Star Wars: Specters of the Past

By SSG Michael B. Jackson

Disclaimer: Star Wars and all associated characters belong, ultimately, to George Lucas, and aren't mine, more's the pity. Still, he's done a damn good job so far, so who's complaining?

A/N: Ok, this is a repost. I made a little continuity boo-boo toward the end of the chapter, and this, along with a few minor grammatical errors that somehow escaped my proof-reading have been fixed. Sorry 'bout that!

This was not, Garlan Dax reflected somewhat gloomily, what he'd been expecting when he signed on with the Coruscant Reclamation Project. Oh, he'd been warned that the job would be far from glamorous, or even comfortable for that matter. Who in their right mind, after all, would think that stripping away all of the layers of Sith-damned Vong-forming biomass from Coruscant's ravaged surface would be anything but onerous, tedious, and frustrating? But he'd never stopped to consider that the job didn't stop at the surface. Now, hundreds of meters down inside what used to be the onionskin layers of Coruscant's planet-wide megalopolis, that point was brought home to him and the two other members of his survey team rather forcefully.

They'd been making their way down for several hours, tracking a faint and elusive power signature that just might indicate functioning technology of some sort. If so, it would be the first such find in this area, a former heavy industrial sector that the Vong had been particularly vengeful in remaking. Of course, what it might be, no one could offer even a reasonable guess. It was so deep underground that it was doubtful it had anything to do with the ruined production facilities above, and the signature itself didn't look like anything that would be produced by heavy equipment of any sort. It was something of a mystery, in fact; hence Garlan and his team.

Now, with uncountable tons of less-than-stable ferocrete groaning and shifting over their heads, the readings taken by Garlan's Bith sensor operator seemed to indicate that they were close. The signal was still weak, a small trickle of neutrinos indicative, perhaps, of an equally small or nearly exhausted fusion reactor. Small wonder no one had ever noticed it before, Garlan ruminated; with any background at all, it'd fade right away. But with no competition, the tiny stream of neutrinos sliced right through all that ferocrete and made itself known all the way at the surface.

"How much further, Zek?" Garlan asked the Bith.

Cocking his bulbous, bald head just slightly, Zek replied, "Not too much, Dax. About twenty-five meters if this thing is reading right."

"Huh!" huffed the third member of their team, a rather larger than average Sullustan by the name of Jyym Noarg, causing his dew flaps to ruffle with the exhalation. "About damn time! We must be practically walking on bedrock by now!"

"Closer than you'd think," Zek said somewhat ominously.

With little to say to that, the team moved forward in uncomfortable silence. As they walked, though, they couldn't help but notice that the corridor they were moving through now seemed, somehow, out of place. The level they were on, as deep as it was, had to have dated from the earliest days of Coruscant's human habitation, making it thousands of years old at least. But the corridor, while dilapidated and filthy, seemed to be of more modern construction. It was as if, Garlan thought, someone had had this section refurbished in the not so distant past. But the who, why, and even the how escaped him.

Rounding a final bend in the dark hallway, lit only by their hand and helmet lamps, the survey team found themselves face to face with a rather imposing set of jet-black duralloy doors.

Frowning, Garlan said, "Huh! And just what do you make of this, guys?"

Reaching out to run his sensitive fingers over some equipment recessed in the wall beside the doors, Zek said, "Palm and retinal readers over here; looks like someone didn't want any uninvited guests. But the question is-"

"Who is or was that someone?" Jyym finished quietly, and then added, "And, of course, what exactly would be worth keeping under lock and key way the hell down here?"

Still frowning, Garlan said, "Only one way to find out, I suppose. Unfortunately, we aren't packing anything that'll crack those doors. Any ideas?"

"Well," the Bith said, "I can try tearing into those readers. I might be able to rig something. Of course, they're designed to make that as difficult as possible, but..."

"Hold up a second!" exclaimed Jyym, who'd been studying the doors more closely than his companions. "It looks like the whole doorjamb has shifted. Probably happened when that Force-damned rogue planet, Zonama Sekot, buzzed the Vong and played seismic hell with the whole planet."

"Ok," Garlan said, a bit puzzled. "And?"

"And," Jyym replied testily, "now there's a little gap between them. They're not mated up and sealed like they're supposed to be. There's just about enough room between them to get the tip of a pry bar into."

"Well, alright then," Garlan said, dropping and then opening the small pack he'd been carrying. Over the course of the weeks they'd been working in Coruscant's underbelly, through trial and error, they'd found a number of basic tools that it always seemed handy to have around, and all of them carried such packs now. Fortunately, a pry bar was among those tools.

After fifteen minutes of cursing, groaning, sweating and straining on everyone's part, the doors finally yielded enough of a gap for the Sullustan, burly among his own people but diminutive by his companion's standards, to slip through.

