Chapter
Two
"This is
insanity!" protested General Crix Madine.
Admiral Ackbar
sighed. "You've said that already, General."
"I know I
have!" Madine raged.
"It'll be
fine, General," put in Lando Calrissian, with a confidence he most
definitely did not feel. "We've got their shuttle monitored every step
of
the way. We'll know the second they try anything. All the Fighter
squadrons are
standing by. There's no way they're gonna take us by surprise."
Princess Leia
turned toward them from the panel where she'd been studying the
readings on the
approaching Imperial shuttle. "We're reading only three life-forms
aboard," she said, keeping her voice emotionless.
"There,
General, you see -- " Ackbar began.
"That doesn't
mean anything!" snapped Madine. "He could have that ship crammed with
assassin droids! We're inviting him in so he can wipe out our senior
officers
at a single stroke!"
"I don't think
he needs assassin droids for that," Han Solo snorted. "I mean, he
does have the Death Star and twenty Star Destroyers." Madine whirled
away
from Han abruptly, and Han felt a moment's disappointment that the
movement
hadn't dislodged the General's toupee.
"Even Darth
Vader would think twice about landing on an enemy ship if he intended
treachery," pointed out Mon Mothma, Chief of State of the Rebel
Alliance,
her pale face looking more gaunt than usual from the tension of the
past day.
"Even with a shuttle full
of assassin droids, he'd still be
putting himself too much at risk."
"Hunh,"
grunted Madine, sullenly unconvinced.
"Admiral,"
called one of Ackbar's Mon Calamari officers, "the shuttle is
approaching
the landing bay. They're requesting clearance to dock."
The leaders of
the
Rebel Alliance looked unhappily at each other. At the far edge of the
huge view
port which dominated the bridge of the Mon Calamari cruiser, they could
see the
three-winged Imperial Shuttle, dropping gracefully out of sight as it
headed toward
their docking bay.
A great sigh
shuddered through Admiral Ackbar's body. "Grant them clearance," he
said. While Madine groaned theatrically and the others exercised
remarkable
restraint in not telling him to shut up, Ackbar took up a hand-held
comlink,
opening a channel to the officer who would have the dubious honour of
welcoming
Darth Vader on board the Rebel flagship.
"Lieutenant
Toran, are your men ready?"
"Ready,
sir."
"Remember, you
are to make no hostile moves unless attacked. This is a peace
meeting. You are sure your
men understand that?"
"I'm sure,
sir."
Ackbar sighed
again. Poor Lieutenant Toran. This was at least the fifth time Ackbar
had
repeated the same orders to her. "Very good," Ackbar said. He closed
the link and said to his companions, "shall we proceed to the
conference
chamber?"
No one looked
pleased at the prospect, but they nodded. Ackbar led the party from the
bridge,
followed by Mon Mothma, Lando, Madine, Leia and Han. Madine was
scowling
furiously. Han held back slightly, touching Leia's hand and whispering,
"if Madine says anything more about assassin droids, Vader won't need to kill him.
I'll
blast him myself."
"I don't
know," muttered Leia, "he's a pain all right, but I can't say I blame
him. I think I agree with him."
"What, that
Vader's taking his assassin droids out for a killing spree?"
"No, not about
the assassin droids," she said impatiently. "I just -- I don't
know." She smiled palely up at him. "I've got a bad feeling about
this."
"Who
doesn't?" Han asked.
In the
conference
chamber, most of which was taken up by an elongated oval table, the six
Rebel
leaders waited. Mon Mothma, pristine in her white robes, sat at one far
end of
the table, with Ackbar at her right and Madine at her left. Lando took
the
chair next to Ackbar, and sat, absently drumming his fingers on the
table until
he realised what he was doing and stopped. Leia sat down next to
Madine, who
managed to remove the scowl from his face long enough to smile at her.
Han
remained standing behind the chair at Leia's other side. He had an
appalling
urge to start chewing his fingernails, and jammed his hands into his
pockets
instead.
Then the door
swished open, and Han's stomach did an alarming somersault. He didn't
dare to
look at the others, but was sure they felt exactly as he did.
Two Rebel
soldiers
stepped through the door, positioning themselves at either side and
standing at
attention. They were followed into the room by the slim, black-clad
Luke
Skywalker, and Han heard Leia give a little gasp of relief. Luke cast
Leia and
Han an apologetic grimace which was probably meant to be a smile, then
he bowed
his head to Mon Mothma and the others. After a brief hesitation, he
took his
place standing behind one of the chairs at the other end of the table.
Next into
the chamber was a thin-faced, nervous-looking man in Imperial uniform,
who also
bowed slightly to the Rebel leaders. Like Luke, he stood behind one of
the far
chairs, leaving one chair ominously empty between them.
The intended
occupant of the third chair strode into the room. The door whooshed
shut behind
him.
It was a good
thing
they had all received strict orders not to bring any weapons, or Han
would have
reached for his blaster and fired, peace conference or no peace
conference. Not
that he thought it would have done him any good. He'd tried shooting
Darth
Vader before.
Vader paused
just
inside the conference chamber. One of the two guards, standing only
inches away
from Vader, began to sweat, but the Dark Lord was paying no attention
to him.
He was looking instead at Princess Leia. Slowly, with the appearance of
perfect
calm, Leia stood, staring back at the Lord of the Sith. She was
standing so
close to Han that their sides touched, and Han could feel her shivering.
In the few
seconds
before anyone spoke, realisations tumbled over each other into Vader's
mind.
Gazing at Leia,
he
thought, why didn't I notice before how beautiful she is?
Well, he had known she was
attractive, in a vague sort of way, but he'd never paid much attention
to her.
Just an irritating little brat playing at politics, and too short for
his
tastes, anyway. But now ... now she was his irritating
little brat. And
she wasn't just playing at politics any more, she was a brilliant
stateswoman
with a glorious career ahead of her. And she was gorgeous. Although, he admitted, I
suppose I'm biased in my opinions.
Leia was
clearly
intending to stand on her regal dignity. Her head was held high, her
chin
stubbornly set, her lips clamped together. Only her eyes seemed alive,
and they
threw out sparks of defiance. She was not as calm as she looked, of
course.
