Nevoy choked on
billowing dust. He couldn't see
anything but that grey cloud. He shouted, "Xavier!" but the noise of
the falling pillars was too loud for him to hear his own voice.
Slowly the dust
drifted to the floor. Nevoy
gritted his teeth, knowing that he almost certainly wouldn't like what
he was going
to see.
He risked a
glance up, and saw the last of the
Palace Guards still clinging to the cable. Man and cable swung back and
forth
like part of some acrobatics stunt.
Corporal Loen,
with Destrehan still strapped to
his back, had somehow made it to the floor above. He was now leaning
over the
edge, reaching down to steady the swinging cable.
Good. Loen
should be able to get the guard to
the next floor without Nevoy's help.
But Mulcahy and
Skywalker …
With the dust
still seeping down through the air,
at first Nevoy couldn't see them. Then he caught sight of other colours
amid
the grey, what looked like Skywalker's black clothing and blond hair.
Nevoy started
toward them, picking his way
around and over fallen blocks of stone. He desperately wanted to hope,
but he
shoved that longing aside. Don't hope, he ordered
himself fiercely.
Don't, because what you hope for isn't going to be true.
And it wasn't.
He stopped in
the midst of the rubble, and
forced himself not to look away.
Mulcahy had not
had a chance. Most of his body
was hidden under massive chunks of rock. His head and upper torso were
still
visible and seemed unmarked, except by the pale grey dust of pulverised
stone
that drifted over him.
It had to have
been quick. Nevoy repeated that
to himself like a prayer, it had to be. There were
too many vital
organs that must have been crushed at the first impact. He couldn't
have lived
long enough to suffer.
Please,
gods, he couldn't have.
The General's
eyes were open, and his mouth was
slightly open as well, as if he'd been gasping in a breath. His face
looked
blank and a little startled, and Nevoy thought how strange it was to
see him
without some sardonic expression.
Nevoy had
thought he had himself pretty much
under control. Until he felt the tears streaming down his face.
It seemed he
was not alone in his grief. But
the company did not give him any comfort.
Luke Skywalker
knelt amid the heaps of stone,
at Mulcahy's side. The young man's dark clothing was mottled with dust,
but he'd
apparently escaped injury. But he was crying. He made no sound, but his
shoulders shook with the failed effort of trying to hold back his tears.
Nevoy was
unprepared for the hatred that shot
through him. He'd thought he hated Skywalker already, but this was so
strong it
felt as if he had to either kill the boy, or choke to death on the
loathing
that settled in around him like a poisonous cloud.
Stop
crying! He wanted to yell at
Skywalker.
You
don't have the right. He's my friend, not
yours. I've known him thirty-seven years. You've known him an hour.
Nevoy's hand
moved to his holster, and closed
around the cold weight of his blaster.
For a moment he
truly believed that he would do
it.
There'd never
be any better time. Their dead
were scattered all through this corridor. There was no reason at all
why
Commander Skywalker shouldn't have fallen in battle like all the others.
And
then what? Nevoy tightened his grip
around the gun until his hand hurt.
Then
what?
Laram would
still be dead.
Laram, and
Mulcahy.
And all he
would have succeeded in doing would be to
tear a piece out of Lord Vader's life. To hurt the man that this whole
miserable bloody revolt had been created to help.
Xavier, he thought. Gods
damn you, gods damn you, gods damn you. Why did
you do this to me?
He knelt before
he realised he was doing so, and
stared at his friend's face. He knew he should close Mulcahy's eyes,
but he
didn't want to. He didn't want to admit to the finality of that action.
He tried to
remind himself that this was what Mulcahy
had wanted. Nevoy was sure that the General meant it when he said "I
never
fancied the idea of dying in bed."
But damn it,
damn it. It shouldn't have been like
this. Mulcahy had been enjoying himself. It didn't seem right for him
to leave
before the fun was over.
"I should have
saved him," Luke Skywalker
whispered. Nevoy glanced sharply at the younger man, and saw his lost,
despairing look. "I should have …"
You should
have? Nevoy thought bitterly. I should
have. I should
have known that wall was about to collapse … I shouldn't
have let him get so
near to it … I should have … what? Held his hand?
Tried to babysit him when all
the rest of us were risking our lives just as much as he was? Oh, yes,
I'm
sure. I'd like to hear what Mulcahy would've said to me if I'd tried
that.
"I should
have," Skywalker whispered again. "I
could have – if I had the Force – I would've been
able to stop the
rocks from falling – I wanted to, I tried to, but –
oh Gods, if I
had the Force I could have saved him --"
"Well, you
don't," Nevoy snapped. "So
you'll just have to live with it, like the rest of us."
Skywalker
looked at him in surprise, tears shining in
his wide, sorrow-filled eyes. Nevoy bit back a curse and looked away. I'm
not going to do this,
Nevoy thought. I'm not going to fight with this brat when I
should be saying
goodbye to my friend.
I'll
do this properly later, he thought to
Mulcahy. I'll do this
properly with a few friends and several hells worth of drinks.
You
know I'll miss you, you bastard. I'll miss you,
and I'll never forgive you for making me do this.
Before he could
lose his nerve, he reached out and
closed Mulcahy's eyes.
His tears felt
like they were burning his face.
Keeping his face turned away from Skywalker, he said gruffly, "let's
go."
Skywalker said,
"no."
Now Nevoy did
look at him, not caring any more if the
Rebel saw his tears. "What was that?"
"You go,"
Skywalker murmured, still staring
at Mulcahy's motionless face. "I'm not. It's not worth it."
Oh my
gods, Nevoy thought. My gods, I want to
shoot him.
"Commander
Skywalker," he ordered, "you
will stand up and you will come with me to the transports, now." He
added
silently, you'll come with me to the transports if I have to
bloody well
carry you.
"No," said Luke
Skywalker, "I won't.
There's – there's nothing --" The young man shook his head,
giving
up on whatever he'd been going to say. "I won't."
Nevoy leaped
up, grabbing Skywalker by his shirt and
dragging him to his feet. Struggling loose from Nevoy's grasp,
Skywalker gave
some incomprehensible yell of rage and was suddenly pointing his
blaster at
Nevoy's chest.
"Let's see you
do it," snapped Nevoy. "Let's
see if you've got the courage to shoot people when they're not hidden
by armour
or a space station."
The fury on
Skywalker's face was so desperate that
Nevoy thought he really was going to shoot. Then Skywalker whispered,
"why
can't you leave me alone? You want me dead. So do I. Just get the hell
out of
here and leave me and both of us will be happy."
Oh,
fifty hells. A very large part of Nevoy's mind wanted to
do just
that. But he knew that if he did leave this young idiot here, that
decision
would trouble him for the rest of his life.
Nevoy sighed.
Gods, all of a sudden he felt so very, very
tired. He could hear the loss and anguish weighing down his voice as he
said "you
listen to me, you miserable little shit. You killed my son. I've had to
wake up
every day for five years to the knowledge that I'll never see him
again. Do you
want your father to go through that? Because if you don't, then you
shut up and
come with me now."
For a long
moment Luke Skywalker just looked at him.
Nevoy saw the streaks of dried tears in the dust on the young man's
face. The
blue eyes stared at him with a strange expression, angry and sorrowful
and
thoughtful at the same time.
Then Skywalker
jammed his blaster back into its
holster. Without another word he walked through the rubble-filled
corridor,
jumped for the bottom of the grappling cable, and started to climb.
Nevoy watched
his departure, feeling perversely
disappointed that the Rebel hadn't argued with him more. There were
five years
worth of pain that Nevoy wanted to take out on this kid. But it
wouldn't really
do any good, he knew. He could yell at Luke Skywalker for as long as
his voice
held up, but it wouldn't make those five years go away.
And it wouldn't
change the years to come.
All
right, Osheen, he told himself. Time to get out of
here.
He looked down
at General Mulcahy, one last time.
"I hope you got
what you wanted," Nevoy
said. "Take care of yourself, you old son of a bitch."
He turned and
walked away.
"Han! Han? If
you die on me I swear I'm going to
kill you."
Okay, Han thought, that's
not a hallucination. He'd heard
that voice yelling at him
often enough to know it could be nothing in the galaxy but the voice of
Princess Leia Organa.
"All right,
Your … Your Highnessness," he
joked weakly, startled at the faintness of his voice. "I'm alive."
"Oh, Han," she
murmured, "Han, thank
the gods." And then he was thanking the
gods, very devoutly, because her mouth was all over his.
Her kisses felt
as good as he remembered – hell,
better – but he wished he didn't have burns down half his
body.
He blinked as
Leia pulled away from him, and tried to
focus his eyes on the various blurred faces surrounding him. The blurs
resolved
themselves into Leia, Chewbacca and Iddims, all looking worried, and
Darth
Vader, looking like Darth Vader.
"Hey, Darth,"
Han managed to croak out. "Good
to see you."
"You too,"
Vader said. "Do you think
you can walk?"
"Yeah, sure, no
problem." He didn't actually
have a clue whether he could walk or not, but since the alternative was
probably to be carried by Chewie – or, gods forbid, by Vader
– he
was going to try his damnedest.
Leia,
meanwhile, was staring in disbelief, alternating
her gaze between Han and Vader. She echoed, "'Darth'?"
"Yeah," said
Han, trying not to let his
voice shake with pain as Chewie and Vader gingerly took hold of his
arms and
helped him manoeuvre himself to his feet. "The Dark Lord hitched a ride
to
Coruscant with us. We did some male bonding on the way."
Leia's eyebrows
shot further up her forehead,
Chewbacca gave a growling chuckle, and Lieutenant Iddims suddenly
developed a
suspiciously laugh-like cough.
"Ah," Leia said
dubiously. Han would have
liked to tease her some more, but just then his eyes relayed to his
brain the
fact that she was missing one of her hands.
