” he noted. “Is any of the royal family on board? Who are you carrying?”
The man did not answer. Instead, realizing that he was as close as he would ever get to someone in authority, he bit down hard on an embedded capsule and started to exhale. Vader heard the popping sounds as the multiple stages broke and mixed. He hurled the body from him. The corpse struck the opposite wall and bounced once before flopping to the floor. Fortunately, it landed far enough from the watching troopers to preclude infection.
Vader cast a swift look around ensuring that none of his people were compromised and began issuing orders. “Start tearing this ship apart piece by piece, component by component, until you find those plans. As for the passengers, if any, I want them alive.”
TK-9091 led his squad into the dimly lit service passageways of the terrorist’s cruiser. The walls were irregular, harboring countless dark nooks and cavities. He was working his way methodically along them examining each alcove when a figure eased out into the corridor ahead of him. It sank swiftly back into the shadows, but he managed to catch a brief glimpse. What he saw was hardly alarming – a petite, young woman with wide eyes dressed in a flowing white robe. Had he looked a moment sooner, he might have noticed the blaster she held casually, almost professionally, in both hands, but as it was, he saw little more than a pale face and sleeve as she drew back into the recess.
“There’s one,” he said over his shoulder. “Set for stun.”
He was still raising his pistol when she stepped out of her hiding place, calmly leveled her weapon and fired. He dropped, arms going wide, knocking the next trooper off balance for a critical second. The girl snapped off a second shot and fled. She nearly made it into the intersection when she was struck by a blue energy cone and collapsed. The blaster in her grip clattered to the deck.
The surviving troops approached more cautiously. One keeping her covered as a second checked her condition.
“She'll be all right,” he announced. “Inform Lord Vader that we have a prisoner.
Four stormtroopers escorted the slight woman along a narrow passageway; gray but for the sinister red of the auxiliary lighting. They continued, in step, rounding another corner into the gleaming white of one of the main corridors. Here, other troops continued with clean-up activities.
A door to their left hissed open and Vader emerged followed by an imperial commander with a sharp profile. Jir had injudiciously come aboard as soon as the fighting was declared ended, disregarding the recommended bio-hazard precautions. Now, he hovered officiously near the dark lord as the squad approached.
The prisoner didn’t bother to pretend ignorance of her captor’s identity.
“Darth Vader”, the woman sneered, “Only you could be so bold. The Imperial Senate will not sit still for this. When they hear you’ve attacked a diplomatic --”
“Don’t act so surprised, Your Highness,” he countered without waiting for her to finish. “You weren’t on any ‘Mercy Mission’ this time.”
He paused and drew a breath. The bitterness that underscored those two words recalled all too vividly the numerous deaths her faction had already caused. When he continued, his tone was flat.
“You passed directly through a restricted system, ignoring numerous warnings and completely disregarding orders to turn around, until it no longer mattered.”
He watched closely, but she showed no reaction to the charges, no regret for the victims of her callous actions. Her haughty demeanor remained unshaken as she tilted her head slightly, lips compressed, and regarded him with studied contempt.
“In addition,” he continued, “I know that several transmissions were beamed to this ship by rebel spies within that system. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. “I am a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan.”
The slip angered him. She couldn’t even keep her story straight. The ship claimed to be from Alderaan – not traveling to it – and they were no where near that sector of space.
“You are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor,” he declared. “Take her away.”
She spat, but Vader barely seeming to move, managed to place himself in front of the commander. The sputum hissed against his armor and he glanced down before turning to watch as she was marched towards the accessway that would take he aboard the Devastator proper.
Commander Jir looked ashen as well he might. Rumor linked the insurgents with a myriad of poisons, each more horrific than the last.
“Holding her is dangerous,” he warned. “She should be destroyed immediately.”
Vader acknowledge the man’s words with a small nod. The initial reports from Toprawa were indeed harrowing. Whatever the insurrectionist movement had been testing in their hidden laboratories, just the periphery of their activities had been enough to terrify and demoralize the local population.
“No,” Vader decided judiciously, “My first duty is containing this threat to the citizens of the Empire. With the labs immolated, she is now our only link to uncovering the terrorists’ plans.”
