Chapter Seventeen: The Justice of Revenge
Dec. 17th, 2013 02:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyofleithianIn which Mara and co. find out about Alderaan's destruction, and later have to do some quick thinking when the Death Star captures them. Also, Terminus has a bit of a twisted sort of talk with one of the Tantive IV crew members.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: First of all, I'm pleased to say that my French final is over. Let's say that I was stressing out about it for quite a while, so...well, let's say that this is like, "Thank God the evil is over!" (To quote the Nostalgia Critic. Granted, finals aren't necessarily evil, but still...) Second off, this was another one of my favorites to write, if only for Ben's reaction to Alderaan getting destroyed, as well as the matter of Terminus again. (I seem to have some sort of a pattern in terms of favorite scenes to write. I think I need help)
Also, got to sort of revise a bit in regards to one scene from "The Lawless" that's flashed back to in this chapter. Let's say I originally wrote "As the World Falls Down" long before that episode came out (obviously), and so incorporating all these new happenings was kind of difficult (let's say it seems to be a regular hazard, so to speak, with fanfic), but I think I managed to do it okay, and even work out one thing that was bugging me in particular. Honestly, that's one of many things I love about fanfic; it kind of allows you to deal with things in canon that are bugging you. (At least, that's definitely a perk for me)
Anyways, hope you enjoy.
It was in the midst of Mara’s lessons that she felt it. The explosion, inside her mind, and the screaming – the screaming of so many people, countless people, even as their lives were extinguished. Screaming, and then silence, even though the screaming still continued ringing inside her head. She dropped her lightsaber now, grabbed her head, practically digging her fingers into her scalp.
“What is it?” Beru’s voice. “Mara, sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“It…it…” Mara almost wanted to vocalize what was happening, what had just happened inside her head, but somehow, she thought, she couldn’t. It felt almost like her throat had seized up, preventing her from saying anything. As if her vocal chords, in that moment, failed to obey her. “They’re burning,” she finally managed to say. “They’re all burning. They shattered into pieces.”
“What do you mean?” Owen, this time, and Mara doubted that she had ever heard him or seen him more frightened. “Mara!”
“I felt it too.” Lady Nemo, this time. The woman’s face had tear tracks on it. “I felt a great disturbance in the Force. As if one million voices cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.” She rubbed her forehead. “I fear that something terrible happened to Alderaan.”
“Alderaan?” Owen sounded frightened now. “Don’t tell me that – what happened to Alderaan?”
Ben ran towards Mara this time, towards Lady Nemo. “Exactly,” he said, and Mara doubted that she had ever seen him this tense, or this afraid. “What happened to Alderaan, Lady Nemo? Please, tell me that Father’s all right…”
“I think I just found Alderaan.” Han, this time, coming down from the cockpit. “Or what’s left of it.”
“What do you mean?” Leia, this time. “What happened?”
They sat in the cockpit now, and Han sighed. “I swear that the coordinates are right,” he said, “But…no Alderaan. It’s like it’s been completely…it’s just gone.” He turned towards Ben and Leia. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Mara could see the sadness in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I…” He rubbed his temples. “I wasn’t expecting this. I knew that the Empire were a bunch of bastards. I didn’t expect this.”
“I know,” Leia said, and the steely look in her eyes, the utter hatred and rage in them, was enough to frighten Mara. And yet she was alongside Leia, and Ben, and Lady Nemo and Elizabeth Nerus, and Owen and Beru, and Vader, and Han and Chewie – all with the same rage and the same sadness in their eyes. In their faces. Because no matter what happened, no matter what their differences, no power in the galaxy itself was going to stop them from giving the Empire what they deserved. Namely, a defeat that they would never truly forget. They would pay. For everything that they had done in the past, and everything they had done now. Invasion. Murder. Genocide. Imprisonment and torture. All these things, all these things that they somehow thought that they would get away with simply because they were “in the right” – they ended now.
And even keeping that in mind, somehow, Mara thought, her shaking suddenly subsided. Because they were going to take the bastards down.
In the name of all those innocent people who had died on Alderaan just because the Empire thought somehow that they could keep the people of the galaxy in line – and really, how could they? They were in people’s homes, arresting their families or killing them, and so many other things that even thinking about was enough to make Mara sick. Of course people weren’t going to take it lying down – they were going to take those bastards down.
It was in that moment that a series of almost erratic beeps came from the control panel. Han sighed. “Oh, great. What now?”
And that, Mara thought, was another thing that she couldn’t disagree with. Alderaan, their destination, was gone. The Empire was no doubt in range. How could things even get any – ?
It was in that moment that she got her answer. A fighter. More precisely, an Imperial fighter, speeding towards them.
“It followed us.” Even Leia’s voice sounded tense in that moment. “But that makes no sense! You can’t follow someone into hyperspace.”
Mara took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s heading towards us, Leia.” If nothing else, the fighter seemed to be heading past them. Right towards that moon over there.
Except it wasn’t a moon. For starters, it was almost too big, Mara realized, to be a moon. Despite the fact that it was as white and as shiny as a moon ever was, it wasn’t a moon. Even through the pale glow of the structure, an almost eerie white shine, Mara could see that it was too ridged, too shiny, too…durasteel-looking to be a moon.
It was a space station, unlike any sort of space station that she had ever seen before. It was huge. More than huge. It seemed to dwarf the Millennium Falcon itself, and even the stars. It stood there, mighty, huge, like nothing that Mara had ever seen. For all intents and purposes, a space station like this couldn’t possibly exist. And yet here it was.
“It’s the one,” Ben said, “The Death Star.” He rubbed his head. “We managed to at least recover the Death Star plans in time. Now…if the Empire finds us – ’’
“Yeah,” Mara said, “I know.” She took a deep breath. “We better get out of here. Can you reverse it, Han?”
“Sure thing,” Han said. “Full reverse! Chewie, lock in the auxiliary power.”
Chewbacca did so. Except even that wasn’t any use. Because no sooner did Chewbacca do it that the ship lurched – only to be pulled towards the Death Star.
“What happened?” Mara said.
“We’re caught in a tractor beam,” Han said, “Just…calm down. I’m sure that we can fix this. Is the ship in the tractor beam too?”
Mara furrowed her brow. “You’re going somewhere with this, aren’t you?”
“If we can find a way to create a shroud to throw off the tractor beam,” Han said, “We can get out of this. We just need to destroy the fighter, assuming that it’s traveling along the same line as the tractor beam, and then we can distract the tractor beam enough to escape.”
Mara could only stare at Han. She had heard of plenty of ridiculous schemes, but this… “Are you a madman?” she said.
“Besides,” Ben said, “What if the crew of the Tantive IV is on there?”
Han turned around and stared at him. “What?”
“Our ship,” Leia said. “They were captured in the battle above Tatooine. It’s very likely that they were, at the very least.” She took a deep breath. “If they’re on board the Death Star somehow, we have to assist them.”
Mara couldn’t disagree with that. If they could at the very least try and save the people on board the Death Star, whatever prisoners they could –
The key was just to make it quick enough if only to avoid being captured by the Empire. Otherwise…if the Empire found the Death Star plans, Mara couldn’t imagine what would happen.
Han, meanwhile, seemed to be torn between disbelieving and impressed. “You two are either really brave or really crazy,” he said, “Or both.” He took a deep breath. “All right. Just hide in the floor compartments of the Millennium Falcon. It’s going to be uncomfortable, though, just to be warned.”
Chewbacca made a sound akin to disapproval.
Han sighed. “I know, Chewie,” he said, “But really, it might be the only way to get into the Empire without being captured. After all,” he said, with a sort of grin that Mara couldn’t help but at least find endearing, even despite herself. The man was frequently rude and rough and cocky and all those things that one wasn’t exactly supposed to find endearing – at least, as Mara had known back on Tatooine – but at the same time, the man knew how to turn on the charm if necessary. That, she supposed, and there was some hint of being a good guy in there. He probably just didn’t want others to see it. For what reason, she couldn’t say. “What are the odds that they’re going to be looking in the floor compartments? If there’s something that I’ve learned in terms of dodging Imperial ships, it’s that they’re really not as smart as they fancy themselves to be.”
