by Alex Wheeler
X-1 and X-6 had been easily dispatched. X-2 had malfunctioned, tried to escape. X-5 had malfunctioned as well, begun muttering about alliances, encouraged the others to see the Commander as their enemy. That was before X-7's emotions had died away—he had been able to enjoy the kill. X-4 hung himself with a laser whip.
And then there was one.
"They were your friends, once," the Commander says. "Your partners in our exciting new venture. You feel no sorrow over their deaths?"
He knows the Commander is testing him, but they are beyond tests now. He feels no anxiety—he has nothing to hide.
"I feel nothing," he says honestly, "but the desire to obey."
The Commander nods. "You're ready. There's just one last thing. I want to introduce you to someone." He presses a button on his console, and a screen rises from the desk.
A face appears.
His head is shaved. Young, barely more than a child, but with the eyes of a man, stone gray and cruel. His thin lips are pressed together, a flat line running parallel to the single crease in his forehead. His skin is purpled with fading bruises, and a network of thin scars spiders across his scalp. "Recognize him?" the Commander asks.
X-7 shakes his head.
The man on the screen shakes his head.
X-7 opens his mouth to speak:
The man on the screen opens his mouth to speak.
X-7 understands.
The Commander sees it in his eyes, presses a button, and the mirrored screen drops back into the desk. X-7 realizes this was the final test.
He has passed.
He is ready.
Since X-7's last trip to Coruscant, the Commander had switched offices. He was now located midway up a towering spire in the planet's wealthiest quadrant. But this office was identical to the other, lacking in any personal effects. The spare space contained only a desk, a single shelf, and a wall-sized viewscreen.
"Welcome," the Commander said, gesturing for X-7 to take a seat.
There had been a time when the Commander had been the only being he knew. His face had filled X-7's world. Now, many missions later, after traveling the galaxy and encountering beings of all kinds, X-7 understood that the Commander was unusually thin and weak. His watery eyes, his pinched features, his stooped shoulders—they were not the mark of an intimidating man.
X-7 saw all this objectively, as he saw everything objectively. He saw the being before him as others saw him. Rezi Soresh, he thought, testing the name in his mind, trying to fit it to the man.
But it was no use. The man before him would always be the Commander, the center of his universe. Pleasing the Commander was all he needed in life; disappointing the Commander was death. He understood now that this was not natural. This was not the way other beings lived. Other beings had desires of their own, names, identities, histories. X-7 had no name, only a designation, like a droid. Other men had free will, while X-7 had only Soresh.
He knew this to be true, and he knew that Soresh had done this to him. But knowing the truth changed nothing.
X-7 had free will as well—and, like all other beings, he willed himself to be happy.
Happiness was obeying Soresh.
The Commander passed a datapad across the desk. "A valuable piece of Imperial property has been destroyed by the Rebel scourge. Your target is the pilot who fired the fatal blow. You will infiltrate the Rebel Alliance, gain proof of his identity, and report back. The datapad contains everything we've got on the Alliance. Operations, security protocols, personnel data—everything."
X-7 nodded.
"You will arrange to be in a position to kill him, on my command," the Commander continued. "You will cast the blame on someone else, so that you can remain at the heart of the Alliance. Everything they know, you will know. And everything you know, I will know."
"For how long?" X-7 asked.
The Commander smiled. "Until the pilot is dead and the Rebel threat has been eliminated."
X-7 rose, tucking the datapad securely into his utility pouch. "It will be done."
CHAPTER FIVE
The situation is more dire than even you know, Princess," General Dodonna said, his expression sorrowful.
When the general requested a walk through the lush temple grounds, Leia had expected nothing more than an evening of polite conversation. But the general obviously had more serious concerns on his mind—concerns that he preferred to keep between the two of them.
"A substantial portion of the Rebellion's funds were located on Alderaan," the general said.
