The deepening afternoon reflected the subdued atmosphere in the rented speeder. Han sometimes opened his mouth to speak, but then he shut it. It was he, after all, who had instigated the encounter, an impromptu moment of indulgent irony. If he opened his mouth, however, it would be to apologize, and he had a personal rule about that. As in don't. What bothered him most was the man's intention of calling the authorities. Had he?
Next to him, Leia cast surreptitious glances his way. She knew she had every right to be angry with Han, but then she was appalled at how rashly she had acted, so she said nothing. She could still hear the man's angry, deluded speech, but she had used a blaster to deliberately damage a man's property! She'd stupidly called attention to herself. When the Alliance learned of this, they might never send her under cover again. True, she rationalized, the Alliance had sanctioned violence by authorizing her to cause an explosion at a manufacturing plant-
There was a fine line, she sensed. Her posture in the front seat was tense, alert to any sirens or flashing lights.
Luke was also reflecting on this earlier adventure. It was different than the others. Perhaps the enemy was not as clear, or perhaps Han and Leia were not heroes in this one. They weren't, Luke decided, though to him they still were. It probably wouldn't end well, and he uttered his conclusion to Han and Leia as they revealed theirs.
"We're gonna have to ditch the speeder," Han said. Leia spoke at the same time, "We can't return the speeder." Luke was already past that. "How are we gonna get back to the ship?"
They had docked Han's freighter in a different port city to complicate the future investigative trail. From there, they had rented the speeder, and traveled six hours west to the industrial plant. The plan was to nonchalantly travel back six hours east, unload the speeder of the everyday suitcases which hid the not-so-everyday explosives materiel, and get back to base before the locals completely understood what had happened.
"Master Luke," Threepio piped up. "Am I to understand we are walking? Dear me, it will take days! Please do not treat me as a beast of burden and ask me to carry the suitcases. My arms are not designed for such labor-"
"We could leave you behind," Han snarled. "And give you a mind wipe."
"It won't take days," Leia said, speaking over the frightened bleats of the droid. "Maybe two."
"We don't have that time," Luke said. "If word gets out, and they investigate properly, they'll connect the dots and eventually come to the Falcon-" He stopped a moment, upset. The same thing had happened to his family when his uncle had bought Threepio and R2D2. The Empire had connected the dots. Slowly, but it had resulted in some innocent people getting killed.
"I'll steal one," Han offered. "Easy. Easier than renting another and presenting new forged papers."
"But it's another report to the authorities," Leia objected.
"We could buy one?" Luke suggested. "You saved money on this basic model."
"You got any idea how much these cost, kid?" Han scorned.
"I know, I knew it the second the words were out of my mouth," Luke said. "I'm thinking of everything."
"Well, stop. It wastes my time."
"What about Chewie?"
"What about him?" Han said in a grim tone. He'd already asked that question of himself.
Chewie was the wookiee copilot of Han's ship, the Millennium Falcon. He remained with the ship, in case they needed a quick getaway. Which they did, just not in the way anyone had predicted.
"We're detained," Luke pointed out.
Han stole a glance at Leia. If he could send their position to Chewie, they could wait out somewhere safe and quiet until the Falcon located them, and then this adventure would be over. "I was hoping to send a ship's comm when we reached the next city."
Leia only shook her head to signal they couldn't risk a stop. For a moment, Han forgot their predicament. She had shot down his idea, her typical opening gambit for when she played his game. He suspected she played it, anyway. Maybe she had her own. He was about to point out the many high points of his idea and get her going, when he remembered the mission briefing warning. They were informed there was a high Imperial presence on this planet, which they'd observed on their own just by driving through a neighborhood. They were to get in and out, "anonymous and quiet." Eyes were leveled at Han and Luke in warning. Sure, he and Luke were anything but on the Death Star, and he had resented the implication he couldn't be otherwise. What did they know about him? But, looking at the Princess's glum expression, he saw he'd been anything but anonymous and quiet. Until they had a better idea of how the speeder asshole reacted, perhaps- and he was not going to admit this out loud, where she would hear him- it was best to lay low.
He filed away one fact, though, before letting the Princess have her point. She was the noisiest of them. Well, the kid wasn't much better, waving his lightsaber around like that. Kriff, what a group!
"I wonder if there's something he can do," Luke mused about Chewie.
Han lifted his shoulders and let them drop with a sigh. "He'll probably put a homing beacon on me next time. So he don't lose sight of me."
Leia was looking out the window, but she smiled slightly. "That's actually touching."
Luke liked the image too, of a great wookiee appearing from out of the blue, embracing him with his big, furry arms. "I could work with that."
