CHAPTER THREE

Imperial Captain Snyder reclined comfortably in his clone leather chair inside the small box that was the docking control room in TIE fighter bay 14. His lieutenant, a short paunchy man, was placed two meters from him, drumming his fingers on a keyboard.

What a day, Snyder thought to himself. Since the early morning the hard faced imperial commander had frantically ran his squadrons through hectic battle procedures. Over six squads of fighters (two had been lost at the Battle of Endor) had flown out of the bay to intercept the few defenses of the watery world of Mon Calamari. There wasn't much of a fight, only two star cruisers and a few dozens snub fighters against the awesome might of the Death Star. Nonetheless, only two squadrons had returned to Bay 14.

The Captain clenched a black glove fist. The accursed rebels had killed many good pilots over the last few days. But the Empire had shown them that they were still insignificant and easily crushed. The Calamari were no different. They were fishy flies that were easily batted away with near impunity. In the end, all their ships, all their people, all their hopes and courage could not deflect the planet-cracking superlaser and save their rebellious world. The Rebs could rest assured that they would receive no new starships from that system. Like Alderaan and Endor, Mon Calamari was no more. Wiped clean by the purifying heat of the most destructive force man (and alien slaves) had ever created.

With such a weapon, no planet dared to openly protest or rebel against the New Order. Therefore, the Alliance would receive no aide from anyone—who would dare to? The Rebellion—what was left of it—was finished. The Golden Age was just around the corner. But that was hardly Captain Snyder's concern at the moment.

Fatigue overran the captain's body. It was late and he was grappling with sleep. The struggle was worsened by the thought that he couldn't leave his post and finally get some rest until his daily report was complete and logged into the computers for his superior's inspection. He had yet to even start the log.

Snyder's eyes were trained on the wall-mounted chronometer before him. In forty-five minutes he would be off duty—that is if he finishes his report. But it was three quarters of an hour between him and sleep.

Tomorrow, he had designated leave time. As was the same for everyone else who had had a part in the battles of Endor and Mon Calamari. It was no trip to a resort world though—far from it. The vacation consisted merely of two days for rest and relaxation. Snyder liked to think of the gesture as a gift from the station commander, Moff Jerjerrod to the loyal and courageous soldiers of the Galactic Empire, but he knew that was not the case. The leave was simply a decision to let the men get a few days rest so that they wouldn't kill themselves by handling dangerous tasks half-asleep. And again, not that they cared about the lives of the crew particularly, but it took a lot of people to control this ultimate weapon and it wouldn't do to have them fall asleep or commit a fatal error on the job.

Still tough, it was two days of rest and no worries. He would have no responsibilities. No worries about docking-bay maintenance and no idiotic, bumbling stormtroopers to foul up a situation—Snyder never liked the idea of cloned troopers. And most importantly, no Darth Vader or his former Rebel son.

The Captain chuckled to himself. The young lieutenant disregarded it.

Snyder couldn't be too sure why he laughed suddenly. But it had to be either one of two things. Possibly, it could be the thought that Darth Vader was the new emperor or…what did he want to be called…Dark Lord? Yes, that was the title. Snyder didn't quite understand it but the scuttlebutt around the station was that it had to do with the whole Sith thing. Then again, the captain probably was just going a bit insane from lack of sleep.

Oh well, the imperial captain told himself. Best to get this report done if I want my liberty tomorrow.

He yawned and turned the swiveling chair to his data console. He cracked his fingers loudly and was going to begin when suddenly a rhythmic tone pierced the dead silence in the control room. The red LED on the panel beside the lieutenant caught both their attentions.

The black uniformed officer read the news off a data screen. "Unidentified fighter has just entered Mon Calamari space, Captain."

Snyder nodded as the room's intercom clicked on, both men stood at attention though no one could see them. "Bay 14, you have orders—"

"Wait. I'll do it myself, Lieutenant," Moff Jerjerrod sounded in the background. "I don't want any mistakes…Captain—Snyder, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I trust you are aware of the Z-95 Headhunter approaching."

