A flash of pale green glimmered briefly from the holo.
The room shook, vibrating enough to rattle the chairs. She felt her viscera become momentarily buoyant, and realized that the ship’s gravity field had flickered.
“What is that?” Memah stood, fighting sudden, inexplicable panic. After all, what could possibly pose a danger to—
Ratua held up a hand to quiet her. Those green eyes watched the ’proj. “Wait a second,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”
The image of the planet Despayre seemed to shiver as a thin beam of emerald green—nearly the same color as Ratua’s eyes, she thought—from off the edge of the ’proj lanced into the center of the single huge continent.
They both watched disbelievingly as an orange spot blossomed on the image of the planet. It seemed no bigger than Memah’s thumbnail at first, but it grew rapidly, spreading in an expanding circle. The center of the orange turned black.
“Kark,” Ratua said. He sounded stunned.
“What? What is it?”
“They—they’re firing at the planet. With the superlaser.”
The orange and black spread in irregular waves now, continuing outward from the center. The blue of the ocean didn’t even slow it down.
“The atmosphere’s on fire,” Ratua said. Calmly, as if he were discussing the weather. Going to be a warm day today, temperature around five thousand degrees …
She felt a horrifying urge to laugh. It didn’t seem real—it couldn’t be real. Ratua must’ve tuned in to some future-fic holo by mistake. It wasn’t a real planet she was watching burn. No. Things like that just didn’t happen.
Memah stared at the image. She could not look away.
SUPERLASER FIRE CONTROL, THETA SECTOR, DEATH STAR
Tenn looked at the images from the targeting cam. He still had his hand on the firing lever. He released it and stared, watching as the very air on the prison world caught fire in a runaway planetary holocaust. Seismographic sensors showed that massive groundquakes had begun, rumbling down into the bowels of the planet. Giant waves in the ocean, generated by the shifting of tectonic plates, rushed for the shores of the big continent. Volcanoes spewed lava. Clouds of steam and volcanic ash began to rapidly obscure the surface from view—but not fast enough.
He had just killed everything on the planet Despayre. If all life wasn’t dead already, it would be soon.
The CO moved to look over his shoulder. He didn’t congratulate Tenn on the shot; he just stood there.
“Stang,” Tenn said.
The CO nodded. “Yeah.”
COMMAND CENTER, OVERBRIDGE, DEATH STAR
Motti said, “Engineering says the capacitors will be recharged in an hour and thirteen minutes.”
Tarkin watched the projection as the effects of the beam manifested on the planet. By the time the second pulse was ready for discharge, there wouldn’t be anything alive on the world below them to care. The chain reaction was massive. And at only one-third of the power that would be available when it was fully operational.
Amazing.
“I hope you’re right about this,” Motti said. “Politically, I mean.”
“Of course I am, Admiral. The population of that world consisted of condemned criminals sentenced to life imprisonment. They were never going back to civilization. It was a constant drain on Imperial resources to transport them and to maintain them. Those troops will now be freed up for service. Nobody will mourn the murderers or the filthy planet on which they lived.”
“And where will the Empire send its major criminals now?”
Tarkin turned away from the images of carnage and looked directly at Motti. “Unless I am seriously mistaken, the death penalty will be used more frequently. Imperial justice is about to become swift and sure, Admiral.”
He turned back to watch the image of the dying world.
G-12 BARRACKS, SECTOR N-SEVEN, DEATH STAR
Nova woke up screaming, beset with horror. The other sergeants watched him, but none of them approached. Bad idea to get too close to a martial arts expert coming out of a nightmare.
Nova tried to calm himself, to slow his breathing, but he had never felt anything like this before. It was as if he had heard a million people cry out, all at once, as they were killed.
He stepped from his cot, went to the refresher, and washed his face. He needed to see that doctor again. He was beyond caring what anyone thought. Something was definitely wrong with him, and he couldn’t live like this.
56
SUPERLASER FIRE CONTROL, THETA SECTOR, DEATH STAR
An hour and fifteen minutes after the first beam, Tenn fired the second one.
The planet Despayre, already scorched lifeless and beset with cataclysmic groundquakes and volcanism, began to shake like some tormented creature in its death throes. Massive cracks, thousands of kilometers long and tens of klicks wide, striated the world. Mountains collapsed in one hemisphere as they jutted up and rose in another. It was impossible to see all this directly, of course, because of the cloud cover that had blanketed the surface, but the IR and VSI scopes showed everything all too clearly. The molten core of the globe, already venting through innumerable new volcanoes, oozed to the surface and produced oceans of lava that spread across the land. This was how the planet had been born, and this was how it was dying.
An hour and nineteen minutes later, when Tenn fired the third beam that blew the charred and burned-out cinder apart, shattering it into billions of pieces, it seemed almost pointless. Everybody and everything on it had already been roasted, scalded, or drowned. The system’s gravity twisted as the planetary well ceased to exist. Shield sensors quietly recorded the thousands of fragments, from the size of pebbles to that of mountains, deflected from the station.
