by Alex Wheeler
The stormtrooper screamed and dropped to the floor beside his friends.
X-7 had hoped a little exercise might leave him calmer for his encounter with the Commander. Killing was always a good pressure release. But not this time.
No matter, X-7 thought. I'll have likely more to do on the way out.
He blasted the lock on the Commander's office door. Soresh leapt out of his chair, reaching for a switch above his desk. "What the—"
X-7 streaked across the room and slapped a hand over the Commander's mouth. He pressed a blaster to the Commander's temple. "Your security team has been taken care of," he informed the Commander. "All the same, I'd prefer you not to press your silent alarm. Please."
Very slowly, the Commander lowered his arm.
"Sit down," X-7 ordered him.
It was strange giving orders to his master: No satisfaction in it. But he had no intention of hurting the Commander. He just wanted answers. And he'd run out of options.
"When I invited you to return home, X-7, this isn't quite what I meant," the Commander said lightly.
"I want to know who I am," X-7 said. He stayed behind his master, partly because it was the strategically stronger position, but mostly because it was easier not having to see his face.
"You are X-7, agent to the Emperor," the Commander said. "The Empire's most skillful assassin…until recently, that is."
As always, the reminder of his failure pained him. "Who I was," X-7 said gruffly. "Before this."
The Commander shook his head. "You're smarter than that. Whoever that person was, he's dead. Your brain is no longer equipped for human emotions, human memories. Trying to dredge them up again would probably drive you to madness." He paused. "Perhaps it's already begun? If that's what's going on here, X-7, if you're starting to feel things, I can help you—"
"No!" Only the truth would help him. Finding out who he was, the whole story, was the only way to decipher the flashes—and make them go away. If he could find that person he'd once been, he could purge all traces of him, once and for all. He could be pure. The Commander couldn't do that for him. X-7 needed to do it for himself.
Wanted to do it.
That was the only reason for this, he told himself. It wasn't some foolish effort to regain his past. It was a mission, the only way he could heal himself and continue to serve his commander. That was all that mattered, feelings or not.
"You're determined?" the Commander asked. "Nothing I say can convince you this is a disastrous idea?"
"Nothing," X-7 confirmed.
The Commander sighed. "I can't tell you who you were, because even I don't know," he said. "But I can tell you how to find out."
X-7 felt his lips curling upward; he felt something warm radiate across his chest.
It was repulsive, humiliating, but inescapable: He felt happy.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway, approaching the office. Reinforcements were on their way. Quickly, the Commander gave him a series of passwords that would let him dig deep into the bowels of the Imperial computer system. X-7 took the information, along with several files pertaining to Project Omega's methods for selecting and training its candidates. Then, without a word to the Commander, he ran full speed at the huge window overlooking the city. A shower of transparisteel exploded as he dropped into the sky.
Soresh peered out the window. No bloody figure lay sprawled on the ground sixty-two stories below. Not that he could see clearly through the layers of clogged skylanes. But Soresh was almost certain that X-7 wasn't down there. He'd have had liquid cable, or grappling hooks, or an airspeeder on autopilot waiting beneath the window, some kind of backup plan. He was too smart not to. Soresh should know: X-7 was his creation.
The stormtroopers blasted through the door, their weapons drawn. "Sir! Sir! Is everything all right in here?"
Soresh rolled his eyes. The incompetence was breathtaking. He made a mental note to take down all their ID numbers. They'd be dodging energy spiders in the Spice Mines of Kessel by the end of the week. "It is now," he snapped. "What took you so long?"
"It was a sneak attack, sir," the lead stormtrooper said. "They took down your entire security detail."
"They?" Soresh arched an eyebrow. "I think you mean 'he.' One man took down seven of your most finely trained men?" At least he wouldn't have to go to the trouble of punishing them for their failures. That was one bright note to the dark day. And perhaps their replacements would be competent. Although he doubted it. The Empire was having a harder and harder time finding good people—just one of the reasons that Soresh had such high hopes for Project Omega. When men's minds were properly molded, there was no place for incompetence, no room for error. When you built a man from the ground up, he became incapable of disobedience or failure.
