by James Luceno
“Good choice. We’ll handle the clones.”
Hurrying out of his office and through the stockroom, he pressed the release for the back door, only to find a towering figure filling the entryway. Dressed in black from outsize helmet to knee-high boots, the masked figure had his gloved fists planted on his hips in a way that spread his cloak wide.
“Going somewhere, Vigo?”
The slightly bass voice was enhanced by a vocoder of some sort and underscored by deep, rhythmical breathing, obviously regulated by the control box strapped to the figure’s broad and armored chest.
Vader, Garrulan told himself. The Grievous-like monstrosity Shryne said had been “added to the mix.”
“May I inquire who wishes to know?”
“You’re free to ask,” Vader said, but left it at that.
Garrulan tried to compose his thoughts. Vader and his stormtroopers hadn’t come for handouts. They were hot on Shryne’s trail. Still, he thought there might be a way to win Vader over.
“I’m not and never have been a Separatist. I just happen to be living on a Sep world.”
“Your former allegiances don’t concern me,” Vader said.
Stretching out his right hand, Vader yanked Garrulan off his feet and carried him through the foyer and into the office, where he deposited him in a castered chair, which rolled backward and struck the wall.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Vader said.
Garrulan rubbed the back of his head. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”
“Yes. Like that.”
Garrulan forced a breath. “Well, I’d offer you a chair, as well, but I don’t think I have another one large enough.”
The commander of Vader’s troopers entered from the front room while Vader was taking in the office’s lavish appointments.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Vigo.”
“I get by,” Garrulan said.
Vader stood over him. “I’m searching for two Jedi who escaped a transport that was to have delivered them to Agon Nine.”
“Enchanting spot. But what makes you think—”
“Before you say another word,” Vader cut him off, “be advised that I know that you and one of the Jedi go back a long way.”
Garrulan immediately revised his plans. “You’re talking about Roan Shryne and the girl.”
“Then they did come here.”
Garrulan nodded. “They asked for my help in leaving Murkhana.”
“What arrangements did you make?”
“Arrangements?” Garrulan gestured broadly to the room. “I didn’t come by all this by accident. I was surprised even to see Shryne alive. I told them that I don’t help traitors. In fact, I reported their visit to local authorities.”
Vader turned to the stormtrooper commander, who nodded his head and moved into the packing room.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, Vigo.” Vader didn’t make it a question.
“Not until I get to know you better.”
The commander returned. “He did contact the local garrison commander, Lord Vader.”
It was impossible to determine if Vader was at all satisfied. At last, Vader said: “Do you know where Shryne was headed from here?”
Garrulan shook his head. “He didn’t say. But he knows Murkhana well, and I’m only one of his local contacts. But, of course, you already know that.”
“I wanted to hear it from you,” Vader said.
Garrulan smiled to himself. Vader had taken the bait. “Happy to oblige … Lord Vader.”
“If you were Shryne, what would be your next move?”
“Well, now we’re speculating, aren’t we,” Garrulan said, relaxing somewhat. “I mean, you appear to be asking my professional opinion on the matter.”
“And if I am?”
“I only thought there might be something in it for me.”
“What is it you want, Vigo? You already appear to have more than you need.”
Garrulan adopted a more serious tone. “Material things,” he said in a dismissive manner. “I need you to put in a good word for me with the regional governor.”
Vader nodded. “That can be arranged—providing that your professional opinion amounts to anything.”
Garrulan leaned forward. “There’s this Koorivar by the name of Bioto. Dabbles in smuggling and other ventures. Owns a very fast ship called the Dead Ringer.” He paused while the commander disappeared once more, undoubtedly to communicate with Space Traffic Control. “If I were in a hurry to get offworld with the least amount of problems, Bioto’s the one I’d turn to.”
“Lord Vader,” the commander said suddenly, “STC reports that the Dead Ringer recently launched from Murkhana Landing. We have the projected flight path.”
Vader turned, his cloak swirling. “Contact the Exactor, Commander. Order that the ship be moved into a position to intercept.” Without further word he moved into the front room, only to stop short after a few long strides. “You’re very clever, Vigo,” he said, turning partway to Garrulan. “I won’t forget this.”
Garrulan inclined his head in a bow of respect. “Nor will I, Lord Vader.”
A moment after Vader exited, Jally returned, blowing out his breath in relief.
“Not someone I’d feel good about crossing, boss.”
“He does have a way,” Garrulan said, getting to his feet. “Forget the rest of this junk. Have our ship readied for launch. We’re done with Murkhana.”
Wings folded above its fuselage and running lights powering down, Vader’s shuttle entered the Exactor’s main docking bay and alighted on the lustrous deck. Nearby, and surrounded by clone troopers, sat the Dead Ringer, a somewhat boxy cargo transport, heavily armed with turbolaser cannons and outfitted with a state-of-the-art hyperdrive. Also under guard, the transport’s mostly Koorivar crew of seven stood with their hands clasped atop their horned heads while troopers completed a search of the ship. Already off-loaded cargo containers were stacked outside the Dead Ringer’s starboard docking ring, awaiting scans.