Han said nothing. If Chewie proposed such a thing, Han would shoot him in the foot; it meant that much to be unattached. But then, Luke and Leia had everyone they loved taken away by the Empire. The idea of a bit of smothering care appealed to them. It wasn't hard to figure out, but Han congratulated himself on knowing to stay quiet anyway.
"We could keep this one," Leia decided as the team leader, "but travel off-route. What you may steal, Captain Solo, is a speeder registration marker. Switch it with this one." Han nodded along at her plan.
"Throw them off the scent for a bit," Luke understood.
"It'll take longer than the direct lanes, but much faster than walking." Leia looked at the two men. She wasn't sure if this had been a discussion or compromise, but the three of them, for the moment anyway, saw eye to eye. It probably wouldn't last, she thought, but it felt good to air out the situation. "I'd say the risk of getting caught is lower than if we stole one."
Han steered the speeder out of the lane and over a pasture. "Know any jokes, Threepio?"
The junior officers were pleased with Commander Piett. They called out to him as they entered the officer's lounge, where he was hard at work hours after his shift ended.
"I don't know how you did it," they toasted him, "but once Lord Vader gave the order for Vasafaa he hasn't been breathing down our necks. Literally." One of the officers dared to breathe in and out in a comically exaggerated fashion.
They guffawed at their own cleverness but Piett did not share their glee. In fact, he found Lord Vader's sudden lack of interest in the Executor a cause for worry. It seemed his plan to impress his superior with his attention to detail and acumen had backfired. Vader remained holed up in his office. Piett suspected he was replaying the holo of the suspected Rebels harassing an Imperial citizen.
It had something to do with the Death Star. The one member of the Princess's rescue party killed there was known to Lord Vader as a Jedi Knight. Was the lone Imperial survivor of the disaster seeking to remedy his failure to the Emperor? But why remain almost obsessively focused on a dead Force-user's accomplices when the Empire had the chance to follow the clues the three humans stupidly dropped and end the Rebellion once and for all?
It was no matter. Piett was efficient, and he knew how to get a job done. The Executor was not the only Star Destroyer swiftly making its way to Vasafaa; Piett had the headings and locations of the entire Imperial fleet at his disposal, thanks to his close association with Lord Vader. The Empire was a complicated, stratified system, but it could move swiftly when it wanted.
His comm lit up, and the sound of breathing introduced the deep voice of Vader. "Commander Piett. Report to my office."
"Yes, my Lord," Piett answered but Vader had already disconnected. The junior officers were looking at him wide-eyed in mock horror.
"Been nice knowing you," they told Piett as he gathered his files. His comrades were fairly giggling. He shouldered past them, angry that they lacked any kind of sympathy for his predicament. It was the culture of the Imperial Navy. Perhaps of the entire Empire, and Piett wondered as he strode the corridor if survivors of Alderaan were met with similar attitudes.
The office door was opened before Piett signaled. That had happened before, and the timing was always creepy. If Vader could think a man dead, then it was probably possible to think a door open.
The Dark Lord was at his desk, the recording of the holo playing where Piett had set it hours ago. The sound was muted, and while Piett paused to salute, his eye caught the twitching movement of the droid's arms in the rear seat.
Vader had memorized the dialog. Right about now, he noted as he waited for Piett to finish his greeting, the droid would say, "Master Luke-"
"What have you learned, Commander?" he asked Piett.
"Nothing as yet, my Lord, but we have set our web of snares. If the Rebels are still on Vasafaa they will not escape. Three star destroyers are in the vicinity and should reach the system today. They will close every port city and allow no departures."
"Good." Reports such as these were necessary and Vader understood why, but he had little interest in them. The outcome was all he needed to know. Yes or no. Win or lose.
They were still far from predicting an outcome, and Vader was wary. The loss of the Death Star had been an unthinkable one. From the standpoint of the Rebels, it probably was not an easy achievement. It had cost them almost the entire fleet of fighters and many lives, not to mention the result of the personal ordeal of the Princess. An entire planet lost. But from where Vader stood, at the very tip of Imperial rule, the Rebel victory looked embarrassingly smooth.
"Vasafaa has a great deal of ship traffic," Piett was saying. "It will be helpful if the admirals have an idea what they are looking for."
Vader waited for Piett to say more. He sensed the hesitancy, as well as the man's fear. He stretched the gloved fingers of his hands for effect. "What are you suggesting, Commander," he demanded.
Piett swallowed and assumed his most self-effacing mannerism. "We need to narrow the field, my Lord. There are twenty-seven primary port cities, and I have learned there are also hectares of open countryside. If, as you say, these men-" Piett nodded at the holo, which had looped back to the beginning, showing the tall Corellian strolling lazily around the resident's speeder, "are the same ones who escaped with the Princess from the Death Star, perhaps they arrived on Vasafaa in the same ship." This was the delicate part, and Piett's heart was beating faster than he allowed his speech, "It has occurred to me, my Lord, that perhaps you were witness to the Rebel arrival on the Death Star."