"Holy shit,"
Han yelled. "Leia, what
the hell -- "
She frowned
impatiently. "I'll tell you about it
later."
He was standing
up now, and figured he could probably
manage that without help. Walking was another question. He bit his lip
as his
burned side sent out another wave of pain. Think about
something else, he told himself. "Where's Luke?"
Han asked, suddenly realising that the kid wasn't here. "Is he okay?"
"He was about
ten minutes ago," said Vader. "We're
attempting to evacuate in two major groups. Luke went with the other."
There was a
look on Leia's face that Han didn't like,
that told him Luke had got himself into some kind of godsawful trouble
again.
But then, that was only to be expected. It wouldn't be a proper escape
if they
weren't in all manner of shit.
"Okay," said
Han, really hoping he wasn't
going to faint dead away with the first step he took. "If we're
evacuating, let's evacuate."
He took one
reckless step forward and nearly did black
out. His vision wiped out and he hissed in pain. As sight and feeling
swam
nauseously back he realised that the only reason he was still standing
was
because Chewie was firmly gripping one of his arms and Darth was
gripping the
other.
"We're not
waiting for you to walk," Vader
said. "Chewbacca, would you mind carrying him?"
Chewie roared
that no, he wouldn't mind at all. He
scooped Han up in his arms like the fainting heroine in some
holo-flick, before
Han could even squawk in complaint.
"Hey!" Han
yelled. "Damn it, Chewie -- "
Darth Vader
said, "either he carries you or I do,
son-in-law."
"Right," sighed
Han. Gods damn, this was a
disgusting situation. For about the trillionth time since the day he
met Luke
Skywalker and Ben Kenobi, he wondered, how did I get myself
into this?
Leia stepped up
to Chewbacca and Han, a teasing little
smile on her face. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Han on the
cheek. "Don't
worry," she told him. "I've seen you look a lot stupider than this."
"Great," Han
groaned. "I love you too."
She grinned.
"Would it be too predictable if I
said ÔI know'?"
The voice of
Leia's father broke in on this touching
moment. "Lieutenant," he was saying to Iddims, " will you ensure
that they reach the transport bay, and get them aboard their ship? I
will join
you there shortly."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Leia," Vader
continued, "will you help
me?"
"Of course."
She reached out her one hand
and squeezed Han's hand that wasn't burned. Then she walked to Vader's
side.
Han tried to
twist around to see where Leia and Darth
were going, but it hurt too much. Especially when Chewie started
striding
along, and Han's burns periodically scraped against the Wookiee's fur
and the
belt across his chest.
"Gods damn,
furball," Han hissed, "watch
it, will you?"
Chewbacca
growled cheerfully that he shouldn't be such
a baby.
Oh,
shit. Realistically he knew that the various
Imperials
they walked past were busy dealing with their wounded and with getting
their
own asses out of the Palace. They had a lot more important things to do
than
stare while an injured smuggler was carried off by a Wookiee. That
didn't help,
though. He still had the damned feeling that every last one of these
guys was
laughing at him.
He wanted to
pretend that he was unconscious, only
Lieutenant Iddims was bound to notice, and to know that he was faking
it.
Iddims was
walking to Chewbacca's left, his blaster
rifle resting on his broken right arm. He looked entirely on the alert,
determined to fulfil Darth Vader's instructions and get Han and Chewie
safely
to their ship.
But for the
moment there didn't seem to be any enemy
left. They passed scattered groups of Imperials helping their wounded
to their
feet. Han saw at least three medics hurrying from one group to another.
The
compact, folding stretchers from their medpacks were being unfolded and
apportioned out to the most badly injured, but there obviously wouldn't
be
enough. Han hoped that the guy he and Chewie had pulled off the wall of
corpses
would be able to get one.
They'd reached
the spiralling door where the enemy had
sheltered, the door now frozen fully open. They had to detour around
piles of
bodies. Four guys that Han recognised from Iddims' rescue team were
busy
dismantling the laser cannon to bring it along with them –
well, three
guys that Han recognised and one of the team's stormtroopers, whom he
figured
he recognised by association.
"Hurry it up,
will you," Iddims said to the
four as he passed them. Han thought he saw one of the four men smirking
at him,
and determinedly tried to think of something else.
Damn it, where
the hell had Vader and Leia gone to?
And what was with the two of them, anyway? Just a few days ago Leia had
hated
her father worse than anyone else in the galaxy, and now here they
were, as
chummy as if all that stuff with being stolen at birth, fighting on
opposite
sides of a civil war, chasing and torturing and doing their best to
kill each
other, had never even happened.
Well, they'd
probably been through a lot together
recently. It made sense, since otherwise Leia wouldn't be missing a
hand.
So, why not? If
Han and Vader could bond through fixing
the Falcon, then Leia
and Vader could bond through – well, whatever the hell they
had just been
through.
Something that
Han had shoved to the back of his mind
was making its way forward again.
There hadn't
been any ships firing down on them from
the ruined skylight when they walked under it, so something had to have
chased off that Lambda shuttle. But he
knew it hadn't been what he'd
thought it was. That couldn't have been the Falcon up there
– could it?
They reached a
dark metal blast door locked in its
open position, with Palace Guards armed with blaster rifles standing at
either
side. Suddenly Han couldn't stand the thought of these Guards seeing
his
ludicrous position, and he snapped his eyes shut, not caring for the
moment if
Iddims did catch him at it.
Then a new
selection of noises hit his ears, and Han's
eyes popped open again.
Gods, for a
moment it seemed just like similar scenes
in the Rebellion. Uniformed people hurrying everywhere, the smells of
metal and
fuel, the hum of ships taking off. Only the uniforms were all Imperial,
and the
main ship at the centre of the troop transport bay, looming massively
over a
few shuttles and TIEs taking off around it, was a big ugly Imperial
transport,
the kind that Han always thought looked more like apartment buildings
than
ships. This time the comparison was even more apt than usual, since
this thing
was at least three times the size of a standard transport. Deluxe
Imperial
Palace model, Han figured. It also had about six times the usual
weaponry, to
judge from the cannons mounted all along its top edges like the rib
spines on a
Hewlian ghost lizard. The boarding ramps on each end were lowered, and
as more
soldiers entered the bay from the hallway behind Han and the others, he
heard
them being ordered to get to the transport, now.
A
solidly-built, middle-aged army officer strode up to
Han, Chewbacca and Iddims. "Lieutenant," he greeted Iddims, with a
look at the Lieutenant's two companions that suggested he'd like to
dump them
into the nearest garbage chute.
"Colonel
Wellaine," Iddims said
respectfully. "Lord Vader should be here any moment. These men are his
friends. Has their ship arrived, sir?"
The Colonel
nodded. "Over there," he said,
nodding his head in the direction of the huge Imperial transport. A
sour smile
touched the Colonel's face as he added, "watch out, it's got a guard
dog.
Or a guard puppy."
"Yes, sir."
Iddims looked as confused as Han
felt. "Come on," Iddims said to Chewbacca.
They moved on
again. As they neared the vast bulk of
the transport and started to skirt around it, another ship came into
view
beyond.
"Oh, gods," Han
whispered. "Chewie,
look at that."
Chewie made a
quiet howl.
The Millennium
Falcon sat on her landing struts on the transport bay
floor,
dwarfed by the Imperial vessel but looking, gods, absolutely wonderful.
Her
boarding ramp stood open, but Han couldn't see any sign of the "guard
dog"
that the Colonel had mentioned.
"Put me down,
Chewie," Han hissed urgently. "Now."
He was damned
if he was going to let himself be
carried onto his ship. She'd come through for him again, and he was
going to
walk up her boarding ramp as her captain should, or die trying.
Chewbacca gave
a muttered growl that said, "humans".
But he cautiously lowered Han to a standing position. Han took a very
careful
step toward the Falcon.
He didn't
faint, or fall over. He hurt like hell, but
he ought to be used to that by now. He took another step, then another,
starting to move faster and almost forgetting the fact that most of the
skin on
his right side was barbecued.
When he reached
the ramp, he stopped, not just because
he needed to catch his breath. He put out his hand and touched the Falcon's hull. He
realised he was nearly crying.
"I told you to
stay away from this ship!"
Han blinked and
looked up as someone ran down the ramp
and swung off the edge halfway down, an inch away from landing on Han's
feet.
A very young
woman had planted herself in front of
Han, one hand on her hip and the other hand brandishing a blaster
pistol.
Han stared.
She looked like
an ad from some teen magazine. Her
blue-black hair was pulled up in a ponytail at the top of her head, and
her
brown – almost purple – skin had a glow of youth
and health that
made Han feel profoundly old. Her clothing, such as it was, looked like
it
belonged in a gym instead of a transport bay in the Imperial Palace. A
scanty
black sports bra type thing and matching black leggings, with black
running
shoes and an incongruous pair of neon pink socks, made a very weird
contrast to
the blaster in her hand. Han couldn't tell if she was dressed for a
commando
raid or her morning jog.
The girl looked
him up and down, and suddenly grinned.
"Oh. Sorry. You're General Solo, right?"
"Right."
"Cool. Good to
meet you. Hey, you are pretty
cute. My mom said you were."
"Oh," said Han.
Chewbacca
snorted.
"And you're
Chewbacca, right? This is so cool!
Hi," she added, to the bemused Lieutenant Iddims.
"Hi," Iddims
replied.
Taking pity on
Han's blank stare, she said, "I'm
Camar Delayne. You met my folks a few days ago. They were busy tonight
so they
asked me to deliver your ship to you."
Oh, Han thought, of
course. In the midst of everything he'd kind of
forgotten
that they'd left the Falcon with
ex-crimelord Baccara Chovitza. The officially dead Baccara
Chovitza, who was living under an assumed name, who apparently owed his
life to
Darth Vader, and who had a daughter at the University of Coruscant.
"Great," said
Han, "thanks." If he
thought about some college kid piloting his ship he would probably
start
screaming, so he just wasn't going to think about it.
