Star Wars - 210 - Jedi Prince 01 - The Glove of Darth Vader (3 page)

Whaladons were huge whale-like creatures, mammals that lived only in the oceans of the watery planet Calamari. They were highly intelligent and wise, and it was against the laws of Calamari to kill them. Still, a huge, illegal Whaladon hunting operation existed in Calamari’s waters. In fact, even though Whaladons were an endangered species, there were more Whaladon hunters on Calamari than ever before, led by Captain Dunwell, a trusted friend of the Central Committee of Grand Moffs.

After Trioculus and his guests finished their dinner and while dessert was being served, Grand Moff Hissa announced that the new Emperor had something important to tell them. The guests became silent as Trioculus, who was in the place of honor at the head of the table, stood and drew himself up to his full, towering height.

He spoke seven words.

"Find me the glove of Darth Vader!" he said in a booming voice. Then he stared at them with his third eye, causing his loyal officers to shudder.

Grand Moff Hissa understood the difficult task before them. The Central Committee of Grand Moffs had declared Trioculus to be the new Emperor. But if someone else found the glove and wore it, then Kadann, the Supreme Prophet of the Dark Side, might declare that Trioculus was not the rightful heir to the throne and should be deposed. If that happened, the Central Committee of Grand Moffs would lose their credibility and would probably also lose their influence and power in running the Empire. Grand Moff Hissa was determined, at any cost, not to let that happen. In fact, all friends and allies of the Central Committee of Grand Moffs were being notified immediately that if any of them found the glove, he or she should notify Trioculus and turn it over to him at once. To the other grand moffs, Hissa said: "We have heard our leader’s words, and we shall do as he says. From each of your planets you will send out probe droids to search for the glove of Darth Vader. I shall send probes to search the forest moon of Endor and the space that surrounds it, scanning the area where the Death Star exploded." Grand Moff Muzzer, who was the plumpest and most round-faced of the grand moffs, spoke his mind. "Space is vast and the glove very small. Perhaps you expect too much of the Empire’s probe droids."

"Probe droids can find a bomb that’s no bigger than a man’s hand," replied Grand Moff Hissa, "so they should have no trouble finding a glove. Especially one that is indestructible."

"We will need a new, secret home base," said Trioculus, turning his attention to another matter of business. "I have yet to decide where. I will now hear your suggestions." Several of the grand moffs squirmed in their seats. This was new to them, entirely new. Emperor Palpatine had never asked them for suggestions.

A few moments passed before one of the grand moffs grew bold enough to speak. "I suggest the planet Tatooine," said Grand Moff Dunhausen, who wore earrings, little ornaments shaped like laser pistols. "We can take over the Mos Eisley spaceport!" Trioculus dismissed the idea immediately. "That useless planet where Jabba the Hutt died? Do you think I want the Empire to waste its time eliminating sand people like the Tusken Raiders and those two-bit traders, the jawas?"

There was a longer silence before the next suggestion came. "Bespin!" said Grand Moff Thistleborn, whose bushy eyebrows touched each other in the middle and curled up at the ends. "Let’s take over Cloud City!"

Trioculus sneered. "We already have a barge full of factories for building weapons and mining tibanna gas on Bespin. Besides, Cloud City isn’t a fit place to train our troops."

"Dagobah?" offered the grand admiral from Gargon.

"You’re wasting my time!" Trioculus shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. The dishes rattled and a serving flask of zoochberry cream fell on its side.

"Hoth?" Grand Moff Hissa said hesitantly.

Trioculus’s scowl changed to a sly smile. "Very good, Grand Moff Hissa," he said. "You suggest the coldest, most miserable of all the frozen ice planets. Give me your reasoning."

"The new base should be located on a world that the Rebel Alliance wouldn’t consider important," Grand Moff Hissa began. "Preferably a world where Imperial stormtroopers won’t be too comfortable-comfortable men grow lazy and rebellious. There are still bases and military bunkers on Hoth that the Rebels once used before our four-legged AT-AT walkers chased them off the planet," he continued. "All we have to do is move in!" Trioculus gave the order.

All loyal warlords would transport their Imperial military equipment to Hoth-the strike cruisers, frigates, and shuttles; the star galleons and star destroyers; the torpedo spheres and mobile command bases; the four-legged AT-AT snow-walkers, probe droids, and hoverscouts. Everything!

