Darkest Knight

8

Surrounded by dimness in his private office, lit only by recorded starlight from distant parts of the galaxy, Brakiss contemplated the plans of the Second Imperium.

Time slipped away from him as he allowed himself to be swallowed up in thoughts. Possibilities for conquest engrossed him, and he ran them over and over in his head, contemplating the complete destruction of the Rebels and his former mentor, Luke Skywalker. Such imaginings soothed him. Resting his elbows on the polished black desk, Brakiss touched his fingertips together and smiled.

Suddenly, a startling signal destroyed his concentration like a thunderbolt. The potent alarm pulsed again, and he used his much-needed Jedi skills to calm himself. “This is Brakiss,” he responded.

“Qorl here,” a voice replied. An image appeared on the flatscreen communicator built into his desk. The old TIE pilot seemed rattled—and that surprised Brakiss even more than the alarm had. Qorl was one of the steadiest officers in the Second Imperium.

“We have a coded message coming into the Shadow Academy, sir. It carries the highest level of encryption. Every marking indicates that the transmission is of the utmost importance. You must receive the message yourself and respond personally.”

Brakiss blinked. “Any indication of the sender’s identity?” His thoughts whirled. Tamith Kai and Zekk had already departed on their mission to Kashyyyk, but even they were incapable of sending such a high-level message.

“No indication, sir,” Qorl said, “but I would recommend that you respond without delay.”

“I’m on my way,” Brakiss said, and switched off, propelling himself out of his chair in one fluid motion.

He raced through the curved metallic corridors, taking an automated lift platform to the transmitting and receiving tower, which contained the machinery that cast a cloaking field around the spike-ringed station.

Several stormtroopers stood alert as Brakiss swept into the transmitting tower. Qorl worked at the receiving stations, scanning computerized readouts and recording the coded signal. Brakiss noted that the man used his biological right hand, letting his bulky robotic limb hang motionless at his side. Qorl blinked at the Shadow Academy leader. “They have begun transmitting again, Lord Brakiss,” he said. “They seem to be quite impatient.”

“All right, let’s input the decryption routine.” Standing beside Qorl, Brakiss had to think for a moment to summon the correct string of symbols and numbers, then keyed in his password so that the Shadow Academy computers could translate the high-level coded message.

Qorl handed Brakiss a dangling headset. “The message is for your ears only. Listen on this channel.” Qorl helped Brakiss mount the earphones and microphone snugly against his head.

Brakiss listened to the crackle of static as the convoluted message ran through its code-deciphering algorithms and finally resolved itself into coherent words. The voice pounded against his eardrums, harsh, almost reptilian, dripping with evil.

Brakiss’s eyes widened, and fear drove a spike through his mind. He cleared his throat twice before he could respond. “Yes, my lord,” he finally answered. “Yes, at once.” He drew a deep breath to continue, but the sender terminated the signal. Brakiss heard only static.

He stood rigid, using all of his Jedi strengths to keep himself from trembling. Qorl waited beside him, leathery face emotionless, his eyes unblinking. Only a slight furrow across the TIE pilot’s forehead showed how concerned he was.

Brakiss spoke quietly, looking at Qorl but knowing that the stormtrooper guards were also listening intently. “The Emperor,” he said hoarsely, “the Emperor is coming here!”

An ominous transport shuttle dropped out of hyperspace in the vicinity of the Shadow Academy. The shuttle was an Imperial design, the Emperor’s private escort ship, armored with tarnished hull plates. Its configuration was similar to a triangular Lambda-class transport, except that this craft bore very special weaponry, sensing devices, and ultrapowerful hyperdrive engines. Even such extreme modifications, though, were of little consequence when compared to the importance of the passenger it carried.

Brakiss stood within the hangar bay, struggling to drive back his anxiety. In all this time he had never met the Emperor face-to-face, despite his unwavering service to the Second Imperium.

The Great Leader of the Second Imperium, Emperor Palpatine, must somehow have escaped death years earlier—though Brakiss had been sure the Emperor had been destroyed … several times, in fact. He did not know what secret Palpatine had used, or how he had managed to restore himself to life, but Brakiss didn’t care—all that mattered was that the Second Imperium was in the most capable hands imaginable.

The comm buzzed and Qorl’s voice made an announcement. “Lord Brakiss, the Emperor’s private transport has just come out of hyperspace. I await your orders.”

Brakiss leaned closer to the wall speaker. “Very well, drop the Shadow Academy’s cloaking field and transmit our greetings to Emperor Palpatine. We are honored by his visit.”

“Yes, sir,” Qorl said, signing off.

Brakiss could feel no difference, not even through the Force, as the invisibility shield dissolved around the station. He stood with an honor guard of stormtroopers inside the cleared docking bay. The transparent atmosphere containment field flickered.

Brakiss stared out into open space, watching the awesome craft approach. The stormtroopers stood more rigidly, their armor locking into place, boots clicking together.

