Tarkin's address came only an hour after the planet's destruction. Everywhere within the Death Star, people came to attention to listen as he announced the Empire's grand triumph over the Rebellion with the station's destruction of Alderaan as a font of resistance, an example to all those who would defy the Emperor.
Luke and Hobbie had just found Tycho in the ready room assigned to their squadron, but in the event all they could do was stand beside him as the other pilots turned to stare. Squadron solidarity wasn't exactly something encouraged by the Empire, but Tycho was well-liked and respected, and even the most fanatical of their fellow pilots who were ready to believe that Alderaan was indeed a hotbed of rebels that deserved destruction hesitated to show their approval in front of him.
Not that Tycho would have noticed if they had. Luke, watching him closely, saw his expression change from routine alertness to disbelief to dawning horror, but he remained at stiff attention, as unmoving as stone. Luke and Hobbie remained at his side through the entirety of the announcement, through Tarkin's admonishment to remain silent about their mission until the Emperor chose an appropriate time to inform the rest of the galaxy, the announcement that they were en route to Coruscant to personally present their accomplishment before the Emperor, the commendation of all station personnel for their contribution to the elimination of Alderaan.
Even as the announcement ended and everyone else in the room relaxed back into their earlier pastimes, still looking sideways in their direction, Tycho remained at attention, eyes now blank with shock. Fortunately, the ready room was only down a short corridor from their barracks, and Luke and Hobbie were able to guide him, like a sleepwalker, back to his bunk. They stayed with him as the shock wore off and the quiet but desperate grief burst through his usual composure, and as the grief faded to despair and exhaustion.
Now—with the help of a bottle of Whyren's Reserve that Hobbie had gone to the nearest onboard cantina to obtain and smuggle back into the pilots' quarters, trusting that the journey to Coruscant would be long enough for the resulting hangover to wear off—Tycho slept at last. By unspoken but mutual agreement unwilling to leave him unattended, Luke offered to take the first watch and Hobbie collapsed into his own bunk for a few hours of sleep, and Luke had little to do but think.
He had never served the Empire out of any particular ideological loyalty. It had merely been a way off of Tatooine, a chance to escape farming and see the rest of the galaxy, and then after the deaths of his aunt and uncle, the only real option he'd had. For all that, though, he'd also never before been ashamed of his service. He'd believed that the Empire upheld order and at least some measure of justice. He'd passionately loved flying a TIE fighter, and been proud of his contributions to what he'd assumed was the greater good.
Now he could only see the destruction of Alderaan, over and over in his mind's eye, the entire planet and all the life it had contained shattering into sparks and nothingness in the space of a heartbeat. He saw the agony in Tycho's eyes. He saw Mara's confusion and denial at the thought of her own exploitation. He thought of Vader's menace, Tarkin's cold smugness, the Emperor's undeniable evil, from his abduction of Mara to his promotion and use of men like Vader and Tarkin, to his approval of a station meant to destroy entire planets.
However unwittingly, Luke had been an accessory to all these atrocities, ultimately serving the man who ordered them and a system that enabled them. He knew that now, and knew that continuing as he was, knowing what he did, was no longer an option.
He could resign his commission. He was a good mechanic and an excellent pilot; he could make a decent living somewhere, live a quiet life and leave all this behind.
Or he could try to make things right.
There was nothing he could do against the Empire alone, he knew that. He wasn't a politician who could speak out against injustice and try to avert or remedy it. His military standing was far too low to even attempt any sort of change from within.
That left the Rebellion.
He knew of them, of course. Had even admired them in a way, even on the few occasions that he'd fought against them—admired the courage of their defiance, had thought that in another life, the romance of fighting against overwhelming odds would have been appealing.
Now it was no longer a romantic notion, but a swelling sense of necessity, a moral duty. If he was going to stand against the Empire in any sort of meaningful way, the Rebellion was likely his only chance.
But what of Mara? He loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone; he couldn't imagine being without her. And she was thoroughly dedicated to the Empire and to the Emperor personally.
