Commander Firmus Piett stopped before the closed door panel of Lord Vader's office and rehearsed his approach. Lord Vader didn't appreciate when his aides rattled in his presence.
If he were to deliver his own evaluation, Piett would say he served Lord Vader well. He was still breathing, which was more than what his predecessors could say. He had no intention of winding up like them. He believed he wouldn't, but he couldn't allow his own ambition to color his service to the Emperor's second in command. Survival instinct was what he relied on, plus a keen sense of observation.
Lord Vader was certainly still breathing. A respirator did it for him, but no one knew what caused its need, though there were lots of stories. In most, Emperor Palpatine was attributed the reason.
Piett was the fourth personal aide, that he was aware of, anyway. And he hadn't been with the Executor long. Vader's last personal aide had perished on the Death Star only two weeks ago.
When the Galactic Empire was created twenty years ago Vader emerged as Emperor Palpatine's Most Important Thug, or so the junior officers joked when the shift was over, puffing cigars; twenty years was a long time to leave a trail of bodies as long as a super star destroyer.
Usually the position of aide to the high-ranking was a safe one in a war, but no one felt safe aboard the Executor if Vader was in command. Officers might joke about him, but that was to help dispel their terror.
It was worse when the Emperor was displeased. Piett didn't know if Lord Vader was ever punished for failing his master. And Vader was widely blamed for the loss of the Death Star. He was the only Imperial to survive it. Piett heard rumors Vader's sudden decision to join the battle against the Rebels was his way of evacuating the battle station.
The Death Star was the latest in Imperial technology, a battle station designed to keep the Empire's subjects on their proverbial knees or literally lose the ground beneath them. Ripples of horror and awe had swept across the Empire when the Death Star was used against the planet Alderaan. But its design contained a fatal flaw, and the ripples changed to embarrassment at the ease in which the Rebels destroyed what was supposed to be the ultimate super weapon.
Piett felt the Empire had entered a kind of dark age. The continuity of what had been achieved was disrupted. The terror Palpatine managed to inflict with the use of the Death Star against Alderaan was quickly erased. The Imperial Navy was in tatters, its reputation largely diminished. Instead of ruling with an iron fist and knowing precisely who its enemies were, the Empire found itself not only reeling from unexpected attacks, but shrinking as well.
But Piett tried not to allow rumors and audible horrors to sway his ambition. He would not only survive Lord Vader's service, he would assist in the restoration of power, and be awarded the territory and title of Grand Moff.
Piett straightened his jacket and brought himself to the matter at hand. He questioned himself one last time. Would Vader want to view what Piett had? Again, he answered himself affirmatively. It was an insignificant moment; a minor example of bullying on a tiny world far away, and Vader generally found that kind of thing tedious. Not enough to mysteriously strangle someone, so it was worth the risk. And it was the cast of characters that struck Piett's eye, and he felt certain Vader would also notice it.
He chimed the intercom. First he heard the end of an exhale. Then a voice greeted him.
"Yes, Commander Piett, what is it?"
The respirator might answer a medical need, but the fact that its tempo never changed, even while Vader's stranglehold never actually touched its victim, was chilling. It was a powerful first impression. Vader was covered head to toe in black. His uniform was snug-fitting, allowing for freedom of movement, but a long cape billowed in his wake, making his evil somehow elegant. There was a panel over his chest that indicated underneath the armored chest plate was a body in need of constant monitoring. Piett kept that in mind, too. Vader, for all his spooky tricks and menace, was vulnerable. A large, armored helmet masked his entire head.
He never took the mask off. There was no mouth hole; only a grille, cluing a listener in on where to direct speech. Piett never saw him eat. Never saw him blink; large, bulbous eye sockets might even give him the enhanced vision of an insect.
The mask had great effect. It looked like a human skull, and when a body lay at Lord Vader's feet one couldn't help but think he was a supernatural agent of death. The mask created the voice, which ghosted out in a deep bass. It had a tremor, as if a fury was building deep inside.
There were rumors, too, that Vader wasn't human, but Piett dismissed those. He could see why some thought so, however. Humans, to his knowledge, were not able to kill out of mental frustration, which apparently was the cause of death of his predecessors. But the Emperor held no appreciation for alien life. Plus, though it was hard to pinpoint how exactly, Vader acted human.
Yes, most found Lord Vader terrifying and strove to not attract his attention. Piett had, but he wasn't going to be a casual farewell puffed from a cigar by his comrades. No, he would be the topic of conversation for a long time.
"My lord," Piett spoke into the intercom before the closed door. "Something has come across the holoweb which I think bears your attention."
"I saw nothing of interest reported this morning."
"Yes, sir," Piett agreed. The door slid open and he was allowed entry.
He himself had been interested in the news item that a manufacturing plant's explosion was determined to be arson, the purpose being to conceal the theft of explosive materiel which originally had been blamed as the source of the explosion. "This particular item gained traction as a social trend-"
"I don't follow the social trends, Commander."
The voice warned Piett he should know better. "Of course you don't, my Lord. It is my job to sift through them for you."