“But, her ship – it could be contaminated. If anyone is exposed...”
“When our search is complete, destroy the vessel. Vaporize it, so that not even a bacterium could remain. Then, inform the senate that all aboard were killed.”
“Lord Vader,” a new voice addressed him.
Vader turned to see Commander Praji approaching.
“The plans are not aboard this ship," he reported, "and no transmissions occurred from the time we made contact. An escape pod was ejected during the fighting, but it was conformed at the time that no life forms were aboard.”
“They must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally, Commander.”
Vader followed two grim visaged security officers down the nondescript corridor to the quarantine ward of the medical section. One of them keyed open the door that led into the observation area. Two of the three cubicles were occupied; one holding the princess and the other a distorted figure, hunched in the back corner as far from the transparesteel pane as it could get. This shape wore the fatigue pants, gray shirt and black vest of the Tantive’s crewmen, but his skin was leaden and black fluids seeped from his mouth, nose and sunken eyes.
The medical officer had glanced up from the displays he’d been studying at the sound of the door. Now, he came to attention, his irritation at the interruption transformed to worry.
“Captain,” Vader acknowledged him with a brief nod, “What have you learned?”
“Both surviving patients are confirmed carriers of the same pathogen. The male shows symptoms common to an advanced stage of the disease. The female, however, is atypical. Even if we postulate a more recent exposure, that does not account for the dependencies.”
He gestured and both men turned to regard the woman in white. She sat motionless on the narrow bunk, her gaze unfocused, hands clasped in her lap. As they watched, she turned her head, tracking something unseen, and her lips parted, almost as if she were about to speak, before she subsided back into lethargy.
“She’s experiencing sustained pyrexia,” the doctor observed, “but without the coughing, chills or violent pains normally associated with the early stages. It is possible she has some degree of natural or acquired immunity. I can’t tell any more without at least a blood sample and sub-topical scans.”
Vader turned to regard the physician. The man was middle-aged with fading, ash-blonde hair and a harried expression beneath his pedantic mannerisms.
“What precisely is the disease?” Vader persisted. He was concerned by medic’s apparent reluctance to name the affliction. “You have identified it, have you not?”
The man nodded morosely, and extended a datapad. When Vader made no move to reach for it, he withdrew the device and activated it himself.
“It’s the Tarisian Plague – a new strain. Highly virulent.” He paused then indicated the screens he had been scrutinizing. “The malady is so-called because it is believed to have originated on the planet Taris, possibly occurring as a result of the industrial toxins, or faulty experimentation. It is highly communicable, manifesting initially in influenza-like symptoms which increase in severity over several days. Fifty-four-point-seven percent of the reported cases end in fatality. The rest...”
“The rest succumb to the mutagenic tendencies of the plague, transforming into what are commonly called Rakghouls. Virtually all humanoid species in the galaxy are susceptible to the infection, as are many non-humanoid species as well.
“One major outbreak is reported to have occurred in the time of Revan and resulted in the planet being bombarded from orbit. It was subsequently believed that any surviving Rakghouls were confined to the Undercity. Later, following the resettlement, there is an obscure mention of a Tionese scientist, Lorrick who was believed to have released a strain of the contagion on the planet Kaon before he fled to Ord Mantell.
“As for this new variant, whether it evolved naturally or was deliberately designed for use in biological warfare, we have no reliable means to counter it. If the girl does indeed possess some degree of immunity, it could be crucial to our efforts.”
“Very well,” Vader assented. “You have my permission.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
The doctor strode hurriedly to his control console and activated his remote. The small medical droid dropped into the woman’s cell hovering on repulsors. For the first time, her demeanor changed. Her attention locked on the device and she almost started to rise before shrinking back, wedging herself into the corner as it drew nearer.
Wilhuff Tarkin, Imperial Grand Moff and regional governor of the Outer Rim stood on the bridge of the DS-1 Orbital Defense Station. Construction was finally complete on this prototype, a structure the size of a small moon, designed to function as a fully self-contained world. The first product of the Distant Shores program, the DS-1 was intended to bring cohesion and unity to the far-flung systems of the galaxy and had been Tarkin’s pet project for the past several years.