Of course, she was that way because the Emperor had had complete control over her upbringing, had instilled in her from earliest memory the utter belief in the nobility and honor of her service. If he could somehow break through that indoctrination…
Despite her position within the Empire, Mara was an honorable person who cared deeply about doing the right thing. She would be as appalled by Alderaan's demise as he was, surely she would. And if she believed, as he now did, that they were supporting an Empire that was unjust, even evil, there was a chance that he could talk her into joining him in fighting against it.
He hoped, anyway.
The Death Star's hyperdrive wasn't particularly fast—far too much mass to propel at top speeds; it was still amazing to Luke that the engineers had managed to equip it with a hyperdrive at all—and the journey from Alderaan to Coruscant involved some difficult navigation through a section of the Deep Core, so the better part of two days had passed before they made orbit around Coruscant. By that time Tycho's hangover had indeed worn off, but he was still barely functioning. Luke and Hobbie hovered over him in a way he'd never have allowed normally but now seemed entirely unaware of. Their squadron leader pretended not to notice any of it, and Luke was grateful for the uncharacteristic forbearance.
When the call to assemble in the docking bay came, Luke assumed it would be for all the TIE pilots on board, or at least for all the ones who had been rotated off duty on Coruscant. To his surprise, it was only his squadron who wound up standing at stiff attention in the cavernous bay. Their squadron leader walked down the line, inspecting them with eyes that carried more concern than they really should, which only added to Luke's own worry. Why were they the only ones here? How was Tycho going to hold up under whatever they were about to do? What had the commander been informed of that was bothering him like this?
The commander paused in his inspection in front of Tycho, who was standing beside Luke, and asked quietly, "Are you fit to fly, Celchu?"
"Fit to fly, sir," Tycho responded, but that meant nothing, it was the automatic reply of every pilot, regardless of their condition, and Tycho's voice was still hollow and his eyes still blank.
The commander's expression said that he knew this as well as Luke did, but clearly there wasn't a choice to be had. "See that you are," he said. "We're not flying alone today."
An odd thing to say, Luke thought, especially since no other squadrons were in sight. Then the bay doors opened. Oh.
Darth Vader strode in, imposing as always, black cloak billowing, and Luke realized that in his concern for Tycho, he'd again forgotten about his shields. Mara would kill him—if Vader didn't beat her to it, he thought with a burst of grim humor. He thought about putting them up now, decided that the risk of Vader noticing that effort at close range was probably too high, and concentrated instead on making his mind as blank as possible.
Vader stood before them in silence for a long moment, clearly well aware of the trepidation his presence inspired and more than willing to enhance the effect. "Your squadron has consistently been given extremely high marks for performance. Today is your opportunity to live up to those evaluations. You will serve as my honor guard to Imperial City today. To your ships, and prepare for immediate departure."
Luke swore viciously in his head as they ran for their fighters. Whether it was suspicion on Vader's part or pure chance, this was much worse than he'd expected. It was a short flight from orbit to Imperial City, but he would make it under Vader's eyes, without mental shields and with a wingman who was a shell of his usual self. He all but dove into his cockpit and began the startup sequence, hoping that Tycho was doing the same, hoping that Tycho wouldn't think about Vader's likely share of responsibility for Alderaan and snap, hoping any anxiety Vader might pick up from Luke himself would be general enough to be dismissed as the same anxiety the rest of the squadron must be feeling right now, to be under such personal scrutiny from the Emperor's second-in-command.
Then Vader's Interceptor blasted out of the bay, and the rest of them followed.
Vader was accustomed to a baseline of nervousness from those around him, particularly from those under his direct command, but there was something different this time. He pondered this as they drew closer to Coruscant's surface. This squadron had in truth been the highest rated of those rotated off home guard duty from Coruscant; it was odd that any pilots of this skill level should be quite as nervous as what he was picking up, even while flying with him.
In the few minutes it took to reach Imperial City, he reached out with the Force to examine the sense of each pilot. It was just before they reached his designated landing field that the realization struck Vader, and the surprise of it actually made his hand twitch on the control stick, jerking his Interceptor ever so slightly off course before he corrected.
The Force-sensitive he'd sensed on board the Death Star was in this squadron.
Now that he'd pinpointed it, he wondered that he'd missed it before. The pilot was a bright glow in the Force—unshielded, Vader thought, and wondered at that, but somehow muted, as though he was trying to stay hidden in plain sight. He must have received less training even than Vader had assumed.
