Coruscant “Why here?” The question came from Rae Sloane, newly minted Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy; such as it was in its current state. She’d asked this several times, the first as they arrived at the Imperial palace and gazed upon its immense shadow which loomed over Coruscant’s wealthier districts as if it were its own mountain range. That impression might have been helped by the fact that its doors were massive enough to fit a Victory Class Star Destroyer through and was large enough that required its own atmospheric controls. Indeed, the Imperial palace as redesigned by Emperor Palpatine was indeed the size of a mountain. She’d asked the question a third time as they passed the massive granite slabs which acted as hanging gardens and it was only a look from Gilad Pelleaon that cowed her into silence. Sloane had taken to wearing Grand Admiral whites, with a sky blue cape while in dress attire, the insignia of the fleets she commanded plastered on the back. It was gaudy, but the of the right sort and added a sort of martinet presence to the woman whose puffy hair was eternally waging a war of resistance against her Grand Admirals cap. Supreme commander Gilad Pelleaon by contrast wore dark black and included a cape with silver lining dotting the edges and unlike Rae Sloane who seemed to enjoy the trappings of office in a newly revitalized Imperial military Gilad had the look of a man who would much rather be in a simple officers tunic and with his hands in his garden.
Bertoff Hissa, the current Grand Vizier technically lived in the imperial palace, but the bat faced near human looking Grand Moff spent most of his nights in his penthouse near the commerce district of the Imperial capital, preferring the bustle of the economy over the tomb like, cavernous surroundings of this place. They’d boarded the interior tram and had been ferried by members of the Crimson guard to one of the hundreds of “indoor gardens” filled with nocturnal, bioluminescent plants that created neon colored light shows as they absorbed nutrients and UV rays from the lamps above that simulated moonlight. They walked through an area where small “creeks' ' created to flow inside synth marble embankments flowed into a gravity well which shot the water up, creating a reverse waterfall that brought water flow against natural gravity and created mist. She didn’t like this and again she asked for a fifth and final time only for a voice to answer her that belonged to a porcine looking man in red and green robes, covered in fine jewelry and grease from the fried avian he was currently cramming into his gullet by a hand swollen enough to look like a Hutts. “Because, she wants to remind us..err..hold on..something in my teeth”
The man beside him, Grand Admiral Octavian rolled his eyes “She wants to remind us who our “sovereign” was”
-A demented space wizard clinging to a dead cult founded by a long extinct species who stood in my way and held me back because of my gender and social class...And who built an empire to fail given men like you have power.- Grand Admiral Sloane thought “No one in the galaxy will forget the name Sheev Palpatine, or Darth Sidious for that matter” she’d said, with more scorn than she wanted to allow into her voice. Octavian Grant said nothing, though he gave the slightest inclination of his head as a sign of affirmation. Octavian Grant seldom spoke to people who weren’t part of the aristocracy if he could avoid it, he spent two decades ignoring her. Supreme Commander Pellaeon gently declined Plumba’s offer to take a seat, wanting be far away from the obese wretch. It had been disturbing though, why would a civilian member of the Ruling Council be invited to what he’d thought was a pure military gathering? Over the next ten minutes, more than just the ruling Council Arrived. Several Captains in charge of ISD battlegroups, survivors of the different factions and dead Admirals and Grand Admirals who were purged when Pontifex Invictus Janus crushed Sate Pestage to death with his own throne. Most were enemies of each other, most had been suitably chastened into coexistence, some found religion. It was then, that Grand Vizier Baretoff Hissa arrived, flanked by the Imperial Guards corp in their crimson uniforms though an old style seemed to have been resurrected as they possessed the head crests of their old Republic counterparts. Hissa walked between them, wearing robes in the military gray of the Imperial moffs, refusing to adorn himself in all the odd purple and dark blues that Pestage fawned over, nor the absurd hats. His eyes gleamed in the light, his fangs bared looking every bit the creature of the night. “Ah, Gilad! Rae! I’m glad you accepted”
