Beyond - Legends Saga Before - Legends Saga - PT Saga - OT Saga - ST Before the Saga Beyond the Saga Saga - Legends Tales from One Canon

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by Sinrebirth , Sep 25, 2023.

  1. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
    Title: Tales from One Canon
    Author: Sinrebirth
    Timeframe: Between 200,000 BBY and 140 ABY
    Characters: Luke, Mara, Leia, Han, Jacen, Jaina, Anakin, Ben, Tahiri, Tenel Ka, Allana, Ben Skywalker, Vestara, Jagged, Daala, Abeloth, Thrawn, Mas Amedda, Darth Krayt, Palpatine, Snoke, Mon Mothma, Ackbar, Borsk Fey'lya, Pellaeon, Niathal, Cal Omas, Villecham, Parck, Vergere, Rae Sloane, Darth Bane, the Father, Daughter, Son, among others
    Genre: Adventure
    Summary: The stories of Legend and Canon weave in mysterious ways. When the Prime Timeline is revealed, it exposes truths to all.

    This is an on-going series of shorts and stories that will weave a wider narrative of continuity across One Canon, a continuity experiment which allows you to include all of your favorites from either timeline. Occasionally a short-story may be struck from One Canon Continuity if one has gotten carried away, but not always.
  2. Force Smuggler

    Force Smuggler Force Ghost star 7

    Sep 2, 2012
    Looking forward to this with great interest
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  3. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
    House Keeping!

    1. Ben Solo is the fourth child of Han and Leia. He was born one year after Dark Empire: Empire's End, from Legends. This coincides with the Battle of Jakku in Canon. In that respect, all Canon post-Endor references begin from the Battle of Onderon, not the Battle of Endor. So anything set, for example, five years after Endor in Canon actually takes place in 15 ABY, such as Mandalorian season one.
    2. The Yuuzhan Vong War lasted four years.
    3. The Legacy of the Force novels take place in their original timeline placement i.e. 37 ABY, as mentioned in Betrayal.
    4. Episode VII: The Force Awakens, takes place in 41 ABY.
    5. The final death of a character in the timeline is considered their final appearance, so any contradictions will be smoothed out.
  4. Darkslayer

    Darkslayer #1 Sabine Wren Fan star 7

    Mar 26, 2013
    Dude, this is so awesome! Gonna put a notification alert on this thread.
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  5. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
    Tale One

    A Family Matter

    Circa 11 ABY

    Between the events of Aftermath III: Empire's End and Jedi Academy Trilogy I.

    The galaxy had settled.

    Not entirely, of course, because the tumultuous changes that had been wrought.

    A Republic had fallen, an Empire had risen, and a Galactic Civil War had torn down everything.

    Rebuilding that would take time.

    But the war, at very least, was over.

    The Battle of Jakku had been won, the Galactic Concordance - the so-called Coruscant Accords - had been signed, and the New Republic restored to the Core Worlds.

    Leia Organa Solo knew, however, the hardest work was to begin. It was twilight on Chandrila, the planet which currently hosted the New Republic Chancellor. Hanna City presided over a beautiful sea that merely sparkled in the night stars, providing a soothing context to what was yet another late-night feed. Leia found it a good time to be reflective, but her mind slid towards politics more often than not. Leia still had to keep herself calm, mind you, as Ben was as Force sensitive as any of her other children.

    Other children.

    There was a slight pang there. Leia hadn't seen Jacen, Jaina and Anakin for nearly a year. Kept safe on Anoth, protected by Winter and the Noghri, it had given Leia time to focus on her pregnancy and whatever crisis of the week during the war. Now the war was over, they would likely bring the children together, but at the same time, Leia knew how dangerous that was. In all likelihood, they would very rarely bring the four children together. At least until they were sure the Empire was firmly done.

    Chancellor Mon Mothma - Chief of State to some, President to others - was sure. Coruscant had been handed over to the New Republic, and the Imperial Navy had withdrawn to eight sectors in the Core and Inner Rim. The rest was being slowly but surely annexed by the New Republic Defense Force. But Mon was so confident, she had already put in orders for 90% of the NRDF to be scrapped, which alarmed Leia to her very soul.

    Ben whimpered as he fed, and Leia applied a Jedi calming technique for the moment.

    Ackbar was confident he could build a solid military core from the elite units and most modern craft available, and the Senate, itself based on Nakadia, had ratified the construction of various new warships. The Mon Calamari MC90, Rendilli Republic-class Star Destroyer, Loronar Belarus-class medium cruiser, Kuati Corona-class frigate and the latest Corellian Gunships would shortly be disbursed throughout the Navy, besides former Mon Calamari merchant vessels, bespoke Assault Frigates and captured Imperial Star Destroyers.

    But the majority would go to scrap.

    Leia took another breath.

    A mere two years ago the New Republic had consisted of hundreds of thousands of worlds, but then Thrawn, the reborn Emperor, and the warlords had come, and now barely ten thousand systems were committed to the cause. They were among the most affluent and influential worlds of the galaxy - Coruscant, Kuat, Fondor, Corellia, Hosnian Prime, Chandrila, Mon Calamari, to name a few - but the Empire's former territory covered a third of the galaxy, and much of it was ruled by warlords who didn't care for the Accords.

    Han had pointed out that most of the remaining fifteen or so warlords couldn't even beat a tenth of the Navy combined, but Leia would have preferred to keep the military as it was for now. Luke disagreed, saying that the disarmament of the galaxy was key to continued peace, to which Leia had rebutted that the Republic didn't have ten thousand Jedi to step up, to which he had promptly affirmed his intention to restore the Jedi Order.

    It hadn't been the most civilized discussion.

    Leia winced at that, and found herself examining her emotions.

    The Jedi Order, or, as Luke liked to call it, the New Jedi Order, had been between Luke, Leia and the children for the most part for years. Occasionally they encountered a Force user, but ordinarily some Dark Jedi or wannabe Sith seizing a portion of the Empire and attempting their own scheme; Lumiya, Jerec, Shadowspawn and C'Boath came to mind immediately, but there had been others. Apart from Mara Jade, and more recently Kam Solusar, there had been very few that could be considered Jedi. Even the SpecForce officers, Kyle Katarn, Erling Tredway, and Corwin Shelvay, they had merely drifted across their path.

    It was Luke and Leia who had, around her pregnancies, on Endor, Coruscant, and more recently Ajan Kloss, trained. She was his first student. Yes, Leia's path led to politics, and she had handed her own lightsaber back to him, but, it was just them two against the galaxy.

    Her gaze turned to the mantlepiece, ignoring Han's snorting and Ben's nuzzling. Yes, she still had the lightsaber that Luke had built her all those years ago, but that felt like a tool, rather than an extension of herself. The one she had built on Ajan Kloss, it was that dividing line between Jedi and not, and she had decided not to take that route.

    Because of what the Force had shown her about Ben.

    That he would be a darkness.

    Leia remembered, on Tatooine, shortly after Zsinj died, where she had read her grandmothers journal and agonized over whether to have children, whether she would birth mini-Darth Vaders. By reinterpreting the Killik Twilight painting, Han had convinced her, but the old fears existed. The sheer malevolence of the reborn Emperor could not be easily forgotten.

    But an Order.

    That would take away from her their shared Jedi heritage.

    Luke would become a Master of students, and Leia, still the politician, but mother to children, who, too, would become Jedi.

