Luna strode boldly into one of the Devastator’s holding cells, not even bothering to glance inside first. With two lightsabers and the power of the dark side at her command, she would not have feared the alien wretch inside even if he weren’t already so broken. As it was, the pirate looked up at her and released a tight breath, his nervous grip slackening slightly.
“You were expecting someone else?” Luna asked him as the automatic door sealed shut behind her.
“Might have been,” he sat back on the cell’s hard bunk, its only furniture.
“Mmmm,” Luna murmured, eying him. Stretching out with the Force, she could sense his cautious relief, mixed with an undercurrent of anxiety. “Darth Vader, I assume?”
The look on his face would have told her everything even if the spike in his emotions didn’t.
“So,” Luna continued a moment later. “I shall make this very simple for you. Lord Vader is most displeased that you stole from him. He wishes to reclaim his property, and is prepared to express that desire… vigorously,” she paused to let the human ruminate on his own horrible memories. “Fortunately for you, he has chosen to send me in before coming himself. So you face the choice of telling me what I want to know now, without further pain, or else explaining to Darth Vader why you refused to be reasonable.” She couldn’t actually summon the Sith Lord like that, but it didn’t hurt for him to think that she could. “Understand?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Good,” Luna nodded. “On the other hand, if you cooperate with me I will see to it that you don’t suffer any further. Would you like that?”
The man hesitated. Luna could feel a lifetime’s worth of accumulated cynicism battling inside the human’s head with the longshot hope that she would be true to her word. His criminal instincts told him not to trust the strange equine creature, while his self-preservation urged him to take the chance. Not feeling particularly patient, Luna gently unfurled her right wing and reached out with the Force to touch his mind.
“You know,” she said softly, waving her wing. “I think that you should trust me.”
“I think that… I should trust you.”
She waved it again. “I think you should tell me what I want to know.”
He stared somewhat vacantly. “I think I should tell you what you want to know.”
“I am your friend.”
“You are my friend.”
Luna nodded and folded her wing back up. It wouldn’t last long, but the mind trick she’d employed should be enough, in conjunction with his own feelings, to loosen his tongue.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me your name,” the princess suggested.
“I’m Captain Tyo Recast,” he answered.
“Why did you attack an Imperial ship?”
“We were tipped off that it was carrying something valuable. Someone was offering a lot of money for that cargo.”
“Really? How much?”
“Ten million credits. Half in advance of delivery.”
“That sounds like a lot.”
“It is.”
“You must have been proud to capture such a prize.”
“I was.”
“You sold the cargo, I take it?”
“We did.”
“I appreciate your cooperation,” Luna said, waving her wing again. “You’re helping yourself by helping me.”
“I’m helping myself by helping you.”
“Now,” Luna said smoothly. “Perhaps you could tell me about whoever it was that you sold those artifacts to…”
Inside the CR90 corvette Idealist, Twilight Sparkle stood around a circular holoprojector table. There were a dozen others around it, mostly human with a solitary Mirialan and Twi’lek to round out the group. A few she knew, most she did not. For security reasons, most would not know the identities of other teams being inserted. At present, the table was projecting an image of a heavily hooded and cloaked figure, giving last-minute instructions.
“Slipping past Coruscant security is always a risk,” the figure was saying in a synthesized, androgynous voice. “The Empire maintains a sector-sized battlefleet in orbit at all times, and strictly monitors all traffic in and out.”
The image of the figure disappeared, replacing itself with one of the galactic capital. Twilight could see small red dots scattered across the space surrounding the world. Representing Imperial ships and orbital battle stations. There were hundreds of them.
“Fortunately,” the voice continued. “Coruscant, aka. Imperial Center, is completely dependent on outside sources for any non-recycled resources. With a population of over a trillion beings to keep sated, even the Empire can’t afford to seriously impede incoming space traffic. And therein lies our opportunity.”
The holographic image again shifted, this time to a specific building on the vast-city world, a red dot indicating one floor of it.
“This is the rendezvous point,” the voice said. “You will return to your respective ships and slip past Coruscant’s fleet disguised as simple cargo haulers. Those of you who are able to reach the surface within one galactic standard week are to meet up at this location on the eighth day. If you have any reason to believe that the Empire suspects you, or that you are being followed, abort mission and extract your team as best you are able. Those of you who make it that far will receive the remainder of your mission details from our contacts at that point.”