“I think,” Vader said, “That goes without saying.” He took a deep breath. “We should get inside. Every moment delayed makes it all the more likely that they’ll catch us.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, pal. Come on.”
Even clambering inside the floor compartments, Mara knew, in a way, that Han was right. Even trying to bite back the protests as someone else got too close to her, stepped on her foot if only by mistake, scrunched into her space too much, or anything else, even trying to just bite her sleeve if only to avoid being heard by the people pulling the Millennium Falcon inside, there was something about just being in those cramped floor compartments that, somehow, seemed to stretch out forever. A horrible, uncertain sort of eternity, just banking on the faint hope of the Empire just not catching them. Still, she tried to calm herself, to still her breathing as best she could, if only so they wouldn’t be heard. Even hearing the faint chatter of Imperial officers as well as the comm voice giving announcements from the Imperial hangar, she willed herself if only slightly to stay calm.
It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to survive this, no matter what.
At the very least, Mara hoped that that would indeed be the case.
***
Ada knew full well that the Empire was monstrous. She had heard enough of it, seen enough of it, from her time in the Rebellion, acts such as Tarkin landing his Star Destroyer on unarmed protesters, people who had mostly been there, if nothing else, to protest the Empire’s brutality, not to harm anyone – they hadn’t even done anything to defend themselves when Tarkin had done what he’d done – but who had died anyway. She had heard enough of it from Terminus’ speeches and whatnot. And yet somehow, this…this, she was somehow not prepared for. She knew that the Death Star was made to be the Empire’s ultimate weapon, ready to destroy anything that dared threaten the Empire no matter what it was – to destroy it in just a few blasts or even just one blast, such as in this instance. But this…
What had Alderaan as a whole done wrong? They hadn’t done anything. Whatever they had done if only to oppose the Empire – and even that, Ada thought, that was mostly them doing what they could, if only to restore the peace to the galaxy that the Empire had all but robbed from them. No, they had robbed it from them. There was no sugarcoating it, no denying it, no nothing. They had effectively subjugated the people to a life of fear and tyranny, and no Empire, no government, should be built on the backs of fear and slavery. That was something that the Emperor, Terminus, their minions…something they would never truly understand – Alderaan had nothing to do with this. All those people, all those people who had died, they didn’t have anything to do with it, and the Empire had all but exterminated them in just one blast.
Terminus…even before the Death Star had fired, Ada could have sworn that he had looked – at least as best he could from behind the mask; for all intents and purposes, the mask seemed to cover any semblance of feeling, giving him almost the air of simply not caring. For all intents and purposes, he seemed detached from everything, above everything, more of a force of nature than a living or even relatively living being – almost remorseful. As if destroying Alderaan would be painful for him. But really, if it had pained him this much, why didn’t he say something? Anything at all? Why hadn’t he taken a stand, said no, had the guts to at least try and do what was right where others in the Empire wouldn’t? What had been holding him back?
It was in that moment that Terminus entered. Ada couldn’t help but almost hate the sound of his heavy breathing, the way it seemed to echo and fill the room like something out of a particularly horrid nightmare. The sound of his footsteps too, and the way that he seemed to tower over her, a great black-armored gargantuan, like something out of one’s nightmares. The Empire equivalent of the boogeyman, going after those who wouldn’t behave. And even looking at him, trying to keep her face steely, there was something in Ada that could not help but be afraid. But even that was overwhelmed by the sheer rage that filled her in that moment. Rage for what he had done to Alderaan, rage for what he had done in the name of the Empire. And rage for everyone who had died.
“I think it’s a little late to apologize, Lord Terminus.” Even trying to keep her voice calm, Ada swore that it was shaking with rage.
Terminus seemed to all but tilt his head a bit, almost as if curious at her predicament. Then, “Are you well?”
“You destroyed my home planet,” Ada said, “And so many innocent people who didn’t even have anything to do with any of this. I sure as all the stars themselves am not ‘well’.” She took a deep breath. “And my friends – you invaded their minds. You invaded my mind. There is nothing that you can even so much as say that’s going to convince me that you were somehow justified.”
“I – ’’
“Don’t. Just…just don’t.” At this point, Ada was already trying to take deep breaths, trying if only in vain not to think about her family – her family, who had nothing to do with any of this, roasted alive by the Death Star’s ray. And so many other families, who had nothing to do with any of this, burning, dying in agony, all because the Empire somehow wanted the galaxy to fear them. If they couldn’t inspire love from the citizens of the galaxy – and for damn good reason – then they would inspire fear instead.
Except they didn’t inspire fear. Not now, and not then either. The galaxy didn’t fear the Empire, and it wouldn’t now. They would fight back, and when the Empire lay in ashes finally, then Alderaan and so many innocents would be avenged.
Terminus didn’t even seem to strike her, or hurt her. Ada almost expected the strike, she couldn’t deny that. But instead, he said, “I know that this is feeble solace at best, but I never wanted this to happen. You are not the only one who lost someone this day.”
“What do you mean?” Terminus couldn’t possibly have loved ones back on Alderaan. Could he? Terminus didn’t seem to care for anyone, really.
She couldn’t picture him caring for anyone, at least.
“There was a former…friend of mine on Alderaan,” Terminus said, and though his vocoder couldn’t really capture the matter of normal human speech, such as it going softer or lower or whatnot, there was something about the way that he said the word “friend” that was almost like it. Almost as if whoever this friend was, they still caused much pain for him. “A Senator. He was a noble man, a kind man, and a good friend. And perhaps one of the best Senators that the Republic had ever known.”
Now, even in spite of herself, Ada almost couldn’t help but be fascinated. Something in her was already telling her not to listen to her, that he was no doubt lying to her, trying to turn the blame off him for what happened to Alderaan and instead to cast him in a more pitiable sort of light, and yet there was something about the way he was talking where, even in spite of everything, she couldn’t help but be curious about him, even though her curiosity was slight. Terminus was one of the first things to surface after the Emperor first declared the Empire, but to think that he existed back when the Republic was still the Republic…
What kind of lies and what sort of threats, she could not help but wonder, drove him from one side to the other? Or were there no lies or threats, and he just did this if only for power’s sake? She couldn’t say. A part of her already didn’t want to know the answer.
“But if he was down there,” Ada said, “Why didn’t you say something? I mean, you’re the Emperor’s right hand man,” and already, she thought, she couldn’t believe that she was all but giving the Emperor’s right hand man advice, but really, she was. And she at least had to know why. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“The Emperor,” Terminus said, “Is not a forgiving man. Besides, Tarkin – as you said quite eloquently, he was holding my leash.”
Ada had at least suspected that Tarkin had a stronger hold on Terminus than either of them really let on. She didn’t think, really, that her suspicion would turn out to be the truth.
“But you don’t have to put up with him,” she said.
“I’m afraid I do. The Emperor’s will is difficult to disobey. He made it…quite clear to me the last time that I disobeyed.”
Already, horrible possibilities flashed through Ada’s mind, and she winced. What could the Emperor have done to Terminus that was so terrible as for Terminus to not disobey him again? She almost didn’t want to know the answer. The Emperor was not a merciful man. It was highly unlikely that he would ever truly go easy on Terminus. “What do you mean?”
It was then that Terminus went silent. “It does not matter,” he said.
“What?” How could he even say that? Mentioning all of this, the matter of his friend – whoever he or she was, really – and the matter of the Emperor and wanting to at least fight back against him somewhat and then just finishing it with “It does not matter”? What sense did that even make?
“It does not matter,” Terminus said, “I have suffered worse indignities.” A beat. “And I cannot say why I am discussing them with you. I can only assume that I have gone mad.”
Now, almost in spite of herself, Ada could not help but pity him. “I can imagine that being Lord Terminus can be lonely,” she said. “Why do you continue?”
