Ancient Artifice/Chapter 1

Green. Green, as far as the eye could see. At least, that’s what he had been expecting.

The luscious viridian fields of Yavin 4 were infamous among the admirals of the Galactic Empire for their beauty, as if it were a blessing to be assigned to the ancient world. As if it took away from the continuous feeling of dread.

As if there wasn’t a war going on.

Despite the claims of his peers, all the lieutenant saw now was silver. Collapsed machinery, forgotten combat walkers, and, sparingly, patches of lecherous decay where the ambience of conflict had made its mark. It sickened him that such a tranquil place had been befouled by the monotonous sound of marching soldiers and the screams of blaster fire, yet he – his kind, those of his ilk – were partly to blame. Scratch that, mostly to blame.

In the three years since the Empire’s most embarrassing defeat since the liberation of Lothal (which, the lieutenant hastily reminded himself, had only been one year prior) and the subsequent demise of one of the greatest military minds the Empire had ever seen, the jungle moon had begrudgingly seen many a skirmish on its dense swamplands and harsh rainforests; one major war of attrition, in which a covert group of stormtroopers attempted to whittle down the remnants of the Rebel Alliance who had stayed on Yavin 4 to protect the valuable data being held in the decrepit Sith temple they had utilised as a base of operations, while it was being transferred to their new location on Hoth. They failed, and the rebels escaped. Again.

Of course, at the time where they were sending the information off to was unknown to any Imperial, and certainly not Lieutenant Delof Terallo; it was only last week that the rebel base on Hoth was uncovered, and not three days ago that a decisive Imperial victory was declared. That made a change, for once. Perhaps if those brutish soldiers had been successful, the Galactic Civil War would not have had to drag on for another three years.

There had been a plethora of conflicts over resources on the moon as well – the Death Star’s destruction and the abandonment of the Rebel Alliance’s base on the planet caused an outcry of pirates, scavengers and the like to come rushing from their dens to recover what they could, before retreating just as quickly. They left the major unmovable things, though – the things that now rendered the planet so ugly. Deep down, Delof wished he was here on a clean-up mission, but his orders were far from that; in fact, the direct opposite – to do exactly what those scavengers did and find any worthwhile wreckage.

After a particularly troublesome group of pirates were cut down by a stormtrooper platoon exploring the Great Temple, still decked out in rebel flags, Moff Jerjerrod asked – nay, commanded him – to see if there was anything that could be of use on the new Death Star. Obviously, he couldn’t provide him with any stormtroopers for the job, but he did give him a drunkard and a droid, whom, he hated to admit, had been rather useful during their time on Yavin 4.

Sergeant Zekk Ryen, brimming with ambition and fire, had swiftly descended upon the old rebel base while Terallo examined the outskirts of the building under the stars – the image of the orange gas giant which Yavin 4 orbited around, coupled with the guiding call of R5-C3’s recently-installed flashlight, allowed him to view the debris undeterred. When the insufferable officer returned from the ancient compound, he brought with him a young Twi’lek girl, clearly a surviving member of the pirates, wailing in agony. As Ryen had learned on the way out, she had been without food for five days. Her green lekku wilted over her shoulders with weakness, and her pretty blue eyes fell whenever the upstart Imperial spoke.

After providing her some sustenance via a miniscule pack of nutrient paste, Zekk insisted on getting the young woman out of her dirtied scavenging clothes and into something “breezier”. Disgusted, Terallo instantly knew what he meant, and apparently so did the Twi’lek (who called herself Dija), for she recoiled when he tried to force his lean arms around her slim frame. Maybe it was partly what he had just uttered, and partly the stench of wine that clung to his hastened breaths. Delof couldn’t believe that vile Chandrilan was up for promotion.

As Ryen lolloped back to the Imperial Lambda they had arrived on, Terallo could do nought but sit and watch as angry tears cascaded down Dija’s petite face. R5-C3 provided some comfort with his humorous beeps and whistles, but in the long run they were futile; they would not matter, considering the atrocities this poor woman would now have to face.

His commendable quick wits could not save him here; Delof’s only conceivable excuse was to distract himself with their actual primary goal, while the green-skinned beauty was humiliated by an egotistical snail of a man. R5 made itself useful too, emitting a deep and long bleep in response to the dejected Twi’lek’s wails. What could either of them do? Terallo was hardly on good terms with Imperial High Command, and any sleight of hand against their chosen favourite could garner him a court-martial.

“Hey, uh, lieutenant?”

Finally forced to reluctantly draw his gaze upon a broken woman, the lieutenant turned to face the gleeful sergeant, his chubby fingers snaking over Dija’s toned stomach. What little she was wearing did nothing to hide her modesty, though she did as best as she could with her hands. Her face, once soft and full of life, was now steeled to the world and her captor especially. Gingerly, she tried to push Ryen’s leering arms off her fragile body, but he only responded with a harder clamp on her hips. A silent shriek escaped her thin lips as Zekk addressed his soon-to-be peer:

“I know we’ve, uh, been told to look outside for useful materials, but d’ya think that massive cave might lead to something?”

He turned and was in awe.

How had he not noticed it before? Right there in front of him, a cavern of wonder, built into the cliff face surrounding the temple. In the gathering darkness it was impossible to know what laid through it, but Terallo got goose bumps from the power he felt emanating from the very core of the place. Even an idiot, even Ryen, could have sensed that. Delof sometimes got that feeling in the pit of the stomach, that power that cannot be terminated, an impulse that drew you somewhere, and never had he felt it stronger.

He was intrigued, to say the least. He could not let this opportunity go to waste; this could be his big break, taking him off scavenging duty and onto the battlefield.

With the conniving sergeant, his unwilling slave girl and enigmatic astromech droid, the lieutenant headed towards the cave with a fire in his heart and a smile dancing on his lips.