Chapter
Four
"Hey, Luke?
You doing okay?"
Luke started
slightly as his sister's voice broke in on his thoughts. He was not
sorry to
have his contemplation interrupted. All through the treaty meeting
today he'd
been fighting to keep his senses closed off, so he wouldn't feel the
mistrust
and fear that seemed to pervade everything around him. He was
uncomfortable enough
already at this meeting, he didn't need everyone else's emotions adding
to his
depression.
The tension
seemed
to have eased somewhat now, as the delegates did their best to mingle
and make
small-talk over a selection of Chandrilan cocktails. But he still felt
like he
was balancing above a sarlacc pit. His imagination pictured the
suspicion and
recriminations that filled the room as the sarlacc's tentacles, biding
their
time for the right moment to leap out and drag everyone down to their
doom.
Luke
manufactured a
smile, which he knew must look wan and unconvincing. "Yeah. I'm okay.
Really." He restrained himself from asking in return if Leia was okay,
since she'd probably think the question was due to her "condition",
and would get pissed off about it. Leia's glass, he noticed, held fruit
juice
rather than wine or any of the potent Chandrilan liquors, and he
thought that
if he was smart, he would be following her example. The meeting wasn't
going to
get any easier if everyone had a hangover tomorrow.
Leia asked,
"it's gone all right so far, don't you think?" There was a touch of
uncertainty in her voice, as if she were trying to convince herself as
well as
Luke.
"Yes," he
said, more firmly. This time, he did mean it. "More than all right.
But, I
guess I just didn't expect it to be this difficult."
"I know,"
agreed Leia, with a rueful little smile. "I guess we get so used to
believing that we're saving the galaxy, it's hard to accept that other
people
might not see it like that."
Commander Arin
Pellar, former commander of the Imperial station at Endor, had walked
over to
them while Leia was speaking, holding a tall thin glass of Chandrilan
brandy.
Luke noted the warmth of Leia's smile as Pellar joined them, and he
felt a
moment's relief that Han wasn't here. Not that he thought Han was really jealous of the
ex-Imperial. But Han still grumbled a lot about how closely Leia and
Pellar
worked together, especially after Pellar was appointed to the Command
Staff as
representative of the former Imperial ground troops.
Han never
grumbled
about it in front of Leia, of course. If he had, she would have decked
him.
Commander
Pellar
was saying quietly, "I wouldn't worry if I were you, Princess. These
Chandrilans wouldn't know a moral issue if it bit them. All they want
is to be
sure that joining the Alliance won't damage their trading network."
Leia grimaced.
"That's not fair, Arin. They would be taking a big risk if they joined
us,
it's only right that they should consider it from every angle ... "
"Not that big
a risk," Pellar snorted. "Notice that they only started making
overtures to the Rebellion after most of the Imperial fleet had
defected."
"Hey,"
protested Luke, "we are enjoying their
hospitality and drinking their
alcohol. If we're going to bad-mouth them, we should at least wait till
we get
home!"
Pellar's
eyebrows
twitched upward. "Enjoying their hospitality?" he echoed. "Can't
say I've noticed anybody enjoying themselves."
The three of
them
glanced around the pale, blue-grey stone room. There were a few
clusters of
Alliance and Chandrilan representatives that seemed to be managing
more-or-less
successful conversations. Lando Calrissian was holding forth to an
audience of
four Chandrilan delegates. The Alliance might have been more
successful, Luke
thought, if they'd sent Lando to this meeting by himself. He was in his
best
cosmopolitan businessman mode, and seemed to making great progress in
convincing the Chandrilans that membership in the Alliance could be
economically profitable. General Madine and Captain Needa had both
gravitated
to the one woman in the Chandrilan delegation, and were trying to outdo
each
other in charming her. Over by the drinks table, meanwhile, Generals
Dodonna
and Rieekan had been cornered by old Shang Kantos, the chief
representative
from Chandrila One, and were enduring one of his tirades. Dodonna's
face bore
its most patient expression, but Rieekan occasionally glanced around as
if
seeking escape.
The sight of
Kantos
sent Luke's thoughts back to his own worst moment during today's
meeting. He
tensed at the memory of Kantos' strident voice, demanding to know
whether a
restored Republic would seek to re-establish the Jedi order. As he
spoke,
Kantos had glared disdainfully at Luke, and his tone made the word
"Jedi" sound like some disgusting term of abuse.
Mon Mothma had
quickly turned the discussion to other issues. She had replied that
refounding
the Jedi was not one of the Alliance's priorities. And as there were
only two
individuals in the Alliance who practised the Jedi faith, it was not,
she
suggested, a threat with which Kantos need concern himself.
A
threat. Surely Mon Mothma
didn't see the Jedi like that, no matter what her fellow Chandrilan
Kantos
might think. But Luke had, in fact, never imagined that anyone might
see the
Jedi as a threat. He stared down into his glass, then looked up and
turned
abruptly toward Arin Pellar.
"Arin,"
said Luke, "what do you remember about the disbanding of the Jedi?"
Pellar looked
thoughtful. "Not too much," he said. "I guess I was about ten when
it started. I remember my father was glad about it, though. He said it
was the
best thing that could happen to the Republic."
"Why?"
Luke breathed.
Pellar twirled
his
brandy glass around, not looking at Luke. "My father was in the army.
There was a lot of bad feeling between the regular squadrons and the
squadrons
of Jedi. You know, people saying that the Jedi thought they were better
than
everybody else, that they got all the fame and the funding and so on,
while the
rest of the army just fought and died and nobody gave a shit about
them. And of
course, everyone was talking about corruption among the Jedi. There was
a lot
of bitterness about them, not just in the army, even before Palpatine
started
his campaign."
Luke was
looking
miserable. Leia touched his arm gently. She said, "I suppose it's only
natural. No institution can survive for centuries without falling from
some of
its ideals. It doesn't mean all of them were corrupt, Luke."