Silence.
“What makes you believe that I have a choice in this matter?”
It was long after Terminus left if only to investigate a report from the Death Star docking bay that Ada was left in thought. Terminus was good at manipulating people, she knew that full well. After the methods of torture that he had used if only to weasel information about the Rebel base, the Death Star plans, and the ambassadors out of her (along with other things), she knew that it was foolish to trust him. And yet there was something in him that seemed so very vulnerable, so very saddened in that moment, that somehow, in spite of herself, she couldn’t help but pity him.
Ada sighed. It was far too easy, she thought, to see the Empire as nothing more than monsters. It had been one of many things keeping the Rebellion going after all these years – just to take down the monsters that had enslaved them, the monsters that had no business being there. The monsters that had destroyed everything that the Republic had tried so hard to uphold. Monsters, monsters, always monsters. Whenever things got particularly terrible, one had to remember the monsters that threatened them still, the monsters that were still out there, and fighting on, moving forward, continued being easy.
Except for a moment, Terminus didn’t seem like a monster. He seemed like a man. It probably didn’t matter – even monsters had their moments of kindness. It didn’t mean they were kind people. And yet…
In the end, Ada thought, the best that she could really do was focus on finding a way out. They were going to be executed soon, for their “crimes” – even though really, their only crimes were fighting against a corrupt government. They hadn’t really even wanted to harm anyone. They mostly wanted peace. And the Empire had destroyed them anyway. It didn’t seem to matter, at least, to the Empire, who they were. They were traitors who deserved to be punished. Even if it meant that others would be undeservingly punished with them.
Perhaps that was why Terminus visited – another possible reason, at least. To try and comfort her before her inevitable death. But he didn’t know that she wasn’t ready to die, and neither were the others. They were of Alderaan, after all. They would not surrender. Their wills were made from durasteel, and their courage was strong.
And at least keeping this in mind, even somewhat, was enough to comfort Ada.
***
It didn’t matter.
Whatever she said, it didn’t matter, not really. It wasn’t him who ultimately gave the orders to destroy Alderaan. It wasn’t him. It was Tarkin. After all, Tarkin was nothing but a sadistic monster, he was nothing, he was completely and utterly –
And yet at the same time, something in Terminus already said that she had a point, and a more than valid one as well. After all, he hadn’t given the orders if only to destroy that planet, and he hadn’t pulled the trigger either. But by standing by, simply doing what he was told, he might as well have pulled that trigger.
And somehow, he thought, that was perhaps the worst part about it. About all of it. The fact that even though he hadn’t pulled the trigger, not really, he might as well have pulled it. That he might as well have ordered the destruction of Alderaan just by standing back, just by doing nothing.
And yet what was he supposed to do, in the end? Tarkin had power over him. Tarkin was all but holding his leash. Tarkin had control over him – because Tarkin was one of the Emperor’s favorites. For all intents and purposes, he couldn’t go against Tarkin any more than he could go against the Emperor.
And somehow, Terminus thought, that was one of the worst parts about all of this. He had always been a soldier following commands – as Vader had once derisively told him, back when they were enemies, all while neglecting to realize that in a way, he was a soldier following commands as well. Were they really that different, in the end? – doing what he was told, following the Jedi Code to the letter, the very Code that was all but drilled into every youngling’s head since they first learned to pick up a training saber and fend off seeker droids, if only in preparation for the trials that would face them in the real world. After all, the real world, the galaxy at large – the galaxy at large was far from kind. Ruusan had taught the Order that well enough, if history was anything to go by.
He had always been doing what he was told. And joining the Empire, somehow – somehow, he almost couldn’t see the difference between following the Code to the letter back when he was a Jedi, back when he was still a Padawan, back when he was still a Knight, back when he was still a Master, really, and following the Emperor’s orders in the Empire.
The difference was that the Jedi didn’t willingly slaughter innocents.
Yes, Terminus thought. That was definitely the difference. For all the Jedi’s crimes, such as torture (he could still remember Padme’s terror and distress long after the interrogation of Cad Bane), they wouldn’t blow up a planet filled with innocent people willingly, if only to punish traitors, real or perceived. They wouldn’t do that. And even if they did, they would at least have the decency to feel remorse.
Tarkin…as far as Terminus was concerned, he didn’t have any remorse, any humanity, left in him. All that seemed to be left in him was a bitter sort of hatred for the Rebellion for threatening the Empire, a sort of hatred that was enough to chill Terminus, and he was purely machine. He couldn’t say that he had the capacity to feel cold or fear left, and Tarkin’s behavior, somehow, made him feel almost afraid. Not for himself, necessarily, but for the others who would most likely suffer the consequences of what Tarkin was doing. Because Tarkin wouldn’t stop. For all intents and purposes, he would keep going until there were no planets left, no stars left, no moons or suns. He would keep going until the galaxies themselves were obliterated, and there was only the Death Star left. He would do anything if only to subjugate the galaxy itself, to make it not rebel.
Except if there was anything that Terminus had learned during the Clone Wars, it was the simple, honest fact that when there was tyranny, when there was oppression, there was always someone there to fight it. He could still remember his confrontation with Maul, when he, Padme and Sabe were trying to save Satine.
“It takes strength to resist the Dark Side,” Obi-Wan said, and for however cruel it was, he had to somehow find a way to rage against Maul, at least in the figurative sense. To resist him. To let Maul know that whatever he did, he had no power over any of them. “Only the weak embrace it.”
A sort of fury that Obi-Wan doubted he had seen from Maul – even when he had killed Qui-Gon, he had been disconcertingly calm about it. There wasn’t even a flash of hatred in his eyes, just a calm sort of finality – came into the Zabrak’s golden eyes. And something in Obi-Wan, though he knew that it was wrong, could not help but feel almost satisfied. Touched a nerve, I see. Just telling Maul, effectively, that he was nothing but an empty and sad and pathetic and hollow creature was enough, at least, to help Obi-Wan keep from collapsing, even as he watched Satine – the woman who had hardly done anything wrong except try and make a better world for Mandalore – all but writhe in Maul’s force-grip. He could at least hope that Maul didn’t decide to take out his anger further on Satine. He could only hope.
“Those who embrace the Dark Side are stronger than you know.” And there was something about Maul’s face that terrified Obi-Wan in spite of himself, even though Obi-Wan tried to hide it. It was practically grinning at him like something out of one of Obi-Wan’s nightmares.
“And those who resist it are stronger than you’ll ever be!” It was no doubt a feeble rage against what was happening on Mandalore, all this suffering that Maul and the others were causing – and even just seeing it, what they had done to Satine; Obi-Wan knew that rage and revenge was of the Dark Side as well as hatred and hunger for power (something that Maul had in spades, as well as a sort of fierce loyalty that he hadn’t expected from someone from an Order whose main trait was backstabbing one another to gain more power, something the Jedi never would do), and yet just seeing the humiliation that they had put Satine through, watching everything she had ever worked for crumble…
He wanted to humiliate Maul, to anger him. He wanted to punish him. Never mind whatever Maul had suffered; somehow, even that was nothing next to the suffering that he had put others through. All those people, dead because of him.
The hatred in Maul’s eyes blazed almost like the fires of Mustafar themselves.
“Maul,” Obi-Wan said if only softly, “I am…sorry for what Sidious did to you. Whatever he did to you. But you can’t continue doing this. You’ve done terrible things this day, and they end now.” He drew his lightsaber. “If you want to have another victim, take us, but leave the people of Mandalore in peace.”
But Maul hadn’t, and Satine had died. Even thinking of her, it was almost hard to suppress his anger towards Maul, the guilt he felt (if only he could have saved her, if only, if only), the hatred he had felt towards the Force for allowing something like this to happen (how could it simply allow this to happen, how could it?) and most of all, the fact that more than anything, he missed Satine. She had been one of the most devoted and one of the bravest women he had ever known, and a dear friend. If there was a chance to walk the white current, to bring back those who had died during the Clone Wars…
In truth, he would probably bring back all of them (because really, what was the point of any of their deaths? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all). But he knew that one of them that he would bring back, along with Ahsoka, was Satine. Because she deserved so much more than this. More than anything, she deserved so much more than this.
