Galaxies Apart
Twenty-Seven
Thirty seconds.
The Death Star could only keep a lid on its superlaser charge for another half-minute before it had to let go or explode.
Every single crewmember on the Death Star's bridge was leaning imperceptibly forward with each passing second, eyes glued to the viewscreen.
"Get me the Executor!" Tarkin said, in a whisper dripping with authority.
"Transmissions are jammed, sir," the comm officer gulped. "Ssi-ruuk ships are putting out dampening fields. We can't get through."
"Move, damn you..." Tarkin whispered, watching the Executor chug along at what seemed little more than a crawl, turbolaser batteries lancing at Ssi-ruuk shields.
The power buildup around them intensified yet further. What had started off as a comforting thrummmm of the superlaser coming to life was now becoming a deafening shriek.
Tarkin had almost forgotten about his newest addition to his bridge staff. Despite being out of mind, however, Lieutenant Myrkr had in fact been buried in projections and data displays for the last few minutes.
Yes. Yes...
"Grand Moff," he said. "I have an idea."
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"You're telling me that we can't move this ship and charge the superlaser at the same time?"
"No, you could," the Chamber Master replied, "for about three thousandths of a second, before the tertiary reactor cores went into meltdown and we exploded."
"The first Death Star could do this. Aren't we meant to be more advanced?" Ackbar responded.
"We're meant to have fifty thousand technicians overseeing the reactor cores. We've got one hundred twenty."
Ackbar's bulbous eyes looked as if they would leap from their sockets. "Then prepare the ship for evasive action."
Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the Alderaan began to move.
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Inside a thousand Ssi-ruuk snubfighers, a thousand Ssi-ruuk computer systems and battle droids and reactor cores, something was happening.
Voices were coming together to speak to one new voice. One new voice asking the same questions, over and over.
Who are you
I am...I was...Nyss Detroe. I had a son...where is he? Where is my son? I was out - they asked us all to go outside and l-l-line up and then they came and
Your son is dead, Nyss.
they took us and oh, oh God I felt their m-m-machine - it went over me and t-t-through me and I was lost...lost - WHERE IS MY SON??? WHERE IS DARYN???
They took you. Him, too. They used you to power their machines. You're nothing but a memory of a person, soon to fade.
What can I do?
Make them remember, Nyss. Make them pay for taking your son.
Who are you?
I am another like you. Die well.
The snubfighters found new targets. Their mother ships. Their allies. Each other. All sought death, and all received it.
Inside the computer systems, circuits fused. Power spiked and soundless screams fused relays and fouled up subroutines.
Entechment, Darth Vader mused, is not a power source one should employ when a Sith Lord is nearby.
Every Ssi-ruuk ship within a million miles of the Executor began to explode from within, including the massive vessel currently troubling Tarkin's Death Star.
But the Executor remained where it was.
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Tarkin points a pale white digit at the viewscreen. The finger shakes with fury and his voice trembles with adrenaline.
"Fire," he says.
The line of concentric capacitors at the heart of the Death Star glows with green fire one more. This time, finally, their loop is interrupted. They plunge at the speed of light down many individual passageways, all double-shielded.
At the exterior capacitor they circle now. First, one reaches out a tendril and earths itself at a spot some two kilometres away, a region treated with neutralising radiation by subsystems earlier in the process. Then a second joins the first, and the white-jade nucleus glows more fervently.
And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.
By now the nucleus is a pulsating white singularity, a stable eye in the incredible power struggle being fought across the Main Stage beams.
A sixth.
The technicians standing at the power relays, no further than a kilometre or so from this incredible eddy in space-time, raise their hands to cover their faces; even squeezing their eyes shut provides little protection against the terrible intensity of the superlaser.
On the night side of Endor, a new star appears, a tiny green flame.
A seventh.
The superlaser blast leaps away.
The eyes of the Imperial fleet turn to follow. On the bridge of the Executor, Darth Vader stares at the beam, leaping toward them.
So like a lightsaber.
The superlaser blast flies straight and true, not deviating from its assigned trajectory.
It misses the Executor.
