Death Star (40 page)

Vader nodded to himself as he looked at the magnified view of planetary debris. That should convince the military that they had developed the ultimate weapon. They were wrong, but they would believe it. They would be full of their pitiful dreams of power and glory, unable to comprehend the truth, certain that they were unbeatable.

That was not his worry. He had his orders, and he would carry them out. He would get the information he sought from the dissident Princess. They would find the Rebels’ main base and destroy it. The war would be over, and Vader would finally be free to resume his studies of the dark side in earnest. He had much to learn and, with the Emperor no longer preoccupied with this petty conflict, he could resume his training.

That was what was important. That way lay real power.

Motti wanted to reach over and smash in General Tagge’s face—the man was insufferable!

Tagge said, “Until this battle station is fully operational,
we are vulnerable. The Rebel Alliance is too well equipped. They are more dangerous than you realize.”

Motti could have pointed out that the vaunted Rebel Alliance had sent a huge carrier against the station and that unfortunate vessel had been blown out of existence by a single, low-powered pulse of the not-yet-fully-operational Death Star’s main battery, from more than two thousand kilometers away. Which was nothing compared with the fact that an entire planet had just been destroyed with three partial-strength pulses, any one of which could blow an armada out of the galaxy.

But Tagge already knew this, of course. He was putting his objections into the record, covering his bets and his backside, just in case.

Two could play that game. Motti said, “Dangerous to your starfleet, Commander, not to this battle station.”

Tagge was as thickheaded as a durasteel plate. He just kept prattling on: “The Rebellion will continue to gain support in the Imperial Senate as long as—” He stopped as Grand Moff Tarkin, followed closely by Darth Vader, strode into the conference room. As he entered, Tarkin cut in: “The Imperial Senate will no longer be of any concern to us. I’ve just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the council permanently. The last remnants of the Old Republic have been swept away.”

Even that didn’t shut Tagge up: “That’s impossible! How will the Emperor maintain control without the bureaucracy?”

Tarkin said, “The regional governors now have direct control over their territories.” He smiled, ever so slightly. “Fear will keep local systems in line—fear of this battle station.”

“And what of the Rebellion?” Tagge kept on. The man was like a borrat with a bone: he wouldn’t let it go. “If the Rebels have obtained a complete technical readout of this
station, it is possible, however unlikely, that they might find a weakness and exploit it.”

“The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands.” That from the deep-voiced Vader, who stood behind the now seated Tarkin.

Motti couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Any attack made by the Rebels against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they’ve obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I suggest we use it.”

Vader said, “Don’t be too proud of this technological terror you’ve constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.”

Motti wanted to laugh. Vader had to be insane! How could he say that, especially with the rubble of Despayre still sweeping past the station? “Don’t try to frighten us with your sorcerer’s ways, Lord Vader,” he said, feeling safe in the presence of witnesses. He was aware that Vader was moving toward him, but Motti was committed. Even knowing what a bad idea it was to bait the man in black, he continued: “Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes or given you clairvoyance enough to find the Rebels’ hidden fort—
ukk!
”

Three meters away, Vader leaned forward and made a small motion with his hand, closing it into a fist.

Motti felt his throat clench and close up, as if it were being crushed by a steel clamp. He … couldn’t … breathe …!

He dug his fingers into his collar, trying to remove what felt like an unbreakable band around his neck. It didn’t work. The pressure was there, but there was nothing material around his throat to cause it.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Vader said.

Motti felt himself start to gray out. He wanted to scream, but he could not utter so much as a squeak as he slid toward the abyss of unconsciousness and death …

He barely heard Tarkin speak. “Enough of this. Vader—release him.”

“As you wish,” Vader said. He turned and strode away, and a moment later Motti fell forward onto the conference table, not feeling the impact. He could breathe again, however. The constriction was gone. He sat up, filled with rage, and glared at Vader. If only he had a blaster!

But, though he was not a cowardly man, his rage was tinged with fear. How had Vader done that? He had been three meters away.

Motti swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat sore.

Tarkin said, “This bickering is pointless. Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the Rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke!”

Motti believed that. But he also knew something else now, too. Vader had power, and it was real. Motti had felt it, and, if Tarkin had not intervened, he believed with every fiber of his being that he would be dead.

That was a sobering thought. What did it matter if you commanded a station that could destroy a world if you could be killed yourself by a freak waving a hand in the air?

Something would have to be done about Vader. But very, very carefully done.

U
li had just completed his rounds, which included a quick tour of a different prison block every cycle. Most of the prisoners were there for minor infractions, drunk-and-disorderlies and the like. He was in the corridor, heading to his office when he saw none other than Darth Vader coming from the other direction.

With him was a beautiful young woman.

It was such a surreal sight that he was momentarily tempted to question his senses. But it was real enough; he could see the fluorescents’ distorted reflections slide along the black helmet as Vader walked, and could hear the regulated breathing of the man’s respiratory apparatus. The sound of his boots against the floor grating was oddly soft for so large a man.

Vader had one hand clamped on the woman’s upper arm, and even from ten meters away Uli could see by her expression of pain and anger that the grip was hard enough to be hurting her. Whoever she was, she was obviously not with Vader by choice.