    The Jedi would no longer be a family matter. One day, she might not even know all the Jedi in the Order... Leia couldn't shake her disquiet with that idea. That she would lose her brother to this world that she was fundamentally too scared to fully embrace.

    Ben suddenly burst into tears.

    Leia immediately drew him close and soothed him in the Force, lest he wake Han.

    Or Chewbacca, sleeping at the door as he was want to do in the absence of the Noghri.

    When they changed over, and Jacen and Jaina came home - wherever home ended up, as it looked likely the government would move back to Coruscant if only to have a more direct hold of the rebuilding of the former capital - Anakin would remain at Anoth with Winter, and Ben, for his protection, would end up somewhere else. The Noghri would move back in, and Leia reckoned Chewbacca would still insist on sleeping by the door to the apartment.

    That was comforting, and Leia took that comfort and wrapped Ben in it.

    He silenced, and settled into sleep, clearly done feeding too.

    Carefully placing Ben in his cot, Leia accepted what she had just thought.

    That she was too scared to be a Jedi.

    It felt right, in the heat of the moment, but it wasn't true. Leia knew she could become one of the foremost Jedi in the galaxy, no matter the size of the Order. As a diplomat, she would be able to do more than anyone save for Luke for some time. She could become the face of the Jedi. But Leia didn't want that, fundamentally. She wanted to support the New Republic directly, to be there for Mon, to maybe one day become Chief of State in her own right.

    Leia wasn't just the daughter of Anakin Skywalker.

    She was the daughter of Breha and Bail Organa too.

    And what little knew of their mother, Padme Naberrie, she too was a Senator, and once a Queen of Naboo.

    It wasn't turning away from being a Jedi, it was her turning towards being a Senator, and a Minister, and a politician. Luke had his Sith, and Dark Jedi, but Leia had her Borsk Fey'lya's to contend with, let alone whatever ragtag Imperial turned up. Rae Sloane was still unaccounted for, and the likes of Harrsk, Teradoc, Gideon and others would not simply abide by a treaty. A strong New Republic and a strong Jedi Order were needed.

    As such, she would do what Luke couldn't do, and build the government - and, for now, a family.

    A family of Jedi.

    That would be her contribution to the New Jedi Order.

    And the galaxy.

    And the future.

    Finally settled, Leia slept.

    Until Ben woke again, that is.

    But it would be Han's turn, so she would simply kick him out of bed.

    Force kick, maybe.
    Last edited: Sep 26, 2023
  6. SWpants

    SWpants Force Ghost star 5

    Oct 28, 2004
    That. Made me smile.
    Except for knowing Ben would be a darkness :(
    Last edited: Sep 26, 2023
  7. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
    @SWpants, yeah, it is a little sad because we know.

    Let alone what happens to Jacen. :(
    SWpants and UltramassiveUbersue like this.
  8. ColeFardreamer

    ColeFardreamer Force Ghost star 5

    Nov 24, 2013
    So well written, Loving it!!!

    But made me also think of the Simpsons Bart and evil Bart twin episode. Anakin and Ben never knowing each other and Anakin fearing he will become what Ben would.

    Gesendet von meinem FP3 mit Tapatalk
  9. Jedi Knight Fett

    Jedi Knight Fett Chosen One star 10

    Feb 18, 2014
    Well done!

    also this has to be a record for most tags on anyway post lol. Can’t wait to read more
  10. JediMara77

    JediMara77 Force Ghost star 4

    Mar 5, 2004
    Very eager to see the fusion between Legends and Canon. :)
  11. Force Smuggler

    Force Smuggler Force Ghost star 7

    Sep 2, 2012
    Fantastic start
  12. Lady_Belligerent

    Lady_Belligerent Queen of the RPF, SWC, C&P, and of the Underscore star 9 Staff Member Manager

    Jan 29, 2008
    Love this! I know I’ve said it before, but you write Leia so well. =D=
    Sinrebirth likes this.
  13. Happy Sando

    Happy Sando Jedi Knight star 3

    Jun 23, 2023
    Jedi Council Forums: "Which tags do you want on your thread?"
    Sinrebirth: "Yes."

    [face_laugh] =D=

    Glad to be getting in at the ground floor on this collection, which is off to a superb start already! Even though I'm not hugely familiar with EU / Legends content, everything was clearly conveyed and made total sense to me, which is thanks to your style. It's gonna be real interesting seeing how you balance everything going forward (a task I don't envy you for)! Looking forward to more!
  14. earlybird-obi-wan

    earlybird-obi-wan Chosen One star 6

    Aug 21, 2006
    Love Leia and little Ben in this.
    Luke and Mara getting a child named Ben too?
    Sinrebirth likes this.
  15. Delpheas

    Delpheas Jedi Padawan star 1

    Aug 23, 2023
    This is such a bittersweet story. Lovely, and heartbreaking.
    Sinrebirth likes this.
  16. Darkslayer

    Darkslayer #1 Sabine Wren Fan star 7

    Mar 26, 2013
    Wow, not sure where on the timeline I expected you to start, but I really like it @Sinrebirth. What I liked most was the way the references were many, but also embedded in organic ways. Reminded me of how James Luceno did it in Darth Plagueis (this is a big compliment from me!).
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  17. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
    You know, I never thought of that. But it’s entirely true.

    I mean I kept picking tags and they just… fit.

    Definitely more to come!

    Thank you!

    [:D] I never feel sure with Leia so I really appreciate this! She’s so kick ass.

    I am hoping to balance the new and the old, as some of the Legends references are very old now(!) But almost everything I mention is something. I try to use something Canon, something Legends, and something entirely new.

    Yup! It’s a bit clunky but I do also like the idea that Obi-Wan was so much of an influence on the people he brought together.

    It is a bit. Between the four Solo children, too.

    Oh wow that’s a huge compliment! Thank you!
  18. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
    Relentless War and Peace

    14 ABY

    Shortly after the events of Crystal Star and Jedi Knight

    They were ten Star Destroyers, hanging in the void between here and there.

    Here, was the edge of the Gravlex Med system, a scrapyard that was technically unaligned but deep in Imperial territory. Indeed, its primary was a mere pinprick in the distance.

    There was the Chimaera, the former flagship of Grand Admiral Thrawn, and later, Pellaeon. Guided there by slicers hired by the Empire to infiltrate the New Republic systems for ‘dismantling’ but instead Pellaeon going to take back his ship.

    “I still think this is a waste of time,” commented Captain Dorja.

    Pellaeon turned to look at the man, his musings broken.

    But he didn’t reply, instead Ardiff did, the aide that Pellaeon brought aboard, and positioned to Captain the Chimaera when it was recaptured. “You’re doubting the Admiral?”

    “The Admiral, never. But one Star Destroyer was not going to break us out of the deadlock we have with the Rebels,” Dorja said, nonchalant.

    Ignoring that discussing such things on the bridge in front of the crew was a breach of decorum, Pellaeon turned back to the view, hands tucked behind his back. “No, it won’t, but it is a symbol.”

    “Precisely,” Dorja replied. “That we’re reduced to scraps.”

    Pellaeon paused, and lifted a hand to forestall Ardiff’s protests. “While we are in a Cold War of sorts with the New Republic, it does us no harm to remind them that we’re out here. That we will never yield, nor surrender.”

    “So sayeth the Captain,” Dorja smiled.

    “Admiral,” Ardiff reminded.

