Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [30]
And so Senator Palpatine had seized the moment. Through fraud, clever promises, and astute political maneuvering, he’d managed to get himself elected head of the Council. And then through subterfuge, bribery and terror, he’d named himself Emperor.
Emperor. It had a certain ring to it. The Republic had crumbled, the Empire was resplendent with its own fires, and would always be so—for the Emperor knew what others refused to believe: the dark forces were the strongest.
He’d known this all along, in his heart of hearts—but relearned it every day: from traitorous lieutenants who betrayed their superiors for favors; from weak-principled functionaries who gave him the secrets of local star systems’ governments; from greedy landlords, and sadistic gangsters, and power-hungry politicians. No one was immune, they all craved the dark energy at their core. The Emperor had simply recognized this truth, and utilized it—for his own aggrandizement, of course.
For his soul was the black center of the Empire.
He contemplated the dense impenetrability of the deep space beyond the window. Densely black as his soul—as if he were, in some real way, this blackness; as if his inner spirit was itself this void over which he reigned. He smiled at the thought: he was the Empire; he was the Universe.
Behind him, he sensed Vader still waiting in genuflection. How long had the Dark Lord been there? Five minutes? Ten? The Emperor was uncertain. No matter. The Emperor had not quite finished his meditation.
Lord Vader did not mind waiting, though, nor was he even aware of it. For it was an honor, and a noble activity, to kneel at his ruler’s feet. He kept his eyes inward, seeking reflection in his own bottomless core. His power was great, now, greater than it had ever been. It shimmered from within, and resonated with the waves of darkness that flowed from the Emperor. He felt engorged with this power, it surged like black fire, demon electrons looking for ground … but he would wait. For his Emperor was not ready; and his son was not ready, and the time was not yet. So he waited.
Finally the chair slowly rotated until the Emperor faced Vader.
Vader spoke first. “What is thy bidding, my master?”
“Send the fleet to the far side of Endor. There it will stay until called for.”
“And what of the reports of the Rebel fleet massing near Sullust?”
“It is of no concern. Soon the Rebellion will be crushed and young Skywalker will be one of us. Your work here is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders.”
“Yes, my master.” He hoped he would be given command over the destruction of the Rebel Alliance. He hoped it would be soon.
He rose and exited, as the Emperor turned back to the galactic panorama beyond the window, to view his domain.
In a remote and midnight vacuum beyond the edge of the galaxy, the vast Rebel fleet stretched, from its vanguard to its rear echelon, past the range of human vision. Corellian battle ships, cruisers, destroyers, carriers, bombers, Sullustian cargo freighters, Calamarian tankers, Alderaanian gunships, Kesselian blockade runners, Bestinian skyhoppers, X-wing, Y-wing, and Awing fighters, shuttles, transport vehicles, manowars. Every Rebel in the galaxy, soldier and civilian alike, waited tensely in these ships for instructions. They were led by the largest of the Rebel Star Cruisers, the Headquarters Frigate.
Hundreds of Rebel commanders, of all species and lifeforms, assembled in the war room of the giant Star Cruiser, awaiting orders from the High Command. Rumors were everywhere, and an air of excitement spread from squadron to squadron.
At the center of the briefing room was a large, circular light-table, projected above which a holographic image of the unfinished Imperial Death Star hovered beside the Moon of Endor, whose scintillating protective deflector shield encompassed them both.
Mon Mothma entered the room. A stately,