"Have you seen
Lord Vader?" Camar Delayne
asked now, suddenly looking worried. "Is he all right?"
"Yeah, he's
fine," Han said, wishing he
could get out of this conversation. He had to get something onto these
burns.
The Falcon didn't have
much in the way of med supplies, but it would be better than nothing.
"He's
helping with the evacuation, he'll be here any minute." Or he
damned
well better be, Han added
silently. Where the hell are they?
The girl heaved
a big sigh, and grinned. "Cool,"
she said.
He didn't even
notice that he'd started swaying on his
feet, until Chewie growled a warning and grabbed hold of his shoulder.
Han
blinked and found both the girl and Lieutenant Iddims staring at him in
concern.
"Want me to get
you a medic?" Iddims
inquired.
"Nah," Han said
quickly, "they're too
busy. I'll go put on some burn spray."
Iddims nodded.
"Why don't you two get the ship
prepped for take-off. I'll keep watch for Lord Vader."
"Me too," said
Camar.
With Chewie's
help Han warily limped up the ramp. At
the hatch he turned to check if Darth and Leia were in sight yet, but
the
entrance to the transport bay held only a few random soldiers. No huge
dark
figure and no tiny delicate princess. Camar Delayne had sat down at the
end of
the ramp and was apparently striking up a conversation with Lieutenant
Iddims.
The Falcon's medbay was
more like a closet. Not for the first
time Han thought that he really had to get this place enlarged,
especially if
he was going to keep running around with his in-laws and nearly getting
killed.
Next time he burned half his body he wanted to be able to spray
cool-seal on
himself without bumping into the wall every time he moved.
He ignored
Chewie's suggestion that he ought to get
the burned fabric out of his wounds, and started for the cockpit, with
the
grumbling Wookiee at his heels. Time enough for that later when he
could get to
the Rebellion's med-droids with their nice knock-out drugs. Either that
or a
very big glass of kahy.
Getting the Falcon prepped was
the work of about a minute. Han checked
eight times that the hyperdrive was in working order, though he didn't
know why
he was bothering. It said
it was working fine, but that didn't have to mean anything. For all he
knew,
Baccara Chovitza or his daughter could be some kind of double agents.
They
could have screwed up the hyperdrive just like Lando and his guys, and
Han
wouldn't know anything until he pulled the lever and heard that
godsawful
creaking noise and the ship just sat there.
If that
happened again with Leia on board, she'd never
let him forget it.
He stared out
the Falcon's viewscreen.
Damn, he had a bad feeling.
Something would happen to Leia or Darth, they wouldn't make it to the
transport
bay by the time they had to evacuate, he'd have to choose between
leaving
without them and staying here and getting fried … and of
course he'd stay, and
go running out of the ship to look for them, and the place would be
falling
down around his ears just like godsdamned bloody Hoth all over again
…
Chewbacca
roared, here they come.
Sure enough. A
large, somewhat straggling collection
of soldiers was making its way through the entranceway, including
several
wounded men being carried on stretchers. At the very back of the group
were
Leia and Darth Vader.
Han didn't even
try to control his jolt of emotions at
the sight of the two black-clad figures, one barely half the size of
the other.
Vader had one arm resting on Leia's shoulders, and Leia had her
uninjured arm
around her father's waist. Darth wasn't walking with his usual sweeping
stride,
and it didn't look as if that was just so that Leia could keep up with
him.
Both of them looked almost too tired to walk.
It was all Han
could do to keep himself planted in the
pilot's seat instead of jumping up and running out there to them, burns
or no
burns. They're fine, he
told himself. They had stopped walking now and let go of each other,
and both
visibly straightened their postures. Lord Vader was talking to a
handful of
officers. Han saw him take a portable com unit that one of the officers
held
out to him, and speak into it.
They're
fine. They're completely fine. Gods damn it,
though, why didn't they
hurry up? Didn't they know how these things worked? That just as soon
as they
thought they were safe, some enemy would pop up behind them
–or in front
of them? Though, Han guessed, maybe they wouldn't have as many enemies
popping
up these days, since Darth Vader was now on their side.
Vader handed
the com back to the officer, said
something else, then he and Leia started across the transport bay
floor. They
walked more purposefully this time and they weren't holding on to each
other.
As Han watched, another figure emerged from under the Falcon and ran across
the transport bay. Camar
was too far away for Han to really see her flash of pink socks, but she
was
putting her running shoes to good use.
She stopped
just short of Leia and Vader. Han saw the
three of them talking, Vader apparently introducing his daughter to the
daughter of Baccara Chovitza. Gods, Han wondered what Leia would think
of this
kid. He really hoped that little Miss Chovitza wouldn't repeat her
comment that
Han was "pretty cute".
Lieutenant
Iddims had followed Camar at a more sedate
pace. There was some discussion, then Iddims bowed slightly and headed
toward
the huge Imperial transport, while the other three set out for the Falcon again.
Han jumped and
Chewie gave a little growling yelp as
some unknown guy's voice emerged from the Falcon's com link. "Millennium
Falcon, do you copy?"
"Yeah, we
copy," said Han, mentally adding, and
who in the hell are you?
"This is the
troop transport Vengeance. You've got
clearance for take-off as soon
as Lord Vader's aboard. We'll follow as soon as you're clear of the
building.
We're to rendezvous with the other escape vessels at Viega and make the
jump to
Hyperspace there."
"Gotcha," Han
acknowledged. He wondered what
the population of the resort moon Viega would think when this lot
showed up at
their doorstep. When the link closed, he said quietly, "Chewie. Train
our
guns on that door. Anyone comes through it chasing Leia and Darth,
we're not
letting them take a shot."
Chewbacca
growled agreement, and Han slumped down in
his chair, wincing as the movement scraped his burns. He watched as
Leia, Vader
and Camar approached, way too damn slowly as far as he was concerned.
He was
hanging on to his pessimism, so it wouldn't be too bad of a shock if
some gang
of stormtroopers did rush through that door and start shooting. But a
little
voice of happiness and wonder was whispering in his mind, all the same.
Leia's
safe. She's safe.
Of course
another question, that he didn't even begin
to want to think about, was their babies. Leia would have told him if
something
had happened to them, wouldn't she? Or maybe not. Not in the middle of
a palace
revolt. She'd want to wait till they could be alone. And she wouldn't
want to
talk about it any more than he did.
Please, he thought to
whatever might be out there and might be listening. Please.
The three of
them moved out of the Falcon's viewscreen,
and a moment later Darth
Vader's voice came through the com, "General Solo, we are safely
aboard."
"Chewie," said
Han, "close that hatch
and let's get out of here."
The others
joined them in the cockpit just as they
rose through the transport bay's opened roof. Han glanced back, and he
really
didn't like the way Leia was looking. She looked way too pale, and her
eyes
seemed to be gazing at something that wasn't there. None of them sat
down in
the two available seats. Leia and Vader didn't seem to notice them,
even though
Vader had to bend down to avoid banging his head on the ceiling. Camar
Delayne
leaned casually on the back of the chair behind Chewie, but she clearly
wasn't going
to sit down if the others didn't.
"What do we do
with you, kid?" Han asked
her. "You joining the Rebellion?"
She smiled.
"No, thanks. Can you drop me off on
campus? I'm supposed to meet my room mate at the library to work on a
research
paper."
"Sure thing,"
Han shrugged, turning to the
control panel again. "You'll have to give me directions."
They flew free
of the Palace and turned left onto
Imperial Boulevard. While Camar was giving him directions –
down Imperial
five blocks, turn right on Galactic, make a left on University
– Han
suddenly heard both Leia and Vader gasp. He turned around again, but
this time
Leia smiled at him, and there seemed to be more colour in her face.
Darth Vader
put his hand on her shoulder and nodded toward the empty seat in front
of them.
She squeezed Vader's arm and sat down.
"We're fine,
Han," she said. "You'd
better look where we're flying."
Something
looked weird about the city. Han hadn't been
here much, but even he could tell that there were fewer lights than
usual.
Scattered throughout the distance were large patches of darkness. From
this
angle, it looked like only about a third of Imperial City was lit.
"Where the hell
are the lights?" Han asked.
"Oh," said the
crimelord's daughter. "That
was our guys. We took out power stations 3, 5 and 10, so the ground
forces
wouldn't be able to get to the Palace. Most of them are stuck guarding
the
department stores and ritzy houses, so they don't get looted in the
blackout.
We sent some looters over there, too. Oh, and the central
communications
computer's down at Police Headquarters."
"Impressive,"
said Vader, sounding amused. "Give
my thanks to your father."
"I will. He's
gonna be so glad you're alive!"
Han stared out
at the cityscape, trying not to let his
jaw sag in amazement. Hadn't Chovitza said he didn't have much of an
organisation anymore? Of course maybe he didn't think that he did,
since he'd
once controlled about half the crime in the galaxy.
"How is
school?" Vader asked Camar.
"Oh, fine. Kind
of boring. We've got to take our
humanities requirement freshman Year, so I'm taking the modern history
class
about how great the Empire is. Hey," she added, after a moment's
thought, "maybe
they'll cancel that one now."
Vader said, "I
wouldn't be surprised."
"Turn here,"
Camar ordered. All the power
seemed to be on at the University campus, and Han wondered if Chovitza
had made
that decision deliberately so his daughter could work on her homework.
"That's the
library up ahead. You can land on the
roof, it's big enough."
"Okay," said
Han. The crew of the troop
transport Vengeance
were probably having fifty fits by now, if they'd noticed that the Falcon wasn't heading
straight to Viega. Oh well,
they were Imperials. They deserved a few ulcers.
The Millennium
Falcon settled down on the roof of the tall, pillared
library building. "This stop, University Library," Han said, punching
the buttons that opened the entry hatch and extended the ramp.
"Cool, thanks.
Good to meet you, everybody. See
you later, My Lord."
