Star Wars - Rebel Force 01 - Target

by Alex Wheeler

  Still, when he stepped into the conference room and saw Dodonna, Han, Leia, and a handful of top Rebel leaders staring back at him, he couldn't help it.

  He felt like a clueless kid.

  General Dodonna barely waited for Luke to sit down before he began speaking. "Our spies have intercepted a coded Imperial transmission, indicating the Empire has no imminent plans to attack Yavin 4."

  "But why?" Leia cut in. "Now that they have our location, it doesn't make sense that they wouldn't attack us."

  "Agreed." Dodonna ran a hand through his bushy beard. "We gave them a nasty surprise when we blew up the Death Star, but we didn't expect it would take them this long to regroup. They're planning something—but by the time they act, we will have established a new base far from here. I have ships scouring the galaxy for an appropriate location."

  "We'd be happy to help in any way we can, general," Leia said.

  Han shot her a look. We? he mouthed.

  The general shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not why I've called you here. We learned something else from the transmission. Although they're not moving on Yavin 4, the Empire is determined to retaliate for the blow we struck against the Death Star. They're planning targeted attacks to take out our top leadership—among others. As you can imagine, there's one target the Emperor wants most of all."

  As Luke waited for General Dodonna to reveal the target, he suddenly realized that everyone in the room was looking at him. "What?"

  "It's you, kid," Han said. "Imperial enemy number one."

  "I'm afraid so," General Dodonna confirmed.

  Luke wasn't sure whether he should feel proud or terrified.

  "According to our sources, the Empire doesn't yet have Luke's name. As of today, we're instituting several new security protocols, designed to shield the identities of anyone who might be an Imperial target," the general explained. "All of your roles in the destruction of the Death Star have been reclassified as top secret. Obviously, your identities are known to most of the Rebels on Yavin 4, but everyone involved understands how crucial secrecy is to the Rebel cause."

  "What happens if the Empire finds out?" Luke asked.

  "Don't you mean when they find out?" Han shot back.

  Leia stood up, smacking her hands against the conference table. "Then we face them together, and we defeat them." She sounded almost eager for the chance.

  Luke and Han exchanged a glance. Leia was a former Imperial Senator, a well-known diplomat who—in her official capacity—traveled the galaxy, carrying messages of comfort and peace. But sometimes Luke suspected that deep down, she was the most natural-born warrior of them all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When they emerged from Base One, Chewbacca and the droids were waiting. "Come on, Chewie," Han said, barely pausing to collect the Wookiee. "Let's go."

  "Go where?" Luke asked, hurrying after them.

  "Where do you think?" Han asked, sounding surprised by the question. "I'm taking myself and my ship—"

  Chewbacca roared indignantly.

  "Of course, you, too, Chewie. What, you think I'd leave my copilot here to get blasted to bits when the Empire shows up? We'll jump into hyperspace and be halfway across the galaxy by dinnertime." Han stopped and turned to Luke, jabbing him in the chest. "And if you're smart, kid, you'll come along for the ride. I've got to admit, you're not a half bad pilot. A few sloppy habits, but you could come in handy once we get a little training into you…"

  "Not half bad?" Luke repeated. "I could fly better than you blindfolded and with one arm tied behind my back!"

  Han just laughed. "Kid, I was out-flying wannabe spice smugglers on the Kessel Run at point five lightspeed back when you were still picking up Bantha droppings on Tatooine."

  "I was a good enough pilot to destroy the Death Star," Luke pointed out.

  "Lucky shot," Han said. "Happens to the best of us—and the rest of us."

  Luke fell silent. He knew Han was just teasing…but he'd managed to hit on Luke's greatest fear. Maybe he'd been meant to make that shot—maybe the Force had steered him toward his destiny, just like Obi-Wan had predicted.

  Or maybe it was just dumb luck.

  "Luke may be inexperienced," Leia admitted.

  "Inexperienced?" Luke repeated in disbelief. So even Leia didn't believe in him?

  "But at least he's not running away." Leia glared at Han, daring him to argue.

