by Renee Ahdieh
He didn’t breathe until the black-suited lord shifted his attention to Motti. He watched dispassionately as they exchanged words, as Vader strolled from behind Tarkin toward Motti. The tension crackled as Motti’s anger flared.
Vader raised his hand.
Motti’s words stuttered to nothing but gasping breaths, desperate for air.
Motti had called Vader’s beliefs ancient and sorcerous, and Tagge couldn’t help but agree. Nothing but wizardry could have made Motti choke while Vader, meters away, merely raised his hands and squeezed.
Tagge couldn’t help but bring his own hand to his mouth, but he knew better than to speak. The men around the table watched as Motti struggled to breathe until Tarkin, seemingly bored, ordered his release.
Tagge glanced at the chair two down from his, then his eyes met Motti’s. A thin sheen of sweat dotted Motti’s brow, his eyes still bulging slightly from the choking. But he didn’t say anything further. And neither did Tagge.
His data had been wrong, he knew that now. Tagge had looked at the angles incorrectly, surmised the outcomes based on incomplete data. He had assumed the Empire’s greatest weapon was the Death Star.
But he was beginning to realize that it might just be Lord Vader himself.
It didn’t make him right, you know. It made him angry, it made him violent, but it didn’t make him right. You may or may not have already reviewed the footage—it’s my opinion that attempted murder at a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of the Galactic Empire merits a thorough, personal investigation by the members of High Command, but you gentlemen will of course act as you see fit. The point is, whatever conclusions you ultimately draw about the incident taking place between myself and Lord Vader during yesterday morning’s briefing, he was wrong, and trying to crush someone else’s windpipe doesn’t make you any less wrong, if you’re wrong to begin with. Which he was. I do not concede the argument.
I submit myself willingly to discipline if I am in error, but I believe I am correct in saying that I have been appointed the Chief of the Imperial Navy. I believe I am also correct in stating that the Imperial Navy is a military organization, that its goals and aims are martial in nature, that we seek to both engage in armed hostilities and ultimately win them, and that therefore we have every right to place the majority of our hopes on the technological marvel that is this battle station, and that I was not out of line to suggest that said battle station is both a technological marvel and the pride of the Imperial Navy, and that we would be well served to put it to use as quickly and as often as necessary, if not as possible.
I wish to take this opportunity to point out that I have no objection to the gentleman’s religious beliefs, nor do I object to the prospect of working with Lord Vader again in future, assuming the Empire is willing to take all necessary precautions to ensure public safety, and with Lord Vader’s personal guarantee that he will confine himself to using words to win arguments in future, as befits a ranking member of the Imperial Council, and save acts of out-and-out violence for members of the Rebel Alliance. I can assure you, gentlemen, that I have no interest in holding grudges, nor in re-creating the type of petty feuds of all too recent memory that characterized the day-to-day operations of the Imperial Senate.
Moreover, I am not a bigot; it is a point of pride with me that in my native sector of Seswenna there are over three hundred distinct religious traditions with active practitioners, all officially recognized by their Imperial administrator. I myself am a man of faith, as it happens, and believe that Imperial unity can only be strengthened through cooperative and constructive dialogue among citizens following diverse spiritual traditions. I would welcome, under more appropriate circumstances, the opportunity to learn more about Lord Vader’s understanding of the Force, and how it enriches his daily life.
I do not welcome Lord Vader quite literally attempting to shove his religious beliefs down my throat. This was a military meeting at a military installation attended exclusively by military personnel; I will not apologize for asking Lord Vader to refrain from commandeering the conversation into a referendum on his religious devotion, nor will I apologize for attempting to give credit to the hardworking men, women, and neutrois whose years of dedication made this day possible by praising the capabilities of the Death Star station. It is my belief that effective managers should offer at least as much praise as they do criticism.
At any rate, if you’ve reviewed the footage, which I strongly encourage you to do, you’ll notice two things. The first, and most critical to my argument, is that Lord Vader expressed open contempt for the Death Star project in front of his subordinates, many of whom have dedicated their lives to seeing the station completed. It was, to put it mildly, a speech that undermined public faith in both the Galactic Empire’s vision and its competency. The Empire has invested over twenty years, countless man-hours, and over one trillion credits in the development of the Death Star. I need hardly remind you gentlemen that it cannot possibly serve any of our aims to have a member of the Joint Chiefs blatantly disparaging the most ambitious and expensive military venture in recent history. He has had more than two decades to express any relevant concerns to our engineering and development teams, and has always been free to make whatever suggestions he deems necessary about the creation of a Force-sensitive unit to either Grand Moff Tarkin or the Emperor himself. The day we are set to launch the most ambitious military project in Imperial history is not the time; in front of the first joint meeting of Imperial governors and rear admirals is not the place.
I quote directly from Lord Vader moments before he assaulted me: “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.”
(It should go without saying, gentlemen, that I am perfectly accustomed to a little briefing room brawling every now and again. I am a military man. I am not asking for pity. I am perfectly well. I am not asking for special treatment.)