Leia flinched at the name of her home planet. Just hearing the word sent a shockwave through her. Beautiful, peaceful Alderaan, blasted into a billion pieces of space rubble. Every being on the planet ground to dust. Millions of lives lost in a heartbeat.
In her heartbeat, as she stood on the bridge of the Death Star, helpless to stop it. There was nothing she could have done, she knew that.
And yet she still hated herself for it. For doing nothing—while her planet, her past, her own father, were lost forever.
She forced the memories back inside herself, not wanting to reveal her weakness to General Dodonna.
"The funds, along with several key financial access codes, were lost with the destruction of the planet," the general continued. "We find ourselves in dire straits. Of course, the Rebellion lives and breathes through the sacrifices of its brave fighters, but…" He sighed. "I'm afraid we must not lose sight of the more practical concerns. Without sufficient funding, we'll have no ships, no weapons, no defenses, and no hope of establishing a new base."
"All the funds were housed on Alderaan?" Leia asked, surprised that the Rebellion leadership would have been so foolhardy.
The general shook his head. "This is why I wanted to speak with you. We have a set of secret accounts on the planet Muunilinst."
Leia started in surprise. Although the InterGalactic Banking Clan had been disbanded, Muunilinst, its former home, was still the financial heart of the galaxy. And an Imperial stronghold. Thanks to their financial skills, the Muuns were one of the few alien species actually tolerated—and even respected—by the Empire. But Leia knew there was still a strong Imperial presence on the planet.
"It will be dangerous to retrieve the funds," General Dodonna admitted. "But it must be done. Our contact on the planet, Mak Luunim, is holding a datacard containing the access codes. Once you've retrieved them, he's agreed to help you transfer the accounts offworld and get you safely off the planet."
"Get me safely off the planet?"
"You're the only one I trust for a mission like this, Princess."
Not so long ago, in what seemed like another life, Leia had preferred to be addressed by her other title, senator. Proud as she was of her royal birthright, she was even prouder of the hard work and determination that had gained her a seat in the Galactic Senate. Now, however, the titles seemed interchangeable. The Senate had been; Alderaan was gone. And the person she'd been—the peace-loving princess, the silver-tongued senator—that was gone, too.
"General Rieekan's expecting me on Delaya, in the Alderaan system," Leia reminded him. A group of Alderaan survivors—beings who had been offworld when the Death Star attacked—had begun to assemble there. Leia was eager to join them. She had told General Dodonna that she hoped the survivors might agree to join the Alliance—and this was true. But she also felt a deep need to be with her people, and not just because she was their leader.
They were all she had left of her homeworld. They needed her—but she needed them just as much.
"If all goes well, this should be an easy mission, in and out," the general said. "You can go directly from Muunilinst to Delaya. That is, if you're willing."
"Of course, general." This was the only possible response. Whatever the Alliance asked of her, Leia would give.
"Excellent. I've already arranged transportation—you'll leave tomorrow evening. Mak Luunim is expecting you. And Luke."
"Luke?"
"I thought
it might be best for him to accompany you. He's certainly proven himself as willing and able to assist the cause."
And you want him off Yavin 4, in case the Empire comes looking for him, Leia thought. But she couldn't disagree—and she would be glad to have Luke with her. It would have felt wrong to leave him behind.
Why is that? she asked herself. She barely knew Luke, and yet in the short time they'd been together, he had come to be important to her. More than that, he seemed almost a part of her. And he's not the only one, she thought. Han's infuriating grin flashed across her mind.
Leia shook her head, trying to brush away the image.
Focus on the Rebellion, she reminded herself. Nothing else matters.
"I won't let you down, general," she assured him.
"You never do." He rested a hand on her shoulder, favoring her with a smile. Leia stiffened, suddenly reminded of her father. She had lived for the moments he'd smiled at her like that, loving and proud.
She would never see that smile again.