    “Not to the Imperial High Command on Denon,” Pellaeon said, drily. “I’ll be a Captain forever in their eyes.” In official communications with the ‘legitimate’ Empire, he would always remain a Captain. But the Admiralty and Moffs ignored Mas Amedda, and forever would.

    “Amedda and his traitors be damned,” Dorja quipped. “They signed those Coruscant Accords and left us all to hang. The war wasn’t over, we could have kept going.”

    “I don’t quite understand how you are still a Captain to them,” Ardiff said. “You were a Vice Admiral according to the Ruling Council, and the then-Supreme Commander Daala promoted you. It’s defies belief that you would have been a captain for forty years.”

    Dorja sniffed. He was a Captain, even after all of these years. While Ardiff attempted to apologise but without directly doing so, Pellaeon reflected.

    He recalled his pride at having become the Captain of the Acclamator-class warship Leveler, at the height of the Clone Wars. A scandal involving a female Republic Intelligence officer had cost him some forward momentum in his career, but the Battle of Merson outright stalled him. Defeated by the Separatists due to bad Intel, he lost his Jedi Master and in the starfighter dogfights necessary to cover the retreat, the son of a Senator had been wounded. The young man should never have been playing pilot, but Pellaeon had turned a blind eye. He too had once upon a time been a man lying about his age to get into the Judicials, the police military that the Republic fielded prior to the Clone Wars.

    But the father ensured Pellaeon’s career was done. He didn’t get rotated to a new Venator or even a Victory-class, and only made it to an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, the Harbinger, by accepting a demotion. It took him some twenty years to return to the captaincy, under command of Grand Admiral Siralt as part of the Third Fleet.

    Before the Battle of Yavin.

    Before Thrawn.

    “Report,” Pellaeon said, raising his voice to cut the memories aside.

    A snap to attention, a chain of asides, and Dorja reported back. “Admiral, I’ve heard from Imperial Intelligence that the Chimaera has just docked with the scrapyard.“

    “Did they manage to disable the HoloNet relay?”

    “Unfortunately not, so the scrapyard has sent a missive to Coruscant to query why the Chimaera is even here.”

    “Damn,” Ardiff said. “So the Rebels will know something is up.”

    “Move up to orange alert, please,” Pellaeon said. “I want all pilots in their TIEs, and engines and deflectors ready to go on my order.” The flotilla - seven Imperial Star Destroyers, one Interdictor and one more Victory-class Star Destroyer - prepared themselves.

    It was happening.

    “Sir, Intelligence has overwhelmed the skeleton crew and are guiding the Chimaera out.”

    “Order the Wrack to activate gravity generators,” Pellaeon confirmed. “I want tractor beams from the Stormhawk and Nemesis prepared, and the boarding parties from the Judicator and Death’s Head.”

    “Make sure the crews don’t get in each other’s way,” added Dorja.

    “Sir, the Protector has detected a signal from Gravlex Med on a New Republic frequency.” Pellaeon frowned; the Victory Star Destroyer Protector was on an outbound vector, covering their rear with the Agonizer and Bellicose. Which meant the signal wasn’t towards Coruscant, the direct line of which the Relentless was positioned, but instead to -

    “Where are they transmitting?” Dorja said, catching up on the cue of Pellaeon’s expression.

    “Ithor, we believe, sir.”

    “I don’t understand,” Ardiff said.

    “Coruscant redirected the scrapyard to the nearest New Republic base,” Pellaeon explained. “Come about, we’re no longer focusing on the Chimaera.”

    “Sir?” Dorja was surprised by the changeover.

    “Keep the rest of the fleet in position, and those crews ready for the Chimaera. Order the Wrack to prepare to shift gravity well generators along our current vector the moment the Chimaera arrives.” There was a rush of movement as the orders were carried out.

    “You don’t think -“ Dorja said.

    “I definitely do. The New Republic knows how I use Interdictors and they’ll want to use one to set up an ambush.”

    “How Thrawn used Interdictors,” Dorja replied. “Didn’t make much difference at Lothal did it?”

    “Lothal was a long time ago,” Pellaeon said tightly. Shortly before the Battle of Yavin, Thrawn uncovered that Grand Admiral Siralt was a traitor. During his arrest, Pellaeon sided with Thrawn, and earned a transfer of the Harbinger to the Seventh Fleet. Shortly after, a pod of purgils trashed the entire fleet, and Thrawn and his Chimaera were dragged into hyperspace. Pellaeon barely escaped with his life, and earned a demotion. To sell the punishment, he ended up assigned to the next Star Destroyer out of Kuat, also named Chimaera as if nothing had happened.

    Thrawn took a longer time to return to active duty, but seemingly Palpatine and he turned his defeat on the battlefield into a defeat in political arena of the Imperial Court. The next Pellaeon heard of him, Thrawn had been exiled to Wild Space on a mapping mission. The Rebels, for their part, assumed their nemesis dead. Which of course proved useful when Thrawn returned to the Chimaera - now under Pellaeon’s captaincy - after the Battle of Endor. The Rebels considered him dead, the Empire had already scrubbed his existence from record, and his promotion back to Grand Admiral - as the new thirteenth of the rank - was a secret to all.

    Pellaeon never heard the exact details of how Thrawn survived the Battle of Lothal, but he was just happy to have the man back. It wasn’t even a year before Thrawn was dead again, but this time rather than whisked away by space-whales, the next Noghri titled Rukh stabbed him.

    Shaking his head of the memory, Pellaeon refocused. “Chimaera is here, sir. The Wrack is repositioning.”

    “Red alert,” Dorja added.

    “Work out the likely exit point for a task force interrupted in a straight like jump from Ithor, and have our weapons prepped.” By now the Relentless was besides the Agonizer, Bellicose and Protector.

    Pellaeon cast a glance back at the old ship. The Chimaera. While his Chimaera didn’t have the elaborate artistry on its dorsal hull, it was still unique. Its pennant code could inspire fear; it was a psychological weapon unto itself. The former flagship of the Imperial Navy.

    “Sir! Cronau radiation spike!”

    “Hold,” Dorja snapped. He didn’t need information being shouted across his bridge. “Turbolasers!”

    Three bulbous New Republic capital ships arrived, flanked by nearly twenty escorts - frigates, cruiser-carriers, gunships and corvettes. Pellaeon recognised two of them by eye.

    “Ackbar’s here,” breathed Ardiff.

    The Galactic Voyager. One of the most modern MC90 Star Cruisers. They could beat anything in the Imperial Navy that wasn’t a Super Star Destroyer.

    “And General Syndulla,” Pellaeon pointed out.

    The Home One. An older MC80 Star Cruiser, but a veteran of the Battles of Endor, Coruscant, and Bilbringi. A capable crew, and a more than capable captain.

    “Sir, the last ship is the Echo of Hope.” A more standard strength MC80 Star Cruiser, but even an ordinary Mon Calamari warship could out-tough an Imperial Star Destroyer.

    “We’ve caught them by surprise,” commented Ardiff.

    “Not for long,” Pellaeon muttered. “Fire.”

    Green fire lanced out.

    Detonations erupted across the hull of the graceful designs, nowhere near as angular as Imperial cut. Pellaeon was satisfied to see a frigate breakup, and a cruiser-carrier erupted into a whirl of debris and broken fighter craft. The Mon Calamari designs were pockmarked with flame and debris, but none were in danger before their shields were raised and return fire lanced out. But they were shaken up.

    “Brace,” Dorja absently said, thought their shields held. “Orders?”

