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Jedi Insurgency 091 (Interlude 13)
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 15:53:01 +0000 UTCAN: Last Interlude for a good while.
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Aboard the Venator Steadfast within the most secure wing was a newly retrofitted room.
The chamber was dark, lit only by the pale glow of monitors recording medical data, and the sickly blue hue of a bacta tank in the center of the room. The low thrum of the Atar Destroyer’s systems reverberated faintly through the durasteel deck, and the faint glow of hyperspace peaked in through a window. Suspended in the relieving, balm-like fluid, tangled in tubes and restrained by gravity fields, Darth Vader floated in silence.
His perfect body-once the dream of every teenage girl-had become a shattered husk of its former self. A monument to the cataclysmic battle he had survived. Scorched lungs drew in painful gasps, charred skin marred his visage, each movement eliciting an uncontrollable, insatiable itch. Cybernetic limbs replaced what was lost on Mustafar, yet even if they were organic, they could never heal the hole in his heart. The pain had been constant, nerve endings screamed where there should have been none. But worse than the pain was the emptiness. The absence of her.
Padmé.
The name lingered in his mind like ash on the wind, clinging to everything, choking every breath. Her smile, the gentle caress of her hand, the way she twirled his hair and giggled. To never again frolic in the fields of Naboo, to hold her in his embrace on a cold winters day, to never whisper sweet nothings in her…and yes, to never again hear her speak her concerns about the senate. Losing these things, HIS THINGS…it was devastating.
For weeks after her death, depression had clawed at him. It was a cold, black void deeper than any wound. The darkness had whispered to him in the dead of night, calling him weak, a failure, undeserving, and ungrateful for what he had. Those sinister whispers had told him to let go of it all. Fall into the silence, and fade away. For that first agonizing week, not even the promise of power held his attention. Without her, life had lost all meaning.
Only one thing had kept him from surrendering.
Revenge.
Obi-Wan.
That traitor. That coward. That hypocrite who left him burning on the black sands. They could have joined forces, overthrown Palpatine, and ruled the galaxy together! Yet he had seen the way Padmé had looked at him, the way she always asked for him! When she brought Obi-Wan to Mustafar, his fury had become unbound. He hated her oh so much, yet how he loved her…how he hated himself for what he had done, what Obi-Wan had driven him to do!
The thought of ending Kenobi had sustained him, and pushed him forward when he wanted to end it all. Then, just as he was acclimating to life in the Empire, he had made a startling discovery. One that even his Master-the man who could drive off Yoda-found to be unsettling.
Revan.
The name had surfaced in whispers through the Force. His mask had seared itself into Vader’s psyche, and visions of his actions-those of the past, present, and future-haunted his nightmares. Then he learned that this Shadow of the past had been lurking in the Temple the night of his attack. That this womp rat was the reason for the continued survival of the Jedi, the continuation of the Clone Wars! Vader sensed that it was Revan’s conspiracy that the CIS councilors survived, it was at his coordination that Obi-Wan had followed his Padmé.
Revan had mastered powers long thought lost, abilities that allowed him to heal grievous wounds, even resurrect the dead.
The fury he experienced had been instantaneous. The betrayal was undeniable.
They knew. The Jedi knew.
They had locked this knowledge away, terrified of what someone like Anakin Skywalker could become. Terrified of his potential!
He had not turned on them. They had turned on Anakin Skywalker. The Council, Windu, Kenobi, Yoda. They were jealous knowing that their potential was nothing compared to that of the Chosen One! They’d all lied. Held him in chains under the pretense of “peace,” while they hoarded the very secrets that might have saved her.
The fluid in the bacta tank rippled as Vader’s aura swelled, and thrummed like a storm upon the ocean. The Force around him twisted, crushing several instruments within the chamber. His eyes were yellow as he gazed at the black clad suit just outside the tank. The prison-like armor gleamed, and seemed to stare back at him.
An ice cold sensation flowed into his veins as the Force echoed. The armor had been a gift, or so Palpatine had said, one that was forged by the Sith alchemists of old. Capable of deflecting glancing blows from lightsabers, it was bulky, heavy, and difficult to move in. Nothing at all like the cybernetics General Grievous was armed with.
