Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deep in the vast emptiness of space something was stirring.

Something ancient.

Something… hostile.

Something that had visited before.

It shivered, a long languorous movement that vibrated across the darkness. And then, that small patch of sky without stars started to move. It had a long way to travel but it could feel it, faint and distant but there. The call to feed.

…

Once upon a time, Tattoine had been a thriving civilisation. Its people were bound to the planet but it had not stopped them from philosophising and learning. And then there was the force. No one who had walked through the Nimurian forest seas or along the singing cliffs could doubt its presence. It was life, the heart of the planet that would one day come to be known as Tattoine. And its creatures had recognised that. Through the force they had learnt of the stars, of the soil and of the suns. They found the balance and they perfected it. Knights of the force, protectors of life. But the darkness, the darkness was undefinable. It was space, and in it the force could not survive. So when space came to Tattoine, wrapped up in the solar flares which scorched its atmosphere, the force fled back into its deep lagoons and temples, sealed itself back into the core of the planet where it could no longer survive on its surface. Ice frozen under the skin of the dead, waiting to thaw. Eventually they would return, the living things. They could be felt across the galaxy, tiny pockets of life in the vast abyss. And then the force would rise again on Tattoine.

…

Normally, the event of a galaxy disappearing, blinking out into darkness, would have been the subject of massive academic study and concern. It would certainly have dominated the holo-net, this sort of thing was normally snapped up by doomsday cults and such like (if an entire galaxy blinking out could be considered something comparable to the normal sort of thing). Unfortunately though, at that precise moment in time no one was watching the skies. Or rather, many were, but certainly not to look at the stars. At that particular moment, every sentient being capable of turning their head, antenna, olfactory and sensory nerve, spogdra etc. was watching the holos that were being streamed across the galaxy. The separatists had been defeated, an attempt by the Jedi had been made on the life of the newly established Emperor Palpantine and the galaxy was watching as the New Empire emerged into the world. Oh, the trees felt it, that sudden absence that hung in the night. So did the womp rats, as they paused in their scurrying. But few heard who might have communicated their sudden terror.

Far, far away, on an obscure, swampy planet, a small and ancient creature felt something terrible run up its spine. A sense of dread began to pool at the base of his stomach. Something wicked was on its way. But it was faint and far and the events of the last few weeks had tired him out. Tired him more than he had felt in hundreds of years. Whatever it was, it would wait. Tomorrow he would meditate and regroup – the planet would need to be tamed slightly if he were to survive. Even the force would not provide for those who did not help themselves.

…

But who would help the force?

Well, it had not been idle. It had been planning for millennia now and the prophecy was almost complete. Just a few more changes would be needed, a few who would need to be pushed into action. Balance would be restored, whatever the cost.

Far away, on a moon called Jedha, a monk cried out in his sleep as the world went dark.

The force was light and life. It burnt like a star and scoured as it grew. The strongest stars, though, have hearts of kyber.

Chapter Text

Staring up at the sky, Krennic decided it was almost right.

Not right of course that Tarkin would be the one to pull the trigger. Certainly not right that he would only gain credit as a result of his actions. But if he was going to go (and he had more than a suspicion that this was the end), oh what a way to die. Of course, then he was dead and he couldn’t think about it anymore. Or rather, he reflected, that’s what he should have been thinking. Or not thinking, Or… he wasn’t dead.

Wait. He paused for a moment and thought, safely enclosed in his personal bubble of darkness. If he was dead, how was he thinking this? He couldn’t really be, could he? His weapon worked, of that he was sure, so why was he conscious? Oh gods, he muttered to himself, I better not be in some kind of afterlife. The darkness around him seemed amused by this. A warm sensation like sunlight on his face and then he was truly unconscious.

…

FK792 was fairly sure that clean-up duty on Scarif was a punishment duty. It had not been explicitly explained to the unit but he was aware that his actions on Coruscant had been less than exemplary, they had certainly earned him a re-education session. Now, sifting through rock on a planet sans oxygen, watching the atmosphere burn above him FK792 was faced with the sudden realisation that he would be willing to disobey his orders if it would get him off this planet. That was unlikely, however, and with a sigh he signalled to the drill crew to remove the next crust section for inspection.

With a crash, the molten mass of rock was deposited for the drilling crews. FK792 switched on his biodrill and lowered himself into the new crater. Most of the debris had been either melted or crushed into sand in this area, the most exciting find they had had in weeks was a lump of ceramic, burnt almost beyond recognition but at least not dirt. That was why FK792 briefly wondered if he was still experiencing corrupted visual feedback when he saw the shoe, partially hidden by rock. But no, the droid that had carried out the operation had assured him that any side effects would have vanished by the end of the cycle and that after that all visual evidence would be correct. Which made the shoe even stranger. This would soon be eclipsed, however, as FK233 let out a shout across the crevice.

“I’ve found a corpse!”

Only, thought FK792 as he scanned the pristine body, this man was anything but a corpse.

Six bodies in total would be recovered from the wreckage of the planet, none of them injured with anything more than a blaster-wound. The medical teams were causing quite the stir about it, although many claimed the life-forms must have been caught in pockets of oxygen. FK792 was mostly concerned that the discoveries would merit another round of psyche evaluations. After all, even if the bodies had had access to oxygen, some of them were in the rock for almost nine standard weeks before recovery. And all of them, though unconscious, were breathing.

