Shadows of the Empire

by Steve Perry

  Xizor smiled.

  Green tried to stand, but Guri was incredibly fast. She whipped her arm around the man’s throat and locked it with her other arm into a choke hold.

  Green struggled briefly, but he might as well have been wrestling with a durasteel clamp. The blood that fed his brain shut off, and he lost consciousness.

  Guri tightened the hold and held it, held it, held it …

  A long time passed. None of the other Vigos moved.

  When Green was no longer among the living, Guri released him, and he fell forward; his head thumped loudly upon the table.

  “I will accept nominations for a new Vigo now,” Xizor said.

  Nobody spoke for a moment, and Xizor kept his face bland. A pity about Green; he was one of the smartest of all the Vigos. But humans were quick to treachery and could hardly ever be trusted.

  He looked at his lieutenants again, waited for them to speak. Here was an object lesson they would certainly remember.

  To contend with Xizor is to lose.

  Never forget that.

  After the Vigos had gone and the body had been removed, Guri returned.

  “I thought that went well,” Xizor said.

  Guri nodded once, not speaking.

  “You have assembled all the information on Skywalker?”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  He stared into space. His organization was huge, the people working for him numbering in the tens of thousands, but some things he had to deal with personally. Especially something this … sensitive.

  “All of the material has been checked and rechecked?”

  “As you ordered.”

  “Very well. Let the bounty hunters know the price for Skywalker’s head. Black Sun’s hand must be invisible. There must be no mistakes.”

  “There will be none, my prince.”

  “Oh, I would like to speak to Jabba the Hutt.”

  “He will be online when you return from midday meal, my prince.”

  “No. Have him come here by the fastest ship; I would speak to him personally.”

  “As you wish.”

  Guri stood silently as Xizor considered his plan.

  Vader wanted Skywalker, wanted him alive to give to the Emperor. Xizor’s memory of that conversation he’d been privileged to overhear some months back was that the Emperor very much wanted the young man alive and in his control.

  Black Sun’s reach was long and wide, and what information there was on Vader’s quarry was now in Xizor’s personal computer system. The Dark Lord of the Sith had all but promised to deliver Skywalker not only alive but made pliable to the Emperor’s wishes.

  If Vader should fail in his promise, if it could be made to appear that he had never really intended to produce this young would-be Jedi for the Emperor, if it could be made to seem that he had killed the boy rather than risk facing him …

  Well. The Emperor put great stock in Vader’s abilities, probably trusted him as much as he trusted anyone. But the Emperor demanded total loyalty and total obedience. If he could be made to believe that Vader was disloyal or disobedient or had simply failed in his assigned task, things would not go well for Vader.

  The Emperor was capricious. He had been known to have whole cities destroyed because a local official defied him. He’d once had a wealthy and influential family banished from the core systems because one of the sons had plowed a ship into one of the Emperor’s favorite buildings, damaging it—and not incidentally killing the pilot responsible.

  If the Emperor thought that his trusted right hand, Darth Vader, his own creation, was any kind of threat, even the Dark Lord of the Sith would not be immune to Imperial anger.

  Yes, it was a good plan. A bit complicated, but all the possible sequels had been examined and considered and covered.

  In the end, he knew he had found the perfect weapon with which to finally defeat Darth Vader:

  The death of Luke Skywalker.

  5

  Darth Vader sat naked inside his hyperbaric medical chamber. The interior lighting was turned off, and he was free of the armor that he had to wear to sustain himself in public. The Force was powerful; Vader thought the dark side even more so, but he had never been able to use it to heal his badly burned body to the extent that he wished. That he was alive at all was something of a miracle, but he had somehow failed to master the energies needed for complete regeneration. He believed that it was possible; that with sufficient meditation and training, he would someday be able to rebuild himself into the man he once had been.

  Physically, at least.

  He would never go back to what he had been mentally. Weak, foolish, idealistic. Anakin had been much like Luke Skywalker was now. Mere … potential.