Vader and Appo descended the shuttle’s boarding ramp and strode over to where the crew had been gathered. A trooper indicated the captain, and Vader approached him.
“What is your cargo, Captain?”
The Koorivar glowered up at him. “I demand to speak to the officer in charge.”
“You are speaking to him.”
The captain blinked in surprise, but managed to hold on to his angry tone. “I don’t know who you are, but be forewarned that if my ship suffered any damage as a result of being targeted by your tractor beam, I will lodge a formal complaint with the regional governor.”
“Duly noted, Captain,” Vader said. “And I’m certain that the regional governor will take a keen interest in you once he learns that you are transporting proscribed weapons.” He swung to the officer in charge of the troopers. “Escort them to the brig!”
“Lord Vader,” Appo said while the crew was being whisked away, “security reports that two humans have been found in a secret compartment beneath the ship’s galley.”
Vader turned in the direction of the transport. “Interesting. Let’s see what security has uncovered.”
By the time Vader and Appo had moved around to the transport’s port side, a detail of troopers was emerging from the ship, with two humans in custody. The man was tall and long-haired, and very protective of the young woman by his side. The pair were dressed alike in robes and headcloths typical of the mercenary brigade that had fought for the Separatists on Murkhana.
Their eyes widened on seeing Vader.
“They are unarmed, Lord Vader,” one of the troopers announced.
“We stowed away without the captain’s knowledge,” the man said. “We’re only trying to get to Ord Mantell.”
“You’re not stowaways,” Vader said. “The captain was well paid to take you aboard his ship, and you have been promised payment, as well.”
The girl began to quake in fear. “We didn’t know we were doing a
nything illegal! We’re not smugglers or criminals. I’m telling you the truth. We did it only for the credits!”
Vader appraised her. “I will consider sparing your lives if you tell me who hired you to carry out this deception.”
The man firmed his lips, then swallowed hard and spoke. “Some of Cash Garrulan’s goons.”
Vader nodded. “Just as I suspected.” He swung to Appo. “Commander, have the Exactor’s scanners detected anything yet?”
“Nothing yet.”
“They will, soon enough.”
Vader turned to the head of the trooper detail. “Lock these two away with the crew.”
All color drained from the girl’s face. “But you said—”
“That I would consider sparing you,” Vader cut her off.
“Lord Vader, our sensors may have found something,” Appo said suddenly. “The craft is only a CloakShape that launched from the outskirts of Murkhana City. But it is pursuing a course that will take it close to the Exactor’s previous position, and it is attempting to evade our scans.”
“The Jedi are aboard that craft. Can we interdict from our present position, Commander?”
“No. The CloakShape is out of the range of our tractor beam.”
Vader growled in displeasure. “We will need to remedy that. Is my starfighter prepared?”
“It’s waiting in launching bay three.”
“Assign two pilots to serve as my wingmates. Tell them to rendezvous with me in the launching bay.” Vader shrugged his cloak behind his shoulders. “And, Commander, the vigo will be attempting to flee Murkhana. Don’t bother capturing him. Target his vessel, and make certain that everyone on board is killed.”
The CloakShape, a broad-winged craft with a transverse maneuvering fin, had been modified for spaceflight. The cockpit had been enlarged to accommodate pilot and copilot, and a rearfacing gunner’s chair had been installed in the tail section. Shryne was forward; Starstone, aft; and in the pilot’s seat was Brudi Gayn, a freelancer who made occasional runs for Cash Garrulan. A rangy, dark-haired human a few years older than Shryne, he spoke Basic with a strong Outer Rim accent.
Shryne had already decided that Gayn was the most casual pilot he had ever flown with. Any farther from the instrument panel and his chair would have been adjacent to Starstone’s. His hold on the yoke was negligent. Yet he handled the craft masterfully, and didn’t miss a trick.
“Well, they’ve got a good fix on us,” he told Shryne and Starstone through their helmet comlinks. “Definitely going to have to upgrade our countermeasures at some point.”
Hanging far to starboard, Vader’s massive warship was just visible through the CloakShape’s triangle of transparisteel viewport.
“I hate the look of these new mass-produced Imperator-class Destroyers,” Gayn continued. “None of the artistry that went into the old Acclamators and Venators—even the Victory Twos.” He shook his head in disappointment. “So goes elegance.”
“Wars’ll do that,” Shryne said into his helmet comm.
The console issued an alert chime, and Gayn leaned forward a bit to study one of the display screens.
“Three bandits closing on our tail. Signatures ID them as two V-wings and what might be a modified Jedi Interceptor. This Vader character?”
“Good bet.”
“Guess the Empire isn’t any more choosy about commandeering Jedi hardware than it is Sep gear.”
“Obviously, we’re still serving Palpatine in our own way.”
“Are you two aware that three starfighters are chasing us?” Starstone broke in.
“Thanks for the heads-up, sweetheart, but we’re on it,” Gayn said.
“Here’s another heads-up for you, flyboy. They’re gaining on us. Can’t you coax any more speed out of this junker? It’s about as lethargic as you are.”
Gayn laughed shortly. “I suppose I could try jettisoning the tail gunner. That ought to lighten us up.”
