by James Luceno
“They are initiation readings, sir.” In response to the captain’s dubious look, Nullip continued: “I know, sir. I was puzzled, too. That’s why I took it upon myself to check the scanner recordings. Much to my surprise, sir, I learned that the destroyer’s central control computer had been remotely enabled to run a diagnostic, and then to bring several of the ship’s systems online.”
When Ugan’s expression of perplexity deepened, Nullip activated a small holoplate he had placed on the palm of his right hand. A grainy recording shone from the device.
“You can see two craft entering the destroyer, just here, at the forwardmost docking bays.” Nullip’s forefinger fast-forwarded the recording. “Here, you can see the craft leaving. We’re still trying to determine their destination.”
Ugan glanced from the recording to Nullip. “Salvagers?”
“That was my first thought, sir. But, in fact, when the craft exited, the destroyer itself was in motion.”
Ugan stared at him. “In motion? What’s its heading?”
“That’s just it, sir. It’s heading toward us.” Turning to the forward viewports, Nullip indicated a dark shape moving through the greater darkness. “Just there, you see?”
Ugan swiveled to an officer at the tactical duty station. “A Separatist ship is approaching our port side. Scan it, immediately!” Rising from his chair, he walked to the viewport, Nullip a step behind him.
“Captain,” the tactical officer said, “the ship is a Confederacy droid-piloted support destroyer—”
“I already know that!” Ugan said, whirling around. “Does it pose any risk to us?”
“Checking, sir.”
The officer spent a moment studying the duty station’s array of display screens, then turned toward Ugan, ashen-faced.
“Captain, the destroyer’s main reactor is in critical failure. The ship is effectively a massive bomb!”
Shryne sprawled in the wroshyr’s cavernous opening, the wind tugging at his clothing, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth, clearly struggling with the revelation he had been granted.
Vader stood over him, his right hand resting on the hilt of the lightsaber, though he had no intention of drawing it from his belt again. One strong gust could topple Shryne to his final resting place.
It is enough to let him die knowing that the order was betrayed by one of its own.
More important, Vader’s bloodlust had been appeased; replaced by self-possession of a sort he had never before experienced. It was as if he had crossed some invisible threshold to a new world. He could feel the power of the dark side surging through him like an icy torrent. He felt invulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with his durasteel prostheses, his suit of armor and gadgets, which now seemed little more than an outfit. And it had taken a Jedi—yet another Jedi—to usher him over that threshold.
He gazed down at Shryne, emblematic of the defeated Jedi order, as Obi-Wan should have been. He recalled the way Dooku had gazed down at him on Geonosis, and the way Anakin had gazed down at Dooku in the General’s quarters aboard the Invisible Hand.
Someday he would gaze down at Sidious in the same way.
After he took an apprentice, perhaps. Someone with the same rebellious spirit that Shryne demonstrated.
Shryne coughed weakly. “What are you waiting for, Skywalker? Strike me down. You’re only killing a Jedi.”
Vader planted his fists on his hips. “Then you do accept the truth.”
“I accept that you and Palpatine are a perfect match—” Shryne began, when without warning an immense explosion turned a small region of the western sky bright as day. Eclipsing stars, a roiling ball of fire blossomed high over Kashyyyk, expanding and expanding until the vacuum of space suffocated it.
When Vader looked at Shryne again, the Jedi appeared to be grinning.
“Would that be one of your ships? Your Interdictor cruiser, maybe?” He coughed blood and a laugh. “They’ve escaped you again, haven’t they?”
“If so, they will be found, and killed.”
Shryne’s expression suddenly changed, from smug to almost rapturous.
“I’ve seen this,” he uttered, mostly to himself. “I envisioned this …”
Vader pressed closer to hear him. “Your death, you mean.”
“An explosion bright as a star,” Shryne said. “A forest world, intrepid defenders, escaping ships, and … you, I think, somehow at the center of it all.” His bloodstained lips formed themselves into a sublime smile, and a tear ran from his right eye. “Skywalker, it won’t matter if you find them. It won’t matter if you find and kill every Jedi who survived Order Sixty-Six. I understand now … the Force will never die.”
