“Want some coffee?” the officer asked the marshal as he poured himself a cup, casually shattering whatever remained of military protocol beneath the stormtrooper’s feet.
He glanced into the mug, grimaced, and set it down again.
“Actually, no.
You don’t.
It’s gone cold.
Just tell me what happened.” Removing his helmet and placing it on the table beside him, the man wearing the most recognizable armor in the galaxy began his report.
“We’ve never encountered an enemy like this before,” he admitted.
“Their weapons operate on principles we don’t understand, so that’s outside my area of expertise.
They’re well trained.
The attached units from the new formations suffered casualties of fifty-two, sixty-four, and eighty-one percent respectively.
If the 212th Attack Battalion hadn’t been committed in time, our assault would have failed.
Veteran losses remained below thirty percent.
We captured only two prisoners, and both were unconscious from the explosions.
These were clearly reconnaissance forces.
Even for this region of space, they were lightly equipped.
No heavy weapons.
Large numbers of small craft.” “What are your conclusions, Cody?” the mustached officer asked, addressing his subordinate by name.
“How do we beat them without drowning them in bodies?
This was only a reconnaissance outpost.” “Commodore Zsinj, sir, they charge blaster fire like wild animals.
That’s the sort of behavior you’d expect from battle droids, not intelligent beings.
That said, the training standards of the new stormtrooper formations are clearly inadequate.
Even veterans struggle to react to their speed.
The recruits perform far worse.
Fortunately for us, these creatures have no concept of battlefield tactics, not even the fundamentals.” “I want a full report on my desk the day after tomorrow,” Zsinj replied.
“Include detailed recommendations for dealing with this new enemy.
There’s always a bigger predator out there.” He leaned back slightly.
“Are you suggesting we employ…
unusual personnel?
Clones?
Aliens?” “For starters, retrain the new stormtroopers using the old methods,” Cody answered without hesitation.
“Replace them with clones wherever possible.
Given the enemy’s physical advantages, we should also consider recruiting something comparable to Jedi.
A loyal Imperial equivalent.
They shouldn’t hold command positions without proper military training, but using them as assault troops would reduce stormtrooper casualties considerably.” Zsinj regarded the clone in silence.
The logic was flawless.
Politically, however, the suggestion could hardly have come at a worse time.
Dangerous thoughts.
Especially from a clone officer.
The New Order hated Jedi.
It exterminated them wherever they were found.
Zsinj knew the Inquisitorius existed, though officially he was not supposed to.
Becoming involved with that organization would be an extraordinarily bad idea.
For now.
The future was another matter.
“Let’s assume, purely hypothetically, that such a thing were permitted,” Zsinj said at last.
“Where exactly would we find new Jedi?
They’ve all been eliminated for their crimes.” “Sir.” Cody leaned forward.
“If High Command approves, and if it improves operational effectiveness against this enemy, then I should remind you that during the Clone Wars we encountered a large population on Dathomir whose natives possessed abilities comparable to those of the Jedi.” Zsinj studied him thoughtfully.
No.
At present, that suggestion could easily cost both of them their heads.
Under different circumstances, however…
The man from Fondor had much to consider about the increasingly strange developments unfolding within Wild Space.
“I expect a complete report when we return to Nirauan,” he said finally, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee.
“And a separate proposal on retraining the conscript stormtroopers.
I want to know how to turn this herd of banthas, who are suffering worse casualties than the Jedi did during the early Clone Wars, into actual predators.” ….
Owen Lars awoke to the blare of the alarm.
A moisture farmer born and raised on Tatooine knew exactly how important security systems were in a lawless world.
There was only one possible explanation.
Someone was breaking into his home.
He immediately shook Beru awake and reached beneath the bed, retrieving the weapons he had purchased years earlier on the black market.
According to the Empire, they were illegal.
According to the Hutts, who actually ruled Tatooine, they were simply merchandise.
The first was a DC-15A blaster rifle, originally manufactured for the Grand Army of the Republic during the Clone Wars.