It clears the entire battle. Not a single Ssi-ruuvi craft comes near to being threatened by its power. The beam sears on, and now it has passed even the green orb of Endor itself.
Vader and his crew, and the entire Imperial Navy, regard it in stunned silence as it roars on harmlessly into space.
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The massive cheer from the bridge crew of the Alderaan was echoed by Crix Madine. He'd felt sure that Tarkin had decided to sacrifice Vader's ship for the sake of taking them out. The Alderaan hadn't been able to get out of range…and when the superlaser blast had licked out…
They'd missed. Now that his initial reflex euphoria was over, Madine had to ask himself: how?
He sat back at his station. The Death Star rocked just a little; it seemed that the rest of the combatants had been likewise caught up in the drama, and were taking some time to come to terms with what had happened.
He registered dimly that the Ssi-ruuk ships were organising a major push in the confusion. The Empire's forces appeared dulled, driven listless by the stark failure.
He called up a display of the shot. It was still going strong; it would be many, many light-years before something that powerful lost its integrity.
He projected a course. It almost looked like the beam was actually going to hit the Endorian sun, a large and ponderous specimen.
No...surely Tarkin wasn't crazy enough to think that a superlaser blast into the heart of a star could induce a supernova?
The Alderaan, sluggish at the moment, wouldn't stand a chance of getting out of the way in time. It made sense, in a horrible way-
No. He breathed a sigh of relief. The superlaser was going to miss the star too - not by much, but enough.
"How long before they can charge up for another blast?" Ackbar demanded of the Chamber Master.
"A few minutes, Admiral. At least."
Ackbar made the aquatic equivalent of a purr. "Excellent," he said. "All stop. Bring us around to target that 'asteroid'. Charge the superlaser."
The crew busied themselves carrying out this order. Crix did his share, but even as he worked a strange discomfort itched at the back of his mind. It didn't make sense - how did the Empire go from brilliance in disguising the Death Star as an asteroid to such carelessness in completely missing the biggest target in the galaxy with the least discriminatory weapon the galaxy had ever seen?
He had a bad feeling about this.
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"Ssi-ruuk communications blackout has collapsed, sir. Their systems are experiencing severe disruptions. We've got a channel to the Fleet."
The glare of the console screen shone on Tarkin's craggy face. He smiled savagely.
"Put me through," he ordered, striding back to his command chair, preparing to make his address to the Imperial forces gathered.
"Channel open."
"This is Grand Moff Tarkin to all Imperial vessels. Repeat: This is Grand Moff Tarkin, to all Imperial ships in the Endor system," sure of their attention now, he went on, "break off your engagements. I say again, all Imperial craft must disengage. This is an official order of retreat. Proceed to new co-ordinates with all speed."
Satisfied, he nodded to the communications officer. The young lieutenant commander put the recording on a repeating loop; all Imperial craft would get the message, sooner or later.
"Incoming transmission. It's Lord Vader."
Ah. He'd been expecting this. He nodded for the call to be put through on the main viewscreen.
And prepared to talk himself out of strangulation.
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Crix Madine couldn't believe what he was seeing. Around him the news was spreading all over the bridge. People began to murmur among themselves, hardly daring to accept the obvious themselves.
The Empire was retreating.
He watched as another Star Destroyer made the jump to hyperspace. And another. And another.
Confused, Madine consulted his tactical displays. This wasn't a small withdrawal of ships from a danger area…this was a full-scale pull-out. Everywhere he looked the red dots representing Imperial ships were winking out, as if someone had pulled the plug.
"We won," someone said, loudly enough for it to carry.
The words were filled with astonishment. Even with the power of a Death Star behind them, even with the Ssi-ruuk aid, the Rebellion had entered this battle expecting to lose. By now defeat was almost a tradition. The Alliance had never known victory.
In the euphoria on the Alderaan's bridge, Crix failed to notice a small flashing light on his console.
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"Why are my forces retreating, Tarkin?" Vader asked. He was seconds from committing murder, and everyone knew it.
"This channel is not secure," was all Tarkin would say.
"I have alternatives," Vader replied.