  Yes, the Force was strong in Luke, perhaps even stronger than it had been in Anakin. But the boy needed to embrace the dark side, to learn where the real power was, to achieve his true promise. If he did not, the Emperor would destroy Luke.

  Vader did not want that.

  When they fought, he had also tried to strike the boy down, but that had been merely a test. Had he been able to kill Luke easily, Luke would not have been worth the effort to recruit. But although he had certainly attempted to defeat Luke, the boy had held his own. Despite Vader’s superior skill, despite his experience, Luke had survived with no more damage than an easily repaired amputated hand.

  The meeting had made Vader feel, not a normal occurrence lately. There had been the thrill at meeting a worthy opponent and pride that the one so strongly opposing him was his own son.

  Vader smiled into the darkness surrounding him. Obi-Wan had not told Luke that Anakin Skywalker had become Darth Vader. Luke’s anger at the man who had slain his teacher had been potent, had allowed the dark side to claim him. If Vader hadn’t broken that anger with fear and confusion by telling the boy that he was his father, Luke could have defeated him. A Jedi does not fight in anger; he holds his emotions in check and allows the Force to move through him. But the dark side needed to be fed with strong emotion, and when it was, it repaid that sustenance tenfold.

  Luke had felt the power of the dark side. It was up to Vader to find him and allow him to feel it again. The dark side was addictive, more potent than any drug. When Luke accepted it, he would be more powerful than Vader, more powerful than the Emperor. Together they could rule the galaxy.

  Enough. It was time for another test.

  Vader waved his hand over the motion-sensitive controls in his chamber. The spherical chamber opened and the lid lifted with a hydraulic hiss and escape of pressurized air. He sat exposed to the surrounding room, unprotected by the supermedicated and oxygenated field inside the chamber.

  He concentrated on the injustice of his condition, on his hatred of Obi-Wan, who had made him so. With the anger and hatred, the dark side of the Force permeated Vader.

  For a moment, his ruined tissues altered, his scarred lungs and dead alveoli and constricted passages smoothed out and became whole.

  For a moment, he could breathe as normal beings breathed.

  His sense of relief, his triumph, his joy at being able to do so drove the dark side from him as surely as a light chases away shadow. The dark side eagerly consumed anger, but it was poisoned by happiness. It left him, and when it did he could breathe no longer.

  Vader waved his hand, and the half-dome lowered and sealed him into the chamber once again.

  He had achieved it briefly, as he had done several times before. The trick was to maintain it. He must not allow himself to feel relief, but must somehow cling to his rage even as he healed.

  It was difficult. He had not purged all of Anakin Skywalker, that blemished and frail man from whom he had been born. Until he did, he could never give himself over totally to the dark side. It was his greatest weakness, his most terrible flaw. A single spot of light amid the dark that he had been unable to eradicate over all the years, no matter how hard he tried.

  Vader sighed. He would have to try harder. He could not affo
rd any weaknesses, given his enemies—and more especially, given his friends.

  Luke reset the jewel in the clamp and took a deep breath. He had the first few facets done, and now the cuts were getting trickier. If he tapped the shearing tool too hard, he could shatter the jewel, and if he did, he’d have to cook another one and start over.

  Chewie sat watching him, apparently very interested, while Leia napped in the bedroom. Lando had left them all at Ben’s and taken the landspeeder to town. He was due back soon …

  Chewie looked away, hearing something. He spoke.

  Threepio, who was playing some kind of word translation game with Artoo, turned. “Chewbacca says Master Lando has returned.”

  Luke nodded but concentrated on his task. He tapped the cutter with the little wooden hammer …

  A flat sliver of the stone flaked off. All right! Perfect—

  Lando came in, grinning.

  “What are you so happy about?” Luke said.

  “I just got a coded call from Dash Rendar. That is Boba Fett’s ship on Gall.”

  In theory, only the Empire could use the expensive and restricted HoloNet; in practice, anybody with a little primary electronic education could tap into the net, use a few relays, and make calls easily. And to add insult to injury, make the Empire pay for it, too.

  Luke jumped up. “When can we leave?”