Vader could see her fists trembling slightly, and he could feel the
tightly
controlled fear and anger that enveloped her.
Then he
realised,
with an abrupt jump in his own stress level, that the expression on her
face
was precisely the look his
late wife used to get when steeling herself for some
conflict with him.
Leia's
features, he
decided as he studied her, were not that similar to Shura's, although
her hair
and eyes, he thought now, were much the same. But with that look on her
face,
she seemed almost identical.
I am a
fool, not
to have seen it before.
Of course, one
does
not generally expect that a political opponent whom one is persecuting
will
turn out to be the daughter one never knew existed.
"Lord
Vader," Leia greeted him coldly, her voice as taut as the aspect of her
face.
"Princess
Leia," Vader responded. And he thought, has any other man had
such a
poor start at getting to know his children? How does one
build a trusting
relationship when one has destroyed one's daughter's planet -- well,
stood
by and let the planet be destroyed, anyhow, which I'm sure she thinks
is bad
enough -- and had her submitted to a
mind-probe? Not to mention, of course,
torturing the man she loves and turning him over to a bounty hunter,
trying to
kill her brother, etc., but let's not go into that.
Belatedly, Mon
Mothma stood and inclined her head civilly to Vader. "Lord Vader,"
she said. "Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat."
"Thank you. I
thank you all for agreeing to meet with me."
Vader crossed
to
the seat left open for him. Standing with his hands on the back of the
chair,
he said, "you know Commander Skywalker, of course. May I present
Admiral
Grigori Piett, my second-in-command."
Assorted Rebel
leaders
nodded to Piett, then Vader and his two companions took their seats.
Mon Mothma
introduced her own companions. "General Lando Calrissian, Admiral
Ackbar,
General Crix Madine, Princess Leia Organa, General Han Solo. And I am
Mon
Mothma." She sat as well, followed a moment later by Leia, and then by
Han, who sat glowering belligerently at Vader.
"Luke,"
Vader said, "you are better placed than the rest of us to understand
both
sides in this meeting. Perhaps you could begin by explaining what has
brought us
here."
Luke swallowed.
He'd known Vader was going to ask him that, they'd discussed it, but he
still
felt incapable of explaining anything. He felt like a traitor, too,
with his
friends turning those hostile stares on him. He desperately wished he
were
sitting on the other side of the room.
He nodded. "I
know what's happening must be hard to accept, for all of us," he said.
Damn, that sounded inadequate! Just stick to the facts, Luke, he thought, before
you make more of a fool of yourself than you already have.
"Yesterday," he said, "I was taken prisoner and brought before
the Emperor, on the Death Star. The Emperor had a proposition for me.
He wanted
me to join him." Luke caught a doubtful glance from Han, and realised
with
embarrassment that Han must be thinking something along the lines of,
"yeah right, like the Emperor really needs to join forces with the farm
boy from Tatooine." Forging on, Luke explained, "he knew of my
training with the Force, and thought that with further development of
my
powers, I could be useful to him. I refused to join him, and --" and
how do I describe what happened next? "He began shooting me with
lightning
bolts" doesn't quite get across the intensity of the experience! " -- and he
decided that I was expendable. He began to torture me. He would have
killed me.
Lord Vader intervened." Luke saw his friends casting surprised looks at
Vader, but he hurried on. "Lord Vader and the Emperor fought.
Unfortunately the Emperor escaped. We believe that he teleported out of
the
throne room, into his shuttle, and fled the Death Star. It was then
that Lord
Vader contacted you, requesting a cease-fire." Luke turned to his
father,
thinking, please, let that be all the speaking I have to do
today!
Vader took
over.
"Luke is not telling quite all that happened. I may have saved his
life,
but in our fight with the Emperor, he also saved mine." There was a
pause,
while the Dark Lord seemed to collect his thoughts.
"The events of
yesterday forced me to face concerns that I had held for some time. You
all
know," he said, steadily, "that I have served the Emperor for many
years. Some of you may see me as the face of the Empire. But in recent
years, I
have begun to feel the same doubts as many of you have felt since the
Empire's
foundation. The Emperor's sanity is toppling. His megalomania has taken
him too
far, and your Rebellion is the natural response to his lunacy. The
Empire will
perish, with the Alliance destroying it from without and degeneracy
dismantling
it from within. This second Death Star is only the most obvious symptom
of the
Emperor's inability to face reality."
Vader gazed at
each
of the representatives of the Rebellion in turn. "To you," he said,
"the Empire must seem only a vast, faceless horde, which flings
opponents
at you as swiftly as you can kill them. I have seen other facets of the
Empire.
I have seen the devastation caused by your heroic exploits, but worse,
I have
seen the demoralisation that is inevitable in a conscript army, in
which proper
training and support systems are neglected in a mad scramble to build
bigger
weapons, terrorise more star systems, and convince the galaxy that the
Empire
is invincible -- when, in fact, it is steadily collapsing."
Mon Mothma
said,
"it has taken you long enough to face these doubts of yours, Lord
Vader."
"Yes," he
said, seemingly unoffended by her interjection, "it has. Power is never
easy to give up. So long as I was not suffering, it was a simple matter
to
ignore those who were. But yesterday I had to make a choice. Now I
cannot turn
back. The Emperor will not forgive me, nor would I wish him to. I must
either
become a fugitive from his vengeance, or I must take a stand against
him."
He paused
again.
"I wish to join you," he said. "I realise this will not be easy.
You will not wish to welcome the enemy into your midst, and my presence
among
you may seem more trouble than it is worth. But I assure you, it is worth the
trouble.
I do not come into this bargain alone." He turned to Piett. "Admiral
Piett," he said politely, "if you please."
Piett stood,
without making any sudden moves that might distress the armed guards at
the
door, and removed from his breast pocket two recording disks. He
crossed to the
other end of the table, handing one of the disks to Mon Mothma.
"Ma'am," Piett said. "These are the specifications and crew
manifests of the Imperial ships stationed at Endor, and this," he
handed
her the second disk, "is the petition of the officers who wish to join
the
Rebel Alliance." Piett was conscious of all the Rebels gaping at him,
and
he certainly didn't blame them; everyone involved in this was going to
be doing
a lot of open-mouthed staring for a long time to come.