"Give your
parents my love," said Darth
Vader.
They watched
the girl stroll across the library roof
and disappear through a door that was probably an emergency exit. Han
wondered
if that would set off the alarms in the building, which wouldn't do
much for
anyone trying to study in there. But maybe the daughter of Baccara
Chovitza had
some handy device that turned off alarm systems.
"Where to now?"
Han asked. "Off to
Viega?"
"Yes," said
Vader.
As they soared
out of the atmosphere, Leia stood and
leaned over to plant a kiss on the unburned side of Han's face. "I'll
be
back soon," she said. "I want to put something on my wrist. Chewie,
can you come to the medbay with me?"
"I'll go," Han
protested. "Chewie and
Darth can fly this thing, I'll come with you."
"No, you stay
here. It'll only take a minute.
Will you come with me, Chewie?"
Chewie growled
his "of course" growl, and
the two of them left the cockpit. After a moment's pause Darth sat down
in the
co-pilot's seat.
Han glanced
over at his almost-father-in-law. "What
was wrong with you two in the transport bay?" he demanded. "You
looked like shit." And you scared the shit out of me. He didn't say
that part aloud, but he was
pretty sure Vader could sense it.
Vader said,
"Leia and I constructed a forcefield
across the hallway, so the Imperial Guards could not pursue us from
that
direction. We kept it in place until the transport was clear of the
Palace."
"Oh." Well,
sure, Han thought, why not? "So, you
wanna fill me in on what's
been happening? How much trouble are we in this time?"
"Not as much as
usual," said Vader. "The
short version is, Leia and I killed the Emperor."
"Oh." And Han
couldn't think of anything to
say after that. "You mean, really killed him? You're sure?"
"Pretty sure,"
Vader said dryly.
"Well. Gods.
Shit. That's great! Shit." Han
shook his head and forced himself to shut up. Palpatine was a boring
conversation topic, anyway. "Did you talk with Luke?" he asked
instead. "Did he get out of the Palace okay?"
Vader sighed.
"I haven't talked with him
personally. I was assured that he's safely on board the Conquest." Vader leaned
forward a little and
stared out the viewscreen. "I'll have to call him," the Dark Lord
went on, in a thoroughly unhappy tone of voice.
"Hey," Han
said, attempting to be jovial, "it
can't be that bad, can it?"
"Wait till you
have children." Vader gave another heavy sigh, and Han had the distinct
impression that he would have been rubbing his hands over his face, if
his face
had been accessible. "Ah, damn," he said. "I've got to write to
Silistria and Ascelin." When Han glanced at him questioningly, he
elaborated, "Palpatine's children. I don't know them that well, but
–
I'll have to contact them."
"What are you
going to say?" Han demanded. "ÔI'm sorry I murdered your
father'?"
"No, because
they'll know that I am not. They
haven't been close with their father for years, but I still owe them an
explanation."
What
fun, Han thought. Better
you than me. They were nearing the Perimeter Defence
Station, and he asked, trying
to sound casual, "you want to make us invisible again?"
"It shouldn't
be necessary. Their weapons should be off-line."
He didn't like
the
use of the word "should" in those sentences, but they sailed past the
station without difficulty. Han was about to move them into orbit
around Viega
and try to contact their Imperial buddies, when a Star Destroyer soared
into
view ahead of them.
I knew
it, he thought. I
knew we weren't going to get out of this. He checked
their shields and
weapons and was keying in the Hyperspace route to Omean, when the com
sprang
into life again.
"This is
Captain Cahusac of the Retribution," declared a
man with a
strong Nagamasan accent. "Is Lord Vader aboard?"
"He is,"
answered Vader in his unmistakable voice. "How are you, Captain?"
"Very well,
thank you, My Lord!" The Captain sounded so happy, Han wouldn't have
been
surprised if he'd broken into song. "Your ship is the last to arrive,
My
Lord, the others are waiting for you. We haven't seen you, of course.
We're
experiencing technical difficulties with our sensors and communications
systems."
"I see. I hope
they'll be repaired soon, Captain."
"Thank you, My
Lord. I'm sure they will be."
A few minutes
later, when they had just made the jump to Hyperspace, Vader suddenly
stood. He
said, "I'll be in the lounge. It's good to work with you again, Han."
"Hunh?"
Han asked in confusion. He turned toward the rapidly departing Vader,
and saw
Leia standing in the door of the cockpit, smiling at him. Chewbacca was
nowhere
in sight.
"Hi,"
said Han, feeling his insides leap and twist and go flying off on some
hyperspace route of their own.
"Hi,"
Leia said. She crossed to the seat that her father had just vacated and
sat
down beside Han, reaching out to close her hand around his.
"Um." Han
swallowed. "So what's going on, Princess?"
"I went to
check on the babies," she said, running her fingers over the back of
his
hand. "You know, you've got pretty good obstetric monitors on this
ship. I
don't know whether to be impressed or suspicious."
"Leia,"
he said, "are you going to tell me or not?"
"They're fine."
She smiled up at him, and he thought that he'd never loved anybody so
much in
his entire life. "They're absolutely fine. Chewbacca wanted to break
out
the cigars, but I told him that was bad luck and he had to wait."
Oh, gods. For a
moment he stared out at the Hyperspace trails, wondering if they were
really
blurred or if that was something in his eyes.
He looked at
her
again. "I love you," he said. "And don't say 'I know', or I'll
strangle you."
She grinned.
"Okay.
I won't say it."
She leaned over
and
kissed him.
Luke slumped in
one
of the big leather chairs in the Officers' Lounge of the Conquest, watching
Hyperspace stream past the viewport that took up one entire wall.
There were a
few
other men in the lounge, and symbolic of the great upheaval that had
just taken
place in all of their lives, not all of them were officers. A mixed
group of
army, navy and Palace Guards were sitting some distance away from Luke,
talking
quietly over their drinks. At one end of the large room, a navy guy had
stretched out on a couch and was fast asleep.
No one in the
lounge had gone anywhere near Luke, except for the service droid that
had asked
if he required anything. I don't blame them, Luke thought.
I don't
want to be near myself either.
He felt weird.
Empty and distant, as if all of this had been happening to somebody
else. He'd
barely exchanged two words with anyone since the dressing-down he'd
gotten from
Nevoy back in the crumbling hallway. He'd barely thought about anything
either,
except for the resolution that he was not going to cry. Not ever again,
if he
could help it. You've done too damn much crying already, he told
himself. Enough
to last you the rest of your life.
"Commander
Skywalker?" came a voice from behind him.
He looked over
his
shoulder to see some young kid in a navy uniform. Luke was startled to
realise
that he'd thought of the guy as a young kid; he was used to feeling
like the
youngest person around, himself. He was certainly used to feeling like
the most
inexperienced and stupid person in the vicinity. But this kid looked
like he
couldn't be more than sixteen, and Luke suddenly felt old. The kid also
looked
nervous, and sweat shone on his forehead. Luke wondered if he was
scared of
having to face the monster who'd destroyed the first Death Star.
"Yes?"
Luke acknowledged quietly.
"Moff Nevoy
requests your presence in the Captain's
office. There is a message for you from Lord Vader."
Oh,
great, thought Luke. Now
I'll have to explain why I've failed to live up to his expectations.
Again.
Must be shitty having such a disappointing son.
Though
it's
probably better now. Now he's got Leia.
Luke nodded and
stood. The kid eyed him with a strange expression, half scared and half
filled
with awe. Luke wondered if the kid was impressed that he could face
talking to
Darth Vader without melting into a puddle of terror.
Hell, Luke thought,
I
wish
I were scared of Vader. Instead of just being scared of the fact that
I'll
never be good enough for him.
"If you'll
follow me, sir," said young Ensign Whoever-he-was.
As they walked
through the hallways, Luke reflected that one could definitely tell
this had
been Palpatine's private barge. The halls had thick purple carpets.
They stopped at
a
door with the Imperial insignia blazoned on it, and the navy kid
pressed the
button at the door's side. Nevoy's voice replied "come in" through
the com and the door slid open. The Ensign deferentially stepped back.
Luke stepped
into a
large office. It was separated by a clear plastisteel partition from
another
room beyond it, with comfortable-looking sofas and armchairs and a
huge,
oval-shaped viewport. In the office stood a desk with a holo-projecting
com at
its centre, that was currently projecting the image of Darth Vader.
Only the
Dark Lord's head and upper body were visible, making it look peculiarly
as if
he were sitting inside the desk.
Moff Nevoy,
seated
at the desk, said, "excuse me a moment, My Lord." He turned toward
the door. "Thank you, Broenneke," he said. "That's all."
The petrified
Ensign saluted and hastily departed. The door closed.
"Commander
Skywalker is here, My Lord," Nevoy reported to the projection of Vader.
There was no anger or hatred in his voice when he said that, which Luke
reflected gloomily was a lot more self control than he'd be able to
show in the
Moff's situation.
"Yes,"
said Vader. The Dark Lord paused a moment, then said, "I am truly sorry
about General Mulcahy. He will be missed."
"Yes. He will.
My Lord." This time there was a hesitation on Nevoy's part, then he
asked,
with an almost challenging tone, "or should I call you Field Marshal
Skywalker?"
Luke gasped in
surprise. A much longer pause followed before Vader said coldly, "I
would
rather you did not." Luke would have expected that to be the end of the
conversation, but Lord Vader continued. "I couldn't tell you. Perhaps
you
believe that I should have. But we didn't believe we could risk telling
anyone.
For our plan to work, Anakin Skywalker had to be dead. To everyone."
"I understand,
My Lord," said Nevoy. Then he smiled. "But I'm glad that he isn't."
Luke was sure
there
was an answering smile in Vader's voice as he said, "thank you."
"Well."
Nevoy stood up and turned to Luke. "I'll be next door if you need
anything," the Moff told him, nodding toward the room beyond the
partition. "Don't worry, the partition's soundproof."