The grand admiral from Gargon suddenly rose to his feet. "You can’t do this, Trioculus!" he shouted. "You’re being too hasty. Until you find the glove of Darth Vader, you won’t be accepted as the new Emperor. What if Grand Admiral Grunger finds it first and-"

ZING!

The grand admiral fell forward onto the banquet table and spoke no more. The grand moffs looked from one to the other with raised eyebrows. Most of them had expected the lightning power from Trioculus’s fingertips to kill the grand admiral. But it wasn’t Trioculus’s style to exert himself to execute just anyone. He had instructed Grand Moff Hissa to take care of that kind of dirty work, especially in the case of a traitor interfering with a high-level Imperial conference.

And so the deed was done by Hissa with one short blast from his sidearm laser pistol. Threepio and Artoo were lost on the streets of Kessendra. Unable to exit the stadium the same way they had entered it, they quickly joined the flow of droids streaming away from the event, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed. Walking around the city, they hadn’t found one street sign that matched the information in Artoo’s data banks.

"Tzoooooot gniiiiizba!" Artoo beeped in frustration.

"Calm down, Artoo, there must be some mistake," said Threepio. "We’ll find our way."

"Chpeeeeeeez phoooooch!" tooted Artoo.

"Then let’s go down to the next street and check that one," replied Threepio, heading south.

"Pchoook ftiiiiz mebutung knuzush!" Artoo beeped noisily when they came to the next sign. Threepio shook his head in dismay. "Slavelord Boulevard. No, this definitely isn’t Spice Mines Avenue. It seems that all these streets have been renamed since Mon Mothma got that data."

The two droids wandered along the twisting streets of the city. The boulevards were bustling with stormtroopers and spice transport vehicles went bouncing past. As Threepio and Artoo crossed an avenue, they were almost run over by some Imperial officers who were riding in a landspeeder limousine.

After hours of going around in circles, Threepio and Artoo finally made their way out of the capital city to the very edge of the mountains that were filled with spice mines.

"I wasn’t cut out to be a spy," Threepio declared as he finally located a path through the Kesselian trees. "I should go back to working with binary load lifters. That was my first job. I’m still not sure why I left."

"Deeeeewooop broooop!" tooted Artoo. A tiny radar screen popped out of the little droid’s head and began swiftly spinning around.

"I certainly hope we get back to Yavin Four," replied Threepio. "Master Luke is going to blow a short circuit when he hears the news about the Emperor’s son!"

"Tzoooooch briiiiiiiib!"

"Now what are you beeping about, you hysterical bag of bolts?"

SHIBOOOOOM!

Threepio looked up at the pink sky to see an Imperial command speeder that looked just like the one that was supposed to pick them up. But Artoo confirmed its number was not 714-D, so there was no reason to assume it was friendly.

And soon there wasn’t just one command speeder, there were three-then four of them!

They seemed to be flying close to the mountains, looking for something. Threepio began calculating the odds that they were searching for a certain meteor pod and two particular droids. He shook his head in dismay when he realized the chances were 1,245 to 1 that the Imperials had figured out they were there.

Threepio led Artoo behind a giant boulder, where they could peek out at the craggy, rocky meteor pod that had brought them to Kessel. But no sooner had the droids begun looking at their pod than a command speeder began shooting laserblasts at the surrounding boulders.

"I have a very bad feeling about this, Artoo," Threepio said grimly. A blast suddenly struck the pod, exploding it into scrap metal right in front of the droids’ eye-sensors.

"Oh, nooooooo!" said Threepio frantically.

Within moments, Threepio’s bad feeling got worse, as he watched an Imperial command speeder land near the exploded pod. Stormtroopers got out and began to inspect the debris.

"We’re doomed," said Threepio.

"Get down, you two!" said a familiar-sounding voice. Threepio turned and nearly stumbled in shock as a man in a green slave robe pulled back his hood and revealed his face.

"Master Luke! You found us. Oh, thank goodness! But what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you two. When there was no sign of your pod taking off, Admiral Ackbar and I figured you droids might be in need of some help. We took a big gamble by landing. Quick-this way!"

The droids followed Luke Skywalker into the Kesselian mountain forest. Moments later they arrived at the Imperial command speeder that the Alliance had captured-Command Speeder 714-D-which was waiting for them.

Once they were safely inside, they greeted Admiral Ackbar, who was at the controls, and quickly blasted off.

The other Imperial command speeders followed them, firing at them from behind. Ackbar and Luke returned the fire. They made a series of spectacular direct hits. One after another their enemies made crash dives, spinning out of control, back to the surface of Kessel.