Once Leia briefed Luke on the mission, they headed to the spaceport. It was always a good idea to rendezvous with the pilot before a mission, especially since they only had one day to formulate a strategy and assemble supplies. As they approached the hangar deck, Leia spotted Chewbacca wheeling a cart of lubricant hoses toward the Millennium Falcon. As always, the dilapidated Corellian freighter appeared to be held together with tape and good luck—but Leia knew from experience that it was tougher than it looked.
Han, leaning against the Falcon's aft hull, offered them a jaunty wave.
"What are you still doing here?" Leia asked sourly.
"Waiting for my passengers." Han flashed that incredibly annoying smirk of his. "Don't worry, once Chewie finishes tweaking the hyperdrive, he'll lay out a banquet fit for a princess. I know how you royal folks like to travel in luxury."
Chewie let out a long, warbling whine.
Han rolled his eyes. "I know food service isn't part of your job description, you furry oaf." He leaned toward Leia and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "That's the problem with Wookiees—can't take a joke."
As Chewie roared in protest, Leia forced herself not to smile. She knew Han was just trying to get a reaction out of her, and she wasn't about to comply. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?"
Han shrugged. "No one's forcing you, Highness. If you changed your mind about going to Muunilinst, that's your business."
Luke's eyes widened. "You're our transportation to Muunilinst?"
Han gave him a mock salute. "At your service."
"Thanks but no thanks, flyboy." Leia shook her head. "This isn't your fight, remember? I'm sure you have better things to do—on the other side of the galaxy."
For a second, Han looked wounded. Leia felt guilty. She didn't mean to say things like that to him—they just popped out whenever he was around. If only he wasn't so infuriating. There was just something about him. She often wished she'd never met him—but deep down, a rebellious part of her didn't want him out of her sight.
Han scowled. "Look, Your Worship, you know this bird's the fastest and fiercest in the galaxy. You want to get somewhere, the Millennium Falcon's the way to go."
"And what's in it for you?" Leia asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Han said.
Chewbacca yowled, and Han shot him an annoyed glare. "Okay, fine, so there's a little something in it for me, but it's barely enough to pay for the fuel. Then I'll drop you two on Delaya, and you never have to see me again."
"I knew it!" Luke said, sounding overjoyed. "You can talk all you want about walking away from the Rebellion, but when it comes right down to it, you're on our side."
"Hey, slow down," Han protested. "I'm just flying you from point A to point B. Trust me, it's not because I'm joining your nutso Rebellion."
Luke shook his head. "Say what you want, but I know you believe in this fight and want to help."
Leia looked at Luke in amazement. He sounded so sure. Like he could look straight through Han and see the truth of his soul. Leia wondered what it would be like to be so certain about people—to look at them without doubt or suspicion. Some might call Luke naïve, but there was something bold in his willingness to trust his instincts.
Even when they were wrong.
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you've got me figured all wrong," Han said, sounding almost sorry.
"I'm not wrong." There was an unusually steely note in Luke's voice, different from his usual young, questioning tone. "I know you, Han. I can see the good in you, even if you can't."
"Not everyone has a good side, kid. Not everyone's like you." Han glanced at Leia. They were alike in this, she realized—both of them saw the danger in Luke's willingness to trust. And maybe both of them envied it. "The sooner you figure that out, the longer you stay alive."
CHAPTER SIX
He would begin with Leia.
X-7 had no doubts about his plan. Princess Leia Organa was the public face of the Rebellion, but the Empire's informants suggested she was more than that. She was a key decision-maker, a diplomat, a leader—she would know the name of the pilot who destroyed the Death Star. And she would have access to him.
As the Preybird hurtled toward the Rebel Base, X-7 skimmed the datapad, soaking in every piece of information that existed on Leia Organa. His training had given him the ability to read and memorize information with great speed, and soon he had become an expert on the Alderaan princess. Everything the Empire knew about Leia, X-7 knew.
He knew what she liked and what she hated. What she respected. Whom she respected.
And that was the person he would become.
* * *
Yavin 4 loomed in the viewscreen, the jungle moon awash in swirls of blue and green.
