Star Wars: The New Empire/Chapter One

2,105 BBY Alana Reylan watched as the world of Tatooine grew larger and larger through the window of her starship, the Coruscant Moon. She could feel the Dark Side of the Force emanating strongly from the planet, and knew that this was where she would find him. This would be where she would find the last of the Sith Lords. This was where she would find and kill Darth Anathemus. Her masters had forbade this mission, and so Alana had been forced to sneak out of the temple and, clad in the garb of an ordinary citizen of Coruscant, steal away to the nearest docking bay and acquire a ship. She had used the Force to persuade the crew of the Coruscant Moon to take her to the desert world. She had known they would never take her otherwise. Tatooine was far away from any major space routes and was under the control of the Hutt Cartel, the galaxy’s most powerful criminal organisation ever since its victory in the galaxy-wide and yet entirely hidden gang war with the Exchange centuries earlier. Alana’s thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the ship’s pilot. “We’re approaching Tatooine, Master Reylan.” Alana smiled inwardly. She was always amused by the greater galaxy’s belief that all Jedi held the title of Master. Alana had only just become a full Knight, but she did not correct the pilot. “Thank you, Gerrel,” she said, not looking at the Weequay. “You may leave after you have dropped me off. I can find my own way home.” “Very good, Master Reylan,” Gerrel replied. He pressed buttons in front of him and the ship began to descend towards the arid sphere. Very soon, they had entered the planet’s atmosphere and had touched down in a space port. “You are in Mos Espa,” Gerrel said to Alana as she exited the ship. She turned towards him and thanked the Weequay, walking backwards. The boarding ramp lifted and the ship had taken off even before it had fully closed. Alana paid it no heed. Stretching out with the Force, she searched for the presence of Darth Anathemus. She knew he was here. Her vision had showed her so, and her visions were never wrong. Mos Espa was not the friendliest place she had ever been to, but it was one of the easiest places for her to hide. She was a Lethan Twi’lek, and even though rare among her kind, her red skin went unnoticed among the crowds of Tatooine. Never before had she seen such a diverse gathering of species in one place. Rodians, Zabraks, Ithorians, Wookiees, Humans, Trandoshans, Dugs, Gamorreans, Neimoidians and countless others thronged the narrow, dusty streets that were lined by huts that served as cantinas, workshops, homes and shops. Alana was careful to keep her lightsaber out of sight. The Jedi were not overly popular in the Outer Rim, and certainly not inside Hutt territory. She would use her lightsaber if she was given no other option, but she had also strapped a blaster pistol to her belt. To the casual onlooker, she looked like a second-rate bounty hunter, much like the rest of Mos Espa. Here and there, Mandalorian mercenaries were stood stoically, observing the crowds, but none of them made any moves to attack, or even to reach for their blasters and vibroswords. Alana accidentally knocked shoulders with a Miraluka man, his empty eye sockets covered by an unassuming black blindfold. Miraluka saw through the Force, and their race’s inherent connection to it had produced thousands – perhaps hundreds of thousands, or even millions – of Miraluka Jedi and Sith over the millennia. “Sorry,” Alana apologised. She walked on. Then stopped. She had recognised that Miraluka. That had been the focus of her latest vision: Darth Anathemus. Desperately, she tried to hurry back through the crowd, trying to push people out of the way to catch up to Anathemus, but in her heart she knew it was useless. The crowd surged against her, and the Miraluka had already disappeared into one of the huts. Looking around wildly, she saw the Mandalorians’ heads turn towards her, and their hands reached for their blasters. Bowing to the inevitable, Alana turned away from where she knew Darth Anathemus had gone, and instead she continued to walk until she found a cantina to rest in. Finding a table, she sat down and waited for the service droid that equated to a waiter to come over to her table. “What can I get you, madam?” the droid asked, its masculine-programmed voice metallic and monotone. “Juma juice, please,” she replied. The droid seemed taken aback by her politeness. Of course this was just programming; it was incapable of genuine surprise. But it suddenly dawned on Alana that on Tatooine, very few beings were polite in any way. She would have to put aside the manners that the Jedi Order imparted to all of its members, at least while she was away from the temple. The droid returned, carrying a tray bearing Alana’s Juma juice. She sipped at it slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on the door. This went completely unheeded by her fellow patrons. Five others were doing exactly the same thing, their blaster pistols trained on the doorway under the filthy tables. An hour passed and Alana did not see Darth Anathemus. He was still in Mos Espa, she could feel it. But he had neither entered the cantina nor walked past it. Always more impatient than the ideal Jedi should have been, the Twi’lek was growing restless long before this and after a further ten minutes stood up and exited the cantina. The crowd had thinned significantly while Alana had been in the cantina, and she was able to easily move back towards the docking bay where the Coruscant Moon had dropped her off. As she approached the hut where she had seen Anathemus disappear – another cantina – she looked inside it with the Force. Yes, he was still in there, enjoying a meal. She would catch him completely off guard and she, Alana Reylan, would single-handedly destroy the Sith forever. The glory of it filled her completely and, without wasting another minute, stepped inside the cantina. The moment she entered, Anathemus looked up at the doorway. Alana feigned ignorance of this fact, and walked over to the bar, behind the Miraluka Sith Lord. She could sense that he was still behind her, eating. She smiled, wrapping her fingers slowly around the hilt of her lightsaber. The Miraluka crossed the room and sidled up next to Alana at the bar. She looked at his belt and saw the unmistakable, to the trained eye, outline of a lightsaber beneath his clothes. Alana grinned as she fingered the blaster pistol at her own belt and pulled it slowly out of its holster. Priming the blaster to fire, she pointed it at the Miraluka’s torso and clenched her finger on the trigger. She had not even pulled the trigger when Darth Anathemus activated his lightsaber and severed Alana’s hand. The heat of the lightsaber immediately cauterised the wound and the intense pain of it almost caused Alana to pass out. All around the cantina, its clientele and staff pulled out blasters and vibroblades, and all simultaneously launched attacks on Anathemus. Alana could only watch from a poor angle as Anathemus deflected blaster bolts with his double-bladed crimson lightsaber and incapacitated attackers with both their own shots and powerful bursts of purple Force Lightning. Alana’s knowledge of the technique was limited; the Order forbade too deep a study of such Dark Side methods. But what she could glean from what little she could glean from the Jedi records, purple lightning was far more powerful than its blue counterpart, itself lethal if concentrated properly. Alana could not help but feel curious to know more.

Then the pain overtook her. And all she knew was blackness. Categories:Chapters of Star Wars: The New Empire