Anomaly - c. 3-4 ABY - Piett, Vader, Original Characters

1.

Admiral Piett stood at the helm, his gloved hands behind his back, judging the battle that unfolded before him. It shouldn’t have lasted longer than a standard hour. The opposing forces were rag-tag and mostly composed of ugly fighters, ships that were lucky to not fall to pieces by simply flying through empty space. Yet in the heat of battle, they were holding up remarkably well.

He recalled the briefing only a day ago. Lord Vader had called him to the bridge, explaining that a Rebel sect had enlisted criminals to help with their work. It seemed fairly standard at first, something that absolutely any admiral with half a brain could accomplish. That was until he continued. It was from there that everything had…gone to Sith, for lack of a more eloquent term.

The Rebels were not just seeking black market trades and deals, as they usually were. They were seeking a valuable dump of sensitive information. One that had been stolen weeks earlier. The data included defense plans for at least two Imperial bases in the Outer Rim, along with supply and weapon shipment information for twelve sectors. It would appear that the arms dealers who stole the information did not know of the extra gift they had procured, but Lord Vader had gone on to explain that it was merely a clever cover story. An outpost had intercepted Rebel transmissions that had explained everything, aligned with the truth spilled from a few associates – fruits of the invaluable tactics of interrogation both the Sith and Imperial Intelligence possessed. The arms dealers were allies, not simple criminals seeking to make the highest bid.

Of course that complicated things, which is why they were now dealing with the nuisance of uglies pelting them with ramshackle proton cannons. Any normal criminal would accept a high bid, the data would be returned to the Empire…and the criminals captured and sent to any number of correctional facilities. Someone with an interest in the Rebellion wouldn’t give the data up without a fight.
This certainly wasn’t much of a fight, but it was enough.
They were aware of exactly which ships had been present to steal the data. The only problem was breaking through the wall of fighters to get to them. Seven individual ships – cruisers, capital ships, transports – stared across at the Executor. Individually, they were no problem for the Super Star Destroyer. All together, they were creating quite the diversion.

“Sir,” Crewman Thanos Altair stood ready as Firmus spun, “We’ve intercepted a transmission. It seems to be code of some sort.”

Firmus nodded and reluctantly left his vantage point, following closely behind the crewman. He stopped by a standalone desk just beside the bridge’s catwalk.

“What have we got?” Firmus asked, squinting slightly and trying to discreetly interpret the data himself.

“I’m not sure, sir, it seems to be some sort of code. It’s not even in Basic.” The ensign – Markos – looked between the screen and the two men rapidly.

“Play the dictation, ensign.”

The ensign obliged, pressing a few switches. The words that came from the speakers were certainly sounds, but they weren’t comprehendible. Only a few stray noises made any sense to Firmus, sounding remarkably similar to Huttese. However, it had been years since he had spoken one iota of it. The console had rudimentary translators for most things, but since the Galaxy was less than ideal, code often never translated.

“Submit it for translation,” he ordered, nodding to them both and not wasting a moment of time heading back to the viewport. The larger ships were still holding strong. He needed them picked off, one by one. If any of them escaped, there was the chance it would be holding the vital data. He wouldn’t accept failure, nor would he be taking any chances.

“Chiraneau,” he summoned, waiting for the commodore to approach.

“Yes, sir?” Commodore Vrei Chiraneau stepped up beside him, his aged features gazing out towards the battle.

“What is the status of sector fifty-two?”

“They’ve made progress, sir, but not as much as we need to see. The ships crossing through the sector are still faster than we can follow.”

“Is the 82nd still prepared?” Firmus asked, referring to a squadron of modified TIE bombers - perfect for disabling a ship’s engines.

“Yes, though if I may state an observation,” Vrei watched to the far left, where bolts criss-crossed and explosions burst every few moments.

“You may,” Firmus said, willing to hear his opinion. Though Lord Vader would often not support any difference in perspective, the crew was hand-picked and more than capable in many situations. Vrei especially. He had been plucked from a small Outer Rim defence fleet, far from his home planet of Corellia. His record was impressive, his strategy nearly impeccable in the small skirmishes he had faced. With even more experience and training, he was quickly becoming a highly skilled officer. One who would soon command with ease.

“Sector fifty-one is left unexposed, which would be the most obvious attack point for the 82nd. The chance remains that they can outrun us, sir. I recommend approaching through sector forty-seven.”

“And should that not work?”

“Prepare an additional squadron for a second wave attack,” Vrei replied, “From sector sixty-seven, directly across from forty-seven.”

