by James Luceno
These troops did not shout or howl; they did not charge with blasters roaring. Instead they deployed with silent efficiency, leapfrogging from cover to cover toward the bunkers.
Another black-armored officer got a glimpse of them through his bunker’s damaged blast doors as they came on, and he muttered a curse that the oncoming infantry would have recognized—even though they would have sneered at the officer’s Core Worlds accent—as being a debased hand-me-down dilution of their native tongue. “Fall back!” he shouted. “Barricade the corridors! Hold the corners and crossways!”
Because the last thing this officer wanted to do was waste his men by going head-to-head against Mandalorians.
The caverns through which Han, Leia, and Chewbacca walked—and R2-D2 rolled—had shrunk to a series of mazy tunnelways. In the light of R2’s extensible torch, the stone looked black but was also semitranslucent, showing gleams of internal crystalline structure like Harterran moonstone.
Han walked between R2 and Chewie, head down, silent. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mindorese running wild all over the Falcon. And who was flying her right now? Whose grubby hands were all over his controls? “Growr,” Chewie agreed softly, seeing Han’s anger. But then he lifted a hand to gesture ahead and said, “Herroowarr hunnoo.”
Han frowned and continued along the tunnel. Leia had been walking briskly since they’d entered the tunnels; she’d given up trying to talk to him after a couple of minutes and now was so far ahead that all he could see of her was the distant swing of her glow rod. He nodded. “I think she’s mad at me. You think she’s mad at me?”
“Meroo hooerrree.”
“It’s not my fault.” Han scowled. It seemed like he said that too often. “It’s not my fault—I warned her, didn’t I? Didn’t I warn her that we’d be sorry for rescuing those scumballs?”
Teeeooorr weep? R2’s whistle came out dry and somewhat ironic, and Han had a pretty good idea what he meant.
“Not sorry about finding you. That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Man … she’s really upset, huh?”
“Rowroo,” Chewbacca said thoughtfully.
“Really?” Han brightened a little. “You think?”
Chewie grumbled a bit more, waving Han on. Han chewed a corner of his lip, staring ahead at the swing of Leia’s glow rod, and came to a decision. “Maybe you’re right. Stay here with the droid.”
R2 put in, weep weep teeerrr.
“You, too? Look, it’s my problem, let me handle it, huh?” Han started walking faster. Pretty soon he was trotting. “Princess! Hey, Princess, wait up, huh?”
She didn’t even look back. He broke into a run, and when he caught up he fell into step beside her. “Leia, wait. I need to check your shoulder.”
“No time.”
Han frowned. “You say that like you know where we’re going.”
“I do. Sort of.” She pointed the glow rod into the darkness ahead. “That way.”
Han squinted. All he saw was darkness. “What’s that way?”
“Luke.”
“Luke? Are you kid—uh, I mean, you’re sure? How can you be sure?”
She didn’t even look at him. “I’m sure.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, I guess you are.” Han stopped for a deep breath, then had to hustle to catch up with her again. “Y’know, Leia, this Force stuff, it’s—y’know, it’s one thing to see Luke do it but—”
“But what?” Now she did stop, and she did look at him, and from the flash her eyes picked up off the glow rod he kind of wished he’d been smart enough, about fifteen seconds ago, to bite his tongue in half.
“It’s just that you—y’know, you and I—”
“I’m sorry I make you uncomfortable, General Solo,” she said tartly. “I suppose you’d be better off with someone like—”
“Well, fuse my bus-bars,” Han said. “Chewie was right: you are jealous.”
“What? What did that mountain of mange say about me? I’ll hold him down and shave his—”
“Easy, easy, come on, Leia—”
“I’m not jealous, I’m angry. She took you completely off-guard.”
Han flinched. “Not completely—”
“You think she would have caught you flat-footed if she wasn’t good-looking?”
“Maybe not,” Han allowed through the beginning of a slow grin. “But I am pretty sure that if she wasn’t good-looking, you wouldn’t have hit her so hard.”
