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Rebel Force #1

Target

by Alex Wheeler

CHAPTER ONE

The Emperor closed his eyes and let the rage consume him.

An energy bolt of anger crackled across his body, turning his blood black with venom.

A red mist clouded the darkness behind his lids. The fog of hate would have shrouded the vision of a lesser man. But when the Emperor opened his eyes, the blood-tinged world was sharper than ever.

Clarity. Understanding. Power.

This was what the rage could do for him. This was what pathetic Jedi had never understood, as they rejected their anger, letting cowardice block their path to the dark side. This was why they had been eliminated, and why the Emperor reigned supreme, his power unquestioned. His iron rule unassailable.

Until now.

" My Lord, the Death Star has been… destroyed."

The Emperor played with his memory of the moment, polishing it in his mind like a precious gem. Remembering: Darth Vader's voice as he delivered the news. Vader's anger, so forceful the Emperor could feel it from halfway across the galaxy. And with the anger, terror, for Vader knew how terribly he had disappointed his Master.

Vader knew it was not the first time.

The Emperor curled his fingers into a gnarled fist. The Death Star, his most powerful weapon, perhaps the greatest achievement of his reign, the key to destroying the tedious Rebel Alliance once and for all… destroyed. Even now, the detestable Rebels were no doubt celebrating their victory.

It was a meaningless victory, of course, and only a fool would think differently. But then, only a fool would join the ridiculous battle against the Empire.

Only a fool challenges the inevitable.

The Rebel Alliance was nothing but a nuisance, a millfly to be swatted away.

But even a meaningless victory was unacceptable. The Rebels would be punished. The Emperor smiled—the Rebels would be crushed. And soon. His impatience swelled. Fury boiled his blood at the thought of waiting any longer. The rage called for release, and the Emperor knew that with a thought he could destroy his opulent office. He could crack the building's foundation, rain rubble on the heads of those unlucky beings trapped within. He could, with the full power of his anger, unleash a fireball of death.

But he chose to wait. He chose control.

It was another thing the Jedi had never understood. A lesson that even Darth Vader, such a quick study in the school of darkness, had yet to learn. The rage was only a beginning.

Control, that was the key. Patience. The ability to channel the flood, bend it to your will. Anger was the fuel that powered the dark side of the Force. But success depended on mastery of the anger. Vader spent his anger without thought; the Emperor hoarded his, as a Hutt hoarded his treasure.

The destruction of the Death Star had been a setback, but every defeat masked an opportunity. And this was an opportunity the Emperor fully intended to seize.

In fact, he already had a plan.

The Emperor activated his comm console, opening a line of communication to the lieutenant who sat quavering just outside the door, waiting on his command.

"Send them in."

Ten of the most powerful men and women in the galaxy faced the Emperor, fear rolling off of them in waves. These were beings who could destroy ships—or cities—with a single word. Their hearts knew no mercy; their lives were founded on cruelties great and small; their names struck terror in their enemies. And yet they trembled before him, made small and weak by their own fear.

The most elite members of his Royal Guard flanked the group, their expressions hidden by their featureless scarlet masks. The Emperor had taken great pains to ensure that his throne room was an awesome and intimidating sight, from the towering walls to the gleaming dais. Behind his shadowed throne, a wall of permaplas windows looked into the heart of the Coruscant night. But his servants ignored the trappings of power. All attention was fixed on the Emperor.

"The Death Star has been destroyed," he informed them, carefully noting their reactions.

Captain Thrawn betrayed