"Yes, sir."

"The trajectory puts it near your fighter bay. Therefore I am leaving the problem to you. But I warn you, the Dark Lord has expected this ship and he will be briefed by you if this is screwed-up. Do not fail our new ruler and earn your leave tomorrow. Jerjerrod out."

The comm switched off as Snyder placed a hand on his throat. If anything went wrong, he knew he would be clenching it in terror soon enough.

With a ghostly white face, Snyder turned about to his lieutenant. "Deploy One Flight of squadron 2-0 contiguously, Daubenspeck."

"Right away, sir," the man agreed. He set to work alerting Devil Squadron's One Flight. No doubt was in the corpulent man that the fly boys were snoozing away, most likely recovering from intoxication from their little victory celebration earlier today. Daubenspeck never liked the hotshot TIE pilots.

Buzzed or not, the pilots of 2-0 were imperial-trained soldiers and were on the scene only moments after the call went out. They were the best pilots in Bay 14 with a great service record. Hopefully, they wouldn't mess-up a simple task of intercepting a lone fighter.

"Lieutenant, notify the leader that I want them to hail that ship before they engage. We don't want another fiasco like we had today."

"Yes, sir."

During the short battle at Mon Calamari, a group of important rebel leaders had tried to escape destruction. They would have been an invaluable source of information if they had been interrogated. The rebel rendezvous point might have even been discovered. But Devil Leader had had his squad destroy the shuttle before checking it out. The thought had never even occurred to him.

"If there is no rejoinder, then cripple the ship and we'll bring it into the bay with our tractor beam."

Lieutenant Daubenspeck nodded, resisted the urge to shout at his commander for using complicated words excessively, and began barking orders into a chrome boom mike protruding from the communications console.

"Have a squad of stormtroopers and a scanning crew ready. Inform the Scanners to don their protected armor. I don't want to leave anything out and I certainly don't want anyone blown-up. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," The other man replied, then continued on with his work.

Out of the rectangular viewport, Captain Snyder watched the fist half of 2-0 fly out into the graveyard of Mon Calamari and began to seize the strange craft. With an annoyed sigh, the Captain dropped back into his command chair.

What could this be? He wondered. A rebel ship? No. It couldn't be. The Rebs aren't so doltish as to consign another attack against the Death Star. And with one ship? A fighter, no less—Impossible! Well, we'll descry in a moment.

"Lieutenant, patch me into the squad's tactical frequency," Snyder was quick to say. If he didn't act now, Daubenspeck would take all the credit for the work. That boy didn't have a single creative thought in his head as far as Snyder was concerned. He was always angering people by threatening to steal their ideas. The captain was glad their paring was only for today's watch.

"Right away, Captain."

The pudgy man taped a few keys and looked to his CO saying, "There you are, sir."

Snyder nodded, and then spoke into a microphone. "Devil Leader, this is Captain Snyder. Commence hailing procedures."

"Copy, sir. Preceding now," The monotone voice of the lead TIE fighter pilot said. There was a click as he switched to a broadband channel. "Attention unidentified Headhunter, this is Flight Commander Curry of the 2-0 Imperial TIE fighter squadron. You are trespassing in current Imperial space. Power down and identify yourself."

There was no reply.

"Repeat: Identify yourself and power-down."

Nothing.

"Orders, sir?"

"Sir," Daubenspeck said to Snyder in a low voice, "the stormtroopers and scanning crew are awaiting further orders."

"Good. Good," he replied. "Begin a scan on that fighter. Let's see what's inside there," Snyder leaned closer to speak to Commander Curry. "Commander, what do your sensors show?"

"My scanners show no life forms aboard— or any droids. We did a fly-by and could see no one inside."

Captain Snyder leaned back. "Lieutenant?"

"Negative on life and droids, sir," the man told him. "Shields, laser cannons, engines, and even life support are powered down. It's floating dead."