There was, however, little time to deal with the situation. The Emperor was expecting him immediately, and Palpatine never reacted well to anything less than complete and total obedience. He could, Vader thought as he settled his Interceptor on the tarmac, take the pilot with him to the throne room. Vader knew well enough how fleeting a thing Palpatine's gratitude could be, but it had been a long time since Vader had brought a Force-sensitive before him, and Palpatine had always enjoyed the breaking of a Jedi, or a potential Jedi. Yes, that was what he should do.
Mas Amedda was waiting just beyond the landing field to guide him to the Emperor's presence, and Vader turned his back on him in contempt as the pilots of the honor guard squadron exited their fighters and lined up at attention. As though Vader needed a guide, or a reminder of Palpatine's leash around his throat. Amedda could wait the few extra moments it would take to deal with the mysterious Force-sensitive.
Vader stalked along the line, disguising his scrutiny as a routine inspection. Now the general level of anxiety was higher, and coming from more of the pilots; they'd expected him to go directly to the Palace, and were worried about what this further regard meant. Vader filtered out such mundane concerns with ease, focused on the glow at the edge of his senses—
He paused before the pilot from whom the glow emanated, and stared. The pilot in question remained at stiff attention, his gaze held straight ahead as was proper, but the spike of his alarm was like fireworks in Vader's perception. Yet it was no longer merely the fact of the pilot's Force-sensitivity which held Vader's attention; it was the intense feeling of familiarity. Despite the uniform and helmet that completely obscured the pilot within, he was positive that he somehow knew this man.
Unsettled, Vader set forward again, completing his walk past the line of pilots until he stopped at the squadron leader. "Well done, commander. You can be sure that I will look to your squadron again for their fine service."
The commander's heels snapped together as he saluted. "Thank you, Lord Vader."
With that, Vader turned away, toward Amedda and the Palace. No, now was not the time to deal with this. Something more was involved here than mere Force-sensitivity, and he wanted to know what. It would be a simple enough matter now. After he'd finished whatever final tasks his master had in mind for the end of this mission, Vader knew exactly where to find this pilot again. Once he understood why the Force rang so strangely around him, then he could decide whether to bring him to Palpatine's attention, or to deal with the matter himself.
Luke let out a long, quiet breath as Vader left the landing field. That had been far too close. Vader had paused directly before him, hadn't he? Or was the stress of the last few days making him imagine things? Before Luke could decide, the squadron commander, flushed with pride over Vader's compliment, had ordered them back into their fighters. They were to head directly back to their Coruscant barracks and resume home guard duty until further notice. Luke wondered whether that meant their Death Star tour was truly over, or if they were just filling time until Vader was done here, if perhaps they'd be tagged to escort him back up to the station and go back on duty there.
That was a worrying thought. He wondered if Mara was back yet. He desperately wanted to talk to her, especially if he was going to be ordered back out. Too many things had happened for him to leave Coruscant again without updating her.
He'd comm her as soon as he landed at their barracks, he decided. And while he waited for her response, he had some ideas to quietly discuss with Tycho and Hobbie, as well.
It was late afternoon local time when Mara arrived on Coruscant. Her comlink chirped as she brought her ship into her customary dock near the Palace, and seeing Luke's code, she was briefly startled. She'd long suspected that he was stronger in the Force than her basic training could really do justice to, but surely he hadn't sensed her arrival from such a distance, and so precisely?
Then she saw the timestamp. It was an older message, just coming through now as her comlink came into range. He'd sent the message early this morning, probably when he himself had arrived back from his own mission, with the code they'd arranged but never before had cause to use, the one that signaled an urgent need to meet as soon as possible.
She felt a frown crease her brow. Why would he—
Her breath suddenly caught. Had Vader noticed him? Either his Force sensitivity, or his piloting ability, which carried the danger of bringing him into more regular contact with Vader?
There was nothing she could do about it now. The Emperor had already summoned her for an immediate personal audience, and she would be expected to file her report right after that. Neither could be delayed. To respond to his message now would only be a potentially dangerous distraction. She didn't want the Emperor to sense any division of her attention, or risk bringing Luke to his attention.
