She was dying
right
in front of him. And there wasn't one damned thing he could do.
Faren wanted
desperately to send for the medics, but how could he do that? What kind
of
security chief would he be if he introduced more potential victims into
a
scenario that had already gone so far out of control?
He cast another
panicked glance down at her, and wished he hadn't. It had been a lucky
shot for
Captain Needa. Most of it had incinerated her left shoulder, which was
just a
blackened mess. But the edge of the blast had caught her in the throat.
The
flesh there had been flayed open. He could see bits of burned matter
amidst the
blood – way too much blood – that was pouring out.
She wasn't
going to
make it, but he had to try. He called out, "Captain, please! Let me
take
Narita to the medics."
Needa, still
crouched and awkwardly restraining Madine, gave a minimal shake of his
head. "I
don't need you bringing any more security goons for me to play with.
Anyway, I'm
sorry, Faren. I don't think she's going to make it."
Needa did sound
sorry about it, too. Which only made things worse.
Faren looked
down
again, and saw her blue eyes fixed on him. He wasn't sure she could
actually
see him, but just in case, he'd better act as if she did. He managed a
faint
smile, and reached out and took her hand. He didn't know if she could
feel
that, but he hoped she could.
Hoped she felt
him
holding her hand, instead of the gushing ruin in her throat.
Distantly he
heard
Captain Needa calling to the commander of the hangar bay, "hey,
Commander
Ogden. How about locking the hangar bay doors for me?"
Ogden's voice
responded, over the loudspeaker from the hangar's command centre, "I
don't
think I should do that, Captain."
"Well, cool,"
said Needa. "Gives me an excuse to kill Madine. Or, you wanna do it
yourself? Go get a blaster, I'll let you pull the trigger if you want."
The sigh from
Ogden
carried across the loudspeaker. "I've locked the doors," he said. "They
won't hold long, if anyone outside really wants to get in."
"Thanks,
Commander."
Faren hadn't
taken his gaze from Narita. She suddenly
clutched his hand. Could have been just a reflex action, of course.
There was a
coughing, gurgling sound from her and her legs kicked a little, then
she was
very still.
Faren squeezed
his
eyes shut. Gods damn it, he thought. Gods
damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
When he opened
his
eyes and looked toward Needa again, the Captain was carefully getting
to his
feet and pulling Madine up with him. He had to alter his grip on the
hostage,
moving the blaster up to Madine's temple and holding Madine in front of
him as
a shield, with one arm tightly around the general's neck. But at no
instant did
he remove the blaster from its contact with Madine's skin.
Madine looked
more
furious than frightened. He suddenly yelled, "don't let him stop you,
damn
it! Shoot the bastard!"
"Ooh, General,"
cooed Needa in a mocking
falsetto, "you're so brave." He returned to his own voice as he
sneered viciously, "the Empire would have been honoured to have you in
its
forces. That is, if you hadn't been a stinking, weasely, whining little
traitor
who didn't have the balls to rise through the ranks on your own merit
like the
rest of us. Did the Rebels make you a general on the day you joined
them, or
did they check to be sure the codes you brought were genuine, first?"
He's
talking too
much,
thought Faren. If he keeps on like this, maybe it'll give
time for
reinforcements to break in …
although, he realised, that would almost certainly
get General Madine killed. Well, though, he thought, not
much of a
loss, that. In fact it would be so small of a loss, why
didn't he just take Madine
out himself and save Needa the trouble? The bastard got
Narita killed. She'd
still be alive if he'd let us handle this in our own way, instead of
him
seizing the opportunity for heroic posing.
Needa had
ceased
his Madine-baiting. He raised his voice and ordered, "drop your
blasters,
everybody. You're making me nervous."
Faren heard
himself
yelling back, "you picked a bad hostage, Captain. We'd all be just as
happy to kill him ourselves!"
"So do it,"
suggested Captain Needa. "It'd be worth seeing."
Gods, he would
love
to blast Madine and call Needa's bluff. Only Narita wouldn't approve.
"I said, drop
the weapons," Needa commanded. "That means you, too, Commander
Antilles."
Dull
clatterings
sounded around the room as the hangar's occupants reluctantly obeyed.
"Faren,"
called Needa, "drop the damn blaster."
Faren gazed
longingly at General Madine and pictured a
nice clean blaster hole right through his forehead. Finally he opened
his hand
and let the blaster fall.
"Commander
Angelotti," Needa was continuing
in a casual tone, "would you come over here and close these access
ports?
Carefully, of course. Please don't try anything funny."
Faren's hands
were
clenching and unclenching uselessly. Captain, he thought, why
the Hell
did you do this? Maybe we all wanted to, sometimes, but why did you?