The best he could do was at least attempt to work from the inside. And to find Mara. The last trace of Sabe that he had.
In a way, he thought, Mara reminded him a lot of those he had lost. She reminded him of Sabe, obviously, with her fire and devotion, but she reminded him of Satine with her strength, and Ahsoka with her determination and her skill.
Even thinking about it was enough to hurt more than anything else.
But he knew full well that this was no time for mourning. Not now. This was the time for action. So even as he listened to the officer next to him, saying that the crew of the ship they had just captured had no doubt abandoned ship right after takeoff (smart, Terminus thought. No doubt futile in the end, but smart) and that the escape pods had been jettisoned (again, futile but smart), Terminus listened if only carefully. Then, “Did you find any of the droids?”
“No, sir.”
“The ambassadors?”
“No, sir.”
“The girl from Tatooine?”
Terminus could have sworn that the officer raised an eyebrow. Then, “No, sir. Not really.”
Terminus sighed. This was going to be a long day, to say the very least. “Send a scanning crew aboard the freighter. I want every part of it checked.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer then walked away. “Send a scanning crew aboard,” he said to the others. “Lord Terminus wants every part of the ship checked!”
If Terminus could smile under the mask, he no doubt would have. For all the instances of incompetence in the Empire (and there were, in truth, many instances of them. For all the good soldiers in the Empire, there were plenty who seemed to exist solely to try Terminus’ patience), there were plenty of good, loyal soldiers, willing to do whatever they could to protect the Empire. Not men like Tarkin, who seemed to solely exist if only to show the worst traits of the Empire – ruthlessness, hatred, cruelty – but men who were willing to die in the Empire’s service, protecting their citizens from the Rebellion – a group that seemed to think that everything they did was perfectly all right as long as they were somehow doing it for the sake of the Republic – an institution that was already dying before Sidious even came along. Before he, Terminus, even came along. Men who were willing to protect the Empire whatever it took.
And those men…who were they, if not to have their loyalty somehow rewarded? Anyone who showed loyalty to the Empire more than deserved it in return. A reward as well, if only for their loyalty.
If Terminus could smile under the mask, he would have. Sadly, it seemed that the fires of Sullust seemed to have taken that away from him as well, in more ways than one. After everything that had happened – Sabe turning against him, for example, and Padme, and so many others – it was hardly implausible to say that Terminus’ faith in just about everything else had been shaken. Add in Vader’s betrayal and whatnot…
Others liked to call him a monster. Some of the Jedi he hunted, for example, on the Emperor’s orders…they were more than happy if only to call him a monster, a traitor, which, Terminus thought darkly, was a lot like Nute Gunray calling someone else greedy or cruel or cowardly or corrupt. Because the Jedi had already proven their status as traitors, all when they had tried to kill the Chancellor instead of taking him to trial, all because he was part of a group that they hated the most.
Except, Terminus thought, what if he had let Mace kill Palpatine?
But would it have been right? Did they, in the end, have the right to do this, any of this?
Did they have the right to kill the man, in cold blood?
It was a sort of question that Terminus doubted that he could ever truly answer, because the answer itself…the answer itself seemed to forever elude him. Should he have let Mace kill Palpatine? A lot of suffering would have no doubt been averted, but even so…
The best he could do, at least in the end, was find Mara. The girl from Tatooine. The girl, he thought, that had Sabe’s fire. Their beautiful, wonderful daughter, who they thought they would raise on Naboo, long ago, in a brief moment of innocence during the Clone Wars, when they thought that everything would turn out to be all right in the end.
He would find Mara. He would find Sabe, Padme, and the others. And perhaps they would set things right again. Overthrow the Emperor, rule the galaxy, make things as they should be.
Yes, Terminus thought, he could do that.
***
Even as Mara continued to huddle in the compartments, biting down tightly on her sleeve if only to prevent herself from making any sort of noise (even breathing, really) that would lead to her and the others being discovered, she could not help but feel a growing sense of a sort of unease, even as the officer continued to sweep the ship. The continuous sound of footsteps echoing above her, and the spikes of unease, even as the officer continued walking about, giving distant orders as to “search the cockpit” and “search this room”, continued. Mara tried to tell herself, at the very least, to calm down, that it was going to be all right. To not panic. If she panicked, the officer would most surely find them, and that would ruin everything that they were working for. For example, other star systems most likely suffering the same fate as Alderaan already did.
Alderaan… Even thinking about it was enough to make Mara’s blood boil. What had Alderaan done if only to warrant such punishment? Alderaan was a peaceful planet, at least from what she had heard. Full of scientists and philosophers. Hardly people who posed any sort of threat to the Empire. And if the Empire really, honestly, thought that destroying Alderaan would pose as some sort of object lesson…
Mara was grateful that she was biting down on her sleeve in that moment. Because if she wasn’t…
Eventually, the sound of the officer giving orders, walking about, faded into the distance until it faded completely. Han’s hand on her shoulder was almost gentle. “It’s okay, kiddo. You can breathe now.”
Mara removed the sleeve from her mouth, opened the compartment door, gasping frantically if only for air. It’s all right. You’re all right. They didn’t find you. And yet at the same time, it had been so close, so stanging close, that she could not help but still be terrified. Still, she forced air back into her lungs. Thank goodness, she thought, that they hadn’t been caught.
Thank goodness the Imps were stupid enough to not check the floor compartments, she thought, if only wryly. For people who prided themselves on being able to catch traitors on sight, they really weren’t that good at their jobs. Not really.
Behind Mara, other floor panels opened if only to reveal the others. Chewbacca groaned if only softly; apparently, Mara thought, she was in good company in regards to how unpleasant being in there really was. She turned towards him, gave him a sympathetic smile, and Han gently sort of patted his head.
“It’s a good thing you had those compartments,” Leia said, if only wryly. She seemed to be thinking the same thing that Mara was. Good thing that the Imps didn’t think of looking in the floor compartments.
Han sighed. “I usually use this stuff for smuggling. I didn’t think I was going to be smuggling myself or anyone else in them.” He ran a hand through his hair, seeming almost agitated. “Honestly, this is ridiculous. This is probably the most ridiculous mission I’ve had and I’ve had my share of ridiculous missions…”
“There’s no need to say that,” Lady Nemo said. “It’s possible to get the crew of the Tantive IV, then get past the tractor beam and to the Rebel base before the Empire can catch us.”
Han snorted. “Yeah. That’ll work.”
“Actually,” Elizabeth Nerus said, “If we stayed behind, shut off the tractor beam – ’’
And already, Mara could not help but panic if only on the inside, because she knew what that meant. It would be more than likely, really, that if the Empire found them, they would kill them. They would torture them if they didn’t kill them. And somehow, Mara didn’t want to risk either option.
“Lady Nemo,” she said, “Miss Nerus – ’’
“I think you can call me,” Elizabeth Nerus said, “Elizabeth.” And there was something in the way she said it, something in the sort of wavering of that word, that suggested that there was a certain agony in what she wanted to say but couldn’t say. But what could she possibly be suppressing that she couldn’t say?
“All right,” Mara said, “Elizabeth, Lady Nemo…you don’t have to do this. Trust me. You don’t.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to throw your lives away like this. Just…trust me on this.”
Elizabeth smiled if only sadly. “It’s what we’ve always done,” she said. “What we were born to do. There’s no need to worry, Mara.” A beat. “If it means keeping you and the others safe, then by the stars themselves, we’ll do it.”
A beat.
“You…” Mara bit her lip. “You’re very noble,” she finally managed to say. “The both of you. You really are.”
And she swore that a smile more radiant than the twin suns themselves came over Elizabeth Nerus’ face. There was something lovely about it, she thought – lighting up the beautiful if almost sad face with a sort of intensity that she doubted that she had ever seen before. A sort of light that came to her face, to her dark brown eyes, that was beautiful to watch.
