by James Luceno
“I have a backup plan.” Shryne flourished the blaster.
Vader focused on the weapon. “I see that you’ve abandoned your lightsaber.”
“But not my commitment to justice.” Shryne took a moment to glance down the hallway that led out of the palace. “You know how it is, Vader. Once a good guy, always a good guy. Then again, you probably don’t know anything about that.”
Vader advanced on him. “Don’t be too sure of yourself.”
“We’re just trying to help Zar get home,” Shryne said, retreating into the corridor. “Suppose we leave it at that.”
“The Emperor has his reasons for recalling Zar to Coruscant.”
“And you do whatever the Emperor tells you to do?”
In the intersection now, Vader could discern that Shryne was merely waiting for a chance to bolt through the doors. Well behind Shryne, on the far side of a footbridge that crossed a gentle curve of reflecting pool, one of Shryne’s armed accomplices was holding four Royal Guards at bay while the other was all but dragging Fang Zar toward a gated breach in the palace’s defensive wall, beyond which the conspirators surely had a getaway craft waiting.
Shryne fired a quick burst, then sprinted for the doorway. Behind him, his humanoid accomplices were also in motion, stunning the guards to unconsciousness and racing for the open gate.
Angling his blade, Vader deflected the bolts with intent, but by jinking and jagging Shryne managed to evade each parry. Vader leapt, his powerful prosthetic legs carrying him to the top of a broad but short flight of steps in time to see Shryne sprint across the bridge at Jedi speed, motioning to his accomplices to move Zar through the gate.
Vader leapt again, this time to the bridge, and to within only a few meters of Shryne, who spun about, dropping to one knee and firing repeatedly. This time Vader decided to show Shryne whom he was dealing with. Holding his lightsaber to one side, he raised his right hand to turn the blaster bolts.
Clearly astonished, Shryne remained on one knee, but only briefly. In an instant he had passed through the gate and was shouldering his way through the crowd outside the wall.
Vader’s final leap landed him just short of the rampart. Over the heads of the milling beings, at the forward edge of a landing platform, a woman with gray-laced black hair was gesturing frantically to Shryne and his cohorts, who were already hauling Fang Zar up the platform steps.
All too easy, Vader told himself.
Time to end it.
Bail and his two aides stood by the reception room holoprojector, awaiting some word of Fang Zar’s whereabouts. From the direction of the residence wing came Antilles and the droids.
“Go ahead, Threepio, tell him,” Antilles said when the three of them were within earshot of Bail.
“Master Organa, I hardly know where to begin,” C-3PO said. “You see, sir, my counterpart and I were about to enter the palace grounds—”
“Threepio,” Antilles said sharply. “Save the long story for another occasion.”
R2-D2 communicated something in bleating tones.
C-3PO turned to the astromech. “Verbose? Tiresome? Just you mind your enunciator, you—”
“See-Threepio!” Antilles repeated.
The protocol droid fell silent. “I’m very sorry, sirs. I’m simply unaccustomed to so much excitement.”
“That’s all right, See-Threepio,” Bail said. “Take your time.”
“Thank you, Master Organa. I only wanted to report that the three intruders who held us captive were apparently intent on collecting some sort of ‘bundle’—that was the word they used—at the palace’s east gate.”
“Quickly!” Bail said to his aides.
Aldrete bent to adjust the holoprojector’s controls. An instant later an east gate security cam captured a holoimage of Fang Zar, seized in the grip of two humanoids who were running him toward a landing platform that had been designated for HoloNet personnel.
A second cam found Vader, crimson-bladed lightsaber in hand, fending off blasterfire from a long-haired human male who was also racing for the east gate.
“Sir,” Sheltray Retrac said suddenly.
Following Asta’s worried gaze, Bail saw Sate Pestage striding into the reception room.
“Senator, I have just learned that Senator Zar is at this moment being conducted from the palace,” Pestage said, in what Bail sensed was almost theatrical spleen. “If this is your way of providing immunity—”
“We’ve only just discovered his whereabouts,” Bail cut him off, motioning to the holoimages. “In any case, it looks as if the Emperor’s ‘emissary’ has the situation well in hand.”
