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The Death Star computer core had not yet been installed. It had not even arrived at the sanctuary moon—but now IG-88 had the schedule and the destination. According to Vader’s plans stolen from the Executor, IG-88 knew how the computer core would be guarded, what path it would take as it entered and left hyperspace. It was all the information he needed.

“The solution is obvious,” IG-88A said. The others agreed.

“We must create a duplicate computer core, which we will inhabit.”

“We will secretly make the exchange. An identical core will be delivered to Endor.”

“The original core will be destroyed.”

“The identical core will contain our mind, our personality … our goals.”

At first the Death Star would be a heavy, immobile confinement—but once the weapon itself was operational, nothing could stop IG-88’s agenda.

Fully in agreement, the four assassin droids exited the computer inspection chamber through a heavy durasteel door that clanged shut behind them. When they emerged into the warmer, humid rooms, frost quickly formed around their exoskeletons.

Instantaneously transmitting the detailed specifications and plans, IG-88 instructed the administrative droid Threedee-Fourex to devote the facilities to construct a new computer core that exactly matched the Death Star design … as well as other items IG-88 would need.

The four assassin droids strode across the permacrete to the landing pad where the Imperial shuttles sat waiting in the smog-filtered sunlight: one long-distance heavy transport and two well-armed escort craft. The droids marched in lockstep, their weapons visible, their demeanor threatening.

A full complement of stormtroopers wearing polished white armor stood in perfect ranks in front of the heavy transports and the escort craft. Their blaster rifles rested in readiness on their shoulders. A hundred soldiers waited at attention, combat ready, as the IG-88s approached.

IG-88 played his optical sensors over their ranks—the plasteel armor, the skull-like helmets, the black eye shields, the boots, the weapons, the utility belts. The stormtroopers made no move.

When he was satisfied, IG-88A spoke, “Perfect,” he said. “Exact replicas. No one will ever be able to tell you are droids.”

X

When Minor Relsted shuffled into Imperial Supervisor Gurdun’s dungeon-like office, the young subordinate grinned with idiotic pleasure.

“Supervisor Gurdun,” he said, holding the plaque and its coded transmission. “Important news from the Imperial Palace. You have been transferred. You have been given more direct duties in the field. Isn’t that good news?” Relsted’s eyes twinkled.

Gurdun snatched the plaque away and scanned the transmission verifying the holographic fields above and knowing this was no joke. “They’re putting me in charge of the … What is this outrage? Another Death Star project? I didn’t know we even had one going.”

“No, sir,” Relsted said. “You’re not in charge of the project, merely acquiring the computer cores and delivering them to the construction site.”

Gurdun reached with stubby fingers into the transparent snack bowl where shiny nut-beetles tried to climb the slippery sides. He picked up one of the bugs and popped it in his mouth, using his eyeteeth to crack through its outer shell. He split it open and used his tongue to pick out the soft juicy meat inside. He spat out the still-squirming legs into a wastebasket near his desk.

“I requested no such transfer. Is this a promotion, or am I just supposed to think it is? Wasn’t Lord Vader satisfied with my work on the Arakyd probe droids? I finished the order exactly on time and within budget.”

“I’m sure it must be a promotion, sir,” Minor Relsted said. “My congratulations, sir.” He turned, hesitated, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, I am to take over your position in this office. If you would be so kind as to move out your effects as soon as possible?”

Imperial Supervisor Gurdun found he had lost his appetite for snacks.

XI

As preparations for the assault on the