His Master had merely grinned when Vader had brought these points to his attention. He recalled his Master’s first lesson.
The disfigured old man whom he had regarded as a father had stood before him with a crimson holocron in hand. “Lord Vader. Your first journey to becoming a Sith, is to create a red blade. You must make the kyber bleed. Inflict upon the crystal your pain, your rage, your truth.”
The process had come naturally to him. Igniting the crimson weapon-a lightsaber he had taken from one of the many younglings he had slaughtered at the Temple-Vader had felt the focus of the kyber crystal, and grown that much more powerful. As a conduit of hate, his new lightsaber helped him channel the Darkside at levels he had never considered possible. If he had wielded this weapon against Obi-Wan, Vader was certain he would have emerged victorious.
Pleased with his rapid progress, his Master had gifted him a holocron.
Within the ancient repository of knowledge was the ability to manipulate machines. To bend their wills under his command, and improve them beyond ken.
The Sith had a name for this potent ability: mechu-deru.
A gift, Sidious had claimed, to help Vader overcome the droid armies still loyal to the Separatist holdouts. To utilize his new suit to its fullest potential.
One week under Palpatine’s mentorship, and already, Vader was learning powers grander than anything he had during a lifetime under the Jedi. The intoxication of power-and the promise of more-had forestalled any immediate plans of betrayal.
Vader had learned quickly, and his broken body had undergone a dark rebirth.
With the Force empowering his cybernetics, he moved just as fast-or faster-than Grievous. His strength could rip a man in half, and the holocron had taught him how to defend against the weakness of all droids: Sith Lightning!
As the memories of these past months burned white-hot in his mind, he sensed that they were almost there. Eriadu was mere moments away. Revenge, salvation, they were at hand!
Ripping the secrets of resurrection from Revan’s tortured mind was only the beginning.
His eyes snapped open, and the glass of his bacta tank shattered outward with a thunderous crack. Liquid surged in all directions, and alarms blared.
Vader telekenetically hovered mid-air, and steam rose from his skin, obscuring his form within the low-light setting. Tubes and wires flailed away from his body, making hissing noises.
The Force wrapped around the black durasteel of his armor, and piece by piece, it snapped into place around his form.
Chestplate. Greaves. Gauntlets. And lastly, the helmet descended like a crown, falling upon the Chosen of the Force. A hiss sealed the breathing unit, and then a cold, mechanical breath echoed through the chamber.
Releasing his telekinetic hold, he stomped downward. The deck shuddered underfoot as he strode forward to the viewport, each step of his carried with it a force that could snap spines.
His new limbs no longer fought him. He moved with the grace of a predator, and the agility of Grievous. Mechu-deru had granted him a new outlook on the Force. Accustomed to the dead cybernetic hand that had replaced the one Dooku took, Vader had thought his powers in the Force were lessened. However, he now realized that the Force was in all things. The holocron had been most enlightening.
During his observation of hyperspace, the Darkside wrapped around him like a cloak, it was thick, suffocating, and alive with malice.
His premonition of their imminent arrival came true as the intercom flickered to life.
“Lord Vader, the war council has convened in the command war room. Your presence is requested immediately.”
“Acknowledged.”
Leaving his chamber, the massive durasteel doors hissed open with a pneumatic groan.
Each step he took sent a metallic tremor through the ship’s deck. Troopers in white armor lined the corridors. They were his honor guard from the 501st, and were the only men he could trust. Their backs straightened as he approached, and they saluted in perfect synchronicity.
As he passed, several petty officers-none of them clones-were whispering to one another.
“General Skywalker, what a pity.”
“I couldn't believe the footage the Emperor shared in the Senate!”
“Believe it, the Jedi are sick! We are doing the galaxy a favor by removing those religious fanatics.”
Vader’s gauntlet clenched reflexively.
They dared speak that name?