He glanced down
at
Narita's still form. And why do I care about her so much? he asked
himself.
I barely even know her.
Barely, except
for sharing an office with her for a
year. And getting drunk with her. And spending countless hours bitching
with
her about how every other branch of the service conspired to fuck
things up for
security officers.
I know
her, all
right.
Knew
her.
"Thanks,"
Needa said to Angelotti, who had warily crossed the hanger bay and
closed the
various open ports and panels on the Lambda shuttle. "Now,
how about
opening the boarding ramp? I've got my hands full here."
Angelotti
looked around helplessly as if hoping that
someone would have a way to save the day, but nobody seemed to have
come up
with anything. Cautiously he skirted around Needa and his glaring
hostage, and
keyed in the manual opening code in the panel by the shuttle's entrance.
A realisation
hit
Faren's brain. Firelord, he thought, why
didn't anyone think of it? It wasn't as
if
their damn blasters had only one setting. If someone could get off a
shot
without Needa seeing, the blaster could just as easily be set on stun
as on
kill. That way, he could aim at Needa, but even if he hit Madine too,
the worst
that would happen was that the General would be knocked out. Assuming,
of
course, the shot's good enough to knock out Needa, instead of just
pissing him
off.
The trouble
was, he had dropped his own blaster too
far away from his hand, and in plain sight of Captain Needa.
His eyes
flickered
down to Akemi Narita's body. Her blaster was lying next to her hand.
And Faren's
legs should – he hoped – be blocking it from
Needa's sight.
He reached down
slowly as if to clutch her hand again. Then he moved his hand back to
touch the
blaster. With his thumb he nudged its setting over to stun.
The shuttle's
boarding ramp had gracefully lowered into its open position. Captain
Needa took
a few steps onto it, still dragging Madine along with him. Suddenly the
General, with more courage than brains, started to struggle.
Faren saw Needa
close his arm tighter around Madine's
windpipe, and press the blaster harder against his skull. "General,"
Needa hissed, "do you have any idea how much I'd enjoy killing you?"
They moved
another
few paces up the boarding ramp. Needa started to turn away slightly as
he urged
Madine into the entry port. Right, thought
Faren. Now or
never.
He brought up
Narita's blaster and fired.
He'd been
quick, he
knew he had. But Needa had still seen something. He jerked to the side,
pulling
Madine into the centre of Faren's aim.
The General
collapsed, sagging heavily against Needa's grasp. In another instant
Needa had
hauled him through the shuttle's entry port and disappeared inside. The
boarding ramp lifted, and shut tight.
Commander
Angelotti
reached toward the shuttle. His hand stopped in mid-air. "He's raised
the
shuttle's shields," Angelotti reported to the assembly at large.
That was when
Captain Faren started to sob.
Leia was seated
cross-legged on the guest quarters' carpet. A little space away from
her, Luke
sat in the same pose. They looked like mirrors of each other, both
dressed in
similar black outfits of tunics, trousers and boots.
Too bad, Luke thought,
that
our powers don't mirror each other, too.
Leia had
declined
the Emperor's offer of dinner tonight when Luke said that he wanted to
work with
her on her Force practice. He would actually have much rather spent the
evening
giving himself a blaster wound and twisting a knife around in it. But
this was
something he ought to do – had to do. He couldn't keep hoping
that by
ignoring his loss, he could make it go away. And if it kept Leia here
at 2130,
it was worth it.
Leia had her
eyes
closed. "What do you feel, Leia?" Luke prompted, surprising himself
with how calm and gentle his voice sounded.
Leia tilted her
head a little to one side, not opening her eyes. "Everything," she
said quietly. "You. I can feel that you're here. The guards, out in the
hallway. I can feel their presence, who they are, but I'm not really
picking up
any thoughts …"
"You can't
usually do that," Luke agreed. "Not unless you're really trying, or
they are. If someone's really broadcasting to you, or you're
specifically
trying to catch their thoughts." Of course, he thought, how the hell
can I
be sure that I know what I'm talking about? That's only what it was
like for
me. Although this particular subject was one he had spoken about with
Darth,
and what he'd just told Leia was pretty much what Darth had said as
well.
"All right,"
he continued. "Now ignite the lightsaber."
She picked up
the
saber's hilt from where it had been lying on the carpet in front of
her. She
paused a moment, then the green blade sprang into life. Luke had been
watching
carefully, and saw that she hadn't used the switch on the hilt to light
the
saber manually. She had ignited it with her thoughts.
"Now what do
you feel?" he asked.
Leia frowned a
little, and her voice took on a note of wonder. "It's still you," she
whispered. "The lightsaber. It's got your presence in it. Different,
too,
but – it's you."
