24

Every flagstone gleamed. Every Imperial column had been scrubbed white. Every colorful banner representing the Empire’s most loyal worlds hung absolutely straight, displayed without a wrinkle. Everything was in order at the main citadel of the Imperial Military Academy on Carida.

Ambassador Furgan nodded. Just the way he liked it.

Three hundred crack stormtroopers stood at attention in the echoing hall, motionless in perfect ranks. Their white armor glistened like polished bone. They were identical, intensively trained, precise military machines. These stormtroopers were the best of the best in the academy. Only the top Imperial recruits even began stormtrooper training, and these three hundred had excelled in every way.

Ambassador Furgan moved toward the podium to address them. The smell of oils and waxes on the synthetic wood seemed potent in the otherwise sterilized air. Furgan drew himself up, trying to look larger than his stocky stature allowed. The white helmets turned in unison to track him with their black goggles.

“Imperial troops,” he said, “you have been chosen to lead the most important mission since the fall of our beloved Emperor. You have endured hardship and passed many tests during your training. I have chosen you as the elite, the best trainees remaining on Carida.”

They did not stir, did not congratulate each other. They remained like ranks of statues—which itself attested to the thoroughness of their training.

Since receiving the long-awaited coordinates of the secret planet Anoth, Furgan had plotted this operation with extreme caution. He had studied the personnel data of thousands of his best troops. He had analyzed the records of their training exercises: mock combat in the harsh ice caps of Carida; prolonged sieges out in the baked and waterless deserts; jungle survival tours through dense and uncharted rain forests filled with primitive predators, carnivorous plants, and poisonous insects.

Furgan had culled the names of those stormtroopers who had shown the most stamina, the most initiative, the greatest success, coupled with the strongest willingness to follow every order.

He was proud of his assault force.

“We have obtained secret information regarding the location of a certain baby. A child with enormous potential for using the Force.” He paused, expecting to hear them groan, but the stormtroopers made no sound.

“This child is the son of Leia Organa Solo, the New Republic’s Minister of State. If we were to apprehend this child, it would deal an enormous psychological blow to the Rebellion—but beyond that, this boy is the grandson of Darth Vader.”

There, finally, he thought he heard a rustle of superstitious fear or awe.

“This child could be extremely valuable to the rebirth of the Empire. A child such as this, raised properly and trained properly, could become a worthy successor to the Emperor Palpatine.”

Furgan kept talking, faster now as he felt the excitement within him. He was more than just an ambassador; he planned to go along on this assault himself. He would not expose himself to any part of the attack, of course, but he would be there to snatch the young child named Anakin.

“Your unit leaders will provide you with specific assignments. This expedition is currently being provisioned. We have secured transports to take you to the secret location of this world.”

Furgan allowed himself a broad grin with his thick purplish lips. “It is also my pleasure to announce that this assault will mark the first combat use of our new Mountain Terrain Armored Transports on which you have been training these past months. That is all. Hail to the Emperor!”

The thunderous response of filtered stormtrooper voices came back at him, rocking the hall. “Hail to the Emperor!”

Furgan slipped behind the hanging purple curtains into a walkway that led down empty glow-lit corridors toward his secure office. Inside his chambers he closed the blast-proof door and sealed it with a cipher lock. He brushed aside models and plans of the deadly new MT-AT attack vehicles. He felt immensely pleased with himself and eager for the assault to start.

Sitting on Carida during the years of turmoil, Furgan had been upset with all the squabbling Imperial commanders since the Emperor’s death. Many of the warlords in the Core Systems were extremely powerful, yet they spent their time wrestling for dominance among the remnants of the Imperial fleet rather than fighting against their real enemy, the Rebellion.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had seemed their greatest hope, but he had been defeated; and a year later even the resurrected Emperor had been defeated. The power vacuum of leadership left the Imperial forces with no leadership, no goal, battling only for their own advancement.

Even this surprise new threat by renegade Admiral Daala disturbed Furgan. At least Daala was putting her Star Destroyers to an appropriate use, attacking Rebel worlds and creating as much havoc as possible. But Daala had no overriding plan, no strategy that would bring her ultimate success. She was simply a juggernaut, striking target after target for the satisfaction of causing pain.

Furgan had discovered to his surprise that Daala herself had been trained on Carida. Digging through old records, he had uncovered many disciplinary actions taken against her, reprimands in her file. Even then she had been a maverick, performing admirably but refusing to learn her place, insisting that she deserved promotions instead of others. Furgan had no record of her advancement to admiral, but Moff Tarkin had transferred her to his personal staff after one of his brief inspection tours. Furgan had no other information about Daala since that time.

It angered him that this admiral continued her attacks on the Rebellion without even attempting to get in touch with Carida. Perhaps Daala considered herself a vigilante, but the Empire needed its soldiers to fight as parts of an immense whole. The Empire did not need vigilantes.

Furgan had tried to contact some of the other battling Imperial commanders to get capital ships for his assault on Anoth. The Emperor and Grand Admiral Thrawn and other depredations had already taken most of the ships available to Carida. On the military training planet, Furgan had access to some of the most sophisticated weaponry and soldiers in the entire galaxy—but because of the perpetual squabbles between the Imperial Army and the spacefaring Imperial Navy, he had no place to go with his troops. This left Furgan in a position of being on the most heavily armed—but useless—planet still loyal to the Empire.

Furgan absently played with one of the articulated models of the MT-AT fighting vehicle. It would be fascinating to see the marvelous new machine in operation. Even with the death of the Emperor, his loyalty to the Empire and the New Order had never been shaken, not even slightly.

Furgan kept doing his best to strike vital blows against the New Republic, one way or another. He was pleased to watch indirect reports that gave him evidence of the inexorable progress of Mon Mothma’s “mysterious illness.” She would be dead before long.

And as soon as Furgan had the grandson of Darth Vader in his possession, all those still loyal to the Empire would have to listen to him.