He felt the Force coil around his arm, wrapping around the man’s throat with phantom fingers. The officer gasped, his boots scraped against the floor as he lifted slightly off the deck, his eyes bulged and his fingers clawed towards his friends.
Vader stopped, and then the man dropped, he was gasping for breath, and pale of face. None suspected Vader, yet he used the anger to hurry his footsteps.
“What was that?!”
“Must've been a Jedi trick, I'd better report this.”
The Dark Lord moved on without a word.
Palpatine’s ploy.
Vader's thoughts burned hotter than the circuits in his arms as he recalled his Master's latest speech. The Emperor had revealed his true identity-"Anakin Skywalker," hero of the Republic-to sway public support, and legitimize the new regime.
Vader despised it.
Skywalker was dead.
And soon, Revan would be too.
Strutting into the war room, Vader quickly became the center of attention.
All the officers turned at once. Some stood rigidly, most saluted, and a rare few bowed their heads. As much as he hated Anakin Skywalker, he appreciated the respect and admiration that came with the name.
“Lord Vader, welcome.” The refined voice of Grand Admiral Octavian Grant beckoned.
The tall, hawk-eyed man was dressed in a pressed white uniform, his epaulettes and rank plaque were well polished. Beside him, flickering above the central holotable, the blue form of Grand Admiral Josef Grunger materialized. Grunger was a broad-shouldered man with a thick mustache, and carried himself with an arrogant gate.
From his experience in the war, they were both as good as career politicians. Effective at claiming the credit of others, and shifting blame when it was inconvenient. Vader had neither the time nor the inclination to play their games.
He felt the various officers, and sensed their surface level thoughts. Some were calculating, others pitying. He was a fallen Jedi. A burnt-out husk. A tool of the Emperor. No longer the brilliant General Skywalker, the handsome hero, he was now the cold mechanical monster, he was the close personal friend of the Emperor, he was:
Lord Vader.
They feared him. But some, foolishly, pitied him, and thought they could befriend him or use him.
He let the moment breathe, let his presence and aura weigh upon them.
“We are all here. Good. Let us begin. Gentleman, may I present Eriadu.” Grant said, gesturing to the holomap as the tactical projection of said planet swelled into view.
Red icons marked enemy positions, green were points of interest, and blue indicated where the Empire was to establish beachheads.
“Intelligence indicates that Eriadu City remains the most heavily fortified center of resistance.” Grant began, his tone sharp. “Under the leadership of Jedi Master Revan's heretical influence, the entire planet has defected. Our spies have confirmed that he’s converted the populace with displays of healing, miracles, and doctored videos of propaganda.”
“Religious fervor.” Grunger added bitterly, his hologram flickering slightly. “This is no mere planetary insurrection. It’s a crusade. Jedi-ism is on the rise. My own nephew had tried praying to the Force to cure my sister. I corrected him.” Grunger growled.
Several other officers made their own observations, and muttered about various rumors.
Vader frowned. For centuries, the Jedi had been lowkey in their operations. Who was this Revan character? Why hadn't he made an appearance until now?! Couldn't he see that the galaxy was suffering?! The masked man must be some hidden master. One who only emerged when the Order was on the line, and didn't care about the plight of the innocent! As he silently stewed, the meeting continued.
“Gentlemen, please. Observe the statistics our logisticians have gathered:”
-Revan’s Forces-
250 capital ships comprised of Acclamators and Venators.
200 orbital defense platforms
300 medium cruisers
10 heavy cruisers
5 million troops = 5 Legions
1-2 billion local Eriaduan military personnel
-Imperial Forces-
10 million troops = 10 Legions
250 million Imperial Army regulars
500 capital ships comprised of Acclamators and Venators.
200 medium cruisers
100 dreadnoughts
“My flotilla is due to arrive within 3 to 5 days after your initial assault. I bring with me as many men as your Excise battlegroup.” Grunger seriously intoned.
“We have the numbers advantage.” Grant continued, hands folded behind his back. “Revan’s fleet may be large, but it lacks cohesion. It is a ragtag mix of inexperienced locals, and a small handful of rebellious clones. Orbital superiority is inevitable.”
