Star Wars - Rebel Force 04 - Uprising

by Alex Wheeler

  "We will launch the ambush from these five strike points," General Dodonna announced, diagramming the attack on a large screen. He went on to explain the complicated maneuvers and split-second timing the mission demanded. The fleet was going to need practice. "And if this effort succeeds, it may be the end of our long and difficult fight," he exclaimed. "A new day is dawning!" The room erupted into cheers.

  As the crowd of Rebels dispersed, Ferus made his way to the front of the room. "General, might I have a word with you?" he asked. Though they had met before only briefly, the general had a reputation for being generous with his time. He was willing to hear anyone out—especially anyone who was a friend of Princess Leia's.

  "Walk with me," the general suggested. He was older than Ferus, but there was something youthful about him. A certain energy and optimism that Ferus had lost long ago. However old he was, he was still young enough to hope.

  They descended a turbolift together and exited the building. "I've grown quite fond of this moon," General Dodonna mused, as they strolled through the forest of dense Massassi trees. "It's a shame we'll have to evacuate soon." Then he smiled. "Of course, if this mission works, perhaps we won't have to."

  "That's actually what I wanted to speak with you about, General," Ferus said. Then he hesitated. He had spent two decades on Alderaan, cozying up to powerful men of the court. But that had been when he was pretending to be someone else—someone with no character and nothing to say. Ferus had learned to hide in plain sight, acting as a mirror for whatever pompous stuffed shirt he was trying to impress. All so he could protect the princess—and it had worked. But it hadn't taught him anything about how to argue his point gracefully. In fact, it had been far too long since he'd had to speak up for himself with a stranger, to be honest about what he believed. So he did it fast, like ripping off a patch of synthflesh. "I'm worried about this mission. Something's not right."

  The general stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

  "It's just a gut instinct," Ferus said. "But I fear it's a trap."

  "We received this intel from an extremely trusted source who would rather die than betray the Alliance," Dodonna said. "Do you have evidence we should distrust his word?"

  "No…"

  "And is there some reason I should let the fate of the Rebel Alliance rest on your instinct?"

  For a split second, Ferus considered telling the general the truth. But he feared that it wouldn't do much to help his case. Even a Jedi instinct was still an instinct. It wasn't proof. "Maybe if you let me take a look at the Imperial transmission," Ferus suggested. "I was quite the slicer in my day, and I could probably…" He trailed off. General Dodonna was shaking his head.

  "I like you, Ferus," the general said. "But I have no reason to trust you with classified material. The only reason you've even been allowed this much access is that Princess Leia vouched for you."

  "Then perhaps we should contact the princess," Ferus said quickly.

  General Dodonna tensed. It was a nearly imperceptible tightening of the muscles around his eyes and mouth. Most people would never have noticed. But Ferus wasn't most people.

  "What is it?" Ferus asked urgently. "What's wrong with the princess?"

  "Nothing," the general said, too quickly. "As you know, she's on a covert mission, and can't be reached."

  "Her covert mission ended three days ago," Ferus said. He kept very careful track of Leia's whereabouts. "She's supposed to be on a diplomatic visit to the Winagrew system."

  General Dodonna rubbed his temples. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you…Princess Leia and her team have been out of contact since leaving Nyemari."

  Ferus drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. The idea of Leia in danger caused him a nearly physical pain. And it wasn't just Leia, either. Luke was with her. The galaxy's two best hopes for survival…lost somewhere in the emptiness of space.

  "There's no cause for alarm yet," the general said, sounding rather alarmed himself. "We're doing everything we can to locate them. And it's entirely possible the Millennium Falcon's communications instruments are malfunctioning. Just like everything else on the ship."

  Possible…but not likely. Leia would never allow herself to be out of contact with the Rebellion for this long. Not unless she had no other choice.

  * * *

  "Help!" Leia screamed. Han lay on the ground, gasping and shuddering. "I don't know what's wrong with him, he needs a medcenter! Please, help us!"

