From a Certain Point of View (Star Wars) Page 23

  She almost burst through the undergrowth into the open when she saw the camouflaged curve of her pocket cruiser’s unusually towering curved nose peaking beneath the holo-webbing she’d left to conceal it.

  Aphra had made it to safety.

  A second later, she realized that she hadn’t.

  Working their way unknowingly toward the Ark Angel were three stormtroopers, making a perimeter sweep. It was an obvious problem for her. It was also a problem for them, in that they were about to hit the layer of micromines she’d left to cover the approach. A moral dilemma. Or, as Aphra preferred to think of them, dilemmas. “Moral” never really came into it.

  Option one: She lets them hit the mines. She finishes anyone left with her blasters. She gets the Ark Angel into orbit, trying to dodge the inevitable Star Destroyer that brought all these troopers here. She almost certainly has to abandon the droideka hulls she’s left in Dantoo Town, and has to burn through another transponder identity on the Ark Angel. Oh, and she murders a bunch of people, too.

  Alternatively…

  Aphra sighed, holstered her blaster, and stepped forward, hands raised, smile wide.

  “Hey, guys!” she shouted. “How can I help you fine gentlemen of the Imperial Army?”

  Plus, those mines were expensive. She wasn’t going to waste them on stormtroopers.

  —

  The stormtroopers questioned her, searched her, and escorted-cum-dragged her toward the compound. They found both blasters and the knife, but they’d left her with her tools, which was probably a mistake. If they’d scanned her, they’d have found the explosive putty in the lining of her hat, stored safely in two inert packages. If she could work out an excuse to remove her hat and play with the putty for the better part of a minute, that’d be useful. Maybe she could offer to show them clay animals?

  She was pushed into what was once the rebels’ HQ, and was now the Imperials’. Support staff milled around, but Aphra knew they were irrelevant. The only man who mattered in the room stood, dressed in an Imperial uniform, looking at the holomaps of the area with a displeased expression. Aphra didn’t read too much into that. Aphra suspected that good news or bad, that expression would sit there, glowering, perpetually disappointed. He was a gray cloud in a gray uniform.

  He was a general. Aphra couldn’t interpret the string of colored buttons on his lapel, but he fulfilled every prejudice Aphra had of Imperial High Command.

  She felt the gun still in the small of her back as the stormtrooper reported.

  “Found her skulking around the outer perimeter, General Tagge,” said the stormtrooper in a surprisingly thin voice. “She says she’s from Dantoo Town. Her speeder bike is hidden east of the base. We’re trying to locate it.”

  The speeder didn’t exist, but Aphra was damned if she was going to let anyone go poking around the Ark Angel. Aphra beamed, both to try to make a good first impression, and because she’d correctly identified this Tagge as a general. Her knowledge of military ranks at any time past the Republic was foggy at best.

  “Er…I surrendered. And handed over my weapons. I just want to help,” she said with all the sincerity she could muster. Tagge looked her over. He grunted, unconvinced, and turned back to the map.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m stealing stuff. Well…salvaging, but I think I should get bonus marks for honesty, right?” Aphra said. “The base cleared out months ago, so I figured if there was anything left here, it was mine.”

  Tagge glanced back, analyzing her as if she were a spreadsheet and he wanted to check if the columns tallied or not.

  “I find you in the middle of an abandoned rebel base, and you claim you know nothing?” he said.

  Aphra gave her best attempt at an innocent gasp. It perhaps reached the level of “faux innocent.”

  “Surely not rebels!” she said. “The rebels are small and disorganized, barely more than bandits. This place could have held dozens of spaceships. Surely the rebels couldn’t support a base like this?”

  Tagge’s face was as motionless as the stormtroopers’ masks.

  “I think you’re mistaking being clever for being smart,” said Tagge.

  Aphra winced a little. Getting shot for that would be dumb, even for her.

  “I’m sorry. No one had any idea this was a rebel base. It’d been abandoned for months by the time I got here. And…” She paused, searching for an angle that would allow her to continue her blessed non-blaster-wounded life. “…this is the biggest military force Dantooine has ever seen. Dantooine is quiet. Indoor lighting is a novelty. A show of force like this and everyone from around here will know that no one could dream of resisting the Empire.”