“And we strike this nascent revolution where it hurts. The chip factory in the southern hemisphere must be eradicated, then we shall target their shield generators, and glass Eriadu City. None shall defy the Empire.” Grunger theatrically swiped his hand, and said with a self satisfied grin.
Grant glanced sideways at the projection of his rival.
“Or we cut off their starports first. Let them starve in the streets while we land ground forces sector by sector. This grants us more control over the populace. The people may still be reclaimed for the continued war effort. Victory here is but one domino in the chain. We must look to the future, and secure the supply chain necessary for these Outer Rim sieges.”
“Reclaimed?” Grunger snorted. “They’ve chosen a Jedi over the Imperial truth. There’s no reclamation for us. I say we take no prisoners. That we send a message to the rest of the galaxy that Jedi-ism leads only to destruction.”
Both Grand Admirals glared at one another, and then turned towards the highest ranked individual in the room.
Vader remained silent.
His breath was the only sound in the room for a moment.
“And what say you, Lord Vader? You were a Jedi before. Your…insight would be valuable.” Grunger asked, a hint of sarcasm colored his voice.
The holotable dimmed slightly as all eyes turned to him.
Vader stared at the projection of Eriadu City, then shifted to the flickering image of Revan.
He could feel him. Even across systems. Although none of the other Dark Adepts couldn't sense the masked man-and he suspected even his Master could not-Vader’s visions had forged a connection that only served to focus his hate.
Revan was like a storm beyond the edge of the skyline. Always present, capable of great destruction, yet a vast sky full of blue lay between him and the storm. Revan was compassion wrapped in deception. Power soaked in honeyed words. A shadow in an all white light room.
That power that Revan wielded. It would be his.
“Lord Vader?” A question snapped him out of his reverie, and Vader began to reply with an intense focus.
“You will bombard the orbital platforms first. Then strike the chip factory. Collapse their infrastructure. Burn their supply lines.”
He stepped forward, placing a gloved hand on the holotable.
“Leave Revan to me.”
The officers exchanged glances. Some were skeptical, others were intrigued. Grant gave the barest nod of acceptance.
“As you wish, Lord Vader.”
After Vader spoke, the officers in the room began to discuss amongst one another.
“Yes, orbital bombardment is the logical first step.”
“Destroying the chip factory will sever their logistics.”
“A surgical strike, then overwhelming force, just like Mygeeto.”
“Shh, don't mention Mygeeto!”
Yet even as the chorus of assent grew, Vader remained still, his gaze drifted to the one naval officer who had remained silent during this entire meeting.
He was a lone figure, tucked behind the ranks of decorated officers and ranking clones, and was easily overlooked. The man was an alien, a Chiss. Blue-skinned with angular features, and dark blue-black hair, his rank pips identified him as a mere Lieutenant.
Vader turned his head ever so slightly toward him.
He felt it.
Intellect. Precision. Discipline.
This one did not bray like the rest of them. He did not posture. He was a thinker, one who only spoke when it was most optimal. Curiosity piqued, Vader wondered who this man was, why the Force singled out him amongst all the decorated officers amongst this austere gathering.
“You.” Vader said, his deep voice silenced the room.
Every officer turned their heads in confusion until Vader extended a hand slightly toward the Chiss.
“The silent one. Speak.”
Before the Chiss could respond, the hologram of Grand Admiral Grunger bristled.
“Lord Vader, if I may, this officer is but a Lieutenant. A lower-tier strategist assigned from an Outer Rim surveillance cell. He is not-”
The Force tightened instantly around Grunger’s hologram. He grasped at his throat and fell to one knee.
Grunger's hologram flickered violently as he gasped for air before Vader released his grip. The Grand Admiral collapsed out of view with a crash and a choking cough. The feed stabilized again, and the room was still. Everyone present looked at Vader with horror, mouths agape.
Was this Anakin Skywalker?!
The Chiss, however, remained utterly unmoved. One brow arched in detached interest. Then he stepped forward, and lightly inclined his head.
