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“Find Queen Breha? What are you going on about? A moment ago you said that Captain Antilles had ordered us into hiding!” Arms crooked, almost akimbo, C-3PO couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You changed your mind. Since when do you get to decide what’s important and what isn’t? Oh, you’re intent on getting us in trouble. I know it!”

By then they had reached the access door in the wall. R2-D2 extended a slender interface arm from one of the compartments in his squat, cylindrical torso and was in the process of inserting it into a computer control terminal alongside the doorway when the voice of a flesh-and-blood said: “Misplace your starfighter, droid?”

Turning completely about, C-3PO found himself looking at a human and two six-fingered humanoids wearing long coats and tall boots. The human’s left hand was patting R2-D2’s dome of a head.

“Oh! Who are you?”

“Never mind that,” one of the humanoids said. Parting his coat, he revealed a blaster wedged into the wide belt that cinched his pants. “Do you know what this is?”

R2-D2 mewled in distress.

C-3PO’s photoreceptors refocused. “Why, yes, it’s a DL-Thirteen ion blaster.”

The humanoid smiled nastily. “You’re very learned.”

“Sir, it is my fondest wish that my master recognize as much. Working with other droids has become so tiresome—”

“Ever see what an ionizer on full power can do to a droid?” the humanoid interrupted.

“No, but I can well imagine.”

“Good,” the human said. “Then here’s the way it’s going to work: you’re going to lead us into the palace like we’re all the best of friends.”

While C-3PO was trying to make sense of it, the man added: “Of course, if you have a problem with that, my friend here”—he gestured to the other humanoid—“who happens to be very knowledgeable about droids, will just tap into this one’s memory and retrieve the entry code. And then both of you will get to enjoy the effects of an ionizer firsthand.”

C-3PO was too stunned to respond, but R2-D2 made up for the sudden silence by filling it with beeps and zithers.

“My counterpart says,” C-3PO started to interpret, then stopped himself. “You certainly will not do as he says, you coward! These beings are not our masters! You should be willing to be disassembled rather than offer them the slightest help!”

But C-3PO’s admonitions fell on deaf auditory sensors. R2-D2 was already unlocking the door.

“This is most unbecoming,” C-3PO said sadly. “Most unbecoming.”

“Good droid.” The long-haired human patted the astromech’s dome again, then threw C-3PO a narrow-eyed gaze. “Any attempts to communicate with anyone and you’ll wish you’d never been built.”

“Sir, you don’t know how many times I’ve already wished that very thing,” C-3PO said as he followed R2-D2 and the three armed organics through the door and onto the palace grounds.

Vader stood at the foot of the shuttle’s boarding ramp, gazing at the white spires of the Royal Palace. Commander Appo and six of his stormtroopers spread out to flank him as Bail Organa and several others emerged from the ornate building. For a moment neither group moved; then Organa’s contingent walked onto the landing platform and approached the shuttle.

“You are Lord Vader?” Organa asked.

“Senator,” Vader said, inclining his head slightly.

“I demand to know why you’ve come to Alderaan.”

“Senator, you are in no position to demand anything.”

The vocoder built into his mask added menace to the remark. But, in fact, for perhaps the first time Vader felt as if he were wearing a disguise—a macabre costume, as opposed to a suit of life-sustaining devices and durasteel armor.

As Anakin, Vader hadn’t known Bail Organa well, even though he had been in his company on numerous occasions, in the Jedi Temple, the corridors of the Senate, and in Palpatine’s former office. Padmé had spoken of him highly and often, and Vader suspected that it was Organa, along with Mon Mothma, Fang Zar, and a few others, who had persuaded Padmé to withdraw her support of Palpatine prior to the war’s finish. That, however, didn’t trouble Vader as much as the fact that