Chapter
Twelve
Wedge Antilles
picked unenthusiastically at the cheese and vegetable pastry which was
sprawled
over his plate like the remains of a long-dead Ankari flatworm. He
might, he
supposed, have more interest in the pastry, if he wasn't so completely
exhausted. He thought, I must be getting old. He shouldn't
be feeling this
shitty just on the basis of one interrupted night's sleep and his
drinking
session with Mon Mothma, plus a day of poring over the base's energy
expenditure records. Still, though, Pilot Syok Komi, sitting across the
table
from him and staring blankly at her plate of salad, looked about as
exhausted
as he felt, and she was a bright young thing of what, twenty-two or
something.
If she was feeling rough after their day of trudging through the
records, maybe
he should admit that staring at computers all day was bloody hard work,
and not
blame his advanced age of thirty-one years.
They'd wanted
to
get as much done today as possible, because tomorrow Wedge's squadron,
of which
Komi was a member, was scheduled for manoeuvres. They'd have to keep
their
minds on the combat sims, rather than on trying to prove that Admiral
Piett
wasn't a traitor. At least Mittri and Nat, the other two detectives,
would be
able to continue the search tomorrow. Wedge resignedly forced himself
to
actually swallow a bite of the cheese pastry, rather than just pushing
it around
his plate. Need all your strength, he told
himself, if
you're going to go back to the damned computer after dinner. They would
put in
a couple more hours tonight, but then he was going to have to pull rank
and
order everybody to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow's combat sims
wouldn't do
him or Komi much good if they were both asleep at the controls.
Down the table
from
them, Wedge heard a man's voice declare, "he's probably dead by now."
The comment was made in the tone of one who gets a major kick out of
being the
prophet of doom.
"He's not
dead." That was spoken by someone whose voice Wedge recognised: Pilot
Hookainen, who until the Treaty of Endor had been a TIE-interceptor
pilot, and
who now flew an x-wing in Mittri's Green Squadron. Wedge glanced along
the
table, and saw Hookainen aggressively clutching a fork which it looked
like he
might just use to stab the man across from him, a smirking guy in the
standard
flightsuit of the former stormtroopers.
"How do you
know?" queried the smirking ex-stormtrooper. "You psychic?"
Hookainen shook
his
head. He said stubbornly, "if Vader were dead, we'd know."
"Yeah,"
put in another ex-stormtrooper, sitting next to Hookainen. "There'd be
--
I don't know. Planet quakes. Tongues of flame in the sky. Graves
opening up and
spewing forth demons. Stuff like that."
The smirker
turned
a disgusted look on the latest speaker. "This is Vader we're talking
about, not the Firelord."
"Yeah, well,
it'd take an act of the Gods to do in Vader. He's not gonna let just
anybody bump
him off."
"Yeah,
well," the echo came mockingly, "Palpatine isn't just anybody."
"Poetic
justice, I say," another voice commented, joining the conversation.
This
new voice belonged to Ressen, one of the pilots in Blue Squadron, who
was
sitting at the next table over. Ressen went on, "this'll teach the Dark
Lord you can't help a tyrant take over the galaxy and get away with it.
Just
too bad there isn't some way for Vader and Palpatine to kill each
other."
Wedge heard
Komi
murmur, "oh, shit."
That was
exactly
what Wedge was thinking. He watched with a sinking sensation while the
former
Imperial soldiers, as one man, turned to stare at Pilot Ressen.
The
ex-stormtrooper
who'd mentioned the tongues of flame and the graves spewing forth
demons
demanded, "how precisely do you think
the Rebellion's survived to be
here today? If Vader hadn't joined up and saved your sorry asses, you'd
all be
in the garbage chute of history."
Ressen shot
back,
"if Vader hadn't gone crawling to the Rebellion for forgiveness, you'd all be space
dust
over Endor."
Whoa, shit,
this
was way out of hand.
Wedge stood and walked quickly to where Ressen sat,
wishing that he could loom over the pilot as intimidatingly as Vader
would.
"Pilot," said Wedge, "you're out of line. I wouldn't blame these
men if they put you in the medical wing for that remark. We all owe a
lot to
Vader and you'd better not forget it." Of course, one couldn't have
officers playing favourites, so Wedge had to turn to the scowling
ex-Imperials
and add, "and you men, cool down. I know you're worried about Vader. We
all are. It won't help him if we start fighting each other."
Pilot Hookainen
asked, looking challengingly up at Wedge, "is Command worried enough to
do
something about it? I say it's about time we stopped pissing about on
manoeuvres, and launched our attack on Coruscant."
That, in fact,
was
basically what Wedge thought too, but this wasn't exactly the forum in
which he
should say it. While he tried to think of something diplomatic to say
instead,
another participant entered the conversation. Captain Needa, commander
of the Avenger, had walked
over
from an adjoining table. He said, arms crossed over his chest as he
looked
coldly at Hookainen, "your loyalty does you credit, Pilot. If not your
intelligence. It won't do Vader any good if we all get ourselves
massacred."
Hookainen
looked
somewhat daunted, but he held his ground. "No sir. With respect, sir,
we
wouldn't have to get massacred."
Needa's
eyebrows
quirked upward. "Oh? You have a cunning plan, do you, Pilot?"
Wedge
suppressed a
groan. He didn't know Captain Needa particularly well, but from what
he'd seen
of the Captain, he was a man who just didn't know when to shut up.
Wedge began,
"look, this isn't the time to be discussing this -- "
"Why
not?" Needa asked. "Everyone gets to have their say in the Rebellion,
don't they? Maybe the pilot has some insight we should present to
Command. Go
on, Pilot. You have permission to speak."
The formality
of
Needa's last statement made Hookainen remember that he was talking to
officers,
and he jumped to his feet. He said, "sir, it just seems to me that we
have
sufficient ships and manpower to make an attack worthwhile. And enough
of us
have been posted on Coruscant's Defence Stations that we should be able
to
figure out how to get past them. Besides, there's a good chance that a
lot of
the men there would join us. They've got to be feeling as pissed off
with the
situation as we are. Sir."
Needa eyed the
pilot sarcastically. "That's brilliant. Storm in with guns blazing and
give Palpatine's goons time to slaughter Vader before we get there.
Fabulous."
The
ex-stormtrooper
who'd started this conversation said, getting to his feet, "I don't see
you coming up with any better ideas, Captain."
"He wouldn't,
would he?" put in the second trooper, the graves and demons one. He
also
stood, and glared at Needa. "You're just as happy to see Vader gone,
aren't you, sir? Never mind that most of us would be dead without him."
Pilot Hookainen
muttered nervously, "Karnak, chill out."
Needa's eyes
narrowed,
and he said, "my feelings are not the issue. And you're on thin ice,
trooper."
The
ex-stormtrooper, whose name was apparently Karnak, said, "we're all on
thin ice, aren't we? All ex-Imperials, anyway. You can see what's
happening,
can't you? They've got our ships and our technology, and now they want
to get
rid of us. First Admiral Piett, now Lord Vader. It's very convenient that Vader got
captured just now. Maybe the Empire had a little help catching him.
Like, an
anonymous tip from Vader's Rebel allies that he was going to be there."
Needa snapped,
"Palpatine doesn't need anonymous tips. He probably sensed Vader from a
couple star systems away."
Wedge tried
again.