The woman wore a white gown, and she looked somehow familiar, although he couldn’t place her. Her dark brown hair was long, but rolled into tight circles against the sides of her head. Even through the discomfort and indignity of her situation, she seemed extraordinarily self-possessed.

The three of them were alone in the prison block corridor. As Uli drew near, Vader stopped. Paying no attention to the doctor, he opened one of the cells and pushed the woman unceremoniously inside. The hatch dropped shut behind her.

Uli had slowed and glanced back over his shoulder to watch as he passed. After incarcerating the woman, Vader turned, ebony cape flaring behind him. He looked back at Uli. Although no part of his face was visible, Uli somehow had no doubt that Vader was looking directly at him.

He set his gaze in front of him once more and continued walking. Just as he exited the block, three black-clad and helmeted technicians passed him. Behind them, floating on a cushion of repulsorlift energy, an interrogator droid followed.

Uli took the lift back to Medical, wondering who the woman was and what her crime had been. The lift doors opened and he started up the corridor, but stopped as C-4ME-O wheeled around the corner.

“Good after-midday, Dr. Divini.”

“Not for everyone, it appears. I just saw Darth Vader, of all people, apparently intending to interrogate a young woman in the prison block. Do you know who she is?”

“Princess Leia Organa, a member of the Imperial Senate, from Alderaan. It is said that she is also a sympathizer with the Rebel Alliance. Apparently she has information the Empire wants, and thus her impending interrogation by Lord Vader.”

Uli winced at the thought. Interrogation technology was imprecise, more brute force than finesse—intentionally so, for the most part. Many prisoners started talking a klick a minute at the first sight of one of those glossy-black ISB globes, bristling with archaic hypodermic syringes and electrodes. And woe to them if they didn’t, because the term
interrogator droid
was just a euphemism for its real function. It was a torture device, purely and simply. Many
who underwent examination by the probes were mentally or even physically damaged beyond repair.

A harsh fate for such a lovely and brave young woman as this Princess apparently was. He had seen only a hint of fear in her as she passed; that she was willing to resist Vader to the extent of requiring such extreme measures indicated a fortitude Uli doubted that he himself possessed.

He was outraged by the thought of such barbarism being practiced by the Empire, although not particularly surprised. But he knew there was nothing to be done about it. To protest the actions of the Emperor’s whip would do her absolutely no good, and no doubt result in his own immediate imprisonment. He could finally get his discharge from the medical wing of the Imperial Navy, although it would likely be a discharge from this plane of existence as well. He shook his head and looked at 4ME-O. “Were you looking for me?”

“Indeed. Dr. Hotise wishes to discuss the overages in last month’s supply budget with you.”

Uli nearly groaned aloud, but the thought of the young woman in the cell made him feel somewhat ashamed of himself. She was facing far more than a bureaucratic upbraiding about expenditures.

He followed the droid around the corner. What a shame. She was so young, so lovely. She reminded him, somehow, of Barriss.

Vader, accompanied by three black-clad and helmeted technicians, entered the cell where Leia Organa was being held. He had hoped that she would have become more tractable after her capture. But she had remained silent. Her choice. She would regret it.

Behind him the interrogator droid followed. It was a
crude tool, a blunt instrument compared with the subtlety and precision possible with the Force; however, Princess Leia’s mind was too strong to easily manipulate, even with the power of the dark side at his beck and call. It was possible that he could wrest the knowledge from her, but he might end up destroying the very information he sought. She would force him to burn her brain to a husk before she would willingly part with the data—of that he had no doubt.

However, after being subjected to the tender mercies of the device floating behind him for a time, her mind should be a bit more … pliable.

Now and then, one had to make do with the tools available, however crude they might be.

The chamber’s door slid up, revealing the Princess sitting on a platform in the mostly bare room. Vader and two of the techs entered. The third waited outside in the corridor.

“And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base,” Vader told her.

As the interrogator droid floated in behind him, Vader saw her defiant expression falter. He felt her fear as the machine approached her.

Good …

He heard the door slam down behind them.

But, after half an hour, despite the truth drugs, electrical shocks, and other inducements he had administered, it was evident that her resistance had not been lowered enough for him to probe her mind. That was surprising.

She was physically weakened and in considerable pain, but her mind remained shielded. She had revealed nothing.

Most unusual for anyone except a Jedi to have such control, he mused.

He kept his anger and frustration under tight rein, letting none of it show. He had other matters that required his attention—for now.

“We are not done here,” he told her. To one of the technicians he said, “Have a medic attend to her.”

The technician said, “But isn’t she sentenced to die?”

“When I decide it is time,” Vader said. “If she is not alive and well until that moment, I will hold you personally responsible.”

The tech grew visibly paler. Vader swept by him and out of the chamber.

Uli couldn’t stop thinking about the imprisoned Princess. Something about her touched him, somehow.

As he left Hotise’s office, he told himself that there was no point in thinking about her. Most likely she was already dead by now, another casualty of war, like the millions of people destroyed along with the prison planet.

“You there!” a man’s voice called loudly.