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“I feel Dark Jedi are not suitable for the Imperial Army.”

“With the right commander they would be.”

“And who would train them?”

“You, Lord Vader.”

“I prefer ordinary soldiers. They don’t covet power. I would spend all my time watching my back.”

“Indeed you would,” said Palpatine.

It had been a game at first, an annoying one, but just verbal sparring; the Emperor neither lied nor told the truth. Now it had ceased to be a challenge, and Vader longed for a simpler relationship. There was a very fine line between strengthening a man through constant challenge and turning him into an enemy.

“Perhaps the solution to having to watch your back is to make your enemy watch theirs instead,” said Vader.

I will come for you one day.

“Or have others want to watch it for you,” said Palpatine, and turned to leave his apprentice alone in the anteroom.

Vader now knew there were no Force-users, dark or otherwise, whom he could wholly trust—his own Master least of all. Vader had no loyalties beyond himself, except for his interest in the well-being of the likes of Lekauf, men with no extraordinary gifts or powers whatsoever.

Unless, of course, you counted simple honesty as a gift.

At that moment he thought it the equal of any Force power. Yes, Vader preferred ordinary men made excellent by effort. The part of him that was Anakin Skywalker remembered the few things he had struggled to achieve—love, excitement, freedom—and thought how much more they had thrilled him than his prodigious and easy powers.

He had been a man himself, once. Thinking of Lekauf, he wondered if he would ever choose to be one again.

The adventure does not stop here.

Keep reading for an excerpt from the second book in the thrilling Legacy of the Force series:

BLOODLINES

Karen Traviss

Available now from Del Rey Books

Atzerri system, ten standard years after the Yuuzhan Vong war: Slave I in pursuit of prisoner H’buk. Boba Fett’s private record.

“Whatever he’s paying you, Fett, I’ll double it,” says the voice on the comlink.

They say that a lot. They just don’t understand the nature of a contract. This time it’s an Atzerri glitterstim dealer called H’buk who’s overstepped the mark with the Traders’ Coalition to the tune of four hundred thousand credits. The coalition feels it’s worth paying me five hundred thousand credits to teach him—and everyone else—a lesson about honoring debts.

I agree with the Traders’ Coalition wholeheartedly.

“A contract’s a contract,” I tell him. Slave I is close enough on his trail for me to get a visual on him: I swear he’s flying an old Z-95 Headhunter. No hyperdrive, or he’d have jumped for it by now. And no wonder he’s surprised. An old, old Firespray like Slave I shouldn’t be able to catch him on sublight drive alone.

But I’ve fitted a few more…extras recently. The only completely original part of Slave I now is the seat I’m in.

“My laser cannon’s armed,” says H’buk, breathless.

“Good for you.” Why they always want a conversation, I’ll never know. Look, shoot or shut up; I know you’ll have to come about to target me with that cannon, and in that second or two I’ll take out your drives anyway. “The galaxy’s a dangerous place.”

The Headhunter executes a neat turn to port with its aft maneuvering jets and the Slave’s laser locks on to the Headhunter’s drive signature, matching its turns and loops with no need for guidance from me. His engine flares in a ball of white light. The fighter begins an uncontrolled roll and I have to gun it to get the tractor beam locked and haul H’buk in.

The grapple arms make a satisfying chunk-unkkkk against the Headhunter’s airframe as I secure the fighter against the casing above Slave’s torpedo launcher. The sound of that reverberating through your hull, I’m told, is just like a cell door closing behind you: the point at which prisoners lose all hope.

Funny; that would only make me fight harder.

H’buk is making the noises of panic and pleading