Retreat.
The Supreme Leader wanted him to retreat.
As he watched the Fellfire go down in smoke, a part of General Hux saw the wisdom in this command, though it was quickly overridden by his stubbornness to press on the assault. Ever since Mandalore, which he had been absent for, the First Order had yet to win an actual military victory against the Alliance or the Resistance. Yes, they had managed to subjugate Lothal, Damosus, and the Tion Cluster, but that was out of a lack of resistance rather than a presence of one. If he were to admit defeat here, at this critical moment, what impression would that leave to the rest of the First Order, especially to impressionable young officers such as those under his command? Worse, how would it affect his standing in the First Order’s command structure? Would he be demoted? Or would the Supreme Leader get rid of him entirely?
As Hux warred with himself internally, Captain Peavey cleared his throat before speaking. “General, what are your orders?”
Hux stiffened, his face twisting and untwisting itself. As much as he wanted to ignore the Supreme Leader’s wishes, something was preventing him from voicing it. No matter how much he tried to force them out, the words simply did not come. With an exasperated huff, he instead said the only thing he could say.
“Pull back and retreat,” he muttered.
Captain Peavey nodded and Hux could have sworn he saw a hint of twisted satisfaction in the older man’s eyes. As Peavey echoed his orders to the rest of the bridge, Hux fixed his gaze to the viewport as the Finalizer slowly turned away from the battle, green and orange firepower flashing by.
As quickly as it had begun, the Battle of Mon Cala was over. Any sense of victory on the part of the Alliance forces was bittersweet, however; they had lost a lot of good pilots and sustained a lot of damage to their cruisers, especially to those that were still in their shipyard docks. By comparison, the First Order had lost a single Star Destroyer and a handful of TIE fighters; had reinforcements not arrived and nearly box them in, they likely would have stayed and seen the battle all the way through… and perhaps even win.
As it stood, there was no telling whether or not the First Order would be back in full force, with even more Star Destroyers and fighters at their disposal. And if they did, then there was no telling that the Alliance would be as lucky as they had been here.
Regardless of the advantage that the Resistance’s reinforcements had provided to the Alliance however, Admiral Nek Bwua’tu appeared to be anything but grateful during the debriefing with the rest of the fleet.
“As appreciative as I am of your timely arrival,” the Bothan admiral said to the assembled captains and commanders over hologram, “I must question exactly who you people are and why you are utilizing military class ships.”
“They’re under my command, Admiral,” Vice Admiral Holdo cut in before any of the Resistance commanders had a chance to speak. “They are members of Princess Leia’s Resistance, of which I am a part of.”
Bwua’tu’s image turned to face her, his eyes narrowed. “Is that so? And when were you planning on informing us?”
“I didn’t think I needed to. The way I see it, the Resistance is an extension of the Galactic Alliance Defense Force and therefore an extension of my command.”
“The Senate does not see things the same way you do, Holdo,” Bwua’tu said coolly. “I’m sure you’ll realize that once you are tried before a military court.”
The fact that Bwua’tu had not addressed her by her rank did not go unnoticed by Holdo. She glanced at the holographic image of Admiral Niathal; the Mon Calamari woman had returned to her flagship Galactic Voyager after the battle had ended, along with the ensign Lysa Dunter. Niathal looked back at her with a stoic expression, eyes slowly blinking. Holdo was not expecting any support or defense from her, which was just as well; even if she did, the result of this conversation was going to be the same.
“Are you sure the Senate is going to care as much as you think they do, Admiral?” Holdo asked Bwua’tu, turning back to the Bothan. “After all, we did just save Mon Cala from subjugation. I’m sure Senators Gahan and Ri will be much appreciative of that and will inform the Senate of that.”
“The gratitude of two senators does not change the letter of the law,” Bwua’tu retorted. “That letter being that you acted on behalf of a military organization independent of the Alliance and without sanction from the Senate. You will be tried by a military court, Amilyn Holdo, and you will be found guilty.”
“I look forward to it,” Holdo said, smiling thinly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.”