Vader was still gazing down at Shryne’s inert body when several stormtroopers emerged from one of the Wookiees’ ingenious turbolifts and hurried over to him.
“Lord Vader,” the officer among them said. “The Interdictor positioned over Kachirho has been destroyed. As a result, hundreds of evacuation ships succeeded in jumping to hyperspace.”
Vader nodded. “Inform the group commanders that they are to continue their orbital bombardment,” he said angrily. “I want every Wookiee flushed out of hiding, even if that means burning these forests to the ground!”
EPILOGUE
TWO THERE SHOULD BE; NO MORE NO LESS.
ONE TO EMBODY POWER, THE OTHER TO CRAVE IT.
—DARTH BANE
A half-life-size holoimage of Wilhuff Tarkin shone from one of the cone-shaped holoprojectors that studded the lustrous floor of the throne room.
“The planet suffered more damage than I might have anticipated,” the Moff was saying, “especially given the military resources I placed at Lord Vader’s disposal. Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by the Wookiees’ intractability.”
The Emperor gestured negligently. “What is one world, more or less, when the galaxy is being reordered?”
Tarkin took a moment to reply. “I will bear that in mind, my lord.”
“What of the Wookiees themselves?”
“Some two hundred thousand were rounded up and placed in containment camps on the Wawaatt Archipelago.”
“Can you accommodate that many?”
“We could accommodate twice that number.”
“I see,” the Emperor said. “Then you have my permission to transport the slaves to the weapon.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Be certain to inform the regional governor of your activities, but make no mention of the Wookiees’ final destination. Oh, and see to it, Moff Tarkin, that you cover your tracks well. Questions are already being asked.” The Emperor paused, then leaned forward to add: “I don’t want any problems.”
Tarkin inclined his head in a bow. “I appreciate the need for utmost secrecy, my lord.”
“Good.” The Emperor sat back. “And, tell me, what is your opinion of Lord Vader’s handling of the occupation of Kashyyyk?”
“He proved very capable, my lord. No one involved in the operation will soon forget his … sense of commitment, shall we say?”
“Do the fleet commanders concur with your assessment?”
Tarkin stroked his high-cheekboned face. “May I speak candidly?”
“I suggest you make it a practice, Moff Tarkin.”
“The commanders are not pleased. They don’t know who Lord Vader is under his mask and armor. They have no inkling of the true extent of his power, or how he came to be your liaison with the regional governors and the fledgling Imperial Navy. There are rumors, my lord.”
“Continue to speak freely.”
“Some are convinced that Lord Vader is a former Jedi who assisted you in your counterstrike against the order. Others believe that he was an apprentice of the late Count Dooku.”
“Who is spreading these rumors?”
“From what I have been able to ascertain, the rumors began among the special ops legions that attacked and secured the Jedi Temple. If you wish, my lord, I could pur
sue the matter further.”
“No, Tarkin,” the Emperor said. “Let the rumors persist. And let the regional governors and naval officers think what they will of Lord Vader. His identity shouldn’t concern them. I am interested only in their obeying his commands, as they would mine.”
“If nothing else, my lord, they understand that much. Word of what happened at Kashyyyk is spreading quickly through the ranks.”
“As I knew it would.”
Tarkin nodded. “My lord, I wonder if I might call on Lord Vader’s … expertise from time to time, if only in the interest of enhancing his reputation among the fleet commanders.”
“You may, indeed. Both you and Lord Vader will profit from such a partnership. When the battle station is completed, your responsibilities will be manifold. Lord Vader will relieve you of the need to oversee every matter personally.”
“I look forward to that day, my lord.” Tarkin bowed once more, and the holoimage disappeared.
