Fallen Stars

Chapter Two

The bartender at the Spacer's Delight Inn on Cilase claimed to know nothing about the rebel fugitive, but his thoughts betrayed him. Ashwyn Grave had passed through this port city, and not long ago. Garrett saw it in the bartender's eyes.
“Liar,” he said tersely.
His bodyguard, Yun, reached across the bar and grabbed the portly man by the collar.
The room went quiet. Even the local band, who had been playing upbeat tunes throughout the whole interrogation, suddenly fell silent.
A few patrons quietly filed out of the establishment, but more of them stayed rooted to the spot, seized by a fear tinged with a hint of curiosity...and awe.
“I-I wouldn’t dream of lying to Your Highness,” the bartender pleaded, hovering a foot above the ground in Yun's grasp.
“And yet here we are,” Garrett scowled, turning away for a moment to regain his composure. “Tell me the truth.”
“I-I swear I–”
With that, Yun hurled the man across his own bar, and he landed with a thud onto the floor, cowering at Garrett's heels.
Garrett turned back around to face him.
He reached into the bartender's mind.
Flashes of the past week played in Garrett's brain.
He saw a haze of revelry and drunkenness, of music and chatter, of colour and light, intercut with scenes of the approaching Imperial fleet, the shock of the invasion, the return to work the next day as if nothing important had happened, the coldness of a home he could not bear to return to sober.
This man's job was his life.
Garrett saw a thousand faces, drinking and smoking and singing along to gaudy tunes, all trying their best to forget the war, just like the bartender was.
Garrett only needed to find one face: the face of Ashwyn Grave. The bartender had hidden it away deep in the recesses of his mind, as if anticipating Garrett's powers.
But a hidden memory is an isolated one.
Easier to capture.
Ashwyn Grave had been here, days ago, and between rounds of ale he had let slip something about the Fortuna Shipyard.
That was enough to get started on.
The connection faded.
The bartender slumped to the floor, unconscious.
“Thanks for your cooperation,” Garrett said dryly.
He nodded to Yun, and they walked out of the Spacer's Delight Inn.
As they stepped out on to the hazy street, he heard a furtive musical note sound out from within, and then the band began to play again as if nothing had happened.
Cilase had seen better days. The long, dusty streets of the planet's capital were mostly untouched by battle, but the effects of the war could be seen all around them: homeless veterans, orphans, and widows alike, lining the streets and begging for spare roubles; Imperial patrols only pausing their endless marching to beat down troublemakers and salute Garrett as he walked past; and the pervading aura of fear that seemed to weigh heavily on the world’s thick atmosphere.
The invasion had been mercifully quick, and mostly bloodless. Since the end of the Valthri Pact, the few systems and worlds still outside Imperial control had lost their taste for violence, and only put up a token resistance when the Empire came for them. Soon enough, each world surrendered and submitted to the Empire unconditionally, and the Imperials had little left to do but mop up the few holdouts brave or stupid enough to go on fighting once their commanders had laid down their arms.
The only rebel leader who still seemed willing to fight to the death was King Vallen, but the Emperor had already left the Imperial Capital to settle that matter personally.
For all Garrett knew, his father’s campaign had already succeeded.
Starships travelled faster than the speed of information, but soon enough, every corner of the Galaxy would be aglow with news of the Emperor’s final victory.
In the meantime, all that remained for Garrett to do was find the Valthri Crystal, which Imperial intelligence had determined was now in the possession of Ashwyn Grave. Once Grave was dead, and his father had taken the Astali Crystal from King Vallen, the Empire would at long last be in possession of the all four Crystals, and Imperial domination would be complete – not just for this generation, or even this century, but forever.
A future with no more conflict, no more war, just peace and prosperity under a single banner, a single Galactic Empire.
A Galactic Empire he would someday inherit.
Prince Garrett was drunk with these thoughts of his future dominion as he boarded his ship, the Harbinger, and ordered his pilot, Bilan, to set a course to the Fortuna Shipyard.
The Harbinger took off and soared through Cilase's heavy atmosphere until the planet was a little orange dot, surrounded by an endless expanse of stars he would someday rule.