Star Wars - The Stele Chronicles

by Rusel DeMaria

  “Listen to your mother, boy,” one of their assailants said. Then he motioned with his blaster to the others and four of them darted forward. They placed restraints on Maarek’s hands and a soundproof hood over his head. The world went dark and completely silent. His last clear image had been of his mother smiling his way, but looking rather sad in fact, as two black figures bound her hands.

  He was seized, none too gently, and pushed forward. He stumbled at first, but soon grew used to the pace his captors set, one on each arm. After a few minutes they slowed, then stopped and waited for what seemed like hours but was probably no more than ten minutes. They led him up a ramp. He still couldn’t see or hear, but he could feel the ridged walkway under his boots and something told him he was entering a ship.

  Someone strapped him into a seat. There was the familiar pull of gravity as the ship accelerated and left the ground. Maarek hungrily used his remaining senses to gain clues to the ship’s direction, but the only clear sensation was up.

  After a while, the sense of planetary gravity and acceleration was replaced by an even pull—clearly an artificial gravity field. That could only mean they had left Kuan altogether and were in space. He could feel the slight vibration of the ship’s engines—they were still under power.

  Someone removed his hood then, but not the restraints. He blinked in the sudden light, rubbing his eyes with his bound hands. As his vision cleared, he took in the scene around him. He was in a small cabin with no viewports. He could see a standard sliding hatch ahead of him. He couldn’t see behind. The room was large enough to accommodate perhaps a dozen people, but there were only six seats. He guessed he was in some kind of shuttle craft.

  His mother was strapped into one of the other seats across the room, her face set in a fierce expression. Two guards with blasters stood at the hatchway. They wore light green Bordali military uniforms. One man in a black uniform stood nearby. He spoke.

  “I am Gwadj. I am an agent of the People of Bordal. I just want you to know that we have no particular use for either of you, other than to secure cooperation from your husband…” He nodded toward Marina “…and your father.” He looked directly into Maarek’s eyes. “Please understand. We need only one of you for that purpose. If you cause us any trouble, we will kill one and keep the other.”

  Nobody said anything, so the man continued. He seemed to need to enjoy his triumph, Maarek wanted to throttle him and shove his grin down his esophagus.

  “You may wonder how we located you,” he began. “Of course it started with that foolish, but quite entertaining stunt you pulled, boy. Once we had identified you with the swoop gangs, our agents began asking a few discreet questions.” The man stopped then and made a quick gesture at one of the guards who immediately ducked through the hatch.

  “It’s not a good idea for people in your position to have friends,” the man went on. “In war, there are no friends.” Gwadj turned toward the hatch, and, almost on cue, the guard returned, dragging someone behind him. Maarek gasped. It was Pargo! He looked awful and seemed barely conscious. The guard threw him roughly to the floor where he lay groaning softly. There were many small red marks on his face and arms.

  “Your friend was very stubborn. We had a great deal of trouble restraining him. but we have many ways… Strength alone is so overrated. We took the fight out of him and he eventually led us to you.” His look of self-satisfaction suddenly evaporated. “You should not have killed one of our officers,” he said to Marina. “We have a longish ride ahead of us, and I will have time to enact some punishment for that. We do not allow our people to be killed without reprisals. I may not kill you, Madame Stele.” Here, strangely, he stared directly into Maarek’s eyes, “But you may wish I had.”

  There was a commotion behind Maarek, the sound of voices arguing. Maarek wanted to look around to see what was going on, but he and Gwadj were locked in a silent staring battle, and neither would give it up. Finally, Gwadj could wait no longer.

  “What in a thousand galaxies is going on?” he cried. Maarek swiveled his head as far around as he could and caught a glimpse of a woman dressed in the same black uniform as Gwadj. She was talking softly, and Maarek couldn’t hear what was said. He did notice that the woman was quite attractive, for a Bordali, that is.

  Gwadj and the woman left, and only one guard remained. Maarek listened to the sound of the hatch closing with a soft whoosh. The guard stood uncomfortably eyeing Pargo, who still lay semiconscious on the deck.

  “Let’s get you into some restraints,” the guard muttered and began to drag Pargo by one arm toward one of the banks of seats. Maarek could see the man’s eyes clearly from where he sat. He was intent on what he was doing, clearly a little nervous at being left alone with the prisoners. He held a blaster in one hand, dragging Pargo’s limp form across the metal deck with the other. A moment later he faltered, as if he had had a sudden thought, or so it seemed to Maarek. But immediately the man winced, his eyes grew wide, and he cried out. It was too late. A great hand had closed over his—the one with the blaster—and turned the gun toward the guard’s chest. Pargo was awake!

  There was a short, silent struggle, but Pargo was immensely strong—far stronger than the guard—and within moments had forced the guard to his knees. The blaster remained pointed directly at the guard’s chest, and as Maarek watched, the man completely lost his will to resist, knowing that to do so would lead to his death.