“With respect, Lord Vader.” He said in a calm, resonant voice. “The force estimates offered by Grand Admiral Grant are…optimistic. Dangerously so.”
A beat passed, and Vader gave the slightest tilt of his helmet. Permission to continue.
“Eriadu’s current defenses already outpace most mid-tier Core Worlds, and those assets coveted by local nobles-such as the Tarkins-likely remain unaccounted for. But the greater error lies in the assumption that Revan’s power base is limited to this planet alone.”
A low murmur rippled through the room. Thrawn continued, unbothered.
“Recall the rapid fall of Kamino and Malastare. Worlds with longstanding loyalty to His Majesty, taken with minimal bloodshed and seized within less than a day apiece. Jedi Master Revan achieved these victories through conversion, not conquest.”
Several officers had their eyes widen in surprise, and a few were beginning to understand what the Chiss was getting at.
“The Emperor has recently made it explicitly clear. No clone trooper is to remove their inhibitor chip. And yet, on both worlds, clone forces ceased resistance. Curious, isn't it?”
He stepped closer to the holotable, gesturing briefly toward the spinning image of Eriadu.
“If Revan has cracked the chip’s influence, then the clone legions of Kamino and Malastare are no longer Imperial assets.”
Vader’s fingers flexed into fists as the ramifications of this junior officer's words became clear. He said nothing, but the storm in the Force around him simmered with rising intensity.
“I estimate that Revan commands no fewer than fifty million clone troopers.” The Chiss calmly said, his words were filled with the surety of one who was rarely incorrect.
A gasp broke out among the officers. Some scoffed. Others stood dumbfounded.
Octavian Grant stepped forward, his tone was icy. The report was a direct slap to his face, and contradicted everything he had said. This discussion was an embarrassment in front of both his peers, superiors, and subordinates!
“Impossible. We’d see the fleet movements. There simply aren’t enough Acclamators and Venators to transport that many clones-”
The Lieutenant turned slightly, offering the Grand Admiral a polite nod.
“You are correct, sir. There aren’t.”
Grant blinked in confusion, and Grunger-having recovered-guffawed.
“...Then-”
“Revan does not need warships.” The Chiss continued smoothly. “He needs transports. Bulk freighters. Civilian logistics vessels. Refitted ore haulers. Even low-grade civilian vessels can ferry thousands of clones at once. None would think the elite soldiers of the Republic would ever be ferried across the galaxy in such crude vessels. It is actually quite ingenious.”
He then stared into Vader's soulless black lenses.
“We are not facing a garrison rebellion or even some run of the mill Jedi peacekeeper. We are facing a military revolution the likes of which the galaxy hasn't seen in over 4,000 years. To assume victory before the first blaster has been fired is to gamble with ignorance.”
For a moment, the room was deathly quiet, and the veins on Grant's forehead were painfully throbbing in suppressed rage.
Vader regarded the Chiss silently, his breathing was the only sound in the room other than Grant's teeth grinding.
“Your name, Lieutenant.”
“Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” The Chiss answered with a salute. “But my peers refer to me simply as Thrawn.”
Vader inclined his head slightly, his voice was low and dangerous.
“If your prediction proves true, Lieutenant Thrawn…then you will have earned a swift promotion.”
He stepped forward, towering over the younger officer.
“But if we expend resources on your speculation…and find your numbers false…” His voice dropped to a menacing growl. “Then not even death will be punishment enough.”
Thrawn met the Sith Lord’s gaze unblinking, and offered the faintest smile.
“Understood, my lord. But in my experience, it is rarely unwise to prepare for the worst…especially when your enemy is already preparing for your best.”
Vader stood still for a long moment as he tried to get a sense of their upcoming engagement, yet the Force was silent, unwilling to bend to his prying. Turning to leave the room in dissatisfaction, his cape fluttered behind him as the pressurized doors hissed open.
“Then we shall surpass their expectations.”
Comments
KO. Dragon
You some how made Darth Vader even more terrifying that is very impressive especially considering writing incredibly well.
ImperialFayMonarch
Hope Corvus also learns Mechu-deru!