Or at least, that was the way it was supposed to work.
"Dismissed," he told the stormtroopers, waving them out of the office. Pathetic.
Of course things would have been easier if the stormtroopers had done their job and taken X-7 into custody. But Soresh hadn't been afraid. X-7 would not have hurt him. It was the prime directive of his programming: His commander's life was supreme. Soresh could only imagine how much pain defying his orders must be causing X-7. Attempting to injure his master? The pain would have been unbearable.
And perhaps it was better this way. The information Soresh had provided would send X-7 on a fruitless chase across the galaxy. He would find no answers to his questions; no answers could be found. All participants in Project Omega had their former identities completely wiped from the system, and had their faces surgically altered to ensure no awkward encounters with people from their past. X-7 was chasing a ghost. And when he realized that, he would eventually return to the fold, to his commander, to Soresh. He would be repaired. And if that didn't work, he would be terminated.
It was hardly the most pressing of problems.
Soresh's comlink buzzed. He drew in a sharp breath. It was an incoming transmission from Lord Vader.
Now he was afraid. Soresh told himself that Darth Vader couldn't have heard about X-7's misbehavior. But if he had—if word had leaked out—it could put the future of Project Omega in jeopardy. And if Vader was taking a personal interest for some reason…well, everyone knew what happened to those who found themselves on Vader's bad side. And it seemed all he had were bad sides.
Soresh gathered his nerve. It galled him that Vader could do this to him, make him cower and tremble.
But then, he was a cowardly man. He'd always known this about himself, detested it until he recognized it for what it was: a sign of his intelligence. Cowards were simply people who knew how to survive. It was the fools with no fear who died prematurely.
Vader's time was coming.
Soresh promised himself that. Then he took the call.
"Yes, Lord Vader?" he said in as even a voice as he could muster.
For several long moments, there was nothing but the sound of Vader's labored breathing. When he finally spoke, his voice filled the room. The lights even seemed to dim in deference to Lord Vader's dark presence.
"I am displeased," Vader said.
Soresh shuddered, imagining the thing behind that black mask focusing its rage on him. Everyone knew that it was unwise to speculate on what kind of monster lay beneath Vader's elaborate armor. But everyone had their suspicions.
Their nightmares.
"Lord Vader, I assure you, it's just a momentary malfunction, nothing to trouble yourself about, and certainly Project Omega can continue as—"
"Silence!" Vader said. "Your pointless project means nothing to me."
Soresh knew enough not to speak.
"The Rebel pilot," Vader said, an ominous note of warning in his voice. "The one responsible for blowing up the Death Star. You are to stop your pursuit of him."
No one knew of his secret plan to hunt down Luke Skywalker. No one but X-7, and malfunction or not, he'd never go crying to Vader, "What makes you think—"
"Consid
er your next words very carefully," Vader advised.
Soresh had heard rumors of Vader's power. It was said he could suffocate a man with a thought, from across the room. It was said that his powers extended across the reach of space, that he could strike a man down wherever he stood. Of course, they were just rumors.
Probably.
"The Emperor has made it a top priority to hunt down that pilot," Soresh said. He was determined to prove himself to the Emperor and gain the respect he deserved. But he wasn't intending to do it by going head to head with Vader. He'd watched his colleagues make that stupid mistake again and again. None of them had survived the attempt. "As a loyal servant of the Empire, I of course hope to do whatever I can to further the Emperor's goals."
Beneath the words lay his real meaning: I serve the Emperor, not you.
"The Emperor cannot be troubled to concern himself with the fate of a single Rebel pilot—or a single Imperial commander," Vader replied.
The meaning behind his words was equally clear: The Emperor won't protect you, not from me.
"Return your attention to your own affairs," Vader said. "Leave Skywalker to me."
The transmission cut off abruptly. Soresh opened his desk drawer and pulled out his flask of Dorian Quill. He took a long swig.