Firmus nodded. The approach was valid, but not perfect.

“From sector sixty-three,” Firmus noted, watching the continuing battle, “sixty-seven would be too close, their fighters would be able to take both attacks simultaneously.”

“Of course, sir,” Vrei said, nodding, “Shall I have the squadrons prepared?”

“Indeed,” Firmus replied. He gave Vrei a quick look, and the Commodore turned to speak with the Marshal – Quom Derrosk. He was a man focussed on status, always acting as though a single imperfection would destroy his reputation. Which meant he was agelast and more frigid than the surface of Hoth.

He piqued his eyebrow at the request, brushed one seemingly-perfect spot upon his chest, and nodded – all in slow, precise order.

Within minutes, a swarm of TIEs and TIE bombers raced towards the battle. They wove between the uglies with ease, the TIEs reducing many of them to mere debris. As they drew closer to the battle, they split up. They reformed into two smaller groups and headed for the first ship within the sector. The bombers flew ahead, picking off more of the motley fighters. They swarmed around the Imperial ships like sandflies. Despite them being greater in number, they didn’t stand a chance. Explosions bloomed up in the blackness of the sky as the TIEs assaulted them unforgivingly. Their crumbling shells were being barraged with fire from the best pilots in the Galaxy - and they were losing.

Firmus, appeased by their progress towards disabling the first ship, glanced to the other side of the battle. There was minimal success, the smaller squadron of TIEs not yet breaking through their defenses. The visibly older Mon Cal cruiser was unscathed. He only took a moment to think.

“Marshal,” he summoned, waiting for him to look up, “Focus on disabling the Mon Cal in sector twenty-four.”

“Yes, sir,” Quom nodded and stepped sidelong to another console.

Firmus turned back to the viewport. The swarm of uglies and their blaster fire was thinned out now; mere moments after the TIEs had approached them. Streaks of cannon fire still shot through space, aiming for the straggling fighters. Occasionally another explosion would materialise, quickly being smothered by the lack of oxygen. The TIE bombers swooped down towards the callipygous cruiser and released the first set of proton bombs. The flickering blue orbs collided with the cruiser’s shields, which pulsed with ripples of energy. They weren’t disabled yet.

“Why are the shields still up?” the Admiral questioned, walking towards the crew pit and quickly descending the stairs. He leaned over the scanner desk, watching data scroll across a screen. Arrik Bachenkall, one of the crewmen, glanced up.

“The run to disabled them must have failed, sir,” he said, adjusting his in-ear comm nervously, “the scanners are still picking up full functionality.”

“Failed?” A voice asked incredulously. They both looked up. Marshal Derrosk had already stepped to the edge of the pit. “That’s not possible.”

“It must be,” Firmus replied, coolly, “The shields are still functional.”

The Marshal did not bother to even reply. He turned back around and barked orders to the crew sitting before him. Firmus leaned forward again, to the scanner crew. “Ensure the shields are down in the next 2 standard minutes.”

Any longer than that, and they were risking the mission at hand. The criminals would no doubt have time to counterattack them now that they knew their plan. The TIE bombers would be their first target, and they were vital to the Empire’s success.

“Understood, sir,” they replied, almost in unison. Firmus headed back to the helm and waited for their indication that the shields had indeed been disabled.

It came soon after.

“What are their numbers?” He asked, still surverying the battle ahead. The Mon Cal’s surface burst into flame as the bombers pelted it. The engines erupted into a burst of orange. He breathed a short sigh of relief.

“I count forty strong in sectors one through thirty,” came a reply, “twenty-four in sectors thirty through seventy.”

“Engines on the first cruiser have been disabled, sir,” Arrik interjected.

“Excellent,” Firmus replied, pleased by the fact they had succeeded. Their numbers were dwindling and they had now lost one of their precious cruisers. The second one, on the other side of the battle, would soon follow. From his vantage point he could see the miniscule fighters as they darted around the capital ships. The TIEs were fighting vehemently through the wall the criminals had attempted to build…and it was crumbling rapidly. He clasped his gloved hands and stood a bit taller.

A klaxon began to blare. He recognized it instantly as a critical systems alert. He rushed to the opposite side of the bridge, Vrei and Quom joining him almost immediately. It continued to screech, soon being joined by a flashing red light.

“What is going on?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” the crewwoman replied, her eyes pasted to a screen. It spat out readings rapidly. “All systems are in order. It’s stating we are in a gravity well.”

A deafening crash echoed from above them. The ship lurched violently. Firmus grabbed the chair to steady himself. Vrei and Quom stumbled for a moment and searched the ceiling, puzzled by the sudden turn of events.