"And snort at the outrageous pratfalls of today's youth."
"Yes, sir." There, Piett answered his earlier musings. Right there was an example how he knew Vader was human.
How old was Lord Vader? The basso voice was jaded, which indicated youth had passed. The Emperor looked ancient; scarred was how it was explained, but Piett didn't believe that. Vader was probably younger, but how young did one have to be, to no longer appear ancient?
Vader disliked humans. Specifically young humans. It was the main argument why others thought him an alien. Piett's transfer to the Executor had occurred after the star destroyer received Darth Vader's distress signal, but Piett, being a man of observation, had picked up on it. To his way of thinking, this resentment of youth colored him as more human than anything.
He continued presenting the reason for his interruption. "And this is fairly typical for the trend: a human male recorded what he viewed an anti-human, anti-Imperial altercation."
The man in the recording was off his rails, Piett thought. The being he had issue with was human!
"Send the man a dispatch informing him his patriotism has not gone unnoticed."
Of course the Empire rewarded the rantings of the extremely prejudiced, Piett noted to himself. The bureaucracy's machine was a bit too well oiled.
"I will attend to that momentarily, sir." Piett activated the palm-sized holoset and set it on Vader's desk.
Despite himself, Vader glanced at the recorded scene unfolding before him. The images were not quite clear, and naturally the color was mostly drained. It took place outdoors, in what appeared to be a side yard of a residence. A tall man with dark hair and red-
"Are those bloodstripes?" Vader demanded of the image of the tall man.
"Apparently, sir. I'm sure they are forged."
"A Corellian."
"He looks to be, sir."
- red bloodstripes, a holstered blaster and an easy, dangerous manner was circling a speeder. The dialog consisted mainly of the word "asshole". Vader, because he could not sigh, sank a little upon his spine.
The asshole who bore the comm unit was approaching the bloodstriped asshole's speeder. There were three passengers.
Vader was thinking of bloodstripes. It was a detail he'd seen recently.
"Commander, this is stupid. Cancel the dispatch."
"Yes, sir. Only twenty-eight seconds more," Piett said.
Vader didn't know why he allowed his gaze to redirect itself to the grainy footage of a stupid human drama. His eyes passed over the young people, his irritation growing, and noticed the last occupant, a droid, who sat in the seat behind the woman.
It was recently polished, and glinted in the sunlight. A 3PO model; they came in gold or silver, a common model everywhere. Except on the Executor; Vader forbid that series. He owed no one an explanation and struck it from the purchase requisition. "As you wish, sir," the budgeting officer had responded.
This one appeared more than fussy. His upraised arms gave the appearance of constant alarm or surrender. Beyond the shouts of "asshole" Vader heard it warn, "Mistress Leia."
That, too-
Leia.
Leia...
Vader's gloved fingers formed fists and Commander Piett took a step back.
"That's why, sir," Piett was saying.
Such a beautiful name, don't you think, Anakin?
"... the Princess of Alderaan. You see how she does not hesitate to use violence."
Vader peered closer.
"Of course the hair is different," Piett prattled, "and the clothing-"
The woman had a class about her. Evidently she agreed with the comm-holding asshole that her companion might also at times be an asshole, for she had been hiding her face. Until the moment she became so provoked, she'd used her asshole's blaster to damage a speeder.
"- from the same world that suffered the manufacturing plant explosion that killed two."
Vader's head snapped up. "You think that to be the work of the Rebels?"
"I think it very likely, my Lord. Materiel was stolen that could be-"
"I'm well aware what it is used for." Vader was dimly aware of the news headline. Fire Destroys... Two Dead. He had skipped the article. He didn't like fire and he didn't like death. The Rebel victory had been luck but Piett could be right; they weren't resting on their laurels.
"Yes, my Lord." Piett fell silent and Vader returned to the recording.
"You believe this woman to be the Princess of Alderaan, who so staunchly denied the charges of espionage while held for questioning aboard the Death Star." He should recognize her, Vader thought. But his memory cemented the white gown and bun hairstyle with what he had seen on the Death Star. Such persistence, defiance, and idealism could not look like this, a young woman out for a ride on a sunny day.
Piett recognized the test of his own courage and maintained his position. "I do, sir. Yes."
"You weren't on the Death Star."
"No, sir." If Piett had been, he wouldn't be standing here now, but he didn't make a point of it. It was the kind of observation that got an associate strangled. "But she's quite well-known."
Vader nodded.
Bloodstripes and a Princess...
That droid.
Vader rewound the holo, thinking of the failure of the Death Star. Not the time of the battle, but the time just before, when Princess Leia had escaped her cell. Vader himself had gone to handle the situation. His own memory was the last surviving footage of the Death Star...
... red lightsaber humming, clashing, revenge about to be his, a call... "Ben?"
The distraction of his opponent, his former master, and Vader had looked as well, to see why, what, would pull his former master from the concentration of this duel to the death-
A youth. Light. Clothing so familiar. Desert garb.
Behind the boy, red bloodstripes sneaked up the ramp of the captured freighter, an arm snaked out and shoved the Princess-
His opponent smiled at Vader.