His hands were shaking.
But amid the terror, his mind was spinning. Vader knew the pilot's name—perhaps had known all along? And yet instead of hunting him down, as the Emperor desired, Vader was letting the man live free. At least for now. And he was warning Soresh to stay away. Because he wanted the glory of the kill all to himself?
Maybe, Soresh thought.
But maybe it was something else. Something Vader didn't want anyone to know about.
Something that could destroy him.
CHAPTER FIVE
The digits flashed on the screen, waiting for Luke to make a decision. Or rather, a series of decisions, each of which could get them killed.
Input the Imperial docking codes—and, if the codes were false, risk being blown to bits by a fleet of TIE fighters. Or ignore the Imperial docking codes—and risk being blown to bits by a fleet of TIE fighters.
Even if he did transmit the docking codes and they worked, then what? Attempt to board the Star Destroyer and find out exactly what the Empire wanted from Lune Divinian? Buy themselves enough time to follow their mysterious helper's instructions and take a hyperspace jump to who-knew-where? Or flee back to Yavin 4, without answers—but with their lives?
"I think we should go for it," Div said suddenly. "I…I just have a good feeling about this."
"You want to make a decision based on a hunch?" Luke asked, knowing exactly what Han would have to say about that. And yet Div had put his finger on exactly what Luke was feeling. Was that the Force, telling him that the mysterious TIE fighter was trustworthy?
Or was it just wishful thinking?
Aware that time was running out, Luke closed his eyes, trying to connect with his instincts. But when he did, all he saw was X-7's sneering face—a cold reminder of what happened when you trusted the wrong person. There were always consequences.
"Trust your instincts," Div said, and at the sound of his voice, the image of X-7 fell away. "And in the meantime, get ready to fire."
Trust your feelings, echoed a voice in his head. Ben's voice.
His feelings were telling him that an ally was nearby. A friend. But was that friend in the TIE fighter, helping him escape—or was the friend a prisoner desperate to be rescued from the Star Destroyer? What if the TIE fighter was just trying to send Luke on a wild-goose chase so he wouldn't discover the truth?
The seconds were ticking by, and the TIE fighters were powering up their weapons. But Luke had learned something else from Ben: Hasty action could often be more dangerous than inaction. Sometimes it was best to wait until you were sure.
"Luke, make a drokking decision or—"
A spurt of laserfire burst out of the nearest TIE fighter and slammed into the ship, which bucked beneath them. Luke was thrown off his feet. He flew backward, slamming into the rear bulkhead. A sharp pain radiated through his head and down his spine. Div was saying something, but Luke couldn't take it in. His ears were ringing. Red spots swam across his field of vision. The ship shuddered as Div fired toward the TIE fighters. Smoke billowed from the sensor array. Luke shook his head, trying to clear it. Unsteady but determined, he pulled himself to his feet.
Div was frantically trying to keep them alive. But they were wildly outnumbered, and they'd already used most of their missiles. As for evasive maneuvers, the ship handled about as well as a three-legged dewback.
They were a sitting target.
Laserfire lit up the sky as TIE fighters swarmed. Then, without warning, one of the fighters turned on its own. Its laser cannons fired a blast at the nearest Imperial ship. The ship shattered, sending debris spinning wildly into the rest of the fleet. The renegade TIE fighter was everywhere at once, picking its way through the Imperial fleet, taking them down one by one.
It was all the distraction Luke needed.
He activated the hyperdrive, hoping they wouldn't end up inside a sun.
They jumped.
Light streamed past the viewscreen as they blazed through hyperspace. Smears of stars streaked across the black of space. And then, after an instant that felt like an eternity, the stars were stars again, points of light in the darkness. Space was silent, still, and empty. They had arrived.
Somewhere.
"I hope you're right about this," Luke said nervously.
"Me? You're the one who powered up the hyperdrive and took a blind jump."
"You'd rather we sat waiting to be blown out of the sky?" Luke argued, annoyed. He knew that Div would have done the same thing if he'd had the chance. He was obviously just irritated that Luke had moved faster. "Besides, you're the one who said we could trust this guy."