  “I’ve got the Millennium Falcon ready to go. How long will it take you to get your X-wing operational?”

  “Soon as Artoo and I get on board!”

  “Get on board what?” Leia said from the doorway. She rubbed sleep from her eyes.

  “It looks as if we’ve found him,” Lando said.

  “I’ll meet you in orbit,” Luke said. He grinned. The waiting was over.

  Leia said, “I’ll get off a coded call to the Rogues.”

  Luke nodded.

  They were going to get Han.

  Jabba waited in the visitors’ chamber. The Dark Prince entered and looked at the Hutt. Such gross and ugly creatures they were, but no less useful for that.

  “” Jabba said, in Huttese.

  “Speak Basic,” Xizor said.

  “As you wish.”

  “How goes your business, Jabba? Are things well in your sector?”

  “They could be better. Revenues are up, generally. Of course, the cost of Imperial bribes has also risen. As have shipping and salaries. But one does what one must.”

  “I understand you have had some dealings with high officials in the Empire of late.”

  Jabba looked quizzical. As quizzical as Hutts could look.

  “I speak of Lord Vader.”

  “Ah. Not directly, Highness. I recently engaged several bounty hunters to, ah, collect a bad debt. As it happened, one of them—Boba Fett, I believe you have utilized him yourself a time or two?—managed to locate the, ah, source of the debt in Imperial hands. Lord Vader was in command of the situation. A coincidence, I am told.”

  “You are speaking of Captain Solo, I believe.”

  It was not a question, and it was meant to remind Jabba that Xizor had more than a few sources of intelligence himself. This was a tricky game, and it had to be balanced precisely. Xizor needed information, but he could not reveal what it was and thus must circle around it. He also had to let the Hutt know who was in charge, and showing him he knew trivial things was part of that.

  He saw Jabba get it.

  “A minor smuggler,” Jabba offered. “He has had his uses in the past, but he joined the Alliance and does owe me money.”

  “Some refreshment, Jabba?”

  “Thank you. Something crunchy?”

  Xizor waved a hand and a serving droid appeared almost instantly, bearing a tray of insectoids and some vile liquid Hutts were known to favor.

  “Ah, thank you, Highness.” He picked up one of the wiggling things and ate it.

  Xizor leaned forward, as if to convey a sense of closeness. “I have had some dealings with Vader myself of late,” he said. “Your presence here is most important, Jabba; information, even the smallest details about the Dark Lord of the Sith, will be most helpful to me in my present situation. This deal with Boba Fett, has it been finalized yet?”

  “Not yet, my prince. I am awaiting delivery of Captain Solo.”

  As if remembering a small and insignificant fact, Xizor said, “Hmm. Wasn’t this Solo part of a Rebel force that attacked the Death Star?”

  “Yes, Highness. He and his friends were instrumental in its destruction. The Wookiee Chewbacca, Princess Leia Organa, and a young unknown player by the name of Skywalker, all were involved in the debacle.”

  “Skywalker?”

  Jabba laughed, a deep rumble that echoed from his huge bulk. “Yes, he thinks he is a Jedi Knight, so I understand,” he said when he’d finished laughing. “He was until recently on Tatooine.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Who knows? He took his X-wing offplanet only a short time ago.”

  Xizor leaned back. “Hmm. It probably means nothing, but perhaps these things will be of use to me. If any of these people return to Tatooine, I would greatly appreciate knowing it.”

  “Certainly, Prince Xizor.”

  Xizor nodded. He was essentially done, but he continued to carry on a conversation with the Hutt, pretended that Jabba’s opinion was worthwhile and that he needed to hear it. He let it run for another ten minutes, asked a few questions about Imperial troop movements and naval deployment so that Jabba would think that was the reason he’d been summoned. When he had done what he thought was enough of it, Xizor smiled. “Old friend, this information is most confidential,” he said. “It must remain between us. Your cooperation will be suitably … appreciated.”