  Tagge snorted, a single sharp noise. A laugh, or Tagge’s equivalent.

  “I do not think there is any danger of the Empire’s seriousness being underestimated,” he said, “Today, scavenger, the Empire destroyed Alderaan.”

  The room was silent. Tagge let the fact hang in the air, expecting silence to rule. It was immediately overthrown.

  “How?” said Aphra. “Surface bombing? Even with a fleet of Star Destroyers that’d take weeks. Or a bioplague, like on Genosha? Is this Tarkin Initiative technology? I’ve loved the work I’ve seen coming from the labs. Is it like a cities-flattened thing, or a leave-the-buildings-standing thing? Are we talking about just sentients, or a full flora/fauna extinction event? Seriously, how? Atmosphere ignition? I’ve seen plans for that. Ooh—mantle fissure. Magma core exposure can make a mess out of a civilization. Or…oh, I’m torturing myself. What do you mean exactly?”

  Tagge stared at her. “I mean the planet is dust,” he said.

  Aphra was faintly aware that this was not the response Tagge was expecting, but her excitement had its own momentum.

  “Like…dust dust? Like, bits of asteroid and people floating in space? That?”

  “The Death Star destroyed Alderaan,” said Tagge, somehow being dragged along in the wake of Aphra’s enthusiasm.

  “Wow,” said Aphra, “that’s amazing.”

  She was aware that she was being stared at.

  “Er…well done, Empire?” Aphra said.

  The awkward silence was broken when the other stormtroopers entered the room, saluting.

  “Sir,” said the first. “We’ve looked for her speeder and can’t find it.”

  “Of course,” said Aphra. “I hid it. That’s what hidden means.”

  The silence returned. Aphra’s Aphra routine had gone down better.

  Tagge walked slowly up to her, arms behind his back, and considered her. Once more, Aphra’s spreadsheet was tallied as Tagge made his final analysis.

  “I don’t think you’re a rebel,” he said.

  Aphra tried not to laugh. She was going to live.

  “I do think you’re trouble,” he said, “and I suspect the world would be better off without you.”

  Oh no. She wasn’t going to live. She was going to do the opposite of that.

  —

  When Tagge ordered the trooper to take her to the trees, execute her, and return to the search, Aphra had to fight every urge in her body not to run and kick and lash out. Her head screamed. Her face twisted. If she ran now, she would be shot. If she fought, she’d be dragged out by a mob. Instead she complied, and the stormtrooper guided her. Every step, she looked for her opening. There had to be something. Her luck got her into this kind of situation. Her luck got her out of it. That was how it worked.

  A voice inside her added a taunting, That’s how it works until it doesn’t.

  She winced. She knew it would eventually be It. Maybe this would be It.

  “So, is this the first time you’ve executed someone?” she asked, voice breaking.

  “Don’t speak, prisoner,” said the trooper. His voice was unsteady, too.

  Okay. Aphra could work with that.

  Aphra laughed nervously, glancing slowly over her shoulder, and winked. “Or what are you going to do? Shoot me?”

&
nbsp; They carried on toward the tree line, Aphra a model of compliance.

  “Were you aboard the Death Star?” she asked.

  After a pause, he replied: “You are very interested in planetary destruction.”

  “Er…who wouldn’t be?” she said, stepping over a log while considering whether she could make a break for the cover of the next trunk. No, she couldn’t. Not unless she wanted to do it with a five-centimeter hole in her back.

  “It’s a weapon like that, and you’re excited by it?” he said.

  “It just makes you think. How do you even design something like that?” she said, before glancing back to check the distance. Could she rush him? Unlikely going on No. Even if she did, he had about half a meter on her.

  “I mean…do you think the Death Star had a trigger?” she said, “Someone ordered it to be fired, but that’s easy. Did someone actually have to pull the trigger?”

  She carried on into the wood. He followed, the two deadly steps behind her.

  “I’ll bet there wasn’t. I bet it’s a bunch of people, so everyone can have some deniability of responsibility. Six engineers, all charging up firing chambers, and it’s only when they’re all powered-up the weapon engages. That’s how I’d do it. Because if someone has the weight of knowing they killed a whole planet on them…that could break them. They could just not press the button.