I mean to say: “Don’t be too proud” of the Death Star? Of the battle station we are currently holding a meeting in, upon which the Emperor himself has pinned his greatest hopes? Is this how the Imperial leadership hopes to inspire our troops? Ask them to dedicate their careers and lives to technological innovation, only to tell them not to be “too proud” when their labors finally come to fruition? Have I missed an official change in policy? I will not apologize for taking pride in my work, nor for encouraging my employees to take pride in theirs. If the Empire wishes to reprimand me for this, so be it.
This felt, frankly, like an act of workplace proselytization. Again, I have no objection whatever to Lord Vader’s private faith. It must, however, be pointed out that at present the number of planets destroyed solely by the unaided power of the Force is zero. The number of planets destroyed by the power of the Death Star is one. The number of days the Death Star has been fully operational is also one.
The second thing you will notice, gentlemen, while watching the tape, is that Lord Vader is forced to take several steps in my direction before—to use a colloquialism, and for lack of a more accurate term—Force-choking me. For all his claims that the power of the Force is greater than the destructive capabilities of this Death Star, it strikes me as more than a little disingenuous if he cannot even remotely choke a single individual from across the room. I imagine Lord Vader would have had to stand very close to the planet Alderaan indeed today if he had wanted to demonstrate how thoroughly his Force-wielding abilities outmatch the Death Star.
But I digress. I am here to give an account of the events that transpired in yesterday’s briefing and to submit myself for possible correction, nothing more. We were in the main conference room on the officer’s deck—Vice Admiral Tallatz, Rear Admiral Tiaan Jerjerrod, Kendal Ozzel, Commander Cassio Tagge, Admiral Nils Tenant, and myself—discussing the relative threat levels facing our respective commands. Commander Tagge was, in my opinion, distressingly myopic on the subject of the Rebel Alliance. Although I comm
end him for his concern for the well-being of his own troops, the threat posed by a patchwork fleet of secondhand X- and Y-wing starfighters led by a complement of informally trained pilots is in my opinion minimal. That is not to say there is not a time or a place for discussing the rebel threat—no one ever won a war through overconfidence—merely that Tagge’s concerns are not universal. The dog nipping at his heels in the street is no threat to my locked and guarded house, so to speak.
At this point we were joined by Grand Moff Tarkin and Lord Vader, who informed us that the Imperial Senate had been formally and permanently dissolved by the Emperor. May I take this opportunity to say I think this action was a long time in coming and can only benefit us as an organization moving forward. Tagge, who only moments before had feared that rebel support within the Senate would destroy us, now feared the opposite: namely, that without the apparatus of the state bureaucracy, the Emperor would be unable to maintain order. I would like to say, personally, that I do not believe the Emperor requires any such assistance, and that Tagge’s repeated questioning of the Emperor’s actions, if not outright treasonous, at the very least bespeaks a lack of fitness for command. Perhaps once the High Command is finished investigating Lord Vader’s outburst it will turn its attention to Tagge’s competence, loyalty, and overall value to our organization.
It was then that I dismissed Tagge and Vader’s line of argument (namely, that the Rebellion, if in possession of the Death Star blueprints, might pose an immediate threat to our safety) by pointing out that merely obtaining technical data was not the same thing as an imminent assault. There are blueprints of every single Star Destroyer, governor’s mansion, Imperial palace, and naval shipyard in the Empire, and most of them have backups kept in various data storage facilities throughout the galaxy. Does Tagge mean to suggest that the mere existence of the artifacts necessary to the architectural process poses an existential threat?
We have, I might add, an entire military intelligence unit whose sole job it is to evaluate the credibility of possible threats. I then encouraged the other admirals that, having invested so much time and energy into building the Death Star, it might perhaps behoove us to use it. I need hardly to say to you, gentlemen, that this was merely restating the official Tarkin Doctrine; it is scarcely in dispute. If the rebels launch an attack, we will defend ourselves. In the meantime, I believe we should continue to employ every method at our disposal to ending the war.
The rest you know. Lord Vader for some reason took issue with my idea that we use the weapon we had only recently finished building, suggested that we take less pride in our military achievements as an organization, and once again loudly evangelized his specific religious beliefs. I may have been heated in my response, but I merely spoke the truth: Lord Vader’s devotion to a nearly extinct faith has not resulted in the recovery of the stolen data tapes, nor has it given him insight into the rebels’ secret base, nor has he ever destroyed a planet. His response was showy and attention grabbing, certainly, but he could not refute a single one of my arguments. He found my lack of faith disturbing? I have never claimed to be an adherent to his sect. I found his lack of faith in this military installation disturbing. I do not attend Lord Vader’s religious ceremonies and demand he venerate the Death Star’s architectural staff; I ask him to refrain from interrupting my meetings and insisting I kowtow before this Force of his.