And somehow, Lady Nemo seemed to be smiling as well.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: First of all, I'm pleased to say that my French final is over. Let's say that I was stressing out about it for quite a while, so...well, let's say that this is like, "Thank God the evil is over!" (To quote the Nostalgia Critic. Granted, finals aren't necessarily evil, but still...) Second off, this was another one of my favorites to write, if only for Ben's reaction to Alderaan getting destroyed, as well as the matter of Terminus again. (I seem to have some sort of a pattern in terms of favorite scenes to write. I think I need help)
Also, got to sort of revise a bit in regards to one scene from "The Lawless" that's flashed back to in this chapter. Let's say I originally wrote "As the World Falls Down" long before that episode came out (obviously), and so incorporating all these new happenings was kind of difficult (let's say it seems to be a regular hazard, so to speak, with fanfic), but I think I managed to do it okay, and even work out one thing that was bugging me in particular. Honestly, that's one of many things I love about fanfic; it kind of allows you to deal with things in canon that are bugging you. (At least, that's definitely a perk for me)
Anyways, hope you enjoy.
It was in the midst of Mara’s lessons that she felt it. The explosion, inside her mind, and the screaming – the screaming of so many people, countless people, even as their lives were extinguished. Screaming, and then silence, even though the screaming still continued ringing inside her head. She dropped her lightsaber now, grabbed her head, practically digging her fingers into her scalp.
“What is it?” Beru’s voice. “Mara, sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“It…it…” Mara almost wanted to vocalize what was happening, what had just happened inside her head, but somehow, she thought, she couldn’t. It felt almost like her throat had seized up, preventing her from saying anything. As if her vocal chords, in that moment, failed to obey her. “They’re burning,” she finally managed to say. “They’re all burning. They shattered into pieces.”
“What do you mean?” Owen, this time, and Mara doubted that she had ever heard him or seen him more frightened. “Mara!”
“I felt it too.” Lady Nemo, this time. The woman’s face had tear tracks on it. “I felt a great disturbance in the Force. As if one million voices cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.” She rubbed her forehead. “I fear that something terrible happened to Alderaan.”
“Alderaan?” Owen sounded frightened now. “Don’t tell me that – what happened to Alderaan?”
Ben ran towards Mara this time, towards Lady Nemo. “Exactly,” he said, and Mara doubted that she had ever seen him this tense, or this afraid. “What happened to Alderaan, Lady Nemo? Please, tell me that Father’s all right…”
“I think I just found Alderaan.” Han, this time, coming down from the cockpit. “Or what’s left of it.”
“What do you mean?” Leia, this time. “What happened?”
They sat in the cockpit now, and Han sighed. “I swear that the coordinates are right,” he said, “But…no Alderaan. It’s like it’s been completely…it’s just gone.” He turned towards Ben and Leia. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Mara could see the sadness in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I…” He rubbed his temples. “I wasn’t expecting this. I knew that the Empire were a bunch of bastards. I didn’t expect this.”
“I know,” Leia said, and the steely look in her eyes, the utter hatred and rage in them, was enough to frighten Mara. And yet she was alongside Leia, and Ben, and Lady Nemo and Elizabeth Nerus, and Owen and Beru, and Vader, and Han and Chewie – all with the same rage and the same sadness in their eyes. In their faces. Because no matter what happened, no matter what their differences, no power in the galaxy itself was going to stop them from giving the Empire what they deserved. Namely, a defeat that they would never truly forget. They would pay. For everything that they had done in the past, and everything they had done now. Invasion. Murder. Genocide. Imprisonment and torture. All these things, all these things that they somehow thought that they would get away with simply because they were “in the right” – they ended now.
And even keeping that in mind, somehow, Mara thought, her shaking suddenly subsided. Because they were going to take the bastards down.
In the name of all those innocent people who had died on Alderaan just because the Empire thought somehow that they could keep the people of the galaxy in line – and really, how could they? They were in people’s homes, arresting their families or killing them, and so many other things that even thinking about was enough to make Mara sick. Of course people weren’t going to take it lying down – they were going to take those bastards down.
It was in that moment that a series of almost erratic beeps came from the control panel. Han sighed. “Oh, great. What now?”
And that, Mara thought, was another thing that she couldn’t disagree with. Alderaan, their destination, was gone. The Empire was no doubt in range. How could things even get any – ?
It was in that moment that she got her answer. A fighter. More precisely, an Imperial fighter, speeding towards them.
“It followed us.” Even Leia’s voice sounded tense in that moment. “But that makes no sense! You can’t follow someone into hyperspace.”
Mara took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s heading towards us, Leia.” If nothing else, the fighter seemed to be heading past them. Right towards that moon over there.
Except it wasn’t a moon. For starters, it was almost too big, Mara realized, to be a moon. Despite the fact that it was as white and as shiny as a moon ever was, it wasn’t a moon. Even through the pale glow of the structure, an almost eerie white shine, Mara could see that it was too ridged, too shiny, too…durasteel-looking to be a moon.
It was a space station, unlike any sort of space station that she had ever seen before. It was huge. More than huge. It seemed to dwarf the Millennium Falcon itself, and even the stars. It stood there, mighty, huge, like nothing that Mara had ever seen. For all intents and purposes, a space station like this couldn’t possibly exist. And yet here it was.
“It’s the one,” Ben said, “The Death Star.” He rubbed his head. “We managed to at least recover the Death Star plans in time. Now…if the Empire finds us – ’’
“Yeah,” Mara said, “I know.” She took a deep breath. “We better get out of here. Can you reverse it, Han?”
“Sure thing,” Han said. “Full reverse! Chewie, lock in the auxiliary power.”
Chewbacca did so. Except even that wasn’t any use. Because no sooner did Chewbacca do it that the ship lurched – only to be pulled towards the Death Star.
“What happened?” Mara said.
“We’re caught in a tractor beam,” Han said, “Just…calm down. I’m sure that we can fix this. Is the ship in the tractor beam too?”
Mara furrowed her brow. “You’re going somewhere with this, aren’t you?”
“If we can find a way to create a shroud to throw off the tractor beam,” Han said, “We can get out of this. We just need to destroy the fighter, assuming that it’s traveling along the same line as the tractor beam, and then we can distract the tractor beam enough to escape.”
Mara could only stare at Han. She had heard of plenty of ridiculous schemes, but this… “Are you a madman?” she said.
“Besides,” Ben said, “What if the crew of the Tantive IV is on there?”
Han turned around and stared at him. “What?”
“Our ship,” Leia said. “They were captured in the battle above Tatooine. It’s very likely that they were, at the very least.” She took a deep breath. “If they’re on board the Death Star somehow, we have to assist them.”
Mara couldn’t disagree with that. If they could at the very least try and save the people on board the Death Star, whatever prisoners they could –
The key was just to make it quick enough if only to avoid being captured by the Empire. Otherwise…if the Empire found the Death Star plans, Mara couldn’t imagine what would happen.
Han, meanwhile, seemed to be torn between disbelieving and impressed. “You two are either really brave or really crazy,” he said, “Or both.” He took a deep breath. “All right. Just hide in the floor compartments of the Millennium Falcon. It’s going to be uncomfortable, though, just to be warned.”
Chewbacca made a sound akin to disapproval.
Han sighed. “I know, Chewie,” he said, “But really, it might be the only way to get into the Empire without being captured. After all,” he said, with a sort of grin that Mara couldn’t help but at least find endearing, even despite herself. The man was frequently rude and rough and cocky and all those things that one wasn’t exactly supposed to find endearing – at least, as Mara had known back on Tatooine – but at the same time, the man knew how to turn on the charm if necessary. That, she supposed, and there was some hint of being a good guy in there. He probably just didn’t want others to see it. For what reason, she couldn’t say. “What are the odds that they’re going to be looking in the floor compartments? If there’s something that I’ve learned in terms of dodging Imperial ships, it’s that they’re really not as smart as they fancy themselves to be.”
