"THE ADVENTURES OF DARTH VADER" EXCERPT
Written and submitted by Alex Service

The following is an excerpt from "The Adventures of Darth Vader", a work in progress -- 128 pages and counting -- in which Admiral Piett is of course a main character. The premise of the story is that Darth Vader did not die at the end of "Return of the Jedi" -- well, we all know he's too cool a character to die. If anyone wants to read more, I should eventually have my own web page -- very eventually, like spring sometime. Once I've finished the story and turned in my Dphil dissertation. (Argh.)

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On the Super Star Destroyer Executor, Admiral Piett had been pacing along the same three metres of deck for the past twenty minutes. Four steps in one direction, turn on his heel, four steps back again, another turn, over and over ad nauseam. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back; he supposed he really ought to unclasp them, as he was going to lose circulation in them if he didn't. In the last three minutes, his pacing had gotten somewhat faster, as had his heartbeat and, though he was trying very hard to regulate it, his breathing. Three minutes was how long it had been since one of his officers informed him that Darth Vader had been in contact with them, and was going to pay Piett a visit.

Piett's world was rapidly disintegrating around him, but really, he supposed, that wasn't much of a loss. He'd already lived several months longer than he'd expected to when he was promoted to Admiral. That kind of promotion, with Lord Vader around, was pretty much equal to a death sentence. You might, if you were lucky, avoid the Dark Lord's wrath for a few days, maybe for weeks or months, but sooner or later something would go wrong, you'd be the one with responsibility, and crunch, the bones in your neck would start snapping and your windpipe would start closing in on itself, and if Vader was really trying to make a point, he'd fling you across the room into a bulkhead rather than simply strangling you on the spot.

Piett had spoken once, years ago, with an officer who'd been strangled by Vader and had survived due to a timely distraction. The man's account still haunted Piett. He had a vivid imagination, and he wished that he did not. He could already hear all his bones breaking, one by one, could visualise his veins bursting, his eyes bulging from their sockets ... Oh, Gods. What was he doing here? Why hadn't he stayed at home and taken over the store like Dad had wanted him to? You might get bored running a trading post in a star system most people had never heard of, but at least you didn't usually have Jedi lords dropping by to choke you to death.

"Sir?" came the voice of Lieutenant Morn. "Lord Vader's shuttle has just arrived in the Docking Bay."

Stop pacing, unclasp your hands, and try to breathe steadily. After all, this is probably the last chance you'll have to breathe at all.

Admiral Piett was standing at attention when Vader swept onto the Star Destroyer's main bridge, the Dark Lord's cape billowing out impressively behind him as he strode. At the corner of his vision, Piett could see his officers trying to make themselves as unobtrusive as possible.

Bastards, he thought glumly. Just you wait. Once he's strangled me, one of you is next in the queue.

In front of Piett, Vader stopped, black-gloved hands resting on his belt, and said, "Admiral Piett. Might I speak with you in private?"

Piett's innards lurched. Private? Usually Vader liked an audience for his killings, so he could make an example of them. Surely there wasn't any form of killing so gruesome that Vader didn't like being watched at it? Then again, who knew how Vader thought?

"Of course, My Lord," Piett said, glad to hear that his voice wasn't emerging as a squeak. "Come into my office."

In the office, Piett offered Vader a seat, which the Dark Lord politely declined. Piett thought, maybe he doesn't think he looks intimidating enough sitting down. Though Hell, I'd certainly still be intimidated. Piett couldn't possibly offer his guest a drink, either, not without sounding insulting. So, though his own throat was parched, Piett tried to ignore it. He stood awkwardly and waited for Vader to say something.

"Admiral," Vader said, "I believe I owe you an explanation."

Now Piett did squeak. "Explanation, My Lord?"

The rumble of Vader's voice seemed to hold amusement in it, though it was possible that Piett was imagining that. "I realise I do not frequently explain myself. You are thinking that I am more likely to strangle an officer than explain anything to him. And you would be right, in normal circumstances. These circumstances are no longer normal."

Piett swallowed, not trusting his voice to come up with anything intelligible.

"Admiral Piett," Vader went on, "what are your ambitions?"

Oh, no. If that's not a Darth Vader trick question, I don't know what is.

Well, he decided, I might as well tell the truth. Don't have much to lose. Piett swallowed again, then said, "to serve the Empire faithfully, and to stay alive."

