Title: “And death shall have no dominion", the sequel to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light” Author: AzureAngel2, a silly person with weird ideas at times Muse and co-editor: @DarthUncle, brave husband Chief editor now: @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Time frame: The story starts in 14 BBY. To be exactly shortly after the Emperor and his servant, Darth Vader, crash down into the wilderness of Ryloth. Summary: Orson Callan Krennic is known to be a man of vision and action. But he also has a secret wish. Four years ago his most favourite person in the entire universe got murdered. He cannot turn back time, but he wants a substitute for his immense loss. This is why he will steal from the Emperor, stranded on Ryloth due to a plot of Cham Syndulla. He can only hope not to be caught red-handed. It would destroy him. Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company Prologue: In the early morning light the Citadel tower seemed unreal. Its entire metal façade was glittering as if someone had sprinkled fairy dust all over it. This way the military building looked more like the enchanted abode of a princess, ready for the rescue. But there was no dragon to be slain. Nor a brier hedge to overcome. There was only a strict time schedule to follow. Some acts of diversionary tactics also needed to be displayed. Chess, an ancient strategy game, had only three rules. They said,“Carefully, carefully, carefully.” The Emperor was certainly nobody to trifle with. Especially, when it was about his personal belongings. “I am not afraid.” Orson Krennic smiled to himself, while quoting these words from memory. They originated from his old fairy tale book, that he used to have back on Chandrila as a child. “I must go and see this Sleeping Beauty.” A squad of Coastal defender stormtroopers, more commonly known as shoretroopers, came marching towards him. He neither slowed down or showed great haste. Walking as casual as possible under the circumstances, he met the men in the middle of the square. Their leader, recognizable via his sand blue stripe that went along the top of his chest plates and onto the top of his shoulder guard, held up a hand. He came to a halt and so did the soldiers. “Pete,” the masked man greeted Orson Krennic. “Long time no see!” “Trouble on top of the circus again.” “If you cannot fix that, nobody can.” Against Imperial protocol they gave each other a high five. “Smell you later, Daggett!” Orson Krennic laughed. “Put some cans of Corellian ale for us in the fridge, would you,” replied the squad leader. “Field exercise makes us thirsty.” “I'll do my best.” Grinning, Orson Krennic moved on, trying not to tread with the dignity and purpose of an Imperial officer. Instead he walked like the farm boy that he used to be a life time ago. To the military staff of this base he was not the Director of the Advanced Weapons Research division. Nor was he the architect behind the local Imperial security complex. He was simply Pete Rayburn, a radar technician. This alter ego, on which he had carefully worked on the past four years, came with a foolproof disguise. A false beard, a dark-brown wig, spectacles and coloured contact lenses. Nobody here on Scarif had ever questioned him. He had joined the men at the cantina tables, had used their rest rooms and showers side by side. Off-duty he had played guitar and had sung the songs of their home worlds with them. It made Orson Krennic sad, that he would need to betray his comrades within the next hour. They were good men, loyal to the Empire and less posh than the wowsers that Tarkin gathered around him all the time. Folk like Admiral Conan Antonio Motti and General Cassio Tagge would never know how to relax themselves with a drink at the beach. Or how to fry a lobster above a fire pit. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a movement in the undergrowth. An ugly visage showed itself and revealed a yellowish grin. He knew for certain that it was the Lasat who belonged to Saw Gerrera's partisans. That vile creature had mercilessly executed Alexsandr's entire platoon on Onderon. Luckily, it had left the able ISB agent alive. Orson Krennic knew that his friend would not agree with his plans for today. But they were based on a simple fact. In a galaxy too vast to reign properly, children were able to get lost without a trace. Even those who were stored up for safe keeping like Chandrilan grappaberries in a jam jar. That madness would end today. To enter the building was not an obstacle for him. “Need help with that bag, Pete?” asked the serving officer straight away. He was a normal stormtrooper and guarded the elevators. Orson Krennic looked for the man's ID number. “Nay, Trevor. You would not want to go up there. It is a bit spooky, to be honest. Them spiders weave pretty big nets so close to the dish.” Laughing, the stormtrooper let him enter the main lift that went straight up to the top. But Orson Krennic did not stay there for long. After a small detour he was inside the secret chamber that the Emperor had wished for straight after the death of his one and only niece. He walked straight up to a large clone tank and flattened his nose against its glass. A human being, barely five years old, was slumbering inside. It wore the much younger version of a face that had been dear to him for more than forty years. “Hello there, sleepy head.” His lips kissed the cool glass, leaving stains. “Time to wakey-wakey!” But Sleeping Beauty would not open her eyes and smile at him. To wake her up would require a bit more of work from his side. He checked his chrono and realized that he had exactly forty minutes left. Then Saw Gerrera would set hell loose on the beaches of Scarif. Around that time he hoped to be far away with his precious ward.