  The Hutt mirrored Xizor’s smile. Sometimes the touch of a soft word was more powerful than the impact of a hard staff. Jabba was not stupid, and he knew what happened to anyone who crossed the Dark Prince. But—let Jabba think instead he was privy to some vital bit of business, some twisted plot, that he was a trusted confidant. It would do the Hutt’s reputation no harm if his underlings and enemies thought he had the ear of the leader of Black Sun. Fear was good; fear and greed were better.

  Xizor nodded and took his leave.

  His spies had learned that Darth Vader had turned Solo, a small-time smuggler and sometime Alliance pilot, over to the notorious bounty hunter Boba Fett on Bespin. Sooner or later, Fett would show up on Tatooine to deliver Solo and collect his credits. But Xizor’s spies indicated that Fett’s ship, Slave I, was not on Tatooine. And so far those spies had not been able to locate the bounty hunter.

  Well. It was a large galaxy, and such searches took time.

  But he was willing to bet that Skywalker knew about the bounty on his friend and had returned to Tatooine to wait for Fett to show up. That he had left could indicate a lot of things. Perhaps he had gotten tired of waiting, though Xizor did not think that likely. Or perhaps he had pressing business unconnected to Solo. Or perhaps he had, through the Alliance, discovered where his friend was. That was possible, given that the Alliance’s contacts were fairly extensive and included much of the famed Bothan spynet.

  Well. There was nothing to be done about it, if that was the case. But he could increase his agents’ chances of finding Skywalker.

  He reached his sanctum and called Guri. She glided in silently.

  “Put out the information that those seeking to claim the reward for Skywalker would be advised to locate the bounty hunter Boba Fett. Sooner or later, Skywalker will likely do so, and appropriate plans can be made for that instance.”

  Guri nodded, not speaking.

  Xizor smiled.

  Leia sat in the Millennium Falcon’s lounge, watching Chewie and Threepio play on the hologame board. Lando was in the galley making something that smelled awful for their dinner. Luke sat next to Leia, cleaning the lenses on Artoo’s electrophoto receptors. Luke’s X-wing was locked onto the Falcon’s hull—the trip was po
ssible in the fighter, but it was also a long jump to make without sleeping or eating or using the ’fresher.

  The Falcon hummed along through hyperspace on autopilot, running much better than it had any right to, looking as it did. The first time Leia had seen the Corellian freighter she’d almost laughed. The ship appeared to have been rescued from a scrap pile. But while it had a few glitches, it was obvious the craft had been heavily modified to fly faster and shoot harder than the Corellian designers had ever intended. Lando had owned the ship once, until he lost it to Han in a sabacc game.

  Han—

  No, don’t think about him now.

  Chewie said something that sounded angry and impolite.

  Threepio said, “Well, I’m sorry, but it was a fair move. It’s not my fault you didn’t see it.”

  Chewie said something else.

  “No. I’m not going to take it back. And don’t threaten me. If you pull my arm off, I won’t play with you anymore.”

  Chewie muttered something, then leaned back on his seat and looked at the game board.

  Leia smiled. Like a couple of small children, the Wookiee and the protocol droid.

  She turned and watched Luke as he cleared the micrometeor dust from Artoo. Luke wanted to rescue Han as much as she did. Which was interesting, given that she’d felt the competition from them for her attention. A lesser man than Luke might take advantage of a rival’s absence, but so far he had not. That was the thing about Luke. He wanted to win, but he wanted to win fairly.

  Lando came into the lounge bearing a tray with several steaming plates and bowls upon it.

  “Dinner is served,” Lando said. He smiled. “Giju stew.”

  They all glanced at him, then went back to what they were doing.

  “Don’t everybody rush in at once,” Lando said. His smile faded.

  To Leia, the stuff on the tray looked like a cross between melted boot plastic and fertilizer, with a sprinkling of pond scum over it. Stank like she imagined that combination would smell, too.

  “Come on, I spent an hour in the galley fixing this. Everybody dig in!”

  Chewie said something that didn’t sound particularly complimentary.

  “Hey, pal, you don’t like it, you cook next time.”