He continued,
as if
six people weren't staring at him in shock, "twenty Star Destroyers
were sent
to Endor. Two were destroyed in the battle yesterday. There are still
eighteen,
which will become the property of the Rebellion if you accept Lord
Vader's
proposals. With the Star Destroyers, of course, comes all of their
weaponry and
fighter complement, along with each Destroyer's assault troop vehicles
and
other craft. You'll find these detailed in the first of those disks."
He
looked at Vader, who nodded, and Piett returned to his seat.
"What are your
proposals,
Lord Vader?" asked Admiral Ackbar.
"I wish to
join you," Vader repeated, "and I will place myself under your
command. As you will see from the second disk, the commanding officers
of
sixteen of our Star Destroyers wish to accompany me. I do not propose
to compel
anyone to switch sides. You have no need for reluctant followers. All
officers
and men must choose freely, and the first of my demands is that those
who do
not wish to join the Alliance be given safe conduct out of this system.
The
Star Destroyers will remain at your disposal, but I believe we can
spare enough
transport ships for those who do not choose to join us. My second
demand"
-- Vader had noticed that Madine winced in annoyance when he used the
word
"demand", so he took particular pleasure in using it again -- "is
that all those who do join tthe Alliance be granted equal opportunity
within
your ranks. I realise it will take some time to integrate our forces;
that is
unavoidable. But the attempt must be made. Above all, none of those who
join
you are to be prosecuted for actions which took place when they served
the
Empire. If we are to work together, we must put the past behind us,
impossible
though that may now seem."
Leia put in
sweetly, a hint of danger lurking in her tone, "this freedom from
prosecution is to extend to you as well, Lord Vader?"
"Naturally,"
he said. "It would be expecting too much of the most idealistic man to
ask
that he give his all for a government which will then put him on trial.
I am
not the most idealistic man. But when I say I will do something, I do
it. I say
that I will serve the Alliance faithfully and honourably."
Leia's eyebrows
leapt up her forehead. "Honourably," she echoed, in an ironic
whisper.
Mon Mothma
said,
"thank you for your proposals, Lord Vader. We will consider them
carefully. You understand that this is not a decision we can take
lightly. As
valued as your assistance would be, there may be others on whom we rely
who
would desert us when it became known that you were among our ranks."
Leia asked, her
voice still soft with that dangerous sweetness, "how does a Rebellion
which claims to champion the rights of all sentient beings justify its
alliance
with a tyrant and murderer?"
Admiral Ackbar
shifted uneasily in his chair. Mon Mothma closed her eyes briefly, and
Han
began, "uh, Leia ...", only to be silenced by a glare from the
Princess.
Vader's gaze
focused solely on Leia. "I have killed many," he said. "I do not
deny my actions or defend them. I do, however, object to being accused
by those
who have committed the same actions. Admiral Piett," he asked casually,
"I wonder if you recall how many letters of condolence you have written
to
the families of stormtroopers killed by Princess Leia?"
This was not
exactly a fair question. Vader knew full well that the letters of
condolence
were written automatically, in a standard format, as soon as the
casualty
reports came in, with a computer-generated version of Piett's signature
added
to the end of them. Perversely, Vader's question made Piett feel
guilty,
wishing that he'd composed every letter personally. If I had,
though, I'd
have had time for nothing else. Blushing, and
angry with himself for doing so,
Piett said brusquely, "I don't remember the exact numbers, My Lord. It
was, of course, always impossible to be sure which troopers were killed
by the
Princess and which by her companions."
Fair question
or
not, it had the desired effect. Princess Leia blushed deeply, and
looked
quickly away from Vader. Tears welled up in her eyes.
In the
uncomfortable silence, it was General Madine who jumped to her defence.
"Your analogy is false and unjust, Lord Vader," he snapped.
"Princess Leia is no murderer. It was war."
"Yes,"
said Vader. "It was. But there need no longer be war between us."
"Lord
Vader," said Lando Calrissian, cutting off the growth of another uneasy
pause, "please don't be offended at what I'm going to say. But,
frankly,
how can we trust you? Some of us have had dealings with you before.
Your traps
have always been well thought out. How do we know this isn't another of
them?"
"What do you
perceive I am trying to lure you into?" Vader inquired.
"If we accept
you and your fleet, you could destroy us easily. Wait till we lead you
to our
headquarters, then wipe it out and the Rebellion with it."
"Calrissian's
right," Madine said, predictably.
"You may place
your own crews on board the Star Destroyers," Vader said, as calm as
ever.
"Your concern is reasonable, but if there is enough integration of our
fleets, the risk of such a betrayal would be minimised."
"Lord
Vader," came the guttural tones of Admiral Ackbar, "I think we must
have other similar concerns. Even if we were not at immediate risk of
attack,
how could we know that you and your men were not spying upon us? It
would be
very simple for each of our moves to be betrayed to the Emperor."
"You are
correct, Admiral. The only way to prove our loyalty is to try us. When
we have
fought at your side against the Emperor, perhaps then you may begin to
trust
us. But let me say this. Once you have accepted our allegiance, it
would be in
none of our interests to see the Emperor retain power. Palpatine is not
a
reasonable man. He is not easy on those he sees as traitors, even if
they
subsequently assist him. Every man who leaves the Imperial forces to
join you
faces torture and execution if he falls back into the Emperor's hands."
"Yes,"
said Leia, "unless this was planned by the Emperor all along. Why
should
you suddenly care for oppressed worlds and butchered stormtroopers?
Your change
of heart is very convenient. Convenient and not quite believable,
unless you're
acting under Palpatine's orders."
"Leia,"
began Luke, "you don't understand -- "
"It is a valid
point," said Mon Mothma, cutting across Luke's protest. "I am sorry,
Lord Vader, but I don't see how we can take the risk of trusting you.
Too many
lives depend on our decision."
Rather than
answering directly, Vader turned and looked at Luke. Luke hesitated,
then
nodded firmly. This also they had discussed. It was time for the final
argument. Leia, thought Luke, I'm
sorry. But someday you'll forgive
me, and forgive him too.