“I think,” Vader said, “That goes without saying.” He took a deep breath. “We should get inside. Every moment delayed makes it all the more likely that they’ll catch us.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, pal. Come on.”
Even clambering inside the floor compartments, Mara knew, in a way, that Han was right. Even trying to bite back the protests as someone else got too close to her, stepped on her foot if only by mistake, scrunched into her space too much, or anything else, even trying to just bite her sleeve if only to avoid being heard by the people pulling the Millennium Falcon inside, there was something about just being in those cramped floor compartments that, somehow, seemed to stretch out forever. A horrible, uncertain sort of eternity, just banking on the faint hope of the Empire just not catching them. Still, she tried to calm herself, to still her breathing as best she could, if only so they wouldn’t be heard. Even hearing the faint chatter of Imperial officers as well as the comm voice giving announcements from the Imperial hangar, she willed herself if only slightly to stay calm.
It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to survive this, no matter what.
At the very least, Mara hoped that that would indeed be the case.
***
Ada knew full well that the Empire was monstrous. She had heard enough of it, seen enough of it, from her time in the Rebellion, acts such as Tarkin landing his Star Destroyer on unarmed protesters, people who had mostly been there, if nothing else, to protest the Empire’s brutality, not to harm anyone – they hadn’t even done anything to defend themselves when Tarkin had done what he’d done – but who had died anyway. She had heard enough of it from Terminus’ speeches and whatnot. And yet somehow, this…this, she was somehow not prepared for. She knew that the Death Star was made to be the Empire’s ultimate weapon, ready to destroy anything that dared threaten the Empire no matter what it was – to destroy it in just a few blasts or even just one blast, such as in this instance. But this…
What had Alderaan as a whole done wrong? They hadn’t done anything. Whatever they had done if only to oppose the Empire – and even that, Ada thought, that was mostly them doing what they could, if only to restore the peace to the galaxy that the Empire had all but robbed from them. No, they had robbed it from them. There was no sugarcoating it, no denying it, no nothing. They had effectively subjugated the people to a life of fear and tyranny, and no Empire, no government, should be built on the backs of fear and slavery. That was something that the Emperor, Terminus, their minions…something they would never truly understand – Alderaan had nothing to do with this. All those people, all those people who had died, they didn’t have anything to do with it, and the Empire had all but exterminated them in just one blast.
Terminus…even before the Death Star had fired, Ada could have sworn that he had looked – at least as best he could from behind the mask; for all intents and purposes, the mask seemed to cover any semblance of feeling, giving him almost the air of simply not caring. For all intents and purposes, he seemed detached from everything, above everything, more of a force of nature than a living or even relatively living being – almost remorseful. As if destroying Alderaan would be painful for him. But really, if it had pained him this much, why didn’t he say something? Anything at all? Why hadn’t he taken a stand, said no, had the guts to at least try and do what was right where others in the Empire wouldn’t? What had been holding him back?
It was in that moment that Terminus entered. Ada couldn’t help but almost hate the sound of his heavy breathing, the way it seemed to echo and fill the room like something out of a particularly horrid nightmare. The sound of his footsteps too, and the way that he seemed to tower over her, a great black-armored gargantuan, like something out of one’s nightmares. The Empire equivalent of the boogeyman, going after those who wouldn’t behave. And even looking at him, trying to keep her face steely, there was something in Ada that could not help but be afraid. But even that was overwhelmed by the sheer rage that filled her in that moment. Rage for what he had done to Alderaan, rage for what he had done in the name of the Empire. And rage for everyone who had died.
“I think it’s a little late to apologize, Lord Terminus.” Even trying to keep her voice calm, Ada swore that it was shaking with rage.
Terminus seemed to all but tilt his head a bit, almost as if curious at her predicament. Then, “Are you well?”
“You destroyed my home planet,” Ada said, “And so many innocent people who didn’t even have anything to do with any of this. I sure as all the stars themselves am not ‘well’.” She took a deep breath. “And my friends – you invaded their minds. You invaded my mind. There is nothing that you can even so much as say that’s going to convince me that you were somehow justified.”
“I – ’’
“Don’t. Just…just don’t.” At this point, Ada was already trying to take deep breaths, trying if only in vain not to think about her family – her family, who had nothing to do with any of this, roasted alive by the Death Star’s ray. And so many other families, who had nothing to do with any of this, burning, dying in agony, all because the Empire somehow wanted the galaxy to fear them. If they couldn’t inspire love from the citizens of the galaxy – and for damn good reason – then they would inspire fear instead.
Except they didn’t inspire fear. Not now, and not then either. The galaxy didn’t fear the Empire, and it wouldn’t now. They would fight back, and when the Empire lay in ashes finally, then Alderaan and so many innocents would be avenged.
Terminus didn’t even seem to strike her, or hurt her. Ada almost expected the strike, she couldn’t deny that. But instead, he said, “I know that this is feeble solace at best, but I never wanted this to happen. You are not the only one who lost someone this day.”
“What do you mean?” Terminus couldn’t possibly have loved ones back on Alderaan. Could he? Terminus didn’t seem to care for anyone, really.
She couldn’t picture him caring for anyone, at least.
“There was a former…friend of mine on Alderaan,” Terminus said, and though his vocoder couldn’t really capture the matter of normal human speech, such as it going softer or lower or whatnot, there was something about the way that he said the word “friend” that was almost like it. Almost as if whoever this friend was, they still caused much pain for him. “A Senator. He was a noble man, a kind man, and a good friend. And perhaps one of the best Senators that the Republic had ever known.”
Now, even in spite of herself, Ada almost couldn’t help but be fascinated. Something in her was already telling her not to listen to her, that he was no doubt lying to her, trying to turn the blame off him for what happened to Alderaan and instead to cast him in a more pitiable sort of light, and yet there was something about the way he was talking where, even in spite of everything, she couldn’t help but be curious about him, even though her curiosity was slight. Terminus was one of the first things to surface after the Emperor first declared the Empire, but to think that he existed back when the Republic was still the Republic…
What kind of lies and what sort of threats, she could not help but wonder, drove him from one side to the other? Or were there no lies or threats, and he just did this if only for power’s sake? She couldn’t say. A part of her already didn’t want to know the answer.
“But if he was down there,” Ada said, “Why didn’t you say something? I mean, you’re the Emperor’s right hand man,” and already, she thought, she couldn’t believe that she was all but giving the Emperor’s right hand man advice, but really, she was. And she at least had to know why. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“The Emperor,” Terminus said, “Is not a forgiving man. Besides, Tarkin – as you said quite eloquently, he was holding my leash.”
Ada had at least suspected that Tarkin had a stronger hold on Terminus than either of them really let on. She didn’t think, really, that her suspicion would turn out to be the truth.
“But you don’t have to put up with him,” she said.
“I’m afraid I do. The Emperor’s will is difficult to disobey. He made it…quite clear to me the last time that I disobeyed.”
Already, horrible possibilities flashed through Ada’s mind, and she winced. What could the Emperor have done to Terminus that was so terrible as for Terminus to not disobey him again? She almost didn’t want to know the answer. The Emperor was not a merciful man. It was highly unlikely that he would ever truly go easy on Terminus. “What do you mean?”
It was then that Terminus went silent. “It does not matter,” he said.
“What?” How could he even say that? Mentioning all of this, the matter of his friend – whoever he or she was, really – and the matter of the Emperor and wanting to at least fight back against him somewhat and then just finishing it with “It does not matter”? What sense did that even make?
“It does not matter,” Terminus said, “I have suffered worse indignities.” A beat. “And I cannot say why I am discussing them with you. I can only assume that I have gone mad.”
Now, almost in spite of herself, Ada could not help but pity him. “I can imagine that being Lord Terminus can be lonely,” she said. “Why do you continue?”
Silence.
“What makes you believe that I have a choice in this matter?”
