Eight

The pictures flashed across the holographic view-screen in front of him, and Darth Vader sighed in the only way he now knew how: a controlled mechanical exhalation. He turned to the young man with the sunken cheeks, who sat in a conference chair next to him. "But how can we be sure, Governor Tarkin, that these pictures are indeed of Obi Wan Kenobi? I sense a slight uncertainty in the Force."

Tarkin sucked in a breath between his teeth. "The Force. Who else can it be? Kenobi is the only Jedi left in the galaxy. It's true you can't see his face. But it is his robe, and it is indeed a dead human underneath it."

"Can we send down scavenger droids to confirm the identity of the body?"

"We can, my Lord, but I am almost certain the real scavengers of Tattooine have consumed him by now. The desert and the lizards and Jawas. Do you still want me to dispatch the--"

"No." Vader shook his head. "That won't be necessary." He let several mechanical breaths fall between them before continuing. "I'm sure we will be celebrating your promotion very soon, Governor Tarkin. Or shall I call you -- Moff Tarkin?"

The thin reed of a man sputtered something pathetically.

Vader smiled to himself, painfully, behind his mask. Then black robe swirling behind him, he exited the view-screen room.