“Altair,” Firmus grabbed the crewman as he walked by, “Get a report from the scanner crew started. Every celestial body, every ship.”

Thanos nodded and hurried off back towards the front of the bridge. Firmus and the other two men followed behind.

"Sir,” Vrei started as they walked, “Should we not be attempting to evade the gravity well?”

“Not knowing its origin, no,” Firmus replied. It could be anything. At this point, it was already past the realm of likely occurrences. The Executor was the largest ship ever built. There was no possible way another ship was holding them in a gravity well...and the sector had been scanned for any potential hazards, as usual. Which meant no celestial origin. There was nothing. The situation was impossible.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Lenz Ardan called, back at his post beside Arrik. Firmus stopped and looked down.

“Have you found something?”

“No, sir. Just abnormal energy readings with no known source.”

Firmus looked bemusedly at Quom and Vrei – moments before the ship shuddered again. It was more violent than the last tremor.

“Move us forward 3 klicks, now,” Firmus ordered. He turned to the bridge and looked out, trying to solve the situation. The klaxon continued to blare, loudly. The atmosphere, usually calm, had filled with apprehension and a thickly nervous energy. No one dared pull their attention from their work.

“Sir, we can’t. The engines aren’t responding.”

“Use auxiliary power.”

"Disabled as well, sir,” the reply came. Firmus quickly strode back to the systems officer and examined the information.

“Run a diagnostic, then.” He was starting to feel fear, now, prickling at the back of his neck. He exhaled. Whatever was stopping them was a force he did not want to meet.

“On it, sir,” she replied.

As he was heading back to the scanner team, a new alarm began to sound. The Executor roared and bucked, shuddering even more violently than before. His feet slid from beneath him and he met the floor with a smack. He coughed and blinked away stars, trying to refill his lungs after the landing had shoved the air out. The ship rolled again, and he prepared for another vicious tremor.

“Sir?” He looked up. Thanos extended a hand. He took it and heaved himself up. The alarms had quieted suddenly

“SitRep,” Firmus ordered, breathing painfully in the eerie silence. He rubbed his smarting ribs and looked around to make sure everyone was safe. A few of the crew were still dusting themselves off. The bridge was dim. A few backup lights cast weak beams throughout the space. The consoles bathed the crew in their colourful lights.

“Most systems are back online, sir,” the systems officer called, “Main power is still rebooting.”

Firmus looked down to the scanning crew. Lenz was leaning over Arrik’s shoulder, pointing to something. His face was shrouded in shadow, only visible for a brief moment as a blue light flashed beside him. “Lieutenant?”

He shook his head incredulously. “Whatever it was, it is gone now. No gravity well or abnormal readings.”

“Sir, the ships are gone,” the man beside them mumbled, his mouth open a bit too far in apparent shock.

“What do you mean?” Lenz shifted over as he adjusted a small knob. He looked taken aback and immediately stepped back, meeting eyes with Firmus.

“Admiral, sir, they’ve vanished. There’s no sign of them. There’s not even a hyperspace beacon.”

Firmus spun on his heel and focussed outside the viewport. There was nothing but empty space. Whatever had shook the Executor must have somehow gotten rid of them. He swallowed. There was the chance they had escaped with the data. Lord Vader would not be pleased, if so. He tried to ignore the pressure building in his gullet and consider the likelihood of such an occurrence.

They had to find out what had happened, and if those ships were still out there…they needed to find them.

“And galactic positioning is down, sir. Coordinates are no longer accurate,” Vrei called from his vantage point beside Thanos. The news was a silent blow. There was no way they could find the criminal squadrons if they couldn’t even find themselves. The lights blinked back on. From the corner of his eye, he could see them all glance up. He remained focussed on the screen.

“No longer accurate?” Firmus closed the distance quickly, looking at the galactic charts that shimmered on the screens. Surprise flooded him as he saw their readout. The small blinking icon stated that they were entirely west of the Core, deep within the Unknown Regions.

“Refresh the coordinates,” he instructed, waiting for the indicator dot to reappear where they had been battling the criminals. Instead, it flickered ominously in the same location.

“It says that is the last known coordinate, sir,” the crewman said as he flicked two switches fluidly. The console beeped angrily and the screen didn’t change. Firmus furrowed his brow and turned back to Vrei.

“Get another full diagnostic completed of the galactic positioning,” he said, waving down Quom only a moment afterwards. The Marshal broke away from his team and approached.
“Do we have contact with the 103rd or 44th?”