  Chewbacca's roars echoed against the duracrete walls. Leia knelt by Han's body, shrieking louder and louder. Finally, help arrived. Two men appeared at the gate of the cell. One had a bushy brown beard, the other was bald. Both carried blasters. "Quiet," one of them said, in a dull, empty voice.

  "You have to help him," Leia said. Tears streamed down her face. "He just collapsed. I don't know what happened. Please."

  The men unlocked the gate of the cell and swung it open. As soon as they did, Chewbacca lunged for their blasters. Han sprung to his feet, grabbing the nearest guard around his knees and throwing him to the ground. The guard rolled over, struggling to reach his blaster, but Han kept him pinned. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chewbacca twisting his prey into a knot. Han slammed a fist into the guard's stomach, then delivered a blow with his forehead. The guard barely reacted to the pain. Nor did he stop fighting. The blaster lay on the ground, only a few meters away, but every time Han lunged for it, the guard's swinging fists knocked him away. It wasn't just that he was especially strong or especially fast—though he was both. It was the way nothing distracted him from his goal, from Han. Han was starting to get the feeling this guy would fight to the death. And that he wouldn't particularly care whose death it was.

  But Han did care, and maybe that finally gave him the advantage. He gave the guard a mighty heave, sending him thumping to the ground, then lunged for the blaster. His fingers grasped the butt of the weapon. Almost simultaneously, he yanked the guard off his feet and pressed the blaster to his head.

  "Han!" Leia screamed.

  Han looked up. Three new guards had appeared in the doorway, and one of them pinned Leia with her arms behind her back.

  "Let her go!" Han shouted. He had his arm locked around the neck of the bearded guard. His other arm held a blaster to the man's head. Chewbacca held the other guard by the nape of the neck, dangling him several inches off the ground. "Let her go or we'll let your friends have it."

  "You're ordered to behave," one of the newly arrived guards said. He raised a blaster.

  "I mean it," Han shouted. "I'm not bluffing. I'll shoot."

  A bolt of laserfire shot from the guard's blaster—and smashed straight into Han's. The weapon flew out of his hands, sizzling with the impact. Then the same guard fired another shot. It slammed into the bearded guard's chest.

  Han was stunned. "You shot your own man."

  "He failed," the guard said simply. He raised his blaster again, but Han put his hands in the air. After a moment, Chewbacca did, too, releasing the bald guard. The man didn't run away from the Wookiee. He didn't even move. It was as if he expected to be shot, too—and was just waiting for it.

  "You may go," the guard at the door told him.

  Without any visible sign of relief, the bald man walked out of the cell. The other guards shoved Leia back inside, then locked the cell again and disappeared without another word.

  "Great plan," Leia said, slumping against the wall.

  "Hey, it should've worked," Han complained. "How was I supposed to know they'd be like…that. It's not natural."

  Chewbacca growled in agreement.

  "You're right," Leia said gloomily. "It's not."

  They sat in silence for a long time. Han refused to give up, but he had to admit, he was out of ideas—and it seemed like everyone else was, too.

  "Don't try that again." A man appeared at their cell, his low voice familiar. Unlike the guards, this man's eyes weren't blank. But they were pitiless.

  "Re
zi Soresh," Leia said coolly.

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  Leia glowered at him. "Where's Luke?"

  Han couldn't believe she was holding so steady. Leia could be a real pain sometimes, but he had to admit, she was good in a crisis. He'd never met anyone as tough as she was—or as frustrating. But in this case, stubbornness was the one thing that might keep them alive.

  "Don't worry about Luke," Soresh said. "He'll be taken care of. As will you—and your precious Rebel fleet."

  Leia jumped to her feet, fists balled. Han knew she refused to let anyone threaten the fleet—even if there was nothing she could do about it. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means you're luckier than you know," Soresh said. His lips parted in a gruesome smile. "You won't have to see the destruction of everything and everyone you care about."