Luke forced
another
faint smile. "No, of course it doesn't."
Pellar looked
around for a way of changing the subject. "Looks like Mon Mothma could
use
some cheering up," he observed. "This must be hell for her. Our
buddies the Chandrilans haven't exactly been making her feel at home."
Leia and Luke
followed Pellar's gaze to where Mon Mothma stood by one of the arches
that led
out to the terrace, holding an empty glass and staring into nothing.
Her green,
gold-trimmed dress was far more vivid than anything she usually wore,
and it
brought out the auburn in her hair. But the weary expression on her
face belied
any festive impression her clothing might have given.
"We should go
talk with her," Leia agreed.
Then, only
seconds
later, Leia grabbed Luke's shoulder and held him back. "Oops, hang
on," she said. "No, we shouldn't."
"Hunh?"
asked Luke. "Why not?"
Leia smiled
smugly,
and nodded toward Mon Mothma. The Head of State was no longer alone.
Admiral
Piett had walked over to her, carrying two drinks. Piett and Mon Mothma
were
now talking, standing fairly close together as Mothma deposited her
empty glass
on a window ledge and accepted one of the drinks.
Leia said, "I
don't think they'd appreciate the interruption."
Luke looked in
confusion at Leia and Pellar, both of whom were grinning as they
watched the
Head of State and the Admiral. Leia caught his glance. "Oh, come on,
Luke.
Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
"Noticed
what?"
"Mon Mothma
and Piett." On seeing that her brother's look was still blank, Leia
turned
to Pellar for support. "Please say I'm not the only one who's noticed
it."
"Oh no, you're
not," said Pellar. "It is fairly obvious."
Luke's eyes
widened
as he turned back toward the two under discussion. "Really? What have I
missed?"
"Nothing too
scandalous, that I know of," Pellar answered. His grin broadened.
"But it has been observed
that for the last several days the
timing of their lunch breaks has subtly altered to coincide with each
other's
... and their coffee
breaks ... "
Leia
contributed,
"and they've had a lot to discuss
with each other in preparation for
this meeting ... "
"And,"
continued Pellar, "at the risk of sounding catty, she's started paying
more attention to her clothes ... "
"I will be
damned," Luke said in wonder, shaking his head. "So much for the Jedi
power of observation!"
Across the
room, Piett
was wishing he could do something to remove the sorrow from Mon
Mothma's eyes.
He took a sip of his drink, then said bitterly, "I shouldn't have come
to
this meeting. I'm liable to disrupt the whole peace process. I don't
think the
Chandrilans would be favourably impressed if I strangled half their
delegates."
A surprised
smile
touched Mon Mothma's face. "Were you planning to?" she asked.
"Yes. Several
times. Every time some idiot implied you weren't a proper Chandrilan
because
you'd had the courage to start the Rebellion."
She touched his
hand. "Maybe we should go outside. If you're going to be so incendiary,
we
should at least make sure we're out of earshot!"
Outside, they
stood
by the stone railing of the terrace. Like the rest of the building, the
terrace
was carved of Chandrillan moonstone, the one and only export from this
third
moon of Chandrila Seven. The terrace gleamed softly in the light from
the
planet and from the second of the three moons.
Mon Mothma
said,
"the delegates' attitude isn't surprising, you know. A lot of
Chandrilans
have never forgiven what I did. The Chandrilan Union likes to play it
safe,
that's what's made us so successful. For an important Chandrilan
politician to
go over to the Rebels -- that wasn't just a threat to them, iit was
humiliating."
Piett said
fervently, "well, I'm glad you
didn't play it safe. There might not have
been a Rebellion without you. And the Rebellion's the best thing that
ever
happened to me." He started to blush, and took a swig from his drink.
"Damn. Now I really sound stupid. But I mean it."
"Why?"
Mon Mothma asked softly.
He was
hideously
embarrassed now, and wished he hadn't said it. But he couldn't back
down. He
put down his glass on the railing, and said quietly, not looking at Mon
Mothma,
"the Rebellion gave me a chance to do something with my life other than
be
afraid."
"Oh," she
whispered. Hesitantly she reached out and took his hand that had been
resting
on the terrace railing. He looked back at her and gave her a tentative
smile.
"Was it that
bad?" Mothma asked him.
Piett nodded.
"I used to have nightmares two or three times a week, about Vader
killing
me. It was all I could think about. Every day I'd wake up convinced
that today
I was going to die. Now ... well, he still scares me. I'd be a fool if
he
didn't. But it doesn't matter so much now." Piett was struggling to put
his feelings into words. He looked earnestly into Mon Mothma's face.
"Now
Vader and I are both working for something we believe in. If he kills
me, it'll
be because I've failed the Rebellion. And if I fail the Rebellion,
well, I'd
just as soon be dead."
Mothma was
looking
troubled again. "Do you really think Vader believes in the
Rebellion?"
"Yes,"
Piett said firmly. "He does. Vader's a man of his word. If nothing
else,
you can always count on that." He was surprised to realise that he
actually believed that. He wondered, when did everything
change? When did I
start to respect Vader more than I fear him?
Was it six
months
or so ago, when Piett had finally figured out – not
that I've had the
courage to ask Lord Vader about it, he thought
ruefully – that Darth Vader
was probably the same man as Anakin Skywalker?
Or right back
at
the beginning of this, the day the New Alliance was founded, when Vader
declared he was joining the Rebellion to build a life with his son?
Or perhaps
there
was no one moment when it had happened, perhaps it just grew, bit by
bit, with
each action that proved the Dark Lord of the Sith could also be a
decent human
being.
Piett suddenly
noticed how intently Mon Mothma was studying him, and his gaze dropped
away
from hers. He saw that once again her glass was empty. "I'll get you
another," he said, reaching for the glass.
She put out her
hand to stop him. "No," she said, "wait."