It was not a duel to the death but a means to it.
Vader did not mean to oblige. He should not have. He should have taken his old master, held him for questioning; made him hurt worse than he had the Princess-
Such a beautiful name, don't you think, Anakin?
What kind of name was Ben-
The Force sought something to need it. Of course it did; that was why his master sent Sensitives to the mines. Obi Wan Kenobi's appearance on the Death Star was not random.
Vader should not have given in to his anger. He tried not to think of his last encounter with Obi Wan before this, the expression of anguish and sorrow, and... and squeamish pity on his face as he bent to take Vader's lightsaber-
Pity. How dare he-
Vader struck and the boy shouted; the red bloodstripes had disappeared but the Princess halted at the top of the ship's ramp, her hands beseeching-
Desert garb.
The light color. The thin weave. The excess of fabric belted, the air bubble that swelled around you when there was a breeze, cooling you; the belt and its holes at the hip for accessories: comm, macro 'nocs, flask of hydration fluid. Lightsaber...
"Luke!" the Princess had shouted.
And if it's a boy...
"Master Luke," the droid shouted in the holorecording.
"Why is his name Luke?" Vader thundered.
Piett's mouth opened and closed like a fish breathing air, unsure whether to say nothing or give the sane answer, which was he had no idea. Of all the ways to earn a strangling...
But Vader seemed to be talking to the holorecording.
"I'm a Jedi!" the boy wildly declared.
This part of the holo had amused Piett. He had meant to point it out to Lord Vader, as a jest about the condition of the Jedi. But Vader was reacting to the holo in a way Piett hadn't predicted. He wasn't that interested in Princess Leia, about whom they could use the circumstantial evidence of her presence on the planet where explosive materiel had been stolen, and rebuild the case of her treason. Vader's fists were clenched, and his posture leaned forward. "Blue," he muttered.
The boy waved about a lightsaber, delusional by Piett's reckoning. The blade was a blue one, and he was so far from Jedi it wasn't even funny-
Again, the detail of clothing was cemented in Vader's mind. It was a statement of identity. Certainly, his was. The desert! How was it the boy came from there? Could the Force just leave him alone-
Wait.
Vader would have liked to breathe deeply, to calm himself.
No. The explanation was simple. His old master, lucky to escape long ago, had picked a very good place to hide.
Vader was touched, for a moment. They had first met on that desert world. Then he remembered that expression of squeamish pity.
It was not out of their history, or their bond, or any kind of regret. Just a very good hiding place. Yes, very smart.
But that blue-
He had salvaged it. Let Vader-
- don't you think, Anakin?
- burn on that bank and looked at him like it hurt.
And taken his droid! and saved his lightsaber, until the moment he met someone he could train, and needed to supply his Learner with a saber, and why not this blue one? it had no owner-
"The Rebel Alliance has the assistance of the Jedi," Vader declared.
"Yes, sir," Piett agreed automatically. Lord Vader's leaps in logic often surprised him. He showed him the viral recording because he recognized Princess Leia. Here was the first proof since the loss of the Emperor's Death Star that she was indeed a traitor to the Empire. It was an opportunity to present to the galaxy that the reasoning behind the destruction of Alderaan was a sound decision, not a premature eagerness to show off a superweapon on an innocent world, as the holoweb articles would have a citizen believe. And from this viral recording, the Empire also got wind of the Alliance's recent activity, and if they acted quickly they might be able to strike a debilitating blow and end the war. The youth waving the lightsaber around like it was a toy was just that, not to be taken seriously.
Though no change in Vader's body language could be detected, the air in Vader's office had grown thicker. His fury was building.
"Of course," Piett flattered, "your efforts have all but destroyed the Jedi-"
"The Force is a powerful ally, Commander. Even in the untrained. I want their names."
Piett counted to five before answering. "Yes, sir." The recording had not been informative in that regard. There was the name Leia, and his own research had completed her identity. The other two were Asshole and Luke. That did not leave much to go on. Piett decided it was wise not to point this out. "I see we have two avenues to pursue."
"I'm listening, Commander."
"Apprehend the Rebels before they leave the planet. Of course, they may already be long gone, my Lord. But we can track their movements. Or, continue to research the Princess. See who her associates were."
"She was always very careful. I believe these two men were on the Death Star."
"If you feel that is true, my Lord-"
"It is an undeniable fact, Commander," Vader snapped.
"Yes, sir," Piett said. He stepped his heels closer together and stood straighter, trying to hide the fact he was almost about to remind Vader the files of the Death Star were no more, but if they were, and these two men were the Princess's rescuers, then Asshole would doubtless have a name.
Abruptly, Vader stood. It gave him no pleasure to revisit the events of the Death Star. "I will alert the bridge. We will intercept these Rebels, and we will learn who has accessed the Force."
Piett made a sharp nod. He felt good, stirring Vader into action. Vader was perhaps more intent on the Force than he was on the Rebels, a focus Piett didn't share or understand, but he was no fool. The rebel army would be destroyed either way, and Piett would have his reward.