The hologram changed again, resuming the image of the cloaked figure.
“I won’t lie to you,” it said. “This is a high-risk operation. These things belong to Vader, and there’s no doubt he’ll have someone searching as well. Coruscant is the center of Imperial power in the galaxy, and the headquarters of the Imperial Security Bureau. If any of you are captured, and they have any idea what you are up to….” The figure shook its head. “You’ll need to be smart and keep a low profile. But if we pull this off, we strike a blow directly at Darth Vader, and for the freedom of the galaxy. Good luck to you all, and may the Force be with you.”
There were nods of assent from around the table.
“Fulcrum out.”
Princess Celestia was seated behind her desk in the Imperial Hub, attending to her usual duties as Imperial Governor. There were always long lists of tasks that needed doing, or delegating. The work was hard, the hours long, and her assistants subpar. She missed Kibitz even more than usual during these times. Sadly, the reliable old stallion had been one of the many butchered senselessly during the Separatist attack on Canterlot.
Shaking her head to clear away the painful memories, Celestia returned her attention to the task at hoof. Today she was being called upon to address continuing problems with refugee resettlement. With so many ponies in need of homes and so few sizable communities left standing, overcrowding in the cities was starting to become an issue. As more and more ponies left the camps to settle in whatever cities they could reach, the local increasingly resented their presence. It wasn’t hard to see why. With food and shelter at a premium, jobs scarce, and space limited, those who recognized their own fragile position were anxious to protect themselves from foreign competition. Fellow ponies or no, every building, job, or bite of food the refugees took for themselves was one more thing the locals couldn’t give to their own families. Even the legendary Equestrian altruism had its limits. Protests had broken out in every major city, Los Pegasus included. According to this latest report from the Equestrian Army, they were increasing in size and beginning to show signs of violence.
Celestia was doing what she could, offering some small compensation to those towns and cities hosting refugees and working as quickly as possible to build new communities for her ponies to live in, but it wasn’t enough to quell the tensions. The nation’s budget was stretched as far as she could make it go already. International trade was virtually nonexistent, Equestria’s industries were only partially recovered so raising taxes was not an option, and most of her personal wealth had been spent. She’d long ago trimmed the budget of any scrap of fat that she could find. There was little she could do to make the new towns rise faster, and nothing more she could offer Equestria’s cities to offset the cost of refugee migration.
The princess shook her head wearily. She had only one real option. Ask the Empire for help. Again. She was certain there would be a heavy price for doing so, but the only alternative was just to hope that tensions didn’t degenerate into mob violence. And that was unacceptable. The government’s position was fragile enough as it was; any major disruptions could result in a full-blown civil war. And that would undoubtedly bring the wrath of the Imperial military down on her world’s head, and…
Celestia didn’t like to think about it.
Gloomily, the alicorn logged her requests for additional building materials and construction droids with the local branch of the Imperial Department of Logistics. If granted, Celestia knew that pressure on existing cities to accept the homeless would ease immensely. Of course, she would also have to repay the Empire somehow. Likely by increasing the flow of mineral wealth squeezed from other nations. The inhabitants of those lands would hate her for that, and understandably so. But her own subjects had to come first. Still, she would drift off that night with a heavy heart.
As usual.
It was as Celestia was just starting to read over her next item on the agenda that the holoprojector built into her desk began to beep. Wearily, she sat her datapad down and magically pressed a button, accepting the transmition. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw who it was.
“Governor Celestia.”
“Grand Vizier Mas Amedda,” Celestia bowed her head to the blue-skinned, horned Chagrian male. “This is unexpected.”
“Clearly,” he replied.
The princess brushed her desk clear and sat up a little straighter. “What may I do for you, Vizier?”
The head of the Imperial Ruling Council looked down at her in a faintly condescending manner. “The Emperor has received your petition.”
“With regard to my sister?” asked Celestia, slightly more eagerly than intended.
“Indeed,” Amedda nodded. “He has decided that he will hear you.”
Against all odds, the alicorn felt a slight spark of hope kindling in her breast. “Then, by all means, put his majesty through at his convenience!” she urged.
Amedda frowned. “You misunderstand me, Governor,” he said. “Your presence is required on Imperial Center. The Emperor will hear your petition in person.”