As Bwua’tu’s face twisted in confusion, one by one the Resistance’s cruisers and frigates began jumping into hyperspace. The holograms of their commanders dissipated with each departure, until only the three admirals were left remaining. While Bwua’tu sputtered in bewilderment, Holdo gave a slight nod to Captain Tarpfen and the Dawn of Tranquility began to angle itself towards the designated hyperspace point.
“We have a galaxy to protect, and that’s going to take a lot of hard work,” Holdo went on. “Once that’s taken care of, you can court martial me all you want, Nek Bwua’tu. I will gladly accept it at that point.”
With that, the two holographic images of Bwua’tu and Niathal dispersed just as the Dawn of Tranquility jumped to lightspeed, leaving the oceanic world it had just defended behind.
The Bestoon Legacy shuddered as it traversed through Damosus’ volatile atmosphere, powerful storms raging all around the planet. As the ship navigated its way through the storm, Kane Skywalker could feel a growing sense of intense darkness; a darkness he had felt before, no less than sixteen years ago.
There was no denying it at this point, as much as he wanted to. The man responsible for his creation, for his fall to the dark side, was here on this planet, having rose from the grave just as the man sitting beside him had. Glancing at the man in question, he could tell that Luke Skywalker had felt it had well as a dark grimace fell over his face.
No words were exchanged as the ship broke through the clouds and began to approach a wide field that at was at the eye of the storm. A small boy stood in the center of the field, lightning crackling from his fingers, while a masked man in black cowered before him. Sitting behind Kane, Ochi of Bestoon shifted to get a better view of the scene that was unfolding below.
“This has to be some sort of joke,” he muttered.
Neither of the Skywalkers said anything and Kane proceeded to land the ship in the field, not far from where the boy and the masked man were. As soon as the ship had touched down, Kane and Luke disengaged from their seats and rushed to the landing ramp, leaving Ochi behind in the cabin. They practically flew out of the ship and rushed out onto the field, with Kane igniting his lightsaber.
The boy noticed their arrival and paused in conjuring his storm to look at them, bloodshot eyes narrowing as he grinned wickedly at them.
“Skywalkers,” the voice of Darth Vorath emerged from the boy’s mouth. “How nice of you to join me.”
“I don’t how you are back from the dead,” Kane Skywalker said, raising his blade, “but I intend on sending you back.”
Darth Vorath chuckled darkly. “And kill a child in the process? I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from you, given who you are clone from.”
“Wait.” Luke grabbed Kane by the arm. “There has to be some other way to stop him.”
Kane stopped to look at him. “What would you suggest? You already know what he is capable of.”
Luke couldn’t help but shiver, but it was not because of Kane’s words. Not only was his appearance a dead match for Darth Vader, save for the white armor, but so was his voice. It made him feel like he and Vorath weren’t the only ones to have come back from the grave.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “But we can’t just kill a child like that. There must be some way to force him out.”
Darth Vorath laughed, his voice ringing out all around them. “Ah, noble and righteous as ever. No wonder the galaxy holds you in such high regard.”
“I’m sorry, Luke,” Kane said quietly. “But you and I both know just how dangerous he is. He has to be stopped before he can wreak more havoc on the galaxy.”
Luke’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? No, stop—!”
But the clone of his father did not listen to him as he charged towards the boy, lightsaber raised high. Just as he was about to bring his blade down to slay the child, the boy flicked his wrist and Kane was hoisted off his feet. Dropping his lightsaber, Kane started to wheeze as he clutched at his collar, sickening crunching sounds coming from within his suit.
“I created you, Darth Nemesis,” Vorath said coolly. “I know all of your weaknesses, all of your failings. Don’t think for a moment that you can get the better of me.”
He then flicked his hand again and Kane went flying, colliding into the hull of a crashed shuttle just behind the boy. Luke looked over and saw a man and a woman huddled together in the shuttle’s shadow, fear plastered on their faces.