    “Keep up sustained fire. Make sure the Protector is covered, it’s not up for this kind of rough-housing.” The smaller warship was nestled among its larger cousins, but still vulnerable. “I’ve no intention to lose more than we gain today.”

    Stormhawk and Nemesis are finished with tractor duty,” Ardiff confirmed. “Requesting orders.”

    “Order them to withdraw.”

    “What about the Megador?”

    Ardiff was referring to the prototype Dreadnought design they picked up in the Deep Core. Seventy kilometres wide and equipped with dozens hangars that could accommodate anything from a starfighter wing to a whole battlecruiser, Pellaeon assumed it was a testbed for regional commands, or maybe even a mobile capital. But Palpatine was dead so he could hardly ask.

    Pellaeon pursed his lips as he considered.

    The New Republic formation was a mess, under too heavy bombardment to even launch fighters… but they weren’t even turning to present broadsides, which would have allowed the fighter craft to exit the cruisers from the opposite side and to maximise the return fire. Instead the larger ships were just huddled together to cover their damage. Pellaeon shook his head. “No, keep it out of the battle.”

    “Sir, Vice Admiral Poinard believes we can -“

    “Admiral Ackbar is committing to a slugging match from a weakened position, one which will likely cost him all the ships present. General Syndulla is not known for her playing defensively, either.” Pellaeon said firmly. “So why are they both doing this?”

    Ardiff paused.

    Dorja waited, keeping his attention on the battle, not wanting to interfere in the admirals analysis, not when he himself didn’t know. Dorja just assumed they’d won the battle with their surprise attack, and it was just a matter of mopping up.

    “Because Ackbar has reinforcements on the way.”

    “Correct,” Pellaeon said. “And if one of those reinforcements happens to be the Lusankya, or more MC90s -“

    “We’ll lose the entire fleet,” Ardiff realised. “I’m ordering the Stormhawk and Nemesis to disengage and regroup at the Megador’s location.”

    “And send the Judicator, Deaths Head and Chimaera after them the moment they can.” Pellaeon had a further idea for one of the Imperial Star Destroyers escorting the Megador, presently orbiting above Garqi. “And have Poinard send the Erinnic to blow up the scrapyards at Gravlex Med.”

    A chorus of acknowledgments. But the moment the Chimaera left, Ackbar realised his ploy hadn’t worked. The cruisers rolled to present their flanks and release their fighters, but Pellaeon order a full retreat. By the time the X-wings and E-wings were deployed, even a K-wing and its SLAM acceleration system wouldn’t catch up. The Galactic Voyager battered their shields, and the Home One immediately advanced to pursue, but the Battle of Gravlex Med was done.

    When the report of the Erinnic’s strafing run came through, Ackbar’s ships abandoned the battle to go and assist, and Pellaeon let them. The Erinnic jumped out before Ackbar could get to it, and when the Tatooine, Yavin and Calamari jumped in-system, the Imperials were gone.

    Pellaeon had recaptured the Chimaera.

    Won the Battle of Gravlex Med.

    Thrawn may be long dead, Emperor Palpatine was gone, Byss was destroyed and the politicians had ceded Coruscant to the Rebels…

    But they could still win.

    The New Republic Senate could deny that an Imperial Remnant existed until it was blue in the face, Pellaeon wistfully reflected, but the Empire wasn’t dead.

    He’d deliver the good news to the Shadow Council, let the Moffs know, and liaise with Daala. Whether he was Captain or Admiral, or even Grand Admiral Pellaeon, the Old Man of the Empire wasn’t done.

    He’d see to that himself.

    He would be as relentless in war as in peace for those who simply preferred Empire over Republic.
    Last edited: Sep 29, 2023
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  19. Force Smuggler

    Force Smuggler Force Ghost star 7

    Sep 2, 2012
    Man I wish that we got more of the GCW in this era, aside from stuff in the guides, and Crimson Empire 3.
    Sinrebirth likes this.
  20. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Nov 15, 2004
  21. SWpants

    SWpants Force Ghost star 5

    Oct 28, 2004
    Whooph, this was pure Pellaeon. I actually forgot he was canonical until I was about 2/3 through. Still:

    This is a beautiful combination of Legends and Canon.

    Seriously. So. Pellaeon.
    Last edited: Sep 29, 2023
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  22. Darkslayer

    Darkslayer #1 Sabine Wren Fan star 7

    Mar 26, 2013
    @Sinrebirth What other tales do you have in the pipeline? A tragic story about my favorite Muun Hego Damask perhaps? :p
    Sinrebirth likes this.
  23. earlybird-obi-wan

    earlybird-obi-wan Chosen One star 6

    Aug 21, 2006
    Love to see Pellaeon in this
    Sinrebirth likes this.
  24. HMTE

    HMTE Jedi Knight star 1

    Feb 7, 2021
    Approved by Sinre

    Title: The Last One Standing

    Author: HMTE

    Disclaimer: Two of the characters in this story espouse authoritarian views. These are obviously NOT my personal views. I am simply trying to stay true to the characterization of villainous factions and characters. As this is the case, reader discretion is advised.

    Rathalay, Taldot Sector, 41 ABY (After the Battle of Yavin)

    *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

    Bloodshot gray eyes shot open with irritation and surprise, staring into darkness.

    With a quiet, undignified groan that was unworthy of one of his stature, an older man rose from his bed, tossing aside the fine covers he had buried himself in. In the distance he could hear the lapping of the waves on the shore. His fine estate, built on the cliffsides overlooking one of the more fashionable beaches on the planet Rathalay, was otherwise silent, save for the waves and that incessant beeping.

    The man slammed his thumb into the light switch, illuminating the large master bedroom in which he’d slept most evenings since his ignominious retirement.

    A flash of pain ripped into his skull at the sudden shift in light, and the man winced in discomfort. He’d over-indulged himself with his evening nightcap, and had ended up going to bed thoroughly drunk, as opposed to the light buzz he’d come to rely on to assist him in falling asleep.

    It was easy to overindulge these days. He liked to tell himself it was because his wife was away, hobnobbing with the galaxy’s elite on that long term cruise she’d been begging to go on for months now. He sneered as he rubbed his temples. It had made her happy, but to this day he couldn’t imagine being caught dead on a ship like the Halcyon.

    A ship wasn't worth stepping on if he wasn't in command.

    Traveling the galaxy reminded him of the old days. Of time spent on the bridges of mighty warships. Once, legions of men had called him their leader, and his campaigns had determined the fate of star systems.

    Now he was left to watch from the sidelines.



    A relic of a bygone age.

    That was why he drank. He drank as he watched the galaxy slide from one problem to the next. First the wretched Vong, then the idiotic secessionists on Corellia, and now this.

    Now the Galactic Alliance was in tatters, its member nations in retreat. Hapes and Csilla had withdrawn into isolation. Hutt Space was in chaos. The New Republic sat idly by, insisting all was well as the situation deteriorated. The New Jedi Order’s Knights were either dead, in hiding to the point where they might as well be dead, or off on some wild crusade, so far removed as to be irrelevant.

    Skywalker had vanished.

    Organa was disgraced.

    Solo had gone back to his smuggler roots, having lost everything else.

    Normally he would have grinned and drank to their collective misery. He had no love for the Heroes of Yavin.

    But their disgrace went hand in hand with the disgrace of that last little corner of the Empire that still clung to life.

    Fel and that Jedi whore he’d coupled himself to had fled in the wake of the zealot’s rise to power. Or perhaps they were dead. His agents could not tell him for sure which was the case. But with their disappearance something new had arisen to fill the vacuum.