It was long after Terminus left if only to investigate a report from the Death Star docking bay that Ada was left in thought. Terminus was good at manipulating people, she knew that full well. After the methods of torture that he had used if only to weasel information about the Rebel base, the Death Star plans, and the ambassadors out of her (along with other things), she knew that it was foolish to trust him. And yet there was something in him that seemed so very vulnerable, so very saddened in that moment, that somehow, in spite of herself, she couldn’t help but pity him.
Ada sighed. It was far too easy, she thought, to see the Empire as nothing more than monsters. It had been one of many things keeping the Rebellion going after all these years – just to take down the monsters that had enslaved them, the monsters that had no business being there. The monsters that had destroyed everything that the Republic had tried so hard to uphold. Monsters, monsters, always monsters. Whenever things got particularly terrible, one had to remember the monsters that threatened them still, the monsters that were still out there, and fighting on, moving forward, continued being easy.
Except for a moment, Terminus didn’t seem like a monster. He seemed like a man. It probably didn’t matter – even monsters had their moments of kindness. It didn’t mean they were kind people. And yet…
In the end, Ada thought, the best that she could really do was focus on finding a way out. They were going to be executed soon, for their “crimes” – even though really, their only crimes were fighting against a corrupt government. They hadn’t really even wanted to harm anyone. They mostly wanted peace. And the Empire had destroyed them anyway. It didn’t seem to matter, at least, to the Empire, who they were. They were traitors who deserved to be punished. Even if it meant that others would be undeservingly punished with them.
Perhaps that was why Terminus visited – another possible reason, at least. To try and comfort her before her inevitable death. But he didn’t know that she wasn’t ready to die, and neither were the others. They were of Alderaan, after all. They would not surrender. Their wills were made from durasteel, and their courage was strong.
And at least keeping this in mind, even somewhat, was enough to comfort Ada.
***
It didn’t matter.
Whatever she said, it didn’t matter, not really. It wasn’t him who ultimately gave the orders to destroy Alderaan. It wasn’t him. It was Tarkin. After all, Tarkin was nothing but a sadistic monster, he was nothing, he was completely and utterly –
And yet at the same time, something in Terminus already said that she had a point, and a more than valid one as well. After all, he hadn’t given the orders if only to destroy that planet, and he hadn’t pulled the trigger either. But by standing by, simply doing what he was told, he might as well have pulled that trigger.
And somehow, he thought, that was perhaps the worst part about it. About all of it. The fact that even though he hadn’t pulled the trigger, not really, he might as well have pulled it. That he might as well have ordered the destruction of Alderaan just by standing back, just by doing nothing.
And yet what was he supposed to do, in the end? Tarkin had power over him. Tarkin was all but holding his leash. Tarkin had control over him – because Tarkin was one of the Emperor’s favorites. For all intents and purposes, he couldn’t go against Tarkin any more than he could go against the Emperor.
And somehow, Terminus thought, that was one of the worst parts about all of this. He had always been a soldier following commands – as Vader had once derisively told him, back when they were enemies, all while neglecting to realize that in a way, he was a soldier following commands as well. Were they really that different, in the end? – doing what he was told, following the Jedi Code to the letter, the very Code that was all but drilled into every youngling’s head since they first learned to pick up a training saber and fend off seeker droids, if only in preparation for the trials that would face them in the real world. After all, the real world, the galaxy at large – the galaxy at large was far from kind. Ruusan had taught the Order that well enough, if history was anything to go by.
He had always been doing what he was told. And joining the Empire, somehow – somehow, he almost couldn’t see the difference between following the Code to the letter back when he was a Jedi, back when he was still a Padawan, back when he was still a Knight, back when he was still a Master, really, and following the Emperor’s orders in the Empire.
The difference was that the Jedi didn’t willingly slaughter innocents.
Yes, Terminus thought. That was definitely the difference. For all the Jedi’s crimes, such as torture (he could still remember Padme’s terror and distress long after the interrogation of Cad Bane), they wouldn’t blow up a planet filled with innocent people willingly, if only to punish traitors, real or perceived. They wouldn’t do that. And even if they did, they would at least have the decency to feel remorse.
Tarkin…as far as Terminus was concerned, he didn’t have any remorse, any humanity, left in him. All that seemed to be left in him was a bitter sort of hatred for the Rebellion for threatening the Empire, a sort of hatred that was enough to chill Terminus, and he was purely machine. He couldn’t say that he had the capacity to feel cold or fear left, and Tarkin’s behavior, somehow, made him feel almost afraid. Not for himself, necessarily, but for the others who would most likely suffer the consequences of what Tarkin was doing. Because Tarkin wouldn’t stop. For all intents and purposes, he would keep going until there were no planets left, no stars left, no moons or suns. He would keep going until the galaxies themselves were obliterated, and there was only the Death Star left. He would do anything if only to subjugate the galaxy itself, to make it not rebel.
Except if there was anything that Terminus had learned during the Clone Wars, it was the simple, honest fact that when there was tyranny, when there was oppression, there was always someone there to fight it. He could still remember his confrontation with Maul, when he, Padme and Sabe were trying to save Satine.
“It takes strength to resist the Dark Side,” Obi-Wan said, and for however cruel it was, he had to somehow find a way to rage against Maul, at least in the figurative sense. To resist him. To let Maul know that whatever he did, he had no power over any of them. “Only the weak embrace it.”
A sort of fury that Obi-Wan doubted he had seen from Maul – even when he had killed Qui-Gon, he had been disconcertingly calm about it. There wasn’t even a flash of hatred in his eyes, just a calm sort of finality – came into the Zabrak’s golden eyes. And something in Obi-Wan, though he knew that it was wrong, could not help but feel almost satisfied. Touched a nerve, I see. Just telling Maul, effectively, that he was nothing but an empty and sad and pathetic and hollow creature was enough, at least, to help Obi-Wan keep from collapsing, even as he watched Satine – the woman who had hardly done anything wrong except try and make a better world for Mandalore – all but writhe in Maul’s force-grip. He could at least hope that Maul didn’t decide to take out his anger further on Satine. He could only hope.
“Those who embrace the Dark Side are stronger than you know.” And there was something about Maul’s face that terrified Obi-Wan in spite of himself, even though Obi-Wan tried to hide it. It was practically grinning at him like something out of one of Obi-Wan’s nightmares.
“And those who resist it are stronger than you’ll ever be!” It was no doubt a feeble rage against what was happening on Mandalore, all this suffering that Maul and the others were causing – and even just seeing it, what they had done to Satine; Obi-Wan knew that rage and revenge was of the Dark Side as well as hatred and hunger for power (something that Maul had in spades, as well as a sort of fierce loyalty that he hadn’t expected from someone from an Order whose main trait was backstabbing one another to gain more power, something the Jedi never would do), and yet just seeing the humiliation that they had put Satine through, watching everything she had ever worked for crumble…
He wanted to humiliate Maul, to anger him. He wanted to punish him. Never mind whatever Maul had suffered; somehow, even that was nothing next to the suffering that he had put others through. All those people, dead because of him.
The hatred in Maul’s eyes blazed almost like the fires of Mustafar themselves.
“Maul,” Obi-Wan said if only softly, “I am…sorry for what Sidious did to you. Whatever he did to you. But you can’t continue doing this. You’ve done terrible things this day, and they end now.” He drew his lightsaber. “If you want to have another victim, take us, but leave the people of Mandalore in peace.”
But Maul hadn’t, and Satine had died. Even thinking of her, it was almost hard to suppress his anger towards Maul, the guilt he felt (if only he could have saved her, if only, if only), the hatred he had felt towards the Force for allowing something like this to happen (how could it simply allow this to happen, how could it?) and most of all, the fact that more than anything, he missed Satine. She had been one of the most devoted and one of the bravest women he had ever known, and a dear friend. If there was a chance to walk the white current, to bring back those who had died during the Clone Wars…
In truth, he would probably bring back all of them (because really, what was the point of any of their deaths? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all). But he knew that one of them that he would bring back, along with Ahsoka, was Satine. Because she deserved so much more than this. More than anything, she deserved so much more than this.