From inside the helmet, Vader could see Piett. He had turned his head a bit to the side and his lips were folded inward, as if he'd already suffered a slap. Vader noted it with satisfaction. "I was aboard to interrogate the Princess," he menaced in his darkest tones.
"Of course, my Lord. I only wondered if perhaps you visited the apprehended ship, or if someone reported the model to you-"
Vader wagged a finger at Piett. "Careful where you tread, Commander. The entire battle station was on alert for the intruders. Yet it was I who made the only kill."
"Of course, my Lord," Piett spoke hurriedly and struck a pose of obeisance. He had dreaded dragging Vader into his investigation but it couldn't be avoided. "It is only my endeavor to learn the identities of the men as you tasked me. As you know, the server on the Death Star is no longer recognized by the other Imperial networks."
The way the sniveling aide kept bringing up the Death Star... Vader's fists clenched. But Piett's idea was a good one. And there was a source. It was his own report, delivered to the Emperor from this very desk, describing the arrest of Princess Leia Organa and assuring his Master the schematics to the battle station would soon be back in Imperial hands.
Vader seethed a moment in silence. He wasn't sorry the Death Star was gone. He hadn't been impressed with it, though it was the Emperor's pride. His reputation had suffered as a result. He resented all the discussion about it. But as the only Imperial to survive it, and until the Emperor replaced it with another, Vader was possessive about its time in history. He had killed his old master on it. It had become a very personal place for him. There was no one alive who knew it like he had. Well, Princess Leia Organa knew. It wasn't likely they would ever meet.
Why had he thought that? Meet again, he corrected his own self. They had met.
He would not share his report with Piett. Evidently, he'd been wrong about what he told his master, he thought wryly. He had failed to get any information from the Princess. Piett might be in earnest, and seemed frustrated by the dead ends he encountered, but Vader would not let him discover his lapse.
His eyes went back to the holo. The tall Rebel was handing his blaster to the Princess. Soon the boy in the back seat would ignite the blue lightsaber and yell about being a Jedi. Vader no longer paid as much attention to the saunter of the Corellian or the fuel leaking out of the parked speeder. But he was drawn to the boy with the lightsaber. He was, at different times, awed, sickened, infuriated, and... isolated.
There was something awoken in Vader. He wanted, as any loyal Imperial, an end to this Rebellion. But he was so lonely for the companionship of the Force. He had not known this until he saw the boy wave around a blue lightsaber. He was perhaps also lonely for something else, but that chapter of his life was closed. He was unused to feeling like this. He couldn't name it. Perhaps it had been too long that he'd felt anything other than the dark side of the Force, but that possessiveness resurfaced.
Piett, unbeknownst to himself, was walking a very thin line. Any claim Piett held to the revelation of the holo was lost the moment Vader realized what he was seeing. It was his now. His destiny was set in motion once again, and he welcomed it, though the Force was giving him tiny warnings. One was to keep this from reaching his master. He was ready to snap Piett's neck, but the Force was quick and always ready. It didn't have to be now.
"I only glimpsed it from the bridge as the ship was brought in," he heard himself lie to Piett. "A freighter of some sort, if I recall." Vader could lower his eyes without moving his head and he did so now. On the Death Star, beyond Kenobi's sacrificial pose, Vader remembered the red bloodstripes stealthily making their way up the ramp of the freighter. It was a YT-1300, antiquated, and as evidenced by the interior, she had a doting if impoverished captain. "Kid!" the captain had shouted to the boy as Vader struck Kenobi down, and the boy had listened.
Kid; not Luke. The term was vaguely indicative of something. A relationship, perhaps. Lopsided: kid was for youth, inexperience. It could also be out of affection. Vader had a dim memory of such a relationship. He jerked his head sharply, trying to dispel it. The two men from the Death Star, arrived with Obi Wan Kenobi, who once held his affection, whose position of power in the relationship had been turned on its head...
"Description of a freighter narrows the field," Piett pretended to look like the information was vastly helpful. "I shall inform the admirals, my Lord."
"Do so, Commander."
"Yes, my Lord. I have also begun a cross-reference of the recording." His eyes dropped back to Vader's desk. The speeder, which had moments ago driven into the distance, accompanied by the voice of the recorder hurling insults and threats, had now pulled into the residence, beginning the sequence all over again,and the Corellian was leaning out the open window.
