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Chapter Seven

Betrayal

Her hands held high above her head in surrender, Astrid grudgingly marched towards the horde of armed Imperial troops obediently standing at attention while the rest of her captive squadron followed close behind in an orderly fashion. Thick smoke still billowed from numerous impact craters and wafted through the air; a myriad of tremendous explosions having rocked and ravaged the jungle floor during the course of the preceding skirmish. The dead, smoldering bodies of clone soldiers and Rebel fighters alike littered the ground, battered and broken. In all directions, the assembled clones encircled their vanquished enemy and kept a vigilant, ever–watchful eye on the perimeter. The resistance hadn't stood a chance once he had arrived with a legion of heavily equipped Imperial reinforcements in tow. The dreaded Dark Lord of the Sith, alongside his unwavering army, had pummeled their defensive lines and cut their forces in two like a vibroblade through a slice of warm bread. It had taken minimal effort on their part. There was no denying the truth, for it was plain to see: the Rebellion had blindly waltzed straight into a trap.

Glancing about at her fellow soldiers, Astrid studied their dispirited faces as they were led single file into the center of a small clearing to be monitored by their gathered captors. They were now hostages of the first Galactic Empire. And under the ruthless dictatorship of its new Emperor, she had a good idea of what to expect as a prisoner of war. They had defied their self–appointed ruler, and to do such a thing was treason. Treason, of course, meant one thing…it meant death. Every last one of them would no doubt be sentenced and executed on the spot without trial or jury for their brazen acts of disloyalty; perhaps even by the Emperor himself. They would receive no quarter. He would show them no mercy. If it hadn't been for the safety of the men and women serving under her command and her responsibility to them, Astrid would never have conceded defeat herself. Instead, she would have gone down in a blaze of glory fighting for what she believed in. She would have gladly died on her feet with her head held high; taking out as many Imperial troops as she possibly could before meeting her own untimely end.

Her attention was soon caught by a man who appeared to be an Admiral in the Imperial army as he joined a high–ranking clone officer. Exuding unmistakable pretension and superiority, he approached the armored soldier and observed while the last of the captured Rebel fighters were rounded up and herded into the clearing. Words were exchanged, but Astrid couldn't make them out from the distance.

"Well, what do we do now?" she heard Pavel whisper over her shoulder.

"Just stay calm and be quiet," Astrid replied, her gaze never straying from the pompous Admiral. "Show them no fear, and do not speak unless spoken to. That goes for all of you. Understood?"

What remained of her squadron quietly answered in unison: "Yes, Captain."

It wasn't much longer before a distinct snap–hiss met their ears. Turning with a start, Astrid was the first to spot the source of the noise as he purposely strode through the perimeter; his black cloak billowing in the soot filled air behind him while he deactivated the crimson blade of his lightsaber and made his way towards the Admiral. Returning the hilt of the lethal weapon to his side and clipping it to his tunic belt, his mere presence visibly struck fear into his subservient underling. If Astrid, too, hadn't been so unnerved by his presence, she might have taken some satisfaction in seeing the palpable fright on the Admirals' face.

"Is that him?" she heard one of her subordinates gasp. "Is that him?!"

"Shhh…" was her blunt response.

Despite the drawn hood that for the moment shrouded his true identity, Astrid knew exactly who the new arrival was. It was indeed the recently proclaimed Emperor. Standing only a few lengths away from her was the flesh and blood embodiment of pure evil. With disturbingly natural grace and ease, she had witnessed firsthand his effortless slaughter of several resistance fighters shortly before their defeat and relocation. He was the reason she was there. He was the reason so many of her friends and allies had perished. Following the demise of his predecessor, he had become the very reason that the Rebellion even existed. Darth Vader was truly the epitome of everything that was wrong in the galaxy.

Slowing his pace, he came to a halt once he reached his awaiting subject. "Your report, Admiral."

"The perimeter has been secured, milord, as ordered," the Admiral stated, doing his best to muster up his courage, but failing miserably.

"Very good, Admiral," Vader curtly replied. "Have you found the leader of the uprising?"

"Not as of yet, Lord Vader," the Admiral nervously answered. "But rest assured, we will find them."

Much to the Admirals' relief, Vader soon shifted his focus elsewhere; turning his attention to a group of Rebel prisoners being held in the vicinity before starting in their direction. Some faltered and trembled under his scrutinizing stare, while others somehow managed to remain, at least seemingly, calm and composed. He silently examined them for a long moment before stepping forward and singling out one fighter in particular.

"You have been found guilty of conspiracy and high treason," he said in a firm, even tone. "How do you respond to these charges?"

"If I have been found guilty of plotting against the Empire, I plead guilty," the fighter retorted, his confidence somewhat dissipating now that the Dark Lord stood before him. "I am loyal to the Republic alone, and no other."

"I find your sense of honor commendable, but your faith is sadly misplaced," Vader replied as he carelessly extended a hand. The fighter immediately began to claw at his throat; an invisible force choking and cutting off his air supply. All around him, the other captives shied away while he futilely struggled to catch a breath. "The Old Republic is no more. You can choose to join the Empire, or you can choose to die alongside your foolish ideals. It is entirely up to you…"

Astrid cringed and averted her gaze when her helpless cohort was sent sailing backwards from a powerful Force shove; not stopping until he collided with a nearby tree. The sickening thud, and the sound of his bones shattering against its bark, was enough to make her stomach churn. Appalled and nauseated by the savage act, she reluctantly turned back to Vader as he addressed the remaining fighters.