"I will not
betray the Rebellion," Vader said quietly, turning back to the Rebels.
"I cannot. You ask me to explain my change of heart. There is an
explanation, and it means that even if you reject me today, I will not
raise my
hand against the Alliance again."
Now
what? wondered Piett.
This was an aspect of Vader's plan that hadn't been discussed with him.
Piett
thought, if he doesn't go into politics, maybe Vader could
become an actor. That honest,
strong voice, with a hint of emotion trembling at the edges of it, was
almost
irresistibly convincing. It certainly didn't sound like Darth Vader.
Darth Vader
said,
"Luke Skywalker is my son."
Admiral Piett
felt
his jaw drop once again. Across the table, Admiral Ackbar, Mon Mothma
and General
Madine jumped to their feet, with startled exclamations. General
Calrissian,
Princess Leia and General Solo remained seated, all three looking very
grim.
Vader
continued,
"I did not know of his existence until the Battle of Yavin. When I did
learn who he was, my hope was originally to bring him into the service
of the
Emperor. I tried to convince him to join the Empire. I failed. As I
formulated
my arguments to Luke, their weaknesses became more and more clear to
me. I had
nothing to offer him. The Empire offered nothing. Then, yesterday, I
had to
choose between my Emperor and my son."
A touch of
bitter
amusement entered his voice. "You may not think me an ideal parent.
Very
well, I am not. I am not even a 'good' man, and discovering fatherhood
will probably
not bring out any lurking goodness from within me. But it was my own
child
dying before me. I could not let him die."
No one spoke.
There
was no sound, except for the steady wheeze of Vader's mechanized
breathing.
It was Vader,
at
last, who spoke again.
"No parents
want their children to be ashamed of them," he said, "still less to
hate them. Your best guarantee of my loyalty is here. I want my family
back. I
want the chance to be part of their lives, and not as an enemy. If I
betray
you, I lose that chance forever. That will not happen."
Vader turned to
his
son and held one black-gloved hand to Luke. Luke, without hesitation
this time,
clasped his father's hand. He was looking at Leia as he did so, and as
his
grasp tightened on Vader's hand, Luke saw tears escape from his
sister's eyes.
Admiral Piett
was
beginning to see why no one had made peace with the Rebels before. It
involved
too much talking.
This was the
fifth meeting
he had attended that day, in his new and rather peculiar-feeling role
as Lord
Vader's sidekick. Vader and Piett were standing in the briefing room
off the
bridge of the Executor, staring down
at the blueprints and readouts on the
holographic projection table while various old and new colleagues
presented
reports, questions and complaints. One Rebel Captain, a podgy,
sandy-haired man
with a nose like a Thalaxian slug, was saying, "but, wouldn't it be
wiser
to keep the Death Star operational? It would give us a great advantage
...
"
Standing across
the
briefing table from him, the leader of the x-wing squadron that had
been
assigned to the Executor snapped,
"after all we've gone through to
destroy that thing? You want us to keep it?"
Vader queried,
"what exactly would you have us do with the Death Star, Captain? Turn
it
into a holiday resort?"
The Captain
looked
taken aback, obviously trying to decide whether or not Darth Vader was
capable
of making a joke. "Uh, I just meant, with all the technology that's
gone
into it, surely it could be useful to us -- "
"There are
crews of technicians engaged in removing those parts that are
recyclable and
easily portable," Piett put in, telling the Captain something he should
have known already.
Vader added,
smoothly baiting the Rebel Captain, "I'm surprised that you would think
of
keeping the Death Star in use, Captain. I should have thought it was a
symbol
of the Empire with which the Rebellion would not wish to be
identified."
While the confused Captain struggled to think of something to say,
Vader went
on, "Lieutenant, what is the status of the crew transfers?"
Before the
Lieutenant he had addressed could answer, Vader suddenly held up one
hand. His
stance had become alert and tense, as he seemed to listen to something
none of
the others could hear. "Something is wrong," he murmured, almost to
himself, then without warning he turned and strode from the briefing
room.
The officers
who
remained around the projection table looked at each other helplessly.
Someone
gave a nervous laugh, which made Piett wish that he could do Vader's
strangling
trick. The x-wing commander stared in the direction Vader had gone,
then asked
Piett, "does he always do that?"
His designation
as
Vader's second-in-command meant that the Rebels were constantly turning
to
Piett as a Darth Vader expert. For the sake of the new alliance, he had
thus
far managed to restrain himself from telling them any horror stories.
"No," said Piett, "he usually doesn't walk out on
meetings." Of course, he added
silently, he usually doesn't have
meetings,
he just strangles people. But I don't really think you want me to share
that
with you just now.
"Well,"
said the Rebel Captain who'd suggested retaining the Death Star, his
voice
conveying disdain for Lord Vader and his eccentric habits, "shall we
continue our meeting? We can fill His Lordship in on any decisions if
he deigns
to rejoin us."
"No,"
Piett said flatly. "If Vader's worried about something, we should be
too."
He turned from
the
table and followed Vader onto the bridge. Out of curiosity, the others
trailed
after him.
Vader was
standing
behind two crewmen who were seated at a tracking screen. The crewmen
were
moving swiftly, calling up a rapid series of readings and projections,
and
seemed on the brink of panic -- as was only natural with Darth Vader
looming
over them.
The object they
were monitoring was the Death Star. And, as he crossed to stand beside
Vader,
Piett realised exactly what the problem was. "They're powering up their
hyperdrive," Piett whispered.
"Yes,"
said Vader, his dark tone implying a great deal of suffering for
whoever was
responsible. "Attempt to contact them," he ordered one of the
crewmen.
The crewman
obeyed.
"They're jamming our transmission, My Lord," he reported hoarsely.
From another of
the
bridge's control panels, a crewmember called, "Lord Vader, message
coming
in for you from Admiral Ackbar. I'm routing it to your position."
Seconds
later, the monitor at the top left corner of the tracking screen lit
up, and
Ackbar's orange, bulging-eyed visage appeared. Piett wondered if he was
getting
better at reading Mon Calamari facial expressions, or if it was just a
logical
assumption to think that the Admiral was looking stressed.