“Hope I broke her nose,” Leia muttered darkly, then suddenly answered his grin and added a little chuckle. “ ‘Fuse my bus-bars’? Really?”
Han shrugged, feeling himself start to blush. Again. “Just an expression I’m trying out. When I get too old to be dashing, I’ll have to be colorful.”
“You’re already colorful,” she said. “And you’ll always be dashing.”
“Aw, you take the fun out of everything.”
A burst of static from his comlink made them both jump. “Han! What the hell are you doing?”
Han fished out his comlink. “Lando? I’m standing in a cave, knucklehead. What the hell are you doing? Why are you even in this system?”
“Han, that was Hobbie you just clipped! He’s going down—again! Cease fire and get the hell out of my battle!”
“That was Hobbie I just what?”
“Han, if you don’t stand down, we’ll have to take you down!”
Han started to run, not going anywhere but he just had to move, shouting into the comlink. “Oh, no—oh, no no no, you don’t understand! That’s not us in there—”
“Great! Rogue Leader—light ’er up!”
“Don’t do it! Wedge, don’t! Don’t you dare shoot down my ship!”
“Don’t you mean my ship?” Lando said. “Should have known it wasn’t you—flies like a bantha in a tar pit—you fly more like a constipated nerf with a broken leg—”
“Lando, I’m serious—put one scratch on the Falcon and I’ll—”
“Never find it under all the dents,” Lando finished for him. “Wedge—see if you can take out just the thrusters.”
“Lando—Wedge—” Han grimaced in frustration and turned back to Leia, who had stopped a few meters behind him and now stood motionless, frowning in concentration. “Come on, Princess!”
She shook her head. “Something’s wrong here …”
“Oh, you think? Is it the lost-inside-a-volcano thing? Or the losing-the-Falcon-and-it’s-about-to-be-shot-down thing? Or maybe it’s the we’ve-just-managed-to-lead-all-our-friends-along-with-half-the-Alliance-into-a-giant-death-trap thing?”
“Not so much,” she said. “It’s more the we’ve-been-running-in-the-dark-through-a-cave-and-we-haven’t-fallen-down-a-hole thing.”
“What?”
“Artoo,” she called back along the tunnel, “do an environmental scan and analysis—I think these caves aren’t natural. Something made this—”
Han looked around and froze in place. “You mean,” he said slowly, “some kind of rock-looking critters that can, like, melt themselves out of the walls and floors and stuff?”
“I don’t know, maybe—” She stopped and looked back at Han, who was surrounded by rock-looking critters that appeared to have melted themselves out of the walls and floor.
“Good call,” Han said, and then the floor opened beneath him and he dropped out of sight.
“Han!” Leia sprang toward him, but the stone of the tunnel had gone soft and gooey, and an instant later it parted beneath her feet and she fell into darkness.
The stormtrooper officer who knelt on the shining black stone of the cavern’s floor stammered out his unlikely story without even rising from one knee; Luke didn’t bother to listen. He barely heard anything after the group captain had started babbling about how powerful a masterpiece he’d found Luke Skywalker and the Jedi’s Revenge to be. Another blasted fan of that blasted show …
Who’d have thought so much damage could be done by one stupid story?
“This was the objective of
his entire Great Cause!” the group captain exclaimed. “To rescue you from the evil Rebellion and restore you to your rightful throne!”
“Not exactly me,” Luke muttered.
“My lord Emperor?”
“Forget it.” Luke looked around at the dozens of prisoners prone on the cavern floor. “Who are these people?”
“No one of consequence, my lord—Rebel captives, bound for the slave pits. Don’t concern yourself.”
“Slave pits?” That was all he needed: more innocent lives that he would fail to save. “How many slaves do you have here?”
“Too many, my lord. Possibly several thousand. Even on starvation rations we can barely keep them fed. And the water situation—”
Luke held up a hand. “I get it.” He turned a grim glance on Nick, who only shrugged.
“Don’t look at me,” Nick said. “I’m not the Emperor.”
