don’t want to be late to the party.”
“No, sir.”
Not that Vader needs the escort
, Vil thought.
Nobody here could get in his way
.
Vil hurried onto the deck, his mechanic waving him to his TIE. “Been takin’ a nap, rocketjock? Get in!”
As Vil clamped down his helmet and checked his readings, he had a moment to ponder the purpose of the escort.
Darth Vader, commanding a big Destroyer. Wonder what he’s doing here?
Had to be something big. You could have a headful of hard vac and still suss that out.
The air lock doors opened. Vil lit his engines and was gone.
14
RECEIVING DECK SEVEN,
HAVELON
T arkin frowned as he waited on the receiving deck for Vader to arrive. It was certainly true that the Emperor could send whomever he liked, whenever he liked, to check on the station’s progress. Tarkin had no reason to be anything but grateful to the Emperor—how many Grand Moffs were there, after all? Who had elevated him to that puissant position and given him command of the most important military project in galactic history?
All that was true. And he
was
grateful—to Palpatine. But one feels differently toward the one holding the leash than toward the one on the leash.
There was something about Vader that set his teeth on edge. It wasn’t just the prosthetic suit with its mask and breather, nor the fact that he couldn’t see the eyes behind those polarized lenses. Vader had power, both personal and as the Emperor’s tool, and Tarkin’s sense of him was that he cared about as much for a human life standing next to him as he did about a mistfly in the far-off swamps of Neimoidia. Standing next to Vader was like standing next to a giant thermal grenade—it might just go off at any moment.
And the man in black had a temper, no doubt about that. Thus far, he had not unleashed it in Tarkin’s direction, but Tarkin had seen it loosed on others, and those who thought to give Vader grief quickly realized that it was a fatal mistake.
No matter how much people decried the Force as being a superstition that hadn’t saved the Jedi from annihilation, it was real enough to enable Vader to stop a man’s heart or keep the breath from his lungs simply by willing it. Not to mention knocking blaster bolts from the air with that lightsaber of his. True, nothing would be able to withstand the force of this battle station’s armament, once it was operational. But it wouldn’t be fully operational for another few months, and anybody who was both strong enough and foolish enough to slay Vader would have to deal with the Emperor’s wrath—and
he
made Vader seem like an Iridonian hugglepup.
The shuttle hatch opened. With most military VIPs, there would be an honor guard of elite stormtroopers or even Imperial Red Guards emerging first. Not so with Vader. He strode through the hatch and down the ramp alone, his cape billowing behind him in the wind of his own passage, fearless, not the least bit worried about any possible danger. He was arrogant, but then he had reason to be.
Tarkin waited, his admirals shifting nervously behind him. Some of them couldn’t stand the very idea of a man like Vader, who existed outside the chain of command and was able to come and go as he pleased, not truly subject to military orders. Well, it was what it was, and there was no help for it.
Vader approached to stand before Tarkin. He always seemed larger and taller than Tarkin remembered, a dark presence, a force, as it were, of nature. “Grand Moff Tarkin,” he said, offering not even the slightest nod of a military bow. Vader bent the knee to no one, save the Emperor, Tarkin knew.
“Lord Vader.” There was no point in offering small talk or pleasantries; Vader had no use for them. “Shall we begin the tour?” Tarkin asked, extending one hand in a gesture that encompassed the entirety of the station.
“Proceed.”
“This way. We’ll take my lighter.”
Vader could sense the hostility of some of the men behind Tarkin, but
“No, sir.”
Not that Vader needs the escort
, Vil thought.
Nobody here could get in his way
.
Vil hurried onto the deck, his mechanic waving him to his TIE. “Been takin’ a nap, rocketjock? Get in!”
As Vil clamped down his helmet and checked his readings, he had a moment to ponder the purpose of the escort.
Darth Vader, commanding a big Destroyer. Wonder what he’s doing here?
Had to be something big. You could have a headful of hard vac and still suss that out.
The air lock doors opened. Vil lit his engines and was gone.
14
RECEIVING DECK SEVEN,
HAVELON
T arkin frowned as he waited on the receiving deck for Vader to arrive. It was certainly true that the Emperor could send whomever he liked, whenever he liked, to check on the station’s progress. Tarkin had no reason to be anything but grateful to the Emperor—how many Grand Moffs were there, after all? Who had elevated him to that puissant position and given him command of the most important military project in galactic history?
All that was true. And he
was
grateful—to Palpatine. But one feels differently toward the one holding the leash than toward the one on the leash.
There was something about Vader that set his teeth on edge. It wasn’t just the prosthetic suit with its mask and breather, nor the fact that he couldn’t see the eyes behind those polarized lenses. Vader had power, both personal and as the Emperor’s tool, and Tarkin’s sense of him was that he cared about as much for a human life standing next to him as he did about a mistfly in the far-off swamps of Neimoidia. Standing next to Vader was like standing next to a giant thermal grenade—it might just go off at any moment.
And the man in black had a temper, no doubt about that. Thus far, he had not unleashed it in Tarkin’s direction, but Tarkin had seen it loosed on others, and those who thought to give Vader grief quickly realized that it was a fatal mistake.
No matter how much people decried the Force as being a superstition that hadn’t saved the Jedi from annihilation, it was real enough to enable Vader to stop a man’s heart or keep the breath from his lungs simply by willing it. Not to mention knocking blaster bolts from the air with that lightsaber of his. True, nothing would be able to withstand the force of this battle station’s armament, once it was operational. But it wouldn’t be fully operational for another few months, and anybody who was both strong enough and foolish enough to slay Vader would have to deal with the Emperor’s wrath—and
he
made Vader seem like an Iridonian hugglepup.
The shuttle hatch opened. With most military VIPs, there would be an honor guard of elite stormtroopers or even Imperial Red Guards emerging first. Not so with Vader. He strode through the hatch and down the ramp alone, his cape billowing behind him in the wind of his own passage, fearless, not the least bit worried about any possible danger. He was arrogant, but then he had reason to be.
Tarkin waited, his admirals shifting nervously behind him. Some of them couldn’t stand the very idea of a man like Vader, who existed outside the chain of command and was able to come and go as he pleased, not truly subject to military orders. Well, it was what it was, and there was no help for it.
Vader approached to stand before Tarkin. He always seemed larger and taller than Tarkin remembered, a dark presence, a force, as it were, of nature. “Grand Moff Tarkin,” he said, offering not even the slightest nod of a military bow. Vader bent the knee to no one, save the Emperor, Tarkin knew.
“Lord Vader.” There was no point in offering small talk or pleasantries; Vader had no use for them. “Shall we begin the tour?” Tarkin asked, extending one hand in a gesture that encompassed the entirety of the station.
“Proceed.”
“This way. We’ll take my lighter.”
Vader could sense the hostility of some of the men behind Tarkin, but
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