As he entered the space beyond the doors, illumination slowly and automatically came up around him, revealing what appeared to be a small suite of rooms. And, as he saw what the large main room where he found himself contained, a faint gasp was forced from him. "Oh, sweet Sith," he said in a soft tone of incredulity.

Trying to force as much of his head as he could through the narrow gap between the doors, Garlan said, "What is it, Jyym? Are you ok?"

Shaking his head, the Sullustan said slowly, "Yeah, I'm ok. You just won't believe this..."

Arrayed around the periphery of the room were a number of transparisteel display cases, much like those found in museums all over the galaxy. But the contents of these display cases were far darker and more disturbing than anything to be found in the average museum.

The majority of the displays consisted of rows of preserved heads, suspended and spinning slowly in repulsor fields. There appeared to be representative samples of most of the sentient species of the galaxy present, but this was no dry, taxonomical exhibit. All of the faces on those dozens of heads were frozen in various expressions of agony, horror, or, sometimes, grim determination. And, below each and every one, was a slim, silver metallic cylinder; lightsabers, Jyym realized after a somewhat closer examination.

As he haltingly described this scene to his friends outside the doors, Jyym continued to carefully explore, peeking into the adjacent rooms. These, he found, comprised a compact but opulent living suite, complete with 'fresher and Holonet access, here deep in the bowels of Coruscant's underground. One room, however, was something else entirely.

Just off the main gallery, as Jyym found himself thinking of the grisly display room, was another small room, more of an alcove, really. In fact, the way it was styled, with a low, vaulted ceiling, muted synthwood paneling, and a single rough bench in the center, it reminded Jyym of nothing so much as a small chapel or meditation room. But at the far end of the chamber, where one would expect to find an altar or holy symbol of some sort, there was something jarringly different.

Suspended perhaps a meter off the floor, apparently by it's own repulsor field, was what appeared to be an ugly, black block of metal with a life-sized humanoid form embossed on it. As he moved closer for a better examination, however, Jyym realized with dawning horror what it really was.

"Sith spit!" he muttered under his breath, stepping quickly up to the block of carbonite with it's human cargo trapped inside like a fly in amber. Moving to the side, he quickly located the imbedded sensor modules and checked their displays. "Well I'll be damned... still alive!"

Turning quickly, the squat Sullustan sprinted out of the room as fast as his short legs would carry him, heading for the entrance and shouting, "Guys! We need to get a hold of the folks up top, ASAP! We've got a live one down here, but we're gonna need help!"

Luke Skywalker was vaguely uneasy as he entered one of the many treatment rooms aboard the medical frigate Mercy's Light, currently in orbit over Coruscant. His unease stemmed from a number of causes, not the least of which was the absence of his wife, Mara Jade Skywalker. But they'd agreed enroute that it would be best for her to tackle the planet-side half of this one, at least to start. After all, it had been the search team's preliminary hypothesis that the subterranean chamber that'd been discovered three days ago was most likely linked in some way to none other than the late and unlamented Emperor Palpatine; and who better to evaluate such a find than the former Emperor's Hand.

That in itself bothered Luke. Not only did he not particularly like the fact that, over twenty-five years after his death, the old Sith Lord was still managing to cast a shadow into the present. But, as well, Luke wasn't at all sure how he felt about Mara coming back into contact with anything that carried his taint. Of course, he wasn't concerned about any influence the place might have on her. He knew in his heart that she'd well and truly turned from the Dark Side years ago, and that she'd let nothing drag her away from him and their infant son, Ben. But he was just a little afraid of the memories that the place might dredge up for her; he loved her and very much didn't want her to end up suffering from old wounds.

As well, he was intensely curious, and more than a bit apprehensive, about the carbon-frozen stranger he was, hopefully, about to meet. Given the setting she'd been found in, and the length of time she'd been frozen, Luke couldn't discount the possibility that she was one of the Old Republic Jedi, possibly a peer of his father's or of Obi-Wan's. Forty years! That was the figure the medical staff had finally arrived at after examining the carbonite block's embedded equipment. Forty years... how much the galaxy had changed in that time. Luke only hoped that the mysterious woman, assuming that she survived the thawing process after so much time had passed, would be able to adapt.

As he strode past the sliding door, little Ben toddling beside him for lack of available child-care, Luke smiled and greeted those who'd preceded him there. "Leia, Han. Glad to see you could make it." Then, glancing around the room at Jacen, Jaina and the droids, he said, "And it looks like you brought the whole entourage along."

Leia stepped forward, smiling also, and wrapped her brother in a quick, warm embrace. "Well, we were sort of on a family vacation anyway, if you remember. You and Mara decided to take off early for Ossus, but Han was still taking all of us on a guided tour of the Corporate Sector when this came up. Naturally, no one wanted to sit this out."

From his side of the room, Han said, just a bit wryly, "Yeah, I figured it was kind of a moral obligation for me to be here. After all, this lady and me are part of an exclusive club; how many people do you know who've been lucky enough to get the deep freeze treatment? Besides, I thought I might be able to give her a few pointers; hibernation sickness is no joke, and I'll just bet forty years inside that block ain't gonna make it any easier."