“When I.I’s director comes calling” Pellaeon remarked, displeasure in his voice. He’d hated the Isard family for decades, they were cruel, treacherous and they ate their own. Everything he believed was wrong with the Empire and the Republic before it neatly wrapped up in one group of kriffed up humans. “At least you picked a good venue for the meeting Grand Vizier’ Gilad remarked eying the ornate night gardens. A shadow, caused the Royal Guardsmen to turn towards the walkways leading deeper into the night gardens, only to relax when they saw the figure of General Paltr Carvin who gave Hissa a curt nod, he’d been in the running for the position of Grand Vizier and was passed over for Hissa as the new “order” was sanctified. There was no love lost between them but his jaw was tight in his mouth “I only came for the garden” he admitted “The woman has zero right to summon me like a dog”
They were all here, when suddenly the sounds of heavy boots disrupted the tense quiet and everyone gazed in awe at the black clad Imperial StormTroopers, the Shadow guard loyal to “blackhole” The mysterious dark side mystic who’d been the I.I director before Isard, the recluse who withdrew in the final years of the reign of the Emperor, only to return as a sort of minister of propaganda, he’d disappeared a month before Endor and many believed him dead. No one had any idea if the man was still alive, but given his infamously paranoid nature and how Invictus Janus had a habit of butchering any Sith cultists who hadn’t joined her (which so far was only that tall, if attractive ex whore turned inquisitor Vader’s dog used to call “Darth Dope”) no one could fault that paranoia. The Shadow guard stepped aside, revealing a large, spider-like holographic projector which slowly settled onto the ground a bit like an animal about to have a nap. That left only their host, who’d called them but had decided to be fashionably late, which made more than a few present reached for a blaster or some antitoxin pills just in case. “To remind us of our former emperor” Sloane murmured, taking an unconscious step back from the spider like holoprojector and the shadow troopers. She was joined by several Captains who, after witnessing what Miryia Farlina of House Janus, now their so called “cultural leader” had done were more acutely aware of how dangerous force users were than ever.
“So this meeting is about “Invictus” Janus then?” Rae asked, recalling the conversation the two women shared recently after the Arkanian cobra retrieved her war master and assassin droid. That had been one part a dressing down and a total deconstruction of her mindset and one part, darkly inspiring. Two things that came from a clarity of insight and a charisma that Rae was certain wasn’t enhanced by the force which made it all the more concerning. Their combined silence, was all the confirmation she needed and sloane took a breath, she knew she’d be speaking for Supreme Commander Pellaeon who was now looking around the massive garden, taking mental notes on the plants and discussing the lay out with General Carvin.
The kriff was it with these people and gardens?
“Dark Greetings to you all, what do I owe this…’delightful’ interruption?” A black Holo avatar with stars shimmering within the void in what appeared to be robes with muscular arms and a peculiar crescent shaped formation on what appeared to be its head with piercing white eyes looking forward.
Several of the Captains began to shift backwards as the entity known only as Blackhole spoke, his voice rung out with its usual neutrality but there had been a hint of a threat below it as if the mysterious figure whom everyone believed dead for months was off doing something more important than appearing at a meeting that could potentially determine the fate of the Galactic Empire. Grand Vizier Bertoff Hissa sneered at the shadowed figure, being among the few “brave” enough to think his position would somehow shield him from the wrath of someone rumored to be a powerful devotee of the darkness. “I bid thee Dark greetings Blackhole” as stiff as his posture might have been there was a sense that Hissa enjoyed saying it, how he missed the old greetings. Finally, after a time one spoke, Rae turned her eyes towards the man doing the speaking, he was Captain of an old Victory class Star Destroyer called the Perseverance. -were things so bad, this constitutes our leadership?- No wonder the imperial citizenry were taking to Miryia’s cult like a Mon Calamari to water. “With respect m’lord, but in case you haven’t noticed a lot has happened since your withdrawal from Galactic politics, beyond the death of the Emperor Grand Vizier Pestage was murdered via the powers of a Jedi! A Xeno! By his own throne no less! A dozen Admirals lay dead, half that number in Moffs and her treacherous xeno cohorts seized control!” his voice tapered off into a muted whimper when he realized he’d just disrespected Blackhole and he quickly lowered his head in shame. “Forgive me, it’s been a trying time”
“More than that...I hear!” Plumba said, his jowls rolling like waves off a cliff as ignored the simpering plea of a man who may have just walked up his own gibbet. “she’s inserted herself into imperial politics as a sort of minister of culture and faith!”