Luke nodded and
waited while Nevoy stepped through the plastisteel door, that slid
quietly open
and then shut again behind him.
Luke walked to
the
desk and sat down.
"Luke,"
Vader said.
"Father,"
Luke acknowledged, glad that so far at least he'd managed to keep his
voice
steady.
"I wish we
could talk in person."
Now there was
no
opportunity to see if his voice would stay steady or not, because Luke
couldn't
think of one damned thing to say.
Vader pursued,
"Leia
told me something of what's happened to you."
"I've lost the
Force," Luke said. His voice was still even, but it was bitter and
flat.
He heard himself saying, "I don't know what good I am to anyone any
more.
I can't – I can't do anything."
"Luke,"
Vader said fiercely. "You are an excellent pilot, a skilled marksman
and
an experienced soldier. And you are my son. The Force wouldn't make it
up to me
if I lost you."
Luke gazed down
at
the desk. There was a damned lump in his throat, but thank the gods, he
wasn't
crying yet.
"When we get
back," Vader went on, "you will be important to the Alliance. We will
need people who can work to integrate our new troops with the existing
forces.
Pilots experienced with x-wings, to train those new pilots who have
never
worked with x-wings before. If the Alliance sets itself up as a new
republic,
our forces will need to evolve from a weapon of rebellion. You can be a
leader
in all of that."
Maybe, Luke thought.
If
I can stop myself from breaking down every five minutes. He looked up
at
his father. Luke said, "I wish I weren't a disappointment to you."
"Luke. I am
not disappointed."
Luke held
Vader's
gaze for a few moments, then looked down again. He felt an absurd surge
of
triumph at the realisation that he still wasn't crying.
He heard Vader
say,
"there's something else. When I believed I was going to be executed
…
there were things I promised myself I'd say to you if I ever had the
chance."
Luke forced
himself
to look up. He wasn't at all sure that he wanted to hear this. "What
things?" he asked.
"I am sorry
about Beru and Owen. I never intended what happened to them."
Now Luke didn't
trust his voice at all. The smouldering corpses in front of their
charred
farmhouse appeared vividly before his eyes.
"I was
thinking," Vader said, "perhaps you and I could go to Tatooine. We
could see to it that some memorial is erected to them."
Luke thought
about
that. It did sound like something they should do – and he'd
be a fool if
he turned down the opportunity for some time with his father
– but the
idea of going back to Tatooine made him feel ill. He'd gone back when
Han was
captured, of course, but that was different. It had been the present
that
brought him there, not the past. And he hadn't had to go anywhere near
his Aunt
and Uncle's farm.
"I'd like
that, I think," he said. "I'm just not sure I could stand going back
there."
"Nor I,"
admitted Vader. "How about this. We can try going back, and if we can't
handle it, we can go on vacation instead."
To his own
amazement, Luke laughed. He grinned at his father. "All right," he
said. "You've got a deal." And now he really needed to end this
conversation, because his emotions were doing too many damn weird
things and he
wasn't sure he'd stick to his no crying resolution if he didn't get out
of this
fast.
He stood up. "I
should get out of the office," he said, "in case anyone else needs
it."
Vader nodded.
"We'll
talk more at the Base."
Luke nodded.
"Yes."
"I love you,
Luke," said Vader.
"Yeah. I love
you too."
The projection
of
Vader winked out. Luke took a deep breath.
He looked
through
the plastisteel partition, and saw Moff Nevoy sitting in one of the
armchairs
that faced out toward the viewport. He wasn't gazing into space,
however. He
was looking down at something in his hands. Luke couldn't tell what it
was. He
wondered if he should just leave, but he knew that if he didn't face
the Moff
now, he might not get up the courage again.
He walked
toward
the partition, which opened in front of him.
"Sir,"
said Luke. "Do you have a moment?"
Nevoy looked up
from the strange, small shape in his hands. Luke suddenly realised it
was a
very old and battered stuffed animal. Just maybe, from the horns at one
end of
it, it was a bantha. He quickly forced himself to stop staring at the
thing,
and wondered about the expression on Nevoy's face. The lines of tension
and
sadness were very visible. But Luke didn't see, for the moment, the
hate that
he expected to see there.
"I have plenty
of moments," Nevoy said quietly. "What can I do for you, Commander?"
Luke swallowed
and
wanted to run from the room. "I'd consider it an honour," he said, "if
you would tell me about your son."
Nevoy gazed at
him
steadily. He was turning the weather-beaten stuffed toy around in his
hands.
"Will you tell
me his name, sir?" Luke requested.
"Lieutenant
Commander Laram Nevoy." He was still studying Luke, and Luke thought it
had been a lot easier to face Darth Vader.
"I'll tell you
about him," Nevoy said finally. "Later."
"Thank you,
sir. I appreciate it."
"Was there
anything else?"
"No.
Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight,
Commander."
Luke walked
from
the room and through the office. He risked a glance back just before
stepping
into the hall. Moff Nevoy was looking down again at the stuffed bantha
he held
in his hands.
A strident
beeping from her console jerked Mon Mothma
awake. She sat up with a gasp from where she'd fallen asleep at her
desk,
desperately straightening her hair and rubbing her face to make sure
there
weren't any bits of paper stuck to it. Then she realised that the
computer
screen didn't show the image of whoever was making the call. Instead of
one of
the Rebellion's communications officers or the command staff, there was
just a
small written message at the top of the screen, preceded by the
spiralling
green starfield logo of Starways Communications Corp. The message read,
"you
have a collect call from Public Terminal No. 53, Ynyos Station, Ksedje
Three.
Will you accept the charges?"
Mon Mothma
stared, reaching out to mute the alarm.
A
collect call?
What?
Or more to the point, who?
No one outside
the
Rebellion should know the number to reach her here. She didn't have any
friends
outside the Rebellion any more, and she wasn't in touch with any
relatives.
Theoretically, if she did accept the charges, they would be paid
through the
carefully laundered and camouflaged communications accounts that the
Alliance
maintained. The contact shouldn't be traceable to the Rebellion. But
the odds
were that whoever was calling, they already knew damned well who and
where she
was.
So what did it
mean?
A stab of dread
jolted through her as she thought of Captain Needa and the unknown
amount of
information in his possession.
He could easily
have her account number -- or that of anyone else in the Rebelliion.
Her mind
leaped ahead to the horrible speculation that he had passed on their
contact
information to Imperial Intelligence. The message could have some sort
of
self-destruct virus embedded in it. If she opened it her console could
blow up,
taking her and this whole wing of headquarters with it …
You're
paranoid, she told herself.
Of course, twenty years in the Rebellion hadn't given her any reason not to be paranoid.
She took a deep
breath. Ynyos Station, Ksedje Three. She thought Ksedje was about five
hours
away, by the shortest Hyperspace route. It was in a system where the
Empire had
only the shakiest hold, but the Rebellion had never got much of a
foothold
there either. To be honest, neither the Rebellion nor the Empire wanted
it. The
Ksedjans were primarily interested in charging inflated prices to
travellers
unlucky enough to stop in their system, running gambling establishments
so
crooked that even the criminals stayed clear of them, and distilling a
thoroughly nasty kahy, drunk only by alcoholic vagrants and alien
species that
thrived on raw alcohol.
Mon Mothma
glanced
at the chronometer on her desk. Five hours away. And it was nearly six
hours,
she thought, since Needa had blasted his way off Omean.
She frowned,
reading for the first time a much smaller, third line of text glowing
green underneath
"will you accept the charges?" She'd assumed before that it was some
sort of copyright statement by Starways Communications, but now she
read, "message
title: I apologise about the Admiral."
That could mean
it
was Needa, of course. He would know that one way to lure her into
opening the
message was to use the word "admiral", since one of the very few
Admirals she knew was Piett.
Then again, who
had
more reasons to apologise than General Madine? And the title didn't
read "I
apologise to the Admiral",
it said "about". It would be just like
Madine to apologise to her about the whole damned mess, but never
apologise to
Piett.
Right. If the
message did have a
self-destruct virus, she would just have to accept getting
exploded. Feeling more than a little stupid, she activated the
emergency
forcefield around her office, hoping it would be enough to contain any
explosion. Not that there's going to be an explosion. After making
sure
that the computer was set on the highest possible level of virus
screening, she
typed in "yes" and her confirmation code, and waited.
The Starways
Communications logo rotated while the connection was processed, then,
just as
Mon Mothma had decided that the call wouldn't come through at all,
General Crix
Madine appeared on the screen.
"Simara!"
he yelled. "Thank God! I thought you'd never answer."
Her annoyance
with
being yelled at was far outweighed by her relief at seeing Madine alive
–
that, and the fact that her terminal hadn't exploded.
"Crix,"
she said, "are you all right?"
The General
scowled. "I'm fine. I just spent forty-five minutes getting this call
to
go through. I've spent every last one of the hundred credits I had on
me –
twenty-five for the privilege of using the supposedly public toilet,
and
seventy-five for one hour on this terminal."
Oh, dear. She
was
not going to laugh, she absolutely was not. That resolution was
severely tested
by the unfortunate General's appearance, which she only really took in
now that
the first shock of seeing him was wearing off. He'd washed off the
blood that
had caked on his face, but he still had a swollen lip and a very
noticeable
black eye. Something else looked different from the usual Madine, but
she
couldn't place it until the thought hit her: oh, my gods.
Needa stole his
toupee.
Really, she thought, he
looks much better without it. The fact that
his hairline was somewhere around the
top of his head might not be something Madine was willing to live with,
but it
looked a lot better than the peculiarly fake pancake of hair that the
General
usually wore.
I am
not going
to laugh. He has been through enough, without me snickering at him. But oh, dear.
She
was going to have to be desperately careful, for the rest of her
career, never
to mention hair or wigs or baldness in General Madine's presence.