"Orders, sir?" Flight Commander Curry asked.

"Hmm," Snyder hummed. "Any detectable explosives, Daubenspeck."

"Uh…none, sir."

"Commander?"

"Negative, sir."

"Alright. Lock a tractor beam and let's bring it in. Get the stormtrooper and scanning crews onto the docking platform. Commander, bring your flight on home."

"Right away, sir."

"As you wish…sir," The squad leader said in annoyance over being asked to do such a trivial fly-by in the first place.

The lieutenant did as told. A moment later, an invisible beam latched onto the dead ship and slowly brought it into Docking Bay 14. The magnetic containment field was lowered to let the ship and TIE fighters in. When the magcon field had risen again, the two crews rose from the deck on their lifting platform.

Now they would see the purpose of this ship.

Mara Jade, the Emperor's Hand, his secret assassin, slid into the hidden compartment just under the cockpit seat as her Z-95 Headhunter exited hyperspace. She had rigged all systems aboard her personal fighter to shutdown the moment she entered the graveyard of Mon Calamari. It was now a dead hulk floating in space.

Her master's top engineers specially designed the niche. Its soul purpose was to shield Jade from all scans when the mission called for it. Nothing could be detected while inside the stealth shell. To the Death Star controllers, it would seem a derelict craft. More than likely, the foolish imperials would believe it a stupid ploy by the Rebel Alliance…

Mara Jade had been innocent once, or so she liked to believe. But in truth, she had no memory of her life before Palpatine had taken her to face her destiny. She had no recollection of her parents or her home world. And Mara was never allowed to know.

"It does not concern your mission, my child," her master had told her when she was very young.

"What is my mission, master?" she had asked.

"To become the extension of my will…"

Palpatine had recognized her potential for the Force and trained her to tap into its flow. But she was not a Sith like him—like his apprentice, Darth Vader. Her powers were weak, he had said. Her potential lied not in Force manipulation, but in sheer physical training.

For close to two decades, she was taught to master martial arts and weapons combat. If there was a unique and complex weapon that became necessary to be wield in a pinch, she was required be more skilled in it than anyone before. She had sparred with Darth Vader himself and was a near master in the Jedi Arts. And in the case where there were no weapon to be used (which was a rarity because anything could be used as a weapon), she was just as deadly, could win with both hands behind her back.

In addition, the finest technicians and highest-level slicers had instructed Mara invariably throughout her life. If there were a computer code that couldn't be cracked, she must know how to bust it wide open. Mara was trusted with imperial codes so top-secret that not even Vader knew them. No system was safe from her.

Countless hours of covert operations exercises were drilled into her with extreme precision. If there were an impenetrable fortress out there, it would be essential for her to know how to break in at any point—no matter how heavily fortified. Even if there were an official who was too well guarded to be able kill, she would know how to assassinate him without arousing suspicion. No man, woman, or thing was safe in her presence, except that of her master, Palpatine.

Under her master's order Jade had logged thousands of hours of flight and simulator time. There was no ship too fast, too dangerous, to be flown when it came to the Emperor's Hand. The entire galaxy of Fighter-Aces out there that were blessed with uncanny luck and resourcefulness; she could blow out of the sky with comfort. She was a pilot with no equal.

But as important as all those skills combined, was the ability to know everything that was and would be happening anywhere in the galaxy. Mara had to know exactly what it was, why it happened, and how it was useful to her master's Empire. Mara Jade had hundreds of underworld contacts.

Using the Emperor as a sort of power generator, she was a strong, Force-imbued assassin. The Force abilities she had would normally take her longer than she had lived to learn. But she, in essence, did not use her own abilities, instead she used Palpatine's, a brilliant and timesaving plan.

Her life was so secret; her reason for being so clandestine; her missions so covert, that no one except for the two Sith Lords knew she existed.