Darkness closed like a fist around Luke’s heart.
He stood in the doorway, staring. A vast cavern of gleaming black, which seemed to be filled with stormtroopers in armor that matched the stone, all kneeling to him with heads uncovered. Hundreds upon hundreds of other people, regular people, whose only crime was that they’d lived in places Blackhole had targeted, now lying facedown on the smooth cold stone with their hands behind their heads, afraid to even lift their faces to look upon him.
“I’m the Emperor …” he said dully.
And what was wrong with it? Had this not been, after all, his father’s plan for him?
Vader’s plan.
Maybe Vader had understood fully a truth that Anakin Skywalker had only glimpsed: that all striving comes to nothing in the end. That the only answer was to take what you could get. To rule at ease. To enjoy whatever fragmentary instants of pleasure one’s brief life might offer.
What difference did it make? Heroes, villains, kings, and peasants, all went to the same final Dark. Why struggle?
He didn’t have an answer. He remembered answers—answers he’d gotten from Ben, from Yoda, even from Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, empty talk of duty and tradition, of honor and love—but none of them had understood. Not really.
Or maybe they had.
Because what was that talk of duty and honor and love, really? Wasn’t it just their way of controlling him?
“My lord Emperor? Are you unwell?”
Luke shook himself. He took a deep breath and looked at Nick. “Happened again?”
Nick nodded. “You just … went away.”
Luke again lifted a hand to rub his eyes. Now his hand was shaking. “He … did something to me, Nick. I don’t—I can’t fight it …”
“Who did something to you?” The stormtrooper officer was on his feet, and his face flushed red to the roots of his graying hair. “Name this traitor, and my men will destroy him!”
Nick turned to Luke with lifted brows and a sudden sparkle in his eyes; Luke turned his hand outward in a no-arguments, don’t-even-say-it gesture. “No,” Luke said. “No destroying anybody. There’s been too much destroying.”
Another round of distant blasts sent a shiver of shock wave through the cavern. Nick rolled his eyes toward the vault’s ceiling. “Yeah, no kidding. And these guys can help us stop it.”
“No.”
“Skywalker, think about it—” Nick began.
“I can’t,” Luke said. “I can’t think about it. That’s what you don’t understand. Thinking about it will … send me away again. Back into the …”
His voice trailed off. He couldn’t make himself talk about the Dark. Talking about it would break the surface film of light that was all that stood between him and the unbearable truth—it would rupture the illusion that was the only thing keeping him going right now. “I have to—I have to pretend to trust what I’ve always known. I have to act like I believe it’s all still true. That they weren’t all lying to me. That I wasn’t just kidding myself, do you get it?”
“Uh, no. Not really.” Nick’s vivid blue eyes shaded gray with growing concern. “Not really at all.”
“Then just take my word for it.” Luke looked at the group captain. All you have to do is pretend, he told himself. Do what you would have done back when you believed lives were worth saving. Maybe if you pretend long enough, you can fall back into that dream of light … “Okay,” he said. “Okay. New orders. You and your men—” He waved vaguely toward the prisoners. “I want you to take care of them.”
“Yes, my lord.” The group captain turned to the troopers who stood guard over the prone captives and raised his hand. “Second Platoon! You heard the emperor. Prepare to fire on my order!”
“No!” Luke said hastily. “No, that’s not a euphemism. It’s a direct order. I want you to care for them. Tend their wounds. Get them food and water. Keep them safe, do you understand?”
The expression on the group captain’s face showed clearly that he didn’t understand, but nonetheless he saluted. “Yes, my lord!”
“And … and send your men—not just these guys, but all the men you command—send them to do the same for the slaves. All the slaves.”
“You would have my pilots withdraw from the battle?”
“It’s not a battle, it’s a mistake,” Luke said. “A misunderstanding.”
“My lord?”
“Never mind. Round up all slaves. Protect them. As soon as you have them organized and secure, turn them and yourselves over to the Republic—what you call Rebel—forces. You will cooperate in every way with the Republic military, up to and including assisting them in battle.”