"Lord Vader!
The Death Star's engines -- "
"I know. It
should take them another six to seven minutes to prepare their
hyperdrive
generator."
"Do you know
who's behind this -- ?"
"Whoever it
is, it is our responsibility to stop them."
"We don't have
the time to launch an assault -- "
"Nor would we
wish
to wipe out your technicians aboard," Vader reminded him. "Be calm,
Admiral, they will not get far. I will ensure that we can track them; I
suggest
you move the fleet away before they jump into hyperspace."
Switching to
another channel in the middle of a splutter from Ackbar, Vader stated,
"Hangar Twelve, this is Darth Vader. Prepare a TIE-bomber for immediate
launch." He began striding toward the lift. As he passed the Rebel
x-wing
commander, Vader said to him, "you're with me. Can your squadron be
launched
immediately?"
"Uh -- yes, My
Lord." They'd only arrived on the Executor half an hour
before.
"See to it.
Start launch procedures and summon the pilots to meet us at the
launching
bay."
Paling visibly,
the
shortish, dark-haired man froze for a moment, then he rapidly sent the
required
messages. He cut off the transmission as one of his pilots started
squawking
out a demand for explanation. Luckily, most of the squadron were
probably with
their ships already, still grumblingly seeing to their x-wings'
instalment in
hangars that had been designed for TIE-fighters. Well, now they'd just
have to
un-install them. Guess we're getting this alliance off to an
action-packed
start! he thought. He hurried to catch up with Vader.
The Dark Lord
directed the lift to take them to the launch bay. "Commander Antilles,
isn't it?" he then asked his companion.
Wedge Antilles
gulped. "That's right, My Lord." He must have one hell of a
memory, Wedge thought. We
were only introduced once, and he must have met three hundred people
today. At
least.
"You were at
the Battle of Yavin. In Luke's squadron, I believe."
"Uh, yes,
that's right." And you nearly shot me down. What happy
memories we
could share together.
"I am going to
attach a homing beacon to the Death Star," Vader informed him.
"Unfortunately, our missile-mounted beacons must be launched at very
close
range. Unless you have more long-range models --?"
"No, My Lord,
sorry." Actually, we don't have any missile-mounted homing
beacons at
all.
"Very well. I
will launch the beacon from one of our bombers; I count on your
squadron to
provide back-up."
When they
reached
the launching bay, the scene was predictably chaotic. Vader headed
straight for
his waiting bomber, while Wedge was surrounded by loudly protesting
pilots.
"Don't ask any
questions!" Wedge yelled. "The Death Star's going into Hyperspace in
five minutes; we've got to attach a homing beacon. Lord Vader's going
to launch
the beacon, we're going to cover him. That's all; into your ships now!"
Most of the
pilots,
used to acting on very short notice, scattered toward their x-wings.
One held
back, asking, "er, sir, are the Death Star's weapons operational?"
"We'll find
out, won't we?" snapped Wedge.
As Wedge
scrambled
into the pilot's seat, powered up the fighter and gave a distracted
response to
his astromech droid's burble of greeting, he heard over the comlink the
voice
of Darth Vader. Unbelievably, Vader seemed to be in conversation with
the idiot
pilot who'd asked about the Death Star's weapons.
Vader was
saying
dryly, "the Superlaser should be unable to target vessels this small,
unless you sit still for it. Which I trust you will not."
Another of the
x-wing pilots chimed in, "great, so that just leaves a few thousand
turbolasers and cannons."
"Ten thousand
turbolaser batteries, and two thousand five hundred each of laser and
ion
cannons," Vader told him helpfully. "Although you may have taken out
a few in your recent attack."
Nice
of him to
mention that, thought Wedge. "Okay," Wedge broke in on the
conversation,
"so let's take out a few more!"
The vast door
of
the launch bay stood open before them. Vader's TIE-bomber was already
rising
toward it, probably a lot faster than safety specs encouraged. This
is
certainly the most sketchily-planned assault in history, Wedge
thought, as
he followed Vader out of the bay, with the other x-wings taking off all
around
him. He'd just have to rely on his men's experience and instincts, and
hope it
pulled them through this. Well, hopefully they wouldn't use their
instincts
too
much, he amended that thought. Instinct, for instance, would tell them
to shoot
down the bomber ahead of them.
Wedge eyed the
bomber with interest as he zoomed along after it. It was a
clumsy-looking
thing, twice as broad as the usual TIE-fighters, with apparently two
cockpits
-- one, he guessed, for housing its various missiles. Vader sure wasn't
flying
it clumsily, though. And damn, it was fast! Too fast.
They weren't going
to be giving Vader much cover if he completely out-ran them. Wedge
thought,
with sudden excitement, hey, when we get back I could have a
look inside
that thing! He was beginning to see a whole new dimension
to this crazy alliance.
So what if they all had to argue a lot and sit through innumerable
meetings.
The entire Imperial Fleet -- well, okay, most of it -- was suddenly
theirs. No
more scrounging for equipment, no more constructing ships out of spare
parts
that didn't go together. He saw an entrancing vista of Star Destroyers
and
bombers and AT-AT Walkers -- they ought to do something with the
Walkers, he
thought, to distinguish them from those that still belonged to the
Empire.
Paint big smiles on their snouts, maybe, or moustaches. And the Star
Destroyers. Maybe they should paint "fuck off, Palpatine" along the
tops of them.
Of course, he
and
his x-wing were going to be painted all over the Death Star if he
didn't start
paying attention to what he was doing. He felt a familiar sinking in
his
stomach as he eyed their rapidly approaching target. Every time he
attacked
this thing -- and he seemed to be doing so on a regular basis -- he
realised
that he'd blocked out of his mind just how huge a monstrosity
it actually
was. This one was even bigger than the one they'd fought at Yavin,
apparently,
but Wedge couldn't tell; he just always looked at it and thought big, and then, oh
shit, we are dead.
So far, the
Death
Star didn't seem to be reacting to their approach; maybe they were too
small to
bother with.