Well,
that's nice, Luke thought bitterly. Even if I
never get the
Force back, at least you can say that part of me will be going into
battle at
Leia's side. Which made
him wonder, again, how much of their father's presence had been left in
the
first lightsaber that Luke had used. Had Darth sensed himself in that
sword
when they duelled on Cloud City? Had it felt like he was duelling
himself?
Luke glanced at
the
chronometer on the marble desktop, beside the computer. It read 2120.
He wanted to
try
something. Well, wanted wasn't exactly
the right word. He was going to try
something, anyway. "Leia," he said, "could I have the saber for
a minute?"
She opened her
eyes. "Sure." She retracted the blade and handed the hilt to him.
He took the
hilt in
his hand. It rankled to have to use the switch to ignite the weapon,
but he did
it. As the glowing blade appeared again, he stared as if seeing it for
the
first time. He was trying to think back to the actual first time he had
seen a
lightsaber. Obi Wan's house on Tatooine. He could remember taking the
sword,
flipping the switch, staring in awe at the blue column of light. What
he couldn't
remember was whether he had felt anything. Had
there been any
stirring of the Force? Any hint of amazing power leashed by the weapon
in his
hand? Or had he just felt like he did now?
There didn't
really
seem to be any difference, now, between holding the lightsaber and
holding a
blaster. Both could kill, but he no longer had the feeling that the
saber was
almost speaking to him. Or that it was part of him. He could feel the
hilt
vibrating slightly from the energy of the blade, but he imagined that
anyone
holding an ignited lightsaber would feel that. Even Han had probably
felt that,
when he used Luke's lightsaber to slice open that damn tauntaun carcass
on Hoth.
Hokey
religions
and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster in your hand, hunh?
Boy,
will Han ever be surprised when I tell him that I think he's right!
Of course, he
didn't
think Han was right at all. But whether he liked it or not, the hokey
religion
and the ancient weapon seemed to have dumped him. He thought that he'd
better
start working on his blaster technique.
He stood up and
made a few experimental swings, lunges and parries with the sword.
Nothing. The
balance seemed off, too. He hadn't really thought about it before, but
it had
always seemed like the blade of a lightsaber had some weight, to
balance the
hilt. Now he couldn't feel that weight anymore. It felt weird, as if
the hilt
were the only part of the weapon that was actually there.
Luke scowled,
retracted the blade again, and handed it back to Leia, who stood up to
take the
sword from him. "Thanks," Luke said. Six more minutes till 2130. And
till whatever was supposed to happen at 2130. He asked Leia, "you want
to
try that exercise Obi Wan had me do? Or is it too hokey?"
She smiled at
him. "Sure,
I'll try it. All practice is good practice, right?" Her smile turned a
little sickly as she said that, and a jolt of worried protectiveness
shot
through Luke. He wondered, what the hell kind of practice has
Palpatine been
making her do? Gods damn it, if he's hurt her – well, okay,
Luke, what
if? What are you going to do to protect her from
the most powerful man in the
galaxy? March up to him again and tell him he smells funny?
He went on, "we
don't have anything like that visor I used on the Falcon, so do you
want a
blindfold, or just want to close your eyes?"
She opted for
the
latter, and while she stood there with eyes shut, he crossed to the
computer
desk and retrieved the three remotes that he'd had the newly-repaired
droid
deliver earlier that evening. He'd suggested to Leia, when they were
discussing
this practice session, that it might be useful for her to try using the
lightsaber against objects that weren't under her control. She'd been
manipulating the cushion that she'd sliced in half this morning, so
perhaps she'd
made it come to the lightsaber, rather than going after the cushion
herself.
For now, she should try just controlling the lightsaber, and see how
she did
against the remotes then.
"Ready?"
asked Luke.
"Whenever you
are."
"Okay, go for
it. Don't worry, I'll just watch. I won't spout any Yoda-isms."
One by one,
Luke
activated the remotes and let them go.
As the remotes,
tentatively at first, bobbed toward Leia, Luke couldn't help
contrasting her
relaxed poise with how he must have looked when he first tried this
exercise.
All too easily, he could picture himself hopping around like a rabid
sand flea
as the mini laser bolts bit at his skin. And he'd been only facing one
remote,
instead of three.
When the first
remote fired, Leia just leaped out of the way of the blast. When the
second
attack came, though, and then two and three at once, the lightsaber's
blade was
always there to deflect them. Luke watched, more and more amazed, as
his
sister, with eyes still closed, fought her way toward a perfect score.
And with
apparently no effort. It was like watching Darth fight.
She sliced one
of
the remotes in half, and knocked the other to the floor, where it
deactivated
and rolled under the sofa.
Then suddenly
Leia
froze.