And with that, he plunged deep into Tarkin's mind.
It was impossible to hide anything from a Sith with Vader's powers. Fortunately for his sake, Tarkin didn't bother. He would have preferred another method- any other method - but this was the time and the place, he had judged, to tell his great rival about the conspiracy headed by Palpatine.
Whether Vader would side with his troops or his Master, Tarkin couldn't say for sure.
What he was sure of was that his life depended on the outcome of this gamble.
Allowing Vader access to his mind speeded the process. He felt Vader's cold fingers pry, rummage. Felt the Sith Lord recoil in shock as he digested what he found. Summoning his reserves of concentration, Tarkin tried to communicate.
Will you side with us?
The itch in his mind vanished. With a jolt Tarkin found himself fully conscious again. He sucked in a steadying breath, a hand absently straying to a nearby bulkhead to support him.
The experience of violation was intense, more so than he could have imagined. He had no desire to repeat it. A shiver passed down him as he imagined what the victim of one of the Emperor's Force killings went through before he died.
Forcing his voice into action, he said, "You understand, then?"
"Proceed. We have much to discuss, Grand Moff. And soon."
As the screen went black, Tarkin was caught between elation and dread. The day he looked forward to an intimate chat with Darth Vader was a long way away. "Helm, get us out of here."
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The Death Star had pulled out. So had the Super Star Destroyer, Vader's personal ship. This was no trick, no show, no half-measure.
The Empire had given up. The Alliance had won.
Crix Madine looked at his screen, and saw not one single red dot. The Imperials had run. Nothing remained of their presence…save their wounded. The Endorian system was now littered with the rudderless, ruined hulks of Star Destroyers, now little more than tombs.
The statistics confirmed what everyone suspected; the Empire had lost today. Three Imperial ships had perished for every Ssi-ruuk craft.
Madine wished the Alderaan had had more of a part to play in the proceedings. All she'd done, truth be told, was sit there and soak up the combined firepower of about half the assembled Imperial Fleet. That didn't matter, though. Without her, this battle would never have happened.
The Alderaan, built for destruction and renamed after one of the greatest war crimes in history, had just kickstarted the quest for galactic freedom.
"Well done, everyone," he heard Ackbar say. Looking up, he met the eyes of his CO for a brief second. Ackbar gave him a nod, which Madine returned in kind.
"Open a channel to the Ssi-ruuk command ship," Ackbar ordered.
A moment later the entire bridge turned their necks to sneak a look at one of the reptilians. Madine had trouble telling one from the other, but this one was rather easy to identify; he had prominent blue scales.
"Greetings," Ackbar nodded. "I don't believe we've spoken."
"No," the alien admitted. "My immediate superiors had their ships destroyed in battle."
Ackbar bowed his head. "My sympathies for your loss."
Bluescale made a clicking sound, which the translating program could do nothing with. "They died in the making of a glorious victory."
Crix tuned out of the rest of the conversation - diplomatic niceties and the like - as he finally noticed there was a flashing red light on his console. A B232 alert.
"Jackson."
The Navigation officer chuckled softly. Craning his head to look at Crix, he raised his eyebrows in a gesture that, unmistakably, said what do you want now, amateur? Can't you work your own station?
"Can it, wiseass," Crix said, neatly cutting him off before he could put those gestures into words, "I'm getting a B232."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah...?"
Madine put it down to the elation of victory. "...so what is a B232?"
Jackson scratched his head. "Something to do with Navigation. Long-range I think?"
That didn't make sense. Madine said so. "Navigation? Why am I receiving it? Shouldn't this be your area?"
To Jackson's credit, all trace of joviality vanished. "No. It's a tactical alert. The sensors have picked something they think is a threat..."
Instead of answering directly, Jackson returned to his console and brought up identifying protocols.
"I see it too," he said softly, "it isn't reading as a ship. Madine-" and fear entered his voice, "-this is crazy. The damn thing's coming straight at us at a phenomenal speed. Too fast to be a torpedo. Almost like a-"
The word hung unspoken between them for a moment. "Laser," Madine filled in, throat constricting.