“Pontifex Invictus was no mere political post” Gilad intoned, his features rigid, conflicted. On the one hand, the morale of the Empire had improved by leagues. She’d removed several of the most corrupt of the Imperial Moffs, their followers and cronies began meeting with unfortunate accidents the moment that crested killer returned out of legend and the rest? Well that were lynched, torn apart on the streets by irate fanatics who’d just discovered religion for the first time in their miserable lives. That, that frightened Pellaeon more than anything, the power of mythical figures in times of desperation. The Galaxy was looking for heroes, the people for saints and messianic figures and while the farm boy on Yavin managed to avoid a personality cult, this woman embraced the notion. “Between the Paeus Dei and the Sith, the galaxy has been ravaged by eleven thousand years of sectarian strife.”
Grand Admiral Sloane allowed the discomfort in the air to mount at the irony of a man who served the Jedi and Sith bringing up an uncomfortable truth, it made it no less weighty because Gilad was unquestionably on the side of the woman. His reservations might have been bait to create open discussion, but Sloane knew full well he wouldn’t side against her. “Which brings the question” Carvin put in, at last speaking as the sound of Plumba’s jaws clamping around some Manan Oysters filled the air. “Can an Empire founded by a Sith, be governed in spirit if not in actuality, by a Jedi”
“That, General Carvin; is the very question we are here to answer '' many turned, except for Supreme Commander Pellaeon who was staring at some Umbarian night violets and some Corelian posies. Above them, the voice rang from the stairs leading down from the palace tram that led straight to the Throne Room and the personal apartments of the former Emperor. A thing so arrogant, it set Grand Vizier Hissa’s blood to boiling. If Miryia Janus was an Umbarian cobra, dark, yet radiant and utterly lethal, than I.I director Ysanne Isard was a Mandalorian Jackal, tall, elegant, austere, grim and venomous and treacherous even to its own pack but no less elegant. Decked out in the crimson uniform of her directorship, flanked by her own crimson colored StormTroopers, wearing none of the formal trappings of the others, though not necessarily needing it. Ysanne was beautiful, her poise carefully crafted to convey regality but also her own deep abiding bitterness. Barely in her thirties, she was in the prime of her life yet her mismatched eyes, the gray streak in her hair and the tight, gaunt nature of her face made her look a decade or so older. She walked down those stairs as if the palace was already hers, even the plants began to yield to her passing as some of the orchids turned their “heads” away (no doubt produced by some UV patch on her wrist for effect), above them night birds began to migrate from the “solar” gardens into the interior of the night garden and she eyed the group with that sneering arrogance that was almost a familial trait.
“Gentlemen, ladies, I bid you...Dark Greetings”
“Oh Isard... my second placeholder for Imperial Intelligence is the one behind this summons? How uninteresting.” Blackholes hologram spoke.
“I summoned you because there has been a political upheaval and I need a word of advice. I need allies..”
The Hologram began wheezing in ugly uncharacteristic laughter that disturbed the onlookers.
“My dear Isard you are acting as if I wasn’t already aware...my eyes and ears are everywhere or did you forget my previous position already?”
“I never had an exact date you even had the position of director my father was around since the Clone wars.” Isard began to sound annoyed at Blackholes posturing.
“Ah child how little you truly know then, what do you desire? For me to join your doomed stand against the Arkanian? I personally enjoy her antics despite her...flawed ideals on the true way of the universe.
