Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [112]
The Rebel ship was no match for Vader’s Destroyer, either in speed or firepower. In a matter of moments the drives and control had been crippled by laser strikes of surgical accuracy, their main reactor shut down, and a tractor beam from the Devastator generated to envelop the fleeing blockade-runner.
The Tantive IV was drawn inexorably into the Destroyer’s main cargo hold, gripped tightly in a pressor field that would jam any attempts by the Rebel crew to blow up the captured ship. Vader doubted they were that desperate, but he wasn’t going to take the chance.
An assault commander arrived. “Lord Vader, we have entry teams breaching the ship locks.”
“Good.” Vader turned away from the viewport. “Come with me,” he told the commander.
The Tantive IV rested in the middle of the huge hold, looking small and defenseless, her white exterior marred by the scorched and blackened areas on the engines. Vader, followed by several stormtroopers, strode up the ramp to the air lock. The lock’s hatch had been shattered moments before; clouds of vaporized sealant, paint, and metal still hung in the air. He stepped through the smoke into the corridor and surveyed the damage. The bodies of both Rebel defenders and stormtroopers littered the deck of the blockade-runner. Vader paused to look at one of the Rebels crumpled at his feet, then at a second. They had been brave. Foolish, since there was no escape and no chance of victory, but brave.
Little good it would do them.
The sounds of blasterfire still echoed throughout the small ship; now and then a stray bolt was deflected from a bulkhead and across a cross corridor, the flash of red reflecting fleetingly off the white walls. Vader was not worried about stray fire—he could concentrate the Force enough to stop a blaster’s beam with the upraised palm of his gloved hand, if it came to that.
The conclusion was foregone—the Rebels could not possibly win against such overwhelming odds, and they had to know that. Why fight on?
There was some purpose to their continued resistance, of that he was sure. What was it?
Vader and his escort moved through the ship’s corridors, continuing his inspection. Some of the Rebel fighters had been captured, although most had gone down firing.
Enough of this. Vader stopped and, with a gesture to the commander, indicated that they bring him a Rebel officer who had just been captured. In another moment the man stood before him, still under guard. Without preamble, Vader reached out and grabbed the officer by the throat, easily lifting him clear off the floor. He gasped and struggled, but in vain, of course. None could escape the grip of the Force.
Before Vader could speak, a stormtrooper approached. He said, “The Death Star plans are not in the main computer.”
“Where are those transmissions you intercepted?” Vader asked him. “What have you done with those plans?”
The officer struggled. “We intercepted no transmissions!” he croaked.
Vader tightened his grip on the man’s throat, lifting him higher. The officer’s half-strangled words could barely be understood: “Aaah! This is … uhh … a consular ship. We’re on a diplomatic … agh! mission!”
Vader was not impressed by this pathetic attempt at deception. “If this is a consular ship, where is the ambassador?”
It was a rhetorical question. The man was not going to be helpful, so no more time needed to be wasted on him. Vader crushed his throat and tossed him across the corridor. The body bounced off the bulkhead and sprawled on the deck.
He could sense the reactions of the other nearby prisoners without having to look. Another object lesson: thwart Lord Vader and such would be your reward as well.
He turned to the assault leader. “Commander, tear this ship apart until you’ve found those plans. And bring me the passengers—I want them alive!”
Vader smiled under his helmet as a file of stormtroopers arrived with Leia Organa in tow. It was reported that she had shot a trooper before they stunned her. It was hard to think of her showing such bravery—she