The last
remaining
remote spat out a bolt that went undeflected. It caught Leia in the
wrist. Her
eyes snapped open, and as she glared at the remote, the hapless little
machine
exploded.
The lights in
the
room flickered, went out for a split second, and then returned again,
apparently undamaged.
"Uh –
Leia? Did you do that? With the lights?"
She deactivated
the
lightsaber and shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "No.
Luke,
did you feel – I'm sorry. But, you really didn't feel
anything?"
"No," he
said flatly.
"There was
something." She managed a very
wan smile, but her eyes still looked like storm clouds. "You'd probably
call it 'a disturbance in the Force'."
Luke snapped
back, "I'd
call it a disturbance in the lighting system." It struck him that that
sounded like something Han would say. Great, so I'm
channelling Han now. Well, there
were
worse fates than channelling Han. To be honest, he'd rather channel Han
Solo
than be himself.
Leia didn't
seem to
like the comment any better coming from him than she would have liked
it from
Han. She turned the same sharp glare on him and chided, "Luke!" Then
she bit her lip and shook her head again. "I think a lot of people just
died."
Luke glanced at
the
chronometer. 2130.
Leia's eyes
widened. "I've got to get to our father."
"Wait, Leia --
"
She ignored
him, of
course. Still clutching the retracted lightsaber, she wheeled and
started for
the door. Before she could get close enough for the door to acknowledge
her
presence, it opened in front of her.
Outside in the
corridor was an elderly gentleman with a huge white moustache and a
matching
set of remarkable bushy eyebrows. The black uniform he wore was
festooned with
medals all across his chest, and as Luke stepped closer he saw that the
uniform
bore a General's insignia. Behind the elderly General stood around
twenty ten
black-uniformed palace guards.
"Your
Highness," the General greeted her, "it's good to see you again."
"General
Mulcahy," Leia acknowledged brusquely, with no sign of surprise. "I'm
sorry, I don't have time to talk. Excuse me."
She brushed
past
the men and started down the hallway. One of the guards grabbed her
arm,
beginning, "Your Highness, wait -- ", but she merely used the Force
to knock him over and continued along the corridor, breaking into a
dead run.
While another
of
the guards helped his shaken comrade to his feet, Mulcahy stared after
Leia,
shaking his head. "Used to have better manners when she was in the
Senate,"
he remarked. He turned to the flabbergasted Luke, took a step into the
room and
thrust out his gnarled right hand for Luke to shake. "Xavier Mulcahy,"
he said.
"Luke
Skywalker," Luke said blankly, shaking the man's hand.
"Charmed.
Would you happen to know where Princess Leia's going?"
"She said
something about having to get to our – to Darth Vader."
"Ah. And does
she know how to get to him?"
"Yes. I think
she does."
"Well. We've
already got a team heading to his position, but since my task was to
deliver
both of you to your escape vessel, I suppose we'd better follow her."
He
glanced toward his men, jabbing a thumb in Luke's direction. "Somebody
give this boy a blaster."
One of the
guards
tossed a blaster to Luke, who caught it, still not quite convinced that
any of
this was happening.
There was a
sudden,
distant rumble, and ever so slightly the building seemed to shake.
The smile that
General Mulcahy turned on Luke seemed one of genuine enjoyment. He
said, "I
imagine that means we should hurry up."
Han Solo was
bored.
Bored didn't
actually cover it. He felt like he was in some sort of altered state.
Not quite
comatose, since he felt fully awake. But – insulated,
somehow, as if he'd
ended up back in carbon freeze, but without blacking out. As if nothing
in the
universe, past, present or future, mattered any more.
It was a damned
good thing that he'd had plenty of experience with spending long
stretches of
time in close quarters with a Wookiee. Over the years he'd gotten used
to
Chewbacca's smell, like mustiness blended with over-ripe cheese.
Chewbacca had
on many occasions described what Han's own odour smelled like to him, and yep, if
they
could still be friends smelling the way they did to each other, they
could get
through anything.
Anything, give
or
take eternity in Palpatine's dungeon.
His wrist
chronometer told him they'd only been here a few days, but it was
starting to
feel like months. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and decided
that no,
it must be just days, since he didn't have a beard down to his chest
yet.
There weren't
any
bugs in Palpatine's dungeons, apparently, at least not in this level.
In most
ways that would be thought of as a good thing, but at least if there'd
been
bugs he and Chewie might have been able to hold races between them,
like they'd
done in that jail back on Benga Nine. This was just a fairly innocuous
holding
cell, actually, not really worthy of the name of dungeon. But Han kept
thinking
of it as a dungeon, just because Palpatine seemed like the sort of guy
who
ought to have dungeons. He probably did, complete with oozing walls and
ravenous myna-rats and skeletons in chains. Han and Chewie just hadn't
pissed
him off enough to end up in any of them yet.