The Emperor’s transport followed Qorl’s signal. The three-bladed shuttle glided through the atmosphere containment field, which flickered and sparked as it folded around the hull of the ship. The Imperial transport coasted to the center of the broad deck, then lowered itself to a stable position.

Brakiss swallowed a large lump in his throat. He transmitted to Qorl. “Reactivate the cloaking shield, please—we don’t want to expose ourselves any longer than necessary.”

“It is done, sir,” Qorl said.

The stormtroopers shouldered their weapons and stood in perfect ranks. Brakiss stepped forward to offer greeting, but paused when nothing happened. The Emperor’s transport remained silent except for a few hissing and ticking sounds as the ship settled. He saw no movement inside. The hatch remained stubbornly shut. Brakiss waited for any sign.

Finally, a voice boomed from loudspeakers mounted outside the Emperor’s shuttle. “Attention, all Shadow Academy personnel! The Emperor has arrived. As a security precaution, we insist that everyone depart the docking bay immediately. The Emperor has a private escort of Imperial guards and wishes no further contact at this time.”

The announcement took Brakiss completely by surprise. When he noticed that his mouth was hanging open in foolish astonishment, he closed it so quickly that his teeth clicked together. The Emperor had come to the Shadow Academy—and now Palpatine refused Brakiss’s honor escort. The Great Leader wanted to be left alone?

Brakiss realized that he had hesitated in following Palpatine’s instructions. Aghast and trying to make up for lost time, he turned and clapped his hands smartly. “You heard the orders! Everyone, about-face. Clear the docking bay. The Emperor wishes his privacy.”

The stormtroopers turned and, with a booming clatter on the metal deck, marched out of the docking bay and into the curved corridors.

“Sir,” one of the stormtroopers said, breaking ranks to stop in front of Brakiss, “I had requested to be part of the Emperor’s personal escort squad. I’ll stay here to greet him as he disembarks.”

Brakiss blinked in shock, noting the storm-trooper’s service number. He recognized Qorl’s trainee, Norys. Qorl had said the burly young man was ambitious and ill-tempered, but Brakiss was nonetheless stunned at the impertinence.

“You will follow my orders, trooper,” Brakiss snapped. “The Second Imperium has no room for those who don’t understand discipline.” He drew in a cold breath. “If I see any further instance of your failure to obey commands, you will be ejected from the airlock into space. Is that understood?”

As Norys clomped off without acknowledging Brakiss’s rebuff, the master of the Shadow Academy turned to look back at the silent Imperial shuttle. He himself was unable to comprehend why the Emperor had come here if he had no intention of interacting with the Shadow Academy, or at least meeting with Brakiss personally.

However, the Emperor was the ultimate master, and Brakiss would not dare question Palpatine’s orders.

The last one to leave the docking bay, he turned with a swirl of his silvery robes and stepped outside before transmitting the signal that closed and sealed the doors to the docking bay.

As he stood in the outer corridor, though, Brakiss made a decision of his own. He was master of this station—and was required to know what happened aboard it, wasn’t he? He had followed the Emperor’s wishes to the letter, but now he needed to see what was going on. Brakiss went to a videomonitor designed for observation of docking and loading procedures.

With the docking bay emptied of stormtroopers and Shadow Academy representatives, the hatches finally opened on the Emperor’s shuttle. On the monitor Brakiss was impressed to see four Imperial guards stride out, shrouded in scarlet robes. The intimidating red guards had been the most feared elite corps of Palpatine’s forces, and now four of them had accompanied the Emperor here. Smooth red armor covered their heads and shoulders like cowls, reminding him of historical images he had seen of ancient Mandalorian uniforms.

The red Imperial guards moved away from the ship and took up defensive positions, their robes flowing like flames around them. A shudder ran down Brakiss’s spine. He tried to feel the intense dark force crackling from the core of the Imperial transport ship. The Emperor, he knew, must be in there somewhere.

Through the voice pickup mounted in the docking bay, Brakiss heard a clanking, slamming sound. Two pairs of squat, powerful worker droids tromped down the wide extended ramp, carrying an enormously heavy isolation chamber. The worker droids, little more than the powerful arms and legs mounted on a stocky body core, hauled their burden without complaint.

The droids were gentle with their cargo, moving smoothly, carefully, despite the immense power in their hydraulic limbs. They carried the huge tank off the Imperial ship and into the docking bay. Side panels on the isolation chamber’s black riveted walls blinked with multicolored lights; computer displays showed life monitors and external communications.

The four red guards surrounded the chamber, looking protective and menacing. Then they marched toward the broad doors—two in front of the chamber, two behind—into the main core of the Shadow Academy.

Brakiss hurried to open the doors for them, but somehow the computer-locked seals were automatically broken before he could do so. The doors slammed open, as if controlled by the Emperor’s dark side powers.