Sweet Queen Quinella. A whole planet, destroyed. Just like that.
No matter how tough you thought you were, that was hard to stomach.
Especially when you were the one who had pulled the lever.
ISD DEVASTATOR, APPROACHING DEATH STAR
Vader had felt the fabric of the Force tear even in hyperspace. Some vast and terrible event had taken place. When they’d dropped below lightspeed, it had taken but a few seconds for his sensor crew to determine the cause of that event.
The prison planet of Despayre was no more.
Vader nodded to himself as he looked at the magnified view of planetary debris. That should convince the military that they had developed the ultimate weapon. They were wrong, but they would believe it. They would be full of their pitiful dreams of power and glory, unable to comprehend the truth, certain that they were unbeatable.
That was not his worry. He had his orders, and he would carry them out. He would get the information he sought from the dissident Princess. They would find the Rebels’ main base and destroy it. The war would be over, and Vader would finally be free to resume his studies of the dark side in earnest. He had much to learn and, with the Emperor no longer preoccupied with this petty conflict, he could resume his training.
That was what was important. That way lay real power.
MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM, COMMAND CENTER, DEATH STAR
Motti wanted to reach over and smash in General Tagge’s face—the man was insufferable!
Tagge said, “Until this battle station is fully operational, we are vulnerable. The Rebel Alliance is too well equipped. They are more dangerous than you realize.”
Motti could have pointed out that the vaunted Rebel Alliance had sent a huge carrier against the station and that unfortunate vessel had been blown out of existence by a single, low-powered pulse of the not-yet-fully-operational Death Star’s main battery, from more than two thousand kilometers away. Which was nothing compared with the fact that an entire planet had just been destroyed with three partial-strength pulses, any one of which could blow an armada out of the galaxy.
But Tagge already knew this, of course. He was putting his objections into the record, covering his bets and his backside, just in case.
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Two could play that game. Motti said, “Dangerous to your starfleet, Commander, not to this battle station.”
Tagge was as thickheaded as a durasteel plate. He just kept prattling on: “The Rebellion will continue to gain support in the Imperial Senate as long as—” He stopped as Grand Moff Tarkin, followed closely by Darth Vader, strode into the conference room. As he entered, Tarkin cut in: “The Imperial Senate will no longer be of any concern to us. I’ve just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the council permanently. The last remnants of the Old Republic have been swept away.”
Even that didn’t shut Tagge up: “That’s impossible! How will the Emperor maintain control without the bureaucracy?”
Tarkin said, “The regional governors now have direct control over their territories.” He smiled, ever so slightly. “Fear will keep local systems in line—fear of this battle station.”
“And what of the Rebellion?” Tagge kept on. The man was like a borrat with a bone: he wouldn’t let it go. “If the Rebels have obtained a complete technical readout of this station, it is possible, however unlikely, that they might find a weakness and exploit it.”
“The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands.” That from the deep-voiced Vader, who stood behind the now seated Tarkin.
Motti couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Any attack made by the Rebels against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they’ve obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I suggest we use it.”
Vader said, “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.”
Motti wanted to laugh. Vader had to be insane! How could he say that, especially with the rubble of Despayre still sweeping past the station? “Don’t try to frighten us with your sorcerer’s ways, Lord Vader,” he said, feeling safe in the presence of witnesses. He was aware that Vader was moving toward him, but Motti was committed. Even knowing what a bad idea it was to bait the man in black, he continued: “Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes or given you clairvoyance enough to find the Rebels’ hidden fort—ukk!”
Three meters away, Vader leaned forward and made a small motion with his hand, closing it into a fist.
Motti felt his throat clench and close up, as if it were being crushed by a steel clamp. He … couldn’t … breathe …!
He dug his fingers into his collar, trying to remove what felt like an unbreakable band around his neck. It didn’t work. The pressure was there, but there was nothing material around his throat to cause it.
“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Vader said.
Motti felt himself start to gray out. He wanted to scream, but he could not utter so much as a squeak as he slid toward the abyss of unconsciousness and death …
He barely heard Tarkin speak. “Enough of this. Vader—release him.”
“As you wish,” Vader said. He turned and strode away, and a moment later Motti fell forward onto the conference table, not feeling the impact. He could breathe again, however. The constriction was gone. He sat up, filled with rage, and glared at Vader. If only he had a blaster!
But, though he was not a cowardly man, his rage was tinged with fear. How had Vader done that? He had been three meters away.
Motti swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat sore.
Tarkin said, “This bickering is pointless. Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the Rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke!”
Motti believed that. But he also knew something else now, too. Vader had power, and it was real. Motti had felt it, and, if Tarkin had not intervened, he believed with every fiber of his being that he would be dead.
That was a sobering thought. What did it matter if you commanded a station that could destroy a world if you could be killed yourself by a freak waving a hand in the air?