Chapter Text

A small part of Governor Tarkin wasn’t even surprised. Honestly, if you ignored the scientific impossibilities of it all, it was totally typical of Krennic. He had, after all, proven time and time again that he could bounce back from anything in order to inconvenience Tarkin. Oh the doctors said that it was very unlikely he’d ever wake up. No brain activity, severe oxygen starvation, etc. etc. But if there was one thing Tarkin had learnt it was that the only thing Krennic could be relied upon to do was to get in his way. He had already started making preparations to deal with him when he woke up, because he was sure that he would.

The other survivors were of less interest to him. They had eventually been identified as two rebel defectors, two monks from Jedha and the daughter of Galen Erso, Krennic’s toy scientist. However, with Erso dead Tarkin didn’t particularly much care anymore. They were being cared for in case they woke up and could be used for information, but Tarkin thought that route likely a dead end. If it had been his decision all of the survivors would have been quietly disposed of, to prevent future loose ends. Lord Vader, though, had insisted. Apparently they were all displaying unusually high force sensitivity and this was in some way interesting. It had occurred to Tarkin that he might find a way to dispose of the prisoners anyway, but it was probably more worthwhile to continue building his relationship with the Sith Lord, particularly now he had managed to convince the emperor that the incident was largely Krennic’s fault.

A warm sense of satisfaction hung in Tarkin’s chest. Even if Krennic somehow fought his way back to consciousness he certainly wouldn’t be director anymore. No, the Death Star was firmly under his grasp. Which brought him back to the quandary he had been wrestling with all day, how to recover the stolen Death Star plans and squeeze the location of the rebel base out of their esteemed prisoner, deep in the bowels of the station. Traditional methods of interrogation were proving fruitless so far and he was beginning to think more drastic action might be required. After all, with the rebels aware of the existence of the Death Star, perhaps the time had come to give a demonstration of its true power.

…

It was at this moment that, in a temporary medical facility orbiting the planet of Scarif, Baze Malbus woke up. The sensation, however, was not like a normal wakening. Instead, he was consciously aware of dragging himself back to the surface of his mind, away from the warm light that had cushioned and healed his injuries. The reason for this was one word. Chirrut.

He had heard Chirrut’s name. And so he surfaced.

On the far side of the medical facility, FK792 heard a massive crash.

Baze, although his body ached with weeks without use, on opening his eyes inside the bacta tank had done the thing that felt natural to him. Now, with fluid pouring all over the floor, a medical droid smashed in the corner, and the sound of blaring klaxons and pounding feet drawing closer, he knelt on the floor outside another bacta tank. A bacta tank containing Chirrut. He was alive. It was impossible but there he was.
The force was with him and he was one with the force.

A quick scan around the room revealed Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi and a stranger he didn’t recognise all in similar tanks. The problem was, Baze had no idea if they were healthy enough to remove, certainly none of them seemed conscious, and unlike him, he could see blaster wounds scarring across Chirrut’s torso. Baze briefly wondered if they had been lucky and ended up in a rebellion medical centre, but quickly dismissed the thought as a doctor ran in between two Stormtroopers. Baze was weak from his sleep, nearly naked and without weapons, but all the same he raised his arms with a groan and prepared to protect Chirrut.

The force is with me and I am one with the force.

When Baze woke up again, several hours later, he was shackled to a hospital bed. Chirrut, though, could be seen from his position.

…

The only thing about the situation that surprised Tarkin was that Krennic had not woken up first. When the call had come he had even said as much. He had quelled the flash of rage in his stomach with the revelation that Krennic slept on, though, and had taken care to pass the news onto Vader that one of his prisoners had awoken as the man left his interrogation.

Tarkin had bigger fish to fry.

A matter had come to his attention in the region of Calfur, a planet on the Outer Rim and consequently under his governorship. Initially he had been dismissive of reports of people vanishing. He had frankly been surprised and disappointed that these issues were being put to him as they were certainly normally dealt with further down the chain of command. However, last night, he had received reports from the governor of the planet that Calthan, one of its main trading cities, had ended contact with the rest of the planet. It was obvious that some kind of rebellion was taking place and Tarkin intended to crush it. The Outer Rim would conform to the standards of the Empire. He refused to let new embarrassments rise up, not under his jurisdiction.

…

Unfortunately for the Governor, when it came to the time to land, Calfur appeared to be missing. As in, there was certainly a planet sized rock there, spinning quietly through space, but gone was the deep red ocean that covered the planet’s surface. Rather more troubling, the sun around which it orbited was also absent.

“You appear to have taken me to the wrong part of space,” Tarkin remarked to his flummoxed looking pilot. When the pilot didn’t initially reply he repeated his statement, prompting a sudden flurry of activity from a very nervous pilot.

“But we are there. I mean, all the instruments say we’re there. But I don’t understand. We would have been contacted in case of a supernova.”

Tarkin sighed to himself, “Of course there was no supernova you fool, and there would still be a sun there if that had happened. Show me those instruments.”

Only, they eventually concluded, they were exactly where they were supposed to be.