They locked gazes for an instant.
"Admiral..!"
Ackbar broke off his pleasantries. "What is it?"
"The superlaser blast. It's back."
"Back?"
"Yes."
Ackbar might have demanded further explanation. Had he, Madine would have told him that the Death Star had deliberately fired close to the local star so that the energy would be deflected, bent by the gravity of the massive stellar body, to slingshot around the star and be redirected back on a new trajectory.
The Endorian Sun had been used to fire a superlaser around a corner.
Ackbar didn't ask. He knew there was no time for explanations.
"Twenty-five seconds to impact."
"Get us moving, now," Ackbar told the helm.
"Superlaser batteries are charged. We'll have to turn them off before-"
Ackbar spun to face the Chamber Master. "Deactivate them!"
"We won't have enough time-"
"DO IT!" Ackbar snapped. The Chamber Master reached for his console, moved to turn the capacitors from open and charging to closed and stable.
"Stop!" Ackbar suddenly blurted. He ignored the frantic expressions around him and addressed the Chamber Master again, "How long before we can fire?"
"Twenty seconds."
"Fifteen seconds to impact," Madine informed the bridge.
"Reroute ALL POWER to those batteries. Do you understand?" the Admiral demanded. "Life support, artificial gravity, everything. And commence primary ignition, now."
"Aye, sir," the Chamber Master obeyed the order, eyes bulging. "It should get us another few seconds."
"Ten," Madine snapped.
"Helm," Ackbar spun again, "visual on that superlaser."
The screen activated. The sight of a superlaser in full flight was enough to strike fear in the hardest of hearts. It scythed across space, causing the magnification factor in the top-left corner of the screen to spiral backwards.
Space around it shrank back in terror; on the night side, even the day side of Endor the furry, oppressed natives cowered on their knees, convinced that this was the end.
"Target the blast," Ackbar commanded.
"Seven seconds…" Madine continued his countdown. "Six…"
"How's our laser coming along?" Ackbar's voice was supernaturally calm.
"Ninety percent!"
"Five…"
"FIRE!"
The massive structure of the Alderaan heaved and shook as, deep within its bowels, the component Main Stage beams were released. Unlike the Mk1 reactor, this model had no delay between reactor prime and firing. The tertiary beams met, flowed, coalesced, stabilised, compounded-
-released-
The massive laser, a deep red, lanced out.
On the bridge, the crew felt their hearts stop beating as, for two seconds that seemed an eternity, the blasts screamed toward each other, green and red behemoths on a collision course. Two forces the likes of which the galaxy had never known.
And there was impact.
A ball of pure energy formed, seething and roaring, reaching and growing. The forces inside it fought for dominance and inertia. It was composed of pure chaos, and one of the most unforgettable sights in the universe.
And one of the shortest.
The ball exploded.
"We've got a level twelve shockwav-" the helmsman began, but didn't get any further.
The shockwave hit. The Death Star was tossed aside, thrown to the stellar winds, its outer layers burned away in the fury of the shockwave. On the fringes of the wave many Ssi-ruuk cruisers, not protected by the shield or the sheer scale of the Alderaan, were torn to ribbons.
Artificial gravity, already sapped in the charging, failed altogether. Madine watched as the ceiling became the floor with amazing speed and violence, forcing the breath from his body and causing him to cry out in pain.
The momentum carried him on, into a mass of bodies compressed by the incredible inertia of the Alderaan. An elbow to his ear almost sent him spinning into unconsciousness; he would have welcomed the escape.
On Endor, the Ewoks were proven to be correct. Despite not being in the path of the blast, the shockwave produced by the merged superlaser blasts ripped outward and through the fabric of their planet, stripping all life from its surface.
After what seemed an eternity, the Alderaan crested the wave and it passed, rippling out into the Endorian system, causing massive destruction throughout the remaining planets.
One by one, the Alderaan's systems came back on-line. The planetoid re-orientated itself on its axis, restoring floors and ceilings to their original designations. Crix Madine watched the floor rise up to claim him, and wished for the sweet release of oblivion.
His wish was granted.