But, no bug
races.
And Chewbacca hated "twenty questions". And there wasn't any point in
playing "I spy", since there was barely anything in the cell for them
to spy. T for toilet, W for Wookiee, C for Corellian, v for vest
… no, that
would lose its appeal very fast. So, they were left with nothing but
story-telling.
That was fine,
because story-telling was an important part of Wookiee culture, and
Chewbacca
knew enough stories to keep telling them until Han's beard was down to
his
toes. Mind you, Han didn't always find them fantastically thrilling. He
figured
that when you'd heard about one culture hero discovering fire or some
such
thing, inventing vast improvements in the art of hunting, and winning
the
beautiful Wookiee maiden, you'd pretty much heard about them all. But
Han would
have been happy to keep hearing about every hero in the Wookiee
pantheon, if
only it meant he didn't have to tell any stories himself.
The trouble
was,
Wookiee story-telling ethics specified that the same teller could never
relate
two stories in a row. For every story Chewbacca told, Han had to tell
one too.
And it had to be at least five minutes long, or it didn't count. And it
couldn't
be about himself.
He'd pretty
much
drained the dregs of every fairy tale he'd heard when he was a kid. The
adventure holonovels he used to read had lasted him for a few
story-telling
rounds, but he hadn't read any of those in ages – he'd
stopped reading
them when his own life started getting more hair-raising than the
novels. So
now he had fallen back on his mother's holosoap.
Of course as a
macho young Corellian, he shouldn't have been watching a soap, but he
had an
excuse. He'd been sick one year with the hidarian fever, which had kept
him out
of school for nearly seven months. Every kid's dream, except that he
really had
been almost too weak to get out of bed. So, he and his mom had watched
many,
many episodes of Beyond the Stars. He remembered
the plotlines
pretty well, though sometimes he had to make up bits here and there.
That was
okay by Wookiee ethics, though. As long as you acted as if you were
making
stuff up because your version was better, not because you'd forgotten.
"So,"
said Han, "Del Marock comes back to the home he abandoned twenty years
ago, when he couldn't bear to be surrounded by the memories of his
father's
tyranny. But now, after his experiences in the Revolts on Wobprenia
Prime, he
figures he's his own man and he can reclaim his birthright. But what he
didn't
reckon on, was that somebody else had the same idea. Eriok Grim,
dashing young
reporter twice decorated with the Senate's Medal for Valour, turns up
on the
planet just a couple months after Del does. Now Eriok, see, is the son
of Del's
father's old housekeeper. The two boys used to play together and were
great
friends until suddenly when they were fifteen or so, Eriok started
acting like
he hated Del and Del never figured out why. So now there's a lot of
tension
between Del and Eriok, which isn't helped by the fact that they both
have the
hots for the same gal, this ex-dancer named Careen who's just taken
over
Calpurn Gamala's crime empire. Of course there's tension between Careen
and
Eriok too, because she thinks he's just pursuing her so he can write an
exposé
about her business practices. And meanwhile, see, there's this other
mysterious
woman on the scene, who Del rescued out of an abandoned well on his
property.
Now what Del doesn't know is that she's really Senator Etran, who was
dumped in
the well by her evil twin sister who's got designs on Etran's husband
Gillock …"
The lights went
out.
There weren't
any
light switches in the cell; Han had checked this place out thoroughly
on the
first day they were dumped in here. So it couldn't just be that
Chewbacca had
stretched and accidentally hit the switch with his back. Nothing simple
like
that. Maybe Palpatine had decided it was time to start playing games
with his
captives, and see how long they could stand being cooped up in the dark.
"Chewie,"
Han whispered, "I haven't just gone blind, have I?"
Chewie's very
quiet
growl told him no. And added that he should shut up.
Gradually Han's
eyes picked up on what the Wookiee's stronger night vision must have
told him
already, that it wasn't totally dark. There was a vague greyish area,
still
dark but not as impenetrably black as everything else, in about the
same space
where – where the door was.
Excitement
coursed
through Han, awakening senses that had lain numb through the endless
adventures
of Wookiee culture heroes and the cast of Beyond the Stars. He thought, what
if it isn't just the lights that are out? What if it's a general power
outage?
What if the power that's gone doesn't just control the lights, it
controls the
doors?
It was just
possible that the door had opened when the
power went out. In which case that greyish bit would be from the
emergency
lighting in the corridor – and they had just been handed a
chance to
escape.
Either
that or
it's some sick little game of Palpatine's. But, they'd
never find out
if they didn't try, right?