She felt a surge of guilt at that; never before had she kept a secret from the Emperor. But she shoved the guilt deep down and tried to forget it. If the Emperor knew of Luke and his Force abilities, he might, however mistakenly, view him as a threat, and she couldn't risk Luke like that, she just couldn't.
It was fine, she told herself. She wasn't disobeying any orders, and she wasn't keeping anything important from the Emperor. Luke wasn't a Jedi, he was a loyal Imperial. She was only protecting them both from a potential misunderstanding that could spiral out of control. And whatever was worrying Luke enough to use their emergency code, there was simply nothing she could do about it just yet. She would bury her distraction and concern, contact Luke when the day's business was finished, and know what had prompted his message soon enough.
Taking a deep and hopefully steadying breath, Mara gathered herself and headed for the Palace.
She didn't complete her post-mission responsibilities until late that night. Normally she'd wait a day or two after her return before contacting Luke, just to be safe, but his use of that emergency code worried her more than she wanted to admit, and he'd waited long hours for a response since sending it. The thought of his likely worry fed her own, and she gave up on her usual caution, tapping in his code.
The answer came back immediately, the code asking for verbal contact. That was another worrying change in routine. They rarely used their comms for any sort of discussion, only to exchange text details of their upcoming meeting times and places.
Fighting back a rising sense of dread, she tapped in his code and the call option, and again he answered immediately. "Mara, I'm glad you're back. Can we meet tonight?"
"Tonight?" She glanced at her chrono; it was already near 23:00. Granted, there was hardly a square kilometer of Coruscant that wasn't buzzing with activity every moment of both day and night, but they'd never met anywhere near this late before. "You aren't on duty?"
"On call, but you know as well as I do how likely an attack on Coruscant really is. I can get away for a while, if we're quick."
Her first instinct was to argue. If he was discovered to be missing when he was on call, it would mean a serious reprimand at the least. The realization that he obviously knew that and was still willing to risk it made her agree instead. "The caf shop a block north of your barracks? I can be there in half an hour."
"I'll see you there," he said, and disconnected.
Due largely to some reckless speeder piloting on her part, Mara managed to make it to the caf shop in a little over twenty minutes. Luke was already sitting on a bench to the side of the walkway. He looked convincingly nonchalant, but she could sense the tension he was hiding. He looked up the moment she came into sight, but kept up a good pretense of casualness, waiting for her to reach him. As she did, he stood up and took her hand, smoothly leading her to the quieter section of the plaza, and from there down a narrow alleyway. She followed silently, worry like a vise around her lungs.
Half a block down, he finally stopped and turned to her. "Did you see it in orbit?"
Mara blinked. "See what in orbit?"
Luke shook his head quickly, impatiently. "It must have been on the other side of the planet as you came in. Have you looked at the sky since you landed?"
She glanced up instinctively, but between the height of the buildings and the narrowness of the alleyway, only a tiny sliver of sky was visible. "No, I've been in the Palace. What should I have seen?"
"The secret project. You were right, we were assigned to it. It's called the Death Star. It's a hyperdrive-equipped battle station. You still haven't heard any of this? The Emperor hasn't told you?"
For a moment, Mara could only stare at him. "No. No, I haven't—a hyperdrive-equipped battle station? How large are we talking?"
"It's massive—a hundred-sixty klicks across. We were on its shakedown cruise. I haven't heard anything about its mission or mandate from anyone other than our superiors, but they can't possibly keep it secret much longer, and since we took it directly back to Coruscant and it's still in orbit, I don't think they plan to try. There's bound to be a galaxy-wide announcement on the HoloNet any time now."
She tilted her head, thoroughly confused. "A galaxy-wide announcement of what?"
"We destroyed Alderaan, Mara," he said, the stricken expression in his eyes obvious and heart-deep. "We destroyed it. The entire planet."
Mara sat down heavily on the stairs of the doorway they stood in, unaware she was even doing so until the impact jolted her spine. "That's impossible."
Luke sat beside her and took both her hands. "Yes. And we did it."
Mara tried to take a deep breath; found she couldn't, her chest too tight. "What exactly do you mean by destroyed?"
