Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [62]
“I see ’em. We’re sure in the middle of it, now.” He took a second to glance at Endor, floating peacefully off to his right. “Come on, Han old buddy, don’t let me down.”
Han pressed the button on his wrist-unit and covered his head: the reinforced door to the main control room blew into melted pieces. The Rebel squad stormed through the gaping portal.
The stormtroopers inside seemed taken completely by surprise. A few were injured by the exploding door; the rest gawked in dismay as the Rebels rushed them with guns drawn. Han took the lead, Leia right behind; Chewie covered the rear.
They herded all the personnel into one corner of the bunker. Three commandos guarded them there, three more covered the exits. The rest began placing the explosive charges.
Leia studied one of the screens on the control panel. “Hurry, Han, look! The fleet’s being attacked!”
Solo looked over at the screen. “Blast it! With the shield still up, they’re backed against the wall.”
“That is correct,” came a voice from the rear of the room. “Just as you are.”
Han and Leia spun around to find dozens of Imperial guns trained on them; an entire legion had been hiding in the wall compartments of the bunker. Now, in a single moment, the Rebels were surrounded—nowhere to run, far too many stormtroopers to fight. Completely surrounded.
More Imperial troops charged through the door, roughly disarming the stunned commandos.
Han, Chewie, and Leia exchanged helpless, hopeless looks. They’d been the Rebellion’s last chance.
They’d failed.
Some distance from the main area of battle, coasting safely in the center of the blanket of ships that constituted the Imperial fleet, was the flagship Super Star Destroyer. On the bridge, Admiral Piett watched the war through the enormous observation window—curious, as if viewing an elaborate demonstration, or an entertainment.
Two fleet captains stood behind him, respectfully silent; also learning the elegant designs of their Emperor.
“Have the fleet hold here,” Admiral Piett ordered.
The first captain hurried to carry out the order. The second stepped up to the window, beside the admiral. “We aren’t going to attack?”
Piett smirked. “I have my orders from the Emperor himself. He has something special planned for this Rebel scum.” He accented the specialness with a long pause, for the inquisitive captain to savor. “We are only to keep them from escaping.”
The Emperor, Lord Vader, and Luke watched the aerial battle rage from the safety of the throne room in the Death Star.
It was a scene of pandemonium. Silent, crystalline explosions surrounded by green, violet, or magenta auras. Wildly vicious dogfights. Gracefully floating crags of melted steel; icicle sprays that might have been blood.
Luke watched in horror, as another Rebel ship toppled against the unseeable deflector shield, exploding in a fiery concussion.
Vader watched Luke. His boy was powerful, stronger than he’d imagined. And still pliable. Not lost yet—either to the sickening, weakly side of the Force, that had to beg for everything it received; or to the Emperor, who feared Luke with reason.
There was yet time to take Luke for his own—to retake him. To join wih him in dark majesty. To rule the galaxy together. It would only take patience and a little wizardry, to show Luke the exquisite satisfactions of the dark way and to pry him from the Emperor’s terrified clutch.
Vader knew Luke had seen it, too—the Emperor’s fear. He was a clever boy, young Luke, Vader smiled grimly to himself. He was his father’s son.
The Emperor interrupted Vader’s contemplation with a cackled remark to Luke. “As you can see, my young apprentice, the deflector shield is still in place. Your friends have failed! And now …” he raised his spindly hand above his head to mark this moment: “Witness the power of this fully armed and operational battle station.” He walked over to the comlink and spoke in a gravelly whisper, as if to a lover. “Fire at will, Commander.”
In shock, and in foreknowledge,