Something would have to be done about Vader. But very, very carefully done.
57
PRISON BLOCK AA, DETENTION CENTER, DEATH STAR
Uli had just completed his rounds, which included a quick tour of a different prison block every cycle. Most of the prisoners were there for minor infractions, drunk-and-disorderlies and the like. He was in the corridor, heading to his office when he saw none other than Darth Vader coming from the other direction.
With him was a beautiful young woman.
It was such a surreal sight that he was momentarily tempted to question his senses. But it was real enough; he could see the fluorescents’ distorted reflections slide along the black helmet as Vader walked, and could hear the regulated breathing of the man’s respiratory apparatus. The sound of his boots against the floor grating was oddly soft for so large a man.
Vader had one hand clamped on the woman’s upper arm, and even from ten meters away Uli could see by her expression of pain and anger that the grip was hard enough to be hurting her. Whoever she was, she was obviously not with Vader by choice.
The woman wore a white gown, and she looked somehow familiar, although he couldn’t place her. Her dark brown hair was long, but rolled into tight circles against the sides of her head. Even through the discomfort and indignity of her situation, she seemed extraordinarily self-possessed.
The three of them were alone in the prison block corridor. As Uli drew near, Vader stopped. Paying no attention to the doctor, he opened one of the cells and pushed the woman unceremoniously inside. The hatch dropped shut behind her.
Uli had slowed and glanced back over his shoulder to watch as he passed. After incarcerating the woman, Vader turned, ebony cape flaring behind him. He looked back at Uli. Although no part of his face was visible, Uli somehow had no doubt that Vader was looking directly at him.
He set his gaze in front of him once more and continued walking. Just as he exited the block, three black-clad and helmeted technicians passed him. Behind them, floating on a cushion of repulsorlift energy, an interrogator droid followed.
Uli took the lift back to Medical, wondering who the woman was and what her crime had been. The lift doors opened and he started up the corridor, but stopped as C-4ME-O wheeled around the corner.
“Good after-midday, Dr. Divini.”
“Not for everyone, it appears. I just saw Darth Vader, of all people, apparently intending to interrogate a young woman in the prison block. Do you know who she is?”
“Princess Leia Organa, a member of the Imperial Senate, from Alderaan. It is said that she is also a sympathizer with the Rebel Alliance. Apparently she has information the Empire wants, and thus her impending interrogation by Lord Vader.”
Uli winced at the thought. Interrogation technology was imprecise, more brute force than finesse—intentionally so, for the most part. Many prisoners started talking a klick a minute at the first sight of one of those glossy-black ISB globes, bristling with archaic hypodermic syringes and electrodes. And woe to them if they didn’t, because the term interrogator droid was just a euphemism for its real function. It was a torture device, purely and simply. Many who underwent examination by the probes were mentally or even physically damaged beyond repair.
A harsh fate for such a lovely and brave young woman as this Princess apparently was. He had seen only a hint of fear in her as she passed; that she was willing to resist Vader to the extent of requiring such extreme measures indicated a fortitude Uli doubted that he himself possessed.
He was outraged by the thought of such barbarism being practiced by the Empire, although not particularly surprised. But he knew there was nothing to be done about it. To protest the actions of the Emperor’s whip would do her absolutely no good, and no doubt result in his own immediate imprisonment. He could finally get his discharge from the medical wing of the Imperial Navy, although it would likely be a discharge from this plane of existence as well. He shook his head and looked at
4ME-O. “Were you looking for me?”
“Indeed. Dr. Hotise wishes to discuss the overages in last month’s supply budget with you.”
Uli nearly groaned aloud, but the thought of the young woman in the cell made him feel somewhat ashamed of himself. She was facing far more than a bureaucratic upbraiding about expenditures.
He followed the droid around the corner. What a shame. She was so young, so lovely. She reminded him, somehow, of Barriss.
CELL 2187, BLOCK AA, DETENTION LEVEL, DEATH STAR
Vader, accompanied by three black-clad and helmeted technicians, entered the cell where Leia Organa was being held. He had hoped that she would have become more tractable after her capture. But she had remained silent. Her choice. She would regret it.
Behind him the interrogator droid followed. It was a crude tool, a blunt instrument compared with the subtlety and precision possible with the Force; however, Princess Leia’s mind was too strong to easily manipulate, even with the power of the dark side at his beck and call. It was possible that he could wrest the knowledge from her, but he might end up destroying the very information he sought. She would force him to burn her brain to a husk before she would willingly part with the data—of that he had no doubt.
However, after being subjected to the tender mercies of the device floating behind him for a time, her mind should be a bit more … pliable.
Now and then, one had to make do with the tools available, however crude they might be.
The chamber’s door slid up, revealing the Princess sitting on a platform in the mostly bare room. Vader and two of the techs entered. The third waited outside in the corridor.
“And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base,” Vader told her.
Star Wars: Death Star Page 28