He looked at
her
uncertainly. Somehow, she ended up holding both his hands. "It's so
strange," she murmured, "to think that a year ago we were enemies. We
might have killed each other. And now ... "
"Now?" he
asked. His heart was suddenly beating very fast, and he wondered if
hers was doing
the same.
They were
almost
the same height. She raised her head the slight amount needed for their
mouths
to be level with each other, and leaned in toward him.
The first
touching
of their lips was light, barely contact at all. They both pulled back
slightly
after that, then, of one consent, moved toward each other again.
At some point,
they
stopped holding hands, and their arms were around each other's bodies
instead.
Piett was kissing Mon Mothma's throat, and one of her hands was
clutched in his
hair, when they suddenly heard a sound from the garden beyond them.
They sprang
apart, and Mothma's other hand hit one of the glasses they'd set down
on the
terrace railing, knocking it into the bushes below.
Both of them
were
blushing scarlet. In an attempt to change the subject, Piett frowned
out into
the garden. "What do you think that was?" he asked.
"A bird?"
she suggested. "Some animal?"
"I didn't
think they had any wildlife here."
"Maybe they
imported it, along with the shrubbery."
He nodded.
"Maybe." Hesitant again, he reached for her hand. "Can we ...
" he began, "can we pick this up later? Where we left off? I don't
think ... I don't think now's the time ..."
She smiled
sadly.
"Nor the place. You're right. Representatives of the Alliance have to
put duty
first." She squeezed his hand. "But we will definitely pick it up
again."
He wondered if
he
was making an idiot of himself, but he didn't care. He raised her hand
to his
lips and kissed it. Then he turned abruptly and left the terrace, and
her.
Mon Mothma
leaned
back against the railing. Her face still felt like it was on fire. She
couldn't
decide which emotion felt strongest in her, happiness or embarrassment
or fear.
Definitely, she told
herself, no
more cocktails for you tonight.
She couldn't go
back
inside yet, not till she was sure that her colour and her breathing
were back
to normal. Instead she looked out into the garden. She wondered what
had made
that sound. Maybe it had just been the bushes rustling, only there
didn't seem
to be much of a breeze. She hadn't seen any animals in the garden
earlier, but
then, she hadn't been looking for them.
She glanced
down at
the glass Piett had left on the railing, and smiled.
When Darth
Vader
stepped out from the hangar building, it was raining.
No surprise
there.
It had been raining when he stepped into the building as well,
approximately
four hours ago. The rain had changed in that time; it was now being
blown
almost horizontal instead of falling vertically. The wind caught at his
cloak
and tried to tear it off him. Vader pulled the cloak closer around him,
and
started along the walkway. It was, he thought, a very good thing that
the
designers of his armour and life-support had ensured that the system
was
waterproof. He didn't much fancy the idea of short-circuiting in the
rain.
He was heading
for
his Meditation Chamber, having spent those four hours adjusting the
prototype
x-wing cloaking device. He should, he knew, have gone to the caverns
and
continued training as usual. But he had become used to training with
Luke. It
would not have felt right without the boy there, to challenge him, make
him
work harder -- and to argue with him.
A particularly
strong surge of rain battered at Vader's cloaked form, and he paused,
to let
the rain calm itself and to adjust his vision sensors.
If he had not
stopped when he did, the blaster fire would have incinerated his chest.
Vader flung up
his
personal defenses. The second shot ricocheted into the night. With his
adjusted
night vision, Vader could see the figure to the right of the walkway.
Vader's
assailant was lifting his blaster to fire once more -- stupid,
considering the
last shot's failure. It did not take much effort for Vader's power to
tear the
blaster from the man's hand. The attacker turned to run, then slipped
in the
soupy Omean mud and fell prostrate. Using a small amount of power to
hold him
there -- and exerting perhaps a bit more strength than he needed to, to
keep
the man's face pressed into the mud -- Vader switched on his comlink
and
summoned a security detail.
It had been
simple.
As usual.
Nonetheless, if
he
had not stopped as the first shot was being fired, he would have died.
So much for not
having an off day when he was attacked.
Vader was
annoyed
at himself. This was ridiculous. He would have to be more careful, if
he wanted
to live to see his grandchildren.
The security
team
arrived. Vader had waited for them on the covered walkway. The assassin
wasn't
going anywhere, and Vader saw no sense in getting himself muddy. While
their officer
questioned Vader, two of the guards waded into the mud to take charge
of their
prisoner, who they dragged toward the walkway and the light.
Through the
coating
of mud, they could see that he was a youngish-looking man, unremarkable
of
face, with hair that, where not mud-soaked, seemed a sort of reddish
blond. His
clothing, still visible through its mud outer layer, was the standard
issue
flightsuit worn by the Rebellion's former stormtroopers.
The security
officer looked appalled that this assassin might be one of their own.
Vader was
less disturbed. He said to the officer, "I have not damaged him, so you
may question him at your leisure. I am going to my quarters. Notify me
when you
have any information concerning him."
The officer
nodded.
"Yes, Lord Vader. Two of my men will escort you back to your
quarters."
Vader thought
that
was unnecessary, but he did not object. He probably should start going
everywhere with a bodyguard, he reflected, but he was unwilling to make
such a
declaration of his own incompetence. Anyhow, it would be a useless
waste of
men, who would almost certainly get themselves mown down without powers
such as
Vader's to protect them.
Vader and his
escort had nearly reached the main building. Then Vader's pace
faltered, and
finally came to a halt. The security guards stopped uncertainly behind
him.
"My Lord?" one of them inquired.
Vader hardly
heard
him. He was staring at something between them and the building.
Something
which, he was quite sure, only he could see. A figure with a glow of
blue light
around its edges. A thin, white-bearded man, wearing beige and brown
robes and
a benignly sorrowful expression.
Obi Wan Kenobi.
Darth Vader
thought, I'm going to be sick.
