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It was Vader, as Luke Skywalker and the Jedi’s Revenge made so painfully clear, who had always secretly dreamed of being Palpatine’s successor. It was Vader, in his madness, who had believed himself to be Palpatine’s beloved protégé; he had even tried to bend young Skywalker’s mind to evil, to recruit the virtuous young Jedi in his treasonous plans, but young Skywalker had roundly rejected Vader’s insane machinations. And so, on that dark day among the moons of Endor, when Palpatine had revealed to young Skywalker that he, and he alone, the son of Palpatine’s beloved companion, the child of the sole Jedi to remain loyal to the Senate and the Chancellor during the Jedi Rebellion, was to be the new Emperor, Vader could no longer control his rage. With a roar of mindless fury, he’d attacked like a blood-mad rancor.

As the innocent young Skywalker had looked on in horror, the black-armored monster had fallen upon the frail old man who had once befriended him. Only after Palpatine had been mortally wounded had young Skywalker snapped from his daze. With righteous fury, he had risen up against the most feared fighter in the galaxy, and had struck down the black-armored assassin, the murderer of his late father’s greatest friend. But it was too late to save Palpatine; poor Skywalker could only avenge the great man’s death.

Though Klick knew that what he’d seen was only a dramatic reenactment, there was something so real about it, so powerful—a truth greater than any mere facts.

It was Luke Skywalker’s grief and guilt at his failure to save the Emperor, Shadowspawn had explained, that had driven him back into the grasp of the Rebels. Skywalker believed that he deserved no better than to be just another outlaw among the thieves, pirates, and murderers of the Rebel Alliance.

“And this is what I ask of you, Wing Commander,” Lord Shadowspawn had said to Klick on that day. “That you join me in my quest to fulfill the dying wish of our Beloved Emperor: to heal the broken heart of the son of the last true Jedi hero, and to put Luke Skywalker, Palpatine’s chosen heir, in his rightful place as the absolute ruler of our Galactic Empire.”

Klick had been proud to surrender his forces to the great Lord Shadowspawn’s epic struggle to bring the shattered galaxy together again; there was no greater honor he could imagine than to lay down his life for Palpatine’s chosen heir, and Lord Shadowspawn had rewarded his devotion with promotion and command of his own fighter group. He only hoped that he could somehow survive the coming struggle, that someday he might have the privilege to kneel and pledge his service in person to the newly anointed emperor.

Now, far beyond the archway along the fusion-formed corridor of stone, one of the Pawns paused and turned, as though he had somehow sensed Klick’s thought. A pale hand came up and beckoned.

Klick followed them into the Election Center.

This was not Klick’s first visit to the Election Center; he knew what to expect. He’d tried to train himself not to look at the Elect. He’d tried to school himself not to hear them. He’d tried to discipline his mind to think of the Elect as the privileged, the chosen, the luckiest of the lucky, yanked from despair into this once-in-a-millennium opportunity to serve the Great Cause.

Tried, and failed.

Every time he entered this place, the Elect were not invisible, nor inaudible, and he’d never be able to think of them as lucky. They were always, and would always be, terrified victims, helplessly screaming or sobbing or pleading for their lives, sentient sacrifices tragically necessary to Shadowspawn’s plan for Skywalker’s eventual victory.

The Pawns ahead of him dragged the stunned prisoner to a vacant Pawning Table: a slab-like pedestal of stone, molded from the local meltmassif. They let the prisoner slump over its edge as they drew their neural stunners; a short burst from each into the surface of the Pawning Table altered the electrocrystalline