“I’m afraid not,” Quom replied, frustration audible in his voice despite his taciturn expression, “They are out of range entirely.”

“Strange,” Firmus said, puzzling over everything, further concerned by the disappearances. He moved back to the viewport and examined every centimetre he could see. It was entirely black. There wasn’t even the faint glow of a sun. He had no way of explaining it. Tapping his finger against his chin absently, he continued to stare out. Though it didn’t seem possible, there were no other explanations. Either the criminals had disappeared in the battle, or the Executor was no longer in the system.

“Sir,” the systems officer called again, “The Galactic Positioning is entirely intact. It hasn’t reported any errors. Reset changed nothing.”

The bridge doors slid open.

Everyone turned, locking their eyes onto the towering black figure that entered. Firmus’ breath caught in his chest. He cast a cautious glance to both Vrei and Quom, who now stood frozen just a few metres to his right side. Darth Vader’s breathing echoed as he approached. His footsteps cut sharply through the ambient whirrs and beeps of the ship’s consoles.

Silence was the language they all spoke now – spurred on by confusion, shock, and fear.

“Where are the ships, Admiral?” Vader growled. A shiver slithered up Firmus’ spine, gripping his ribs. He’d heard the same tone many times before, though he hadn’t been the one receiving it.

“Milord,” he bowed quickly, trying to hide the fear that now threatened to overtake him, trying to formulate some acceptable response for the utter chaos in the readings. “There seems to be an anomaly in our data. A malfunction of the Galactic Positioning.”

Lord Vader stopped, his cloak swirling about him menacingly. “What sort of malfunction?”

“We’re not quite sure,” Firmus explained, attempting to keep his voice steady, “Either we have somehow ended up in the Unknown Regions, or the enemy ships have disappeared entirely.”

“The Unknown Regions are more than half the Galaxy away, Admiral. I suggest you rethink your theory.”

Firmus exhaled as silently as possible, realizing from vague dizziness and aching chest that he had been holding his breath.

“I would, milord..." he paused, ensuring to breathe and put his words in the right order, "Except that our Galactic Positioning hasn’t had any errors or anything of note in the logs.”

His statement was only met with silence from Vader. Firmus pursed his lips for a moment and tried to find a way to explain everything. A way that wouldn’t end up with a deckhand dragging him away. He fought the urge to shake his head. This was utterly ridiculous. Of all the things that had happened in his lifetime, attempting to explain to a Sith Lord how a 19 kilometre long ship teleported was certainly the most bizarre.

“The data is prepared over here, milord,” he said, motioning to where Thanos and the other crewman sat, “I ensured every iota of protocol was followed, yet the conclusion remains the same.”

The crewman averted his eyes quickly as Lord Vader turned and stalked towards him. Firmus followed and hoped that the data would remain the same. The last thing he needed was it to prove him wrong. He clutched his hands together tightly and nodded to the crewman, who grew noticeably paler with Vader standing over him.

The positioning dot blinked back onto the console, exactly where it had been prior. Somewhere deep in the Unknown Regions. Vader tilted his head closer to the screen. Firmus felt a flicker of relief as it showed, at his unusually bewildered response, knowing that now he had no reason to witness Vader’s wrath.

The bridge fell silent as Vader continued to judge the screen before him.

“Send a distress signal,” Vader ordered, not waiting another moment before stepping to the viewport and looking outwards. Firmus nodded to Vrei and stood back. Though he wished to continue his inspection of the systems without restraint, he was unsettled now – and knew Lord Vader would be watching closely from that point on.

“Admiral,” Vader said, after a few long moments of gazing outwards. Firmus marched up to him in a heartbeat, despite the fact that his were pounding fast.

“Yes, milord?”

“Scan the surrounding area continuously. I want to know if anything changes.”

Firmus nodded. “Of course, milord.”

Vader spun and headed back towards the bridge doors. A crewman jumped aside as he passed.<br>Just as soon as he had left and the seal of the doors had hissed shut, Lenz pulled away from the pit crew and called again. “Sir, you might want to see this.”

“What is it?” Firmus asked, glancing up momentarily as the lights flickered again. He skipped down the stairs and stopped beside the Lieutenant.

“There’s something in the cargo hold,” Lenz paused and looked worriedly at the screen, then back up. A multitude of red dots flashed on the scanner screen, an eerily gentle beep accompanying the findings.  He wrung his hands, glancing to Firmus - who bent even closer to the screen, eyes widening, pupils pulsing with crimson.

“More than something, sir. Somethings. And they’re alive.”