That, of
course,
was wishful thinking. Just as the thought passed through Wedge's mind,
a
turbolaser battery sprang into life and spat out flame at Vader's
bomber.
The bomber
swerved,
then sprang away vertically to avoid a shot from one of the two
thousand five
hundred laser cannons. Vader continued a dizzying course, twisting away
from
countless shots that seemed to pass only inches from him, and
occasionally
taking the trouble to fire back.
Wedge was
inside
the Death Star's range now. He went in firing, targeting an ion cannon
and
grinning as it disappeared in a very satisfactory explosion. Wedge
swooped
after Vader's bomber, following a similar swerving course, and firing
randomly
at the batteries and cannons that they passed. How close does
Vader need to
get?
He wondered. I know
he said this missile was short-range, but
really! He's just showing off now, isn't he?
For an instant
Wedge really thought Vader was going to collide with the Death Star. At
the
last possible second the bomber veered away again.
Wedge heard
Vader's
voice through his comlink. "Got it!" At that moment the Dark Lord
sounded very human, hardly menacing at all. Wedge was about to yell
back
congratulations, when Vader's voice came more urgently, "pull back!
It's
jumping into Hyperspace. Pull back!"
Wedge obeyed.
His
x-wing lurched away from the Death Star, the astromech droid protesting
wildly
in a series of electronic squeals. And then something hit them. At
first it
felt like the x-wing was being shoved by a gigantic hand. Then the
force
changed direction and the hand reached out and grabbed them, pulling
them back.
The x-wing shuddered. Wedge was convinced it was going to break apart. Or
else I'm going to explode first, Wedge thought,
as an agonising pressure built
up inside his skull.
And the hand
let
go.
The x-wing
spiralled into an out-of-control dive, and Wedge struggled to bring it
back on
course. That can't have been good for the Endor Moon's
ecosystems, Wedge realised
distractedly, having something that big go into Hyperspace
from orbit. They're
probably having tidal waves and earthquakes and Firelord knows what
else.
Back in
control,
Wedge was hit by nausea and a fit of the shivers. Right,
that's it, he thought. I'm
retiring, right now. Never setting one foot into space again.
"Are you still
with us, Commander?"
It almost
didn't feel
weird any more to realise that the voice coming through his comlink
belonged to
Darth Vader.
"Yeah,"
Wedge gasped out. "You in one piece?"
"Just,"
Vader replied. "I believe your squadron has come through intact.
Impressive flying, I congratulate you."
"Yeah. You
too!" As he piloted his x-wing back toward the Star Destroyer Executor, Wedge
realised
there was a huge, stupid grin on his face. The Dark Lord of the Sith
had
complimented his squadron! Now there was something
to write home
about.
And he was
definitely
going to convince the Dark Lord to let him have a look at the innards
of that
TIE-bomber.
"There! You
see! I told you he'd come
back!"
"Yeah, yeah,
okay, kid, you told us."
"And you said
he was trying to run away with the Death Star," Luke said scornfully.
"Okay, okay,
you don't have to sound so smug about it." But, reflected Han, Luke did have a right
to
feel smug, and who could blame him? That was Luke's father who'd just
pulled
off the craziest bit of piloting that Han had ever seen performed by
anyone but
Han himself. The kid had every right to feel proud of him. Although,
Han
thought, it must be pretty tough trying to decide whether to feel proud
or to
feel suicidally depressed that his father was Darth Vader.
They were in
the
circular briefing room below the bridge of the Mon Calamari flagship.
The
holograph table had been linked to pick up the images on the main
viewscreen,
and they had been anxiously following Vader and Red Squadron's race to
the
Death Star. Actually, Luke, Han and Admiral Ackbar had been following
it. Leia
had been sitting on one of the benches that circled the briefing room's
perimeter, chewing at her thumbnails and refusing to meet anyone's
gaze. She
now managed a very pallid smile for Luke's benefit, then went back to
scowling
at the floor.
"Admiral,"
one of Ackbar's officers informed him, handing Ackbar a readout pad,
"the Executor has sent us
the
co-ordinates of the Death Star's location. They must have come out of
Hyperspace almost as soon as they went in."
Ackbar opened a
channel to the Executor. "Admiral
Piett," Ackbar greeted the now
familiar face that appeared on the screen. "You're reading that the
Death
Star has come out of Hyperspace?"
"That's right.
We think the Death Star must be damaged. They should never have
attempted the
jump to Hyperspace with the station only half complete. We plan to
follow them
in the Executor; if you
approve, of course. If you could perhaps send
one or two cruisers to accompany us ...?"
"Very well.
I'll notify the Hope and the Shador to join you."
Ending the
transmission, Ackbar said wearily, "don't start, Princess. You and
General
Madine will tell me it's a trap, that the Death Star and the Executor will turn on
our
ships and destroy them. I will take full responsibility, but I don't
care to
argue about this again."
"I wasn't
going to say anything," Leia said flatly. Han looked at her with worry.
Ever since the peace meeting with Vader, Leia had seemed to close out
the rest
of the galaxy, emerging occasionally to make some cynical comment or
suggest
that Vader was betraying them, then disappearing back into her sullen
contemplation. It wasn't the Leia they knew at all, and Han didn't like
it.
Leia could certainly be a bitch, but at least you knew where you stood
when she
was screaming at you. This depression, Han didn't know how to deal with.
On the Rebel
cruiser Shador, Captain
Bailey received his orders and wished that
he could stop the palms of his hands from sweating. The Shador had only
barely
avoided being annihilated by the Death Star's Superlaser in the battle
two days
ago, when the Liberty was destroyed.
Bailey had no desire to give the
Superlaser another shot. He looked grimly at Commander Luxar, the
Imperial
who'd been assigned as his new second-in-command. They'd been getting
along
fairly well, and had shared a very enjoyable dinner last night, at
which they
had both drunk too much while reminiscing about student life at the
Academy.
Bailey had left before graduation to join the Rebellion, while Luxar
had gone
straight from graduation to a post on the Emperor's flagship, but they
found
that their Academy experiences had been much the same. This still did
not stop
Bailey from worrying that his new friend Luxar might be about to blast
him in
the back.