Obi Wan said
nothing, just gazed at him with that odiously wise look.
Vader sighed,
and
said to the security guards, "return to your posts. I will follow you
shortly."
"But My Lord
-- our orders -- "
"I will
explain to your officer. Now, leave me."
One did not
disobey
Darth Vader when he used that tone. With unhappy expressions, the two
guards
edged around him, then hurried on into the building. Both of them
brushed
through the glowing form of Obi Wan, without noticing.
Darth Vader
eyed
his former teacher with loathing. Vader vaguely remembered someone from
his
childhood -- possibly his mother, more likely one of his brothers --
giving the
classic and useless advice that if you ignored bullies they would lose
interest
and go away. The few times he had tried to follow this advice, it had
emphatically not worked. With regret, he decided that ignoring dead
Jedi
probably wouldn't make them go away either.
He said coldly
to
Obi Wan, "I do not care to be observed talking to myself in public. If
you
have anything to say to me, it can wait until I am in my Chamber."
Vader started
forward,
determined that he would walk through
Obi Wan without flinching, even though
the thought filled him with a sort of creeping horror. The glowing blue
Obi
Wan, however, was considerate enough to step aside, so that only one
edge of
Vader's cape swept through him.
As Vader strode
ill-temperedly through the corridors, he resisted the urge to check
whether
Kenobi was following him. His imagination conjured a ludicrous picture
of Obi
Wan bobbing along a few metres above the floor. More likely, the old
bastard
would just be waiting for him inside the Meditation Chamber.
This proved to
be
the case. As the lights came on and Vader closed the Chamber behind
him, he saw
the shimmering blue form apparently leaning against one of the control
panels.
Obi Wan was watching him. Vader sat in his chair at the centre of the
Chamber
and met the Jedi's gaze.
Kenobi still
had
not spoken. There was a wary look in his eyes.
Vader wondered,
is
this going to go on all night? He demanded
sharply, "well? Can I help
you?"
The voice that
replied was just as Vader had remembered it. Rich and mellow, with
admixtures
of sorrow and wisdom. Obi Wan said quietly, "I wanted to see for myself
whether you had changed."
Pretentious
bastard. As if Obi Wan knew enough of Darth Vader to be
able to tell if he had
changed or not. Vader sneered with heavy sarcasm, "of course I've
changed.
Hadn't you heard? I help little old ladies across crowded space
stations, fund
orphan asylums, and star on a breakfast holo-show with a troupe of
singing Ewoks."
Vader knew it
was
childish of him to try so hard to annoy Obi Wan. But it was either that
or
start ranting at him for having so completely fucked up Vader's life.
"You still
hate me," Obi Wan whispered. "I can feel your anger. Anger was always
your enemy, Darth. It may yet be your undoing."
Vader was
certainly
angry. But at that moment, the sensation strongest in him was
irritation at
hearing the old man use his name. It seemed an uncalled-for familiarity.
It had been
fair
enough for Obi Wan Kenobi to call Anakin Skywalker by his first name.
They had
been friends, once. But Anakin was gone. Kenobi and Vader had never
even been
introduced.
Of course,
Vader had killed him.
But
one didn't need to be on first-name terms for that.
Vader sighed.
"I have heard your theories on anger before," he said. "I refuse
to believe that you popped into this dimension simply to refresh my
memory of
them."
"No," Obi
Wan agreed. "I want to learn if you understand what you are doing."
"Doing?"
Vader repeated, an edge to his voice.
"To your
children," elaborated Obi Wan Kenobi.
This
is too
much. If Kenobi had thought that Darth was angry
before, he had not seen
anything yet.
With immense
effort, Vader somehow managed to hold his emotions in check. He said
icily,
"if you recall, I was not the
one who kidnapped them, and hid from them
their true identity. I have not lied to them. I have not tried to turn
them
into slavish copies of myself."
Finally, there
was
answering emotion on Kenobi's face. Obviously fighting back his own
anger, Obi
Wan insisted, "do you understand the trauma you are causing them? Do
you
know how lost Luke feels? Do you feel Leia's torment? Leia has lost
herself.
She's convinced that if she admits her connection to you, then she must
be
evil."
"Whose fault
is that?" Vader snarled. He stood up, looming threateningly over the
gleaming, blue-edged figure.
"It was not my
choice to miss out on twenty-four years of their lives," Vader went on
relentlessly. "They are adults, Obi Wan, though you seem unable to
accept
that. I will not force them to think as I do. They must find their own
answers.
Take care that you do not force
your twisted ideas on them any
longer."
"Will you be
there for them," Kenobi asked, "when they need you?"
The sheer
effrontery
of that question for a moment stopped Vader cold. He demanded, "are you
a
father?"
He interpreted
Obi
Wan's blank look as a 'no'. Vader said, "then do not presume to
instruct
me on parenting."
Vader had not
known
that dead men could turn pale, but Obi Wan's face certainly seemed to
lose all
trace of colour.
"I watched
Luke grow up," said Obi Wan, his voice hoarse with anger. "He is like
a son to me -- "
Vader grated,
"don't boast of that. You watched him grow up because you stole him
from
me. Hardly the action of an ethical Jedi."
Vader saw Obi
Wan's
mouth tighten in suppressed fury. Struggling to retain some note of
calm in his
voice, Obi Wan declared, "I care about Luke and Leia. Do you?"
Vader gazed at
his
old enemy in silence. The anger surged between the two of them, cold
and
bitter.
"I don't know
what right you have to ask me that," Vader said. "But, yes." He
threw a challenge into his voice. "I love them."
It was the
first
time he had said that.
Obi Wan Kenobi
studied him. "Then you will have to fight for them," he said at last.
"Fight
you?" Vader sneered. "Don't flatter yourself, old man."
Obi Wan shook
his
head. "No, not me," he said, surprising Vader. "Your old friend,
the Emperor."