"You are all collaborators," his voice boomed, demanding their undivided attention. "As such, Imperial law dictates that you be tried for treason and put to death. Turn over your leaders now and you will be spared. Otherwise, your fate will be no different than theirs, and your lives will be forfeit."

Tentatively clearing his throat, Pavel moved from his place beside Astrid and took a hesitant step forward before speaking up. "Milord?"

"Pavel, shut–up!" Astrid hissed under her breath. "What are you doing?!"

Vader skeptically studied the other man from a distance before making his approach. Once he drew closer, he stopped and expectantly waited for him to proceed. Astrid's spine quivered when she caught her first clear glimpse of the visage beneath the hood. The face belonged to that of someone still in their early years of life, yet it was callous and battle–hardened like that of a veteran warrior. She couldn't explain why, but it was the most fearsome and terrifying sight that she had ever laid eyes on.

"I am Pavel Tahl, Lord Vader," Pavel introduced himself, his voice slightly cracking as he spoke. "Codename: Red Infiltrator."

"Does that name mean anything to you, Admiral?" Vader questioned, not bothering to turn to the anxious officer standing several feet behind him.

"Yes, milord…" the Admiral quickly answered. "Red Infiltrator is an alias designated to an informant operating within the resistance. If he is who he says he is, this man supplied us with the intelligence needed to successfully neutralize the Rebel threat."

Astrid couldn't believe what she was hearing. All this time, a spy had been feeding the Empire vital information right under her nose. Not only that, but he had long served as her second in command. She had always considered Pavel to be many things, but never had she thought him capable of such treachery. He could be an obnoxious flirt and prove difficult to deal with at times, but he had also been a fellow soldier. And as a fellow soldier, she had entrusted him with her life on various, death–defying occasions. But above all else, he had been a friend. To think that he could have possibly switched allegiances and defected to the side of their sworn enemy was unfathomable. But in her heart, she knew that he had done just that. He was the very perpetrator that she had come to suspect of deceiving and betraying the Rebellion. They had been ambushed, and he had known all along what would happen to them...what would happen to her. In aiding Vader and his Empire, he had single–handedly sabotaged and brought about the destruction of the resistance. He was a traitor, and they had all been duped.

"You traitor, what have you done?!" Astrid's voice escaped her before she even realized what she was doing. "You've killed us all!"

Unable to look his Captain in the eye, Pavel's reply was barely above a whisper. "Sorry, love, but sometimes you just have to pick the winning team…"

Seething with rage, Astrid didn't think as she lunged forward and struck him square in the jaw. He was sent reeling when her fist connected; the unanticipated blow causing him to stagger back and almost topple over.

"We trusted you!" she furiously exclaimed. "How could you do this?!"

Trying to rein in her emotions and calm her anger, she turned to an onlooking squad of clone troopers as the click of their readied blaster rifles pulled her back to reality. Prepared to take action, they remained where they were without opening fire while Vader simply stood and watched the altercation unfold with an expression somewhere between irritation and mild amusement.

"Sir?"

Thankfully, his attention was drawn to an approaching clone Sergeant before he had a chance to intervene. "What is it?"

"We have a critical prisoner in need of medical assistance, sir," the Sergeant said after giving the customary salute of an Imperial trooper. "Requesting immediate evacuation."

"You were instructed not to bother with the wounded," Vader retorted, his patience obviously wearing thin. "Dispose of them."

"Our standing orders are to take the Rebel leaders alive, sir," the Sergeant persisted. "Markings on the prisoners' uniform indicate a senior rank."

"Very well, Sergeant, bring the prisoner to me," Vader replied with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Once I have finished questioning them, you may take them away for further interrogation."

"Yes, sir."

"And what of our informant, milord?" the admiral asked, gesturing towards Pavel as the Sith moved to depart. "Shall I arrange for a transport?"

"That won't be necessary, Admiral," Vader answered, sparing the defector a brief glance before continuing on his way. "His services are no longer required."

"Milord, I have done what was asked of me! I have fulfilled my duty to the Empire!" Pavel suddenly blurted out. "I beg of you, Lord Vader! You must – "

"I must do nothing," Vader cut him short, glaring over his shoulder and promptly silencing his plea for sanctuary. "The Empire does not negotiate with known conspirators." A chilling smile crept across his lips a moment later. "I'm interested to see how those you've betrayed will react now that they know the truth. Tell me, are you Rebels a forgiving people?"

Without so much as another word, Vader left the traitor to his own devices and met the Sergeant halfway just as he returned with a medical stretcher. Hovering safely above the ground, the device supported the weight of a single patient. Bloodied and unconscious, her maimed body lay sprawled out on its surface, lifeless and unmoving; much of her clothing torn or scorched by what appeared to be the result of a close range mortar detonation. Astrid couldn't contain a horrified gasp when she saw the injured prisoners' pallid face, for it was a face that she knew well. Lying vulnerable and exposed, her commander had fallen. What she saw next, as if seeing her beloved leader in such a fragile state hadn't been enough of a shock to her system, was something that she truly could never have imagined…

"Padmé?!" Vader cried out, his anguish radiating in waves as he urgently rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside the stretcher. "Get her to the medical station! Now!"