.
Chapter 35
Into the Cold Infinity
"Republic losses are catastrophic. We've cut off their supply lines to Coruscant. Thus begins their proverbial asphyxiation. It will be three weeks before they can marshal their fleet to attack our blockade. That will be far too late. Without supplies, Coruscant will be helpless in fifteen days. That's when we'll invade."
Vader said warningly, "I will not wait fifteen days."
Grand Moff Tarkin regarded him patiently. "Lord Vader, you have personally killed seven hundred Jedi since ascending to emperor. Your power has grown in ways I don't understand. But I beseech you: do not indulge in the ignorance such a feat may produce. The invasion of Coruscant will cost us millions of men. But if we attack too soon, the cost will be billions."
Vader's voice deepened, darkened; it was clipped and oiled. And it smoked with fury. It so far transcended fury that Tarkin finally flinched. "Their lives are inconsequential. The Kaminoan clones will be ready in a month. They are bred to be fighters, but they could just as easily replace men like you." Tarkin's insolence had ensured his removal. But not just yet. He still had use. "You have seven days, Grand Moff. Make your preparations."
Tarkin bowed. "Your will be done, my lord."
He turned sharply on his heel and walked to the door. Once there, he paused.
"Something else, Tarkin?" The Grand Moff's silence baited Vader to arrogance. His cruel grin seemed to irradiate the room. "You don't like me very much, do you? You think you could run the empire better."
Tarkin slowly turned to face him, unmistakably pleased. His hands unclasped from behind him, and one lifted to a panel nestled in the wall. "Power abhors a vacuum," said Tarkin. "But not as much as you will."
A force field flashed on between Tarkin and the room. The viewport exploded outward, and Vader was sucked into the cold infinity of space.
The force field protecting Tarkin lightly flickered from debris. He asked through his commlink: "Are the others secure?"
"They are," replied Admiral Lorne.
Demic's hands dug into her hips as he thrusted toward bliss. The young Twi'lek mewled encouragement, legs locked around him. In spite of her obligation, her own bliss impended, too.
He suddenly gasped, ceased his thrusting, as the intense pain of Darth Vader erupted from their Force bond. His eyes bulged like Vader's. He was choking as Vader was. The young Twi'lek underneath him went still as night. Tarkin, he realized. The girl was sent to keep him busy.
Demic unsheathed from her womb, throwing her to the floor. He pulled on his pants, called his saber to his hand, and rushed out the door.
Three Sith were waiting. Demic Force-pinned them to the wall. They wriggled futilely as his saber flashed on. He cut a perfect line through their torsos. Their bisected bodies flopped to the ground.
"Lord Demic!" Grievous cried through his commlink. "Vader has been betrayed! I will try to save him! But you must get to the bridge!"
Demic ran to the lift. When the doors opened, revealing a terrified officer who knew nothing of the scheme, Demic slashed her throat and threw her to the corridor. "Save him, Grievous!" Demic demanded. And he really meant it. Vader was right: they were no longer Sith.
Vader tumbled through space back-over front. He used Force-pull to kill his motion. But already he'd traveled fifty meters. And he was losing lucidity.
Foolishly, he'd taken a breath when the room depressurized. Thus his lungs were expanding. His body swelled to double-size. The blood vessels in his eyes burst. Saliva boiled in his mouth. The nearby star began cooking his flesh. Red-orange burns and intense-cold blues simultaneously colored his skin.
Ten seconds. Then twenty and thirty. Vader's lungs ruptured in his chest. A piece of exploded hull severed an arm and leg. Blood spurted out in large globules the size of a data pad. The unconscious Vader went limply spinning.
On the bridge, Wrath and Malice were trapped in a ray-shield. The crew watched in stunned silence Vader in space.
Tarkin faced his prisoners. "Emperor Sidious was a Sith. But he knew better than to rule the empire like a religious cult. I will be the firm hand you sorcerers need."
Malice growled, "You pathetic fool! You couldn't control a lowly acolyte!"
"I can with an inhibitor chip," Tarkin gloated. "Every Sith—including you—will be programmed for loyalty."
"Look!" Lorne shouted.
Tarkin whirled at the window. General Grievous flew from an airlock, hooking his grapple to the hull, and intercepted Vader. Grievous held his master to his metal bosom. And the grapple reeled them in. Halfway, he released it, letting momentum carry them to the airlock.