As their spaceship soared away from the outer atmosphere of Kessel, Artoo’s radar screen popped up and spun around quickly. "Bzzz tzzzt gniiiz bzheeep dzz dzooop!" he beeped urgently.

"Oh, dear," said Threepio. "Artoo definitely doesn’t advise that we chart a direct course back to Yavin Four. He’s spotted Imperial probe droids directly in our path!"

CHAPTER 4 Endangered Whaladons

Hundreds of probe droids with clawlike arms searched through space for the glove of Darth Vader.

While he waited for the reports from these probe droids, Trioculus delayed moving the Imperial forces to the bleak ice world of Hoth.

Soon news began trickling in.

The probe droids found everything but what Trioculus wanted most. They found debris from the Death Star, runaway prisoners, unexploded bombs, Alliance starships, and bounty hunters who were stealing Imperial weapons. They even spotted the missing Imperial Command Speeder 714-D, which narrowly got away when it changed course and entered a dangerous, radioactive asteroid zone from which few spaceships had ever escaped. But there was still no sign of the glove of Darth Vader.

Trioculus released his fury by hunting giant fefze beetles in the Kesselian mountains. He managed to kill three giant fefze, and with each conquest Grand Moff Hissa congratulated him enthusiastically.

But still Trioculus wasn’t satisfied. In an angry voice he spoke of wanting a bigger hunt, a bigger kill. He proposed a journey to the steaming, ammonia-filled jungles of the planet Cona to hunt star dragons. However, before Grand Moff Hissa could even ask about arranging such a safari, Trioculus quickly changed the subject.

"Have any more troops questioned my right to be the new Emperor?" he asked.

"Some of the stormtroopers have been heard to complain, Lord Trioculus," replied Grand Moff Hissa.

"I want their names," Trioculus boomed, exploding with anger. "Their treason shall be punished!"

"Yes, your lordship." Grand Moff Hissa searched his mind for something new to report. "I also thought you should know that a salvage spaceship found what was thought to be a glove this morning. Unfortunately it turned out to be nothing but an old, rusted droid hand, floating in space in a cloud of hydrogen gas."

"Don’t speak to me of droid hands, Hissa," said Trioculus, sneering. "My patience for this search is nearing an end."

Shortly after they returned to Trioculus’s sleek black palace, a shipment of Whaladon meat was delivered to the palace kitchen. The delivery agent had come directly from the Kessel spaceport, where the meat had arrived in an Imperial carrack cruiser filled with cargo from the planet Calamari.

The agent bowed before Grand Moff Hissa, who accepted the delivery papers.

"I’ve also brought a message for Lord Trioculus from Captain Dunwell," said the delivery agent. He broke the seal on the small case he was carrying, took out a hologram disk, and handed it to Grand Moff Hissa, who in turn handed it over directly to Trioculus.

"See that no one disturbs me while I find out what Captain Dunwell has to say," ordered the three-eyed ruler.

Trioculus took the disk into one of his private chambers and inserted it into a holo-projector. Within moments the face of Captain Dunwell appeared as a holographic image, floating before him.

Captain Dunwell had a short white beard and a reddish, leathery face. He wore a blue naval uniform with shiny buttons and rows of medals.

"Dark Greetings, Lord Trioculus," he began. "Here, beneath the oceans of Calamari, I have made an astounding discovery. The Central Committee of Grand Moffs instructed me to contact you directly about this matter. As you may know, I have always been a loyal friend of the grand moffs. I urge you to come to see me on Calamari at once, at the Whaladon Processing Center. Your lordship will not be disappointed!" Beneath the oceans of Calamari, Leviathor, the huge, white leader of the Whaladons, swam to the newly created Whaladon graveyard. In just a few years the bones of so many Whaladons had been dumped there by Captain Dunwell’s Whaladon hunters that the sea floor in that region was now white.

Leviathor beheld the jagged rim of a crater just beyond the seaweed forest. Even from afar he could hear the dreaded machines churning in the huge underwater building at the bottom of that crater. The building was known as the Whaladon Processing Center. Leviathor knew all too well that it was here where Captain Dunwell and his walrus-faced crew of Aqualish aliens killed the Whaladons that they captured. There were now many young Whaladons who had no mothers to nurse them. And there were many older Whaladons, who used to swim the oceans of Calamari freely, who now hid, fearing for their lives, in the darkness of undersea caves.