"The Executor has sent us
these
jump co-ordinates," reported Luxar. He handed over the figures so that
Bailey could assure himself the treacherous Imperials weren't trying to
make
them jump into a planet, or straight into the Death Star.
Bailey studied
the
figures, and glanced over the work of the crewmen who were entering in
the
hyperdrive calculations. "Thank you. Inform the Executor we are ready
to
jump on their mark."
The order came.
Bailey watched the forward viewscreen as the stars melted into the
familiar
gleaming trails of Hyperspace. The jump was ludicrously short. Almost
immediately, they were back in normal space, and staring at a scene of
devastation which emerged on their screen.
"Will you look
at that," Luxar breathed in awe. "That piece of junk
was supposed to
save the Empire?"
The Death Star
was
falling apart before their eyes.
The unfinished
sections of the station had obviously been unable to withstand the
pressures of
Hyperspace. One half of the huge globe was literally crumbling away,
massive
chunks of the hull and the station's metal skeleton tearing loose with
ponderous slowness and then drifting lazily into space. Bailey hoped
there had
not been anyone in those sections of the Death Star. It was a concept
he did
not want to think about.
The bridge of
the Executor
was
also peopled by men who were staring at the disintegrating Death Star.
A
re-assigned Rebel officer wondered aloud, "what idiot thought he could
take that thing into Hyperspace?"
"Jerjerrod,"
came the angry voice of Darth Vader, almost in a whisper.
"I beg your
pardon, My Lord?" asked Piett, standing next to him.
"Jerjerrod,"
said Vader. "That is the idiot in question."
"Lord
Vader!" a crewman yelped. "They're targeting and powering up the
Superlaser!"
Vader made no
reply. He seemed to have tuned them out again. Nervously Piett said,
"take
evasive action," hoping that Vader would not be aggrieved with him for
daring to give an order. It was, after all, the obvious order to give.
"There is no
danger," Vader told Piett in a now remarkably calm, conversational
tone.
"He has merely made another mistake."
The Executor soared into a
rapidly altered course. The cannon well of the Superlaser was suddenly
ablaze
with light, as the eight beams came together in the laser's central
crystal.
The Superlaser
fired. And the well surrounding it started to collapse.
The blast shot
wildly away, far from the Executor and its two
companions. A few
isolated cheers were heard on the bridge of the Executor, but most of
the
crew were watching in overwhelmed silence. The devastation was
spreading, as if
the Death Star were being devoured by some invisible monster. Vast
chunks of
the station broke loose as the monster began to munch on the
Superlaser's well.
"Attempt to
contact them," Vader ordered, a sardonic note to his voice. "Ask if
they require assistance."
Almost
immediately,
the Death Star responded. A dishevelled, wild-eyed officer appeared on
the
screen, his hair soaking with blood that then trickled down one side of
his face.
"Lord Vader!" he gasped. "Thank the gods!"
If Vader found
it
amusing that an officer was pleased to hear from him for once, he did
not
comment. "Captain Faren," he replied, and only then did Piett
recognise in this battered figure the normally dapper young Chief of
Station
Security. "What is your situation?"
"Massive hull
breaches in the eastern hemisphere. We've got the western hemisphere
sealed
off, but I don't know how long it will hold. Can you spare any
transports?
There's still a lot of crew on board -- "
"We will see
to it immediately, Captain. If you can guarantee that the transports
will not
be fired upon ... "
"Already taken
care of sir," Faren reported, bitter satisfaction on his face.
"Commander Jerjerrod seized control of the Command Centre. He'd sealed
it
off and we didn't have time to break through, but we've now flooded the
Command
Centre with sion gas. He and his renegades should be out cold. I -- "
the
Security Captain seemed suddenly to remember he was talking to Darth
Vader. "I
apologise that we weren't in time to stop him from firing the
Superlaser ...
"
"Think nothing
of it, Captain," said Vader. "The transports will arrive at Hangar
Bays Four through Six. My shuttle will dock at Bay Four, I will see you
there
shortly."
"Yes, My Lord,"
Faren answered, clearly wondering how long he would survive past
Vader's
arrival.
As Vader's
shuttle
settled onto the deck of Hangar Bay Four, Faren and twelve
stormtroopers
hurried toward it. They had barely time to salute before Vader was
striding past
them, and they had to scurry along in his wake.
"Your report,
Captain," Vader commanded. "What has been happening on this
station?" His voice expressed disdain, as if the occurrences on the
station were barely worth his attention.
Faren said
angrily,
"as you know, My Lord, Commander Jerjerrod was in charge of the
station's
evacuation. He freed the Emperor's guards when they were being moved
from their
holding cell to a transport, and together they seized the Command
Centre.
They're the ones who took us into Hyperspace. Some of my men were
killed in the
guards' escape," he added. From Faren's tone, it seemed that the
Security
Captain would cheerfully disembowel Jerjerrod and the Imperial guards
with his
bare hands.
Vader was in
full
agreement with that sentiment. "I believe," he said, "that
Commander Jerjerrod has outlived his usefulness."
They reached
the
entrance to the Command Centre, where a team of stormtroopers were
engaged in
slicing though the reinforced doors with a high definition blaster
cannon. Conveniently,
the door's sealing gave way just as Vader approached. The door had
barely
finished sliding open before Vader stepped through it.
By now the sion
gas
had dissipated. Six of the crimson-robed Imperial guards were still
sprawled on
the floor or at various command posts, while two guards and Commander
Jerjerrod
were dizzily starting to struggle to their feet.
Jerjerrod
looked
up, trying to blink the haze out of his eyes, and saw Darth Vader
standing
above him. Fully awake now, Jerjerrod looked around desperately, only
to find
that he and all of the Emperor's guards were at the receiving ends of
the
twelve stormtroopers' blaster pistols.
"Commander,"
Vader remarked, "I'm disappointed in you. I had thought you might have
enough common sense to emerge from this situation alive."
He was doomed
anyway, Jerjerrod knew, so he might as well say what he thought.