  "Who said anything about running away?" he countered.

  Chewbacca barked again, giving Han a pointed look.

  "Hey, there's a difference," Han insisted. "I never said I'd be sticking around forever, did I? There's no money to be made here—and if I don't pay Jabba back soon, I'm dead. But that does not mean I'm running away, Your Worshipfulness. Only cowards run away."

  Leia looked skeptical. "So what would you call it?"

  "I'd call it being smart."

  "You?" Leia smirked. "Smart?"

  Han ignored her bait. He turned to Luke, serious for once. "Look, kid, you heard the general in there. The Empire's gunning for you. Only thing to do now is disappear."

  "The Empire's gunning for a mystery man," Luke pointed out. "No one knows that I'm the pilot they're looking for."

  Han threw up his arms in disgust. "Kid, look around—everyone on this whole moon knows."

  "The new security protocols will take care of that," Leia pointed out.

  "You trust security protocols if you want," Han said. "I trust my gut. And my gut says when this many people know a secret, it won't be a secret for long."

  "Master Luke, I'm inclined to agree with Captain Solo," C-3PO put in, sounding agitated. "When you say that the Empire is gunning for you…well, that sounds like a situation that could end rather unhappily, don't you think? Perhaps we'd be safer somewhere else, away from all this troublesome fighting."

  R2-D2 let off a long string of beeps.

  C-3PO looked infuriated. "That's all well and good for you to say," he told the droid, "but some of us are designed for dignified intergalactic summit negotiations, not—" his voice took on a disgusted note "—space battles. I am, after all, a protocol droid fluent in over six million forms of communication and equipped with—"

  "We know, Threepio," Luke said wearily. The droid gave some version of this speech at least once a day. "And I'm sorry I got you mixed up in this. But we're in it now. And I'm not running away, no matter how dangerous it may be. I'm a Rebel, and I'm going to stick around and fight."

  That's what a Jedi would do, right, Ben? he thought. But of course there was no answer. At two crucial moments, he'd thought he heard Ben speak to him from beyond the grave. But it had never happened since.

  Luke was beginning to think it may just have been his imagination.

  "You see? Luke's not afraid," Leia said proudly.

  Luke grinned.

  "Running away from the guy with the blaster pointed at your head isn't fear, Your Highness," Han retorted. "It's smarts. Or did they not teach you that in princess school?"

  "I guess they were too busy teaching us the importance of fighting for what you believe in, even when the cause seems hopeless," Leia snapped. "Or did they not teach you that in smuggler school?"

  "They taught me how to stay alive, Princess. And that's all I'm trying to teach you."

  "Oh, my, how lucky I am to have met you!" Leia gushed, affecting a high, fluttery voice. "I don't know how I managed to make it this long without having a big, strong man like you around to keep me safe."

  Han shrugged. "You said it, Princess, not me."

  "Come on, Han," Luke urged him. "The Rebellion could really use you."

  "I won't be any good to the Rebellion if I'm dead," Han said. "And neither will you. We lift off in a few hours—you want to join us, you're welcome. You want to stick around here? Well…it's been nice knowing you, kid. You, too, Princess," he told Leia. He held out a hand for her to shake.

  She crossed her arms.

  Han snorted. "Have it your way. C'mon, Chewie."


  The Wookiee groaned a mournful goodbye as he followed Han to the main hangar deck.

  "You don't think he'll really leave, do you?" Luke asked, once they were gone. Han might be annoying sometimes, but he was still a good pilot—and a good friend.

  Luke didn't have many of those left.

  "I hope he does," Leia said angrily. "The sooner, the better."

  But Luke suspected she didn't mean it. Judging from the look on her face, she wanted Han to stick around as much as he did.

  Maybe more.

  "You don't think he's right, do you?" Luke asked nervously.

  "Not a chance."

  "There is, in fact, a ninety-four point two percent chance that Captain Solo is correct," C-3PO pointed out. "Especially if you factor in—"

  "Not a chance," Leia repeated firmly. "I believe in the Alliance. We will protect you, Luke. And, you know, I also believe in you."