Sidious was pleased. Vader had done well. He had sensed the change in him, even in the brief conversation they had had following the events on Kashyyyk. Now that Vader had begun to tap deeply into the power of the dark side, his true apprenticeship could begin. The Jedi were incidental to him. He was covetous of the power Sidious wielded, and believed that one day they would be equals.
You must begin by gaining power over yourself; then another; then a group, an order, a world, a species, a group of species … finally, the galaxy itself.
Sidious could still hear Darth Plagueis lecturing him.
Envy, hatred, betrayal … They were essential to mastering the dark side, but only as a means of distancing oneself from all common notions of morality in the interest of a higher goal. Only when Sidious had understood this fully had he acted on it, killing his Master while he slept.
Unlike Plagueis, Sidious knew better than to sleep.
More important, by the time Vader was capable of becoming a risk to his Mastery, Sidious would be fully conversant with the secrets Plagueis had spent a lifetime seeking—the power of life over death. There would be no need to fear Vader. No real reason to have an apprentice, except to honor the tradition Darth Bane had resurrected a millennium earlier.
The ancient Sith had been utter fools to believe that power could be shared by thousands.
The power of the dark side should be shared only by two; one to embody it, the other to crave it.
Vader’s transformation meant that Sidious, too, was able to focus once more on important matters. With Vader in his place, Sidious could now devote himself to intensifying his authority over the Senate and the outlying star systems, and to rooting out and vanquishing any who posed a threat to the Empire.
He had brought peace to the galaxy. Now he meant to rule it as he saw fit—with a hand as strong and durable as one of Vader’s prostheses. Crushing any opponents who rose up. Instilling fear in any who thought to obstruct or thwart him.
Vader would prove to be a powerful apprentice, at least until a more suitable one was found.
And a powerful weapon, as well, at least until a more powerful one was readied …
For some time, Sidious sat, musing on the future; then he called for Sate Pestage to join him in the throne room.
The time had come to give the rest of the galaxy a look at Darth Vader.
Oh, Bail, Breha, what a precious child,” Mon Mothma said while she rocked Leia in her arms. “And such a feisty one!” she added a moment later as Leia worked one arm, then the other, out from under her swaddlings, curled her hands into tiny fists, and let out a wail that echoed in the palace’s great room. “Ah, you want your mom and dad, don’t you, Princess Leia?”
Queen Breha was already hurrying over to relieve Mon Mothma of a now gesticulating and kicking Leia.
“That’s her feed-me cry,” Breha said. “If you’ll excuse me, Senator …”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Mon Mothma said, rising to her feet. She watched Breha leave the room, then swung to Bail, who was seated by the room’s gaping fireplace. “I’m so happy for the two of you.”
“We couldn’t be happier ourselves,” Bail said.
He wished he could tell Mon Mothma the truth about the child she had just held in her arms, but he couldn’t risk it; not yet, perhaps never. Particularly with “Darth Vader” on the loose.
Picking up on Bail’s moment of introspection, Mon Mothma returned to her chair and adopted a more serious look.
“I hope you understand why I couldn’t trust this conversation to the usual means, Bail,” she said. “Are we secure here?”
“Of course, I understand. And yes, we can speak freely here.”
Mon Mothma closed her eyes briefly and shook her head in dismay. “Most of the Senate is actually willing to accept that Fang Zar was under suspicion for committing acts of sedition on Coruscant, and that he came to Alderaan only to rally anti-Imperial sentiment.”
Bail nodded. “I’ve heard the reports. There’s no truth to any of them. He was fleeing for his life.”
“Has Palpatine remarked on the fact that you granted him refuge?”
“I honestly didn’t know that he’d been questioned by Internal Security and ordered to remain on Coruscant. When Palpatine’s … agents told me as much, I said I would grant him diplomatic immunity if he asked for it—though I doubt he would have asked, knowing that Alderaan would suffer the repercussions.”
“Even so, Palpatine’s silence is curious.” She looked hard at Bail. “Perhaps he’s trusting that you won’t reveal the truth about what went on here.”
