Vader might very well be Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, whom Tarkin had fought beside during the Clone Wars, and for whom he had developed a grudging appreciation.
“How is life on the Sentinel moon, Governor?” Vader asked as they walked.
“In a week we’ll be back on the bright side of the gas giant, where security is improved.”
“Is that the reason you were opposed to coming to Coruscant?”
Vader shouldn’t have known as much, but Tarkin wasn’t surprised that he did. “Tell me, Lord Vader, does the vizier always share confidences with you?”
“When I ask him to, yes.”
“Then he should have qualified his statement. I may have been reluctant to leave my post, but I wasn’t opposed to doing so.”
“Certainly not when you learned that the request originated with the Emperor.”
Tarkin smirked. “Why not simply call it an order, then?”
“It is unimportant. I might have done the same.”
Tarkin looked at Vader askance, but said nothing.
“Will your absence affect the construction schedule?”
“Not at all,” Tarkin was quick to say. “Components for the hyperdrive generator will be shipping on schedule from Desolation Station, where initial tests have been completed. Work continues on the navigational matrix itself, as well as on the hypermatter reactor. At this point I’m not unduly concerned about the status of the sublight engines or shield generators.”
“And the weapons systems?”
“That’s a bit more complicated. Our chief designers have yet to reach an agreement about the laser array, and whether or not it should be a proton beam. The designers are also debating the optimum configuration for the kyber crystal assembly. The delays owe as much to their bickering as to production setbacks.”
“That will not do.”
Tarkin nodded. “Frankly, Lord Vader, there are simply too many voices weighing in.”
“Then we need to remedy the situation.”
“As I’ve been proposing all along.”
They fell silent as they entered a turbolift that accessed the Palace’s primary spire, leaving Amedda and the Royal Guards no choice but to wait for a different car. The silence lingered as they began to ascend through the levels. Vader brought the lift to a halt one level below the summit and exited. When Tarkin started to follow, Vader raised a hand to stop him.
“The Emperor expects you above,” he said.
The turbolift carried him to the top of the world. He stepped from the car into a large circular space with a perimeter of soaring windows that provided a view for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. A curved partition defined a separate space that Tarkin assumed was the Emperor’s personal quarters. Prominent in the main area was a large table surrounded by oversized chairs, one of them with a high back and control panels set into the armrests. Alone, Tarkin wandered about admiring artworks and statues positioned to catch the light of Coruscant’s rising or setting sun, some of which he recognized as having been moved from the Supreme Chancellor’s suite in the Executive Building, in particular a bas-relief panel depicting an ancient battle scene. A circular balcony above the main level contained case after lofty case of texts and storage devices.
The Emperor emerged from his quarters as Tarkin was regarding a slender bronzium statue. Dressed in his customary black-patterned robes, with the cowl raised over his head, he moved as if hovering across the reflective floor.
“Welcome, Governor Tarkin,” he said in a voice that many thought sinister but to Tarkin sounded merely strained.
“My lord,” he said, bowing slightly. Gesturing broadly, he added: “I like what you’ve done with the place.” When the Emperor didn’t respond, Tarkin indicated the bronzium statue of a cloaked figure. “If memory serves, this was in your former office.”
The Emperor laid a wrinkled, sallow hand on the piece. “Sistros, one of the four ancient philosophers of Dwartii. I keep it for sentimental value.” He gestured broadly. “Some of the rest, well, one might call the collection the spoils of war.” His glance returned to Tarkin. “But come, sit, Governor Tarkin. We have much to discuss.”
The Emperor lowered himself into the armchair and swiveled away from the window-wall so that his ghastly face was in shadow. Tarkin took the chair opposite and crossed his hands in his lap.
As Nils Tenant had reaffirmed, there were as many rumors circulating about the Emperor as there were about Darth Vader. The fact that he rarely appeared in public or even at Senate proceedings had convinced many that the Jedi attack on him had resulted not only in the ruination of his face and body, but also in the death of the sanguine politician he had been before the war, betrayed by those who had served him and had supported the Republic for centuries. Some Coruscanti even confessed to having fond memories for ex-chancellor Finis Valorum, about whom they could gossip to no end. They yearned to see the Emperor strolling through Imperial Plaza or attending an opera or officiating at the groundbreaking of a new building complex.
But Tarkin didn’t speak to those things; instead he said: “Coruscant appears prosperous.”
“Busy, busy,” the Emperor said.
“The Senate is supportive?”
“Now that it serves rather than advises.” The Emperor swiveled slightly in Tarkin’s direction. “Better to surround oneself with fresh loyal allies than treacherous old ones.”
Tarkin smiled. “Someone once said that politics is little more than the systematic organization of hostilities.”
“Very true, in my experience.”
“But do you even need them, my lord?” Tarkin asked in a careful, controlled voice.
“The Senate?” The Emperor could not restrain a faint smile. “Yes, for the time being.” With a dismissive gesture, he added: “We’ve come far, you and I.”
“My lord?”
“Twenty years ago, who would have thought that two men from the Outer Rim would sit at the center of the galaxy.”
“You flatter me, my lord.”
The Emperor studied him openly. “I sometimes wonder, though, if you — born an outsider, as I was — feel that we should be doing more to lift up those worlds we defeated in the war? Especially those in the Outer Rim.”
“Turn the galaxy inside out?” Tarkin said more strongly than he intended. “Quite the opposite, my lord. The populations of those worlds wreaked havoc. They must earn the right to rejoin the galactic community.”
“And the ones that waver or refuse?”
“They should be made to suffer.”
“Sanctions?” the Emperor said, seemingly intrigued by Tarkin’s response. “Embargoes? Ostracism?”
“If they are intractable, then yes. The Empire cannot be destabilized.”
“Obliteration.”
“Whatever you deem necessary, my lord. Force is the only real and unanswerable power. Oftentimes, beings who haven’t been duly punished cannot be reasoned with or edified.”
The Emperor repeated the words to himself, then said, “That has the ring of a parental lesson, Governor Tarkin.”
Tarkin laughed pleasantly. “So it was, my lord — though applied in a more personal manner.”
The Emperor swiveled his chair toward the light, and Tarkin glimpsed his sepulchral visage; the molten skin beneath his eyes, the bulging forehead. After all these years, he was still not accustomed to it. “When one consorts with vipers, one runs the risk of being struck,” the Emperor had told Tarkin following the attack on him by a quartet of Jedi Masters.