Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [2]
“We can dispense with the pleasantries, Commander.” Vader’s words echoed as from the bottom of a well. “The Emperor is concerned with your progress. I am here to put you back on schedule.”
Jerjerrod turned pale. This was news he’d not expected. “I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can.”
“Perhaps I can encourage their progress in ways you have not considered,” Vader growled. He had ways, of course; this was known. Ways, and ways again.
Jerjerrod kept his tone even, though deep inside, the ghost of hurry began to scrabble at his throat. “That won’t be necessary, my Lord. I tell you, without question this station will be operational as planned.”
“I’m afraid the Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation.”
“I fear he asks the impossible,” the commander suggested.
“Perhaps you could explain that to him when he arrives.” Vader’s face remained invisible behind the deathly black mask that protected him; but the malice was clear in the electronically modified voice.
Jerjerrod’s pallor intensified. “The Emperor is coming here?”
“Yes, Commander. And he will be quite displeased if you are still behind schedule when he arrives.” He spoke loudly, to spread the threat over all who could hear.
“We shall double our efforts, Lord Vader.” And he meant it. For sometimes didn’t even great men hurry, in time of great need?
Vader lowered his voice again. “I hope so, Commander, for your sake. The Emperor will tolerate no further delay in the final destruction of the outlaw Rebellion. And we have secret news now”—he included Jerjerrod, only, in this intimate detail—“The Rebel fleet has gathered all its forces into a single giant armada. The time is at hand when we can crush them, without mercy, in a single blow.”
For the briefest second, Vader’s breathing seemed to quicken, then resumed its measured pace, like the rising of a hollow wind.
1
OUTSIDE the small adobe hut, the sandstorm wailed like a beast in agony, refusing to die. Inside, the sounds were muted.
It was cooler in this shelter, more hushed, and darker. While the beast without howled, in this place of nuance and shadow a shrouded figure worked.
Tanned hands, holding arcane tools, extended from the sleeves of a caftanlike robe. The figure crouched on the ground, working. Before him lay a discoid device of strange design, wires trailing from it at one end, symbols etched into its flat surface. He connected the wired end to a tubular, smooth handle, pulled through an organic-looking connector, locked it in place with another tool. He motioned to a shadow in the corner; the shadow moved toward him.
Tentatively, the obscure form rolled closer to the robed figure. “Vrrrr-dit dweet?” the little R2 unit questioned timidly as it approached, pausing when it was just a foot from the shrouded man with the strange device.
The shrouded man motioned the droid nearer still. Artoo-Detoo scooted the last distance, blinking; and the hands raised toward his domed little head.
The fine sand blew hard over the dunes of Tatooine. The wind seemed to come from everywhere at once, typhooning in spots, swirling in devil-winds here, hovering in stillness there, without pattern or meaning.
A road wound across the desert plain. Its nature changed constantly, at one moment obscured by drifts of ochre sand, the next moment swept clean, or distorted by the heat of the shimmering air above it. A road more ephemeral than navigable; yet a road to be followed, all the same. For it was the only way to reach the palace of Jabba the Hutt.
Jabba was the vilest gangster in the galaxy. He had his fingers in smuggling, slave-trading, murder; his minions scattered across the stars. He both collected and invented atrocities, and his court was a den of unparalleled decay. It was said by some that Jabba had chosen Tatooine as his place of residence because only in this arid crucible of a planet could he hope to keep his soul from rotting away altogether—here the parched sun might bake his humor to a festering brine.
In any case, it was a place few