Well, maybe she
would tell Piett about it. After the
shit Madine had put him through, she thought Piett deserved a little
amusement
at the General's expense.
Keep a
straight
face,
she told herself. That's an order. "Where is
Captain
Needa?" she asked.
"I don't have
the faintest idea. He didn't give me his itinerary when he left."
She sighed.
Madine
was clearly not going to be the most pleasant person to be around for
the next
few days. "We'll send someone to get you," she said. "Admiral
Akbar's strike team is on their way back from the Baxtri Sector,
perhaps we can
re-route them to send one of their ships to your location.
Madine closed
his
eyes briefly and heaved a very heavy sigh. In a moment of compassion
Mon Mothma
thought she knew exactly what he was thinking. The poor silly man was
worried
about the impression he'd make when Akbar's team saw his bald head.
Maybe she
should
have a talk with him about it when he got back. Play big sister to him
and
convince the poor idiot that going bald was far preferable to that
thing
sitting on his head. Even better, she should find him a girlfriend who
would
take the matter in hand and forbid the toupee. Of course, any
girlfriend of
Madine would have to have the patience of a saint, but there had to be some woman in the
Rebellion who could handle it.
More beeping
announced the arrival of another message, this time from the base's
communications centre. "I'm sorry, Crix," Mothma said, "I've got
to put you on hold." A look of near panic touched Madine's face, and
she
added, "I'll be right back, I swear. I won't lose your signal."
Madine's image
on
the screen was replaced by that of a young communications officer,
Lieutenant
Dvarshkis. Before she could stop it, the speculation crossed Mon
Mothma's mind,
I wonder if she'd be interested in going out with Madine?
Dvarshkis' face
wore a look of delight crossed with amazement. The moment she saw Mon
Mothma,
she blurted out, "Ma'am, we've got a message from Lord Vader! He's
coming
home!"
Once again
Mothma
found herself staring. And her first coherent thought was oh,
thank gods,
Grigori will be so glad!
Of course this
development had a good deal more implications besides the happiness of
Admiral
Piett. Hoping that she had her dignified stateswoman expression firmly
in
place, she asked Dvarshkis, "can you put me through to him?"
"Yes, Ma'am!"
She couldn't
tell
much about Lord Vader's surroundings. Some dimly lit metallic
environment. The
familiar black-armoured figure inclined his head politely when he saw
her. "Mon
Mothma."
"Lord Vader. I
hope you are well? And the rest of your party?"
"We are. We
have successfully retrieved Commander Skywalker and Princess Leia. And
we have
some new recruits. We are returning with the Millennium Falcon, the Imperial
Barge Conquest, the troop
transport Vengeance, eight Lambda shuttles, and
approximately five hundred officers and men."
Good
gods. She was really
beginning to wonder if Vader had some particularly powerful gods on his
side,
or if it was simply true what some of the ex-Imperials said, that Vader
would
never lose because he refused to admit the possibility that he could.
She nodded.
"We'll
arrange temporary accommodations for them on the Executor and the Mircalla until their
new
duties are assigned." Which of course meant that none of Vader's "new
recruits" were to be allowed on the base until the Alliance had all of
their names, backgrounds, and their oaths of loyalty – not
that it would
help much, she reflected grimly, if any of them decided to follow the
path of
Captain Needa.
"Of course,"
Vader said. "There is something else you should know, Ma'am. Emperor
Palpatine is dead."
Mon Mothma
froze.
She noticed distantly that she'd grabbed hold of her desk, and the edge
of it
was digging into her palm. "You're sure?" she inquired, amazed to
find that her voice sounded calm.
"I am. I will,
of course, be presenting a full report. But I thought you should be the
first
in the Alliance to know."
She nodded
again,
forcing herself to let go of the desk. "Thank you."
Emperor
Palpatine is dead. How
incredibly strange it was to finally hear those
words.
She wondered
what
Vader was thinking. He had sounded solemn, almost regretful, when he
said it.
She wondered if, now that it was over, Vader was thinking not of the
mad
Emperor but of the man who must once have been his friend.
Now that it was
over? It wasn't over, of course. Even with Palpatine gone, it was too
much to
expect that the galaxy would just hail the Alliance as the legitimate
government. They would have their work cut out for them, as always.
Well, she told
herself,
that's what we're here for.
And she had
immediate problems to deal with. Such as getting a disgruntled General
off of
Ynyos Station.
A truly evil
thought occurred to her.
No, she told
herself,
that's too cruel. Not to mention petty. Get a hold of yourself
and start
acting like the leader you're supposed to be.
"If there's
nothing else, Ma'am -- " Darth Vader began.
"Just a
moment, My Lord," she said. "There is something."
Of all the
people
that Crix Madine would not want to see him just now, Darth Vader and a
bunch of
Imperials were probably right at the top of the list.
It's
awful and
wrong. He came to you as a friend, because he thought you could get him
out of
this without putting him through too much embarrassment.
Of course if he
was
her friend, he shouldn't have made so damned many public, insulting
comments
about her and Piett.
Mon Mothma
smiled.
She asked the Dark Lord of the Sith, "do you think one of your vessels
could make a stop at Ksedje Three?"
Leia was asleep
with her head on Darth Vader's chest. She was nestled to the side of
his
chest-box. He didn't imagine that his chest could be all that
comfortable to
sleep on, particularly with her cheek pressed up against the side of
the metal
box. But Leia did not seem to mind. She had fallen asleep clutching his
hand,
and had not let go.
She had been in
the
Falcon's cockpit with Solo and Chewbacca –
who'd rejoined them after
giving them a decent amount of time to be alone together -- while Vader
talked
with Luke and then Mon Mothma. A few minutes ago she had joined him
here in the
crew lounge. They had started to talk about what the Alliance's next
steps
should be, but almost immediately Leia had fallen asleep.
With his free
hand,
Vader stroked her hair. She hadn't yet brushed her hair after their
battle, and
the silken brown tresses were escaping out of her braid. Vader wished
that he
could lean down and plant a kiss on the top of her head, but of course
that was
not going to happen unless he entirely redesigned his mask and
breathing
apparatus. Not worth it. He would rather retain the face of Darth Vader
than
sacrifice it for the chance to kiss his daughter.
He could hardly
dare
to believe that she was here. And that they weren't fighting each other.
She was his.
Really, really his.
He was still
sorry
not to have any of the usual parental memories. Her first step, her
first
words, all those moments that parents seemed to treasure.
Still, though.
At
least he had something now. Fighting beside her to destroy the ruler of
the
galaxy was as good a place as any for their family life to begin.
The air around
him
shivered with a familiar tremor of energy. Even before he looked up,
Vader knew
precisely what that meant.
Vader barely
managed to suppress a groan. "Obi Wan."
The Jedi's
glowing
form stood a few feet away from them, near the entrance to the lounge.
He
seemed more hesitant than Vader remembered him, watching Vader and Leia
with a
strange wistful expression.
Exhaustion
crashed
down on Vader. He said, "I do not need this today."
Kenobi asked,
"can
we talk?"
"No,"
said Vader. "Leia's just fallen asleep. I don't want her disturbed."
"It is
important."
Vader nearly
snarled. Everything was always important to Obi Wan, wasn't it? Why
could the
man never relax, not even now that he was dead? He thought, I
hope, when I'm
dead, I find the self-restraint to not keep turning up and annoying the
living.
Leia shifted
uneasily against him, and made a little wordless whimper. Damnation.
She was
going to wake up unless he got his irritation under control. With as
much
patience as he could summon, he blocked Obi Wan's presence out of his
mind. It's
all right, Leia, he thought. Go on sleeping.
Everything will be all right.
He felt Leia
relax,
and her grasp on his hand loosened. He carefully freed his hand from
hers and
managed to ease out from under her, shifting one of the cushions so she
could
lean on it instead of on him. The Princess curled up a bit more,
snuggling into
the cushion. But she did not wake up. Vader stood and crossed to Obi
Wan. He
walked past the dead Jedi and into the corridor. Kenobi followed.
From where he
had
stopped, Vader could still see Leia asleep on the bench. He watched her
for
several moments more, then reluctantly turned toward Obi Wan Kenobi.
Crossing his
arms
under his chest box, Darth Vader inquired, "to what do I owe this
visit?"
Kenobi met
Vader's
gaze calmly, his earlier hesitation gone. "I need to be sure that Luke
and
Leia will be all right."
"They will be,"
said Vader. "We all will."
"Have you
spoken with Luke?"
"I have."
The familiar anger seethed in him, that Obi Wan dared to challenge
his
parenting skills after everything Vader and his children had been
through
together.
The dead Jedi's
expression spoke volumes of disbelief. It grated on Vader, the idea of
explaining anything to Kenobi. But just maybe, Vader
thought, if I say
this right I can make the bastard go away. "Luke is
still hurting.
A great deal. But I believe his state of mind is improving. He seems to
have
formed a liking for Osheen Nevoy, which should assist matters. He
should be
able to talk with Nevoy, without having to contend with the baggage
that you or
I would bring to any conversation." There was still the same doubtful
look
on Kenobi's face, and Vader added belligerently, "Nevoy is a good man."
Obi Wan nodded.
"I
know he is."
Which
leaves us
where, exactly? Vader wondered. If we're not going
to fight, what are we supposed to
do?
He felt like he should be offering the glowing blue Jedi some tea. "Was
there anything else you wanted to know?"
The dead Jedi
frowned. "Why can't you give up your anger, Darth? Even now?"
Vader's right
fist
clenched. Not again, he thought.
He asked, "why should I?"
"Because it
hurts the people you care about. Just like it always has. Look at Leia,
she can
feel your anger, it's breaking into her sleep. It will keep hurting
them, and
you, until you let it go."
Vader felt a
whisper of unease from Leia in his mind. Once again, he shoved his
annoyance
away. "Leia understands anger," he said quietly, "and accepts
it. As you were never able to do."