"Captain," he said, "we're not getting anywhere with this --
"
But the
argument
had suddenly changed focus once more. Pilot Ressen was back in action,
having
stood up from his table and barged up to Trooper Karnak. quot;So what
are you
saying?" Ressen demanded. "You saying we betrayed Commander Skywalker
and Princess Leia, too, just to get rid of Vader? Firelord! You people
are so
used to being led by homicidal maniacs, you don't know what honesty and
decency
are any more."
That was when
everything exploded. Trooper Karnak launched himself at Ressen,
grabbing him by
the throat and propelling him backward onto the next table. Holding
Ressen down
on the table, his head in some unfortunate person's plate, the trooper
grated,
"how honest and decent is it if you leave Lord Vader to die?"
Captain Needa
stepped in at this point, grabbing Karnak and pulling him off of the
spluttering Pilot Ressen. And then Trooper Karnak hauled off and
punched
Captain Needa in the nose. Before Wedge could even bring himself to
believe
that he had just seen that, the even more unbelievable happened, and
the normally
urbane Captain Needa kneed Trooper Karnak in the groin.
"Shit!"
someone yelled, and then for a moment there was limited chaos: the
other
ex-stormtrooper trying to leap at Captain Needa, Pilot Hookainen trying
to hold
him back, Pilot Ressen struggling out of the plate he'd landed in and
starting
to kick the already suffering Trooper Karnak. Wedge grabbed Needa, who
looked
like he'd be only too happy to make an example of anyone who got in his
way.
Several others, including Komi, flung themselves at Ressen and dragged
him away
from the hapless Karnak, who by now was on his hands and knees on the
floor.
Just in time to
stop hostilities from escalating, the voice of Mon Mothma sounded over
the com
system, "all Command staff, please proceed to the main conference
chamber
immediately." She repeated the message, and gradually most of the
combatants stopped struggling, although they were still watching each
other
warily. Hookainen and the other trooper helped Karnak back to the bench
he'd
been sitting on before, where he huddled groaning and giving vent to
some very
colourful curses. Ressen was herded away to another table, and someone
handed
him a napkin, with which the red-faced and now rather sheepish-looking
pilot
started trying to remove somebody's dinner from his hair.
Wedge
cautiously
let go of Captain Needa. Despite Wedge's fears, Needa made no move to
kill
anyone. The Captain, a trickle of blood oozing from his nose, managed a
rueful
smile. "I love the Rebellion," he said to Wedge. "Such
discipline. The men have such respect for their officers." He put a
hand
to his nose, and then stared at the blood on his hand when he brought
it down
again."Ow," he said. "I love appearing at command meetings with
a bloody nose, too."
"You've
probably got time to get cleaned up," Wedge told him. "These meetings
always take a while to get started."
"Yeah,"
Needa nodded. "All right. I'll see you there." He started off in the
direction of the nearest loos.
Wedge turned to
Komi, who was standing next to him. He muttered, "how the Hell did this happen?"
Komi shook her
head. "I'll guess I'll go return to the quest," she said. "I've
lost my appetite."
"Yeah."
Wedge sighed. He and Mittri certainly weren't going to get any more
detective
work in tonight, not with this meeting to attend. No doubt it would go
on
forever. He said, "you and Nat stick with it for a few more hours, see
if
you can dig up anything. But don't stay up too late now, Pilot, that's
an
order."
Komi grinned.
"Yes, sir," she said. "We'll be good."
"I'm sure you
will." He smiled at her, thinking that staring at energy usage records
suddenly sounded a lot more appealing
now that he had a meeting to go to,
and he started making his way through the crowded mess hall. Being a
well
brought up young man, he picked up his tray with its truly pathetic
looking
remains of cheese pastry, and took them to the disposal area so the
droids
wouldn't have to do it. Then he headed into the corridor, towards the
lift.
Damnation.
Palpatine would be laughing his ass off, if he could have seen this
little
demonstration of the Alliance's ability to work together.
If they were
going
to do anything to help Lord Vader, they'd better do it soon, or they would
all
just murder each other.
Princess Leia
stared at the door through which Emperor Palpatine would walk at any
moment.
Well, assuming
he
used the door, instead of materialising somewhere in the guest chamber
again,
to keep her on her toes. Leia clutched the arms of the overstuffed
chair she
was sitting in, irritated by the realisation that she was trembling.
She had an
almost unbearable urge to start pacing around the room, but she was
damned if
she'd allow herself to be that obviously agitated when Palpatine
appeared. Of
course, the bastard would know what kind of a state she was in anyway.
But at
least she could look calm, if nothing else.
She'd
considered
changing her clothes, as another statement, going back to the clothes
she'd
been wearing when she and Luke were kidnapped. They had been laundered
now,
with the exception of her blood-stained jacket, which she had forbidden
the
droid to touch. But this situation was beyond such petty attempts to
assert her
independence. Palpatine had the upper hand, and he would continue to do
so,
whether she was wearing clothes he had provided for her, or not. She
fingered
the necklace at her throat, fighting the urge to rip it off and send
the jewels
scattering about the floor. Instead she just clutched at the pearls,
until her
fingers hurt.
At the edges of
her
mind, she could feel fear from Luke. She had sent him back to his room
a few
minutes ago, after a lengthy session of apologising to him and trying
to calm
him down. Moff Nevoy, who had been a lot more understanding than she
would have
expected, had sent the droid to fetch Luke a selection of comic books,
and Leia
had last seen her brother sprawled out on his bed, apparently engrossed
in the
adventures of Tris Griffin, Star Pilot. But Luke still knew that
something was
wrong, and he was scared. How could he not be, she thought grimly,
after the
way she had screamed at him?
Now Nevoy had
left,
Luke was reading his comic books, and she had sent for Emperor
Palpatine.
As she had half
expected, he did not use the door. Instead he materialised right in
front of
her, smiling his odious smile, and she was surprised that she had not
jumped
out of her skin when he appeared. "Yes, my dear?" he asked. "Can
I do something for you?"
She stood up.
She
said, "you can spare my father's life, for a start."
"Ah," he
said, "oh dear. I'm afraid that just won't be possible."
"It must
be."
"Leia, my
sweet, you must understand. What can I do? If I set him free, he'll
never let
us have a moment's peace; every other day he'll be trying to rescue
you. And
would you really want him to rot in a dungeon for the rest of his life?
Or to
be ... damaged, like your little brother? Really, it's much more
merciful to
kill him."
Despair washed
through her. There had to be something she could do,
or say, but if
there was, she couldn't see it. How could she bargain for her father's
life,
when she had nothing to offer? She asked bitterly, "do you honestly
think
I'll serve you, be your young apprentice, if you kill
him?"
"But my dear
girl, you'll have to. You have the rest of your family to think of.
There,
there, don't take it so badly. You know I'll always provide for you.
Think of
the beauty of it, the symmetry. You'll lose one father, to gain
another."
I
already have, she thought. Only
I haven't really gained Vader. Not yet. Damn it, you monster, I can't
let you
take him! You took Bail Organa from me, you can't take Darth Vader, too.
Palpatine must
have
heard her thoughts, for he purred, "oh, but I can, my dear. I can do
anything. This is my galaxy."
"Please! Damn
you. Where's the fun in killing him? If you kill him, you won't be able
to hurt
him any more."
"Oh, there
will always be people to hurt."
That was too
much.
