You know, there's fire in the hole
And nothing left to burn...
A severed head went tumbling down the steps to the palace. There were so many steps that it took seemingly minutes for it to reach the plaza below, where a waiting waste management droid diligently collected it. Meliant placed a foot against the slumped corpse and gave it a shove, and down after the head it followed. Another short eternity would pass before it hit the bottom. Fortunately, the waste management droid was very patient.
"Seems a tad excessive," Quasten opined. "Won't anyone miss the captain of the sovereign protectors?"
Meliant's lightsaber snapped off. "Just the sovereign."
"Mmhm…"
To be executed on the palace steps and recycled by a droid was an ignominious end for an elite and perhaps storied warrior. Doubtless there were worse people out there in the Empire who deserved it more than him. But the reports trickling in from hyperspace probes (the ones that made it through, at least) meant that not everyone was going to get what they deserved.
Everything would come to a head soon. There was no place in the rearguard for weakness. Both the sovereign protectors and the royal guard had failed to keep the Emperor protected on the Death Star III - first from Jedi, then from rank vagabonds. Meliant needed to remind them that they were not inviolable. That privilege belonged only to the Dark Side Elite.
"Have the captain of the royal guard out here next."
"Oh, I already called him."
Meliant turned and stared at Quasten. What an enterprising little toady this man was turning out to be. "Very good."
The captain of the royal guard put up more of a fuss, but it was only a minor duel not worth recounting. He was delivered to the waste management droid in short order. Meliant followed the cadaver down into the plaza to begin his inspection of the defenses.
All around, the preparatory drudgery of warfare was being carried out. Droids and workmen toiled and groaned. Bunkers were carved by great laser-drill bores into the stairs. Barricades and turrets were being hastily erected all over the plaza. Military walkers of varying size lumbered this way or that.
His men - and they were his now (Meliant's influence spread among them like a disease) - erected nests for artillery and marksmen in nearby buildings. Starfighters and gunships and other terrible weapons of war were brought into the palace hangars.
Army commanders relayed orders to callow conscripts. Yes, the fodder would be in the vanguard. Let the enemy exhaust themselves before they reach the palace doors. Within, Meliant had dismissed the bureaucrats and the guests and the dignitaries. They were packaged up and shipped off-world, where they would be given no chance to interfere.
He replaced them with the shock troopers of the 551st. They, the royal guard, the sovereign protectors would be the last line of defense. Oh, and the cultists and church devotees. Meliant had permitted them to stay. He wanted them all in one place.
Meliant paused to look up at the great, towering statue that dominated the plaza: Shannic Wulf, the Grand Vizier, clasping hands with Ignacious Korvan, the Grand Whatever. A towering work of marble, carved with loving detail, meant to inspire civic zeal in the teeming masses. It sat in the center of the plaza.
He snapped his fingers and brought over some lieutenant who was overseeing things. "Tear this thing down."
The lieutenant glanced up at the statue as if to ask it permission. "Sir…?"
"Break it apart and scatter the rubble. It will bog down the enemy advance. I think it's about time that hag served a useful purpose." Meliant laughed cruelly, very pleased with himself, but the lieutenant did not share his humor. Seeing the man's hesitation, Meliant pointed at him with a shiny, golden finger. "Get it done or I'll kill you."
That proved sufficient inducement.
Soon enough, a crane had been summoned to convey Wulf and Korvan onto the dusty ground. Spiderlike construction droids descended on the statues like ants on a carcass. A chorus of whirring plasma saws rose as they tore the two Imperial visionaries to pieces, ripped them apart, and dragged the chunks about to serve as makeshift blockades.
Meliant did not stay to watch. He hummed a little tune as he went back up the steps, retiring to the palace command center.
…I'd love to run out now
There's nowhere left to turn.
There's nowhere left to turn.