“I see you have met my parents.” Vorath’s voice snapped Luke’s attention back to the child through which the Sith Lord was speaking. “Or rather, this boy’s parents. The man is my son, created from a union between my genetic material and a woman named Lumiya. Does that name sound familiar to you?”
Luke’s expression darkened. It did indeed sound familiar; Lumiya had once been a Rebel agent named Shira Brie, whom Luke had flown with and even held feelings for during the war against the Empire. Those feelings were rendered moot when Shira turned out to be an Imperial agent and, after the Battle of Endor, reemerged as a self-declared Dark Lady of the Sith. The last time he had seen her had been at the clone Emperor’s palace on Byss, while he had been under the reborn Palpatine’s thrall.
Not waiting for a response, Darth Vorath continued speaking. “I’ll admit that this makes for a rather awkward reunion. Not only have you been reunited with the clone of your father and met the son and grandson of your once would-be lover, but you have also been reunited with your lost nephew!”
Luke raised an eyebrow at this only for his eyes to then go to the masked man. An invisible hand tugged on the mask in question and, although the man tried to resist against it, it was soon pulled freed from his head, revealing the face of a young man with curly dark hair.
“I know it has been nearly two decades from your perspective since you last saw him,” Vorath went on, “but surely you recognize Ben Solo, yes?”
Luke looked into the man’s brown eyes, filled with fear and loathing, and immediately saw the child of Han and Leia. His nephew. The one he had thought had died all those years ago.
But how…? Luke asked himself. How could he be here of all places, looking like… this?
“Must everything be spelled out for you, Skywalker?” Vorath said bitterly. “Who do you think was responsible for his abduction in the first place?”
Luke’s eyes went wide as he gazed upon the boy serving as the Sith Lord’s vessel. “You…?”
“I would have been remiss to ignore the potential a child borne from the daughter of the Chosen One could have. I had my agents kidnap him and entrusted him in the care of my accomplice Snoke, while misdirecting you into thinking that fool Zsinj had been behind it.”
This got Ben Solo’s attention and the young man looked to Vorath. “Snoke worked for you?” he asked quietly.
“It was a loose working relationship,” Vorath admitted. “He was neither Sith nor Jedi, yet I could tell he was strong in the Force. He had taken up residence in the Amaxine Station, which had been all but forgotten by the rest of the galaxy, left to rot near its dying sun. I left the boy in his care while I focused on the rest of my plans, intending to return to him once I had secure my control over the galaxy. But then you and that Jarsan boy saw to it that I would never get the chance.”
Luke looked back over to Ben, whose eyes were wide with… distress? He wasn’t sure what word best described the emotion welling up in his nephew’s eyes, but he could tell that the other man was not taking this revelation well.
“You mean… all this time I’ve been the pawn of a Sith?” Ben said quietly. “A Sith whose legacy I’ve been tasked with destroying?”
“I cannot speak as to what Snoke’s current intentions for you are now,” Vorath replied. “My death no doubt liberated him from any obligation he felt towards me and he was free to shape you into whatever he wanted you to become.”
Ben pounded the ground and it was at that moment Luke recognized what he saw in his nephew. It was the same thing he had felt when he had learned that Darth Vader was his father; that the story Ben Kenobi had given him had not been the full truth.
It was what anyone would have felt once they found out they had been lied to.
“I am no Sith,” Ben Solo growled, grabbing a fistful of grass and soil. “I am no one’s pawn. I will not be deceived any longer!”
Vorath smirked. “You might want to tell him that, then.”
A large shadow fell over them all and Luke looked up to see a massive, wing-shaped vessel descend from the sky. Sixty kilometers in width, it was far more massive than any Super Star Destroyer he had seen before; even larger than Darth Vader’s own Star Destroyer. He saw Ben Solo stiffen in fear while Vorath broke into a fit of laughter.
“Oh, this is going to be very interesting.”
Luke frowned at him. “You’re not going to try and stop it with your Force storm?”
“Why would I? I want to see how this is going to play out.” The boy’s face twisted into a smirk. “I’ve been dead for sixteen years, Skywalker. I should be allowed to have my fun.”