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“He’ll betray you, too, sir,” said Sheyvan, his lightsaber locked against Vader’s.

“Few men will not try to betray me,” said Vader, and swung back at him. He could focus only on Lekauf’s plight at that moment, an echo of his own, and rage was a fine lens through which to concentrate his power. He drove Sheyvan back across the slippery deck, sending him stumbling. Even now, after holding back flame and surviving smoke, the Dark Jedi was still a formidable fighter. Vader genuinely regretted the final stroke that sliced him from shoulder to hip and left him dead on the deck.

Sheyvan was what Palpatine had made him. Vader had once thought he was made as Palpatine had planned, but now he knew he was his own man.

The Emperor could even have influenced Sheyvan to do this. So many layers. So many games.

The cockpit was too badly damaged to pilot the shuttle back to Imperial Center. Vader sent out a distress signal and waited for rescue. He walked back to the day cabin to check on Lekauf and found Palpatine watching the emergency first aid as if it were a demonstration.

“Will he survive?” Vader asked. I know how this feels. I know the pain. “Are his lungs damaged?”

Pepin took him to one side. “He’s very badly burned, sir,” he said in a whisper.

“I survived burns once,” said Vader. “And so will he. He will have the best medical care.” He leaned over Lekauf and stared into his face, seeing a fraction of the image that Palpatine must once have seen of him. “You are too loyal for your own good, Lieutenant.”

“That’s my job, my lord.”

He might have been attempting humor. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the clones he had trained, he had created that same sense of allegiance in them. They had almost formed a defensive line around him. Nele handed Pepin a succession of bacta-soaked swabs.

“You never disappoint me,” said Vader. Lekauf, face and hands swathed in wet gauze, blinked a few times. “Your apology was premature.”

Lekauf would recover in time, and he might even train men again. But he would now be the progenitor of a clone battalion. His men had defeated Dark Jedi, and, even if assisted by Vader, they had still given a good account of themselves.

Lekauf could be proud. And at least he would see his family again. Scarred or not, he had certain things that others—even Vader—might envy.

IMPERIAL PALACE, CORUSCANT; TWO DAYS LATER

“How is your lieutenant?” asked the Emperor.

Vader studied the ranks of the 501st Legion from the window overlooking the parade ground. There was a certain comfort in knowing that for most of them—those whose whole life was soldiering and who had no ambitions beyond that—life was a straightforward process of doing their job, with no thought of whom they might oust or assassinate or outmaneuver.

“He’s improving, Master.”

“Loyalty is a fine quality.”

“I have asked Arkanian Micro to produce a battalion of Lekauf clones. I think they have proved themselves.”

“Yes.” Palpatine wandered across to the window to stand beside Vader as if curious about whatever had caught his attention. “Cancel the orders for the Cuis clones. For the time being.”

I already have. “It will be done, my Master.”

“You are still troubled. I feel it.”

Vader decided to risk the question that was on his mind. Palpatine knew it was there anyway. The only issue was whether Vader would ask it.

“Master, was Sheyvan’s rebellion designed to test me?”

Palpatine turned his head sharply. The cowl shadowed his eyes: once his face had seemed kindly to Vader. “If it was a test, Lord Vader, it was for the clones, not for you. And if it was, then the Lekauf batch proved the more worthy.”

So that was your motive. With a little mental manipulation to turn Sheyvan’s resentment into hatred. And what a poor reward for Lekauf.

Vader curbed his anger simply to deny his Master the taste of victory. “A real crisis shows what a man is made from.”

“I have not ruled out more Cuis clones, of course.”

How far ahead do you plan your little games? You waited decades