  "Yeah, and why's that?" Han asked. He had a bad feeling he already knew the answer.

  Soresh's smile widened, confirming his suspicions. "Because by the time it happens, you'll all be dead."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Luke screamed.

  The interrogator droid hovered before him, manipulator arms hard at work.

  He had felt pain before. But that was nothing compared to this. There was no word for this.

  Only screams.

  There was no sleep.

  Sometimes he passed out from the pain, from the hunger, from exhaustion. But always, he was jolted back into consciousness. Blinding lights flashed at all hours; deafening noise made his head pound night and day. He had never been so tired. Too tired to think. Almost too tired to feel.

  We have to break you down before we can build you up, Soresh said.

  The commander visited the cell sometimes. Luke didn't know how often. There was no way of keeping time in the cell, no way of knowing how many hours and days had passed. It was beginning to seem as if he'd been a prisoner forever. But whenever Soresh did come, he brought gifts. Sometimes food. Sometimes a serum that would allow a few precious hours of unconsciousness. Sometimes, at his command, just a temporary end to the torture. But it always began again, as soon as Soresh walked away.

  Luke knew the Imperial was responsible for all of this. And so Luke hated him.

  But he was beginning to look forward to Soresh's visits. He was too tired to escape or think about revenge. All he hoped for anymore was a few minutes of peace.

  And soon, each day, all day, he hoped for Soresh.

  Luke huddled against the wall of the cell, shivering. The temperature had been lowered to only a few degrees above freezing. His breath misted in the frosty air.

  "Hello, Luke," Soresh said, his face appearing like magic beyond the bars. "Having a good day?"

  Luke didn't answer. He had learned to conserve his strength.

  "I brought you something to eat," Soresh said. He slipped a muja fruit through the bars.

  Luke pounced on it like a starved profrogg.

  "You're doing very well," Soresh said. "It might soon be time for Phase Two. Would you like that?"

  Again, Luke didn't answer. He gnawed on the fruit. It was soft and overripe, with a sour undertaste. Even so, it was still the best muja fruit he'd ever eaten.

  "I take no joy in your pain," Soresh said. "I'd be happy to let you out of here at any time. All you have to do is swear your allegiance to me. Then all the pain will end."

  Luke wanted to make that happen.

  Remember Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, he thought weakly. Remember Ben.

  They had given their lives for him. So he could fight the Empire, not join it.

  But he had no fight left in him.

  "You're all alone here, Luke," Soresh said. "Your friends have abandoned you. There's no one left to save you…except for me. Join me and save yourself."

  Your friends.

  Luke drew in a deep, painful breath. Remember Han, he told himself.

  Remember Leia.

  "Never," he whispered. His voice was hoarse from screaming. He repeated it, louder, more sure. "Never."

  Soresh shrugged. "So be it." He turned his back on the cell and began walking away.

  Luke panicked—what if he never came back? What if this was the end of the little visits and treats that kept him alive? What if Soresh just left him to die?

  But Soresh stopped, and turned back. "Oh, if you're worried about what your friends will think of you if you give in to me, don't. They're long gone."

  "They would never leave me," Luke croaked.

  "Perhaps you're right," Soresh agreed. "They say the dead stay with us forever." He peered around the empty cell as if hunting for ghosts. "Who knows, maybe they're here with us right now."

  No. Luke refused to believe it. "You're lying."

  "I had no use for them," Soresh said coldly. "You're the special one. You're the one I want. They were just nuisances. And so I disposed of them. Don't worry—someday, you'll thank me."

  Soresh strode through the underground tunnels, eager to return to his office. While some equipment and personnel were housed on the surface of the moon, the bulk of his operation lay in the tunnels. He had discovered them in his early explorations of the moon, grateful to the civilization that carved them millennia before.