Logically she knew that she wasn't strong enough to fight Palpatine,
but
nothing was going to stop her from trying. She focused this time,
instead of
just hurling power at him. She delved into her anger, and channelled it
toward
Palpatine, envisioning it as a fire that would burn off his skin, eat
his
brain, devour his veins from within.
Palpatine just
smiled. "Very good, Leia. You're gaining more control. You're making
very
good progress."
She gasped, and
her
head jerked backward as Palpatine's counter-attack hit her. The horror
of it
froze her. Of course she knew it was illusion, but that didn't help.
Palpatine was
filling her mind with images of Alderaan. She saw the planet explode in
front
of her, as she had seen it from the bridge of the Death Star. She saw
her own
face, shocked and disbelieving, and the smug little smile of Grand Moff
Tarkin.
Alderaan exploded again, and then she saw her father, Bail Organa, in
his
office at the Alderaani Palace. He was trying to contact the Death
Star, but
they were not responding to his hails. He turned, looking tense and
impatient,
to one of his aides, demanding a report -- and the image disappeared in
a burst
of flame.
"Leia,"
whispered the Emperor, "why do you want to save Darth Vader? Did he save Alderaan?
He
could have. He could have saved Bail Organa. Your family. Your friends.
He
could have saved them all. He did nothing. You owe him nothing, Leia.
He
deserves only death, for all the pain he's caused you."
Leia hissed,
"no."
The planet
exploded
again, and she felt the heat of it, like a burning desert wind.
Then she heard
a
tremulous little voice, from somewhere, saying, "stop it! Leave her
alone!"
She whispered,
"oh, Luke, no."
Somehow she
managed
to turn around, dragging her vision away from Alderaan and into the
room she
was standing in. Luke was standing by the door to his bedroom, and he
yelled
now, "you're hurting her! Stop it!"
"Hello,
Luke," said Palpatine.
"Stop it!
You're mean and nasty and I hate you!"
And Luke ran at
the
Emperor. He shoved Palpatine in the chest, pushing him backwards, and
then Luke
was all flailing fists and feet, kicking the Emperor's shins and
pummelling the
Imperial torso with his fists. As a fighting style, it was not overly
effective, but Palpatine looked stunned.
Leia tried to
reach
for Luke and pull him back. She was too late. A burst of power from the
Emperor
lifted Luke into the air, then sent him hurtling backward to smash into
the
wall.
Luke lay
crumpled
on the floor, not moving. Leia ran to him. She was terrified that a
collision
like that would have broken his neck. But as she knelt by him, she
heard Luke
moan. He flattened his hands against the floor, trying to get enough
leverage
to push himself up.
"No, Luke,
no," she said urgently, "don't try to move."
Luke sat up
anyway.
He didn't seem to notice her, but looked up at Palpatine, glowering at
the
Emperor through the fringe of his hair and the blood that was trickling
down
his forehead.
"Damn
you," Luke whispered. "You bastard. You sick, fucking bastard. Why do
you do it? Why?"
That wasn't her
six-year-old brother talking. Leia's eyes widened as she looked from
Luke to
the Emperor.
Palpatine
chuckled.
"There, my dear," he said. "You've got your brother back again.
Now don't ever say that I don't give you anything."
Leia began,
"Luke ... ?"
"What is
it?" Luke insisted, in a low, hate-filled voice. "Do you feel like
you don't exist unless you're hurting people? What is it with you?
What?"
Emperor
Palpatine
said, "don't let me interrupt this little family reunion," and he
vanished.
Leia stared at
the
empty space where he had stood, then at Luke. Then she hugged her
brother to
her. "Oh, Luke," she breathed. "Oh, Luke!"
"Don't,"
he said, pulling away from her. She watched him in dread, wondering if
this
whole process was going to begin again. But Luke didn't seem to be
panicking,
and he didn't tell her that she wasn't there. He merely averted his
eyes from
her, and started to struggle to his feet, saying, "please, Leia, just
don't touch me."
She reached out
cautiously to help him if he started to fall, but he did not. "Are you
all
right?" she asked him.
He nodded.
"Do you know
what
happened to you?"
Luke nodded
again,
still not looking at her. There was an expression of hatred on his
face, and
she had an uncomfortable feeling that the hatred was aimed at himself.
Luke
said, in an unnaturally still, emotionless voice, "I've lost the
Force."
"What?"
she whispered.
He looked at
her
now, and she caught her breath at the pain in his eyes. He said
quietly,
"I ought to be able to feel you. You ought to be ... " he gestured
toward his head " ... here. You ought to be with me. Our father should
too. And ... everything. I ought to be able to feel it." He shook his
head. "I can't, Leia, it's gone."
"But,"
she began, "it might come back -- it could just be temporary -- "
Luke said, "I
don't think so."
She took a step
toward him, without thinking, and he winced. "Please don't," he
hissed. "It's ... too weird. Not being able to feel you. Like you're
not
here at all. Please, I can't handle it. Not yet."
Leia nodded and
stepped away from him again. She asked him, "Luke, what can I do?"
For a long time
he
didn't answer. He finally asked, "where's our father? Is he ...
alive?"
"Yes,"
she said, hearing her voice start to tremble. "But -- Palpatine's
scheduled his execution. For next week."
Luke closed his
eyes. She watched blood ooze down his cheek, like a tear.
"You've got to
save him, Leia," Luke said, not yet opening his eyes.
"How?"
she begged him, knowing there wasn't any answer. "How?"
One
day down,
six to go.
As he had
suspected
would happen, at the end of the day the main sensation he was
experiencing was
boredom.
There had been
a
few highlights to break the monotony. In the afternoon, general public
were
admitted for the first time, and one or two members of the public had
briefly
made themselves the centre of attention. There had been the raddled
looking old
man with the several days' worth of grey stubble, who had suddenly
produced
from his coat pocket a retracted -- and, Vader suspected, probably
inoperable
-- lightsaber, swung it around over his head, and then started to beat
the
display case with it, while screaming. Vader didn't recognise the old
codger,
but since presumably he had not always looked so disreputable, he could
have
been just about anyone. The guards had quickly, and none too gently,
taken
charge of him and herded him away. Then, an hour or so later, there had
been
the woman who flung herself at the display case, sobbing, flattening
her hands
and face against the partition and apparently trying to kiss Vader's
feet. He
didn't remember ever having encountered her, either, a fact he was
rather glad
of. He had almost been thankful for the display case that stood between
them.
Another visitor
had
been memorable to him for less extroverted reasons. Near the end of the
afternoon, shortly before the exhibition was closed for the day, he had
seen a
young woman with bluish-black hair and skin which might have been very
tanned,
or might, alternatively, have been the result of having one parent
whose skin
was purple. She was wearing figure-hugging trousers and a baggy
sweatshirt with
"University of Coruscant" blazoned on it. As she walked past the case
she cast Vader a sexy little smile, and if he'd had any doubts before,
that
convinced him that she was indeed Camar, the youngest child of
ex-crimelord
Baccara Chovitza.
Now, though,
there
was no chance of any interesting visitors until tomorrow. The Great
Hall was
empty again; even the guards had apparently left, although he presumed
there
were still some posted outside the doors to the Hall. The lights were
out, and
his surroundings were fading out of sight around him as the twilight
darkened
into night.