Vader waited
for
him to continue.
"He wants
them," Kenobi said. "He will try to take them from you. You must face
him."
And the glowing
blue Jedi vanished.
The chill that
shivered through Vader's being was no longer one of anger. He sank back
down
into his chair, then swivelled the chair to face the communications
panel.
With a
sickening
feeling of dread, he knew that by the time he made contact with the
Alliance
representatives at Chandrila Seven, it would be too late.
On the bridge
of
the Executor, Admiral Piett
was cursing himself.
There was no
need
for his presence on the bridge. The night shift bridge crew could carry
out
their duties perfectly well without their Admiral moping about like
some
disconsolate ghost. He remembered how it felt to have superior officers
hanging
around for no reason, their mere presence making one feel convinced
that one
was doing something -- or everything -- wrong.
But, the crew
could
just deal with it. The last place Piett wanted to be right now was in
his
quarters, alone. Anyway, he reflected gloomily, it was probably a lot less
intimidating
to have Admiral Piett underfoot than it was to work in the shadow of
Darth
Vader.
He scowled out
at
the stars, thinking how very typical of his life this evening was.
In its details,
of
course, it was anything but typical. It was not every day that a
beautiful,
intelligent and powerful woman flung herself at you. At least, it was
certainly
not every day for Grigori Piett.
And what had he
done about it? The moment there was a real chance for something
wonderful to
happen to him, he had fled in terror.
Gods, he thought, what
a loser.
Of course, he
tried
to remind himself, there was no harm in waiting. If anything was meant
to
happen between them, it would, and it would be none the worse for their
taking
the time to be sure about it. If, when the alcohol had left their
systems, they
weren't still sure that they wanted to pursue this, then going any
farther
tonight would have been a mistake.
That was the
theory, anyway. But it didn't make him feel any better about himself.
He turned from
the main
viewport and started wandering slowly along the perimeter command
walkway,
absently acknowledging the various crewmembers who greeted him as he
passed
their stations. At the communications console just off the main
corridor, he
paused.
Right
here, he thought. Right
here, two years ago, Captain Grigori Piett had said "Admiral? I think
we've got something, sir."
One disastrous
battle and one strangled Admiral later, Admiral Piett had appeared on
the
galactic scene.
Sometimes, he
really wished he'd kept his mouth shut. There would have been no Battle
of
Hoth, no strangled Admiral Ozzel, no nightmares of excruciating death.
But, for all he
knew, there might also have been no Treaty of Endor. No New Alliance.
And no
moment on the terrace with Mon Mothma.
Piett continued
his
circumnavigation of the bridge. As he drew alongside the turbolift, he
stopped
again, with a sharp gasp of pain.
Damn, he thought. I
really shouldn't have had those drinks.
He'd been
feeling
vaguely uncomfortable for some minutes, but now the cocktails had truly
come
back to haunt him. He felt like he had a stomach full of burning venom.
I
suppose, he told himself, I have got to see
a doctor sometime. This dodgy
digestion of his was getting out of hand. He closed his eyes briefly,
trying to
think the pain down to a manageable level. Then he kept walking,
heading toward
the defence station.
It was probably
a
good thing that he'd left the moon, after all. Feeling this shitty, he
would
have been of no use to anyone.
Then he forgot
all
about his stomach and his evening of angst. He even, for the moment,
forgot
about Mon Mothma.
Piett stared at
the
forward viewport.
With lazy,
self-assured grace, like glittering phantoms, four Star Destroyers had
appeared
out of Hyperspace.
Piett liked
Star
Destroyers. He always had done. He thought they were probably the most
beautiful ships in existence, and he had not quite adjusted yet to
seeing them
as potential enemies. So as the four Destroyers shimmered into view,
one after
another, his initial reaction was one of aesthetic appreciation. That,
and the
dreamlike sensation of having completely slipped out of reality.
The shouts of
surprise from assorted crewmembers told him that it was time to wake up.
"Sound Red
Alert," Piett commanded, almost glad of the Star Destroyers' arrival.
At
least it gave him something to do. Taking the few remaining steps that
brought
him to the defence station, he inquired, "shields and ion shields are
up?"
"Yes,
sir."
He nodded, then
raised his voice to address the startled-looking crewman over at the
communications console. "Communications officer, send my compliments to
the commander of the Mircalla. Ensure that
all their shields are up as well.
The same message to the moon station."
The officer
probably thought that this was overkill, but he did not argue. Piett
would have
been the first to admit that he was paranoid about shields, and he made
no
apology for it. He had not forgotten the fate of Captain Merol,
cashiered and
sent to the spice mines for forgetting to raise the Annihilator's ion shields
at
Hoth. Of course, Captain Merol had been lucky that Lord Vader was busy
at the
time and couldn't be bothered to crush Merol's windpipe. But the spice
mines
were probably not much more pleasant than strangulation.
After their
first appearance,
the Star Destroyers had held back, keeping their distance. Now one dove
to port
of the Executor, a squadron of
TIE fighters pouring from the ship's
launching bays as it leapt to engage the Mircalla. A second Star
Destroyer opened fire on the Executor. The other two
moved
starboard, toward the moon.
Piett's
executive
officer, a Rebel by the name of Captain Griffith, came hurrying out of
the
turbolift, looking sleepy and still trying to fasten his collar. As he
reached
Piett's side, he scowled in confusion at the Star Destroyers' antics.
"What the hell
are they doing?" he bleated.
Piett bit back
a
snide comment about Griffith's sleep-befuddled appearance, and also
tried to
suppress his long-held opinion that the Captain was too young, too
inexperienced,
and was probably unfit for command. Such thoughts were pretty rich,
coming from
an officer who'd only been promoted because his predecessor was unlucky
enough
to get himself strangled.
Anyway,
Griffith's
question had been fair enough. One Star Destroyer wasn't likely to last
long
against the Executor, eight times
its size and with over four times the
firepower. Clearly,
the Executor was not the
main
target.