    The First Order.

    Even now, tucked away on Rathalay, over thirty years into his retirement, Octavian Grant, last of the Imperial Grand Admirals, repressed the undignified urge to spit at the very thought of that band of lower class thugs.

    He’d heard rumors over the years. Rumors about Moff Gideon and Commandant Brendol Hux. Of shadowy councils of warlords who held true to the old ways and refused to renounce the remembered glories of Palpatine’s regime.

    But the rumors remained that; just rumors. No one from the old days approached him. And why should they?

    Grant had chosen a side.

    It wasn’t that he loved the New Republic. Or even respected it. He was thoroughly unreconstructed in his attitudes towards aliens, the common people, and democracy in general. He’d offered his services to the Senate now and again when conflicts had flared up, but had been rebuffed outside of that mess with the clone that had thought itself the Emperor. After that he’d gone back into retirement.

    Some of his erstwhile admirers on Rathalay had expressed amazement that he had not seized control of the Empire when he’d seemingly had the chance.

    Grant had known better.

    The Empire’s time had come and gone. A dozen different factions had arisen proclaiming themselves the only ones capable of restoring the Emperor’s New Order to power. The Empire Reborn, the Second Imperium, they’d all been swept away with pitiful ease. The First Order would be no different. The best he could do was enjoy his wealth and thumb his nose at all the moral busybodies who muttered that he’d escaped a war crimes tribunal.

    Those raving fanatics, those uniformed thugs, the First Order; they inspired nothing but contempt in a man like Octavian Grant. Their officers were uniformly mad, divorced from reality. So desperate were they for power that they allowed themselves to be led by that stunted, inhuman creature Snoke.

    The Empire had fought to preserve Human High Culture; to bring civilization to the alien trash that infested the galaxy and preserve the hard-fought victory of Palpatine at the end of the Clone Wars.

    The First Order denounced galactic civilization as weak and decadent. It did not care for the culture of the Core. It did not care for the Ancient Houses or the society that their social betters had built. It wished to remake all of civilization in its image.

    An army with a state, as opposed to a state with an army.

    Ironic, Grant thought. That the First Order should be more revolutionary than the Rebels.

    *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

    Grant clenched his teeth. His comm unit continued to ring away. He swung his legs out of bed and quickly padded across the room to his private refresher, his footsteps muffled by the fine wall to wall carpet.

    He threw on a rich, royal blue bathrobe over his pajamas, went to his medicine cabinet, and grabbed a detoxicant pill, and popped it into his mouth, the ringing of the comm unit continuing to reverberate through his head.

    He dry swallowed the pill, grunting as it slid unpleasantly down the side of his throat. Within seconds the buzzing, disoriented mental fog he’d found himself in cleared, though the headache remained. He filled a glass with tap water, wincing at the thought of not taking the time to get the specially imported ice water from Hoth that was in his kitchen. He’d paid good money for it, after all. And who knew what the government on Rathalay put into its tap water. But he was dehydrated and impatient.

    Whoever is calling is most impatient to speak with me. Grant mused to himself. It’s probably important.

    He paused for a moment and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He ran a comb through his graying dark hair so that he’d appear more presentable.

    *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

    He took another moment to compose himself before striding languidly over to the comm unit.

    Were his dear, late mother still alive she would have nodded her head in approval. He was in exile, perhaps, but he was still of the blood of the Old Tapani Lords.

    He did not jump and run when others called.

    He sat at his bedroom desk, an expansive, exquisitely carved piece of furniture hand crafted from the finest wood from the forests of Tenoo, and pressed the receive button on the comm. An image flickered into being from the comm unit’s holoprojector, displaying a slim, attractive woman dressed tastefully in the latest fashionable material.

    “Representative Talar,” Said Grant, affecting a dignified, relaxed air of detached surprise. “How may I be of service at this late hour?”

    Riya Talar was one of the few people who had access to his private comm frequency. A senior member of the planetary Diet, Talar and her wife were frequent guests at the many parties Grant threw to ingratiate himself with the good and great of Rathalay society.

    To the names and numbers of Rathalay’s elite, Grant was a charming, enigmatic figure from a bygone era. His war stories entranced them, and his sensibilities regarding the alien and lower class appealed to many, though not all of them. And, if nothing else, his parties allowed him to keep a finger on the pulse of the movers and shakers of local society.

    He had less success with Rathalay’s representative in the Taldot Sector Assembly, and less success still with the sector’s representatives in the New Republic Senate. Though he had made progress with the Sector Governor-General, he was not as well connected as he felt he could be.

    And he had not, unfortunately, been able to convince Rathalay’s leader, the young and uncompromising Executor Skor Zian, of the benefits of being in the former Grand Admiral’s circle of friends. The man was from a proper family and had the benefit of being human. But he was a man of the masses through and through, enamored with the ideals of the New Republic’s Populists.

    In light of Zian’s intransigence, Talar had proven herself to be the most influential member of the government in Grant’s social sphere of influence. As such he relied on her to be his eyes and ears. She would not have been so ill mannered as to have contacted him at this time of night unless the matter was serious.

    And it must have been, for though Talar was well dressed, her eyes were wide and lined with bags, and strands of her hair fell across her face.

    “Grand Admiral!” She exclaimed, any sense of proper restraint forgotten. “I thought you should be the first outside the government to know. Hosnian Prime has been destroyed.”

    Grant clenched his teeth together with an audible click. It was better than to let his jaw drop open in surprise.

    “The Chancellor?” He asked. “The Senate?”

    Talar shook her head. “Villecham is dead. Most of the Senators are confirmed lost as well, along with most of the fleet.”

    “A decapitation strike. A most successful one at that. Does anyone know who is responsible? Perhaps the Yuuzhan Vong?” Grant knew the vermin had proclaimed to have turned to a more peaceful way of life in the aftermath of their failed invasion, but it wouldn’t have surprised him if that had been nothing more than a ruse.

    “No. The First Order is claiming responsibility.”

    Grant leaned back in his chair. His lips quirked in a grim parody of a smirk. A mirthless chuckle passed his lips.

    “Magnificent bastards.” He muttered.

    Talar’s mouth twitched in a grim frown. “Sir?” She asked.

    Grant shook his head. “We’ve underestimated those ranting fools. We all thought them a barely functioning band of hardliners. They’ve worked hard to build up that image. They have yet another superweapon at their command, I presume, if the Hosnian System has been destroyed.”

    “I couldn’t say.” Talar admitted. “The HoloNet is in chaos. There are reports of massive fleets streaming out of the Galactic North and even from the Unknown Regions, seizing planets throughout the Trans Hydian Borderlands. At this rate they’ll take the Core Worlds in a matter of weeks! It’s anarchy! How could they have amassed such a vast fleet? Everyone always said their forces were miniscule.”

    “They’ve been planning this. It must have taken decades.” Grant mused, his mind spinning as he considered what it would have taken to acquire the resources needed for such a massive campaign.

    “Who, Grand Admiral?” Talar asked.

    Grant fell silent. He stared out the window, up at the twinkling stars that dotted Rathalay’s sky. He listened to the steady lapping of the waves on the beach below.

    “I don’t know.” He confessed. Grant turned back to the image of the Representative.

    “What is the mood in the Diet?” Grant asked, his voice subdued. He might once have been more careful with what he had to say. He knew that agents of the New Republic were still keeping an eye on him. But if what Talar said was true then he imagined his minders would have bigger matters to attend to than one old man.