Palpatine had
stopped by for his evening gloat, and might, Vader supposed, come by
again
later, if the Emperor was having trouble sleeping. But Vader hardly
classed him
as an interesting visitor. The Emperor had blithered about the first
day's
visitor turnout and had jovially imparted further details of the
arrangements
for Vader's execution, then, finally turning his monologue to a topic
that
Vader cared about, had started discussing Leia. He told Vader what a
bright
pupil she was, such a fast learner, with such a fine instinctive grasp
of her
own potential. Luke, he did not mention. Vader wondered what had
happened. What
had caused Palpatine to turn his focus from Luke to Leia -- apart from
the fact
that Leia was a pretty young woman and Luke wasn't? Vader certainly
hoped that
was not the main motivation for the Emperor's interest. He supposed
that Leia
perhaps provided more of an entertaining challenge. She would never be
as
easily led as Luke tended to be. Even if she were to give herself
completely to
the Dark Side, she would never fully accept Palpatine as her Master.
The first
confirmation Vader got that Luke was even still alive came when
Palpatine said,
"oh, you haven't heard yet, have you? I'm going to adopt your children.
I
mean, I thought it was only fair. I can't kill their father without
giving them
another one, can I? And the grand-children will need someone to guide
them as well,
to show them the ways of the Force." The Emperor gave one of his
characteristically weird chuckles. "I'm afraid Leia wasn't very happy
when
she found out you have to die. Poor sweet thing, I suppose losing two
fathers is a little much,
but
don't worry, I'll make it up to her. At least Luke will only have lost
a father
and an uncle."
And an
aunt, you
bastard, thought Vader, irritated that poor Beru
hadn't even managed to make
her way into Palpatine's ramblings. Damn, he'd always meant to talk
with Luke
about Tatooine, and what happened to Beru and Owen, but somehow he'd
never
succeeded in forcing himself to bring up the topic. It wouldn't have
been the
easiest of conversations. Oh, Luke, by the way, I'm sorry
about your aunt
and uncle. Well, okay, I'm not sorry about your uncle, he was a
self-absorbed,
priggish, closed-minded son-of-a-bitch, but Beru was a sweet lady and
she
didn't deserve to get fried to a crisp. And by the way, it wasn't my
fault. I
didn't have any idea those bloody droids would end up at Beru and
Owen's farm,
and anyhow, the stormtroopers were out of line, incinerating the couple
like
that. For Gods' sakes, what kind of threat were two middle-aged
moisture
farmers? He hardly imagined that Owen would have tried
to take on the Empire to
protect some second-hand droids. Vader had, in fact, strangled the
sergeant
who'd commanded the team that had killed Beru and Owen, but of course
that
hadn't done anything to bring them back.
Blast it, if he
couldn't find a way out of this, and he did end up dying next week, he
hated to
think of what it might do to Luke and Leia. Admittedly, the three of
them
hadn't had the smoothest of relationships, but still, seeing one's
father be
put to death couldn't be good for one. Especially since Luke and Leia
had such
a history of losing parental figures. Gods, how many did that make now?
Their
mother -- well, he didn't know whether they remembered her or not, but
still,
not having her there for them must have had an impact -- and Bail and
Keeiara
Organa, and Beru and Owen. Oh, and bloody Obi Wan Kenobi, for that
matter. And
that old busybody Yoda. And now Vader. Bloody, bloody hell.
"Anakin,"
came Palpatine's voice, "are you listening to me?"
No,
I'm not.
Bugger off.
Damn
it! Luke,
Leia, I'm sorry if I get killed. I want to be there for you. I would
have been
there for you, if I'd known!
Oh, Lord on a
Landspeeder. What if Palpatine's little joke from last night turned out
to be
true, and Vader had to spend eternity with Obi Wan? Hell, anything but
that.
Although it would be nice to have a chance to really tell the miserable
old
shit what he thought of him.
Thank
you, you
bastard, for stealing my wife. And for destroying any chance I had for
a decent
relationship with my children. Oh, and you know what, Mr.
Oh-So-Moral-And-Perfect
Jedi? The entire bloody Empire, and twenty-plus years of war, is your
fault.
Because Darth Vader would never have existed if you hadn't cut off my
hand, and
without Darth Vader, Palpatine's rule wouldn't have taken the form it
did, and
the Jedi might not have been wiped out, and the Rebellion might never
have
existed, and hey presto, Obi Wan Kenobi, billions of deaths lie
directly at
your door. Now say something poncy and moralistic about that,
I dare
you.
Vader smiled
bitterly. Never mind cutting off Kenobi's hands; Vader preferred the
idea of
just beating the crap out of him. He hadn't had a fistfight for a damn
long
time, these days they tended to be beneath his dignity. But for Obi Wan
Kenobi,
he was willing to make an exception.
Something
smashed
into his consciousness, and he realised that Palpatine must be trying
to get
his attention. In a typically subtle way, of course. Pain flooded him,
searing
at every nerve, and a smell that should not be there told him what had
happened. Burned hair, melted plastic, exposed entrails, blood.
Palpatine had
reached into his mind and dredged up his memories of the accident.
Vader sighed
shudderingly, trying to ignore the sensation of liquid bubbling in his
lungs,
and the image of someone reaching out to stroke his bizarre, exposed
broken
ribs.
Kiss
my ass,
Palpatine. Why don't you just run along and go pull the legs off bugs?
He didn't know
how
long it was before the pain receded. He was in his display case, with
no smell
of burned hair and death. He waited for Palpatine's next annoying
observation,
but none came. Silence settled over him, and remained. Apparently, His
Imperial
Majesty had become bored and left.
Vader was bored
too, but he couldn't go anywhere. He didn't even have the energy at
this moment
to be truly angry; his latest trip down memory lane had just about
wiped him
out. At least he didn't imagine he'd have any trouble sleeping tonight.
A few
minutes of excruciating pain certainly beat counting banthas as a cure
for
insomnia.
He was drifting
into sleep, when the voice made him jump.
His wrists
jerked
painfully against the restraints that held them. The voice said
quietly,
"Lord Vader?"
It was a man's
voice, with a faint Caminitan accent, and it sounded familiar. Vader's
first
thought, that the voice was coming from inside his head, was wrong. He
realised, when it spoke again, that it came from behind him, probably
just to
the right of his head.
"Lord Vader,
can you hear me?"
Back there,
though
he'd not been able to see much detail, must be the infusion devices
that were
feeding him and maintaining the Force-suppressant drug in his system.
Twice
now, first thing this morning and again when the exhibition closed,
he'd
noticed technicians tinkering about with the mechanism, presumably
renewing its
supplies. Had one of them smuggled in a comlink? Or had the link been
there
from the beginning?
"Yes," he
replied. Presumably whoever he was talking to had ensured that the link
wouldn't be monitored or traced, but if they hadn't, there wasn't
anything he
could do about it. And it didn't seem like he had anything to lose.
"My Lord, do
you know that you're to be executed? In six days' time?"
Vader said
dryly,
"I've heard it mentioned, yes." He had a pretty good idea who he was
talking to now. That was almost certainly the voice of Osheen Nevoy.
Not that
Vader was going to compromise him by mentioning his name; if the link
did get
monitored, Nevoy definitely didn't need to have his identity
broadcasted to
Imperial Intelligence.
"You have
friends who are interested in helping you. If you escape, can you
guarantee
them amnesty in the Rebellion?"
Well,
that's a
stupid question, isn't it? Vader thought. Do
you really think I'd say no, even
if that was the answer? "Yes," he said
again, which, as it
happened, was the truth. Or he presumed it was, anyway. The Rebels
weren't
likely to turn down any volunteers. "There are conditions," he added.
"Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Han Solo and Chewbacca the Wookiee. They
must be returned to the Rebellion as well, alive and in good health. Or
there
is no deal."
"Very well.
They will be. We'll be in touch again."
"One more
thing," said Vader. "Contact Imperial City 2010-7131. They should be
able to help you. They are particularly good at providing
distractions." And
even if the link was being monitored, Vader had faith in Baccara
Chovitza's
security systems. It would be a very warm day on Hoth before Imperial
Intelligence managed to trace that number to Chovitza.
The link was
terminated, with no closing pleasantries. Oh well, he hadn't really
expected
that Nevoy would want to chat.
Come to that,
he
hadn't expected any of this.
Well,
well,
well, he thought. So I've got friends.
That's always nice to know.
Maybe, just
maybe,
he would get out of this after all.
If he did, he
was really going to have
to
talk with Luke about Beru and Owen. Oh, Hell, and with Leia about
Alderaan.
Gods. Maybe
dying
wasn't such a bad idea.
"I
think," said General Dodonna, "we must also consider the option of
leaving him to his fate. Members of the Rebellion have placed
themselves in
danger before while on personal missions, and we have never committed
Alliance
troops to rescuing them. Are we justified in making an exception of
Vader?"
Mon Mothma felt
a
twinge of dread, and resisted the urge to start chewing her
fingernails. Please,
Jan,
she thought, don't say that. Of course she
knew that, in theory, Dodonna
was perfectly right. The Alliance couldn't afford to nursemaid its
people,
running around after them whenever they landed themselves in some
disaster
while pursuing their own affairs. It would have been unfortunate --
very
unfortunate -- if the Princess and Solo and the others hadn't returned
from
their visit to Jabba the Hutt, for instance, but if they hadn't, the
Alliance
still wouldn't have sent out the fleet to reduce Jabba's palace to
rubble.
Still, though,
was
this really a comparable situation? All right, so Vader had been
captured while
on personal business, rather than on a mission for the Rebellion. But
if it was
indeed Palpatine who had kidnapped Skywalker and the Princess, then
surely that
had been an attack on the Rebellion, not just a personal matter. And
Vader was
a prisoner now because he was a leader of the Rebellion, not simply
because he
and Palpatine had had a falling-out.
And there was
another factor. Gods, she didn't even like to admit that this was a
consideration with her. But, if they didn't make an attempt to rescue
Vader,
she had no idea how she was going to explain it to Piett.
She'd gone to
visit
him, very briefly, just before the meeting started. Dr. Tomczyk had
called to
inform her that Piett was awake. Only barely awake; he'd managed to
smile
faintly at her and squeeze her hand, and when she asked how he was
feeling,
he'd said "sleepy", and proved it by immediately falling asleep
again. As far as she knew, he didn't know yet about Vader's capture.
But, damn
it, if the Alliance sat by and did nothing, she had the feeling that
Piett
would not take it very well. Vader was important to him, she knew that,
no
matter how much shit the Dark Lord had put him through. She remembered
the
certainty and faith in Piett's voice when he told her and Antilles that
Lord
Vader would come back. And when he'd told her, at Chandrila Seven, that
Vader
believed in the Rebellion.
If he found out
that the Alliance had left Vader to captivity and probably death, would
Piett
even speak to her again?
Wedge Antilles,
meanwhile, was saying, "I'm sorry, General, I'm not sure we do have the
option of leaving him. Not unless we want to lose about half our
people. Vader
was the one who brought them into the Alliance, they may feel that
without him
they've got no reason to stay. Especially if it looks like we've
betrayed
him." He looked around at the others. "Some of you must have more
insight on this than me. You officers who came to the Alliance with
Vader, what
do you think? What kind of reaction will we get if we don't go after
him?"
He was met by
various frowns and uncomfortable looks. Then Captain McLaughlin, the
former
Imperial in command of the Accuser, said, "I
think you're
probably right. Some of the troops will stay -- because they've come to
believe
in the Rebellion's cause, or because they've got nowhere else to go.
But a lot
of them will just leave. They'll think that without Vader, the
Rebellion
doesn't have a chance."
There was an
irritated snort from General Madine. "They probably thought the
Rebellion
didn't have a chance at Yavin."
Before the
assorted
antagonistic glares could lead into full-scale conflict, Mon Mothma
interposed,
"Yavin notwithstanding, it's true that most of the advances we've made
in
the past year wouldn't have been possible without the participation of
Lord
Vader and the former Imperials. It's not just important what our own
troops
think of our chances; we have to think about our public relations, too.
This
past year, the galaxy as a whole has started to believe that we have a
chance
to win. That in itself brings us more successes. Thuria would never
have asked
to join us, nor Battacharya, nor the Abhirama Consortium, if it weren't
for
vast leaps forward we've made with the help of our formerly Imperial
allies." She sighed, and continued, "and I'm afraid the reverse may
also be true. Losing Vader may do us more harm than any number of lost
battles.
Our credibility may be shattered, it could take us years to regain the
ground
we'd lose."
Madine
demanded,
"so now public relations is more important than doing what's right?
That
never used to be what the Rebellion was about."
Mon Mothma
stared
at him, taken by surprise by the jolt of anger she felt. She said
icily,
"we're all under stress, General, so I will assume that you did not
mean
to say that."
Captain Ifar of
the
Mircalla said in a soft
voice, "if it's doing what's right that we're
worried about, surely we don't have any excuse to abandon Vader. After
all he's
done for the Rebellion, deserting him would be unforgivable."
There were
murmurs
of agreement, and General Madine subsided, scowling. Captain Needa,
who'd been
leaning back in his chair, now sat forward abruptly and said, "this is
very touching, but what exactly are we planning to do? It's all very
well saying we've got to rescue him, but he's on the most
tightly-defended
planet in the galaxy. We can't just waltz in and say 'hi, we'd like our
Dark
Lord back'."
Mon Mothma
asked,
"do we have sufficient forces to take on Coruscant's defences?"
A long pause
followed. Finally General Veers answered her, "if we devoted all our resources
to
the attack, yes. All the ships we have here, and those in the Baxtri
sector,
and those on Calamari and Sullust and the other member planets. But
it's hard
to see what we'd gain by it. During the battle the Emperor would have
time to
escape, and Lord Vader would almost certainly be killed. And even if we
got
through the perimeter stations and the defence fleet, we'd still have
the
Imperial Guards and the Palace Guards to deal with, not to mention the
ground
troops. It sounds very much like suicide."
General
Calrissian
pointed out, "most of our attacks sound like suicide. And most of them
seem to work."
Captain Needa
spoke
up again, his voice starting to rise a little with stress, "yes, but
you've got to understand, we've got other things to think about here.
Corsucant
is a civilian target. It's
not like going against a Death Star. Even fighting the
perimeter defences would cause chaos on the surface. There'd be bound
to be
some wreckage falling to the surface, and there'd certainly be
widespread
panic, probably a lot of people would try to leave the planet. We'd
probably
have them flying right into the battle. And what if we reached the
Imperial
Palace? There's civilians there, too, thousands of them. The
Rebellion's public
relations really won't be so
hot if our attack ends up slaughtering
babies and the janitorial staff. And the official
representatives
from several hundred planets. We'd never hear the end of it."