So what was?
What
sane commander would send two ships to attack a shielded planetary
station, while
a Super Star Destroyer was breathing down their necks?
A
shielded
station, thought Piett.
The
shields.
Oh,
gods.
He no longer
had
the slightest feeling of being in a dream. All he could think of was
the
importance that the people on that station had for the Rebellion -- and
for
him.
Piett's only
reply
to Captain Griffith was, "what kind of shields has the moon station
got?"
The Captain
blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Never
mind." Piett was convinced that he knew exactly what the enemy was up
to,
and he wasn't going to waste time second-guessing himself. He snapped
out an
order to the men at the control consoles, "put us between those Star
Destroyers and the moon."
"Yes,
sir!"
"Any move they
make, match it. Don't let them get a shot at the moon. If they want the
station, make them come through us to get it." To those at the weapons
console, he added, "return fire at will. Keep their attention on us, I
don't want the moon station so much as scratched."
"Yes, sir!"
Captain
Griffith
was looking even more confused. "But, Admiral, if the station's got its
shields up, surely there are better ways to -- "
Piett rounded
on
him. "Don't argue with me," he ordered.
Griffith
blinked,
looking astounded. "No, sir," he said in a stunned tone.
Piett thought
that
he'd been reasonably civil with the Captain. But it was probably the
first time
Griffith had seen the Admiral even close to losing his temper.
Well, Piett
didn't
have much sympathy for him. He thought, Griffith my lad, you
should be
counting your blessings. At least I'm not wheezing at you and reading
your
mind.
As he thought
that,
something else occurred to him.
This must be
the
first time in at least four years that he'd been in a combat situation
without
Lord Vader being present.
Certainly, it
was
the first of such battles in which Piett had been in command.
He was not sure
whether that thought was liberating, or absolutely terrifying.
Terrifying
sounded
like the safer bet.
Princess Leia
winced as she listened to the shouting chaos around her. She had a
pounding
headache, and the top-decibel arguments of her colleagues were not
helping.
It had not
taken
long to discover that the moon base had no weapons systems whatever.
Well, near
enough to count as nothing. The station had shields, as a defence
against any
random pirate attack. But moonstone was not a valuable enough commodity
to make
a major raid likely. The extent of the station's weaponry ran only to
hand-held
blasters and a couple of battered and well-used second hand cannons.
And now that
the
shields were up, the occupants of the station could not even get into
space to
join the fight.
So they
clustered
in the command centre. Rebels, Chandrilans, and station personnel were
jammed
together, watching the progress of the battle and arguing with each
other.
Very loudly.
Shang Kantos'
voice, in particular, seemed to be creating a fissure in Leia's skull.
The
Princess winced again as the elderly Chandrilan began yet another
protest, and
marvelled at the high notes he could achieve when upset.
Kantos was
currently declaring that all of this was the Rebels' fault. They had
brought
the vengeance of the Empire down on Chandrila's head. The Chandrilan
Union
would be ruined, even if they were fortunate enough not to go the way
of
Alderaan.
To these
complaints, the argumentative General Madine replied with a series of
counter-accusations. The Chandrilans had set a trap for the Alliance.
They had
arranged the whole thing with the Empire, luring the most important
Alliance
representatives into Palpatine's clutches.
A smile
twitched at
Leia's mouth. Madine would include
himself among the most important
representatives of the Alliance. Her glance met that of Arin Pellar,
standing
nearby, who responded with a sympathetic grimace.
The argument
temporarily disintegrated, with at least ten people yelling at once.
The next
voice to strike out over the general chaos belonged to the former
Imperial
Captain Needa. He was shouting at Kantos, irately stabbing one finger
into the
Chandrilan's rapidly purpling face.
"Even if you
didn't betray us, you might just as well have," Needa raged. "What
kind of location is this for a high
security meeting? No weapons? One pathetic
shield? You couldn't have picked a more effective death-trap if you'd
planned
it!"
"Your people
approved the site," yelled the one female Chandrilan delegate. "You
didn't have to come here!"
"No, we
didn't! Your people asked
for this meeting. We're doing you a favour, just setting
foot in your solar system -- "
Leia groaned
quietly.
Mon Mothma
turned
from the holo projection of the battle above them, and said in a
chilling tone,
"Captain, you will be silent. General Madine, you as well."
Madine paled at
the
rebuke. Carefully not looking at Shang Kantos, he picked his way
through the
crowd to join Mothma, Dodonna, Rieekan and several of the Chandrilans,
who
stood around the holopad. Meanwhile, Needa cast a murderous glance at
the woman
he'd argued with, then flung himself down into a chair near to where
Leia and
Pellar were standing.
Leia looked
around
to see where Luke had got to. She caught sight of him near the door,
talking
animatedly with Lando and two employees of the station -- probably the
men in
charge of what passed for station security. She supposed they were
planning
their last-ditch defence, if the station's shields were breached.
Personally,
Leia
didn't see that there was much to plan. If the shields were breached,
the enemy
Star Destroyers would fire on the station and fry them.
Firmly
determined
not to contemplate that possibility, she turned her attention back to
the
battle. Most of the projection was visible to her above the heads of
the people
clustered around it. They currently had the holopad tuned to pick up
the fight
that raged closest to them.
The projection
showed a bizarre scene. The massive Executor seemed to be
playing some
children's game with the three comparatively minuscule Destroyers
ranged
against it. The Executor was clearly
"it". Leia watched in amazement
as the huge ship lurched about, mirroring the movements of the other
players
and somehow continuing to plant itself in their path.
Space battles
were
not Leia's expertise, but she did not think these were particularly
orthodox tactics.
"They're
idiots," Pellar announced matter-of-factly. "If they want to get past
the Executor, they should
just hyperspace out and jump back in from beyond it. Oh
well," he added, "all the intelligent officers must have defected by
this time."