The second was an old but dependable disintegrator pistol produced somewhere within Hutt Space.
Handing the pistol to his wife, Owen took the rifle and activated the concealed security monitor hidden inside the wall.
The screen showed an intruder forcing open the exterior entrance before descending into the homestead.
“Luke…” Beru whispered.
“Get the boy,” Owen said.
“Take the speeder and head for town.” He looked into her eyes, kissed her quickly, and turned toward the approaching intruder with the rifle gripped tightly in his hands.
Beru switched the pistol to combat mode and followed him into the corridor before breaking off toward Luke’s room.
The childless Lars couple had raised the boy as though he were their own son.
Luke had returned that love without hesitation.
He had even asked to bear their family name.
As Owen took up position, the control panel behind him emitted two warning beeps.
The intruder was close.
He stepped into the central chamber connecting the residential quarters to the upper levels of the moisture farm.
Flattening himself against the wall beside the doorway, he waited.
The plan was simple.
Hit the intruder over the head with the rifle stock.
The residential section was a dead end.
Anyone attempting to reach the garage and escape would have to pass directly through the corridor Owen now defended.
The door burst open.
A young dark-skinned woman in her early twenties stepped inside.
She wore black armor.
A red lightsaber burned in her right hand.
Owen swung the heavy rifle toward the back of her head.
She moved as though she had anticipated the attack before it happened.
Her elbow slammed into his throat.
The red lightsaber flashed.
The DC-15A split neatly in two.
“Where is the boy?” she hissed.
Her free hand closed around Owen’s throat.
As she lifted him effortlessly off the floor, he caught sight of glowing yellow eyes.
“Go to hell,” he spat.
Blood from his split lips splattered across her armor.
He could only hope Beru had enough time to get Luke away before he paid for the delay with his life.
“Get away from him!” The shout came from behind.
Owen’s heart sank.
Beru stood in the doorway, the disintegrator leveled directly at the woman.
“Now.” The dark-skinned attacker turned her head with agonizing slowness.
For a heartbeat, she simply stared.
Then she released Owen.
The farmer collapsed against the wall, gasping desperately for air.
The woman extended a hand.
Owen had never heard the term Force Push, but he witnessed its effects firsthand.
Beru was hurled backward as though struck by an invisible battering ram.
She slammed into the wall hard enough to knock the pistol from her grasp before crumpling to the floor.
“I’ll kill every one of you, Skywalker spawn,” the woman hissed.
She raised her lightsaber to finish Owen.
The farmer closed his eyes.
He had made peace with death.
What he never saw was Luke stepping into the doorway behind her.
A handful of tools erupted from the metal toolbox clutched in the boy’s hands.
The Force-sensitive assassin had no time to react.
A screwdriver punched through her right shoulder pauldron, driving deep into the flesh beneath.
She staggered backward with a cry of pain.
Spinning toward Luke, she intercepted a flying wrench with her lightsaber, slicing it cleanly in half.
A hammer missed her head by mere centimeters.
Then she charged.
“Luke, run!” Owen rasped.
Dragging himself to his feet, he seized the shattered remains of the DC-15A.
The rifle could no longer fire, but it still weighed enough to serve as a club.
This time, Luke listened.
The boy thrust out his hand.
The attacker was hurled backward toward the open doorway.
She somehow kept her footing.
A heartbeat later, the entire toolbox flew after her.
She carved it apart with a single sweep of her lightsaber.
Something heavy struck Owen just below the knee.
Then an invisible force slammed him back into the wall.
Luke sprinted toward the garage and vanished from sight.
Without the slightest hesitation, the dark side assassin abandoned the Lars family and pursued him.
Owen struggled to breathe.
His vision blurred.
As he slid helplessly down the wall, consciousness began slipping away.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was a terrified Ben Kenobi bursting into the room.
“There…” Owen managed to whisper.
With trembling fingers, he pointed toward the doorway through which Luke and the mysterious assassin had disappeared.
As promised, here’s your bonus chapter.
On to the next milestone!