"The question
we have to answer," General Veers put in calmly, "is what our
priorities are in this. Are we attempting to take Coruscant -- which
does seem
somewhat unrealistic -- or are we attempting to rescue Vader? If the
latter,
then our main attack should be a diversion from the activities of a
smaller
rescue team."
General Rieekan
asked the obvious question, "and how does the rescue team get there?"
There was a
laugh
from Captain Lotremer, of the Ruthless, and the rest
of the command
staff turned in surprise to look at him. Lotremer said, "one thing's
for
sure, we are not just swanning
in with our ex-Imperial shuttles,
pretending we belong there. I think they'll be watching for that one.
'Shuttle
Tydirium' is probably a swear word in the Imperial Forces these days."
The different
backgrounds of the conference chamber's occupants were shown clearly in
their
reactions to Lotremer's comment. Most of the former Imperials chuckled
or
smiled wryly, while the majority of the long-term Rebels looked
embarrassed, as
if they'd inadvertently said something to insult their colleagues. Mon
Mothma
thought, again, how truly bizarre all this was. A year ago, when they'd
planned
their attack on Endor and Princess Leia and her team had set out in the
stolen
Imperial shuttle, who could possibly have believed that the enemies
they fought
then would become their allies?
General
Calrissian
was frowning thoughtfully, and said, "well, it did work before. Isn't
there any way we can modify the idea to make it work again?"
"Sure it
worked before," Lotremer said pityingly, "that's why we can't do it
again."
"I'm not
talking about just going in with an out-of-date clearance code," argued
Calrissian. "If there was just some way we could -- "
"Cloak the
ships," interrupted Wedge Antilles.
This time it
was
Wedge's turn to be stared at. He went on, eagerly, "Lord Vader and I
were
working on modifying a cloaking device for the x-wings. I think we've
pretty
much got the bugs out of it now, though we haven't been able to work
out a way
to keep the cloak up at the same time as the shields."
"So,
what?" asked Captain Needa, looking at Antilles blankly. "We're just
going to send in x-wings? That's a
nifty idea. What are you going to do with
Vader, strap him on top with the astromech droid?"
Mittri Cawelti,
sitting next to Wedge, interjected, "no, but if we could get the cloak
to
work for a ship with more crew capacity -- "
"Like the
famous shuttles," finished Commander Angelotti, the ex-Imperial who led
the TIE-fighter squadron stationed on the cruiser Liberation. Angelotti,
his
dark face alight with excitement, continued, "we worked on the idea
before, back in the Empire, but we had to give it up because of the
expense.
But if we took a look at what you've got for the x-wing, I'll bet we
could
adapt it to work for a Lambda shuttle -- "
"Yeah,
great," said Captain Needa, "how long is this going to take? Are we
still going to be fiddling about with cloaking devices while Lord Vader
gets
killed?"
"Give us a
day," said Wedge. "I think we can do it."
Mon Mothma
looked
around the conference chamber. She asked, "does anyone have any better
ideas?"
"Komi, wake
up!"
Pilot Syok Komi
said "umph", and burrowed her face deeper into her pillow. The
portion of her mind which was still awake thought how very typical this
was;
she'd just been getting to sleep, and now Nat had to come gallumphing
in and
she'd have to start all over again. He'd better not be expecting her to
be a
passionate bed-companion tonight. He'd have more luck getting passion
out of a
wet sock.
"Come on,
Komi, wake up, I've found something."
She grunted and
sat
up, Nat lurching backward on the bed in case, in her sleep-fuddled
state, she
should try to punch him. But she just sat there and blinked at him. She
couldn't quite see his expression, his face and form were indistinct in
the dim
light from the panel over the sink. Finally she dragged her hands over
her face
and groaned, "do you know what time I have to be up tomorrow?"
"I know, I
know, I'm sorry, sweetie, but I really think you ought to see this.
Please?"
"Okay, okay,
okay. I'm getting up. Turn on the lights, will you?"
Komi took stock
of
her current appearance, in a very brief pair of shorts and a
none-too-recently-purchased sleeveless shirt. She wasn't quite
indecent, she
supposed, but she'd rather not go running around the station corridors
in this
outfit, given the choice. Yawning a bit more loudly than she needed to,
in the
hopes that Nat would feel guilty for waking her up, she sought out
trousers and
her boots. "Where are we going?" she asked. "Back to the
office?"
"Yeah."
"So what's
this big 'something', or are you going to leave me in suspense?"
Nat suddenly
looked
nervous. "Uh, well, I don't know, wait till you see it. I guess I could
be
imagining it."
She waved one
of
her boots at him threateningly. "You'd better not be, buddy, not if you
woke me up for it." She pulled on the boot. "Okay, let's go. Have you
told Wedge or Mittri? Or Mon Mothma?"
"No," he
said, as they started out into the hallway, "I figured they'd all still
be
at the Command Meeting."
They didn't
speak
as they made their way from the crew quarters level to the office
level, two
stories above. Komi was still feeling only slightly more than half
conscious.
When they reached the office that Wedge and Mittri shared as the
commanders of
Red Squadron and Green Squadron respectively, Komi cast a sarcastic
glance
around at the food wrappers scattered about the room, which she was she
sure
had multiplied since she left an hour before. Good old Nat. Twenty-six
years
old in a couple of months, and he still ate like the proverbial teenage
boy,
devouring any junk that came his way and remaining as thin as a
Winchid. She
lived for the day when his metabolism would change and he'd finally
have to
start worrying about his weight, like any normal person.
Nat weaved his
way
through the larger than usual number of chairs distributed throughout
the
office, to the extra computer terminal which they'd moved in that
morning and
installed on Mittri's desk. He switched the computer on and quickly
delved back
into the energy expenditure records. Komi, standing behind Nat,
glowered at the
columns of numbers, which by now she'd started viewing as her enemies
"Okay,"
she said, "so show me this great discovery."
"I am, I
am," said Nat. He called up the records for a particular day, about
five
months before. At first everything looked boring and ordinary. Then
Komi
noticed a certain column, and she whistled in astonishment.
"Wow,"
she said. "Oh, God. You're right. You did find something."
He grinned.
"That's not all, either." He called up another day, two months before
the first.
Again. Both
days
showed the same energy usage record as the message which had led to
Piett's
arrest.
Komi stared at
the
screen, half expecting the numbers to disappear. "Damn," she
whispered. "So our traitor's probably struck three times at least. I
wonder ... what was going on at those dates? Can we figure out what the
messages might have been about?" She launched herself into the chair in
front of one of the three other terminals in the office, and called up
the
brief summary version of the station's log. A moment later she said,
"hey,
lover, take a look at this. That first date, five months ago. That's
just two
days before the battle of Artan."
Nat said, "but
we won that one."
"Yeah, but we
nearly didn't."
"What about
the other?"
"Nearly got it
.... oh."
"Oh?"
"Yeah,
oh," said Komi. "That one's three days before the campaign in the
Vercari sector started."
Nat said again,
"oh."
The campaign in
the
Vercari sector had been one of their few substantial losses in the year
of the
New Alliance's existence. They had managed to get away without heavy
casualties,
but still, it had been a painful defeat. And, Komi thought now, it had rather seemed
like
the Imperials knew they were coming ... She thought of Dracam and
Uesugi, whose
x-wings had been shot down at Vercari Six. If their traitor did have
anything
to do with Vercari, he or she was going to have a lot to answer for.
Komi
sighed, the rush of adrenaline suddenly deserting her. She swung her
chair
around to face Nat.
