• Published 14th Feb 2015
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Empire and Rebellion - Snake Staff



As the Galactic Empire extends its reach across the galaxy, the ponies must choose their side.

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20: Mistake

Princess Luna watched the headless body of Inquisitor Cia topple unceremoniously to the ground at her hooves. At once she felt stronger, the darkness inside her feeding on the death of another and restoring a measure of her vitality in turn. Inside, she felt a sense of deep personal satisfaction: insult and indignity had been repaid, cruelties and murders avenged. By killing this woman, she had made the galaxy a better place.

“Someday,” she vowed silently. “The Emperor shall stand in her place, and suffer her fate. Equus will be free of him!”

Luna allowed herself a few moments of silent gloating, of basking in the awe and transparent fear with which the other acolytes were regarding her. Just a glance in their direction sent more than one scurrying backwards, terrified to be the next to draw her ire. She could see that it was beneficial to strike fear into the hearts of the aliens. Equestria could never hope to escape the galaxy’s brutalities now that it had been discovered and connected – unless all were too afraid to dare touch it.

Eventually, her gaze returned to Darth Vader, who had stayed silent since his slight compliment. He had called Darth Nox’s lightsaber to himself, and was examining the archaic weapon in one gloved hand. For some time he simply stood there in silence, no one daring to interrupt or otherwise disturb him. At length, the towering cyborg affixed the ancient Sith’s lightsaber to his own belt without a word. Not even Luna, flush with victory, felt like trying to stop him taking it.

“The failure of your Inquisitor,” Vader said in his booming bass tone, his gaze sweeping over the class. “Is not yours. You are weak, but it is not your doing. The Empire still has use for you. A new instructor will be dispatched shortly to oversee your training. You will remain here and await their arrival,” his mask shifted to look down at Luna. “Except you.”

“Me?” Luna put on her best surprised expression. “Lord Vader, what-”

“You will come with me,” Vader declared, sweeping past her without a word of explanation. He made no effort to see if the alicorn was following him, apparently simply taking it as a given. His long, steady strides took him quickly across the room and out the still-open portal to the hallway beyond.

Luna supposed she should be used to being treated with abject disrespect unbefitting millennia-old royalty by then, but she still found it galling. At least, she reflected, it beat being strangled unconscious and awakened via electroshock in a cell. Plus, Vader was the Emperor’s henchman, wasn’t he? Apprentice too, if Dooku had been honest with her, which she was still dubious about. Regardless, getting near him would undoubtedly bring her closer to Palpatine. Not seeing any other real alternative, Luna half-galloped after Vader.


The walk through Korriban’s red desert was long, painful, and tedious. With the adrenaline rush and dark side boost of combat dying away, Luna was feeling the lightsaber wound on her left cheek. It wasn’t deep, but it was long and it burned like all hell. She felt certain it would leave a scar. She had a pounding headache that corresponded roughly to where Cia had kicked her in the skull, and absolutely no restoration abilities in her repertoire of powers. The dark side did not naturally heal any more than it naturally protected. And Korriban’s burning sun and harsh winds, of course, continued to irk and pain the princess.

To add to her frustration, Vader had proven completely impervious to questioning. He offered her neither explanation nor any answers at all, remaining utterly silent save for his breathing. She had no idea how he had determined that she was different, nor what he intended for her now. Luna assumed that he didn’t want her dead right away, but beyond that had nothing but guesswork. Dooku was no help either, his spirit having apparently deserted her or gone into hiding in Vader’s presence. She didn’t know if he had abandoned her forever, or even if he was capable of following her off-planet in any event. But irrespective of the answer to that, no one was telling her anything, and it galled her.

So by the time the Dark Lord and princess reached the landing pad deep in the desert, Luna’s mood had gone fully sour. There was a Lambda-class shuttle parked atop the oasis of durasteel and permacrete in the red dune sea, its ramp lowered for them. Vader strode up and into the ship as unhesitatingly as he did everything else, and Luna followed. Very shortly thereafter the boarding ramp retracted and Luna could feel the craft lifting off.

The journey through the planet’s atmosphere was bumpy and uncomfortable, the shuttle’s hard seats having not been built with comfort in mind. Or quadrupedal races, for that matter. Vader himself apparently saw no need for them, simply standing still as a statue even during the worst of the atmospheric turbulence. His continued breathing was the only sign that he was still alive.

Having long since given up on getting any answers out of Vader until he was ready to give them, Luna instead opted to fiddle with one of the computers in the passenger compartment. To her delight, she quickly discovered that the shuttle had been equipped with holonet capability. Somewhat less happily, Luna soon found that that day was Empire Day, the fourth anniversary of the day when Palpatine had destroyed the Jedi Order, dissolved the Galactic Republic, and declared the birth of the Galactic Empire. Every channel and broadcast was filled with nothing but sycophantic praises for the Emperor and tales of Imperial glory. Many displayed clips of a vast military parade on Coruscant, set to rousing martial music. Hundreds of walkers and thousands of troops from the Imperial Army and Stormtrooper Corps marched in sync before cheering crowds, while overhead TIE fighters zoomed in parade formation beneath looming Star Destroyers of all types.