“First you might try letting some of the hot air out of yourself,” Starstone fired back.
“Ouch,” Gayn said. “Is she always like this, Shryne?”
“She was a librarian. You know how they can be.”
“A librarian with the Force … Very dangerous combination.” He chuckled to himself, then asked: “What happens to the Force now? Without the Jedi order, I mean?”
“I don’t know,” Shryne said. “Maybe it goes into hibernation.”
Gayn rocked his head from side to side. “Well, here’s a little something to show you that the Force isn’t the only game in town.”
Gazing in the direction indicated by Brudi Gayn’s gloved right hand, Shryne saw a swift space skiff approaching the CloakShape on an intercept course.
“Hope it’s on our side.”
Gayn laughed again. “It’s our ticket out of here.”
All but wedged into the cockpit of his black interceptor, Vader was in full command of the situation. He had the starfighter’s inertial compensator dialed down, and felt revitalized by the experience of near weightlessness. In another life he had flown without helmet or flight suit, but those necessary accoutrements notwithstanding, he felt unburdened, released from gravity’s reign.
This was not the craft Anakin Skywalker had piloted to Mustafar, and the starfighter’s socketed astromech droid had a black dome. Nor was this the craft he would have chosen to fly. But the interceptor would do, at least until Sienar Fleet Systems completed the starfighter that was being built to his specifications.
After all, despite the manifold losses he had endured, he remained the galaxy’s best pilot.
The CloakShape’s lead evaporated as he made adjustments and poured on speed. The Jedi’s choice of escape vehicles was a reflection of their desperation, since the CloakShape lacked a hyperdrive of any sort. But Vader saw what they had in mind. They hoped to rendezvous with the Sorosuub skiff that even now was angling toward them. The plan would have worked, however, only if Vader had taken the Twi’lek crime boss at his word. And because he hadn’t, the Jedi wouldn’t have enough time to transfer to the larger ship. By then both the CloakShape and the skiff would be in proton torpedo range.
“Form up on me,” he told the clone pilots in the escort V-wings, “and fire on my command. There’s no need to take them alive.”
“Lord Vader, we have identified the Sorosuub,” one of the pilots returned. “The registry is Murkhana. The owner is Cash Garrulan.”
“So,” Vader said, mostly to himself. “It all ends here.”
“But there is something else, Lord Vader. The CloakShape appears to be fitted with external booster-ring adapters.”
Glancing at the display screen in which the CloakShape was centered, Vader issued a command to the astromech droid to display the skiff on a secondary screen.
Instantly he understood.
“All speed,” he ordered the clone pilots. “This is not a rendezvous. Fire proton torpedoes the moment our targets are in range.”
It was going to be close, Vader realized.
He enabled the interceptor’s laser cannon. The CloakShape, too, was traveling flat-out, and was faster than he would have thought possible. The pilot was skilled and artful. At this distance it would be difficult to keep him in laser lock.
The astromech sent an update to the cockpit data screen, and at the same time the voice of one of the escort pilots issued through the console comlink.
“Lord Vader, the skiff is positioning a hyperdrive booster in the CloakShape’s flight path.”
The vision enhancers built into Vader’s mask delivered a close-up of the red-and-white hypermatter ring. Quickly he thumbed the triggers on the steering yoke, and a hail of crimson bolts streaked from the interceptor’s long-barreled laser cannons. But it was unlikely that the bolts would ever reach their targets, because the targets would be long gone.
Still calling all power from the ion drive, Vader watched the CloakShape slip neatly into the precisely positioned booster ring and make the jump to ligh
tspeed. A split second later Cash Garrulan’s skiff engaged its hyperdrive and disappeared.
Allowing the interceptor to power down, Vader gazed in defeat at the distant starfield.
He had much to do to make himself whole once more.
One of the V-wing pilots hailed him. “Escape vectors are being plotted, Lord Vader.”
“Delete the calculations, pilot,” he said. “If the Jedi are so determined to disappear, then let them.”
PART III
IMPERIAL CENTER
You have my full assurance that I will not disband the Senate,” the Emperor told the small audience he had summoned to his new chambers. “Furthermore, I don’t want you to think of yourselves as mere accessories, ratifying legislation and facilitating the business of governing. I will seek your counsel in enacting laws that will serve the growth and integrity of our Empire.”
He fell silent for a moment, then delivered his bombshell.
“The difference now is that when I have taken into account your contributions and those of my advisers, my judgment will be final. There will be no debates, no citations of constitutional precedent, no power of veto, no court proceedings or deferrals. My decrees will be issued simultaneously to our constituent worlds, and they will take effect immediately.”
The Emperor leaned forward in the high-backed chair that was his temporary throne, but not so far forward that his disfigured face was placed in the light.
“Understand this: you no longer represent your homeworlds solely. Coruscant, Alderaan, Chandrila … All these and tens of thousands of worlds far removed from the Core are cells of the Empire, and what affects one, affects us all. No disturbances will be tolerated. Interplanetary squabbles or threats of secession will meet with harsh reprisals. I have not led us through three years of galactic warfare to allow a resurgence of the old ways. The Republic is extinct.”