This scene was written as a bit of an afterthought, as I tried to figure out how to get this pair off Bracca, but it worked out fairly well in the end, I think, referencing that whole father-son theme that runs throughout Brant’s story. I am mildly amused that Brant stole Lathril’s surname as his cover here, which would have been his as well if Keel’ath had kept it on.
And because I’m sure some people are asking — Sunwalker is not meant to be a play on Skywalker. I came up with the name long before writing for Star Wars, but I guess it’s a nice nod to the OT, considering the characters who carry it.
Author’s Note
“The corporal’s life readings are now stable, Master Jedi. General Galerion extends his thanks to you, and we expect your request to be processed shortly, perhaps within the hour.”
Brant looked up, squinting through the thin wall of red light at the faces of his captors just beyond. The wall was an annoyance, but they had explained to him courteously that the cell was just a precaution. His actions to save “Corporal Farlong” had gone a long way to convince them he meant no harm, but they still applied discretion as befitting a military unit.
After reporting on Kellaro’s health, the warden saluted and then moved off, and Brant dropped his head, so no chance passer-by would mark how similar his face was to Corporal Farlong’s and raise cry to their suspicions. It wouldn’t do after they had come so far.
He didn’t think it was a strong possibility, though. The shuttle had taken them swiftly off-planet and into the bowels of a Zakuulian military installation two systems away. The sheer number of ships coming and going from the space-docks indicated a steady flow of strangers, with only strings of numbers on their insignia to identify them: exactly as Brant had hoped. Kellaro had been taken straight to the medical wing and was currently being given all treatment due an officer of his supposed standing. Extracting him would be a headache for the Alliance, but at least it would be possible, potentially when Kellaro was transferred again to civilian duty to recuperate. All Brant had to worry about now was getting himself out alive.
So far his own alibi was holding up. Rogue Force-users were known throughout the galaxy, and the mystique of the Jedi served well as an explanation of why he suddenly seemed so keen on switching sides. Brant just hoped the real Lathril wouldn’t mind the use of his name.
“Master Sunwalker?” The aide had to repeat the name several times before Brant remembered that meant him and looked up. The woman on the other side of the wall nodded and turned off the barrier. Brant stood.
“Am I being released?” he asked, carefully schooling himself into the odd emotionless voice so many of the Jedi used.
“Actually, sir, you have an audience.”
“That was fast.”
“We pride ourselves on efficiency in the Eternal Empire,” said the aide, and she beckoned him to follow her.
They passed through many hallways, some full of stamping blocks of Skytroopers moving to their next deployment, some nearly empty, with only an aide or two exchanging messages over a datapad. The woman leading Brant brought him to a lift, and after several long minutes, watching lights blink on the floor level display, they stepped off into a large, circular room filled with tables, map units, and holo recorders. A few officers — identifiable by their crisp uniforms and badges — and a well-groomed but clearly still civilian man was waiting for them.
Brant had no idea what to expect, so he continued to act the placid Jedi as the aide led him up to the officers and introduced him as Master Sunwalker. Brant gave a short bow and waited to be addressed.
“This is the man you wanted to see,” said one of the officers. “He was present when your son was wounded on Bracca.”
Uh oh, Brant had a second to think, before the well-groomed man turned his way and stared at him. “I am Lord Farlong,” the civilian said, “and we need to have words.”
“I am at your disposal, my lord,” Brant answered through the thick wad of anxiety forming in his throat. The aide saluted, and the officers nodded to Lord Farlong, who in turn nodded to Brant and then started walking back to the lift with all the airs of command, clearly expecting Brant to follow. Brant glanced at the officers, but their expressions were bored, the faces of bureaucrats, and so Brant hurried after the lord.
He was allowed into the lift and to stand alongside Farlong as the man keyed in a different level. The doors slipped shut in silence; Farlong took several minutes to speak.
“The man they brought in with you is not my son,” he said.
Brant swallowed, but he saw no reason to lie. “No, sir. He is not.”
“I felt my son’s death, you see.”
“I’m… sorry, sir.”
“I won’t ask you to relive his final moments for me. I believe I already know how they went down.”
“I’m sorry,” Brant said despite himself. “It’s not easy to lose family.”
He glanced over to see Lord Farlong’s expression hadn’t changed. The man was nodding. “He would have been a Knight of Zakuul if the fates had been any different, Jedi. As it was, he was assigned to scrapping on Bracca. The false story your friend gave would have been the most heroic thing he had ever done in his life.”
Brant bit his lip, but he was saved from replying as the lift beeped to indicate they had arrived at their destination. The doors opened, and beyond them, Brant could see a private hanger, with a ship currently docked, its hatch open and gangplank down. An unconscious man on a stretcher was being loaded up into it by white-clothed attendees, and Brant had to restrain himself from leaping out with his lightsaber ablaze to defend Kellaro.
When he looked back at Lord Farlong, the man’s brown eyes were deep and black, spitting sparks even as they looked at Brant calmly. “He is your twin brother, I assume?”
“Is it not obvious?” Brant snapped out.
Lord Farlong ignored the sarcasm. “Your connection to the Force is stronger with the Dark Side than the Light. You are no Jedi either, I would guess.”
Brant crossed his arms. “Correct, sir.”
Lord Farlong looked back at the ship. “Even so, Jedi I will call you, because it is a Jedi I need. Master Sunwalker, I want you to take your brother back to your Alliance. Carry with him the last heroic act of my lost son, Corporal Farlong.”
“But–”
Lord Farlong held up a hand. “Don’t argue, don’t resist, and don’t question how I know, for you will not get a second chance. I see more clearly than most men, but if I can spot your lies, soon so will the others.”
“You’re… just letting us go,” said Brant in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Brant squinted.
Lord Farlong let out a slow breath, hooding his fierce eyes. “My son got on the wrong end of a favorite underling of the Emperor’s, and the Emperor’s word is law upon Zakuul. Perhaps if I had moved faster, been… braver… I could have saved him. Now, that road is forever closed to me, and instead, I can only save you. …I ask but one thing in return.”
“What would that be?” Brant lifted his chin.
Lord Farlong slipped a commlink into the Sith’s hands. It had been the one Kellaro had taken from Brant’s pocket, the one that connected to Vette’s commlink, several systems away by now. Lord Farlong’s brown eyes, snapping with a fury cold enough to impress a Sith, met Brant’s.
“I want you to avenge my son, to bring down the Empire, once and for all.”