Death Star (50 page)

Atour tried to sound bored. “Order number?”

The tech read off the code. Atour counted slowly to three. “Ah, yeah, here it is. That’s a valid number, Control. Let ’em go.”

“Copy that, Flight Control.”

Atour shut down the comm and leaned back in his chair. Now if P-RC3’s programming continued to work, the ship would be away in a moment or two, and if anybody tried to stop it with the rigged tractor beam—which they might, because Tractor Beam Control wouldn’t have a copy of the ship’s order in its computer any more than the real Flight Control did—then, in theory, the beam wouldn’t work and they should fly free.

In theory.

In any event, there was nothing else he could do now. He rose and stepped away from his desk. If Teela Kaarz’s evaluation
of the danger was correct, and if the Rebels could read the plans well enough to spot the design flaw—both entirely reasonable assumptions—then the Death Star might have only a few minutes more of existence left to it. If that indeed proved to be the case, he knew where he wanted to spend those last few minutes.

Atour walked into the stacks until he was surrounded by shelves of various data storage. Tapes, chips, disks, even books. As always, it comforted him to be encompassed by knowledge. He sat down on a bench.

A pity he would never write that book. The destruction of the Death Star would have made a powerful final chapter. Ah, well … perhaps someone else would put stylus to screen someday and tell the tale.

Atour smiled. He took a deep breath of the musty air.

He was content.

Tarkin stood watching the planet/moon graphic as the orbit around the world came closer to being complete.

Vader had taken out his elite TIE squad and knocked off several of the Rebels, though that hadn’t been necessary. They couldn’t hurt this station. Nothing could.

An operations lieutenant approached. Tarkin looked at him. The man was obviously worried. He said, “We’ve analyzed their attack, sir, and there is a danger.”

Danger? Impossible!

“Should I have your ship standing by?”

Tarkin stared at the man. “Evacuate? In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances.” He turned back to watch the graphic.

Cut and run just as they were about to wipe out the head base of the Rebellion? Preposterous!

The voice from the speaker said, “Rebel base, three minutes and closing.”

What harm could those last few fighters possibly do in that time? In less than three minutes, they would be orphans, easy pickings, and the war would effectively be won.

Tenn Graneet watched the graphic on his screen. The target would be within range in another couple of minutes.

His mouth was as dry as desert sand, his belly churning like a heavy sea. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t murder yet another world. But he couldn’t stop it, either. Were he to stand down, another gunner would be up here to replace him in mere minutes, and he would be in the brig with a military death mark against him.

What was he going to do?

The bay doors opened, and Vil punched it. The little ship rocketed out. Now all he had to do was stay in the groove …

“E-Two-Tee Medical Shuttle Five-Five-Three-Seven, this is Flight Control. Where are you going?”

Vil said, “Flight Control, this is Lieutenant Fayknom. We have an emergency pickup.”

“I show no record of your flight plan.”

Stall, Vil!
“Hey, that’s not my problem. I just fly where I’m told. Check with Door Control, they vetted us.”

“We are attempting to do that now, Lieutenant. Turn it around and return to the dock until we get it cleared up.”

“Negative on that, Flight Control. This is a priority mission. We come back, it’ll be too late to do our job.”

The Flight Control officer was between a rock and a hard place, Vil knew. He had his protocols, and they weren’t being met. But somebody had opened the doors and let the shuttle leave, so maybe it was a computer error. It wouldn’t be the first one.

“This is TIE x-one,” came a deep voice over the comm. “What is the nature of your mission, shuttle?”

Vil felt his insides freeze. Any starfighter pilot who knew a tractor from a pressor knew that designation. It was Vader himself on the comm.

Vil said, “An incoming Imperial ship has been damaged by Rebel fire. They have wounded.”

“I know of no such Imperial arrivals,” Vader said. “Return to the station.”

“Copy, Lord Vader. We are returning to the station.” He shut off the comm.

Ratua said, “What? Are you crazy?”

“Relax,” Vil said. “We aren’t going back. But if he thinks we are, that buys us a few more seconds to get clear. We’re faster than he is, once we get moving. He won’t be able to—uh-oh.”

“What?” That from Teela.

“He’s coming at us.”

The instant he had seen that medical conveyance, Vader had felt something wrong, a clamor from the dark side. While he ordered the shuttle back to the station, all it took was a moment’s probing with the Force for him to recognize a mind that was familiar.

There were several aboard, none of them weak-minded, but one … a woman … where had he felt her before?

Ah, he had it. On the station, when he had toured during construction. One of the builders, an architect, had shut him out of her thoughts, as if slamming a door in his face. He’d been impressed by her strength of mind and will.

What was an architect doing on a medical rescue ship?

And then he knew: deserters!

His anger surged. There were so many things about this project that he had not been able to control. Well, he could deal with this! The X-wings could wait a moment or two longer. He would take care of these traitors himself. They would learn that resisting Darth Vader was fatal …

As he and his wingmates bore in, the medical ship slewed into a tight, high-g turn. Vader felt the fabric of the Force shiver as he adjusted his path to intercept.