One of those Sith was gone now. And the other, the foul traitorous bastard Darth Vader, would soon follow. Mara, and her master, would accept no less. She'd been through far too much to fail now. The path to the second Death Star had been littered with obstacles. Barriers all created by one woman: Imperial Director Ysanne Isard.

As far as that woman was concerned, Mara was of the greatest of threats to the Empire. Isard's only motive to think that was the fact that she knew nothing of Mara, save for that the Emperor favored her in his court. While as loyal to Palpatine as Mara was, Isard was a control freak; frightened by anyone whom she did not have extensive and or damning information on. That made Mara Jade an enemy of the Empire in Isard's cherry and azure eyes…

Mara had been given an imperative mission to assassinate a powerful Jeodu named Dequc, the leader of the new Black Nebula crime ring. She had just failed in her attempt to kill Luke Skywalker on Jabba the Hutt's sail barge and was feeling defeated when she received the order.

Black Nebula had risen from the ashes of the old Black Sun syndicate that had been led by the Falleen, Prince Xzior. Black Sun had been almost as powerful and influential as the Empire until Xzior tried to become the Emperor's new lieutenant by making Darth Vader look foolish in the eyes of his master. Vader discovered the plot and, to say the least, showed the "prince" his displeasure. Thus, without its leader Black Sun crumbled, giving rise to its successor. But Palpatine had not wanted another Black Sun and ordered Mara to quash the group before they gained any real power.

With little trouble, Mara Jade found Dequc and relieved the pointy-headed creature of his head, all the while the Jeodu had been spouting some gibberish his native language. As proof of her success, Mara took with her the amulet Dequc wore around his neck, the necklace once worn by Prince Xzior, to present to her master.

The Emperor was pleased at Mara's accomplishment and allowed her time to rest on Imperial Center even without the proof. But something had been bothering Mara—she hadn't known what. All was revealed when her droid, Kaythree, had commented that the jewels in the medallion were kubaz xirkonia—fake diamonds! It would take a lot of alcohol to convince Mara that the leader of the wealthiest crime organization in the galaxy would wear fake diamonds. The necklace was counterfeit as was the Dequc Mara had killed. The alien had been trying to tell her she had the wrong man all along! Indeed, simulations showed that even bumbling guards should have been able to keep their leader alive. Mara had been duped.

Later, Mara had tried to access Isard's confidential files on Black Sun, to confirm her failure the legal way. But being a super-secret assassin, Mara had now security clearance to the files. But if something like that were able to stop her, she wouldn't be the Emperor's Hand.

That night, Mara broke into Isard's office and accessed the files that confirmed her suspicions. There, in the office, inside a "secured" vault was Xzior's amulet. She had left with the evidence she needed, but as it became apparent, Mara had not covered her tracks well enough…

Her master's final call had hit her like a ton of duracrete blocks. She was knocked unconscious by the force of his telepathic plea. Through his eyes, she saw Vader and his son, lightsabers drawn, stalking toward her defenseless Emperor. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over; his vociferation ringing in her ears commanding, "You will kill Luke Skywalker!"

When she had awoke, only half conscious, there were voices coming closer. Mara hadn't energy to even stand, so when she heard Ysanne Isard's voice announce that she had finally found the supposed Emperor's Hand, Mara could do nothing to defend herself. She had been truly defeated.

The next Mara knew she was lying on a rather uncomfortable cot inside a small duracrete cell. Her extensive knowledge of Imperial Center and Isard herself told her she was in the Emperor's dungeon inside the Imperial Palace. It was obvious what was happening; Isard may have been able to discover what Mara was, but it was very likely that she didn't know exactly what Mara used to do for the Emperor. And the pathetic director had assumed that any information she couldn't pilfer from Palpatine's personal data stores; she could interrogate out of Mara.

There was a lot of information that Mara had that Ysanne Isard did not. First, when the Emperor had these cells designed, he had instructed his loyal Hand to test it for flaws. But that wasn't much; it only meant that the cells were impossible to breakout of. Second, if Mara could get to a data console that was connected to the Palace network, she would have control of this entire complex within a minute. Third, Mara knew how to walk through the entire palace blindfolded, which included Palpatine's secret tunnels that only he, Vader, and Jade knew existed. Mara could be out and off this planet in less than an hour.