    Talar shrugged helplessly. “We’re in recess at the moment. We’ve been in emergency session ever since the news came to us. Executor Zian wants to mobilize the planetary guard.”

    “A futile gesture.” Grant concluded. “Rathalay’s planetary guard is meant for handling pirates and smugglers, not stormtroopers and battle groups.”

    “My thoughts exactly, Grand Admiral.” Said Talar, her eyes shifting nervously. “But, we cannot surrender to them either. They, uh…” She trailed off, clearly uncertain of how to proceed.

    “They’ve made their thoughts on traitors clear.” Grant concluded. The former Grand Admiral saw Talar wince.

    He smiled thinly at her. “You needn’t spare my feelings, Representative. To them I am a traitor. Which, regrettably, makes you the associate of a traitor. I do so apologize for putting you in such a…delicate…situation.”

    Talar shook her head. “The choice was mine, Grand Admiral. That is why I come to you now. It’s only a matter of time until…”

    A great, thundering boom cracked and reverberated behind Representative Talar, who ducked and crouched behind her desk as bits of plaster and timber from her ceiling above rained down in chunks.

    “Representative? Riya?” Grant asked, his chest tightening in an unfamiliar sensation as he tried to determine what was going on. “What’s happening?”

    Riya Talar stood up, turned, and looked at something just off camera. Whatever it was caused her to stumble back, her hands going to her mouth in horror.

    “By the Maker, they’re here!” She screamed. “They’re…”

    A loud shriek of static and a flash of light caused the image of Riya Talar to vanish. The hologram spluttered, shimmered, and dissipated.

    The room fell silent.

    Silent, save for the lapping of the waves.

    And the roar of engines.

    Octavian Grant closed his eyes. Riya Talar had been a useful source of information. He had found her amusing, at times. Perhaps even charming.

    But that didn’t matter now.

    They were coming for him.

    Grant didn’t bother to look out the window. Instead, he went to his closet. He pushed aside his suits and robes, hanging from the racks above his head and found, at the far back of the closet, an old, silver valise.

    He took the valise out and placed it on the bed. Quietly, reverently, he opened it, and beheld what lay within.

    The fabric was still immaculate, as clean and pure a white as the new fallen snow that had blanketed the family estate on Obulette in the Tapani sector when he had been but a boy.

    He hadn’t worn his old uniform in over thirty years.

    But this…this was a special occasion.

    It still fit perfectly. When he had finished dressing he returned to the refresher, and admired what he saw in the mirror. Golden epaulets, gleaming code cylinders (now inactive with obsolete codes), spotless, white fabric, gleaming, polished black boots, and a rank plaque which denoted to all who saw that here stood a Grand Admiral, one of the Emperor’s own.

    Grant placed his personal sidearm, an RK-3 blaster pistol, in his holster on his right hip. And then, as a final touch, he took out his most prized possession; a Tapani lightfoil.

    Such an elegant symbol of Tapani aristocracy, so close in form and function to the lightsabers wielded by the wretched Jedi, would have caused significant damage to his career in the Imperial Navy had it been found. Jedi paraphernalia, or anything resembling it, had been forbidden to all but Vader, the Inquisitorious, and certain members of the Emperor’s Elite. But kept it he had, for it was a priceless family heirloom, passed from father to son since time immemorial.

    He clipped the lightfoil to his belt on his left hip, turned smartly on his heel, and left his bedroom behind.

    He descended the stairs as he heard the whine of the engines grow louder, marking their approach. He frowned in consternation as he imagined the shuttle the engine belonged to landing on his well manicured lawn.

    He walked down the hall, his heels clicking smartly on the tile as he moved from the hall into the parlor. He walked up to his drink’s cabinet, poured himself a healthy glass of Merenzane Gold, and lowered himself into one of the comfortable high backed chairs facing the door.

    In the distance he heard the barking of an officer as troopers spilled out of the shuttle.

    Grant winced again, picturing his well managed garden being trampled underfoot. He imagined his gardener would be apoplectic when she found out.

    Aside from the approaching men, the house was silent. He had servants, but none of them lived in the house. He was a Tapani Lord, after all, not an invalid. He could get through one night without the help.

    That would make things easier.

    The stormtroopers broke down the front door and charged into the estate as though they were storming the Senate building itself. They waved their weapons back and forth as a squad charged up the stairs.

    Grant glared at them, taking a sip of his drink to steady his nerves. That door had been made of expensive material.

    “Freeze! Don’t move!” One of the troopers barked, leveling his blaster at the Grand Admiral. An additional trooper rushed into the parlor, weapon aimed at Grant’s chest.

    Grant said nothing.

    The troopers fell silent. They shifted uneasily as they waited for some reaction from their new prisoner. But Grant didn’t say or do anything.

    Behind the troopers came the click of a second pair of boots. An officer, dressed in the charcoal gray uniform of the First Order Navy, strutted into the room as though the estate were his. He was broad shouldered, lighthaired, and, to Grant’s sensibilities, impossibly young. The officer had a nervous energy to him, much like a coiled spring wound far too tight.

    Grant looked him over dispassionately. His eyes were drawn to the rank insignia on the man’s sleeve. The Grand Admiral’s face twisted in contempt.

    “A Lieutenant?” Grant sniffed. “They send a lowly Lieutenant to apprehend me?”

    The Lieutenant looked down his nose at the seated older man.

    “Octavian Grant, you…”

    “I,” Grant interrupted. “Am unamused.”

    Grant glowered over the rim of his glass at the First Order officer before taking another sip of his drink.

    The Lieutenant bristled. “I…”

    “You are irrelevant.” Grant cut in, his voice sharp. Grant’s eyes passed critically over the officer before returning to the young man’s reddening face.

    “Look at you.” Grant sneered. “What academy did you go to, boy?”

    “You are in no position to question me, traitor!” The Lieutenant barked. Grant’s lip twitched in amusement, the ghost of a smile alighting his features for a moment. He'd gotten the boy talking. Now he had to keep him talking.

    “It couldn’t have been an academy of any note, then.” Grant continued.

    The Lieutenant balled his gloved hands into fists. “I am an officer of the First Order! You will show me respect!”

    Grant chuckled. “I am a Grand Admiral, appointed by his Imperial Majesty Emperor Sheev Palpatine. I was high in his councils, once, boy. I was privy to his secrets. I carried out his plans. The Empire would not have done half so well without me. So put a touch of respect in your tone.”

    The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “He raised you high, and you threw away all he stood for when you went over to the Rebels. And now look at you.”

    “Yes.” Grant said mildly, glancing around his parlor at the large holobook shelves and the sumptuously upholstered furniture.

    “I’ve managed to salvage an unsalvageable situation. Whereas you, dear boy, have already lost.”

    The Lieutenant’s face twisted into a smirk. “Perhaps the Rebel propaganda has rotted your brain, ‘Grand Admiral.’” The Lieutenant suggested, his tone sarcastic when he pronounced Grant’s title.

    “The New Republic is no more. Fel’s revisionists have been purged from the old Remnant. The other nations of the Galactic Alliance will fall soon enough, as the worlds of the New Republic are falling now. The war is over. We’ve won.”

    Grant laughed. All decorum and gravitas departed from him. They were just too much!

    He laughed. He laughed up until the Lieutenant stepped forward, pulled out his own pistol, an SE-44C sidearm, and pointed it at Grant’s chest.