  So, instead of Pargo, it was the Bordali guard who found himself restrained.

  “Don’t make any noise,” Pargo said quietly as he snapped the restraints on the man’s hands, and the guard nodded his assent.

  “There’s a hood over behind those seats,” volunteered Maarek. “That’ll keep him quiet for sure.”

  Pargo glanced over at the discarded hoods, then back at the guard. The man looked terrified. “I don’t think so. He won’t give me any trouble.”

  “Then get me out of this seat,” said Maarek. “We’ve got to find a way out of this mess.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” said Marina. “They’ve got all the advantages.”

  “We have this,” said Pargo, holding the blaster up.

  “One against many,” was Marina’s reply as Pargo set about freeing her and Maarek from the restraints.

  Despite appearances, Maarek could see that his friend was struggling to maintain his balance and bravado. Whatever the Bordali trash had done to him, Pargo had not yet fully recovered.

  A few minutes later they were standing together facing the forward hatch wondering what to do, when the ship lurched as if it had hit something.

  Almost immediately, Gwadj stormed through the hatch, followed closely by the woman in black and another guard. They all carried drawn weapons.

  Whatever else he was, Gwadj was quick. He immediately sized up the situation, taking in the guard in his restraints and the blaster in Pargo’s hand. He also knew that he had the upper hand.

  “Hold your fire. The situation is about to change very quickly now,” he said. “There’s an Imperial Star Destroyer off our bow and we’ve been caught in a tractor beam. I’m afraid we are no longer masters of our own destiny.” He spoke quietly, in a voice laden with resignation.

  “So what are you planning to do?” asked Marina in a voice equally resigned.

  Gwadj laughed. A bitter sound. “What am I to do, my lady? I was going to kill you all out of spite, but now… It has been a long war.”

  “Yes it has,” Marina answered. Then, on Gwadj’s signal, the three Bordali laid down their blasters. Marina nodded at Pargo who, very reluctantly, followed suit. Then they waited.

  When the Imperial stormtroopers arrived, anonymous in their white armor, they came quickly, efficiently, through the shuttle’s hatch and took up positions with blasters drawn. One of them spoke. His voice was tinny and distant.

  “Come this way,” was all he said, then the stormtroopers closed ranks around the former enemies. In some way, Maarek knew that the war b
etween the Bordali and the Kuan, or at least his personal war, was over. He followed the stormtroopers into a waiting assault shuttle and from there to the Star Destroyer Vengeance. There his life began.

  The Vengeance

  They stood in rows stretching off into the distance tike great metallic insects on parade. After three months. Maarek had still not assimilated the vastness of the Star Destroyer, and the sight of all the TIE fighters, bombers, and interceptors in the cavernous hangar still had the capacity to overwhelm, and to inspire. And then there were the walkers…

  He thought often of the irony of his present situation. There they had been, lifelong enemies. Now all that was history. In one moment of destiny, he was made to feel insignificant, and all the causes for which he had stood, likewise.

  He was afraid. He knew of the Empire, of course—everyone did—but more by reputation and rumor than by contact or experience. The reputation that preceded the Imperials was one of efficient brutality. He saw absolutely no hope of escape and fully expected his life to be a short one. In that he was mistaken, however.

  When the assault shuttle had taken them to the Star Destroyer, he did not see it—there were no viewports in the small brig where they were held. Stormtroopers watched over them all, and the recent combatants could do no more than stare at each other looking dull and spent. They knew they had arrived at a new location only by the slight bump as the shuttle docked.

  They were led at blaster point into a long hallway. They saw little and did not know where they were—if they were on a faraway world or a ship, or an outpost somewhere. They were separated and Maarek was placed in a cell and left alone. Food was provided after a time. Mostly, he waited.

  Time passed slowly for Maarek and he kept wondering what had happened to his mother and to Pargo. Then an officer came to his cell and spoke with him for a while. He told Maarek that the Empire had declared martial law in his solar system and that all worlds now served the Emperor.

  “There is peace now among your planets. No more senseless death and destruction,” he said. “What do you think about that?”

  Maarek didn’t know what he thought. The war was all he had ever known, and yet he hated it bitterly. It had destroyed his world, taken his father, and done nobody any good. He knew both his parents had been against it, and he had been raised to share that view. So he answered, “I think it’s a good idea.” That seemed a pretty safe answer, considering where he was.

  The officer nodded. He noted something in a datapad, then asked, “Do you have any skills we would find useful?”

  “I might. But I want to know about my mother before I answer any more questions.”

  The man made another note. Then he waited. Maarek waited, too. Finally the officer shrugged his shoulders. “Your mother is fine. You’ll see her soon. Now can you answer my question?”