Pestage dismissed Bail’s anger with a superfluous wave of his hand. “Through no help of yours, Senator. I demand that you secure the palace before it’s too late!”
Bail glanced at the holoimages of Vader, the long-haired man, Fang Zar …
“Seal it, I tell you!”
Bail took a final glance at the images, then complied.
Firing on the run, Shryne made a mad dash for the rampart gate. If his retreat struck Skeck, or Archyr, or even Fang Zar, as cowardly, then so be it. For it was clear that Vader wasn’t going to be stopped by blaster bolts, and Shryne was a long way from the nearest lightsaber.
Shryne wasn’t surprised that Vader knew him by name; that he did only reinforced the fact that Vader and the Emperor had full access to the Jedi Temple databases. For all Shryne knew, Vader had been at the Temple when Filli Bitters had sliced into the beacon.
Outside the gate now, he began to zigzag through the densely packed crowd. Catching sight of his weapon, many of the marchers hastened to open a path for him—an obvious berserker in their midst. Through gaps in the throng, Shryne could see Skeck, Archyr, Jula, and Zar on the landing platform, surrounded by what Shryne took to be irate HoloNet correspondents, yelling at them and gesticulating to the drop ship that had set down without permission.
Judging by her gestures, Jula was attempting to placate everyone, or at least assure them that the ship would soon be on its way—assuming that Vader didn’t scuttle their plans with a single leap.
Midway up the stairway that led to the landing platform, Shryne came to a halt, to take what he hoped would be a last look at Vader, who was still on the palace grounds, a couple of meters shy of the rampart gate. Of greater interest to Shryne, however, was the fact that an alloy curtain, thick as a blast shield, was descending rapidly from the head jamb of the arched entrance.
The palace was being sealed shut, and Vader was in risk of not making it through the gate in time!
Understanding as much, the Emperor’s executioner was moving faster now. A jump carried him to the rampart, just short of the lowering shield, where he did something so unexpected that it took Shryne a moment to make sense of what was happening.
Vader hurled his ignited lightsaber through the air.
For a split second Shryne thought that he had done so in anger. Then, in awe, he grasped that Vader had aimed.
Spinning out from under the lowering security grate, the crimson blade sailed high over the crowd, following a trajectory that took it north of the landing platform; then, on reaching the distal end of its arc, it began to boomerang back.
Shryne flew for the top of the stairway, his gaze fully engaged on the twirling blade, his heart hammering in his chest. Calling on the Force, he tried to influence the course of the lightsaber, but either the Force wasn’t with him or Vader’s Force abilities were overpowering his.
The blade was whipping toward the landing platform now, close enough for Shryne to hear it whine through the air, and spinning so swiftly it might have been a blood-red disk.
Passing within a meter of Shryne’s outstretched hands, the lightsaber struck Fang Zar first, ripping a deep gouge across his upper chest and nearly decapitating him; then, continuing on, it struck an unsuspecting Jula across the back before completing its swift and lethal circle and slamming into the upper reaches of the fully lowered rampart gate
, where it switched off and plummeted to the paving stones with a metallic clangor.
On the landing platform, Skeck was bent low over Fang Zar; Archyr, over Jula.
Rooted in place Shryne could sense Vader on the far side of the gate, a black hole of rage.
Shryne commenced a stiff-legged descent of the stairway, deaf to all sound, blind to color, scarcely in possession of his self.
He didn’t come to his senses until he reached the foot of the stairs, where he turned and ran to help get his mother and Zar aboard the drop ship.
One by one Palpatine’s military advisers appeared before him, standing in postures of obeisance below the throne room’s dais, their eyes narrowed against the orange blaze of Coruscant’s setting sun, delivering their reports and appraisals, their expert assessments of the state of his Empire.
Royal Guards stood to both sides of the high-backed chair; behind them sat Mas Amedda, Sly Moore, and other members of Palpatine’s inner circle.