  “That’s how they do firing squads on some worlds,” she went on, glancing back. “There’s someone who’s gun isn’t firing for real, so they can always think, Hey—maybe I didn’t do it. It’s those little illusions that get us through. It’s hardest when you’ve got no way to self-deceive.

  “You’re doing this solo. You’re as unlucky as I am,” she continued. “Well, nearly as unlucky.”

  Aphra turned around and stopped.

  “You ever shot anyone in cold blood?”

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  “Hey, I’m trying to help. I want to make this easy for you. This is going to sit inside you forever…and if I’m going to die, I want to really think about this. Imagine actually killing Alderaan. Alderaan of all places! Alderaan is nice. Who’d blow up Alderaan? Hell of a place. Incredible history. Good party town. Hell, even had great sunsets. Now it doesn’t even have a sky.”

  Aphra took a slow step toward him, holding his gaze.

  “And you’re here, with a gun pointing at some chatty lady, and you’re always going to remember this day…”

  And half a step, pulling the tool from her waistband, trying to remember the code she needed…

  “People are going to ask us all where we were today. Where were you when Alderaan died? And you’re going to say, That’s the day I went for a walk into some beautiful woods on Dantooine and shot that weird innocent scavenger lady.”

  Aphra almost dropped the tool, and tried not to twist her face in anger. Don’t mess up now, Aphra.

  “If you’re feeling philosophical, you’ll say add something like…” She smiles. “…All innocence died that day, and people will nod, and know that just because you did this really bad thing, it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  Aphra reached out with her hand, activating the tool. Lights on, but silent. Her hand touched his, holding that eye contact, knowing if he looked down and saw her tool near his blaster, it would all be over…

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I forgive you.”

  He pulled the trigger. A click.

  Aphra’s knee went toward a not-nearly-armored-enough groin. As he reeled, she pulled the blaster from his hand.

  “You can always induce a jam with the Imperial-model blasters if you’ve got the right frequency. Which I do.” She pointed his own gun at him. “Reboots after a couple of seconds.”

  There was a low hum as the gun reactivated.

  “You’ve never shot someone in cold blood,” she said, gesturing the barrel at him. “Guess who has?”

  The stormtrooper stumbled, backing off, falling over a log and then freezing, hands raised. He did all he could think of to do.

  “No. Please,” he begged.

  Aphra shook her head. “They train you to shoot. They train you to follow orders. They train you in…well, other things. Marching, I guess. But they don’t train you how to beg for your life,” she said. “Take your helmet off.”

  Aphra was expecting to have to repeat herself, but he pulled the helmet off instantly. They did have the following-orders thing nailed down. He was about a decade younger than Aphra, not out of his teens yet. Nose too big, eyes blue and scared. She sighed.

  “See, now you’re a human. If you’re begging for your life, you want people to know you’re a living breathing thing and not some weird enamel droid. It’s easy to kill stormtroopers.

  “Because all that stuff about triggers I just told you?” she said. “I don’t think any of it’s true. I think that the Death Star has a trigger, because I think it’s easy to kill a planet. It’s all so abstract. It’s why guys like Tagge are fine with sending armies to their death, while they order their troopers to take me out of sight to put a blast through my chest.

  “A planet doesn’t have a face,” she said. “It’d take a real monster to pull the trigger if Alderaan had a face.”

  His eyes moved between Aphra and the black of the gun barrel.

  Aphra had always defended the Empire as the best available choice—better than anarchy. Today the Empire had destroyed a planet, worse than a war’s cost in an afternoon. She had no idea what to do with these feelings. Maybe when they had chilled, she could justify it—what’s one planet if it cements a real peace? That sounds like the sort of logic she’d turn to. The needs justify the ends and all that.

  But right now, she just wished there could be a better Empire and wished there was someone who could do that.

  The boy was crying. Aphra felt shame and anger mix inside her. Her excitement was real. Her anger was real. It was all real.

  But it was clouded by the shame, shame that she was right. She could have shot a stormtrooper. She wasn’t going to shoot this boy with a wet face and terrified eyes.

  “Okay,” she said, starting to back away. “This is the deal. Put your helmet back on. Tell them you shot me. If they ask, tell them I begged, but they won’t ask. Another death today isn’t exactly going to rate, right?”

  She shot the blaster at the ground. He jumped back.