    “What’s so funny, old man?” The Lieutenant snarled.

    “You.” Grant replied candidly. He looked from the Lieutenant to the stormtroopers. “All of you. Your entire organization. You don’t get it. None of the old stalwarts did. Not even that blue skinned vermin they all revere so damned much really understood.”

    “Then why don’t you enlighten us?” The Lieutenant asked, in a tone he probably thought was threatening.

    Grant’s smile faded. His face became stoic as he stared at the Lieutenant.

    “It’s over.” Grant said slowly. “You weren’t there. After Endor. You didn’t see it.”

    “See what.” Asked the Lieutenant, his annoyance with the Admiral tinged with something else. Curiosity, perhaps?

    “The uprisings.” Said Grant, his eyes drifting away from the Lieutenant and staring out at nothing as he remembered. “On Coruscant, our Imperial throneworld. On Naboo, the Emperor’s homeworld. On a hundred million worlds from the Core to the Rim. Trillions rose up and cheered when they learned of the Emperor’s death. They didn't need rebel agents to provoke them. They acted on their own.”

    “What do I care what traitors think?” The Lieutenant demanded.

    Grant shook his head in quiet disbelief. “How often I heard such thinking. No one understood it. Not Pestage, not Isard, not even that so-called genius Thrawn.”

    Grant chuckled. “They didn’t understand. But I do. We lost the people’s trust.”

    “Who gives a damn what people think?” The Lieutenant asked. “People are weak and need to be led by the strong.”

    “I couldn’t agree with you more.” Grant said. “People are spineless, shortsighted, and lack all proper decorum. They should defer to their betters. But all governments, be they republics or empires, depend on the people’s support, or at least, their apathy. The Empire had that support. Or at least that apathy. And then we destroyed Alderaan.”

    “Alderaan was weak.” Snapped the Lieutenant. “A pacifist world of feeble minded pseudo-intellectuals. The Empire was right to remove them from the galaxy. A strong society has no place for such subversive thoughts.”

    “Alderaan was a Core World.” Grant said slowly, stressing each word as though he were lecturing a particularly dimwitted cadet. “A loyalist Core World. A pillar of galactic society. Some of the finest artists, philosophers, and statesmen which Human High Culture upholds came from Alderaan.”

    “Alderaan was too far gone. It supported the Rebellion. It had to die. How else could the galaxy be remade without getting rid of such scum?” The Lieutenant insisted.

    Grant gave the Lieutenant a hooded glance, before giving a theatrical sigh. “How does one defeat an enemy?” Grant asked.

    “By destroying them and all they hold dear.” Responded the Lieutenant quickly.

    “No!” Grant barked. “That’s how you make a martyr of them!”

    Grant readjusted himself in his seat, taking another sip of his drink.

    “Thrawn thought that to defeat an enemy you had to know them. What utter nonsense.”

    The Grand Admiral leaned forward, his hands on his knees, his expression suddenly fierce. “It doesn’t matter what the enemy believes. It doesn’t matter what motivates them. True victory is convincing your enemy they were wrong to oppose you in the first place!”

    The Lieutenant furrowed his brow. “So, what would you have done? Sat down with the Queen and tried to reason with her?”

    Grant inhaled slowly. “I would have had the Royal Family executed. The High Council liquidated. And an Imperial Governor appointed to rule Alderaan in their place. I would have broken the Princess until she revealed the location of the Rebel Base or died screaming. I would have brought order to Alderaan and not destroyed it. In time the people would have come to understand; when they had spent years living in a peaceful, structured, orderly world, they would have realized that all we did was necessary.”

    The Lieutenant stared at the Admiral, his expression suddenly pensive.

    “Don’t you understand?” Grant demanded. “The weak follow the strong because it is in their best interest! But to do so the strong must lead by example and provide the security they promise. But that’s not what we did. Instead of utilizing concise violence our retribution was arbitrary. Massacre after massacre, from Lasan to Ghorman, Tarkin and his followers forgot his first rule.”

    “Rule through fear of force rather than force itself.” The Lieutenant said rotely, as though he’d memorized it as a child. He probably had.

    “Precisely!” Said Grant. “But that’s not what the Empire did! We promised order. We promised security. And in exchange we asked for their obedience. A simple contract. But Alderaan convinced billions that they could not be safe or secure under our rule. They grew to hate us more than fear us. And that hate motivated them to overthrow us!”

    “But…” The Lieutenant said, blinking in confusion. “The galaxy yearns for us to save them. That’s what the Supreme Leader says. We’ll be welcomed back with open arms.”

    Grant said nothing. For the first time in a long time he felt…what was this feeling? It was a tightness in his chest. A sense of sorrow? An unwillingness to allow this young man to linger in this state of confusion.

    What was he feeling?

    “I thought the same thing, once.” Grant admitted. “I thought they’d snap out of it. That the galaxy would come to its senses and beg us to come back to fix things. But they didn’t. They signed on with the New Republic in droves or went their own way. And all the while the Empire ate itself alive. Short sighted fools. All of them. Petty, sniveling opportunists grasping for a shred of glory. There was no strength in the Empire after Endor. There will always be true believers in the old Empire out there. But they’re a minority, son. For every zealous convert on the worlds you occupy you’ll find one thousand who just want to put their heads down and pretend you’re not there. They won’t see you as liberators. They’ll see you as the latest problem in a long line of problems that they have to put up with. And you will find it is a very short jump from apathetic resentment to hatred. You can conquer the galaxy, but you’ll never hold onto it.”

    “No, you’re wrong!” Insisted the Lieutenant. “Even if they don’t see our truth we will make them see. We will make the galaxy over again in our image!”

    “If Tarkin and Vader could not do such a thing, what chance would you have?” Grant asked. “This struggle is pointless. You want to have revenge on those who wronged you? Then do as I have done. Live well. Escape this pointless struggle and find a way to live well. There is no better vengeance!”

    “No!” The Lieutenant exclaimed. “You’re a coward. You ran while the faithful struggled to survive with nothing but their belief in the cause! We survived the Unknown Regions while you grew fat selling our secrets to the puppetmasters in the Senate! You and people like you are why the Empire fell. We will succeed in spite of you! We are purer! We are stronger! And we will win!”

    Grant finished the last of his drink, stood up and tugged on the tunic of his uniform. “You can try. This old galaxy has been through hard times, these past few decades. The Clone Wars, the Reconquest of the Rim, the pacification campaigns against the Separatist holdouts and the early rebels. The Galactic Civil War, The Yuuzhan Vong War, and all the petty little conflicts that went thereafter. Your enemy is tougher than you think. Try as you might, I don’t know if you’ll snuff them out. There are more of them than there are of you, sadly. I suspect you won’t even know where to start.”

    The Lieutenant stared at his pistol, still pointed at the Admiral’s chest.

    Then, he looked at the Admiral.

    “I think I’ll start here.” The Lieutenant said. And he pulled the trigger.

    The blaster bolt from the Lieutenant’s side arm slammed into the Admiral’s chest. Grant fell to the floor with a dull thud.

    The Lieutenant stared down at the Admiral, at the smoking hole in his tunic, and smiled.

    He turned to his troopers. “Search the house for contraband!” He ordered. “I want…”


    The Lieutenant and his stormtroopers were knocked off their feet as the glass from the parlor’s windows imploded inwards and flew into the room. The following shockwave from outside knocked them off their feet. One of the troopers slammed into the wall and crashed to the floor with a wet crack. The Lieutenant stared at the trooper, her neck clearly broken.