Chewie gave a
barely audible version of his "come on" growl. So stealthily that Han
almost couldn't hear him, the Wookiee was standing up. Han got
carefully to his
feet as well, wishing that he'd spent these last few days running in
place or
doing push-ups, or anything, instead of mainly just sitting there.
Chewbacca was
edging his way toward the right side of the door. Han mimicked him,
heading to
the left.
Just as they
reached it, a stormtrooper appeared in the doorway, his helmet and
armour
illuminated in a spectral yellow glow from the emergency light on his
blaster
rifle.
Before Han
could
even move, Chewbacca's huge hairy hands closed around the
stormtrooper's neck,
and finished him off with one twist.
Chewie tossed
the
late stormtrooper to the back of the cell, suggesting that Han should
pick up
the blaster rifle.
"Yeah I know,
pal, I know," muttered Han. Shit. If only all escapes could
be this
efficient. Well, this one wasn't over yet. If he knew
him and Chewie, they'd end
up in several shoot-outs and a few side trips through garbage chutes
before the
end of this little party.
Chewbacca
stepped
into the hallway, followed closely by Han Solo with the blaster rifle,
on which
he'd switched off the emergency light. Near the ceiling, at five metre
intervals, little spherical lights glowed palely as far as they could
see, in
either direction.
"Which way do
we go?" whispered Han. "Got any ideas?"
Chewie's
response
was decidedly negative.
The sound of
what
seemed to be an explosion rumbled at them in the distance. Han wasn't
sure, but
he thought it sounded like it came from the right.
Which posed
another
set of questions. Should they go toward the explosion, where at least
something
might be happening that they could turn to their advantage? Or should
they stay
well the hell away from it?
Well, Han Solo
had
never been one to stay out of trouble. "Whaddaya say, pal?" He asked
Chewie. "Wanna go see what that was?"
Chewbacca
growled a
quiet, but emphatic, yes.
They started
along
the dim, ghostly corridor, to the right.
"Where is he?
My Gods, where is he?"
"Stay calm,"
ordered Moff Nevoy, although one could argue that it was a ludicrous
order,
under the circumstances. Oh, yes, right. Stay calm, when our
bloody beloved
Emperor is still alive, somehow, and no one knows where?
The wild-eyed
young Lieutenant LaSalle nodded and
gulped several times in succession, fighting himself to some sort of
control. "He
was here, sir," the Lieutenant insisted, though in a steadier voice.
"Just
the second before the blast was detonated, he was here, I swear it."
"I know,"
Nevoy said tiredly. "He must have sensed the threat, and teleported
out."
They had tried, gods knew they had tried, to time the explosions in the
Emperor's
quarters and the Imperial Guard headquarters for the same exact moment,
but if
the attack on the Guards' HQ had been even a fraction of a second
before that
on the Emperor, perhaps he had sensed their deaths and made himself
scarce.
Nevoy eyed the
mess
of rubble that had formerly been Emperor Palpatine's quarters. This
part of the
plan had worked nicely, with the rather large exception of Palpatine
not being
there when the place exploded. The bombs outside the building, around
the walls
and the huge airy windows – the former huge airy windows
– had been
installed by technician droids, so that there would not be any living
being
involved for Palpatine to pick up on their thoughts. They'd also sent a
virus
to the Emperor's communications console, rigging the console itself to
explode
when it received a certain additional message. There hadn't been much
danger
that Palpatine would pick up on that, since he wasn't much of a
computer person
and would be unlikely to pay the computer that much attention. At the
instant
the console exploded, the same message had detonated the bombs outside.
For
good measure, they'd managed to rig explosives into the door of
Palpatine's
quarters, that work also being done by the commonly ignored maintenance
droids.
When the two Imperial Guards in the corridor had heard the first
explosions and
attempted to go to their master's rescue, all they'd succeeded in doing
was
getting themselves shredded into several thousand pieces.
Unfortunately,
theirs were the only organic remains in the former Imperial chambers.
The most
minute scans had revealed nothing that could be interpreted as any
remnant of
Emperor Palpatine. Of course, if one wanted to be optimistic one could
assume
that the Emperor had just totally vaporised on death – Nevoy
had heard
rumours that old Force users did that, sometimes. But Palpatine wasn't
all that
old. Only, what, in his late sixties? Nevoy doubted that was old enough
to do
the vaporising trick. No, he was still around. Somewhere.
"My Gods,"
the young lieutenant whispered again, echoing Nevoy's thoughts, "he
could
be anywhere."
"Yes, he
could," Nevoy said harshly. "And we're not going to help ourselves in
the slightest if we panic."
If nothing
else,
they'd certainly succeeded in delivering a nice painful blow to the
Emperor's
pride. His personal quarters were toast, and the destruction of the
Imperial
Guard headquarters had theoretically taken out a good three-quarters of
his
private army, all of the Red Idiots who hadn't been on guard duty at
the time.