"I don't trust anyone," Div said.
As he spoke, a TIE fighter appeared out of hyperspace.
"That's impossible!" Luke exclaimed. "TIE fighters don't have hyperdrives!"
"Feel free to complain to the Empire," Div said, manning the missile launchers. "I'm going to get the weapons ready. You know, just in case the impossible TIE fighter decides to blow us out of the sky."
It seemed likely the TIE fighter was the same ship that had sent them the coordinates, though there was no way to tell. But now it was battle-scarred, deep gashes running up and down its hull. It had clearly taken some heavy fire before jumping, which meant the pilot, whoever he was, must have been good. TIE fighters weren't built to withstand much fire. Imperial pilots, like their ships, were considered infinitely replaceable.
Of course, the ships also weren't built to make hyperspace jumps. Obviously this was no ordinary TIE fighter—which meant it was likely no ordinary pilot.
Ignoring them, the ship maneuvered into orbit around a nearby moon and disappeared into the thin atmosphere. A transmission came through on the same Rebel frequency used before. More coordinates, this time for a landing spot on the face of the moon.
Luke and Div exchanged a glance.
"We've come this far," Luke said, and took the Firespray down to the surface.
The atmosphere was thick enough that they could breathe but thin enough that they could still see the stars. The moon was dead, arid, flat, and small. In the distance, Luke could make out the curve of the horizon. They stayed in the ship, keeping their weapons trained on the TIE fighter. Its hatch opened, and a figure stepped out. He was dressed in the uniform of an Imperial pilot, but an Imperial pilot would never be so out of shape. As the man drew closer to the ship, Luke glimpsed his face. He nearly laughed in relief. "Come on," he told Div. "It's okay. He's a friend." He flung open the hatch of the Firespray and hurried to meet their rescuer, a man he'd never expected to see again. Ferus Olin.
Div followed slowly.
"Luke," Ferus said when Luke had reached him. He didn't seem at all surprised.
>
"Ferus, I can't believe it!" Luke said. He'd met Ferus Olin on Delaya, the sister planet to Alderaan. The old man had known Leia when she was a child, and he'd quickly proven himself to be a brave and solid ally. Luke had hoped he would join the Rebel Alliance, but he had refused. He has a mission of his own, Leia had said, sounding skeptical. Or he's just too cowardly to fight. But Ferus hadn't seemed like a coward, not to Luke. He'd seemed wise and oddly trustworthy. His very presence was comforting, as if he always knew more than what he was saying, and was ready to face it. Just like Ben, Luke thought, not for the first time.
Ferus was the last person he would have expected to meet on this strange moon, especially piloting a TIE fighter and dressed in Imperial uniform. But there was almost no one else he would rather have seen.
"Div, this is Ferus—" Luke broke off as he spotted Div's ashen face. He was standing stiffly, like a soldier at attention. His hand twitched toward his holster, as if he was fighting the temptation to draw. "It's okay," Luke assured him. "Ferus is a friend."
"I'm pretty sure you don't know who this is," Div said quietly, glaring at Ferus. The older man's eyes widened.
Luke looked back and forth between them, confused. "Do you two know each other?"
Before anyone could answer, Ferus swept him into a fierce bear hug. "I've been worried about you, Luke. Glad to see you're all right."
The hug seemed somewhat strange; he didn't know Ferus that well. But he didn't want to be rude. "No need to worry," he told Ferus. "I'm fine."
Something pricked the back of his neck. He slapped at it. Probably a banda bug, he thought idly. Although this moon looked pretty dead. Not a likely environment for a banda—no food for them to nibble on.
And why was he thinking about bandas?
Why were his thoughts flying in a million directions, like a flock of frightened hawk-bats?
Why did he suddenly feel like the ground was buckling beneath him?
Luke opened his mouth but lacked the strength to speak. In fact, he realized, he lacked the strength to do much of anything.
And then he was on the ground, staring up at the night sky.