"Great,"
she said, "so now we've got something and we can't find out whose
accounts
the messages were sent on." Neither she nor Nat had clearance to get
into
the personal communication files. It was dodgy enough for them to be
ploughing
through the energy records. "What do you think Mon Mothma will want to
do
with this, just turn it over to security?"
Nat shrugged.
"I guess. She can't let this get too underhanded, or there'll be a
major
stink when people find out about it."
"Yeah. Did you
get through all the records?"
"Heck, no.
There's still plenty more for tomorrow -- "
He was
interrupted by
the bleep of an incoming communication from the terminal Komi was
sitting at,
on Wedge's desk. Both of them jumped, then tried to school their faces
into
expressions of innocence. "Oh, no, sir," said Nat, "we weren't
doing anything underhanded, we were just ..."
"Having a
midnight snack," finished Komi, tossing a nutri-bar wrapper at Nat. She
swivelled the chair around again and instructed the computer to display
the
link.
Wedge Antilles
appeared on the screen. From the scene visible behind him, and the
background
noise, he was in one of the hangar bays.
"Hi,
Commander," Komi said cheerily, glad that at least there was someone
she
and Nat could reveal their discoveries to. "How was the meeting?"
"Oh, a laugh a
minute," said Wedge. "As always. Pilot, what are you doing up? I
thought I told you to get some sleep."
"Yes, sir.
Sorry, sir, but, Nat's just found something."
Wedge's
eyebrows
rose. "Right. I'll be right there." Before closing the link, he
added, "oh, and Komi, you really should try to catch some sleep, you
have
to get up sooner than you thought you did. You're Red Leader in the
manoeuvres
tomorrow. I'm going to be stuck installing cloaking devices all day."
"Yes,
sir!" said Komi, vaguely aware of the startled grin swamping her face.
She
shut the link, and swung back once more toward Nat. "Oh," she
murmured, "oh, holy shit."
Once more Leia
Organa awaited the arrival of Emperor Palpatine.
She tried to
breathe slowly and calmly, and made a conscious effort to stand like
her
father.
Of course she
knew
it was probably pointless. Darth Vader, after all, was this huge,
overwhelming
presence, while she was pathetically small and -- so she had decided
after she
made the mistake of studying herself in the mirror this morning --
looked like
she had a permanent hangover. She had actually been rather shocked by
how bad
she looked. If her face got any more drawn, it was just going to be a
skull.
You weren't supposed to lose weight when
you were pregnant, were you? Then
again, she supposed you weren't supposed to get kidnapped and face
mortal
threats to your family, either.
Nonetheless,
stupid
though it probably was, trying to evoke Vader in her stance did give
her a
slight psychological boost, as if she could gain some of his strength
by
looking like him. She had dressed all in black; black tunic, trousers
and boots
from her Palpatine-supplied wardrobe. She stood now with her legs
apart, and
her hands planted firmly on her hips, and waited.
She had
decided. No
more crying. No more emotional fits. She would simply do what she
could, and
she would learn how to do more. If she managed to save her father,
good. If
not, then she would keep learning, until she was strong enough to
avenge him.
She supposed
Luke
would tell her that revenge was part of the Dark Side. She wasn't going
to let
that worry her. If this Dark Side that Luke went on about existed, then
she was
almost certainly on it already. Fair enough. If Palpatine took Vader
from her,
then she was going to make him suffer. She didn't care how long it
took; someday
she was going to take everything he cared about from him.
She had already
succeeded in accomplishing something with the Force this morning which
she
hadn't managed before. She had sent a message to Palpatine, and he had
heard
her. She had concentrated on him, and informed him, in her best
imperious
manner, that she wished to see him as soon as possible, and wanted to
meet with
him somewhere other than the guest quarters. Seconds later, she had
felt his
presence in her mind, amused and, she thought, slightly impressed as
well as he
acknowledged her request. Three minutes after that, two Imperial Guards
had
arrived to escort her to Palpatine's personal chambers.
The room she
was
standing in now was a surprise, considering what she'd seen of
Palpatine's
taste in interior decoration. There were no purple drapes in the room,
and no
over-stuffed furniture -- indeed, there was no furniture at all. The
carpet was
as thick and squishy as the others at this level of the palace, but it
was a
deep black. The walls and ceiling were of polished black goldstone, and
the
specks of gold glimmered out of them like a starfield. There were no
windows.
The effect was as near as one could get to standing in space.
An inner door
slid
open in one of the gleaming black walls, revealing another room,
apparently
black as well, beyond. A half-visible figure as his black robes blended
into
the scene around him, Palpatine stepped through the door toward her.
Leia felt a
tremor
of fascinated distaste. The hood of Palpatine's robe was pushed back,
and for
the first time she saw his face and head without the hood to lend him
its air
of mystery. He looked smaller than he usually did, but no less
unnerving. The
absence of the hood did not make him look any more human. He looked, if
anything, even more unpleasant than usual, with the deep fissures in
his face
and the dark puffy flesh under his eyes revealed in all their details.
She had
always been vaguely curious to know whether he was completely bald, and
now she
knew that he was not. But she rather wished he were. The sparse fluff
of grey
hair at the back of his head gave a bizarre effect, reminding her of a
baby
aashki bird she'd seen once that had fallen out of its nest. She'd felt
sorry
for the bird, and cried when her father -- Bail Organa -- told her that
she
couldn't take it home, because it would die without its parents to look
after
it. She'd gone back to the garden the next day and found the bird dead,
and
half-eaten by one of the palace tarrcats. She thought that she would
like to
see Palpatine with his body ripped open and his guts strewn over the
ground,
like the baby bird's.
The Emperor
walked
toward her and smiled. "Ah," he said in an amused tone, "so it's
young Miss Vader."
She was not
going
to let anything he said annoy her today. She raised her head proudly
and said,
"I want you to teach me about the Force. You want me to be your
apprentice, very well. I want to learn."
"And," he
suggested, "you hope you can learn enough to rescue your father?"
"You're not
worried about that, are you, My Master?" she asked him. "Surely
you're strong enough to stop me, no matter what I learn."
"Yes, my
dear," he said, "I am. Whether you believe that now or not."
"Oh," she
said, "I believe it."
"Well,"
said Palpatine, "I believe I can spare a few minutes from my busy
schedule. Shall we begin?" He gestured to the floor. "Take a
seat."
She obeyed,
sitting
down on the lush black carpet. She sat cross-legged, as she had often
seen Luke
do when he was meditating. Palpatine knelt, facing her, his hands
resting on
his knees, and she felt a moment's surprise that his knee joints were
still
good enough to allow him to kneel.
Palpatine said,
"you have experienced visions before, have you not, my dear?"
"Yes,"
she said. "I think so. Once, when I was trying to contact Vader, and
again, in a dream. And the time that Luke contacted me, but that was
very
faint."
"But you
haven't had much control over them, is that right?"
"That's right.
The only time I initiated it was the time I tried to contact Vader, and
then I
wasn't trying to have a vision." She tried not to think about how
strange
it felt to be matter-of-factly discussing this with Palpatine.
"Well,"
said the Emperor, "there are substances you can use which will help you
control it. But for now, let us see what you can do without them." He
paused, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "Tell me, Leia," he said,
opening his eyes again, "what did you do when you thought away your
morning sickness? How did you envision your actions?"