"Traitor," he snarled. "Damned, filthy traitor! The Emperor
created you, you bastard. He made you everything you are. And you dare
turn
your back on him! He'll make you suffer, Dark Lord," Jerjerrod
continued,
sneering out Vader's title. "He'll tear you apart piece by piece, you
warped mechanical freak."
"Perhaps."
Vader's voice was chill but undisturbed. "Unfortunately, Commander, you
will not be alive to witness it." The Dark Lord knelt down beside the
still half-prostrate Jerjerrod. "I'm curious. At our meetings, I felt
no
sense of your intention to mutiny. Was this unplanned, or have you more
skill
at shielding your thoughts than I realised? Not that it matters. I
merely like
to know something of the men I kill."
Jerjerrod
stared.
Some sense of just how horrible his situation could be started to creep
through
him. He finally managed to admit, "it wasn't planned. Just before we
seized the station, I received a message from the Emperor. He promised
me
immunity and promotion if I brought the Death Star to him."
"Where is
he?" The question was not only asked in words, but probed straight into
Jerjerrod's mind.
"Coruscant.
He's back on Coruscant."
"Ah. Well,
Commander, His Imperial Majesty has been known to have contact with the
spirits
of the departed. You may, then, be able to apologise for your failure
in
person."
Vader stood.
"Captain Faren. I believe you are of sufficient rank to have a code for
this station's self destruct program?"
Faren smiled in
vicious enjoyment. "Yes, My Lord."
"If you would
care to do the honours." Vader gestured to the central control panel.
"Will a fifteen minute count-down be sufficient for evacuating all
remaining personnel?"
"I think so,
My Lord. The place may have collapsed by then, anyway."
"Very well.
Fifteen minutes, then."
Faren crossed
to
the panel, initiating the self-destruct sequence and entering his
activation
code. "My Lord?"
Vader joined
him,
and added his own code to the sequence.
"We need a
third code, My Lord," Faren reminded him. "Shall I contact Admiral
Piett?"
"No need. We
have another command officer among us. Commander Jerjerrod," he said,
without turning from the panel, "would you be good enough to join
us?"
Jerjerrod,
still
crouched on the floor, goggled at him in horror. "You're mad."
"Come,
Commander, your code. It's impolite of you to keep us waiting." Vader
turned to face him.
Jerjerrod
gasped as
the cold, probing touch delved into his mind again. Vader's gleaming
mask,
those huge reflective eyes that revealed nothing, were all that
Jerjerrod could
see, looming both outside Jerjerrod's own eyes and behind them.
With cool
deliberation, Lord Vader was sifting through Jerjerrod's mind.
Jerjerrod
squeezed his eyes shut, tried to resist, to think of something else,
anything
else, anything but the code ...
"Thank you,
Commander," came Vader's amused tone. "That wasn't so difficult, was
it?"
Vader turned
back
to the panel, and entered the third self-destruct code.
"Self destruct
initiated," a message on the screen announced. The lighting in the room
suddenly switched to red, as it would have done throughout the station.
Unobtrusively, in the background, the count-down began.
Jerjerrod was
still
staring, stunned with disbelief.
"Sir?"
asked one of the stormtroopers, gesturing with his blaster at one of
the now
awake, but still groggy Imperial guards. "What do we do with this
lot?"
Faren glanced
questioningly at Vader.
"I'm sure the
transports are over-crowded already," Vader said mildly. "We don't
need to burden ourselves with them."
"No, My
Lord." With a smile of immense personal gratification, Faren drew his
own
blaster pistol and fired point blank at the nearest Imperial guard.
Faren
watched the man collapse, a blackened hole smoking in his chest, then
nodded at
his stormtroopers. Obediently they mowed the remaining guards down.
"Do what you
can to assist in the evacuation, Captain," Vader ordered. "The
Commander and I have some business to complete before I join you."
"Yes, My
Lord!" Faren and the stormtroopers departed, the officer wistfully
wishing
that Vader had let him stay to watch.
"Now,
Commander," Vader's voice purred. "You needn't look so terrified. I
know how fond you are of this station. Being an understanding man, I'm
going to
let you remain on it."
Jerjerrod's
eyes
were widening farther than seemed physically possible. He had wet
himself, but
at least he didn't have to feel alone in his shame, since most of the
Emperor's
guards had relieved themselves as they died.
"Of
course," Vader went on, ignoring Jerjerrod's discomfort, "in fifteen
minutes -- I beg your pardon, fourteen -- you might contrive to
countermand the
self-destruct program. I am getting very tired of this Death Star,
Commander.
So, you'll understand if I take steps to ensure that you do not delay
its
destruction."
Vader's hand
barely
moved. He made no move toward Jerjerrod. Vader slowly closed the
fingers of his
right hand toward each other, and heard a quiet little series of pops
as each
of the bones in Jerjerrod's right foot snapped in two.
Jerjerrod screamed. He kept
screaming, as Vader took care of the left foot in like manner, then
moved on to
the ankles and both legs. For insurance, Vader broke the bones in
Jerjerrod's
hands, wrists and arms as well, just in case the Commander were
inclined to
drag himself to the control panel.
"Now,"
said Darth Vader, "I'm afraid I must be going. Do give my regards to
the
Emperor."
He was back on
the
bridge of the Executor, and the last
of the transports were safely away and
out of range, when the Death Star exploded. Vader smiled to himself,
appreciating the shimmering pattern of colours as the dying space
station
erupted. It really was a very good sight, and the ring of gases that
escaped
from the detonating Death Star made an attractive touch. He wondered if
Luke
had taken the time to appreciate the beauty of it when he'd blown up
the first
Death Star. Probably not. And that thought made him chuckle quietly. Luke
really won't be pleased if he learns of my little entertainment in the
Command
Centre, will he? But, who blew up a Death Star with 1,180,000 people on
it --
give or take a few thousand -- and who blew up a Death Star with a full
crew
complement of one?
It all
depends
on your emotional state, of course. Perfectly fine to blow up 1,180,000
people,
if you don't hate them while you're doing it.
Sure.
And I have
some lovely waterfront land on Tatooine to sell you.
Admiral Piett, standing next to him as usual, thought how very unnerving it was to hear Darth Vader laugh.