"Acceptance,"
said Kenobi, "brings defeat."
"Or victory.
You should never close yourself off from possibilities, my Master." And
this,
Vader thought, is the same damned argument we kept having
twenty-five years
ago.
What was the point of having lived though those decades, if they were
just
going to find themselves back where they started?
He said, "you
want me to let go. Why can't you? Let the
living build their
own lives. I can accept your presence if Luke wants it. But do not
preach to
me, Obi Wan. I will lead my life, not
yours."
Obi Wan Kenobi
looked away. In a voice almost too quiet to hear, he said, "Luke has
said
that he does not want to see me again." He turned back to meet Vader's
gaze defiantly, his voice strengthened again. "He will see me again if
he
wishes to. But not until then." Challenge in his eyes, the Jedi added,
"be
there for your children, Lord Vader. They will need you."
Vader inclined
his
head solemnly. He answered, "and I need them." There was a pause,
then Vader asked, "is there any message you would like me to give
them?"
Because you really are outstaying your welcome, dear old
teacher of mine.
"No. But there
is a message for you. Everything I did, I believed was for the best.
Can you
believe that of me?"
Can I
believe
it?
he wondered.
It wasn't, he
thought, that he had forgiven Obi Wan. Or, Gods forbid, that he was
sorry for
what he himself had done.
Not for most of
it,
anyhow.
But he was just
so
tired of it all. It was over. Or it should have been over, long ago.
"I believe it,"
said Vader. "Can you believe that I
am doing what I think is for
the best?"
Kenobi stood in
silence,
his eyes seeming to bore through Vader's mask. Then he answered, "I
believe it."
They watched
each
other, and for a moment Lord Vader knew what his old teacher was
feeling. There
was too much that should be said. Too much that, even now, they would
not be
able to say. That they would probably never say.
"May the Force
be with you," said Obi Wan Kenobi.
The glowing
blue
Jedi was gone.
Vader stood
staring
into the space where Kenobi had stood. Then he walked back to where his
daughter slept.
It would
disturb
her too much if he tried to sit on the bench again; she had stretched
out to
occupy most of it. But he didn't want to leave. Not just yet.
Sitting on the
floor was hardly consistent with his dignity, but what the hell. Who
was going
to see him, anyway, with the possible exception of a few busybody dead
Jedi?
He sat on the
metal
floor, leaning up against the bench, and once more taking Leia's hand
in his.
Everything was going to be all right.
He had a
family.
And they were on their way home.
Admiral Piett
opened his eyes, to see, of all
people, Darth Vader standing by his hospital bed. With a miniature tree
in his
hands.
"Uh --" Piett
began. He had to clear
his throat and try again. "My Lord. It's good to see you."
"And you,
Admiral. How are you feeling?"
"Drugged.
Getting better, I think. They
say I'll be out of here in a day or so."
"Good." The
Dark Lord seemed to
hesitate a moment, then he sat gingerly on the edge of Piett's bed. The
tree,
in a little pot with silver and blue gift wrapping and a large metallic
bow,
still perched awkwardly in Vader's hands.
"I had ulcers
once, you know," Lord
Vader remarked. "When I was in the hospital, after my ... accident.
Pretty
nasty. Of course I had several other things wrong with me."
"Um ..." Time
for a change of
subject. Piett murmured, "My Lord, you've got a tree."
Vader looked
down at the tree and adjusted the
bow, then set the gift on the bedside table. "A Get Well Soon present.
Mon
Mothma said you had a collection, so I picked it up on the way back
from
Coruscant."
The universe
was insane. Piett fully believed
that. Escaping from his own execution and a revolution he had caused,
Darth
Vader stopped off at a Florist's.
"It's
beautiful," said Piett. "A
Mandusari spice tree, isn't it?"
"That's what
the label says,"
answered Vader, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice. "Do you
have
one already?"
"No. Too
expensive. Thank you." There
was so much Piett wanted to ask about what had been happening these
last few
days. But his drugged sleepiness kept getting in the way. He queried
faintly, "the
Emperor ...?"
"He's dead. Really dead. Finally."
"Thank the
Gods," breathed Piett. And
now he really was going to fall asleep. If only Lord Vader would go
away. Drugs
or no drugs, he wasn't going to do anything so disrespectful as falling
asleep
in the Dark Lord's presence.
Vader got to
his feet. "I'll leave you to
get your rest, Admiral. And --" he paused, then said something that
drove
all thought of sleep from Piett's mind. "And I want to apologise."
"My Lord?"
Piett propelled himself up
on one elbow, staring at the dark figure. "Apologise for what?"
Vader shrugged.
"For many things. For
being the sort of commanding officer that I am. If I were not, you
might not
have developed your ulcer."
The
universe is ending, Piett
thought, that's
the only way to explain this. He said, "you
shouldn't blame yourself, My
Lord. Dr. Tomczyk says ulcers aren't actually caused by stress at all.
It's
bacteria." And I do not believe I am having this conversation.
"Still. I have
not been ... the easiest
man to work for."
How
the hell does one answer that? "Well ..."
"There is one
thing you should know. I did
not promote you with the intention of strangling you. I promoted you
because I
knew I would not have to strangle
you." Then, while Piett still
floundered to process that information, Vader said brusquely, "get well
soon, Admiral. We all need reliable officers. And reliable friends."
The Dark Lord
strode out of the room. Piett lay
back in his bed.
Friends?
Oh well, he thought. Stranger
things have happened. He turned his
head toward the Mandusari spice tree
at his bedside, and fell asleep gazing at its bright silver bow.
It was one of
the stranger dinner parties that
he had attended.
Actually Nevoy
wasn't sure he'd glorify it with
the title of "party". One of the stranger dinner gatherings, at any
rate. He didn't think it would qualify as a party unless a good deal
more
drinking were involved.
Well, they had
a plan to take care of that. As
soon as they could gracefully escape from dinner, he and his fellow
conspirators were going to re-convene at Captain Raby's quarters on the
Conquest, and do their
damnedest to deplete the Imperial Barge's liquor supply. For now they
had to
content themselves with the utilitarian cooking of the Rebels' mess
hall, a few
bottles of bland Chandrilan wine that had apparently been the
Chandrilan
delegates' gift at some recent negotiations, and small talk with their
new-found allies.
Nevoy vaguely
recognised most of the Rebel leaders
at the table, from wanted posters, Imperial Intelligence reports, and
news
stories. It seemed that at least half of them were Generals, including
Han Solo
the smuggler and some flamboyant character with a moustache and a cape,
whose
name Nevoy had forgotten immediately after they were introduced.
Idly, while
picking at the boring but edible
piece of pie on his plate, Nevoy wondered how the Rebellion could
possibly need
so many Generals. Maybe it was a more generic term in the Rebel chain
of
command, something like "chief". Perhaps they had a General of
Station Maintenance, a General of Food Production, a General of
…Waste
Disposal. Or perhaps, he told himself more seriously, it was the rank
used to
reward soldiers who made it back alive from particularly deadly
missions. And
once they made General, they weren't sent on deadly missions any more,
and the
supply of Generals just kept building up. Eventually, the Rebellion
would have
more Generals than it had Privates.
Stop
thinking like that, he told
himself. The
Rebellion will not have more Generals than Privates,
because with Palpatine dead and
all of us on its side, the Rebellion is going to triumph in no time
flat. The
Rebellion, or the Fourth Republic, or whatever the hells this is.
Of course then
there would be the problem of coming up
with salaries to pay all these Generals, when they were integrated into
whatever new government they ended up with. Maybe some of them would
accept
early retirement.
You're
being ridiculous, he thought. Stop
thinking and eat your pie.
"Do you need
more wine?" The friendly
voice from his right-hand side belonged to one of the Generals, who had
surprisingly turned out to be someone Nevoy knew from the old days. It
had
taken him a while to place the face, when they met earlier today at the
first
of their briefings on board the cruiser Mircalla. But as soon
as he heard the
General's name, he remembered. Jan Dodonna had been Colonel Dodonna
when he
disappeared in the Fourth Year of Palpatine, and was rumoured to have
joined
the Rebellion. He and Nevoy had run into each other occasionally when
Dodonna
served on General Mulcahy's staff, when Mulcahy was Chief of Combined
Operations at the close of the last war. Of course Nevoy had only been
a
Commander then, so his interactions with Dodonna and the rest of the
staff had
usually consisted of comments like "good afternoon, sir". But Dodonna
claimed to remember him.
He certainly
remembered Nevoy's ex-wife, who
had defected at around the same time as Dodonna's disappearance. Nevoy
had dreaded
asking about her, but he finally forced himself. To his intense relief,
Dodonna
informed him that Colonel Toranaga had retired about six years ago, for
health
reasons. She was living in semi-hiding under an assumed name on the Mon
Calamari homeworld, at some settlement near the equator where the warm,
watery
environment was apparently good for her arthritis.
Gods, that was
an odd thought. Ardella as an
old woman, retired and suffering from arthritis. Of course she was
considerably
older than her ex–husband, but the news of her still made him
feel
ancient. But it was better than finding out she was still here, and he
might
run into her at any second.
Talking of
Ardella naturally led them into
discussion of other old acquaintances. Dodonna's face had gone very
grim when
Nevoy told him of Mulcahy's death. On impulse, Nevoy invited him to
join in
their after-dinner wake. He wasn't at all sure if Dodonna would show
up, but he
hoped so. What was the point of joining forces with these people, if
they
couldn't get drunk together?
Speaking of
which, Dodonna was right. Nevoy's
wine glass was somehow empty. He briefly considered stopping there;
after all
he didn't want their new allies to think the ex-Moff of Coruscant was
some kind
of hopeless sot. Then another glance at the peculiarly assorted people
at the
table told him that no, having another glass was really the smartest
thing he
could do.