Luna soon shut it off. It made her sick to watch.


The shuttle’s landing onboard an Imperial-class Star Destroyer proved smoother than its takeoff. The moment the boarding ramp was down, Vader walked down and out without a word. Luna was beginning to get used to it, though she found his habit disrespectful and annoying. Still, she wasn’t about to go challenging Darth Vader.

Not yet, anyway.

Luna had to trot briskly to keep up with Vader as he walked through one of the Star Destroyer’s many landing bays, paying little attention to the troops lined up to greet him. The Sith exited the one bay, weaved through a series of unadorned grey and white corridors, and entered another, larger bay. All without speaking one word. Almost the entirety of the second bay was occupied by a large, wedge-shaped vessel Luna eventually recognized as an Arquitens-class light cruiser from the Clone Wars era. Lined up in front of it were a number of very nervous-looking men in the uniforms of the Imperial Navy.

“Lord Vader,” said one man near the front of the group. “We a-are honored that you came to see us… in person.”

“You may dispense with the pleasantries, Captain Oro,” Vader said. “Since you have deigned to grace us with your presence at last, I assume you have my shipment.”

The pale, already visibly sweating, paled slightly. “Yes… um… about that…”

“What is it?”

“We…” Oro’s hands fidgeted. “Might have run into a spot of… difficulty.”

“Difficulty,” repeated Vader.

“Of the… piratical nature, my lord. Our ship was attacked and b-boarded near the Ord Radama system and…” he swallowed. “Some of our cargo was t-taken. Including yours, my lord. B-But we did take a few prisoners,” he hastened to add. “We believe we might be able to – ghk!”

Midway through the officer’s sentence, Vader lifted his right hand and clenched it into a fist.

“You have failed me for the last time, Captain.”

Luna watched, half in disgust and half in fascination, as the Imperial officer’s body was lifted from the ground, the man desperately clutching at his neck and gaping his mouth. It was an uncomfortably familiar situation, but this time there was no one to save the man. Within a few seconds his neck audibly snapped, and his body went limp. Vader tossed it aside casually.

“Lieutenant Hayes.”

“Yes, my lord?” an understandably frightened-looking young man in a navy uniform stepped forward.

“Bring me these prisoners. I will make them talk.”


Captain Tyo Recast of Recast’s Raiders sat comfortably in a lounge chair aboard the Shadow’s Spirit. The CR90 Corellian Corvette served as the flagship of his small fleet, which consisted of two more corvettes, nine extensively modified freighters, and no less than three full squadrons of Z-95 Headhunter and Y-wing starfighters. Parked in orbit over an unnamed world in an equally unnamed system in the Outer Rim, the pirates were celebrating their latest success.

Attacking the Empire was always a bit risky, especially compared to preying on the usual near-helpless civilian freighters that trawled the galaxy. With Palpatine’s military buildup, Star Destroyers and the like were becoming more and more common further and further from the Core Worlds. And they rarely showed the scruples that had hampered the Republic’s own anti-piracy efforts. Still, the Empire was the biggest and richest force in the galaxy, and so the risk was sometimes worth taking. A little tip passed through an underworld associate on Coruscant had pinpointed one particular ship as carrying a very nice prize, and a hefty bounty to go with it.

They’d hit the ship and seized the cargo, and… well, honestly, Tyo had had no idea what it was. Just a box full of dusty old relics with strange hieroglyphs, some ancient-looking armor plates, and a few small black pyramids. He had no idea why anyone in the Empire or underworld would care very much for archeological finds, but then again didn’t really care. They’d already dispatched a ship to meet the buyer with the prize, and even gotten the half the credits transferred to an anonymous Muunilinst bank account ahead of time. Now they were celebrating a job well-done in traditional pirate style: drinking their collective arse off.

The ship’s crew had been engaged in their assorted forms of gambling, indulgence, and general debauchery for some time before one of the R2 droids rolled up to spoil. Beeping and warbling in an urgent tone, the small droid stuck a grasping tool out of its chassis and tugged on Tyo’s trousers.

“Wha’ is it?” the pirate captain said, irritated at being distracted from his game of sabacc. “Can ya see when a body’s busy, R2-P9?”

The droid beeped and whistled at him again, more insistently this time.

“Fine… Fine…” Tyo laid his cards face down on the table, certain that the others would look at them anyway. “I’m comin’.”

The droid wheeled around and led the captain back to ship’s bridge, where several more of the vessel’s mechanical crewmembers had congregated. Most had taken up stations that their organic masters had deserted during their celebrations, keeping a loyal watch on the instruments. It was one of these instrument panels that R2 tapped with its claw, beeping urgently.

“Wha’s tha problem?” Tyo slurred slightly as he bent over to examine the ship’s feed. “Tha’s it?’ he said after a quick glance. “Jus’ send a few a the boys in their ships out to rough it up. And don’t bother me again.”

With that, he turned and, after a slight stumble, exited the bridge. The situation was hardly anything to worry about. Just one fighter had blundered into the system, without any backup at all.

What could it possibly do?

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