The Chimaera glided silently toward Iskandor's orbiting shipyard, docking into its designated spot. The fact that it could house it was also a showcase of Iskandor's strength, as few places in the current Empire were capable of welcoming something of its size. Even amidst the bustling shipyards and orbiting dreadnoughts, the ancient Imperial-II Star Destroyer exuded an authority that made the others look... insignificant.
Yet, it was no longer the biggest or strongest ship amongst the current fleet of the Imperial Remnants. Yes, even after eighty years of service, an Imperial-II Star Destroyer was still a force to be reckoned with. But what made it feel special and frightening was the history behind this model.
Its once-pristine hull bore the scars of a hundred battles, at the least. The people who once commanded that ship were alone legendary... Amongst them was the same man who right now stood at the heart of its command deck.
Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon remained still, hands clasped behind his back, which was just as straight as that of a freshly promoted officer, showing no sign of his apparent age. He studied the incoming transmission on the holoprojector. His eyes were just as calm and clear as fifty years ago, serving under the Emperor as the captain of this exact ship or when he accompanied Grand Admiral Thrawn in his campaign, once again, right here, standing where he was standing now. Pushing the memories away, he watched the Valtherion crest flicker before resolving into a straightforward, visibly hurried message.
"The Moff awaits your arrival. A private meeting has been arranged as per your orders."
The fact that it didn't mention anything more made him smile inside, knowing that his sudden arrival was having the exact effect he wanted. Fear. It was the best weapon against the likes of the Valtherions, who, even a generation later, were still cradling the old ideals of Emperor Palpatine.
"Heh..." Pellaeon's lips thinned. "Very well." His voice was a bit hoarse, never really recovering from his almost fatal encounter above Fondor. "Captain," He turned towards the current captain of the Chimaera, "inform the ISB team to use the ship's computers to gain access to the Valtherion's computers."
"Are we going to slice our own systems?" He asked, not because he had misgivings about the order but simply out of curiosity.
"Although the source of our information is solid," Pellaeon said, crossing his arms, "it is always good to be sure about it. Sometimes, the Moffs tend to let their ambitions blind them to the greater picture. I know; I saw it for myself with Moff Disra."
"And the Chimaera's escorts, Admiral?"
"Keep the TIEs ready in the hangar bay. Just in case. If I need a show of force, I'll summon one, but it should not be necessary."
With that, he turned and left the ship bridge, heading towards the hangar bays, where his personal shuttle would take him to the designated section of the orbital shipyard.
The Lambda-class shuttle's ride was smooth while Pellaeon sat ramrod straight in the passenger compartment, his reflection warped in the transparisteel viewport. Seeing his own old visage, he couldn't help but wonder if he would recognize himself... the version of him who had once served under Thrawn. So much changed since then.
The Empire had been reformed and was now becoming one of the stronger forces of the galaxy, but it was not achieved through fear or forcing others into servitude. No... The Remnants were not the Empire that formed under Emperor Palpatine, and Pellaeon knew that it was for the better. It was what allowed them to survive and come out better in this new era.
That is why the information coming from Talon Karrde alerted him.
Recalling it, his mind churned once again.
He had reviewed it, and then his best people inside the ISB did it, too. Then, he had briefs about it multiple times: once upon receipt, twice while the Chimaera plotted its course and traveled, and a last time with a magnifier, searching for the tell-tale brushstrokes of a forgery.
But no. Karrde's information, whenever he gave them, was immaculate. No wonder he was, to this day, the greatest and most respected... and feared information broker alive in the galaxy.
The accusation he passed on to him was damning. So much so that it made the old Admiral make a move by himself and leave Bastion. Before anybody else could, he had to step in. If this situation wasn't handled with care, if it snowballed, if it even got out to the wider galaxy... it would be a blow to the Remnants. Would it be fatal? Could be. Maybe it wouldn't damn the Empire... But it would for sure destroy a lot of what they had going for. An Imperial family... the Valtherions consorting with Sith. What would everyone think of that? Especially if everyone remembered how Darth Caedus acted, devastating many systems before they could recover from the Yuuzhan Vong attacks? The galaxy had barely survived the last Sith War. It would not survive another.
And yet…
Pellaeon's fingers traced the edge of his datapad, turning away from the shuttle's viewport. The evidence was as clear as it can be. A complete audio recording and the transcript of messages exchanged between the Valtherion family's oldest son and the known Sith: Vestara Khai. He wanted it to be fake at first. But... no matter how deep they dug, the recording was authentic. The voices were not fabricated. Everything was real.
How deep the Sith, possible followers, and remnants of Caedus's people got into the family was still a question. That is why he arrived unannounced, and that is why he was now on his way to meet the Moff, the family's head, and get to the bottom of this issue before it blew up in their faces.
...
....
...