Her first thought was to take her time and get a feel for the people that were staffing the prison; learn their mannerisms and thoughts. That would be the safest way to free herself, the way she had been taught. But it was not a good choice in this instance. Mara, for one, was ever so slowly loosing her connection to the Force—she could feel that much. While she still retained the knowledge to use her powers, they were becoming weaker by the hour. Also, the longer she waited the more time she gave Isard to discover just how dangerous Mara actually was. The other problem, was the pounding headache she had, like a drum beating in her head. When she focused her mind, the pounding changed into a voice repeating her master's last command; "You will kill Luke Skywalker!"

What ever Mara was going to do, she would have had to do it now.

There were pinhole holocams imbedded in the walls, Mara knew to be a fact. That meant the easiest way out would be to put on a little performance. She got up off her cot and paced around, pretending to examine the walls and door for any way to escape. This made the guards watching her think that she was getting nervous and scared. Mara had kept up the routine for a few minutes before finally sitting back down and hanging her head low in defeat. An officer would no doubt be arriving soon to seize this advantage.

The carrier officer had shown-up less than thirty-seconds later, trying miserably to suppress a self-satisfying grin. They had chatted for a few minutes about Mara's identity and imperial secrets she knew, until finally Mara had enticed him with the idea that she knew secret codes that Isard could use. Standard protocol, Mara knew, was for him to bring her a datapad—not take her to a terminal connected to the Imperial network. But with a little Forcing, the man was happy to break that rule. She had been led to a data terminal like he said and Mara thanked him by snapping his neck, thereby relieving Isard of one-more petty thug.

Within seconds, Mara was in the mainframe working her magic. She knew she had to hurry because her acts did not go unnoticed by the holocams. She took those off-line first, then initiated a complete security lock down of the entire Imperial Palace. Next, she had accessed a few seekerbots to each go on a separate mission of tripping sensors in sequence in various parts of the palace, suggesting for Isard and her cronies multiple escape paths that Mara could have taken. But none of them were the genuine article. Instead, Mara had chosen to make use of the secret tunnels that ran around the compound. There, no one would be able to find her. She could stop for a moment and think.

Killing Isard would be the smart thing to do—again, a tactic that had been drilled into her. After all, Director Isard had made herself an enemy. And enemies must be promptly eliminated. But on the other hand, Isard was only trying to rid the Empire of someone she believed to be a threat to stability. She was a skilled Imperial politician. And, most importantly, Isard disliked Darth Vader and wouldn't mind seeing him be eliminated from the picture. If Mara was going to destroy the Sith Lord and his son, what was left of the Empire would need her leadership.

It was decided then, Mara would let Isard live with her error—this time, but if she ever got in Jade's way again, there would be trouble for sure.

That had not been the time to think of the distant future. Mara had had to keep her mind on the present task at hand. She had needed to find a transport and get off this planet quick.

Using the tunnels, Mara had found her way to Isard's palace office. The Force had seemed to with her because there she had found the weapons that were confiscated upon her capture. They had just been lying around out in the open, unguarded and ripe for the taking. Next to Mara's equipment had been an expensive data pad that belonged to Isard. That fact had not piqued Mara's interest, but what had is that it was still hardwired to the Network. With it, she had found the various countermeasures that had been put in place to foil her escape plans. Also, with Isard's personal clearance codes, Mara had been able to order a dozen Imperial Intelligence shuttles to prepare for flight and for launch orders. Mara could steal any of those and be on her way. But that wouldn't serve her purposes very well. She had needed to access a craft that could get her into the Death Star undetected. She had needed her Headhunter. That meant she needed her personal cruiser to make the long trip out there. The ship was big and required a crew of at least four to fly. Her faithful droid Kaythree would still be onboard and loyal to her, but the crew would not be.

