Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [135]
Riten said, “Maybe we do.”
They all turned to look at him again.
“What are you talking about?” Nova asked.
Riten said, “I’m an archivist. Over the years I’ve learned ways to obtain all kinds of information that isn’t supposed to be accessible.”
“Yeah—so?” Ratua said.
“Knowledge is power,” Riten said. “What if you knew the entry and takeoff codes for an Imperial shuttle that was fueled and ready to fly? What if you had the passcodes that would keep the station’s gunners from firing on you when you left? Or the tractor beams from locking on to you?”
“Big what-ifs,” Rodo said.
“Indeed. But—again, hypothetically and just for the sake of this discussion—suppose that I could lay hands on this information. Should I bother?”
The group was quiet for what seemed a long time. Finally, it was Nova who broke the silence.
“Yeah,” he said. “Go ahead and bother.”
63
CONFERENCE ROOM, COMMAND LEVEL, DEATH STAR
Vader stood at just inside the door, the guards flanking him, talking to a frankly incredulous Tarkin.
“He is here,” he said.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi? What makes you think so?”
To anyone with a connection to the Force, the question would not need an answer or an explanation. Even though Vader had thought initially to brush it off—he had, for so many years, hoped to feel that presence that at first he thought he’d imagined it—he knew. He said, “A tremor in the Force. The last time I felt it was in the presence of my old Master.”
Tarkin stood. “Surely he must be dead by now.”
“Don’t underestimate the Force,” Vader said, though he knew it was pointless. The man could not understand.
“The Jedi are extinct. Their fire has gone out of the universe.”
The intercom on the table chimed. Tarkin moved toward it, continuing to speak. “You, my friend, are all that’s left of their religion.”
No, Tarkin could not understand. He had no way of grasping the concept. It was like trying to explain color to someone blind from birth.
“Yes?” Tarkin said into the intercom.
The voice from the unit was terse: “We have an emergency alert in Detention Block AA-Twenty-three.”
Tarkin frowned. He obviously knew the significance of that location. “The Princess? Put all sections on alert!”
Vader did not need the confirmation, but this new event might help convince Tarkin. He said, “Obi-Wan is here. The Force is with him.”
Tarkin, always quick to shift stances when he realized it was necessary, said, “If you’re right, he must not be allowed to escape.”
It was a reasonable conclusion for someone who did not know their history. But wrong. “Escape is not his plan. I must face him. Alone.”
Vader turned and strode out of the room. Now that he was certain his old Master was on this station, he would be able to find him. The Force was sometimes maddeningly inexact. There were times when, even knowing what he was, you could stand next to a Jedi Master and not feel his power; at other times you could sense him on the other side of a planet or halfway across a stellar system—distance was no barrier to the Force. The swirls of energy often hid as much as they revealed. But Vader knew Obi-Wan was here, and he knew he would be able to find him.
Find him and, after all these years of waiting, destroy him.
GUARD UNIT LOCKERS, DECK 17, DEATH STAR
Nova arrived for his shift only a few minutes late, still chewing on the conversation in the cantina. He had gotten most of his armor on—and why they had to wear that inside the battle station made no sense at all to him. The eighteen-piece suit was a pain to don, and it offered only limited protection against a regulation power blaster, anyway. But regs were regs.
The lieutenant suddenly turned from the comm board and yelled at him: “Sergeant Stihl, we have intruders! There’s a breakout on Level Five, Detention Block AA-Twenty-three. Take a squad and get over there!”
Stihl stared at the lieutenant. Intruders? A breakout? How was that possible?
“Sergeant! Move out!”
“Copy, sir, on our way! Bretton, Zack, Dash, Alix, Kai, with me! Mahl, Cy, Dex, Nate, on point! Move out, people!”
The squad