"... waiting for facial recognition programs," he continued, "but the recording is not very clear. So far there have been no hits when I searched them together with Princess Leia Organa. Her life is fairly well documented by the holoweb." Piett had rather enjoyed this part of his research. It was calming. Learning a bit of recent history was less likely to get one killed.
He had learned a great deal about the Princess. The contrast of information between her and the Death Star was striking. She was adopted as a baby by the Queen of Alderaan. There were reams of holos of a baby swaddled in rich fabric, a tiara placed on her downy head. He was able, through the archives, to watch her grow through the years. Elected to the Senate. Dancing at a ball. He paid little attention to the content of her speeches as they held no significance to him. She was anti-Imperial. Piett looked closely at each young man that appeared with her, looking for resemblance to the two in the holo. Nothing. The last entry he found, other than those he came to call obituaries for the planet Alderaan, detailed her treason and called for her arrest.
"I shall try Corellia next, my Lord," he announced next, because he was grasping at straws, "and trace the bloodstripes. It is an uncommon item-"
This was also a good idea, but Vader wanted this kill for himself, even if Master Kenobi had warned him long ago not to indulge this trait. The Jedi were a team, his old master had recited to his young learner. All of us.
Us. Ironic. As a Jedi, Vader had wanted to stand out. His talent was too great to hold him back. Now he was alone, esteemed with terror if not respect, and all he wanted was to learn who else had survived the Death Star. And why their names were Luke and Leia.
He moved his finger again at Piett. "Do not send yourself on a wild bantha chase, Commander. Remember, Obi Wan Kenobi was on the Death Star. If the Jedi are regrouping, that fire must be stamped out."
"Yes, my Lord." There it was again, this illogical focus on the Jedi. And it was an unspoken order. "I welcome any suggestions, my Lord."
Vader didn't answer right away. He was thinking of the phrase, stamping out a fire. And his mind showed him a boot, his, stamping; not on a fire, but threadbare robes, empty. Gods, he hated the Jedi. He seethed a bit more, enjoying the invigorating feeling of power that filled his veins. The dark side was a drug.
Piett regretted speaking. If he'd stayed quiet, perhaps he'd be relieved of this difficult task. "There must be so few Jedi left, my Lord. I can't see-"
"There should be none," Vader spoke harshly. But then he reined himself in. Another lapse. A long one, that some Jedi survived the purge and eluded him still after almost twenty years. "The Jedi are master manipulators of the Force," he schooled his aid. "Find them. You found this one." He opened his palm toward the holo on his desk, where once again the offending speeder was hastily reversing out of the residential yard, and the blue lightsaber was pointed toward the sky. "Search anything and everything for activity out of the ordinary. The Code was written in Old Coruscanti. See if it has been revived."
Historical information about the Jedi was most likely gone, Vader knew. His master the Emperor had seen to that.
"Thank you, my Lord." Piett snapped a bow, though he felt like slumping to his toes in dejection. "I shall report my findings."
Han brought the speeder to a stop behind a storage shed of a large property. "I gotta pee," he told the other two.
Luke unstrapped as well. "I, uh," he stammered to Leia, "think I'll stretch my legs."
He was going behind the shed to join Han, Leia figured. Truth be told, she would give anything for a 'fresher, but not in the manner the two men used. "First make sure there are no security cameras around the property," she cautioned the men.
"Right," Luke nodded.
Leia didn't feel like waiting alone in the speeder. Stretching her legs was a sound idea. It was dark now. Threepio had been shut down a while, and his arms finally lowered to his lap. Luke had taken a short nap leaning against him.
There was a house in the near distance. She should stay away but for some reason was curious. A bright light shone in the window, which had no coverings and allowed Leia a clear glimpse inside. A dining room, set for dinnertime. A family- mother, father and one child, a boy- sat at a table. Plates were in front of them and some big bowls in the middle of the table. The boy was talking. His mother was smiling at him. The father listened. Leia watched, entranced. It was a charming scene, and it tore at her a little bit.
Han appeared next to her for a moment. His hand was on his hip, and he observed the scene. "Huh," he said. Leia looked at him curiously. "Hungry?" he said.
She had the feeling he wanted her to say yes, so she said, "No."
"I got an idea," he told her. "You're not gonna like it. But I'm hungry."
Leia watched open-mouthed as Han jogged to the entrance of the house. Somehow, she knew- from the open countryside, the bare window revealing all, the happy family- the front door would be unlocked. She saw the expressions of alarm on the parent's face. Soon she saw Han in the dining room, a look of charming apology on his face and his blaster pointed at them in his hand.
In her nineteen years, Leia spoke decorously, as befitting a Princess and Senator. Han Solo got her to curse. "Kriff you, Han ," she ground out as he terrorized an innocent family. "Luke," she hissed loudly into the darkness. "Get over here!"