STAR WARS: Presage of the Force (A Fan Fic by Michael Holiday)

Chapter 6

Nine hours later.

Mace clung to the shadows while a flood of imperial activity raced past, stomping boots and the scuttlebutt about a Rebel attack on the station. In less time than an opening deal of a sabacc hand, the activity ebbed into silence as the ranks manned their stations. The eerie silence vaporized as air exchanging from a respirator in hollow breaths consumed the passageway. Mace perked, sensing a presence. He's coming. The Jedi drew further back into the niche of the wall, the same moment Darth Vader strode past. Two ace TIE fighter pilots rode his flanks, dressed in black flight suits, helmets on and ready.

May the Force be with you, Mace willed from a shielded portion of his mind, careful not to betray his presence to the purposefully fallen Jedi. He'd have to trust the Force to see Anakin's path to fruition—something that alluded even his own shatterpoint visions of the Force. But they'd all had the same Force dream, all the same vision. Dejarik pieces were in motion, and Grimtaash was about to take Grimtaash. Resigned to his next move, Mace failed to contain a smile. Grand Moff Tarkin, he mused, must be taken care of.

When the trio in black disappeared around the bending corridor, Mace slipped from his hiding place and darted away in the opposite direction. Following the fractal trail of the Force via his shatterpoint gift, he bounded around the corner and found the red turbolift—right where he'd seen it, over and over again, in the eye of his mind while held captive in his detention cell. The doors whooshed open and an officer bolted out in quickened step. The Jedi crept into the lift, hand on his lightsaber, and eyed the control panel. He stabbed the uppermost button and the doors hissed shut. Next stop, the bridge.

The lift doors opened, and Mace raced out in Force speed, taking to the first shadows available. He drew in a pair of deep breaths to keep focused, to cool down the adrenaline in his system, then surveyed the command center. The bridge bustled with the pacing of senior officers. Even though the Rebel base drifted ever closer to weapons range on the mammoth viewscreen, no one was taking any chances. The pit commanders loomed over the ensigns shifting in their seats. Below, in the trenches, the tension was thick as the epidermis of a Hutt.

The Rebel base will be within range in three minutes, said a voice over the intercom.

***

Grand Moff Tarkin stood erect near the forward viewport.

The Death Star shook perceptibly.

"Sir, the Rebels are mounting an attack run at an exhaust port. We analyzed their strategy and found a weakness. It is slight, but shall I have your shuttle ready to—"

"And flee, in our time of victory? I think not."

Another string of explosions rocked the station. Even the full firepower of the Rebel fleet would prove no match against this well-conceived fortress of terror, Takin quipped to himself.

Compression loss on decks twenty-two through sixty-eight.

The commander snapped to attention and gave the Moff a curt nod. "As you wish."

As Tarkin glared out the viewport, he noticed the commander taking his leave from the bridge in the reflection of the transparisteel. He attempted to turn and confront the insubordination but found his legs and arms no longer under his control. Tarkin opened his mouth to order his capture and for him to be taken to the brig, but no words surfaced to his lips.

Corkscrewing out of control, a Y-Wing barreled at the Death Star, directly at the bridge, one of its engines sparking and catching fire. It dove down at the last moment and collided with space station two decks below. The bridge shook violently.

The intercom crackled to life. The Rebel base will be within range in two minutes.

Life support failure on all outer decks. Life support failure on all outer decks.

Through the reflection in the window, Tarkin observed the pit commanders eyeing him for orders, neither daring to interrupt him while clearly caught in thought. They'd seen the often bloody and life-ending mistakes of rousing the Grand Moff, especially when gazing out to the stars, envisioning his spread of power, his seed. He tried to scream for help, struggling to lift a finger even a micron, but still he found it beyond his ability.

The Death Star shook, taking on more Rebel fire. The bridge shuddered.

Mace appeared from out of the shadows, just enough so that Tarkin spotted him in the reflection he remained inexplicably transfixed upon—until now. He narrowed his eyes at the moff and reached out his hand. Mace curled his fingers, and the body-wide grip tightened over Tarkin. It's him. Windu. An icy spike shot up his spine, realizing the Jedi had control over him.

The Rebel base will be within range in one minute.

A warm trickle squiggled from his nose to his lip, finding his tongue and crashing over his taste buds in a coppery tang. Tarkin stared at himself in the reflection of the transparisteel, then at Windu. He looked back at himself and his blood grew to a constant stream. I should've gotten to my shuttle. My work. My dream. My power.

The bridge quaked, metal squealing in the aftershocks.

The Rebel base will be within range in thirty seconds.

Tarkin stood, the strongest of men, breaking before his own eyes. He yearned to flee, wished he was on his shuttle, safely in hyperspace.

He'd lived his life as an illustration of power through power. Fear and greed worked fist over glove with his dispassionate attitude, and it had given him rise to the third most power man in the galaxy. Now, all his power and money and stature were worth less than a cubic of sand on Tatooine.

...Rebel base will be within range in ten seconds. Nine. Eight...

***

Mace's hands trembled, sweat beading his brow and then a single drop of blood ran from his nose to his lips. He licked them while he stared off in a deep focus, unwilling to withdraw his attention even a fraction, lest he lose his bond of control over Tarkin.

...range in five seconds.

Mace resigned his body to the Force. Obi-Wan had completed his role, reuniting the twin Skywalkers and guiding them on their path to where this ultimately would all end. He could feel it, see it in the glowing shatterpoint vision in his mind's eye. Anakin would complete the circle, bring order and peace. Kenobi had been a loyal servant to the Force and now he would join him, Mace accepted, committing his spirit.

The bridge shook violently and then a Rebel transmission rang out over the intercom.

"Yeehaw. You're all clear kid! Now let's blow this thing and go home!

And then the Death Star exploded into flames and glittering sparks, stretching out to infinity, Mace one with the Force.