Now, however, rather than anticipating all that he hoped to accomplish as they ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity, Tarkin found himself deeply troubled. The reports from the Immortal on their investigation in the Toprawa system were ominous indeed. The insurgents had utilized advanced laboratories and had access to cutting-edge technology. The vital question now was whether they had the means to disseminate the resulting virus.
Vader was pondering this same conundrum as he paced the deck. His disquiet had been steadily burgeoning with the approach of the impending crisis. Tarkin regarded him somberly and Vader came to a halt.
“The future grows darker,” he announced, “There is little time before the terrorists act.”
“What of the princess?” the Moff inquired.
“Her resistance to the infection is considerable, but it will be some time before we can develop an effective serum.”
They were interrupted by the precipitate arrival of Commander Praji. The normally implacable officer was all but trembling.
“The final decryption is completed,” he blurted out, so agitated that he omitted any proper address to his superiors. “All the plans we recovered from Tatooine are… they are...”
“Calm yourself, Nahdonnis,” Vader advised. “We know your news will be unpleasant.”
Praji gave a curt nod and drew himself to attention, the familiar military discipline finally enabling him to suppress his horror and give a coherent report.
“It’s Alderaan. The terrorists have apparently been operating there for years. There is an extensive tunnel network that can be accessed near King’s Pass in the Juran Mountains. These tunnels are infested with rakghouls. Thousands – perhaps hundreds of thousands – even they don’t know the numbers, but they are on the brink of a global pandemic. There are even cases reported in most of the major metropolitan areas. If it spreads…
“The plans we retrieved included the group’s manifesto. This Rebel Alliance – they aren’t just anarchists. They want to destroy civilization itself – to topple the Empire and force every world in the galaxy back into isolation and some primitive level of subsistence. Free, they say, from outside interference.”
In the silence that followed, Tarkin let his gaze sweep over his bridge crew, noting the expressions of shock and horror mirrored by everyone within earshot. His perusal stopped on the attentive figure of Admiral Motti.
“Tell your programmers to set course for Alderaan,” Tarkin ordered.
“Right away.”
In the command center, two men stood before the grand, tridimentional viewscreen that filled the outer wall; Vader’s dark armored form a full head taller than that of Governor Tarkin. The lambent sphere of a modest-sized world floated in the center of the screen, a jade and blue colored orb wrapped in a swirl of white.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” inquired Tarkin, “and so peaceful in appearance. A pity its history is not one to match. First, the human colonists warred with the native Killiks then late-comers of their own kind whom they termed invaders. Later, it was house against house, the secession from the Republic, each house an armed fortress with surface to air munitions, a private militia. Most recently, the disappearance of Thul, the sudden rise of House Organa. There were warning signs, if we had only known to look.”
“And now?” Vader’s tone was reserved, as dispassionate as his mask.
“The first phase of the terrorists’ plan was to seize control of the ports and communications. As virulent as the disease is, as quickly as it spreads, it is now off-world.”
Vader inclined his head briefly, his gaze never leaving the display.
“We send orders to the fleet,” Tarkin continued, “Mobilize every reserve. Convert factories and medical facilities to mass produce the serum we’re developing. Quarantine travelers. We have to stop the spread. Treatment, where it’s an option, but the rakghouls will have to be destroyed, and Alderaan…. Alderaan is lost to us.”
“For the good of the galaxy,” replied Vader.
Tarkin turned to study him. Ever reserved, the perfect gentleman, the moff gave little outward sign of what he was feeling.
“What would you do?” he asked. “If I were not here; if it fell to you? What if this station had never been built?”
“I would do whatever was necessary,” Vader assured him, “Orbital bombardment, blockade, interdiction. Anything the proved essential for the Empire, for its citizens, and for the greater good.”
One corner of Tarkin’s mouth flicked briefly, the ghost or the echo of a smile. “The dark knight,” he said softly, more to himself than to his companion, “The emperor’s champion.” With a last, private and inaudible sigh, the moff straightened. He stared directly at the gleaming planet one final time as he shouldered the incumbent burden.
Tarkin turned to address Motti.
“Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready.”
