XIII. One Swift Stroke

The boardroom sectioned off from the Death Star's command deck was never unstaffed. The computers built into the outer lip of the round presentation table had full access to the Death Star's central network—and through that, phantom access to a hundred thousand Imperial datavaults scattered throughout the galaxy. It was in that regard a strategic as well as a tactical superweapon, capable of far more subtlety and guile than a man like Admiral Motti would ever possess.

From the far side of the table, Grand Moff Willhuff Tarkin watched with quiet amusement as the admiral rubbed nervously at the skin of his neck, clearing his throat as if by habit. Obsessively proud of the station's technical specifications, he was browsing the schematics of the superlaser now, as if fixating on the size of the weapon under his command brought him an unsettling amount of comfort.

Tarkin paid him no mind at first, glancing up only casually from his work. The IT-O Interrogator had provided him with a wealth of medical data to cross-reference, but he did not want to appear too curious, even in front of Motti. Vader had his eye on Motti now, and anything that Motti could discern, Vader would soon know, too.

"There are aides to do that work," Motti offered, "whatever it is. Men of our stature need not concern themselves with—"

"I warned you," said Tarkin with cold detachment. "I told you Lord Vader is no one to be trifled with."

Motti tugged at his neck. "What was that?" he asked.

"You could ask him, I suppose," said Tarkin. "But if I were you, I'd consider myself lucky, and conduct my business from a safe distance for a while." He thumbed lazily through an endless string of genetic data.

"I shall not save you again," he warned.

Motti fumed. "I will not sit idly by while the Emperor's attack dog undermines the supremacy of this battle station," he said. "I remain the commanding admiral of the Death Star. I am a destroyer of worlds, Tarkin. Let him crush the Rebellion one neck at a time if it pleases him, by whatever trickery he likes."

"Lord Vader's power is one of the great mysteries of the galaxy," said Tarkin laconically. "Much like the love my wife bears for your family. But neither is a thing you should dare to test a second time." He smiled softly as the display beneath the table lit up a cool blue. "Besides which, he does have his practical limitations."

Motti leaned forward. "Such as?"

Tarkin waved him away. "If overthrowing him is your plan, Admiral, our conversation is over. I shan't preside over your squabbles, save to advise you I would not want to be remembered to Imperial Centre as the man who broke the Emperor's favourite toy." He paused, as if gauging his own chances. "Or was broken by it, perhaps," he finished.

"But you said—"

"That is not what I meant by limitations," said Tarkin. "He is a tool of brute force. You cannot hope to contend with him. And yet in his single-mindedness he can overlook the most obvious tools."

Motti frowned. In his cold heart, Tarkin knew he ought to speak no further. But his arrogance cried out for an underling to boast to, and Motti, having nearly been strangled to death by the Dark Lord, was likely to avoid him at all costs until the Emperor recalled his chief agent for another secret errand.

"Take the princess, for instance," he said. "She is invaluable to us. I have long suspected her as a sympathizer for the Rebellion. But her unexpected presence at the battle of Scarif suggests she might occupy a far more central role than I had anticipated. She is our strongest link to finding their hidden fortress—yet Vader himself was unable to procure its location from her."

"There are other ways," Motti said, though Tarkin disregarded him.

"Perhaps," he said. "Obliterating the Rebels with this station is a straightforward solution. You and Lord Vader have that in common. But if we cannot find the base, there are yet other small victories we might yet win."

"There are other ways to get her talking," Motti said. Tarkin ignored him; it was unlikely he could think of anything the Dark Lord had not tried.

"Perhaps," said Tarkin again. "But in any case, she must not die. She is royalty, after all—a princess and ambassador from one of the most ancient and respected noble families in the Empire. She is young, well-spoken, possessed of extraordinary leadership qualities, and I have no doubt now that she is the future of the Rebellion, if we allow the Rebellion to have a future."

"She has a future only if we allow it," said Motti, but Tarkin shook his head.

"If we terminate her now, she becomes a martyr," said Tarkin. "A saint for the cause. The little girl who escaped the fleet, who made a fool of Darth Vader as she delivered Imperial secrets directly under his nose. No, I think not."

"What would you have us do?"

Tarkin tapped his screen with delight. "Here is where Lord Vader's tactics end and mine begin," he said. "The interrogation has proven ineffective, but it was far from fruitless. You forget that an IT-O Interrogator is built on a medical droid's chassis. In Vader's hands it is an effective torture device; but it is first and foremost a medical tool."

"The interrogation brought us nothing," Motti said, frustrated.