She had to risk it, for her master's sake. She had to avenge his death the best way possible. To do that she needed her resources, no matter how hard it might be to get them back.

Using the datapad, she found that her ship was under lock and key at Intel headquarters not far from here—no doubt to discover any secrets on board.

The trip to the secured hanger had gone without incident. Isard and her troops had been too busy trying to discover which shuttle Mara was going to take, to think that Mara might go for her own craft a kilometer south. Isard's reputation for cunning was vastly overrated.

The light-cruiser had been guarded by a several platoons of stormtroopers and was swarming with technicians and slicers; too many people for a straight, head-on assault, especially with her Force-powers dampening. But Mara had had an advantage in that she knew the ship better than any of them did. She also carried with her a tight-beam comm unit that was a direct link to Kaythree. Using it, the droid informed his master that he had been fitted with a restraining bolt and was being used to locate all the hidden compartments and data files, but that his built-in security countermeasures had secretly overridden it. He had been feigning cooperation since, showing the agents trivial things.

It could not have been better if Mara had planned it. She informed him of her situation and that she would be using the intruder defense system. That had told him everything he needed to know.

The cruiser had no weapons. It was built for speed, but also contained superior shielding that would help Mara in her plan to recapture it. All she had had to do was sneak in past the troopers on the outside and access the bridge. From there, she had sealed up the craft, activated the shields to ward-off the blaster fire from the stormtroopers, and then began to put into use the intruder defense system—a particularly nasty function installed the year before. Mara had never needed to use it before that situation.

Like clockwork, Kaythree had dashed into the cockpit, reporting that agents had been locked in the cargo-bay on the sub-deck and that they could easily radio for help. Mara had only nodded in approval than told him to begin the ship's star-up sequence. Though he had complained that it took two people to do that, the chrome droid did as told. Mara then sealed the doorway to the bridge, fortifying the position with a blast door. She helped the droid engage all other systems and in moments, they and fifty or so imperials swooped out of the hanger and up towards the stars. The external stormtroopers had been vaporized by the blast of the thrusters while they still had been firing at the well-protected ship in futility.

The cruiser's IFF codes still had shown it to be one of the Emperor's personal craft and thus the space traffic controllers made no attempt to stop it. Once free of the oncoming influx of spacecraft and imperial picket-ships, the two set-course for the Death Star. Kaythree had heard from the Intel agents that the battle station had moved on to the Calamari system a day ago. With the departure times and net speeds of the two craft, Kaythree estimated that they would arrive a day after the Death Star.

After five minutes of travel and incessant pounding on the door, Mara and Kaythree had brought the ship back from hyperspace into realspace. Mara punched in a code on the internal systems computer, which had opened a hidden compartment beside her. Inside was a broad lever that she grabbed and then pulled down. Tiers slid over every unprotected niche and compartment in the ship, especially Mara's Headhunter in the small docking-bay of the sub-deck. In every cabin, save the air-locked bridge, huge hull panels opened up and exposed the cruiser to the harshness of space. At once, all the invaders, on all four decks, were sucked out into the black abyss of the stars.

Mara and Kaythree had been at last safe and free from the clutches of Isard. They had resumed their flight to Calamari and Mara prepared to assault the Death Star. She had chosen on the way everything she would take with her, which wasn't going to be much. When they arrived, Mara would drop the ship just out of the Calamari system and go in alone on her Headhunter.

She had had it all planned out and now everything was proceeding as she had foreseen. The bumbling idiots asleep at their stations would pull her right into their closely guarded battle station. What lie ahead, Mara knew was going to be the most difficult mission of her young life. Never had she thought she would be going against Darth Vader in the name of their lord and master, Palpatine. And Skywalker was powerful, but did not have the training that his father did, that Mara did. It would be a trial like no other—one that would test her skills and determination to their maximum. Mara felt like her whole life was building up to this point.

The dead Headhunter slowly drifted into the maw of docking-bay 1