The comm console lit up with an incoming transmission. "You are entering restricted territory," the scratchy voice warned.
"Request clearance for landing."
The reply came as expected. "Landing code required."
X-7 recited the code he'd been given by the Commander, and armed his laser cannons. He'd been assured that the Rebel codes were only a few months old, and that the spy who'd delivered them could be trusted. Still, he believed in being prepared.
"Permission granted. You may land when ready."
X-7 smiled. Not because he was happy, but because expressing the emotion he couldn't feel was good practice. Soon he would be one of them.
"Nice and slow," the man said, cocking his blaster as X-7 stepped through the hatch of the Preybird. "And let's keep your hands where I can see them."
So they hadn't been fooled by the landing code after all. Smart, X-7 thought in approval. Allowing him to land and let his guard down before revealing themselves as a threat. This way, if he turned out to be an enemy, they could destroy him without destroying his ship.
Of course, their strategy assumed that he was more dangerous behind the firing controls of a laser cannon than he was on the ground.
It was a poor assumption.
The Yavin 4 hangar deck was a hub of bustling activity. X-wing fighters set off for missions while others limped onto the tarmac, bruised and battered. Maintenance droids and deck officers raced from ship to ship, scavenging parts from one to fix another, refitting and refueling with efficient haste. X-7 could see with a glance that there were fewer ships than needed, fewer parts, fewer pilots, fewer everything.
It was nearly laughable, the idea that an operation like this could stand up to the Empire. Some might have called it brave. X-7 knew better.
"Careful with that, friend," he told the Rebel guard, nodding at the blaster. "I'd hate for you to accidentally blow a hole through me." He kept his tone casual.
"Wouldn't be anything accidental about it," the guard growled. "Now how about you tell me where you got that landing code."
"From Lieutenant Jez Planchet," X-7 said. "He recruited me about six months ago. Gave me orders to bring you a message—and then report f
or duty. I'm ready to serve the Rebel Alliance, wherever I'm needed." He was prepared for this. He was prepared for anything.
The guard narrowed his eyes and flicked a finger across his datapad. "So you ran into Planchet on Kashyyyk, eh?"
X-7 forced a thin smile. "Lieutenant Planchet's been deep undercover on Malastare for the last year. Sir." How amusing that they thought they could trick him. It was like playing a game with a child—carefully manipulating the playing field to give him the illusion that he was among equals.
The guard gave a terse nod. "And you have some kind of proof that you are who you say you are?"
"Actually, I haven't said who I am, yet," X-7 pointed out. Any respect he might have had was quickly fading. This was no way to run an interrogation. They hadn't even confiscated his weapons: He could kill half the men in this hangar without breaking a sweat. "S'ree Bonard. Pleased to meet you." He held out a datapad. "Here are my ID docs, and the data Planchet had me smuggle out. They're plans for some kind of new Imperial ship. Lieutenant Planchet wanted them to go straight to Dodonna."
In fact, all Lieutenant Planchet had wanted was a release from the torture he'd endured in his Imperial prison cell. He had indeed spent several months undercover on Malastare, completely cut off from his Rebel allies.
Which meant when the Empire arrived at his door, he had no one to call for help.
And when the Empire's expert interrogators began their work, he had no hope of rescue.
According to the Commander, Planchet had stayed silent at first—but the human body could only tolerate so much pain. In the end, he had yielded all his Rebel secrets, begging only for an end to the torture.
And he was given what he'd asked for.
Dead men felt no pain.
The Rebel perused the datapad carefully. X-7 knew what he would find. Impeccable credentials proving he was S'ree Bonard, a man who'd never existed. Falsified blueprints for a battleship that would never be built. A certifying thumbprint and Alliance codes from Lieutenant Planchet, whose rebellion had ended with a whimper and a bolt of blasterfire. Out-of-date codes, yes—but what more could one expect from a man who'd been undercover for nearly a year?