She said
slowly,
"it was as if I could see ... pathways in my mind. I followed one of
them,
that went deep inside. And ... then I saw a box at the end of it, and I
put all
the pain into that, and shut the lid."
"All right,
then," Palpatine said. "See the pathways again. Follow them. Deep
inside. As deep as you can go."
Leia closed her
eyes. It was weird, she thought, though kind of a relief, not to hear
from him
any of the stuff that Luke always said, the usual injunctions about
leaving
behind all one's worldly concerns. Not that she could ever imagine
Palpatine
leaving his worldly concerns behind.
"Follow them,
Leia," came Palpatine's gentle, persuasive voice, "follow them."
Without quite
knowing how she did it, she turned her feelings inward, and followed.
She had the
impression that she was walking through a tunnel, though somehow she
couldn't
tell whether the tunnel was in light or darkness. Ahead of her she
couldn't see
anything, she could only see the walls of the tunnel when they were
right next
to her. She did not look behind her. She walked, and then the floor was
no
longer there ahead, and without thinking she dove into the empty space
before
her, as if into a swimming pool. Then she was moving downward, half
swimming
and half flying. She thought there was light around her now, a sort of
pearly
grey, but she wasn't sure. Suddenly her flight turned upward again, and
she
burst through something that felt almost like the surface of a pool,
but not
quite, and then with an abruptness that jolted her she could see
everything
around her, but she could feel nothing.
She was
surrounded
by sand. She was on her hands and knees on the slope of a sand dune,
and trying
to make her way up it, but it kept slipping away beneath her and
sending her
further down the slope. She could see the sand beneath her, but she
could not
feel it. Above, the sky was a piercing clear blue. She knew there must
be a
wind, because her hair was blowing into her face, but she couldn't feel
that,
either.
She wondered
why it
was so important that she get up the slope. She turned her head to look
behind
her, and saw.
It wasn't just
her
attempts to climb that were shifting the sand downward. Behind her
there was a
hollow in the sand, and the sand from the dune was being drawn into it.
She
watched the sand slowly spiralling into the hollow, as if in a
whirlpool. She
watched as more and more of the sand disappeared.
Then she
herself
was drifting downward. She still couldn't feel it, although she knew
that she
should be able to as she tried to grab handholds in the sand. She
wasn't
afraid, though she was a bit nonplussed, while she watched herself
slide closer
to the place where the sand disappeared, to notice that she wasn't
wearing her
black clothes anymore, but the white dress and boots she had been
wearing when
she first met Luke, Han and Chewbacca.
Her feet
started to
vanish into the whirlpool of sand, and all at once she thought that
this wasn't
a good idea any more. She tried again to grab hold of something.
Something
arrested her fall, and she turned to see that she had caught onto a
human hand
which was reaching out of the sand. The hand was twisted and claw-like,
and she
felt certain that the owner of the hand was dead. It was important that
she see
who the hand belonged to, she thought, so she started trying to dig the
sand
away from it. But all the sand she moved away kept sliding back in
around it,
and then the hand itself was subsiding, sinking away and out of sight.
She
didn't know whether she should let go of the hand, or hold on and
follow it.
She held on, and as she sank into the sand she could suddenly feel it,
seeping
into her boots, scratching against her tights, slipping into her
sleeves. Her
hair itched horribly with it, it was tickling her nose and her throat,
Gods, some
of it had even seeped into her collar to crawl down between her
breasts. She
wondered why she wasn't choking from breathing the sand, but she was
not. She
could feel the corpse's hand now; it had closed its fingers around hers.
For a moment
all
she could see was the pale gold glow of the sand. Then the sand was
gone, and
the dead hand let go. She was standing -- somewhere.
Somewhere
man-made,
that much was obvious. She was leaning forward against a metal railing.
Beside
her there was a small yellowish light on top of the railing, winking
repetitively off and on again. There was wind again, and this time she
could
feel it, rushing coolly against her face. She liked the feeling of it
as it
raked through her hair and drove away all memories of the sand.
But something
was
wrong. She knew that. She realised now that she was reaching out over
the
railing, and that beyond the railing was an elongated, fragile-looking
control
pylon, connected by one thin gantry to the walkway on which she stood.
All
around the pylon was a vast emptiness. She looked down to see that a
pit, its
distant walls constructed of metal and lit by cold, blinking lights,
descended
below the pylon for as far as her eyes could reach. She looked up again
at the
pylon and was hit by a frightening surge of despair.
Sitting with
his
back against the pylon, his legs swinging casually over the frail
railing that
encircled the pylon at the level of the connecting gantry, was Luke. He
did not
seem to notice, or care, that the slightest shifting of his balance
could send
him plunging into an abyss. Luke was wearing the black outfit he'd been
in when
they were kidnapped by Datang, and he was silently crying.
"Luke,"
Leia breathed.
This was wrong,
he
shouldn't be here. He should be safe in the guest quarters. When she'd
left,
he'd been in his room, sitting on the floor by the window and watching
as
morning lit the Imperial City. He'd seemed all right last night, and
this
morning -- very withdrawn, but he'd been dealing with it. Or she'd
thought he
was.
"Luke?"
He wasn't
looking
at her. He was holding his lightsaber, and he kept pressing the button
that
retracted the blade, then pressing it again to bring the green shaft
glowing
back into life. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised that
every time
he sent the blade out again, he brought his left hand closer to it.
Sometimes
the blade caught his hand, sometimes it didn't. The skin of his hand
was
starting to disappear amid rivulets of blood.
Leia yelled,
"Luke, stop! Stop!"
He ignored her,
and, tears still streaking his face, calmly brought his hand down on
the point
of the lightsaber. The green column passed straight though. He pulled
his hand
away again and held it up, looking solemnly at the perfect hole through
the
centre of it. He didn't seem to be in any pain, but a fiery anguish
shot
through Leia's left hand instead. For a moment she thought she would
fall.
She clutched
the
railing tighter. The wind battered at her, and she almost lost her
footing. She
called out, trying to make her voice heard over the wind, "Luke,
please!
Come back with me!"
This time he
looked
at her, but there was no emotion on his face. He extended the
lightsaber one
last time, then he dropped it into the pit, the gleaming green blade
swiftly
vanishing. Luke stood up, holding on to the pylon with his right hand,
and for
a moment he balanced himself on the rail.
Slowly he let
go of
the pylon, and for another instant he stood balanced, as if gravity had
no
meaning to him. Then he let himself fall into the pit.
Leia screamed,
"Luke!" Then suddenly she must have turned into Luke; at least she
could feel herself falling, and see the distant walls of the pit
swirling
crazily around her. Suddenly the walls grew closer, she was in some
kind of
metal tube like a playground slide, only longer, and she kept hurting
herself
as she smashed against the walls. Although she made no noise she felt
the tears
leaking out of her eyes.
Abruptly the
tube
levelled out, and her fall stopped. She lay there, gasping for breath.
The tube
was well-lit, and suddenly she whispered, "oh, no, no, no."
In the pale,
cold
lighting she could see that the tube in front of her was being steadily
eaten
away. The metal was disappearing, as if being swallowed up by acid.
Beyond the
dying metal was utter blackness, more complete than any she had ever
seen.
She watched as,
inch by inch, the tube was devoured. Then she started to scream, and
could not
stop.
The blackness
had
almost reached her. In seconds it would touch her, and there would be
nothing between
her and the dark.
Go to Chapter 13
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