The red guards strode forward, still surrounding the worker droids. The huge isolation tank hissed and buzzed and bleeped as a thousand electronic systems monitored its supremely important occupant.

Brakiss stopped in front of the foremost pair of Imperial guards. “Greetings. I am Master Brakiss of the Shadow Academy.”

The leader of the red guards turned his armored head, and Brakiss felt a cold scrutiny through the black eyeslit. “You will leave us alone. We have important work, and we require privacy. You may guide us to our chambers—and then leave.”

Brakiss could barely contain his dismay. “But … I am the Master of the Shadow Academy.”

The red guard said, “And the Emperor is the master of the galaxy. He wishes privacy for now. We suggest that you do not displease him.”

Brakiss backed away, bowing quickly. “I have no wish to displease the Emperor. Forgive my impudence.”

After Brakiss indicated the quarters to which the visitors had been assigned—the plushest and most spacious accommodations aboard the station—the red guards and worker droids marched into the chambers, leaving Brakiss alone out in the corridor.

He felt belittled, insignificant, stepped on, as if all of his accomplishments and work meant nothing to the Emperor. It baffled him. What could be the purpose of it? He frowned as thoughts whirled inside his head.

The Emperor had originally died in the destruction of the second Death Star, but six years after his defeat, Palpatine had been resurrected in a series of clones, which had also—presumably—been destroyed.

Now, after observing the isolation tank, the secrecy, the inexplicable behavior of the four Imperial guards, Brakiss felt a new and deeper fear coil through his body. He wondered if something could be wrong, if the Emperor could perhaps be in failing health again….

If that was the case, the Second Imperium was indeed in great trouble.

*

AS A FORMER TIE pilot, Qorl had been trained in the Imperial way, with loyalties and duties and responses drilled into him. No questions, only orders. His mind had been programmed to turn him into a perfect fighting machine for the Empire.

The cornerstone of that training had been discipline. And one thing Qorl knew: the young man who stood before him was not disciplined.

He wondered if perhaps Brakiss and Tamith Kai had been too hasty in accepting Norys and his band of young ruffians from Coruscant to be trained as stormtroopers and pilots. True, the battles ahead to recapture lost glory, to reclaim stolen territory, would require every set of capable hands for the Second Imperium. But even if Qorl did manage to turn the rest of the Lost Ones gang into serviceable troopers and pilots, this one was trouble.

At the control pad of the simulation chamber, Qorl programmed in a new set of targets while Norys recharged his blaster rifle. He vowed to train this one, and keep training him, until he saw some genuine progress in the ambitious fighter.

“I still say I should have been sent on the raid with Tamith Kai,” Norys grumbled, waving his weapon as if it made him feel more secure. “I could have taken out a few enemies, evened the score a little bit for our side. Set a few of those big Wookiee trees on fire.”

Qorl set the simulated targets in rapid motion: black, orange, and blue for Rebels, and white for stormtroopers. “It’s a small raid,” Qorl said. “Zekk is directing the troops. There was no need for a second leader.”

Norys took aim at a blue target and missed. He liked target practice better when the targets were slow simulations like mynocks. It was fun to kill them. “Then they should have sent me alone, old man. I’m a better leader now than that trash collector will ever be.”

Trouble, Qorl thought, definitely trouble. “Why do you say that?”

“Because,” Norys said, taking aim at an orange target, but only nicking the edge of it, “my followers are so afraid of me they’d never dare disobey my orders.” He missed once more. “Is the aim-point on this blaster offset again?”

“You aren’t concentrating on your target,” Qorl said, then addressed the candidate’s comment in a neutral tone. “Your example is indeed one method of leadership. But you have much to learn.”

Norys bristled and missed another shot. He rounded on the former TIE pilot with a menacing growl. “Like what, old man?”

Qorl didn’t flinch or back down. He had faced tougher adversaries than this young bully—though perhaps none with such pure mean-spiritedness. “You could learn to concentrate on your weapon and shut out distractions. You could also learn how to aim and hit your intended target each time, rather than just talking about it,” Qorl pointed out. “The way you are shooting today, you would have become a casualty in only a few seconds in a real firefight.”

“Really, old man?” Norys’s lips pulled back in something between a snarl and a grin. He turned back toward the targets and, moving his blaster rifle in a slow semicircle, flooded the area with blaster bolts, never removing his finger from the firing stud. When he was finished, every target had registered a hit. A

complete slaughter. Norys turned back toward Qorl with a satisfied smirk. “How much more target practice do I need, old man?”

“Enough practice so you don’t destroy our own troops during a raid,” Qorl replied.

Norys shrugged. “We all make a few sacrifices to meet our goals.” He glanced back at the targets. “Seems like a fair trade-off to me.” He tossed the spent blaster rifle at Qorl, who caught it with his good arm.

Trouble, Qorl thought, definitely trouble.