Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [113]
No. He would not allow that thought.
She glared at him, managing to look disdainful even though her hands were cuffed. “Darth Vader,” she said, making no effort to hide her contempt. “Only you could be so bold. The Imperial Senate will not sit still for this—when they hear you’ve attacked a diplomatic—”
He cut her off: “Don’t act so surprised, Your Highness. You weren’t on any mercy mission this time. Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by Rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.”
She kept to her role: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan—”
Vader’s patience was abruptly at an end. “You are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor!” He gestured furiously at the guards. “Take her away!”
After she was hustled off, Vader stood motionless, quelling his rage. Anger could be useful, but only when it was anger you brought forth on your own, shaped to your ends. Not when it was provoked by someone else.
He was somewhat surprised by the intensity of his response. There was something about her he could not quite put a finger on, something unusual. It troubled him. Organa’s mind was not weak; this he could tell even after a cursory attempt to probe it. And there was something oddly familiar about her, something just outside his grasp …
He mentally shrugged it off. It was not important. She would be dead soon in any event; Tarkin had signed the order already. It was only a matter of how much useful information they could pry from her before that came to pass. She was part of the past. He had the future with which he must deal.
He began to walk as he considered his next move.
Next to him the commander said, “Holding her is dangerous. If word gets out, it could generate sympathy for the Rebellion in the Senate.”
Vader wasn’t moved by such fears. “I have traced the Rebel spies to her. Now she is my only link to finding their secret base.”
“She’ll die before she’ll tell you anything.”
“Leave that to me. Send a distress signal, then inform the Senate that all aboard were killed.”
Another Imperial officer approached them. “Lord Vader, the battle station plans are not aboard this ship. And no transmissions were made.”
Vader stared at the officer. His anger started to burn again.
The officer seemed to sense this. Hurriedly, he added, “An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting—but no life-forms were aboard.”
Ah. So that was why they had continued to resist—to give their precious Princess time to physically remove the plans. Of course. He turned to the commander. “She must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally, Commander. There’ll be no one to stop us this time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vader strode through the lock and back into his ship’s cargo bay. At the least, they had prevented the Princess from delivering the Death Star plans to the Rebels. Imperial troopers would recover them—and even if they did not, there was little damage they could do on the worthless desert world of Tatooine. There was nothing of value on that world. Nothing at all.
53
THE HARD HEART CANTINA, DECK 69, DEATH STAR
Behind the bar, the liquor bottles rattled on their shelves, and Memah felt a gentle but insistent thrum under her feet.
“What—” she began.
“We’re moving,” Rodo said.
Next to him, Nova nodded. “Sublight engines, so we aren’t going far.”
The customers—about a quarter capacity this time of cycle—paused for a few seconds, then went back to what they were doing. Nobody seemed too perturbed by the event.
“Why are we moving? Construction isn’t finished yet,” she said. “Is it?”
“Apparently enough so that the ship can be relocated,” Rodo said.
After a moment, the vibration evened out. The bottles stopped jittering. The hum quieted and became very faint, barely felt.
Memah turned to Nova. “What does this mean, Sarge?”
He laughed. “Oh, right, me being so critical