Vader inclined his head slightly. "Very laudable goals." This time Piett was sure that the Dark Lord was amused. "I share the second of your goals, but I am experiencing doubts about the first."

Doubts? Darth Vader? Doubts about serving the Empire? Piett wished that he could sit down.

"Please have a seat, Admiral," Vader urged him, and Piett numbly obeyed, shakily propelling himself into his desk chair. Vader sat down casually on the edge of Piett's desk, and Piett wondered if he might be hallucinating all of this.

Vader said, "I would like to emerge from the present conflict reasonably successful, and alive. I am no longer convinced that either is possible if I remain with the Empire." He appeared to be looking more closely at Piett, although of course with that mask it was hard to tell. "You may calm yourself, Admiral. I have no intention of strangling you today."

Calm was not a very accurate description of Piett at that moment, but at least he was starting to emerge from his terror. Lord Vader continued. "Have you ever thought, Admiral Piett, of what serving the Empire means? It is not, of course, part of the job description for a soldier to think. But I suspect that you at least do think upon occasion."

Where was all this leading? What was Vader trying to trick him into?

"You must have noticed, Admiral, that we are not in fact serving the Empire. We are serving the Emperor, and they are not the same. The Empire includes the millions of worlds forced into poverty to pay for our Emperor's military expansion. It also includes the under-trained, conscripted stormtroopers that we throw into battle daily, to be massacred in their thousands by a Rebellion that has little money, but at least takes the time to train its soldiers, and sees them as living creatures rather than meaningless laser-fodder."

Piett noticed that his mouth had fallen open, and hastily closed it. Darth Vader, social crusader. Yes, he really must be hallucinating.

"With all this," Vader went on, "the Empire could still survive, were our Emperor of sound judgement. This he no longer is. Think of it, Admiral Piett. Four years ago, what was the great hope of the Empire? The Death Star, of course. The all-powerful, dreaded Death Star, which was to make the galaxy tremble. The Death Star for which taxes across the galaxy were quadrupled. Then, on its maiden mission, this great hope is annihilated by one schoolboy and a smuggler. So, very well. Not a wise use of money and lives, perhaps, but what can one do except move on from failure and learn by it? Only our Emperor has not learned. Outside this ship, Admiral, sits Death Star II. And a few hours ago, it was almost destroyed in precisely the same way as the first."

Piett gulped, and asked, very quietly, "Lord Vader, where is the Emperor?"

Vader said calmly, "he and I had a disagreement. We fought, and the Emperor fled. He will return, no doubt, but I do not intend to be waiting for him to take his revenge. I intend to throw in my lot with the Rebellion."

Piett choked without the aid of Vader's mental strangling. "My Lord?"

"The rebels are idealistic and foolish, but at base, they are right. They are right to object to the reign of terror of which we are a part. Right to protest our Emperor's insane arms race that succeeds only in creating more enemies. The Emperor is mad, Piett, and if we continue to serve him, we are mad as well."

If things ever get back to the point where politicians have to run for office again, Piett thought, Vader's got himself a ready-made career. The trouble was, of course, that Piett agreed with him. It might be only rhetoric on Vader's part, but it was also true.

"Lord Vader," he asked, his voice firmer than it had been since the beginning of this interview, "what do you require of me?"

Vader said, "I would like you to join me. I intend to offer my services to the Rebellion, and if they accept, I hope to bring most or all of our troops with me. I have no doubt that all of us will benefit from such an arrangement. Our assistance could cut in half the amount of time needed for this rebellion to triumph. Bloodshed will be decreased, for there will be many in the Imperial forces who would much rather join us than fight. And we will have a chance of surviving, in reasonable prosperity, rather than fighting on to the last pathetic, under-paid stormtrooper in the service of a Master who despises us as much as he despises the rebels."

Oh well, thought Piett, I suppose everyone's got to take a stand sometime. "My Lord," he said, getting up from his chair, "I will join you."

Vader stood as well. Now this, Piett thought, is probably where he strangles me ...

"No, Admiral," came the amused, deep voice, "it is not where I strangle you. You may breathe easily. I am arranging a meeting of our Command Staff here on the Executor at 2000 hours, and I am to meet with the Rebel leaders on their flagship at 0900 tomorrow. I trust I may count on your support on both occasions?"

"Of course, My Lord."

"Good evening, then, Admiral. Welcome to the Rebellion."