“So, you’re finally here and descending from the palace stairs as if you were the Galaxy’s mistress huh?” Hissa spat, his voice venomous and threatening. Behind him, a series of lights oscillated from blue to crimson causing a ficus colony to begin to shimmer somewhere towards the edge of the room. “Funny how I don’t recall you saying anything before, during or after” his posture bent as if he was attempting to look down at the woman who was standing over him in a feral bit to accentuate his contempt for Isard. Carvin who was looking from Captain, to Moff, to Vizier’s eyes finally settled on the face of Gilad Pellaeon; their supreme commander. It was the look of a man who wanted to be tending to the plants which presently surrounded him, rather than engaging a wildly dangerous female. Grand Admiral Sloane spoke up, her eyes narrowed “Doomed is a good descriptor Blackhole, what you’re suggesting is presently treasonous”
“Technically we make the laws” Plumba responded, waving a fat finger in the air, the fat of the man's arms causing his robes to ripple from the vibrations. “It’s not treason if we say it’s not!” the joviality of his vapid input caused Octavian Grant who’d been silent up until this point to let out a hiss of disgust “Yes, let us plot to murder a woman who has caused a surge in volunteers, whose seemingly able to root out her enemies on a whim and whose mere word causes rioters to storm mansions and dismember Imperial officials”. Were they insane? The whole galaxy was experiencing a cultural crisis, war was everywhere, starvation was rampant in some sectors and at any moment entire planets could be swallowed up by some mad warlord from one of the hundred independent factions or some errant acolyte who fancied themselves the next “Lord of the Sith”. The woman had the breeding, the rhetorical skills and the last name and the historical weight behind her, to sweep in and set up a religion. “And what do you suggest we do?” Plumba spat “Nothing?”
“Contain her and channel her, direct her and her zealots to our end?” Another put in.
“It seems to me” Paltr Carvin began, his tone measured to try and keep this unofficial council session from degenerating into a brawl. “That Director Isard’s stand is only doomed if we don’t act. Have we forgotten the powers of our Emperor so that we’re humbled by mere Jedi tricks? What is she, but one of eleven thousand we ground into dust since Order sixty six all those years ago”
Sloane turned, speaking again for Pellaeon who had taken to gazing at a patch of silver daffodils. “You, really think her powers are so insignificant?” “Are you comparing her to the Emperor?” he shot back and for a second Sloane found herself considering that and it was perhaps the more terrifying realization she’d experienced today. Carvin could speak all he wished, but she was there, she saw the serpent crush Sate Pestage with his own throne, which rose like some animated golem to devour him, she saw the blaster fire dance around her. She’d hunted Jedi before, ordinary Jedi didn’t do things like that. “She’s nothing, you’ve let desperation cloud your Judgment”
“Indeed her power in the Dar...I mean the Force is formidable, channeling her is the most option for you my dear conspirators.” Blackhole caught himself on this error, it mattered little if the Arkanian or Skywalker won he would be sure he would benefit the most.
“How are you so confident we couldn’t topple the Alien? She's still a mortal being” Isard asked
Blackholes holo merely looked at the current Intelligence Director with scorn and spoke.
“Oh she is by birth but she's parlayed with entities who are by most definitions...remnants of beings considered “gods”, her degrees of mortality are arguable at this point.” A perfect vessel he thought.
“Spare me this cryptic nonsense Blackhole, can she die?”
“Why would I even bother giving you a straight answer? It's not like you could succeed regardless of the answer.” She was one blessed by the Dark itself. His predictions saw much carnage and decay at her hands in the future. Why would he want to raise a withered finger to stop that?