  Luke's treatment was progressing even faster than Soresh had hoped. He was convinced that telling Luke his friends were dead would push the Rebel over the edge. Soresh had honed this process over two decades. He knew exactly how to tear apart a man's brain and rebuild it to his liking. First you broke them down. Fear, sleeplessness, pain, starvation—they were all crucial ingredients, doled out in precise amounts. You stripped away everything the prisoner had, made them understand that they were completely alone, with no one left to save them.

  No one but their master, Rezi Soresh.

  Once they understood this, they were ready for the next phase.

  Years ago, the process had been more complicated. Soresh had created men like X-7, who were completely obedient to Soresh but could still think for themselves. Clearly, that was a mistake. Even a little bit of independence could lead to disaster. So now Soresh had refined the process. Not that he'd had much choice—time was short, resources were few. So he'd found some shortcuts. The soldiers he'd created didn't have X-7's strategic capabilities, and they wouldn't be much use on independent missions. But when it came to carrying out simple tasks and doing exactly what Soresh ordered them to do, they were perfect.

  Of course there had been a few missteps along the way. A few mistakes he'd had to dispose of. But now he knew exactly what he was doing. The men guarding the base were completely under his control. The Rebel spy he'd brainwashed had passed along the fake Imperial transmission to his Rebel leaders, just as Soresh commanded. And now Luke was well on his way to becoming the most powerful servant Soresh could ever have.

  With a Jedi under his control, no one would be able to stop him. Not even Darth Vader.

  And when he destroyed the Rebel fleet—and Darth Vader along with it—the Emperor would have no choice but to forgive him. He would take his rightful place at the Emperor's side.

  It was time to put the plan into action. He activated the comm system, and opened a channel to Darth Vader's private line. Only a few people in the galaxy knew how to reach the Dark Lord directly. But Soresh had always known more than people suspected.

  Darth Vader's inky black hood appeared on the screen. His heavy, rhythmic breathing seemed so close, Soresh could almost imagine the puff of hot air against his ear. He nearly shuddered, but forced himself to remain steady. Vader couldn't hurt him now.

  "You cannot evade me for long," Vader said. The deep, rumbling vibration of his voice rippled through Soresh. He remembered the rumors he had heard, that Vader could suck the life out of someone with a mere thought, even through a viewscreen. Even from halfway across the galaxy.

  Silly stories, Soresh reminded himself. Show no fear.

  "I don't plan to for much longer," he said. "After all, I have something you want.
And if you follow my instructions to the letter, I might let you have it."

  "All I want is your corpse," Vader said. "And soon, I shall have it."

  The transmission cut out.

  Soresh smiled. Perfect. The comm operated on an encrypted channel, but Vader would easily trace its source to the Sixela system. Which meant that he would be right in the neighborhood when Soresh was finally ready for him.

  Fear and rumor were powerful weapons, and Vader used them well. But they were nothing against real weapons, and Soresh had one of the most powerful ones in the galaxy under his control. He suspected that even Vader didn't know about Maw Installation, the secret research base devoted to creating superweapons. Grand Moff Tarkin had established and supervised it. Its secrets had died with him. But Soresh knew, because Soresh had made it his business to know everything. Including the existence and location of Maw Installation—and which of its scientists could be easily blackmailed.

  As an Imperial Commander he had been in charge of following the flow of credits, making sure all contracts were paid in full, all docs were in order. It was a job few respected. A job for a weak man, they'd thought. They didn't understand that Soresh's job was information. And the only thing more powerful than information was the weapon being built at Maw Installation.

  The weapon whose prototype was just on the other side of the wall. Soresh couldn't unleash the weapon on the Rebel base itself—not until he was sure it would work. But it had been so simple to lure the Rebel fleet to him. Now the weapon sat in its launch bay, waiting for its moment. It was an instrument of total destruction.

  Just like me, Soresh thought. Come find me, Vader. Come and meet your destiny.

  And your doom.

  It was not possible. Not possible that Han was dead. That Chewbacca was dead. Leia was dead. That Luke would never see any of them again.