“My lord Emperor?” The group captain looked appalled. “You would have us give aid and comfort to the enemy?”
“No,” Luke said. “They’re not your enemy. Not anymore. Do you understand? From this point forward, you and your men are to consider yourselves part of the Republic military. Do not fail me, Group Captain.”
“My lord Emperor!” The group captain’s eyes glazed, but the discipline of obedience was absolute. “My lord, we will not fail!”
“Very well,” Luke said. “You have your orders.”
The group captain saluted again and executed a precise about-face before replacing his helmet. He strode off, barking orders punctuated by crisp hand gestures, and his men snapped to without hesitation.
Luke just stood and watched. He couldn’t think of a reason to move.
“Okay, sure, Skywalker, I get it,” Nick said. “But what now?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What’s the matter with you?”
Luke shook his head numbly. “It’s like … it’s like I’m still inside the stone, Nick. Except the stone’s inside me.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
“Sense has nothing to do with it. It just is.”
“This is what you were talking about, right? What did that ruskakk do to you?”
“He infected me,” Luke said listlessly.
“Infected—? With some kind of disease or something? A parasite? What?”
“Worse,” Luke said. “He infected me with the truth.”
“Huh?”
“That it’s all a joke. Not even a funny one. A pointless, stupid waste. A spark of suffering extinguished to eternal nothingness.”
He could see that Nick didn’t understand. That really, he couldn’t understand. How could he? And how could Luke explain? What words could he use to share the Dark? What words could illustrate the hideous illusions that came from being raised by loving parents who seemed to really believe in the ideals of the Old Republic, who’d acted like they’d honestly thought that the Jedi had been real heroes, instead of hidebound, ruthless enforcers of the will of the Republic’s rulers. How could he explain the pointless cruelty of the universe—where you had to just stand with your arms restrained by stormtroopers and watch as the Death Star destroyed your homeworld for no real reason at all …
Wait, Luke thought. His breath went short. “Oh, no,” he said out loud. �
��Oh, no, no, no … this can’t be happening!”
That flash he’d just had wasn’t a memory.
It was a vision. Of the future.
“What?” Nick said. “Skywalker, talk to me!”
Luke shook himself as if throwing off a dream. “It’s not me inside the stone,” he said. “It’s not me hanging in the Dark at the end of the Universe. It’s her. It’s going to be her.”
“Her who?”
“Leia,” Luke said. “My sister.”
“You have a sister?”
Luke nodded. “And Blackhole’s found her.”
R2-D2 fell through darkness.
Fell was not entirely the right word for what had transpired since the stone beneath his treads had suddenly melted away and dropped him and Chewbacca through the tunnel’s floor. It was more akin to some sort of bizarre carnival ride, with sudden stops and sideways slippages and all manner of other contortions of downward progress that R2’s internal vocabulation data simply did not have words for.
For that matter, darkness wasn’t entirely accurate either. While a human eye would see nothing but featureless black, for R2, it wasn’t dark at all; his internal sensors could register a substantial span of the electromagnetic spectrum, several hundred thousand times wider than the tiny human range they referred to as “visual light.” The entire downward fall/slide/lurch/bump/twist/jolt process was alive with all manner of electromagnetic radiation; of particular interest to R2 were the intermittent flickers of a magnetic field signature that was very similar in frequency to that emitted by the nervous systems of many oxygen-breathing organics.
It looked like the rock was thinking.
Not only that, it looked like the rock was thinking with a number of distinct minds, which seemed to have some sort of self-reinforcing phase relationship, analogous to the process in social insects by which discussion leads to consensus.
Which was a development that R2 would have liked to investigate more thoroughly, but he was currently preoccupied by constantly recalibrating his internal gyromagnetic stabilizer to keep himself from landing, when he did eventually land, on his damaged locomotor arm; this ongoing recalibration—owing to the bewildering unpredictability of the shifting magnetic fields—took up most of R2’s processing capacity.