This conversation was as pointless as it was stupid, Gilad thought as he gazed at a pair of “lunar flowers” which had begun to track the shifting motion of the lights in thie dark place. Why couldn’t he get them to survive in his garden? He’d spent ten years tending to the last batch only for them to die during one particularly long spring. -Is this the work of Sith sorcery? Or can a poor soldier like me figure out how to make this work? I need to order soil samples collected- hopefully it wasn’t something awful like the ground being watered by the blood of the Emperors enemies. Palpatine, for as long as Gilad knew him, hated gardens, his hatred of something as simple as growing things, tending to them and enjoying the calm was nearly enough to convince him to join the rebellion once upon a time. Only Blackholes correction caught Pellaeons attention, how interesting. He did not amend his statement to say light merely the force. So this Jedi had become truly gray? How had she not been devoured? Yoda always said attempting to juggle light and dark resulted in disaster and Sidious had echoed those sentiments among the few times he’d said anything on the matter in the Supreme Commander’s presence. The commentary about parlaying with the obscure, macabre and unknown made his mouthpiece raise her eyebrow. “The history books describe her as the greatest enemy Darth Ruin possessed, she pardoned no one who was Sith and raised entire entire planets and killed billions to wipe away the darkness. Hard to imagine her tapping into something she hated”
A war master, a politician, a hero. There were moons named after her, battles she’d won were still celebrated as minor holidays on many worlds in the expansion region and mid rim. But an explorer of darkness? The thought of her compromising her convictions made Grand Admiral Sloane simultaneously discouraged and amused. “Hah! The greatest foe and a fearless hero who struck out hard and fast during the early days of the war and then slowed down” Plumba muttered and Hissa raised a surprised eyebrow at the implication, damn the porcine bastard had odd insights at times. “Are you implying something?”
“Only that she failed”
Oh, not as bright as Hissa thought then.
“Or did all she could to extend the war” Granted intoned then shrugged for it had no bearing on today, except that it only piqued his curiosity as he wondered why someone like that would do such a thing. “Consult your history pads, the massacre of the High Council occurred on a fortress world, deep within Republic space. All the surviving masters of repute and the lesser councils had to go on was the testimony of one blind Miralian Padawan and two service droids”.
“This is an exercise in wasting time” Carvin waved his hand dismissively “We all know what happened next, the war ground into a stalemate and then the Jedi took over the Republic and nine centuries of intermittent warfare followed..none of this matters not today and not to our conversation at present. It means nothing”
“I suppose the question Ysanne; is this?” Gilad broke the silence, finally speaking to Isard. “Are you asking us to call a vote to support you, over her?”
Silence reigned, but for the chewing of Plumba.
“Yes, I am. This upstart is a threat to all of us and perhaps the galaxy in time.”
“Upstart?” Grant asked turning his head towards Isard, there was something rather absurd in a comment like that. “Do not forget Isard, while she may be new to the empire, she was a Jedi for nearly a century before the new Sith wars and led troops in battle and commanded armadas for nearly a century of a thousand year long war. While you’re barely out of your adolescence..and..Well outside of killing your father I can’t really think of a single achievement you’ve to your name?”
Hissa let out a laugh “Ysanne Isard, who would be empress and would have us plunge ourselves into another civil war while our enemies grow stronger! Tell me woman, how do you plan to suppress rioting across the core? Do you think House Janus will take the murder of their own lying down? A Mothma an Iblis and an Organa were enough to start a civil war that took decades for us to fight and it cost us our Emperor and millions in men and trillions in credits! Do you think we could survive more founding families turning on us?”
“We’re the Empire not the Republic” Carvin snapped “I don’t intend to kowtow to a bunch of highborn slugs living off the achievements of men who died thirty thousand years ago”
“We cannot survive another civil war you dense fool” Rae Sloane snapped, her voice was venomous “And you...little girl, you weren’t there, you didn’t see. I did, does she concern me? She does, is she dangerous? She is but Blackhole is right, we can’t stop a storm, only channel its wrath and ride it out”
“You forget Grand Admiral the Jedi were Traitors to the Republic, and their antics necessitated the creation of the Empire in the first place. It's hypocritical to allow one to control it no? Likewise Carvin is correct being beholden to those loyal to her is indeed a betrayal, there are other ways to quell a rebellious populace without firing a shot but it would take time and strategy.”