  "You do?" Luke asked, flushing with pleasure.

  "Of course," Leia said, like it should have been obvious. "You've already proven you can stand up to the Empire and survive. The Death Star was the most powerful weapon they had. What could be worse than facing that?"

  Luke shuddered. "Let's hope we never have to find out."

  * * *

  Commander Rezi Soresh had been waiting a long time for an opportunity like this. He knew what everyone thought of him. That he was all brain, no guts. That he was quick to obey but slow to initiate. He knew they laughed at him, as people had always laughed—and so they would pay, as people always paid. Even Ilaani had laughed at him, as if she—

  No, he thought. He would not think of the traitor or her son. Not at a time like this. He had work to do. This new mission was his chance to prove himself to the Emperor, once and for all. Once he stood by the great man's side, there would be no more laughter.

  None of the Emperor's officers could match Rezi's ambition, his intelligence, his determination. And certainly none could match his loyalty. The Emperor's goals were his goals; the Emperor's desires, his desires; the Emperor's will, his will. The Empire was his life.

  And he had proven that like no one else.

  Now he would prove it again, so thoroughly and so impressively that no one, not even the Emperor, would be able to ignore him. And no one would be able to laugh.

  The comlink beeped with an incoming transmission. Soresh put it up on the viewscreen.

  Hollow gray eyes stared out at him, deep set in a pale, angular face. The shaved head had been replaced by a shock of black hair, which made the man look more human.

  Looks could be deceiving.

  The man didn't speak. He merely waited for orders; he'd been well-trained.

  "I have a job for you," Soresh said. The man nodded, still waiting.

  "It's too sensitive to discuss over a comm channel," Soresh told him. "How quickly can you get to Coruscant?"

  "I have something to finish here," the man said. "Then I'll have to track down a ship." His voice was empty of emotion. Like his face, it was blank, almost machine-like. As if he were a droid pretending to be human, and doing a poor job of it. But Soresh, who knew him better than anyone, knew there were no mechanical parts hiding beneath the surface.

  Beneath the surface there was…nothing. He sounded hollow because he was. Soresh knew this—he'd made sure of it.

  "I can be there in three days," the man said.

  "Make it one." Soresh flipped off the comlink without waiting for an answer. He knew the man would obey. Soon he would arrive on Coruscant, and then Soresh would sic the hunter on his prey.

  At the thought of it, an odd shiver of foreboding ran up his spine. There was no reason for concern. It was a foolproof plan, guaranteed to work. And yet…

  He had the dark feeling that he had just sealed his own doom. The man with the hollow eyes was trained to kill—he knew nothing else but the joy of the hunt. And soon he would have the pilot who'd destroyed the Death Star in his blaster sight. So why did Soresh feel he'd just signed his own death warrant?

  So be it, he thought, imagining his inner voice traveling across the dark emptiness of the galaxy and whispering in the pilot's ear. Then you and I shall die together.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "We are nothing," he repeats, as he is told. The light blinds him. He opens his eyes wide against the pain. "We are no one."

  "You belong to me," the Commander says.

  "We belong to you."

  They are seven. But they are one.

  One in mind. One in obedience. One in life.

  They are no one.

  "Count off," the Commander says.

  The young men obey. "X-1!" shouts the first. "X-2!" second. And down the line.

  He waits. And then, "X-7!" he shouts.

  The lights blink out. Darkness.

  "Time to sleep," the Commander says.

  X-7 braces for the blow. It is always sooner than he expects, always harder. Pain blossoms from the back of his head, blots out the world.

  Time to sleep.

  * * *

  Once he'd plotted the course to Coruscant, X-7 stretched out on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The Preybird starfighter had seen better days, and it wasn't much for comfort or show, but the autopilot would take him where he needed to go. At least, that's what the Rodian had boasted, before he died.

  No need to go anywhere now, my friend, X-7 had told the Rodian lying lifeless at his feet. So I'm sure you won't mind if I take her for a spin. Then he'd holstered the blaster and lifted off.