The best he could do was at least attempt to work from the inside. And to find Mara. The last trace of Sabe that he had.
In a way, he thought, Mara reminded him a lot of those he had lost. She reminded him of Sabe, obviously, with her fire and devotion, but she reminded him of Satine with her strength, and Ahsoka with her determination and her skill.
Even thinking about it was enough to hurt more than anything else.
But he knew full well that this was no time for mourning. Not now. This was the time for action. So even as he listened to the officer next to him, saying that the crew of the ship they had just captured had no doubt abandoned ship right after takeoff (smart, Terminus thought. No doubt futile in the end, but smart) and that the escape pods had been jettisoned (again, futile but smart), Terminus listened if only carefully. Then, “Did you find any of the droids?”
“No, sir.”
“The ambassadors?”
“No, sir.”
“The girl from Tatooine?”
Terminus could have sworn that the officer raised an eyebrow. Then, “No, sir. Not really.”
Terminus sighed. This was going to be a long day, to say the very least. “Send a scanning crew aboard the freighter. I want every part of it checked.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer then walked away. “Send a scanning crew aboard,” he said to the others. “Lord Terminus wants every part of the ship checked!”
If Terminus could smile under the mask, he no doubt would have. For all the instances of incompetence in the Empire (and there were, in truth, many instances of them. For all the good soldiers in the Empire, there were plenty who seemed to exist solely to try Terminus’ patience), there were plenty of good, loyal soldiers, willing to do whatever they could to protect the Empire. Not men like Tarkin, who seemed to solely exist if only to show the worst traits of the Empire – ruthlessness, hatred, cruelty – but men who were willing to die in the Empire’s service, protecting their citizens from the Rebellion – a group that seemed to think that everything they did was perfectly all right as long as they were somehow doing it for the sake of the Republic – an institution that was already dying before Sidious even came along. Before he, Terminus, even came along. Men who were willing to protect the Empire whatever it took.
And those men…who were they, if not to have their loyalty somehow rewarded? Anyone who showed loyalty to the Empire more than deserved it in return. A reward as well, if only for their loyalty.
If Terminus could smile under the mask, he would have. Sadly, it seemed that the fires of Sullust seemed to have taken that away from him as well, in more ways than one. After everything that had happened – Sabe turning against him, for example, and Padme, and so many others – it was hardly implausible to say that Terminus’ faith in just about everything else had been shaken. Add in Vader’s betrayal and whatnot…
Others liked to call him a monster. Some of the Jedi he hunted, for example, on the Emperor’s orders…they were more than happy if only to call him a monster, a traitor, which, Terminus thought darkly, was a lot like Nute Gunray calling someone else greedy or cruel or cowardly or corrupt. Because the Jedi had already proven their status as traitors, all when they had tried to kill the Chancellor instead of taking him to trial, all because he was part of a group that they hated the most.
Except, Terminus thought, what if he had let Mace kill Palpatine?
But would it have been right? Did they, in the end, have the right to do this, any of this?
Did they have the right to kill the man, in cold blood?
It was a sort of question that Terminus doubted that he could ever truly answer, because the answer itself…the answer itself seemed to forever elude him. Should he have let Mace kill Palpatine? A lot of suffering would have no doubt been averted, but even so…
The best he could do, at least in the end, was find Mara. The girl from Tatooine. The girl, he thought, that had Sabe’s fire. Their beautiful, wonderful daughter, who they thought they would raise on Naboo, long ago, in a brief moment of innocence during the Clone Wars, when they thought that everything would turn out to be all right in the end.
He would find Mara. He would find Sabe, Padme, and the others. And perhaps they would set things right again. Overthrow the Emperor, rule the galaxy, make things as they should be.
Yes, Terminus thought, he could do that.
***
Even as Mara continued to huddle in the compartments, biting down tightly on her sleeve if only to prevent herself from making any sort of noise (even breathing, really) that would lead to her and the others being discovered, she could not help but feel a growing sense of a sort of unease, even as the officer continued to sweep the ship. The continuous sound of footsteps echoing above her, and the spikes of unease, even as the officer continued walking about, giving distant orders as to “search the cockpit” and “search this room”, continued. Mara tried to tell herself, at the very least, to calm down, that it was going to be all right. To not panic. If she panicked, the officer would most surely find them, and that would ruin everything that they were working for. For example, other star systems most likely suffering the same fate as Alderaan already did.
Alderaan… Even thinking about it was enough to make Mara’s blood boil. What had Alderaan done if only to warrant such punishment? Alderaan was a peaceful planet, at least from what she had heard. Full of scientists and philosophers. Hardly people who posed any sort of threat to the Empire. And if the Empire really, honestly, thought that destroying Alderaan would pose as some sort of object lesson…
Mara was grateful that she was biting down on her sleeve in that moment. Because if she wasn’t…
Eventually, the sound of the officer giving orders, walking about, faded into the distance until it faded completely. Han’s hand on her shoulder was almost gentle. “It’s okay, kiddo. You can breathe now.”
Mara removed the sleeve from her mouth, opened the compartment door, gasping frantically if only for air. It’s all right. You’re all right. They didn’t find you. And yet at the same time, it had been so close, so stanging close, that she could not help but still be terrified. Still, she forced air back into her lungs. Thank goodness, she thought, that they hadn’t been caught.
Thank goodness the Imps were stupid enough to not check the floor compartments, she thought, if only wryly. For people who prided themselves on being able to catch traitors on sight, they really weren’t that good at their jobs. Not really.
Behind Mara, other floor panels opened if only to reveal the others. Chewbacca groaned if only softly; apparently, Mara thought, she was in good company in regards to how unpleasant being in there really was. She turned towards him, gave him a sympathetic smile, and Han gently sort of patted his head.
“It’s a good thing you had those compartments,” Leia said, if only wryly. She seemed to be thinking the same thing that Mara was. Good thing that the Imps didn’t think of looking in the floor compartments.
Han sighed. “I usually use this stuff for smuggling. I didn’t think I was going to be smuggling myself or anyone else in them.” He ran a hand through his hair, seeming almost agitated. “Honestly, this is ridiculous. This is probably the most ridiculous mission I’ve had and I’ve had my share of ridiculous missions…”
“There’s no need to say that,” Lady Nemo said. “It’s possible to get the crew of the Tantive IV, then get past the tractor beam and to the Rebel base before the Empire can catch us.”
Han snorted. “Yeah. That’ll work.”
“Actually,” Elizabeth Nerus said, “If we stayed behind, shut off the tractor beam – ’’
And already, Mara could not help but panic if only on the inside, because she knew what that meant. It would be more than likely, really, that if the Empire found them, they would kill them. They would torture them if they didn’t kill them. And somehow, Mara didn’t want to risk either option.
“Lady Nemo,” she said, “Miss Nerus – ’’
“I think you can call me,” Elizabeth Nerus said, “Elizabeth.” And there was something in the way she said it, something in the sort of wavering of that word, that suggested that there was a certain agony in what she wanted to say but couldn’t say. But what could she possibly be suppressing that she couldn’t say?
“All right,” Mara said, “Elizabeth, Lady Nemo…you don’t have to do this. Trust me. You don’t.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to throw your lives away like this. Just…trust me on this.”
Elizabeth smiled if only sadly. “It’s what we’ve always done,” she said. “What we were born to do. There’s no need to worry, Mara.” A beat. “If it means keeping you and the others safe, then by the stars themselves, we’ll do it.”
A beat.
“You…” Mara bit her lip. “You’re very noble,” she finally managed to say. “The both of you. You really are.”
And she swore that a smile more radiant than the twin suns themselves came over Elizabeth Nerus’ face. There was something lovely about it, she thought – lighting up the beautiful if almost sad face with a sort of intensity that she doubted that she had ever seen before. A sort of light that came to her face, to her dark brown eyes, that was beautiful to watch.
And somehow, Lady Nemo seemed to be smiling as well.