Blackhole merely watched in amusement, ironically while most of the Galactic core knew only what the Empire fed them about Jedi the Sith were even less then a myth to the galactic populace and to many they were not much different.
To Blackhole himself both were fools who had no grasp of the greater truths of the Universe, the way of the Dark. The ideal that the only thing truly eternal was destruction itself, even the force itself was dependent on life and eventually it would die with the universe’s heat death. This Janus woman was as foolish as she was insane, believing she was operating in the will of the “Light” , she was a true instrument of destruction and entropy.
She had stolen something of unspeakable entities beyond reason and gained greater power in the name of her crusades and was awarded for it by the Dark. In many ways she was no different from his mentors the Sorcerers of Rhand, but she deluded herself into thinking she was something otherwise. She dressed herself up in the useless, frivolous deeds of heroism but somewhere in Janus’s deluded mind she had to have realized she was no better then the very Darth Ruin she opposed. He knew the truth of her deeds during the so called “New Sith Wars”, if anything she was living validation of the Sorcerer’s belief in the Dark.
There was plenty of death and destruction in Isards path but a force user always provides more destruction it seemed, her quant little plot would never yield the results Blackhole desired.
“I suggest acting against Janus is foolish, she is formidable or did you ignore how she wielded the power to snuff the life out of the other force users and commanders in the Empire?” Blackhole continued to feign loyalty to the Arkanian, her role was not yet done.
“Well” Grand Admiral Rae Sloane’s eyes narrowed at Ysanne Isard, a woman the older Sloane saw as little more than a violent, sadistic upstart who inherited a position through patricide and was born to the purple, to privilege where she had to bleed for every promotion, every success. A woman she took as the embodiment of imperial corruption and whom she despised. “It seems you have your answer director Isard...Pray we don’t inform on you”
Carvin shot a dismissive glare towards Sloane before shaking his head “A woman’s place is in the kitchen or on her back, not commanding Starfleets or playing at Spymaster.”
“Nor at playing a Messiah I take it?” Scorn filled Isard’s eyes and she turned to leave her footfalls ringing out like distant thunder as she made no attempt to measure the sound of plastoids brushing against synthmarble. Before departing the Gardens entirely she turned back as Blackhole’s holographic visage vanished. “Remember, all of you had the chance to put an end to this madness now. When the time comes, when you realize it, my price for accepting your support and bestowing forgiveness will be far steeper” a martinet’s pirouette later and she’d stocked into the darkness as the crowd of would be conspirators began to depart, leaving Sloane and the Supreme Commander alone, Gilad preferring to linger awhile in the gardens.
“Why, won’t I report this to Sub Director Raveem? For the same reason I won’t report it to the Pontifex herself”, Pellaeon knelt, gently parting some of the thick pink glowing grass to allow a flower long denied the light to take its first doses of synth lunar light in days. It bloomed, glowed, shimmered with a blindly light that seemed to fill the entire courtyard up to its farthest, darkest corners. Then passed into withering dust in Gilad’s calloused fingers. -Because they’ll already know- he thought and smiled sadly. Then, noticing Sloane perceived his thoughts ,and rose again. “Ysanne Isard is like that Rose, rare, bright, intense and blinding. But transitory, withering in mere seconds. Nonetheless, it deserves its chance to shine, even if that radiance may come at cost” he gestured to several plants in the general vicinity which had received such a violent burst of UV light that they’d burned and began to fall in on themselves, their lights flickering into darkness, the greedy, choking, grasping things paying the ultimate price for denying its smaller neighbors the light.
“After all, an old forest must sometimes be cleared and parasitic flowers must be scoured, root and stem as with their destruction comes renewal”
As they left, purple, snaking vines began to climb up several of the failing trees so scorched by their tiny neighbor that the nocturnal things began to die. Engorging themselves on the remains of that vibrant last stand.
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