He looked as sick as she felt. "Destroyed. Utterly. I don't mean a decisive battle, or some showy symbol taken down, or a garrison in the capitol, or even a city razed. The whole planet—gone, vaporized. I saw it myself. It only took one shot."
Mara leaned forward against the roiling in her stomach. "That's not possible," she said again. "How—what could do that? And why? Even if we have a weapon like that, why would we destroy a whole planet? And why Alderaan?"
He shook his head. "I don't know why. The official word given to us was that it was a Rebel stronghold, but why would that necessitate the destruction of an entire planet anywhere, let alone a Core world?"
Mara had been to Alderaan a number of times, and had always liked it. Alderaanians had merged cosmopolitan life and the natural world in a way few civilizations had ever achieved; their cities were never cold or barren-feeling, instead they felt as organic as the forests and mountains and oceans that bordered them. The Alderaanians themselves were overwhelmingly open and kind and refined, everything she'd believed model Imperial citizens should be. How many billions was Alderaan's population? She couldn't remember. And the wildlife, and the landscapes, and the countless millennia of culture revered across the galaxy…
"Alderaan was unarmed. They refused to have any planetary defenses greater than would be needed for a stray meteor or comet—Luke, are you sure?" He just looked back at her, wordless. She took a shaky breath. "Tarkin, then, or Vader, overstepping their authority. The Emperor would never—"
"Mara," he said softly. "Mara. Could it even have been built without his authorization?"
She swallowed hard. "He didn't like the Queen or the Viceroy. He always said they were stubborn holdouts loyal to the memory of the Republic. But this—he couldn't have intended this."
Luke squeezed her hands. "I know it's hard to believe. I do, Mara. But what's more likely, that Vader and Tarkin did such a thing on their own, or that they were following the orders they probably received the day you saw them leaving the throne room?"
Mara was surprised to find herself blinking back tears. Luke stroked her cheek gently, then leaned forward to whisper, "I've been talking to a couple of the other pilots. Quietly, but still."
There was an unmistakable undercurrent to his sense that made Mara's blood suddenly run cold. "Talking to them about what?" For a long moment, he only looked at her. "Luke," she whispered. "Talking to them about what?"
"Mara, what if the Rebellion has been right all along?"
"That's treason."
"Yes. But what if it's also right?"
Her breath was coming short now, and she tried to slow it. "Luke, please tell me you're not thinking of defecting. Please."
He leaned forward, his eyes as pleading as her voice had been. "Come with me."
She shook her head instinctively. "I'm loyal to the Emperor and the Empire. I always have been."
"Your loyalty does you credit, Mara, but does the Emperor deserve that devotion? Can he? The man who built and commands a planet-killer, and uses it?"
"Against insurrectionists—"
"You know Alderaan wasn't that, even if there were Rebel cells there. Not even if the Emperor was right and the Queen and Viceroy were Rebel sympathizers themselves. How could anyone justify killing all those billions of people for the crimes of a few? For what? As an example to the galaxy? The example is, 'everyone—everyone is potentially under a summary death sentence, at any time, over the actions of the few.' That's not justice. It's not even a pretense of justice."
"The Empire maintains control—keeps order."
"At what cost? One of my squadmates is Alderaanian. He's never been anything but an exemplary pilot in the service of the Empire, and look what he's lost—what was taken from him, by the very people he loyally served. He lost his whole family. He was the only one off-planet when it happened."
Mara closed her eyes against the pain in his, and let her head sink in despair to rest against their joined hands. Luke leaned down to drop a kiss on her hair, and whispered in her ear. "Come with me." She remained as she was for a long moment, then sat up and just looked at him, silent and torn. He lifted a hand to her cheek. "Think about it. Promise me."
She nodded, at a loss for words. Defection was unthinkable, but so was losing Luke. If he was determined to leave, could she possibly follow? She didn't think so—and she could no longer imagine a worthwhile future without him, so where did that leave her?
"I have to go," he said. "Before I'm missed. As far as I know I'll be off duty all day tomorrow. Comm me as soon as you can, and I'll meet you at that little park behind the civil affairs complex. We can talk longer."
She nodded again, heartsick. He leaned in to kiss her, then stood and slipped away. Mara sat for a long time alone in the darkness before she could summon the composure to do the same.