  The Commander wanted him on Coruscant within a day. And what the Commander wanted, the Commander received.

  For X-7, these were words to live by.

  Literally.

  The stun cuffs pin him against the durasteel wall. The light pierces his eyeballs, and the figure facing him is nothing more than a shadow.

  But he knows it is the Commander. It is always the Commander.

  He does not struggle. He only waits for this moment to pass, and then the next. He dreads the future; the past is forbidden. The present is his only home.

  "Who are you?" the Commander asks.

  "I am X-7."

  "What is your purpose?" the Commander asks.

  "To serve you."

  "To what end?" the Commander asks.

  "To serve the Empire."

  "Where do you come from?" the Commander asks.

  "From nowhere."

  Pain. Everywhere at once. It is born inside of him, exploding out of him, and then it is gone.

  "Where do you come from?" the Commander asks again.

  "I cannot remember." He gives the answer the Commander wants to hear.

  Pain. Greater now, more intense, like a knife hollowing him out.

  "Liar!" the Commander roars. "Have you not yet learned it is impossible to lie to me?"

  The sensors on his forehead take measure of his thoughts, his emotions. He has no secrets from the Commander. He has no secrets.

  "What do you remember of your past?" the Commander presses him.

  "Nothing," he gasps, already anticipating the pain that follows in the next instant. The explosion in his brain casts a shadow of darkness, and for a blissful moment, he is lost. But the Commander calls him back, jolts him awake.

  He wants to obey. He wants to blot out his memories, to empty himself of the past. He struggles to erase it all.

  He has no name. No history. His life is blank. He remembers nothing but these walls, the light, the Commander's voice. Pain. Almost nothing…but…

  There are images. A small girl, blond, with an innocent smile. A grassy hill, and just beyond it, a lake, cool and refreshing. Two suns blazing against a violet sky. A woman's voice. A hand on his forehead, soft and warm.

  He wants to forget…but not as much as he wants to remember.

  They are only images; they are all he has left.

  "Tell me what you remember," the Commander says. His finger twitches over the switch that will bring the pain.

  He w
ould rather die than survive another jolt. And they will not let him die.

  "I remember…a girl," he says softly. "She is my…" Sister? Friend? Daughter? But the memory will not come. Only her face. Only her smile. "She is mine," he tells the Commander.

  The Commander smiles. "Not anymore."

  * * *

  The hours crept by as X-7 drew closer and closer to Coruscant. X-7 knew, because he had done extensive research on "ordinary" behavior, that most beings would feel the need to fill the time. They would fiddle with a datapad, play a game of dejarik, even gaze out the window at the emptiness of space. And when necessary, X-7 would do the same. On a mission, he was well-equipped to fit in.

  But alone, he had no such need. He had stripped the mattress from his bunk. The rigid durasteel against his back felt comfortably familiar. He appreciated these hours, alone in space. So much of his life was a careful act. Isolated moments like this came as a relief. He could drop the mask and exist as he was: empty.

  No one in the galaxy had ever seen X-7 like this, his true self exposed. No one but the Commander, of course, who knew him inside and out.

  As he should: the Commander had made him.

  He faces the Commander as an equal, though they will never be equals. There are no more restraints, no more sensors, no more neuronic binders to inflict punishing pain. They are well beyond this. He sits on one side of the desk, the Commander on the other. He waits.

  "Congratulations, X-7," the Commander says. He holds out a hand, and X-7 knows to shake it. He has been well-trained. He can act human.

  The Commander tells him he is human.

  The Commander tells him that the lessons he's learned—how to smile, how to laugh, how to imitate sorrow or fear or joy—are things he used to understand instinctively. That he once was a being like other beings, soft and stupid.

  He feels sorry for that other self.

  He is grateful to the Commander for eliminating it.

  "I have to admit, I always thought X-3 would be the one," the Commander says, shaking his head. "He seemed somehow…impervious."

  But he had not been impervious to X-7's vibroblade in their final training bout.