  “That’s your people thinking you’ve done your job,” she said. “Alderaan’s dead, and scavenger and stormtrooper both live. Sound good?”

  He nodded. She winked and then she turned and ran, dropping the blaster where he could find it.

  Within one hundred meters she heard shouts.

  Within two hundred, she heard the scream of the alarm.

  Within five minutes, she was punching the Ark Angel into orbit, TIE fighters on her aft, engines screaming, seeing the white dagger of a Star Destroyer loom into view ahead of her. As she fumbled with the navigation computer, looking for a route to the safe blue of hyperspace, she cursed herself for another moment of weakness in a universe that has none. One day, she’d learn.

  08:00.01…EXIT SLEEP MODE

  08:01.03…SYNC WITH DS-1OBS Network

  08:02.00…RUN SELF-DIAGNOSTIC:

  DESIGNATION: MSE-6-G735Y

  FUNCTION: Delivery/Repair

  ASSIGNED TO: Maintenance Unit, Sector AA-345, DS-1 Orbital Battle Station

  SYSTEMS CHECK:

  Modular Circuit Matrix Processor: Optimal

  Proximity Sensors: Optimal

  Internal Bay Sensors: Optimal

  Dorsal Doors: Optimal

  Holorecorder: Optimal

  Dynadrive 9-ES Motors: Optimal

  Wheels: Left front tread depth SUBOPTIMAL; will require replacement in 30 cycles

  08:04.12…STANDBY MODE ENTERED

  08:15.37…PROXIMITY SENSORS: Bioform detected.

  08:15.38…IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation TK-421. Security Level: Lambda.

  “Morning, G7.�
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  08:15.40…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “morning G7” LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED, AFFIRMATIVE: Beepbeep.

  “Open up for me.”

  08:15.45…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “open up for me” LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED: DISENGAGE LOCK, OPEN DORSAL DOORS

  “Great. Get this scanner servo to TK-450 at Docking Bay 228. You know the drill.”

  08:15.55…BIOFORM VOICE COMMAND “get this scanner servo to TK-450 at docking bay 228” LOGGED. RESPONSE REQUIRED: CARGO DELIVERY/RECEIPT SUBROUTINE

  08:16.23…CARGO RECEIVED FROM BIOFORM TK-421

  08:16.33…CLOSE DORSAL DOORS, ENGAGE LOCK

  08:16.36…ENGAGE INTERNAL BAY SENSORS

  08:16.45…ONBOARD CARGO IDENTIFIED: Servo, Imperial Scanner 97-DX-8

  08:16.52…AUTONAV ROUTE; ENGAGE MOTORS

  —

  08:44.33…ARRIVE DESTINATION: DB-228

  08:45.04…PROXIMITY SENSORS: Recipient detected.

  08:45.10…IDENTIFY RECIPIENT: Designation TK-450. Security Level: Rho.

  08:45.33…ALERT RECIPIENT OF PRESENCE: Beepbeep.

  “Oh! Didn’t see you down there, buddy.”

  08:45.48…DISENGAGE LOCK, OPEN DORSAL DOORS

  “There it is. Finally. Been waiting 6 cycles for this.”

  08:45.55…ENGAGE HOLORECORDER FOR RECEIPT ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  “Ah. Right. ‘TK-450, acknowledging receipt of cargo.’ There you go. Anyway, it took you guys down there long enough. We’re backed up; I’ve got 12 ships waiting on scanner crews. General Tagge was up here yesterday. That vein in his forehead pounding away. You guys have really got to start—”

  08:46.39…DISENGAGE HOLORECORDER

  “Wow, okay you know, I hadn’t finished. No, you know what, fine. That’s just typical. I can tell TK-421 programmed you. You’re just like him, ignore the stuff you don’t want to hear. Fine, little guy. Whatever.”

  08:46.46…CLOSE DORSAL DOORS, ENGAGE LOCK

  “You know what: 421 wouldn’t last a minute up here, I tell you that much. And he knows it. Never had to deal with people. Just spends every cycle down there talking to droids who got barely two synaptic processors to rub together. He’s never had officers like Tagge breathing down his neck. Or Tarkin. Or Tarkin’s pet, the iron lung in a cape. I’d like to see 421 try to look that guy in the transparisteel holoplates. He’d faint dead awa—”