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When the shuttle had docked in the Executor’s hold, Vader led his contingent of stormtroopers out of the vessel, only to find that his host hadn’t shown him the courtesy of being on hand to greet him. Waiting, instead, was his host’s contingent of gray-uniformed crew members, commanded by a human officer named Darcc.

The games begin, Vader thought, as he allowed Captain Darcc to escort him deeper into the ship.

The cabin to which he was ultimately led was in the uppermost reaches of the Star Destroyer’s conning tower. On entering, Vader found his host sitting behind a gleaming slab of desk, plainly debating whether to remain seated or to stand; whether to place himself on equal footing with Vader, or, by appearance, to continue to suggest superiority. Knowing, in any case, that Vader preferred to remain on his feet, his host was not likely to gesture him to a chair. Knowing, too, that Vader was capable of strangling him from clear across the cabin might also figure into his decision.

What to do? his host must have been thinking.

And then he stood, a slender, sharp-featured man, coming around from behind the desk with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Thank you for detouring from your course,” Wilhuff Tarkin said.

The expression of gratitude was unexpected. But if Tarkin was intent on prolonging the game, then Vader would humor him, since in the end it amounted to nothing more than establishing status.

This was what the Empire would be, he thought. A contest among men intent on clawing their way to the top, to sit at Sidious’s feet.

“The Emperor requested it,” Vader said finally.

Tarkin pursed his thin lips. “I suppose we can attribute that to the Emperor’s astute ability to bring like-minded beings together.”

“Or pit them against one another.”

Tarkin adopted a more sober look. “That, too, Lord Vader.”

With a mind as sharp as his cheekbones, Tarkin had risen quickly through the ranks of Palpatine’s newly formed staff of political and military elite, among whom naked ambition was highly prized. So much so that a new honorific had been created for Tarkin and ambitious men like him: Moff.

Vader had met him once before, aboard a Venator-class Star Destroyer, at the remote location where the Emperor’s secret weapon was under construction. Vader, still new to his suit then; awkward, uncertain, between worlds.

Tarkin perched himself on the edge of his desk and smiled thinly. “Perhaps between the two of us, we can determine the reason the Emperor arranged this rendezvous.”

Vader crossed his gloved hands in front of him. “I suspect that you know more about the purpose of this meeting than I do, Moff Tarkin.”

Tarkin’s smile disappeared, and in its place came a look of sharp attentiveness. “Surely you can guess, my friend.”

“Kashyyyk.”

“Bravo.”

Tarkin activated a holoplate that sat atop his desk. In the cone of blue light that rose from it, a bruised transport of military design could be seen moving through a cordon of Imperial corvettes.

“This was recorded approximately ten hours ago, local, at the Kashyyyk system checkpoint. As you may have already guessed, the transport belongs to the Jedi. It appears to be a civilian model, but it isn’t. It was hijacked on Dellalt some weeks ago, and was the object of a pursuit that ended in the destruction of several Imperial starfighters. We have, however, been successful at tracking its movements ever since.”

“You’ve been tracking them,” Vader said in genuine surprise. “Was the Emperor apprised of this?”

Tarkin smiled again. “Lord Vader, the Emperor is apprised of everything.”

But his apprentice isn’t, Vader thought.

“I ordered our checkpoint personnel to ignore the obvious fact that the transport’s signature has been altered,” Tarkin continued, “and to ignore, as well, the fact that whatever codes the transport furnished were likely to be counterfeit.”

“Why weren’t the Jedi simply taken into custody at the checkpoint?”

“We had our reasons, Lord Vader. Or perhaps I should say that the Emperor had his.”

“They