Fear followed the footsteps of all the Dark Lords. The cloud of evil which

clung tight about this particular one was intense enough to cause hardened Imperial

troops to back away, menacing enough to set them muttering nervously among

themselves. Once-resolute rebel crewmembers ceased resisting, broke and ran in

panic at the sight of the black armor –armor which, though black as it was, was not

nearly as dark as the thoughts drifting through the mind within.

One purpose, one thought, one obsession dominated that mind now. It burned

in the brain of Darth Vader as he turned down another passageway in the broken

fighter. There smoke was beginning to clear, though the sound of faraway fighting

still resounded through the hull. The battle here had ended and moved on.

Only a robot was left to stir freely in the wake of the Dark Lord's passing. See

Threepio finally stepped clear of the last restraining cable. Somewhere behind him

human screams could be heard from where relentless Imperial troops were mopping

up the last remnants of rebel resistance.

Threepio glanced down and saw only scarred deck. As he looked around, his

voice was full of concern. "Artoo Detoo—where are you?" the smoke seemed to

part just a bit more. Threepio found himself staring up the passageway.

Artoo Detoo, it seemed, was there. But he wasn't looking in Threepio's

direction. Instead, the little robot appeared frozen in an attitude of attention.

Leaning over him was—it was difficult for even Threepio's electronic photoreceptors

to penetrate the clinging, acidic smoke—a human figure. It was young, slim, and by

abstruse human standards of aesthetics, Threepio mused, of a calm beauty. One

small hand seemed to be moving over the front of Artoo's torso.

Threepio started toward them as the haze thickened once more. But when he

reached the end of the corridor, only Artoo stood there, waiting. Threepio peered

past him, uncertain. Robots were occasionally subject to electronic hallucinations—

but why should he hallucinate a human?

He shrugged…Then again, why not, especially when one considered the

confusing circumstances of the past hour and the dose of raw current he had recently

absorbed. He shouldn't be surprised at anything his concatenated internal circuit

conjured up.

"Where have you been?" Threepio finally asked. "Hiding, I suppose." He

decided not to mention the maybe-human. If it had been a hallucination, he wasn't

going to give Artoo the satisfaction of knowing how badly recent events had unsettled

his logic circuits.

"They'll be coming back this way," he went on, nodding down the corridor and

not giving the small automation a chance to reply, "looking for human survivors.

What are we going to do now? They won't trust the word of rebel-owned machines

that we don't know anything of value. We'll be sent to the spice mines of Kessel or

taken apart for spare components for other, less deserving robots. That's if they

don't consider us potential program traps and blow us apart on sight. If we don't…"

But Artoo had already turned and was ambling quickly back down the passageway.

"Wait, where are you going? Haven't you been listening to me?" Uttering

curses in several languages, some purely mechanical, Threepio raced fluidly after his

friend. The Artoo unit, he thought to himself, could be downright close-circuited

when it wanted to.

Outside the galactic cruiser's control center the corridor was crowded with sullen

prisoners gathered by Imperial troops. Some lay wounded, some dying. Several

officers had been separated from the enlisted ranks and stood in a small group by

themselves, bestowing belligerent looks and threats on the silent knot of troops

holding them at bay.

As if on command, everyone—Imperial troops as well as rebels—became silent

as massive capped from came into view from behind a turn in the passage. Two of

the heretofore resolute, obstinate rebel officers began to shake. Stopping before one

of the men, the towering figure reached out wordlessly. A massive hand closed

around the man's neck and lifted him off the deck. The rebel officer's eyes bulged,

but he kept his silence.

And Imperial officer, his armored helmet shoved back to reveal a recent scar

where and energy beam had penetrated his shielding, scrambled down out of the

fighter's control room, shaking his head briskly. "Nothing, sir. Information

retrieval system's been wiped clean."

Darth Vader acknowledged this news with a barely perceptible nod. The

impenetrable mask turned to regard the officer he was torturing. Metal0clad fingers

contracted. Reaching up, the prisoner desperately tried to pry them loose, but to no

avail.

"Where is the data you intercepted?" Vader rumbled dangerously. "What have

you done with the information tapes?"

"We—intercepted—no information," the dangling officer gurgled, barely able

to breathe. From somewhere deep within, he dredged up a squeal of outrage. "This

is a …councilor vessel… Did you not see our mission."

"Chaos take your mission!" Vader growled. "Where are those tapes!" He

squeezed harder, the threat in his grip implicit.

When he finally replied, the officer's voice was a bare, choked whisper.

"Only … the Commander knows."

"This ship carries the system crest of Alderaan," Vader growled, the gargoyle-

like breath mask leaning close. "Is any of the royal family on board? Who are you

carrying?" Thick fingers tightened further, and the officer's struggles became more

and more frantic. His last words were muffled and choked past intelligibility.

Vader was not pleased. Even though the figure went limp with an awful,

unquestionable finality, that hand continued to tighten, producing a chilling snapping

and popping of bone, like a dog padding on plastic. Then with a disgusted wheeze

Vader finally threw the doll-form of the dead man against a far wall. Several

Imperial troops ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the grisly missile.

The massive form whirled unexpectedly, and Imperial officers shrank under that

baleful sculptured component by component, until you find those tapes. As for the

passengers, if any, I want them alive." He paused a moment, then added, "Quickly!"

