Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [129]
The officer came to attention.
Tarkin looked at the man. “Yes?”
“Our scout ships have reached Dantooine. They found the remains of a Rebel base, but they estimate that it has been deserted for some time. They are now conducting an extensive search of the surrounding system.”
Vader felt a small surge of triumph, even though the news was bad. He had expected this.
As the officer turned and marched away, Tarkin came to his feet, simmering with rage. “She lied! She lied to us!”
Vader was amused at Tarkin’s outrage. Now who was too naïve and trusting? Aloud, he said, “I told you she would never consciously betray the Rebellion.”
Tarkin took a few steps toward him. Vader could sense that the governor’s anger had gotten the better of him. “Terminate her! Immediately!”
Unseen under his helmet, Vader’s tight features formed a painful grin. He understood Tarkin’s anger—after all, he himself was a master of anger—but Princess Leia Organa might better serve them alive. He would consider the matter. Tarkin could not order, only suggest various courses and actions to him, and he was not averse to going along with those suggestions most of the time, since they didn’t really matter. But Darth Vader bowed to no one’s wishes save those of his Master, the Dark Lord of the Sith. Should his Master’s wishes and Tarkin’s collide, Tarkin would be swept away with the rest of history’s dust without a second’s hesitation.
Nova hadn’t really been surprised to be assigned as one of the guards for the conference room on the Command Level. It wasn’t his normal duty, but he was a senior sergeant, and when one of the men normally at the post developed a sudden illness Nova had been tapped as a temporary replacement. He was the kind of guard they liked, adept with either weapons or his bare hands.
Mostly the room was empty the entire shift, and there was little to do but think; however, toward the end of the shift, Governor Tarkin and Darth Vader had arrived. Nova could not help but overhear, of course, as the two had a discussion that ranged across several topics—mostly concerned with the next target for the Death Star. It seemed that the Rebels’ main fortress had been located, and they were awaiting reports from the scouts before spacing there to destroy that planet as well.
Nova was still reeling from the results of the most recent test. He had passed out in his sonic shower at precisely the instant that the superlaser had shattered the peaceful world of Alderaan, and he was certain this was no coincidence. The doctor’s diagnosis about midi-chlorians had to be connected. He’d done research on it with the station archivist’s help, and had come to the reluctant conclusion that he was somehow receptive to the pervasive energy field the Jedi had called the Force. A Force-sensitive was the term. It explained why he sometimes could anticipate the moves of his opponents, the skill he called Blink.
He wasn’t sure what to do about this—he wasn’t even sure that anything could be done. It had evidently been with him to a certain degree for his whole life; it wasn’t just going to go away. Since he seemed to be stuck with it and the visions it brought, maybe there was something he could do with it besides just dodge incoming fists.
The door opened and a senior officer marched in, as stiff as if he had a durasteel rod for a spine.
The man gave his report, and Nova kept his face stolid as he listened. So the girl that the doctor had spoken of in the cantina had given Tarkin and Vader a false lead. Brave, but not very smart, since Tarkin was now irritated enough to tell Vader to execute her.
Once upon a time, Nova would have shrugged that bit of news away. It wasn’t his business how the higher-ups behaved; he just followed his orders and did his job, a good and loyal soldier. But if blowing up Despayre had been terrible, killing Alderaan was several orders of magnitude more horrifying. Billions of innocents had died there, not hardened and convicted criminals—billions of civilians of