Luke just shook his head, still smiling, and then turned toward the head med-tech who, at that moment, was fiddling with some piece of equipment next to the carbonite slab.

"So, Doctor-?"

"Morell," the tall, thin older man supplied.

"Doctor Morell," Luke said matter-of-factly, "When do you plan on starting the thawing procedure?"

"Oh, as soon as you're ready, I think, Master Skywalker," he replied. "Basically, we were just waiting for you. Since this woman just may be a Jedi, we thought it would be a good idea to have you, the nominal authority on all things Jedi-related, present."

Luke nodded slowly, and said, "That's how I understood matters, Doctor. And, to be honest, I would've liked to have had Master Cilghal here too, just in case, but she's tied up for the foreseeable future making the rounds of the reclaimed Vong-formed worlds. Unfortunately, there's no shortage of business for a Jedi healer these days."

The doctor shook his head sadly, and said, "Too true, I'm afraid. Still, with yourself here and at least, what? Three other full-fledged Jedi? I think matters are well in hand."

With that, the doctor gathered up the three other med-techs who'd been busying themselves around the carbonite slab and got down to business. After a final check to ensure that any and all possibly necessary support equipment was ready, the doctor reached forward to flick a few switches and turn a certain knob on the slab's self-contained thawing mechanism.

As the doctor's fingers gave the dial it's final twist, Luke was struck by a sudden premonition, a tremor that came to him through the Force. Whatever was about to happen next, he was absolutely certain, was going to forever change the lives of everyone in the room around him, and perhaps a great many more lives as well. More than that, he couldn't say.

As they watched in rapt silence, the carbonite began to quickly heat, it's color rapidly climbing the spectrum from flat black to dull orange, and then on to bright yellow and finally blinding white. After that, it began to melt and flow, sloughing away from the face and body inside. Finally, the stranger lay revealed before them, a smallish, attractive brown-haired woman who appeared to be somewhere in her mid-thirties.

With a gasp and a groan, she pulled fresh air into her lungs for the first time in over forty years, and immediately fell into a hacking, gasping cough. The med-techs rushed forward, gently taking a hold of her, reassuring her that everything was going to be alright as they moved her to a hover stretcher. Once that'd been accomplished, they quickly fitted her with an oxygen mask, and hooked her up to an osmotic IV feed, pumping in saline to stave off dehydration and shock.

As all of this was going on, the combined Skywalker and Solo clans kept a respectful distance, just watching the procedure curiously. All except for one, that is. Once the woman's face and form had been revealed, a certain squat, cylindrical, blue-domed astromech droid had taken a sudden interest. With a questioning series of beeps, Artoo Detoo slowly inched his way forward. In the excitement of the moment, no one much noticed this, or cared if they did.

Once the initial uproar had calmed down, and the woman was reclining more or less peacefully on the stretcher, Artoo rolled tentatively up beside it, and gave a somewhat longer series of inquisitive chirps and beeps. The woman, apparently hearing this, frowned slightly and tried to push herself up on one elbow. Her eyelids fluttering as she tried to open them, she croaked in a dry voice, "Artoo?"

The droid's reaction was immediate and vociferous. With his dome spinning wildly, Artoo began an ascending and increasingly excited volley of beeps, chirps, and squawks that finally hit a crescendo and ended with a little electronic moan.

Frowning, Han Solo looked over to the golden plated protocol droid next to him, and said, "Ok, Threepio, what gives? What's the little guy's problem?"

Sounding vaguely puzzled, C3PO said, "I'm not entirely sure, sir. He was just repeating over and over, 'It's her! It's her! I can't believe it's her!' That doesn't make very much sense to me, I'm afraid."

Cocking his head sardonically, Han said, "Well, genius, how about asking him just who 'she' is? Did that ever occur to you?"

"Well, yes, sir-" Threepio began, and then, realizing the futility of explaining himself to Han said, "Oh, never mind, sir." Turning to the other droid, he said, "Artoo! You rolling rust-bucket, what ARE you going on about? You can't believe it's WHO?"

Without turning his optical sensor away from the woman, Artoo threw a short, annoyed series of beeps and squawks toward Threepio. After that, he fell silent except for a repetitive series of low, soothing chirps directed toward the woman.

"Well, Goldenrod?" Han said impatiently.

His tone still puzzled, Threepio said, "I'm afraid I still don't understand, sir." Then, once more directing his attention toward the little astromech droid, he said, "Just who exactly is Mistress Padmé, Artoo?"

Ok, end of chapter one. Hopefully this will be well received, and if so I'll keep plugging on. In case you're wondering, I do actually have a plot in mind for this, above and beyond the obvious. Please review, and don't be afraid to give the bad and the ugly along with the good.