Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [142]
And even if he could, there was still Alderaan. That hadn’t been collateral damage. That had been genocide on a planetary scale, an entire world wiped away, and for what? Why did all those millions of people have to die?
As an object lesson. To show the galaxy that the Empire meant business, that Palpatine was not to be trifled with. To make sure that Tarkin’s fear doctrine was taken seriously.
And to punish—no, to torture—a young noblewoman who was part of the Rebellion.
He’d heard the story from more than one source. There had been no Rebel force hidden on Alderaan—if he could have believed there had been, it might have helped. But there had been guards there when Tarkin had told Motti to drop the hammer. They had heard the truth.
And it had been Tenn who’d pulled the trigger. He had sent the beam that killed at least a billion people, maybe more; he didn’t know what the planetary population had been. No doubt there was an up-to-date census in some datafile somewhere, but he wasn’t going looking for it. He didn’t want to know the figures. The bottom line was that he had done it.
That knowledge was worse than gut wrenching. Much worse. Tenn hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since he’d done it, and he didn’t see how he ever could again.
“Scut is we’re on the trail of the Rebels,” his CO said. “Just wanted to give you a head’s-up. Stay frosty.” He turned and descended the steep stairs—almost a ladder—back down to the deck, leaving Tenn alone in the control room.
Alone, he thought. If only. Tenn knew he would never be alone again.
Yes, he was a good soldier, a cog in the well-oiled machine that was the Empire. He followed orders. He did his job. But how could a man live with the knowledge that he, personally, had dropped the curtain on more people at once than anybody had ever done before?
How could he live with all those ghosts?
He, Master Chief Petty Officer Tenn Graneet, was the biggest mass murderer in galactic history. That was something to tell those hypothetical great-grandkids about, wasn’t it?
And now he was about to add still more to the total. Hey, why not? What was a few hundred thousand, or even a million more, when you had already scragged the populations of two planets?
He didn’t know if he could do it again. When the moment came to destroy the Rebel base, he wasn’t sure he could.
He knew he didn’t want to—of that he was certain.
But if he didn’t, somebody else would, and he’d get tossed into detention for disobeying an order. Then he’d have plenty of time on his hands to think about that moment when he had put every vile dictator or madman who had ever committed genocide to shame. General Grievous, the Butcher of Montellian Serat, Grand Admiral Ishin Il-Raz … pikers, all of them. None of them had ever slain so many, so suddenly.
So easily …
There was an old proverb his grandfather had taught him when he’d been a boy: Take care what you wish for, Tenn—you might get it.
Now he understood exactly what that meant. He had wanted to fire the big gun, and he had gotten to do just that. The only man in the galaxy who had shot it for real, at real targets, and look what it had bought him:
Misery beyond his ugliest dreams.
Graneet, the planet killer. Two up, two down.
People were already looking at him funny. Someday this war would be over, and what he had done couldn’t be kept a secret. Alderaan had been destroyed, and somebody had done it. The citizens of the Empire—or maybe even the Republic once again, though he didn’t see how the Alliance stood a chance, now—they’d want to pore over the details of the action. And once they did, they’d find him. They’d hold him up to the light and decry his hideous aspect.
Graneet, the planet killer. Unique among men. Got a pest problem? Call the chief—guaranteed to get rid of ’em all.
He wouldn’t be able to walk on a street on any civilized planet in the galaxy; people wouldn’t be able to abide his presence.
Nor would he