Leia thought
that
Pellar's strategy sounded like a sure way to annihilate one's ship, but
she
wasn't going to argue it with him. Good thing Han wasn't here, or he
and Arin
would probably spend hours debating the possibilities of going into
hyperspace
that close to other objects. Instead, Leia asked Pellar, "but what's
the Executor doing?"
"I don't know
... "
He thought, in
frowning silence. Then, suddenly, his mouth dropped open. He gasped,
"holy
shit ... "
"What?"
Leia demanded.
"Where's the
shield monitor?" Pellar looked about him, then grabbed Leia's arm and
dragged her along toward a bank of equipment. She frowned down at the
screens
and their displays. Looking smug and excited, Pellar was pointing at
the screen
which showed the deflector shield in place over the moon station, the
station
itself nestled near the moon's northern pole.
"I see
it," Leia snapped. "The shield. So what?"
Captain Needa,
out
of curiosity, had followed them. "Yes," he echoed, "so
what?"
"It's a
Magnetic Boost shield. I should have known that's what they'd have
here. They
stopped being produced twenty years or so ago, but a lot of places
haven't
replaced them yet. This station's old enough to have one, and obviously
they're
too cheap to buy anything better."
"All right,
so?" Needa challenged.
"So, if those
Destroyers get even a couple of shots at us, we're fucked! The
shield'll have
been weakened by being so close to the magnetic pole. It's obvious they
knew
that before they attacked. Somebody's done their homework." Pellar
looked
disgusted at Needa's still confused expression. "Come on, didn't you
take
Shield Technology 101? There was a question on this in the final exam!"
Needa eyed the
younger officer haughtily. "That was some time ago," he pointed out.
"The details have somewhat faded."
The two
ex-Imperials continued bickering at each other, but Leia tuned them
out. She
was still hearing Pellar's words, somebody's done their
homework.
Madine's
suspicions
must be right, or at least, close to reality. It wasn't just chance
that their presence
here had been discovered. The Empire had known of their plans, enough
ahead of
time to spot the weakness in the shields.
Perhaps, she thought,
with
a horrifying thrill of suspicion, it was the Empire's idea to
have the
meeting here all along.
Her thoughts
were
broken in on by a hesitant tap at her shoulder. The hand jerked away as
Leia
looked up. A young station employee, her eyes wide with awe, squeaked
out,
"Princess Leia? A message has come through for you and a Commander
Skywalker."
"A message?"
The girl nodded.
Leia glanced
around
for Luke. He was no longer at the door. She said to Pellar, "Arin, go
find
Luke for me, will you?" She turned back, forcing herself to smile
reassuringly at the girl. "All right, where do I find this message?"
"This way."
Leia followed
the
girl as she wove her way around the various groups of nervously
chattering
delegates. The major arguments seemed to have died down; now people
were just
talking with the brittle, unnatural intensity of barely hidden fear.
The young
employee
led Leia to a communications station at the far side of the central
holopad.
General Dodonna was there already, leaning down toward the microphone,
with an
earpiece attached so he could hear the transmission over the noise of
the room.
As Leia approached, he said something into the microphone, then
straightened up
and turned to Leia, with a worried, solicitous look on his face.
Dodonna
detached
the earpiece. "Princess Leia," he said regretfully, "you won't
like this, but I think it's important you speak with him."
"Him?"
"The
transmission is from Lord Vader."
Leia felt a
moment
of panic. She wanted to turn and run, but there was nowhere to run to.
She'd
never be able to run through this crowd, anyway. And, damn it, she was
Leia
Organa, senator and Princess of the Royal House of Alderaan. She had
faced
Darth Vader before. She could do so again.
But facing
Darth
Vader was one thing. It was another thing entirely when it meant she
was facing
her father.
She nodded in
what
she hoped was a business-like way, and reached out to take the earpiece
from
Dodonna. He gave her a comforting smile, briefly gripping her shoulder
before
he stepped away. Leia sighed. It would take a lot more than a smile to
comfort
her.
She adjusted
the
earpiece, and resolutely stepped into view of the screen.
Darth Vader, of
course, looked the same as always. The same dark presence, the same
grim,
uncompromising stare from his mask. She wished that, just once, she
could see
his face, no matter how horrible it might be. Anything, she thought,
would be
better than the dark nothingness of his mask's gleaming eyes.
Something,
however,
was not the same as always. She almost didn't recognise his voice when
he first
spoke, the relief and hope in it were so alien to any words he had
spoken to her
before.
"Leia! You're
all right? And Luke?"
She was
startled,
but she nodded mechanically. "Yes, we're all right. The
station's
under attack -- "
"So I
understand. Leia, listen to me. I think you and Luke are in danger, not
just
from the attack. I received ... a warning, that the two of you were
under
threat from the Emperor. That he might try to capture you."
"A
warning?" she asked suspiciously. "From whom? Do you have contacts in
the Emperor's service ... ?"
Darth Vader's
sigh
sounded hollowly through the earpiece. There was a long pause, then he
said,
"no. Obi Wan Kenobi visited me tonight."
"Obi
Wan
Kenobi?"
"Yes. Talk to
Luke about it, he'll tell you it's possible. Leia, please, this is
important.
Don't ignore it because you hate me. I don't know exactly what the
threat is,
but please, be careful. Don't go anywhere alone. Don't let your guard
down,
even for a moment."
She did not
know
what to say. It was too surreal, to be getting a message of parental
concern
from Darth Vader. She finally managed, "I ... yes. All right. We'll be
careful."
He asked her,
"where's Luke?"
"I'm not sure.
He's talking with station security."
Darth Vader
said,
"promise me you'll pass the message on to him."
Leia shuddered.
She
didn't want to think about this conversation. She didn't want to hear
the
concern in Darth Vader's -- in her father's -- voice.