He listened to everyone without comment.
In some outlying systems, arsenals of Separatist weapons, in some cases entire flotillas of droid-piloted warships, had been commandeered by rogue paramilitary groups before Imperial forces could reach them.
In Hutt space, smugglers, pirates, and other scoundrels were taking advantage of the Emperor’s need to consolidate power by blazing new routes for the movement of spice and other proscribed goods.
On many former CIS worlds, bounty hunters were tracking down former Separatist colluders.
In the Mid Rim, Imperial academies were filling with recruits obtained from flight schools throughout the galaxy.
In the Outer Rim, three new batches of stormtroopers were being grown.
Closer to the Core, capital ships were being turned out by Sienar, Kuat Drive, and other yards.
And yet at present there were simply too few battle groups or stormtroopers to deploy at every potential trouble spot.
Massive protests had been held on Alderaan, Corellia, and Commenor.
Progress was lagging on several of the Emperor’s most cherished projects, owing to a lack of construction workers …
When the last of his advisers had come and gone, Palpatine dismissed everyone, including the members of his inner circle, and sat gazing over the western cityscape as it came to brilliant light in the deepening dusk.
Under the rule of the ancient Sith, the future of the galaxy had been in the able hands of many dark sovereigns. Now responsibility for maintaining order rested only with Darth Sidious.
For the moment it was enough that his advisers and minions respected him—for reestablishing peace, for eliminating the group that had posed the greatest threat to continued stability—but eventually those same advisers would need to fear him. To understand the great power he wielded, as both Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith. And to that end, Sidious needed Vader.
For if someone as potent as Vader answered to the Emperor, then how powerful must the Emperor be!
After he had spent several hours drifting on the currents of possible futures, Palpatine summoned Sate Pestage. Swiveling his chair from the view of Coruscant when the most trusted of his advisers entered the throne room, Palpatine ordered Pestage to take a seat and appraised him.
“Events unfolded as you assured they would,” Pestage said when Palpatine nodded for him to speak. “Organa was very predictable. My intervention was minimal.”
“Senator Organa was willing to allow Fang Zar to escape, you mean.”
“It certainly seemed that way.”
Palpatine considered it. “He may bear watching in the future. But at present we won’t make an issue of it. And Senator Zar?”
Pestage sighed with meaning. “Gravely wounded. Perhaps dead.”
“Pity. Does Organa know?”
“Yes. He was very troubled by the outcome.”
“And Lord Vader?”
“Even more troubled by the outcome.”
Palpatine allowed a grin of satisfaction. “Even better.”
Returned to its astral sanctuary, the Drunk Dancer drifted in space.
From the hatch to medbay, a 2-1B droid hovered out to report that it had been able to save Jula, but that Fang Zar had died on the operating table.
“Damage sustained by major vessels that supply the heart was too extensive to repair, sir,” the droid told Shryne. “Everything that could be done, was done.”
Shryne looked in on Jula, who was heavily sedated.
“I dragged you right back into it,” she said weakly.
He pushed her hair off her forehead. “There might have been other forces at work.”
“Don’t say that, Roan. We just need to get farther away.”
He smiled with effort. “I’ll ask Archyr about outfitting the ship with an intergalactic drive.”
He let her drift into sleep and went to his bunk. Whenever he shut his eyes, he would see the trajectory of Vader’s blade; would see it slicing through Zar, through Jula … He didn’t need to shut his eyes to recall how it had felt to be overwhelmed by Vader’s ability to use the Force.
To use the power of the dark side.
A Sith.
Shryne was certain now.
A Sith in service to Emperor Palpatine.
That was the revelation he couldn’t banish.
Count Dooku might as well have won the war, save for the fact that in place of independent systems, free trade, and the rest, the galaxy answered to the exclusive rule of Palpatine.
But how? Shryne asked himself. How had it happened?
