Chapter Text
13 years ago
Grand Moff Tarkin adjusted the holoprojection setting to its slowest rate of rotation, then leaned back in his chair, allowing his hands to come to rest against the back of his head.
The red glow from the projection illuminated Tarkin's face, highlighting the gleam of ambition in his eyes as he surveyed the intricacies of the plans.
It was perfect. Or it would be, once it was finished. As the ultimate weapon, and a source of unlimited power, the battle station would cast its dark shadow across the galaxy. And wasn't that what it was all about, establishing true order through the fear of reprisal? His adherence to this doctrine had made him Grand Moff, so he saw no reason to deviate from it now. And the battle station would remain under his command.
Still, despite his obvious success, Tarkin wasn't about to become complacent. He might be in favor with the Emperor now, but circumstances changed faster than you could blink under his rule. Tarkin just had to ensure he retained his position of trust.
A frown of annoyance creased his brow, because he'd allowed thoughts of the Druso boy to intrude on one of his rare moments of self-indulgence.
Reigl and Fariva Druso had been a thorn in his side, their line of work a potential threat to his carefully-planned future. In this galaxy, there was room for only one all-powerful weapon, and room for only one person to manipulate that weapon. The Corellian geneticists might have planned a betrayal of the Emperor, but their research had been genuine enough, and their son would remain a threat to Tarkin's future as long as he was still in the hands of the Emperor's henchmen.
A small, cruel smile twitched at Tarkin's lips for a second, recalling the misguided loyalty to their cause that had put the Drusos though such a difficult time at the hands of the interrogation squad. At least they were now out of the way, and thanks to one member of his covert trio of supporters, he had almost full knowledge of the Drusos' secret research.
But crucial details of the formula were still missing, and if those details should fall into the wrong hands, all of Tarkin's scheming would be for nothing. The problem was deciding how much blame to lay at the feet of his aides for this unfortunate situation. He couldn't risk antagonizing them. For one thing, Tarkin needed them as much as ever. But also, in creating the clandestine alliance in the first place, he'd opened up the possibility of betrayal from any one of them.
With his eyes still following the gently revolving image in front of him, Tarkin considered the three who were helping to put his plans into operation.
First, there was the computer and data analysis expert, masquerading as an ordinary naval officer. He was reliant on Tarkin for his promotion through the ranks, but Tarkin had seen, and worried over, an underlying instability in the man.
Then there was the interrogator, exceptionally skilled at his job, ruthless and committed, but with an eye to safeguarding his own future.
And finally, there was the scientist. She was loyal to the Empire, an expert in her field, and had a convincing ability to pretend sympathy with pathetic causes. Tarkin was certain that particular quality would, eventually, prove very useful.
Each of the members of his little pact knew that the other two existed, but their identities remained secret from each other. That way, he had yet another hold over the three of them, and effectively prevented them from uniting behind his back. It was an undisputed fact that nobody in the galaxy could be fully trusted.
Tarkin reached forward and flipped the holoprojector off, the plans of the half-completed Death Star disappearing in an instant. With the loss of the projector's warm light Tarkin's face returned to its regular pallor, but the determination etched there remained undimmed. He slid from his seat and stalked across to his communications console.
Jerik Druso would be his, and he'd use whatever tactics were necessary to acquire him. Then he could turn his mind to the others who'd played a part, knowingly or unknowingly, in the events of the past few years. Such as the still-missing Bereljia Kovo. And the uncouth Han Solo, who'd intruded, yet again, into the middle of it all.