Hera blinked when she saw the diamond-shaped freighter. If Chopper was flying the transport, who was piloting the Ghost?
She’d find out soon enough. The blockade runners opened up with their turbolasers, clearing a path for Hera and Kanan to dock their TIEs with the stolen transport. Chopper didn’t even wait for them to board to engage the hyperdrive.
Before the starlines appeared, Hera glanced out the TIE’s canopy at Mustafar. She could hardly see the planet as the Sovereign was ripped apart in a blinding explosion.
EZRA FOLLOWED chopper and the others through the transport’s air lock into the Ghost. Soldiers in oval helmets stood at attention along the main corridor. Chopper rolled past them, unfazed. At the end of the hallway, the droid projected a holonet feed of a middle-aged man with a mustache.
The man addressed Kanan. “Hello, my friend. It is good to see you again.”
Kanan furrowed his brow, where a few more wrinkles had appeared since his capture. “I don’t understand. I met you once, for a few moments. I don’t even know your name.”
“His name is Senator Bail Organa,” Hera said.
Ezra started to connect the dots. Not long before, the crew had picked up two droids, C-3PO and R2-D2, who Kanan had returned to the captain of a blockade runner. The man in the hologram must be that captain.
“And the crew of the blockade runner?” Kanan asked.
“Members of other rebel cells,” Organa’s hologram responded.
Sabine glanced at Hera. “There are other cells?”
Since it was all happening so quickly, Ezra found it hard to get a handle on what they were saying. “We’re a cell? Did you know we were a cell?” he asked Zeb.
The Lasat appeared as confused as he was. “Um, no.”
Hera spoke to all of them. “We weren’t supposed to meet. That way, if captured, we couldn’t reveal the other rebels to the Empire. That was the protocol.”
A strong, confident voice came from behind them. “The protocol has changed.”
Ezra turned to see a rust-skinned woman climb down from the gunnery ladder. She had head-tails like Hera’s, except they were thicker and striped. Ezra had seen others of her species in the city bazaar. They were called Togruta.
“Fulcrum,” Hera said.
“Ahsoka. My name is Ahsoka Tano.”
“Why did you come here?” Kanan asked.
Ahsoka glanced at Ezra. “Because of you and your apprentice, many in the system and beyond have heard your message. You gave them hope in the darkest times. We didn’t want that hope to die.”
Chopper wheeled over to Ahsoka. She patted him on the dome. Ezra wondered what their history was—and how Ahsoka had arrived just in time to save them. There were so many questions racing through Ezra’s mind. In the end, he decided to ask: “So what happens now?”
Ahsoka looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know. One chapter is closed for you, Ezra Bridger. This is a new day. A new beginning.”
Ezra didn’t know this Ahsoka Tano very well yet, but he already liked her, as he liked everyone around him. Hera, Zeb, Sabine, Kanan, and Chopper had plucked him off the streets and given him a purpose beyond pickpocketing. They had taught him that the Empire was not invincible and that he had talents hidden within himself. Time and again, they had risked their lives for him when no one else would have.
Most of all, they had showed him never, ever to lose hope. Hope inspired. Hope was the sun on its rise, bringing the dawn of a new day. And hope could not be defeated.
AGENT KALLUS squinted in the bright sunlight as a shuttle landed at the Imperial complex. The ramp lowered. Grand Moff Tarkin walked out. From what Kallus had learned, Tarkin had escaped in the shuttle before the Sovereign blew. The Inquisitor, however, had not been so fortunate.
Kallus stood at attention when Tarkin approached. One would’ve expected the Grand Moff to be shaken after losing both his flagship and a captive Jedi to the rebels. Yet Tarkin appeared as composed as he had when he first landed on Lothal.
This was a man who refused to admit error, Kallus realized.
“We are getting reports of unrest all over Lothal,” Kallus said. “There are whispers from Mustafar. Some people see the Empire as weak, vulnerable.”
Tarkin’s voice betrayed not a hint of concern. In fact, he smiled. “Not to worry, Agent Kallus. The Emperor has sent me an alternative solution.”
The shadow of a figure emerged from the shuttle. First, Kallus heard the heavy breathing, which sounded like the rasp of a powerful engine. Then he saw the swirl of the figure’s cloak, a dark shroud that hung from armored shoulders and fell to polished black boots. Last, Kallus’s eyes rose to meet the mask. Below two dark lenses, the vented triangle of a respirator replaced a mouth, more menacing than any cruel smile of the Inquisitor’s.
Kallus had seen the holonet reports and had heard stories from other officers. But this was the first time he’d seen Lord Darth Vader in the flesh—if there was indeed flesh under all that black armor.
Any doubts Kallus had vanished. The Emperor had committed his greatest weapon to the fight.
The rebels and their fledgling rebellion were doomed.
MICHAEL KOGGE has written in the Star Wars galaxy for a long, long time. His other recent work includes Empire of the Wolf, an epic comic series featuring werewolves in ancient Rome, published by Alterna Comics. He lives online at www.michaelkogge.com, while his real home is located in Los Angeles.
Battle to the End Page 5