Bail nodded in agreement. “Something like that. Although it could work to our long-term advantage to have him believe that I’m willing to support even his lies.”
Mon Mothma compressed her lips in doubt. “That’s probably true. But I’m concerned about the message your silence sends to our allies in the Senate. Sern Prime is in an uproar over this incident. The president-elect has threatened to recall the entire delegation from Coruscant. This could provide just the impetus we need.”
Bail stood up and paced away from his chair. “Palpatine wanted to make an example of Fang Zar. He won’t hesitate to make an example of Sern Prime itself, if the president-elect isn’t careful.”
“How did Zar die?” Mon Mothma said, watching him pace.
“Vader,” Bail said sharply.
Mon Mothma shook her head in ignorance. “Who is Vader? One of Armand Isard’s agents?”
Bail finally sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Worse, far worse. He’s Palpatine’s right hand.”
Mon Mothma’s expression of uncertainty intensified. “Closer to him than Pestage?”
Bail nodded. “Closer to Palpatine than any of them.”
“Out of the blue? I mean, how is it that none of us encountered Vader before now?”
Bail grasped for words that would reveal enough, without revealing too much. “He … came to prominence during the war. He wields a lightsaber.”
Mon Mothma’s eyes widened in surprise.
“No, he’s not a Jedi,” Bail said, before she could ask. “His blade is crimson.”
“What does the color have to do with anything?”
“He’s a Sith. A member of the same ancient order to which Dooku swore allegiance.”
Mon Mothma loosed a fatigued exhalation. “I’ve never understood any of this, about the Siths’ involvement in the war.”
“You only need to understand that Vader is Palpatine’s executioner. He’s powerful almost beyond belief.” Bail studied his hands. “Fang Zar was not the first person to feel the wrath of Vader’s blade.”
“Then Vader is all the more reason for us to act while there’s still time,” Mon Mothma said in a forceful voice. “Palpatine’s plan to kill a few to instill fear in the rest is already working. Half the signatories of the Petition of the Two Thousand are all but recanting the demands we issued. I understand that you want to honor Padmé Amidala’s advice to you about biding our ti
me. But what did she know, really? She supported Palpatine almost to the very end.
“Bail, he’s assembling a vast navy. Half the budget is going to the production of these enormous new Star Destroyers. He’s having new stormtroopers grown. And that’s not the worst of it. The Finance Committee can’t even account for some of the spending. Rumor has it that Palpatine has some secret project in the works.”
She fell silent, then continued in a quieter tone. “Think back to what happened three years ago. If it wasn’t for the secret army the Jedi created, the Republic wouldn’t have had a hope of defending itself against Dooku’s Confederacy. Granted, Palpatine took advantage of the situation to crown himself Emperor. But consider what’s happening now. We don’t have an army of insurgents waiting in the wings, and we’ll never have one if we don’t begin to marshal support. Palpatine’s military will rule by the sword. He’ll do as he wishes, whatever he wishes, in the name of keeping the Empire intact. Don’t you see?”
The question hung in the air, but only for a moment.
Raymus Antilles appeared in the wide doorway to say: “Senators, there’s something the two of you need to see.”
Antilles hastened to the HoloNet receiver and switched it on.
“… At this moment, details remain sketchy,” a celebrated commentator was saying, “but reliable sources have stated that the Wookiees were allowing a band of rogue Jedi to use Kashyyyk as a base for rebel strikes against the Empire. The police action is believed to have begun with a demand that the Jedi be surrendered. Instead, the Wookiees resisted, and the result was a battle that left tens of thousands dead, including the Jedi insurgents, and perhaps hundreds of thousands imprisoned.”
Bail and Mon Mothma traded looks of astonishment.
“On Coruscant,” the commentator continued, “Kashyyyk Senator Yarua and the members of his delegation were placed under house arrest before any statements could be issued. But, on the minds of many just now is the identity of this person, captured by holocam on a landing platform normally reserved for the Emperor himself.”