I also, as I stated before, object to his choking me. I concede nothing. I maintain, as I always have, that if we were going to build the Death Star we might as well use it. It should please the members of High Command to note that I am at the present moment able to confirm that this battle station is in fact fully operational and has thus far exceeded every hope we have ever placed in its construction. I have no doubt the Emperor will be gratified to hear this. I myself initiated the firing sequence upon Grand Moff Tarkin’s command; Lord Vader himself can confirm this, if you care to ask him. I might add that the planet Alderaan was selected, targeted, and destroyed, all without the aid of Lord Vader’s precious Force—thanks entirely to the competence, diligence, and efficiency of the Death Star operations team. I have no further comment on the matter.
The hardest part of the work was keeping your feelings under control. You couldn’t afford to show discomfort, even if the light was too bright. You were trained to mask your physical response to pain, to fear, to surprise, to anything. Not just in your face, but in your entire body. You took pride in it, too. On guard, you had to be as smooth-faced and immobile as a droid. And Lord Vader would always know if you faltered, if you twitched a finger or even an eyebrow—even if he wasn’t looking at you.
It was easier being in the faceless armored ranks of the stormtroopers, where no one could see your twitching eyebrow beneath the hard white mask.
Being here, at Vader’s side, flanking him, a meter ahead of him or a meter behind in pace with the partner whose name you didn’t know and with whom you’d never exchanged a spoken word, was an honor and a privilege. Your face was uncovered. Your mask was invisible. You were in the inner circle.
Everyone knew you were ambitious; you wouldn’t be here otherwise. But you couldn’t ever show it. You couldn’t show anything. You saw things, you learned things, you knew things that no one but Lord Vader himself knew.
This was why you joined; this was what you’d come for, what you’d thirsted for: to be here on the cutting edge of military technology, to be among the first watch to witness the galaxy yielding up its treasures and its secrets to the ever-expanding Galactic Empire. And here you were, aboard the mightiest battle station the galaxy had ever seen, at the side of the Emperor’s most feared and powerful strategist—
—And yet sometimes it still took all your concentration to keep your mouth set and your brow straight.
You walked ahead of Vader, on his right, as he strode through the sterile corridors of the detention block. You and your silent counterpart had to set the pace for him, while keeping in perfect step with each other, a challenging and often daunting game of skill. On this occasion, though, after Vader had keyed in the codes to open the door to the unlucky prisoner he was about to interrogate, he stepped into the cell ahead of you.
There was no invitation to follow, but of course you did it automatically.
This was exactly the kind of moment you hated. No matter how hard you’d trained for it, you never stopped hating being taken by surprise.
The prisoner was a young girl.
It came as a shock. You’d known Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan was a member of the Galactic Senate. But you hadn’t realized she would be so young, and never in a million years had it occurred to you to expect such winning beauty.
Small-boned, neat, round-faced, still wearing the formal white gown of a diplomat and with her long dark hair still smoothly rolled around her head in formal elegance, she sat straight and defiant against the smooth cold wall of her cell. But this work had made you good at reading faces, and it took only a glance for you to see that she was terrified. She was controlling it, but not well. Her dark eyes were wide and frightened, and she was cringing backward into the corner of the cell, bracing herself as Vader approached.
All this hit you in the second it took to enter the small room. Lord Vader loomed tall and menacing over the cowering girl. But you kept your face still. You were better at it than she was.
Don’t look at her, you reminded yourself; don’t catch her eye.
The single unit that you made with your counterpart was split as you stepped aside, one of you on each side of the door, so that the menacing black globe of the interrogator droid could drift in.
You didn’t blink as it hovered less than an arm’s length from your head, the mind probe hypodermic poised dangerously close to your own eye. It wasn’t here for you.
The girl’s dark eyes widened when she saw it. She gave a little gasp of apprehension.
Vader said to her: “And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base.”
And the cell door glided smoothly shut behind you, sealing all four of you in together.
The crowded cell was never designed to hold so many. You stood rigid and passive and thought of the command you’d someday have. You had to watch. There was no choice but to watch. But you weren’t going to let yourself think of anything else but your own bright future—
It didn’t work.
You were undone with shock at how much of yourself you recognized in this fragile, fearful, defiant young rebel with a backbone of steel.
You could see, as surely as Vader himself could, that the girl knew more than she was revealing. She resisted and battled against the intrusion into her mind, but showed none of the confusion or outrage you’d expect from someone who had nothing to hide. She knew why she was here and, just like you, she was focused on endurance, on holding herself in. Her entire being was centered on not letting Darth Vader see what was going on in her head.
She was exactly like you.
When the heavy door slid open again and the exhausting session had come to its temporary close, the girl was left on her own again, wrung out in a quivering heap of emotional and physical collapse.
But unlike her, you weren’t allowed the luxury of either emotion or collapse.
—
She’d still given up nothing when Governor Tarkin sent for her.
Her hands were manacled as you marched her through the Death Star’s labyrinthine corridors. She was composed again, though. It wasn’t obvious that she was scurrying to keep up; the pace Vader set was hard for her small frame to match. She still looked the part of a young ambassador on a diplomatic mission, and she was still playing that role with steely composure, just as you were playing your own role.
You felt it as a shock in the pit of your stomach when you realized that she was matching your stride.