The doors parted with a loud hiss when Pellaeon entered the simple office. He was flanked by two stormtroopers with red pauldrons, signaling them as his own honor guard, warriors who were amongst the best of the Empire.
On the other end of the room, Moff Alric Valtherion, Kael's father, stood near the window, his back turned, hands clasped like a man measuring the distance to his own grave. He wasn't calm... and it was showing in his stance, slightly hunched, almost trembling. But it only lasted until their eyes met in the reflection of the window's glass. His silvered hair caught a glint from the outside, and his military-straight posture returned as if it hadn't dulled at all since their last meeting. But, no matter how much he wanted to mask it, the air around Alric smelled of ionized anxiety and the too-expensive Corellian brandy. No wonder, as its bottle was on the desk, half-empty.
"Grand Admiral," the Moff said, reigning in his nervous voice, turning around. "Welcome to Iskandor. It's been far too long."
"Indeed." Pellaeon offered a nod crisp enough to show that the situation was indeed dire. "It has. I wish this visit were under better circumstances, though."
"As do I." Alric moved to a sideboard, pouring two glasses of the already opened bottle and offering one of it to him as he handed one to Pellaeon, who accepted it but let it sit untouched, watching him down his own.
"You've heard the rumors, then," Alric murmured.
"..." At first, Pellaeon didn't answer, but the fact that Alric had already known about it made him suspicious. The question was... how deep he was in it. And why didn't he do anything yet? It was time to dig a little... "I've heard facts," Pellaeon corrected him. Then, he activated his datapad, projecting a hologram of encrypted comm logs and damning evidence, showing it clearly for Alric to read. "These messages are not our only evidence. We have hyperdrive registries of vessels arriving here, vessels that have been traced back to ships that were with Darth Caedus." This was not precisely true, as they were in his flotilla, yes, but so were many Republic ships following his orders, in service right now. But Alric didn't need to know that. It was just another method to put pressure on him to spill everything.
"..." Alric's glass trembled faintly before he set it down, listening to his words. "Are you certain?"
"As certain as I am that someone tipped us off deliberately." Pellaeon leaned forward. "It was sent with the type of encryption that would not trip our inner failsafe, making the sender well versed and also someone who has to be high enough to be able to do it. This didn't come to the surface because of an ISB sweep. This was something we were notified of from the outside, Moff Alric... And I don't need to tell you what it could do to us if it gets sent to others... Luckily, it was delivered to my doorstep first. We can still act."
A beat. Then—
"Damn it," Alric breathed.
"How much do you know...? It is better to speak now than later. Because by then, I won't listen."
"I don't know the full extent," Alric's face darkened like an eclipse. "Darian thought he could control them. A Valtherion trait. I also only learned about his involvement with them two days ago. I was collecting information about it to prepare... It is a ploy against me, Admiral. He wants my position as head of the family and as the new Moff of Iskandor."
"A fatal mistake." Pellaeon straightened, looming over the Moff like an already made verdict. "I want full access to your surveillance logs. Of what you found. All of them. And I want Darian's personal comms monitored—discreetly."
"He'll notice."
"Let him." The Admiral snorted, "I won't let the Remnants slip from their current position, Moff Alric. And to prove your loyalty to the Empire... you will help me apprehend your son. Understood?"
"Perfectly." He nodded, his resolve apparent in his eyes.
...
....
...
He was too slow. The Admiral ignored every call he made, every message he sent... He miscalculated. The Chimaera deflected every invitation he made and flew past by his own ship... Then, he had to hurry to return to the station he just left behind, cursing along the way. Damn it all! In the end, they moved faster than he could respond. By the time his shuttle arrived, Darian could only stand in an alcove of a maintenance corridor, watching the feed of it docking from a hacked surveillance cam, his neural interface flaring with fury.
Pellaeon's presence was a complication. But he had to force himself to stay calm... complications could be leveraged.
He tapped the side of his head, pulling up multiple files stored only in his neural interface, making sure all damning evidence, at least those he could think about, were secured. Then, with a swipe, he opened a sealed channel.
"Where are you?"
"We are leaving." The distorted but seemingly female voice answered him.
"What?! You can't!" Darian flared up immediately.
"We are. Goodbye."
And then... the channel was broken. If anger could kill... Darian felt he would be dead by now. What do they mean... they are leaving?! They can't just leave!
But, they were... The bastards were... Damned Sith! Were they the ones who betrayed him?! Are they stupid? He only gave them half of the information they wanted... their deal wasn't completed yet. Were... were they the ones who called the Admiral here? Suddenly, he felt like he was thinking of the exact explanation of what had happened. The snakes!
"Kael..." He suddenly flinched. Maybe the Sith felt his presence... this damned Force or whatever they were constantly gushing about. If his plans were falling apart, then he would make sure it would be his useless little brother who took the fall.
With a flourish, he was heading back, again, toward where he left his little brother and his smuggler friends. He would drag him before the Adrmiral... and then all would be right again.