"Correct," said Tarkin. "And even that is something. Vader's interrogations have never before been successfully resisted, did you know that? His track record was perfect until today. Those 'sorcerer's ways' you see fit to mock have never failed us before. And that, in itself, tells us something very useful indeed."

Motti raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

Tarkin tapped the monitor excitedly. "You are not old enough to remember how the Jedi recruited for their ancient cult—seizing children from their beds in the night, tearing infants from the arms of their mothers who showed even the slightest inclination toward their mystic practice. It all stopped during the Purge, when the Emperor wiped them out and destroyed nearly all of the Jedi records. The children born that year were not monitored by the Jedi, nor by the Emperor. I thought I might find something in her scan to indicate such an unfortunate."

"And did you?"

Tarkin shook his head. "In truth, I don't know what to look for, which makes hunches very hard to prove. But In the analysis, I've discovered something even more remarkable."

"Tell me."

Tarkin smiled. "I've compared her scans to the medical records of her family—and it seems that Princess Organa is neither a true princess, nor a true Organa."

"So who is she?" asked Motti.

"It doesn't matter," said Tarkin. "Perhaps one of these Force Children, born during the Purge—she's the right age for it, precisely. I can only presume that when word of the Jedi's atrocities spread, some fawning parents parted with their little girl before they could find her. It explains her unusual resistance to Lord Vader's methods, and it further gives us political ammunition on a homeworld whose monarchy is still at least nominally hereditary."

"Wait," said Motti. "You think she's a Jedi?"

"There are no Jedi," said Tarkin. "Their ancient house is sundered and their religion crushed; Lord Vader has seen to that. But a princess who stands as the symbol of hope for her people needs no lightsaber to be dangerous. She needs only the wealth of her birthright, the prominence of a trusted family name, and the unbroken virtue of an innocent martyr. But if she is not the trueborn daughter of Breha and Bail Organa, her influence will fade, a succession crisis will no doubt follow, those we install as the true heirs can be persuaded to shed their embarrassing pacifism, and in the months and years to come we shall utterly destroy Alderaan's usefulness to the Rebellion as a stable, untarnished jewel of its recruitment agenda. In the resulting civil war, we shall back a monarch loyal to the Empire and be done with its sympathizers once and for all."

"It all seems pointlessly complex to me," said Motti. "I'm a military man. I'm no politician."

"Neither is Lord Vader," the Grand Moff gloated. "In that, too, you are alike. But I have long specialized in turning failures into triumphs. Let her resist Vader's mind probing as she pleases, for now. We will find the Rebel base soon enough. There is much we can do with her in the meantime, whether Vader breaks her or not."

"What will you do?" Motti asked.

Tarkin smiled "Lord Vader, I have heard, remains the Emperor's prized wolf for hunting down the Jedi and all who show an affinity for their unnatural sorceries. He travels, I am told, with one of the last archival records of the old Force-sensitive bloodlines. I will petition the Emperor for access to those files, then seek out a positive match. When I can prove that the supposed golden daughter of Alderaan is the claimless bastard child of some sorcerous cultist bloodline, it will fracture the faith of the people, erode Alderaan's prominence, and put an end to its treacherous royal family."

"Then I'm definitely no politician," Motti admitted. "We're sailing through uncontested core space aboard the greatest superweapon ever built. If it were up to me, I'd take this weapon straight to Alderaan and destroy it. To hell with the mind games and machinations, Governor. None of this 'single ignition' posturing. Just fully charge the weapon and show the Rebellion what true power really is."

Tarkin smiled—dismissively, at first. But he knitted his fingers, then furrowed his brow, then cocked his head. His thin smile faded briefly, then returned in force.

"What?" Motti asked.

Taking care to scrub his data terminal, Tarkin stood and moved toward the door.

"Go on," said Motti. "Go on and laugh. Tell me why it won't work. But that's what I'd do, just the same."

"You are a wiser man than I gave you credit for," said Tarkin. " Get some rest. You'll want to be awake in a few standard hours."

He struck the comm switch as he walked past his own seat at the table—he had been using Yularen's terminal for his research, to remove all suspicion that he was circumventing Vader's nominal control of the prisoner.

The comm speaker crackled. "Sir?"

"Send a message to Lord Vader," he said. "Tell him I await his presence in the command room when he is done with the prisoner. And calculate a course for Alderaan."

"Yes, sir."

"And contact Imperial Center. I require top access to all Core records at the Emperor's convenience."

Motti had no interest in waiting around for Vader's return, but paused in the doorway.

"What are you planning?" he asked.

"An elegant solution," said Tarkin. "I think you shall be quite pleased."