    The Lieutenant ran to the shattered window to see what had happened. Outside the shuttle he’d arrived in was burning in pieces strewn across the expansive lawn of Grand Admiral Grant’s cliffside estate. In the distance troopers could be heard running about trying to get a handle on the situation.

    “But…but…” The Lieutenant stammered.

    His shock turned to terror as a blaster bolt sang out behind him, then another, and another in rapid succession.

    He turned in time to see the other stormtrooper fall to the floor, three burn marks perforating the soldier’s helmet.

    He looked up in time to see Grand Admiral Grant standing there, blaster pistol in his right hand and lightfoil in his left. He ignited the lightfoil and charged at the Lieutenant, plunging the thin red plasma blade in the younger man’s stomach.

    It was terrible. Pain beyond imagining spiked through every nerve. But one thought still prevailed.

    The Lieutenant stared at the still smoking burn mark on the Admiral’s tunic.

    “H-how?” The Lieutenant begged, his hand grabbing at the Admiral’s tunic and tugging at it with what little strength he still possessed.

    The tunic came partly undone, enough for the Lieutenant to see the Beskar armor hiding underneath.

    Grant smirked. “I managed to get my hands on some beskar alloy before the Night of a Thousand Tears. Did you really think I’d be stupid enough to be approached by armed enemies without protection? Please.”

    With a hateful smirk, Grant slid the light foil’s hilt across the Lieutenant’s stomach, exulting at the silent expression of agony contorting the smug Lieutenant’s face.

    “Sh-shu-” The Lieutenant stammered, his eyes beginning to roll back into his head.

    Grant cupped his ear sarcastically. “What was that? You want to know about your shuttle?”

    The Admiral leaned closer and whispered in the Lieutenant’s ear. “A little concession I got from New Republic Intelligence.”

    The Grand Admiral mockingly held up an activator switch. “I’ve had this hidden in my sleeve since the moment you touched down. I gave the New Republic some particularly juicy intel years ago that made it easier for them to take back Malastare from Grand General Loring. They allowed me to install land mines throughout the grounds of the estate as thanks for my cooperation.”

    Grant casually pushed the Lieutenant away, who fell into the same chair Grant had been sitting in earlier. He extinguished his lightfoil’s blade before cocking his head to the side, staring at the Lieutenant with all the passion of a scientist staring at a somewhat interesting microbe in a petri dish. “I had to pay for it myself, of course.” Grant continued. “Cost a fortune. Those louts in the Smuggler’s Alliance charged premium credits. But it’s paid for itself since then. This is the first time I actually got to use them. I imagine my minders from NRI would have installed a program to countermand my detonator if I tried to blow up anyone important, but I imagine they’re no longer minding me anymore. After all, thanks to you, they have bigger problems.”

    The Lieutenant said nothing. He stared, unseeing, up at the ceiling. Grant clipped his lightfoil to his belt. He gave the Lieutenant a pat on the shoulder before stepping over to the book shelf. In the distance he could hear the shouting of soldiers. They’d be looking for their leader and his prisoner soon.

    All they’d find were two dead troopers, and one dead Lieutenant.

    Grant turned and looked back at the dead Lieutenant.

    “Was it rude of me to have not even bothered to have asked for his name?” Grant mused aloud to himself.

    After a second’s consideration, he decided it didn’t matter. Who would know?

    Grant turned back to the shelf. Time was of the essence.

    He found the particular holobook he was looking for, entitled: Parliamentary procedures for the Tapani Great Council, 17th edition. A tome he expected no one would ever bother to reach for.

    He grabbed the holobook, and the shelf receded into the floor, revealing the entrance to a turbolift shaft.

    The last Grand Admiral stepped into the hidden turbolift, and left his residence of the past thirty years without a backwards glance.

    At the bottom of the turbolift shaft Octavian Grant emerged into a subterranean shuttle bay. The Admiral’s lips curled in distaste as an old FA-4 pilot droid rolled up to greet him.

    “My lord, the shuttle is ready to depart.” The droid intoned, gesturing to the old Lamda class shuttle.

    Any proper veteran of the Clone Wars despised relying on a droid. He certainly couldn’t be bothered to pay top credits for the latest model. But he’d needed a pilot on permanent standby in case he needed to make a hasty departure. And if a droid like this was good enough for that upjumped gutter trash sorcerer Dooku, it would have to suffice in an emergency.

    “We’ll be departing immediately.” Grant announced as he began to ascend the boarding ramp.

    “And what of Lady Grant, my lord?” The droid inquired.

    Grant paused at the top of the ramp, that odd tightness in his chest coming back to the forefront. His throat too was tightening in that odd way when he thought of his wife. He suddenly felt less confident. Perhaps, even anxious.

    “She knows the emergency procedures. We rehearsed them together enough.” Grant said, more to himself than to the droid. “She’ll meet us at the rendezvous point.”

    The droid said nothing, but followed quietly behind as the Admiral entered his shuttle.

    Octavian Grant sat alone as the ship launched from the hidden hangar. As it flew above the cliffs Grant turned to look out the window. He saw that his residence for the past 30 years had caught fire from the explosion of the First Order shuttle, and was in the process of being consumed in flames.

    Grant felt nothing as he watched the estate burn. Rathalay had been a charming place to retire, but it had not been home. Home was the Tapani Sector, a place he could never again return to.

    It wasn’t a total loss, he supposed. He had long ago hidden stashes of his great fortune gained during his time in the Empire in separate bank accounts under hidden identities. There were a dozen well stocked bolt holes he could hide in which his agents had furnished over the years.

    He’d want for nothing.

    “What is our plan of action, Grand Admiral?” The droid asked.

    Octavian Grant, the last Imperial Grand Admiral, shrugged his shoulders.

    “For now, focus on getting us past whatever blockade the First Order has established around Rathalay. After that…I’ll get right back to what I do best.”

    Let the Rebels and whatever Imperial diehards existed bash their heads together. Let them do it for all time, if it suited them.

    He could, he supposed, seek out Organa’s little Resistance and offer his services. He’d be a crucial asset to any navy he wound up in. Perhaps he’d win enough glory to finally knock that wretch Thrawn off the high pedestal so many held him up on. But he decided against it. They weren’t worthy of him.

    None of them were.

    “And what do you do best, sir?”

    Octavian Grant smiled. “I live well while my enemies suffer. It’s the finest revenge I can think of."

    The Last Grand Admiral turned to the onboard computer console and brought up a map of the galaxy. His dark eyes glittered in the bright light of the screen as he considered his options.

    "Now then, let’s see. I heard Niamos is fairly nice this time of year.”
    Last edited: Oct 4, 2023
  25. Dream-Thinker

    Dream-Thinker Jedi Master star 3

    May 20, 2020
    "A nation is nothing without it's people."
    I'm paraphrasing a quote from Fullmetal Alchemist but it rang in my mind when Grant deconstructed and put on blast the Empire and it's successor states.

    Fantastic job @HMTE, I love Grant's characterization in this. A bigoted authoritarian, but one who breaths pragmaticism. Its fitting for the one Grand Admiral to defect to the New Republic. Makes me wonder what would have happened if he had joined up with the Resistance, though of course I'm unsure if they would take him. A man like that is bound to become hated by all, eventually.
    Last edited: Oct 4, 2023
    Sinrebirth and HMTE like this.