Officers and men nearly fell over themselves in their haste to leave—not necessarily

to carry out Vader's orders, but simply to retreat from that malevolent presence.

Artoo Detoo finally came to a halt in an empty corridor devoid of smoke and the

signs of battle. A worried, confused Threepio pulled up behind him.

"You've led us through half the ship, and to what…?" He broke off, staring in

disbelief as the squat robot reached up with one clawed limb and snapped the seal on

a lifeboat hatch. Immediately a red warning light came on and a low hooting

sounded in the corridor.

Threepio looked wildly in all directions, but the passageway remained empty.

When he looked back, Artoo was already working his way into the cramped boat pod.

It was just large enough to hold several humans, and its design was not laid out to

accommodate mechanicals. Artoo had some trouble negotiating the awkward little

compartment.

"Hey," a startled Threepio called, admonishing, "you're not permitted in there!

It's restricted to humans only. We just might be able to convince the Imperials that

we're not rebel programmed and are too valuable to break up, but if someone sees you

in there we haven't got a chance. Come on out."

Somehow Artoo had succeeded in wedging his body into position in front of the

miniature control board. He cocked his body slightly and threw a stream of loud

beeps and whistles at his reluctant companion.

Threepio listened. He couldn't frown, but he managed to give a good

impression of doing so. "Mission…what mission? What are you talking about?

You sound like you haven't got an integrated logic terminal left in your brain.

No…no more adventures. I'll take my chances with the Imperials—and I'm not

getting in there."

An angry electronic twang came from the Artoo unit.

"Don't call me a mindless philosopher," Threepio snapped back, "you overweight,

unstreamlined glob of grease!"

Threepio was concocting an additional rejoinder when an explosion blew out the

back wall of the corridor. Dust and metal debris whooshed through the narrow sub-

passageway, followed instantly by a series of secondary explosions. Flames began

jumping hungrily from the exposed interior wall; reflection off Threepio's isolated

patches of polished skin.

Muttering the electronic equivalent of consigning his soul to the unknown, the

lanky robot jumped into the audibly as Artoo activated the safety door behind him.

The smaller robot flipped a series of switches, snapped back a cover, and pressed

three buttons in a certain sequence. With the thunder of explosive latches the life

pod ejected from the crippled fighter.

When word came over the communicators that the last pocket of resistance on

the rebel ship had been cleaned out, the Captain of the Imperial cruiser relaxed

considerably. He was listening with pleasure to proceedings on captured vessel

when one of his chief gunnery officers called to him. Moving to the man's position,

the Captain stared into the circular viewscreen and saw a tiny dot dropping away

toward the fiery world below.

"There goes another pod, sir. Instructions?" The officer's hand hovered over

a computerized energy battery.

Casually, confident in the firepower and total control under his command, the

Captain studied the nearby readouts monitoring the pod. All of them read blank.

"Hold your fire, Lieutenant Hija. Instruments show no life forms aboard. The

pod's release mechanism must have short-circuited or received a false instruction.

Don't waste you power." He turned away, to listen with satisfaction to the reports of

captured men and material coming from the rebel ship.

Glare from exploding panels and erupting circuitry reflected crazily off the

armor of the lead storm trooper as he surveyed the passageway ahead. He was about

to turn and call for those behind to follow him forward when he noticed something

moving off to one side. It appeared to be crouching back in a small, dark alcove.

Holding his pistol ready, he moved cautiously forward and peered into the recess.

A small, shivering figure clad in flowing white hugged the back of the recess and

stared up at the man. Now he could see that he faced a young woman, and her

physical description fit that of the one individual the Dark Lord was most interested in.

The trooper grinned behind his helmet. A lucky encounter for him. He would be

commended.

Within the armor his head turned slightly, directing his voice to the tiny

condenser microphone. "Here she is," he called to those behind him. "Set for stun

forc—"

He never finished the sentence, just as he would never receive the hoped-for

commendation. Once his attention turned from the girl to his communicator her

shivering vanished with starling speed. The energy pistol he had held out of sight

behind her came up and around as she burst from her hiding place.

The trooper who had been unlucky enough to find her fell first, his head a mass

of melted bone and metal. The same fate met the second armored from coming up

fast behind him. Then a bright green energy pole touched the woman's side and she

slumped instantly to the deck, the pistol still locked in her small palm.

Metal-encased shapes clustered around her. One whose arm bore the insignia

of a lower officer knelt and turned her over. He studied the paralyzed form with a

practiced eye.

"She'll be all right," he finally declared, looking up his subordinates. "Report

to Lord Vader."

Threepio stared, mesmerized, out the small view-port set in the front of the tiny

escape pod as the hot yellow eye of Tatooine began to swallow them up.

Somewhere behind them, he knew, the crippled fighter and the Imperial cruiser were

receding to imperceptibility.

That was fine with him. If they landed near a civilized city, he would seek

elegant employment in a halcyon atmosphere, something more befitting his status and

training. These past months had gifted him with entirely too much excitement and

unpredictability for a mere machine.

Artoo's seemingly random manipulation of the pod controls promised anything

but a smooth landing, however. Threepio regarded his squat companion with

concern.

"Are you sure you know how to pilot this thing?"

Artoo replied with a noncommittal whistle that did nothing to alter the taller

robot's jangled state of mind.

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