"Thanks," he
said as Dodonna refilled
his glass. He looked around at his co-conspirators, wondering how soon
they
could make a break for it. Colonel Wellaine, who was sitting next to
one of the
Rebels' Mon Calamari captains and trying manfully not to look disturbed
at
sharing the dinner table with someone who looked like a fish, would
probably be
only too happy to get out of here. But the rest seemed to be enjoying
themselves. Captain Sandar was in some lively conversation with the
commander
of one of the x-wing squadrons. Raby was discussing something with
another of
the Mon Calamari, an Admiral from his uniform. Dr. Hayashida was paying
a lot
of attention to Leia Organa, across the table from him – too
much
attention, from the sour looks Han Solo cast in his direction.
Nevoy sighed,
letting his gaze wander over the
rest of their dinner companions. Several, of course, were the Imperial
officers
who had defected with Vader. He recognised many of the Captains, and of
course
Veers, who'd commanded the army personnel on Lord Vader's flagship.
Where was
Veers' navy counterpart, though?
"I haven't seen
Admiral Piett around,"
he commented to Dodonna. "Didn't he defect with the others at Endor?"
Dodonna nodded.
"He's in hospital. Just
had an ulcer operation a few days ago."
"Good heavens."
That was not much of
a recommendation for joining the Rebellion. Though, Nevoy supposed, one
probably
couldn't blame the Rebellion for the state of the Admiral's health.
Piett,
after all, was the officer who had the most constant interaction with
Darth
Vader.
That thought
made Nevoy glance to where Vader
was sitting, near the far end of the table. The Dark Lord wasn't eating
or
drinking – though the surreptitious looks people had been
casting him
throughout the meal showed that most of them were wondering if he
might. He
was, however, seated with everyone else, unlike at the damnable annual
banquets
where he'd just loomed menacingly behind Palpatine's chair.
At Vader's
either side sat his children,
Princess Leia to his left and Luke Skywalker to his right. Neither of
them was
wearing black any more, having changed into the beige and blue uniforms
of the
Rebellion. But even without that colour-coding to tie them to their
father,
Nevoy thought he could still see the connection between them, just in
the way
they talked and the way they looked at each other.
He sighed
again, watching them. They seemed happy.
Even Commander Skywalker looked fairly cheerful, for once.
An unwelcome
surge of jealousy hit Nevoy, at
the sight of that happy family group. Not that he could begrudge the
Skywalker
family – or the Vader family? – their chance to be
together. He
stared at Vader's mask, trying to envision the face beneath it. The
face he had
seen on display in the Great Hall, and when he went to visit Anakin
Skywalker
in the hospital.
Nevoy thought
to Vader, or Anakin, you're
happy, and I'm glad for you. Even if your son does need to see a
psychiatrist
and your daughter scares the shit out of me.
Damn. There was
still time to get out of this.
Maybe he should announce that he'd changed his mind, get the hells out
of here,
go spend some time with Rosmarin and Marida and the children.
And then?
He was not at
all keen on going job-hunting at
age fifty-eight. And as much as he loved his family, he wanted some
kind of
identity besides just being Dad and Granddad.
Face it, he told
himself. If you
retired, you'd go insane.
Gods, this
dinner had to be nearly over. There
wasn't much left on anyone's plates, and nobody was eating with the
fervour
that suggested they were clearing their plates to make way for another
helping.
He glanced over
his shoulder toward the other
occupants of the Rebels' cafeteria. People were scattered around at
just about
every table in the place. There wasn't any set dinner-hour, so there'd
been a
good deal of coming and going during the time they'd been here. But he
did get
the feeling that a lot of the Rebels were lingering over their meals,
waiting
to see if the Big Brass would do something interesting.
Some
hope, he thought. But just when he
thought it, he was proven wrong.
Something was
going on at Vader's end of the
table. The Rebel leader Mon Mothma stood up from her place at the
table's head,
and conversation around the table ceased.
Mon Mothma
said, with a graceful smile that
didn't quite conceal her look of bone-deep weariness, "thank you all
again
for being here. We've all had a long day, and the days ahead won't be
any
shorter. But before we leave, I believe Lord Vader has something he
wishes to
say." She turned toward Vader, who inclined his head politely as Mon
Mothma sat down.
"Thank you,"
Vader said to her. He
didn't get to his feet, but he didn't need to. He had the attention of
everyone
at the table – and of quite a few others throughout the room.
The
cafeteria had gone deathly silent. It occurred to Nevoy that if anyone
dropped
their fork just now, the resultant noise would make every last one of
them jump
out of their skins.
Darth Vader
said, "we have fought side by
side, and our fight is not yet over. In the challenges that face us,
our
alliance will be the stronger if we can have confidence and trust in
each
other." He paused, as if trying to muster his words. "Some of you
already know what I am about to tell you. Some have been told. Some
have
figured it out on their own. Some do not care in the slightest, and
with those
I am in full sympathy. I would be only too glad to say that the past is
the
past, and ignore it. But there will always be speculations if I do not
make
this announcement. And all of you deserve the truth.
"When I first
joined the New Alliance a
year ago, I told you it was because I wanted to build a connection with
my son,
Commander Skywalker." There was a communal intake of breath and the
beginning of whispered exclamations from the newly-defected Imperials
who had
not heard this before. Vader continued calmly, "that was only part of
the
story. Among the questions many have asked themselves over this past
year, is
how to explain Luke Skywalker being the son of Darth Vader."
There was a
faint rustle of movement, almost
like leaves being blown by a breeze, as all around the room people sat
up
straighter, and listened.
"A few of you
may recall a soldier of the
Clone War named Anakin Skywalker, who died in mysterious circumstances
around
the same time that Palpatine came to power. If Skywalker's grave were
to be
exhumed, no body would be found. Anakin Skywalker's death was faked,
and he
reappeared the next year as Darth Vader."
Someone did
drop a fork, or some piece of
cutlery, anyway. The noise wasn't as startling as it might have been,
because
all around the Rebellion's cafeteria there sounded gasps and
half-voiced
exclamations.
"I have no wish
to reclaim my life as
Anakin Skywalker. As far as I am concerned, he can remain dead. But I
am more
grateful than I can say for the chance to build a life with my family.
And if
the chance exists to regain some of the friendships that were part of
Anakin's
life, then I am grateful for that as well."
The Dark Lord's
gaze included Nevoy as he said
that. Nevoy raised his wine glass in Vader's direction and took a
drink. For a
moment he contemplated inviting Lord Vader to Mulcahy's wake. But the
image of
Vader standing around menacingly, and putting the rest of them off
their drink,
killed that idea. Friendship and reconciliation only went so far.
Perhaps
someday they'd be comfortable enough with the Lord of the Sith to hang
out with
him. But not tonight.
Darth Vader
turned toward Princess Leia. She
smiled warmly at him, then stood.
The Princess
stood so that she seemed to be
addressing everyone in the room. Her clear, strong voice carried
effortlessly
across the mess hall, just as it had done in the Imperial Senate.
She said,
"There's a third part to Lord
Vader's story. At my request, he and the others who know have kept
silent. I
should have acknowledged it earlier, but I wasn't strong enough. I
hadn't yet
found the courage to accept who I was."
The cafeteria
had gone silent again. Princess
Leia looked steadily at the hundreds of people who were watching her,
and Nevoy
noticed that she had the ability to make you feel she was looking
straight at
you, even if she wasn't. He was willing to bet that every person in
that room
had the feeling that she was speaking directly to them.
"I am the
adopted daughter of Bail and
Keeiara Organa of Alderaan. I will never forget them, or forget the
millions of
lives that were lost with them on the day Alderaan died. I'm not asking
any of
you to forget. We have to remember the lives that were lost on all
sides of
this conflict. We have to remember the ideals that we fought for, so
that as we
try to rebuild our galaxy, we do it with the goal to make it better for
everyone within it. We owe it to everyone who has suffered over these
past
twenty years, to create something better. We need to make sure that the
suffering won't have been in vain.
"I will never
forget the parents who
brought me up. But I've been given a second chance that not many people
get. I've
always said that I've found a second family in the Rebellion. That was
more
literally true than I knew.
"When Lord
Vader and the rest of our new
allies joined us a year ago, I was as suspicious of them as any
long-term Rebel
among us. I was suspicious, and I was also afraid. Because for me, Lord
Vader
wasn't just the face of the Empire. He was also the man I had just
discovered
to be my father."
The tide of
exclamations that swept up this
time was louder than before, but Princess Leia gave no sign of noticing
it.
"Commander
Skywalker is my brother and
Lord Vader is my father. I was afraid to accept it because I hadn't yet
learned
to move beyond the past and work to build the future. But that is what
we must
all do now. I want Luke and Lord Vader to be part of my life, and I
want to be
part of theirs. And I hope and pray that when people see we have been
able to
rebuild our family out of the disasters of twenty years of war, they
will see
it as proof that our galaxy can do the same."
Someone,
somewhere started clapping. Soon the
applause was sweeping around the room.
Nevoy couldn't
quite bring himself to join in,
though he knew he should. He felt a little whisper of foreboding as
Vader and
Skywalker stood and went to Princess Leia, and the three of them
clasped hands.
He wondered,
despite himself, if this was the
first step in the whole thing starting again. If the presence of a
family of
Force-users at the centre of power would just lead to a new upsurge of
the
Jedi, to centuries of conflict between Force-users and non Force-users,
to a
new Palpatine and new purges and new wars. With nothing learned and
with
nothing changed.
Then he thought
he could hear what Mulcahy
would say to that. He could see the General fixing him with a gaze from
under
those bushy eyebrows, and could hear him say, "Osheen. You've been
depressed so long you've forgotten how to be happy. We won this one.
It's okay
to be happy for a while. Now have a drink."
Nevoy picked up
his half-filled glass of bland
Chandrilan wine.
To the
future, he thought. To the future
and to the past.
He drained the
glass.
Go to Epilogue
Return to The
Adventures of Darth Vader
Return
to Front Page