  Maarek realized he had won a minor, if inconsequential, victory. “I am a pretty fair swoop pilot and mechanic, I also have a fair acquaintance with general science and astrophysics,” he answered truthfully. “I used to throw a mean hoverball,” he added, though he figured it was useless information.

  The man made more notes, then stood and said. “Thank you.” He left.

  The next day another officer arrived with a small escort of shipboard troopers. He introduced himself as Lieutenant P’arghat and asked Maarek to follow him. Happy to leave the confines of his cell, and hoping he wasn’t going to be shot or otherwise mistreated, he followed.

  The man led him to smallish amphitheatre that contained perhaps 150 seats arranged before a small raised platform. A few civilians occupied some of the seats, and guards were arranged at intervals against the walls. The civilians were dressed in the same outfit Maarek was wearing—white pajama-like pants and shirts with the Imperial logo emblazoned here and there on the fabric and a large, very readable number on the back of the shirt. Prisoner’s clothes.

  Maarek was shown to a seat and told to stay put. He watched as others arrived and soon recognized several people—Pargo came in, then his mother, the Bordali woman from the shuttle, and he thought he recognized another of the Bordali soldiers. He did not see Gwadj. He recognized public figures from both Kuan and Bordal. Of course most of the people were total strangers, but many had the look of battle-hardened soldiers. Both his mother and Pargo smiled when they spotted him, but there was an obvious tension about their faces which Maarek was sure his echoed. This was no time or place for rejoicing or happy reunions. Who knew what these Imperial conquerors were up to?

  After a time the amphitheatre was filled. Then a man in a formal Imperial uniform approached the raised platform and began to speak. His voice was amplified, though Maarek guessed that his natural voice was quiet.

  “Beings of Taroon. I am Admiral Mordon, your host aboard this ship. I have invited you here to introduce you to the Empire and to help you understand what our purpose is and what your roles may be. You have been chosen from among your people for a variety of reasons. Some of you will return to your home planets and serve the Emperor. Others may, if they qualify, join the Imperial fleet and help us bring order and peace to the galaxy. For now, please listen and learn. Later, you will have an opportunity to ask questions.”

  The Origin of the Empire

  “Do you know why your system has been at war for twenty years?” Mordon began, “Do you know why you have suffered for so long without real leadership, strong economies, and a valued position within the galaxy? Your problems started many years ago, with the Republic.

  “Long ago, when the Clone Wars ended, the galaxy was divided up by a group of beings who called themselves senators. These senators formed a government designed to make them more powerful and rich. They were the elite, and all other beings were their unwitting accomplices in the systematic pillage of a thousand thousand worlds,

  “Of course, the senators made it sound as if they were going to govern fairly, represent their systems, and bring peace and harmony to the galaxy. As you are well aware, they did no such thing. When was the last time Taroon received any aid, commerce, or direction from the so-called Republic?”

  The man hesitated at that moment and there was a low murmur in the crowd. His words had produced the desired effect. People were grumbling about the Republic, which had never in recent memory paid any attention to the Taroon system.

  “The corruption of the senators gradually came to light, in large part due to the efforts of one of their members—a strong-willed, but uncompromising senator named Palpatine. Senator Palpatine worked diligently to expose the corruption and rot, the rampant opportunism that was bleeding the lifeblood of the galaxy. He was one of the few idealists who believed in the rhetoric of the Republic and who had worked his way to his position through years of service to his fellow beings.

  “Soon, he learned that to expose corruption was both dangerous and ineffective. His enemies were too well-entrenched, so he took a different approach. He worked within the system, gradually making allies of many key members of the senate, the Republican Guard, and even those Jedi Knights who remained uncorrupted.

  “His great vision was to bring unity and equity to all the worlds, but he quickly saw the weakness of the Republican system, A perceptive student of history, he knew that the greatest strength comes with centralized, individual leadership, backed by a powerful military. This was the vision that he followed, and such was the strength and perseverance of his effort that he was able to form a powerful coalition of leaders who eventually named him Emperor. The era of peace and prosperity had begun.

  “However, out in the Rim, among the outer planets, events of such importance might not have produced any benefit, due to the long neglect of the Republic. It is our mission to bring that unity to the Empire. We carry the force to do so if necessary, but our mission is diplomatic. We will install our sector governors and local authorities, bring order to your worlds, and make them productive members of the Empire.

  “Today the worlds of the galactic Core enjoy prospe
rity, security, and tremendous growth. With a strong central government, each planet, each system, and each sector contributes its part. The hardy settlers of the Cardua system excel at mining the rich ore deposits of their asteroid belts. Their neighbors in the Xorth system enjoy rich soil and trade largely in agricultural goods. They also provide the finest Farrberries in the galaxy—prized for their fine scent and invigorating effect. Each benefits from the efforts of the others. Taroon also has a role to play, and we are here to give you the opportunity to join the greatest empire of all time.