Of course, nothing was ever quite that simple. The destruction of
Imperial Guard
HQ hadn't been total. Nevoy knew from one of the hurried communications
he'd
exchanged since this started that the main body of Captain Sandar's
palace
guards were engaged in a pitched battle with the surviving Red Idiots,
at the
former main entrance to their headquarters. As for the Imperial Guards
who'd
been on their duty shifts, they were of course still a threat. But they
were
usually only posted in twos, and all the men in the palace uprising had
orders
to shoot them down on sight.
Colonel
Wellaine
had called from the Palace's communications centre, and was able to
report that
he and his team had successfully disabled all outgoing communications.
Messages
could still reach the palace, but none could go out. Naturally they
couldn't
disable every Imperial loyalist's personal com-link, but at least no
official
request for assistance could be sent with the Palace's com signature.
Anyone
commanding potential reinforcements would be delayed by having to check
the
message's authenticity. Or so Nevoy hoped. Wellaine was now on his way
to the
main troop transport launching bay, which had already been seized by
the team
under the command of Major Bretney, Wellaine's brother-in-law and best
friend
from their Academy days. Together Wellaine and Bretney would supervise
the
evacuation of Sandar's palace guards – presuming enough of
them survived
the fight at Imperial Guard headquarters.
Nevoy had
already
played his own very satisfying part in the mayhem. When Lieutenant
LaSalle's
panicked message summoned him here, he'd been in the control centre for
Coruscant's perimeter defence stations. Like that unfortunate damn Han
Solo and
his friend the Wookiee, part of their escape plan involved disabling
the
perimeter stations' weapons. Only Nevoy and his team had disabled all
of the
stations, not just one of them. For good measure, they had then blasted
the
control console into a melted, sizzling heap. The weapons could be got
back on
line from the stations themselves, but it would take a lot of crawling
around
in access tubes and some creative work involving screwdrivers. And one
of the
charming aspects of Palpatine's control mania was that the stations
would have
no warning that their weapons were off line. Hopefully, they wouldn't
figure
that out until they tried to fire them.
The evening
breeze
ruffled Nevoy's hair, then danced on across the devoured stretch of
building,
now laid open to the soft spring air. This was really not the best
place to be
standing if some loyalist air troops launched a counter assault.
Anyway, there
were a lot more useful things they could be doing than just standing
here.
Nevoy raised his wrist com and keyed in the code for General Mulcahy's
link.
"Osheen!"
came Mulcahy's voice, sounding cheerful if somewhat out of breath. "We
got
a little problem here. Our mad Princess went running off to find Lord
Vader.
Skywalker and the rest of us are after her. And I just got word there's
a force
of Red Idiots and stormtroopers headed our way."
Shit,
shit. He could order
Mulcahy to withdraw to their escape vessel, but it wouldn't do any
good.
Anyway, even if Mulcahy did retreat, there was no guarantee that his
team
wouldn't still run smack into the enemy.
"We'll
rendezvous with you. Take of yourself, you
old bastard." Nevoy closed the link and announced to the still shocked
looking Lieutenant LaSalle and his assembled troops, "we're heading for
the Great Hall."
Luke was
running so
hard that his breath caught and burned in his chest. Gods
damn it, he wondered, have
I really let myself get this out of shape? He hadn't
realised how much
he must have been relying on the Force to maintain his stamina. He was
going to
hurt like Hell tomorrow – if he was still alive tomorrow
– but for
now he ignored his stinging lungs and the leg muscles that really
didn't want
to be doing this, and kept running.
Leia, of
course,
was far ahead. Little things like fatigue were not going to bother her. Luke and the
rest
of the party could still see her most of the time, when she wasn't
around a
corner from them. The rest of them were spread out along the hallway,
with Luke
somewhere near the middle of the group. Bringing up the rear was the
old
General, jogging doggedly along and still looking way too damn chirpy.
Luke had
noticed that two of the palace guards were regulating their pace so as
to never
be too far away from the General. Once Luke had doubled back to jog at
the old
man's side, and tried to suggest that he probably shouldn't be running
and
maybe he should let the rest of them take care of this. General
Mulcahy's only
response was "put a cork in it, sonny". Luke had caught a resigned
smile and a little shake of the head from one of the two guards, and
decided
that if they hadn't had any luck with their ancient General, then Luke
sure
wasn't going to get anywhere with this argument.
Luke heard
shouting
beyond the next corner. Shouting and blaster fire. He managed to seize
another
burst of speed from somewhere, and tore around the corner.