"I promise
I'll tell him," she said.
Vader
hesitated.
She had the impression that he wanted to say more, but was fighting the
words
back. At last he only said, softly, "take care, Leia," and he cut the
transmission.
Leia stared at
the
now blank screen. She felt cold and ill. Her palms, she noticed as she
removed
the earpiece, were sweating.
Putting the
earpiece down, she turned to look around the control centre again. In
the dark
grey of the walls, she noticed for the first time splotches where the
paint was
chipped. The projection from the holopad was now showing the Mircalla, engaged in
battle
with an enemy Star Destroyer, TIE-fighters and x-wings swooping about
and spitting
flame at each other to complicate the scene. Various station employees
sat at
their posts, staring at the holo projection or their own readings, and
trying
not to look terrified. There were still the same basic clusters of
wan-faced
delegates, huddled together as if sheer proximity to other beings would
nullify
the threat above them.
But she saw no
sign
of Luke. Or of Pellar, who she had sent to find him.
Leia realised
that
she was very afraid.
She told
herself
that Vader had to be wrong. Maybe he had received some
supernatural
warning. Luke had told her about such things happening, though if she
was
completely truthful, she would have to admit that she'd never fully
believed
him. But surely the threat Vader spoke of was simply the attack on the
station.
Surely Luke wasn't in danger. There was no reason to be frightened
because she
couldn't see him ...
She had to find
him.
After Vader's
warning, she could not be so stupid as to go searching for Luke alone.
But she
dreaded trying to explain why she needed company. Excuse me,
do you mind
coming along while I look for my brother? See, our father the Dark Lord
got a
message from this guy he killed five years ago …
Her eyes sought
out
Lando Calrissian. There he was, by the holopad, talking with Mon
Mothma, the
assorted Generals, and Captain Needa. Lando was the only one here who
might
understand, but she couldn't interrupt them for this.
Instead, she
walked
toward the two men she had seen talking with Luke. Both wore blasters
at their
belts, which was a good incentive to choose them as escort. None of the
delegates had been armed when they came to the meeting. It was standard
practice, but right now she passionately wished it was not. She would
feel much
happier with a blaster in her hand.
The security
guards
were both tall men, and she felt the usual twinge of irritation at
having to
crane her neck to look up at them. She wondered, why couldn't her
infamous
father have passed on some of his genes for height? That she would have
appreciated.
Leia asked the
guards, "do you know where Commander Skywalker is? I saw you talking
with
him earlier."
"No, ma'am. He
went out into the corridor, said he wanted to investigate something."
Dread started
seeping through her again. "He didn't say what?"
"No. He just
said that something felt wrong." The security guard gave a helpless
shrug.
"I need to
find him. Please accompany me, both of you. I think he may be in
danger."
The guards
probably
both thought she was mad, but they didn't make any protest. Following a
Princess around the station corridors would at least be a change from
watching
apoplectic delegates shouting at each other.
They headed out
into the corridor. One of the guards asked, "want us to split up and
look
for him?"
"No," she
said quickly. She knew it must sound a stupid reply, and was
embarrassed at
looking like a pathetic female who was too scared to walk down a
corridor on
her own. But, if there was danger, she
was damned if she was going to walk into
it alone like any nitwit. "We'd better stick together," she
continued. She tried to reach out with her senses, to gain some hint of
Luke's
whereabouts. She couldn't always sense him, but there were times when
she
could.
This was
apparently
not one of those times. She couldn't sense any aura of danger, either,
beyond
her own fear. But Luke had felt that something was wrong. If he knew
that,
surely he would be on his guard, ready to fight off whatever might
threaten
him. He was a Jedi, after all. Or nearly.
But even Jedi
were
not infallible.
She picked a
direction at random, heading back toward the room where they'd had the
cocktail
party earlier.
The first
indication she had that this was the right direction, was the acrid
smell of
blaster burns and blood.
The guards had
noticed it as well. All three stopped at once, the two guards drawing
their
blasters. There was a bend in the corridor ahead of them. The guards
started
forward again, much more cautiously and quietly. Leia followed.
As they rounded
the
corner, one of the guards gave a muffled oath.
There was no
sign
of any immediate threat. But that there had been a threat,
was obvious. A
body was sprawled across the corridor, its head haloed by a spreading
pool of
blood.
Leia cried out
and
dropped to her knees beside the body. The body had belonged to Arin
Pellar.
Arin's eyes
were
open and empty. He had a blaster wound in his left arm, but it was
clearly not
that which had killed him. Lacerations and a weird, mottled bruise
encircled
his neck, but the fatal wound seemed to have been a blow to the back of
his
skull.
Tears burned at
Leia's eyes. She reached out to touch his hand.
A blaze of
blaster
fire seared past her, from the ceiling. One of the guards screamed and
plummeted to the floor.
In amazement,
Leia
looked up.
She could not
believe what she saw. A pale, opalescent creature was hanging from the
ceiling.
It had a profusion of long, thick tentacles, two of which seemed to be
attaching the being to the ceiling with large, darker coloured suction
cups.
Another tentacle was holding the blaster that had just fired. And
another
tentacle was wrapped around the unconscious form of Luke Skywalker.
The other guard
had
leaped for the shelter of the corner. He was yelling at her to get
back. Leia
grabbed the blaster from the hand of his dead companion, and aimed at
the
tentacle holding the creature's blaster.
Before she
could
fire, a thick black cloud spurted out from the creature's body,
obscuring her
view. It spread toward her. Leia coughed, and tried to get up, but
found that
her legs wouldn't obey her. Her whole body was swiftly going numb. The
blaster
dropped from her hand, and then she herself was sinking to the floor.
She fell
beside Arin and partially on top of him, and the last thing she noticed
as
consciousness left her was the warmth of his blood on her hand.
Go to Chapter
5
Return to The
Adventures of Darth Vader
Return
to Front
Page