Tarkin ordered, "Seal the inner door! Don't let—" Red plasma ripped through his spine and burst from his chest. He thought he screamed, but all he heard was a whimper. His legs gave out, and as Tarkin sank, Demic's saber chewed a line from his ribs to his clavicle.
Then pulling it free, Demic held it straight out and Force-pulled Lorne onto his blade. The admiral died moaning.
Major Pruitt, third in command, quickly shut off the ray-shield. Wrath and Malice, now free, ran to the lift to join Grievous.
Demic promised the major: "If Vader dies, I will kill the entire crew."
Pruitt blanched. He yelled into his commlink: "All doctors and med-droids: report to the infirmary!"
Grievous kept vigil for eighty-five excruciating hours. The med-droids and doctors did everything they could to repair Vader's body. Artificial organs replaced the originals, which his own breath had destroyed. Prosthetic limbs replaced his right arm and leg. But this wouldn't have been enough to sustain Vader's life.
The dark lord's body was encased in an armored suit. His damaged nerves were supplemented with nanite processors that relayed signals through his body. Vader's sternum was replaced with metal plates, fitted around his new organs and the cables that connected the Sith to his suit.
The black armor provided partial protection against blasters and sabers. Its durasteel gauntlets were surprisingly lightweight, providing maneuverability. The chest and shoulder plate, comprised of six segments, thinned near his shoulder joints to maximize flexibility and had deemphasized life-support controls over his solar plexus.
Only part of his face remained visible. Vader couldn't breathe or speak on his own. And so a black mask, with a triangular grill, covered his nose and mouth, connecting to a spiked head piece that served as a kind of crown. A built-in vocoder let him speak in a modulated voice.
His burn-scarred head and damaged eyes—like red rorschach blots—were the only signs that a living being inhabited the armor.
Now, for the first time, Vader had risen. He stood watching the stars at the medbay window.
Grievous debated disturbing him. Would it only anger the dark lord to see a near-reflection of what he had become? Personal desire won out over caution.
"The crew was interrogated," the droid-man said. "We killed every traitor who conspired with Tarkin."
Vader replied through his vocoder: "Thank you... Grand Moff Grievous."
I've often wondered in my life whether evil men feel. Can a man who kills read a book and root for the protagonist? What about the villain? You see, kinship takes empathy, and it seems beyond a killer to feel for someone else. I think I want it to be so that they don't feel anything. But it doesn't matter what I want.
Grievous bowed his head. "You honor me, Lord Vader."
"You changed history," the dark lord said. "Had I died, the empire would have devolved into factions. An endless civil war. But instead, word will spread that the emperor cannot be killed. And very soon, it will be true."
"Your power is growing. Already, it has surpassed Lord Sidious."
Vader heard the implicit question. He felt more at peace than he ever had in his life, and suddenly it mattered to him that the droid-man understood. "Every time we kill a Jedi, or a Sith, we take their power. We add it to our own. Count Dooku's essence lives on in us. As does that of Sidious."
"How?" Grievous wondered.
"I am in contact with a spirit, a being, who lives outside the Force. He calls himself the Dark Intelligence. To the Architects, he was known as The One. He has battled the Force for millions of years. And now, finally, I've given him means to destroy it. And in return, he's given me the means to achieve ultimate power."
Suddenly Sidious' schemes seemed primitive, childish. Vader planned on a scale Sidious couldn't dream of. To destroy the Force: there was no greater conquest. But Grievous feared in such a war he was highly expendable. Those who can't feel the Force can't contribute to its destruction. Yet it ultimately didn't matter. Grievous would serve his master to the bitter end.
Vader's devilish eyes filled with emotion. "You are my brother, Grievous. When I stand in the Jedi Temple, and the fountains turn to fire, and I cradle the empty skull of Mace Windu in my palm... I will be honored if you stand beside me."
Grievous looked at the stars, fragile little things, so small and insignificant he was certain that Vader could pinch them to darkness. Before his reconstruction, before his brain and organs were put in a metal shell, Grievous had felt alive. After his transformation, he'd felt powerful but dead. But now, in the red light of Darth Vader and the black of the cold infinity, Grievous knew that he lived and that his strength would not falter.
"The honor will be mine... brother."