He opened the channel again. “Return to the station, shuttle, or I will fire on you,” he said.

They were in deep trouble, Vil knew. They weren’t even armed, and Darth Vader was the best fighter pilot in the galaxy. He remembered saying something once to the effect that he would probably just augur his ship in if he ever found himself in Vader’s crosshairs—that way at least he got to choose when to die.

It wasn’t just his life on the line now, though.

Desperate, Vil ran every trick he could think of through his mind. None of them was going to do the job. They were cooked.

Unless …

Vader bored in. The targeting computer narrowed the scan. He had a lock. Whatever they were up to—spies, perhaps?—it didn’t matter. He would eliminate them, then return to the main task.

He thumbed the fire buttons.

V
il slapped the retrofire controls. The reverse thrusters all lit full-out. The ambulance didn’t stop, but it slowed enough so that Vader and his two wingmates blew past as if the larger craft were standing still.

Vil punched the sublights back up to full and angled to starboard. No tricks now, just a straight run, a sprint—

Vader was angry with himself. They’d used such an obvious and simple avoidance ploy that he hadn’t seen it coming, even through the Force. He toggled the comm channel. “Get a tractor beam on that medshuttle!”

The reply crackled through his headphones. “I’m sorry, Lord Vader, but the beam generator for that sector has tripped its breakers. We’ll have it back online momentarily—”

Blast!

Vader swung around to follow the fleeing ship.

“Lord Vader,” came the voice of one of his TIE pilots.

“What is it?”

“Another trio of X-wing fighters is making a run up the same trench.”

Vader reached out with the dark side, seeking …

And immediately sensed a presence in whom the Force was powerful, as powerful as it would be in a Jedi Knight.

Vader realized immediately that this was by far the greater problem.

“Break off,” he ordered his wingmates. “Back to the station to intercept the new attackers.”

“What about the medshuttle?”

“Let it go. It’s not important.”

Vader led his pilots back toward the station. They arrowed down into the trench, their fighters screaming between the high walls.

There were the three X-wings. Vader and his wingmates followed, blasting them one by one. Again, no real effort was necessary. Were they all suicidal?

But, he realized, none of them was carrying the pilot with whom the Force had been riding. That one was still out here somewhere. Vader knew he had to find that one. He was a danger—perhaps the only real danger.

“I need locations on the remaining Rebel fighters,” he said.

“At once, Lord Vader.” There was a short pause. “There are only three more, my lord, and they have just entered—”

“—the same trench,” Vader finished. Whatever the target, the Rebels were convinced it was worth every ship they had. He knew he had best finish the last three quickly.

Vil didn’t know why Vader had broken off the pursuit, but he wasn’t complaining. He tried to coax a little more juice out of the sublight engines. The encounter with Vader had lost them precious time; they still had to make it out of tractor beam range before—

He felt the ship lurch, even as Ratua asked, “Why are we slowing down?”

Vil shoved the feeder slide control to maximum, but the shuttle continued to slow. He said, “They’ve got the tractor beam working again.”

“Can we break free?” Uli asked.

“I don’t know. We should be right at the limits of its range. I’m locking in the auxiliary power …” He dialed up the rheostat, suiting action to words. The E-2T surged, then slowed again.

“Vil?” Teela said.

“We’re still moving in the right direction,” he said. “There’s still a—”

The ambulance ship started to shudder; then, after a few more seconds, it stopped.

Then it began to move backward.

“Frag,” Vil said, his voice quiet. “They got us.”

The engines strained, but there was a definite increased speed sternward. The drive power dials started to move into the overload zones. “The engines’ll blow if I don’t shut them down,” Vil said.

“Let them,” Teela said. “Better to die trying than to let them capture and execute us. We owe Atour, Nova, and Rodo that much.”

Vil looked around. The others all nodded. He reached for Teela’s hand, held it.

T
he officer said, “Less than a minute, sir.”

Tarkin nodded. Seconds away from glory. At last. After the years of scheming, of work, now he would show them, show them all!

Vader and his two wingmates flew the trench, the last three X-wings dead ahead.

His wingmate fired, hit one of the Rebels. The wounded ship pulled up, out of the fight.

“Let him go,” Vader commanded. “Stay on the leader!”

One of the ships hung back, obviously trying to delay Vader and his pilots. He focused on it. Lined up.

Fired.

The ship exploded.

One left. Vader moved to engage him. “I’m on the leader,” he announced.

The TIE x1 screamed down the length of the trench, hot on the X-wing’s tail. Closer … almost there …

Vader felt energy coming from the pilot in almost palpable waves. “The Force is strong in this one,” he said, more to himself than his wingmates.

Strong, but not strong enough to stop Vader. Not strong
enough to prevent the man who killed Obi-Wan Kenobi from doing what had to be done.

Vader triggered his guns.

He hit the fighter’s R2 unit, saw the smoke and flames erupt from the hit.

Good.

Now
, he thought,
we finish this
.