Star Wars_ Splinter of the Mind's Eye - Alan Dean Foster [81]
“The weapons were of small consequence,” Vader growled profoundly. “A few guns, all in the hands of wanted criminals.” Grammel cringed as the grotesque breath mask dipped close. “Admit it, Captain-Supervisor. Your troops were inadequately prepared, poorly trained. Discipline and morale were both absent and you were routed by a mob of ignorant savages!”
“They took us completely by surprise, my Lord,” Grammel argued strenuously. “No native group has ever resisted the Imperial presence on Mimban before.”
“No native group previously had the benefit of human advice and aid,” Vader snapped back. “They did not employ wholly aboriginal tactics. You should have recognized the differences early and taken appropriate countermeasures.” He looked away from Grammel to gaze significantly across the bogland. “I know which parties were responsible for that. When I hold in my hand the balance of the crystal, I will mete out justice accordingly.”
“I’d hoped for that privilege myself,” a disgruntled Grammel muttered.
Vader turned a cool, metallic stare downward, announced dangerously, “You have no privileges, Captain-Supervisor Grammel. You have blundered badly. Not critically, I hope, but badly. I curse myself for being fool enough to assume that you knew what you were doing.”
“I told you, my Lord,” Grammel objected, at once angry and frightened, “their surprise was complete.”
“I’m not interested in excuses for debacles, only successful results,” declared Vader. “Grammel, your existence befouls me.”
“My Lord,” Grammel babbled desperately, rising from the bench, “if I—”
Faster than a human eye could follow, Vader’s lightsaber was up, activated and moving. Grammel’s slashed form pitched wildly, stumbled backward and tumbled over the side of the crawler. There was a lull as the stunned driver looked on in terror.
Vader whirled, glowered down at him. “We will travel faster without such dead weight to slow us, trooper. Return to your controls—now!”
“Y-yes, my Lord,” the man gulped, unable to keep from stuttering fearfully. Somehow he forced himself to turn back to the control board of the vehicle.
As they moved forward, Vader turned to glance back idly at the receding corpse of Captain-Supervisor Grammel. Already jungle scavengers were beginning to emerge from concealment to sniff hopefully at the body.
“Whoever is your lord now,” Vader murmured, “it is not I.” Removing the shard of Kaiburr crystal from a sealed pocket, he held the glowing crimson splinter before his eyes, swaying slightly.
It was there ahead, somewhere ahead. He could sense it.
He would find it.…
“Are we still traveling on the right track?” a weary Leia asked old Halla several days later. All of the crawler’s occupants were dirty, discouraged and exhausted from racing nonstop through the misty landscape.
“Certain of it,” Halla replied with disgusting cheerfulness.
“We’re getting close to something,” Luke ventured. “It’s … peculiar. I’ve never felt anything like it before, not remotely.”
“I don’t feel anything, except filthy,” countered the Princess.
“Leia,” Luke began, “all I can say is—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted him tiredly, “ ‘if I were a Force-sensitive …’ ”
Artoo beeped from the open turret. Luke rushed to the fore viewport, announced in hushed tones, “There it is.”
Rising from the jungle growth ahead of them was a black apparition. A monstrous pyramidal ziggurat, it looked as if it were formed of cast iron. But metal it was not. Instead, the massive edifice had been built of great blocks of some volcanic stone.
For all its breadth, it was not very tall. Vines and creepers clung jealously to it in many places. As they ground nearer Luke saw that much of the stone was crumbling to fine powder. Fortunately the entrance was still visible, although the ten-meter-high curved archway was half collapsed and had filled the passageway with rubble