Had Palpatine’s alliance with Vader been brought about by the death of the Chosen One? Had Vader—Darth Vader—killed Anakin Skywalker? Had he struck a deal with Palpatine beforehand, promising Palpatine unlimited power in exchange for sanctioning Vader’s murder of the Chosen One and the elimination of the Jedi, thus tipping the galaxy fully to the dark side?
Was it any wonder, then, that beings were fleeing for the far-flung reaches of known space?
And was it any wonder that Shryne had lacked the strength to alter the course of Vader’s lightsaber? He had thought of his diminished abilities as a personal failure—owing to the fact that he had lost his faith in the Jedi order, allowed his two Padawans to die, grown thought-bound—when, in fact, it was the Force as the Jedi had known it that had been defeated.
The flame extinguished.
On the one hand, it meant that Shryne’s transition into regular life could probably proceed more smoothly than he had thought; by contrast, that regular life meant existing in a world where evil had triumphed and ruled.
* * *
In the antechamber of his private retreat, Sidious, dressed in a dark blue cowled robe, paced in front of the curved window wall. Vader stood rigidly at the center of the room, his gloved hands crossed in front of him.
“It appears you attended to our little problem on Alderaan, Lord Vader,” Sidious said.
“Yes, Master. Fang Zar need no longer concern you.”
“I know I should feel some sense of relief. But in fact, I’m not entirely pleased with the outcome. Zar’s death could arouse sympathy in the Senate.”
Vader stirred. “He left me no recourse.”
Sidious came to a halt and turned toward Vader. “No recourse? Why didn’t you simply apprehend him, as I asked?”
“He made the mistake of attempting to flee.”
“But you against someone like Fang Zar? It hardly seems an equitable match, Lord Vader.”
“Zar was not alone,” Vader said with venom. “What’s more, if you don’t like the way …”
Suddenly intrigued, Sidious moved closer. “Ah, what’s this? Allowing your words to trail off—as if I can’t see their destination.” Anger showed in his yellow eyes. “As if I can’t see the thought behind them!”
Vader said nothing.
“Perhaps you’re not enjoying your new station in life, is that it? Perhaps you tire already of executing my commands.” Sidious stared at him. “Perh
aps you think you’re better suited to occupy the throne than I am. Is that it, Lord Vader? If so, then admit as much!”
Breathing deeply, Vader remained silent for a moment more. “I am but an apprentice. You are the Master.”
“Interesting that you refrain from calling me your Master.”
Vader inclined his head to Sidious. “I meant nothing by it, my Master.”
Sidious sneered. “Perhaps you wish you could strike me down, is that it?”
“No, Master.”
“What stops you from doing so? Obi-Wan was once your Master, and you were certainly prepared to kill him. Even if you failed.”
Vader clenched his right hand. “Obi-Wan did not understand the power of the dark side.”
“And you do?”
“No, Master. Not yet. Not fully.”
“And that’s why you don’t try to strike me down? Because I possess powers you lack?” Sidious lifted his arms, hands deployed like claws, as if to summon and hurl Sith lightning. “Because you know that I could easily overwhelm the delicate electrical systems of your suit.”
Vader stood his ground. “I don’t fear death, Master.”
Sidious grinned maliciously. “Then why go on living, my young apprentice?”
Vader looked down at him. “To learn to become more powerful.”
Sidious lowered his hands. “Then I ask you one final time, Lord Vader. Why not strike me down?”
“Because you are my path to power, Master,” Vader said. “Because I need you.”
Sidious narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Just like I needed my Master—for a time.”
“Yes, Master,” Vader said finally. “For a time.”
“Good. Very good.” Sidious smiled in satisfaction. “And now you are ready to release your anger.”
Vader evinced confusion.
“Your fugitive Jedi, my apprentice,” Sidious said. “They are traveling to Kashyyyk.” He tipped his head to one side. “Perhaps, Lord Vader, they hope to lay a trap for you.”
Vader clenched his hands. “That would be my most fervent wish, my Master.”
Sidious clamped his hands on Vader’s upper arms. “Then go to them, Lord Vader. Make them sorry they didn’t hide while they had the chance!”