He might not
have
the Force any more, but he must still have decent reflexes. Almost
before his
senses told him people were firing on him, Luke was firing back. A side
corridor ahead of them had spewed forth an apparent horde of
stormtroopers and
the Emperor's personal guard. The mixture of red uniforms and white
made them
look almost festive, like decorations for some Firelord Day celebration.
One of the
guards
beside Luke screamed and fell. Luke caught the stench of burned cloth
and
flesh. Distractedly Luke thought that these stormtroopers were better
shots
than the ones he'd faced before. Maybe only super stormtroopers got
posted to
the Imperial Palace.
Still firing,
Luke
risked a glance to the corridor beyond, where he thought he'd caught a
glimpse
of Leia. Sure enough, there she was. She and three stormtroopers and
two of the
Imperial Guards.
Luke ducked
behind
his comrades of the palace guard, so he wouldn't have them firing at
him too,
and ran toward his sister. As he ran, he fired, and took out one of the
stormtroopers trying to surround Leia.
A blaster bolt
from
behind sizzled just over Luke's head. Still running, he turned and shot
back at
the red masked and robed Imperial Guard who had fired at him. Luke's
shot must
have missed too, but then a handful of the black-uniformed soldiers
were
shooting at the one in red, and Luke was suddenly low on his list of
priorities.
Leia didn't
actually look like she needed Luke's help. She kicked one of the
Imperial
guards and sent him smashing into the wall behind him. Almost before
her foot
was back on the floor, she pivoted with an arcing blow of the
lightsaber that
literally cut the other Imperial Guard in half. Luke fought not to be
sick as
he stared for an instant at the bisected corpse sliced just above the
waist.
The guard that Leia had kicked was now firing at her, but the blaster
bolt just
seemed to stop about a metre away from her. As the flame of the guard's
shot
dissipated and vanished, Luke fired at him. The Imperial Guard slammed
into the
wall again, then slid down to the floor.
In two more
swings
of the lightsaber, Leia sliced off the arm of one stormtrooper and
opened the
throat of the other. After one glance at Luke as if to assure herself
that he
was still alive, Leia turned and ran on.
Luke's first
instinct was to run after her. But, she really didn't need him, did
she? And
the ancient General and his Palace Guards just might.
As it turned
out,
they weren't doing too badly either. It was really a mopping-up
operation that
Luke joined them for, mowing down their last few opponents. Four of the
stormtroopers had flung down their blasters and stuck their hands about
as far
above their heads as they could reach. The General grinned as he herded
the
four of them, plus their now one-armed fellow trooper, into the nearest
room.
It was filled with comfortable-looking sofas and chairs, and seemed to
be some
kind of reception room. "How 'bout you sit this one out, boys,"
suggested General Mulcahy. "Looks like the bar's open; have a few on
the
house." As the door slid shut and one of the Palace Guards keyed in the
locking sequence, Mulcahy looked more seriously around the dregs of the
fight. "We
lost four?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he counted corpses.
"Maybe five,
sir," said one of the Guards, staggering a little as he tried to
support a
pallid, dark-haired comrade who was clutching at a wound in his gut.
"Trelawsky's
taken a pretty bad one."
Mulcahy nodded.
"Stay
with him. Try to get him to the Conquest. If you can
reach the ship's
sickbay in time, maybe there's a chance." He looked around at the
others. "All
right, gentlemen, let's see if we can catch up with that Princess."
As they jogged
on
again, General Mulcahy inquired of Luke, "how are you doing, young man?"
"Fine, sir,"
grated Luke, forcing himself not to pant as he said it. "You?"
"Peachy,"
said the General with another grin. "My doctor kept telling me I should
get some exercise."
The corridors
had
been getting wider. Now the corridor that they'd been running through
came to a
sudden end, intersecting with a vast open space. Several AT-ATs could
have
walked through it abreast, and without having to stoop. The pale blue
star
marble of the floor and the walls was broken only by a huge metal door
at least
thirty metres tall, across the open space from Luke and the others. On
the door
was blazoned the Imperial insignia.
Before the
door,
dwarfed by its massive height, stood Leia. She cast a glance around the
deserted open space and back to Luke and the Guards. Then the door slid
silently open, and Leia stepped through.
Luke was
running
toward the door as it shut behind her. A few paces from the door,
something
made him stop. He thought he could feel some kind of energy, almost see
it,
shimmering in the air just in front of him. Cautiously Luke reached out
his
hand, and was stopped as if by a solid wall. He stepped back a little
and threw
his blaster, as hard as he could, into the space ahead of him. The
blaster
stopped in mid-air, bounced back and clattered onto the floor by his
feet.
Then Luke heard
a
shout from one of the Guards, "we've got company!"
Luke threw
himself to the
floor, lunging for his blaster, as the first blaster bolt seared past,
an inch
away from his throat.
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