Returned to the tall grass, he followed traces of the path left by his earlier transit, then, as if avoiding obstacles concealed by the stalks, began to pursue a more zigzag route as he neared the airspeeder and an isolated patch of forest beyond. The noise of his legs swooshing through the grass competed with the buzz and drone of insect life. Otherwise there was only the sound of his respiration and a faint echo of his movements. He was fifty or so meters from the airspeeder when he heard the sound of branches snapping and giving way behind him, and the surprised exclamation of the human who had fallen into the trap.
Pleased with himself, he stopped, turned about, and started for the pit he had excavated so many years earlier.
“Welcome, Wilhuff,” someone said from the towering grass off to his left before he reached the pit.
Jova stood from where he had been hiding. He was gnarled, wrinkled, and deeply tanned, but still spritely for his age. Thirty additional years of living on the Carrion didn’t seem to have done him too much harm. Parting the savanna grass with leathery hands, he began to make his way toward Tarkin, proffering a sleek blaster when they reached each other.
“He dropped this when he fell in,” the old man said. “A WESTAR, isn’t it?”
Tarkin nodded as he accepted the blaster, switched off the safety, and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. “Where’s his speeder, Uncle?”
Jova’s crooked finger pointed east. “Behind the trees. I thought he might follow you up the hill, but he stayed at the bottom, making a little nest for himself in the grass, then tracked you when you came down and started for your ship.”
Together they walked to the pit to gaze down at Teller, some four meters below them, somewhat stunned by the unexpected plunge but squinting up as their heads appeared over the rim. Fortunately for Teller, the sharpened stakes that had once studded the floor of the pit had rotted to mulch. The fall, however, had damaged some of the mimetic circuits of his camouflage suit, and he was alternately blending in with the mulch and visible to the naked eye.
“I made it as easy as I could for you to stalk me, Captain,” Tarkin said, using the rank Teller had earned during the Clone Wars. “I even left my stormtroopers behind in Eriadu City.”
“Very bighearted of you, Governor — or do I have to start calling you Grand Moff now?” Teller tried to get to his feet, but promptly winced in pain and sat back down to inspect a clearly broken ankle. “I knew you were leading me on,” he said through gritted teeth, “but it didn’t matter. Not as long as I had a shot at getting to you.”
“You had plenty of shots at getting to me, as you say. So why not when we were in the air? And why a simple hand blaster rather than a sniper rifle?”
“I wanted us to be looking each other in the eye when I killed you.”
Tarkin grinned faintly. “Sadly predictable, Captain. And so unnecessary.”
Teller snorted. “Well, this old fossil would probably have killed me before I got off a shot, anyway.”
“You’re right about that,” Jova said good-naturedly.
He and Tarkin stepped back from the rim. Jova stomped down an area of razor grass with his wide callused feet, and they sat facing each other.
“Were you surprised to hear from me, Uncle?” Tarkin asked.
Jova shook his hairless, nut-brown head. “I knew you’d return someday. I had to renovate some of your old traps. Lucky you recalled where you dug them.” He paused to grin. “Though I don’t suppose luck has much to do with anything.”
Tarkin gazed around him. “I remember my time here like yesterday.”
Jova nodded sagely. “I’ve tried to keep abreast of your career. Haven’t read or heard much about you the better part of three or four years now.”
“Imperial business,” Tarkin said, and let it go at that. “But whatever success I’ve achieved is to your credit for mentoring me. My memoir will make clear your contributions.”
Jova gestured in dismissal. “I don’t need to be singled out. I prefer being more of a phantom.”
“Phantom of the plateau.”
“Why not?”
Tarkin got to his feet and returned to the rim of the pit. “How’s the ankle, Captain? Swelling, I would imagine.”
Teller’s glower said it all.
“Need I remind you that we fought on the same side in the Clone Wars?” Tarkin said. “We fought to prevent the galaxy from splintering, and we achieved our goal. But where I’ve put that war behind me, you appear to be still waging it. You’d have the galaxy fracture again?”
“You haven’t put it behind you,” Teller said. “That war was nothing more than a prelude to the war the Emperor always had in mind. Subjugating Separatists was practice for subjugating the galaxy. You’ve known all along. And this time you’re going to crush your opponents before they have a chance to organize.”
“That’s called pacification, Captain.”
“It’s rule by fear. You’re not just demanding submission, you’re generating evil.”
“Then evil will have to do.”
Teller stared up at him. “What transforms a man into a monster, Tarkin?”
“Monster? That’s a point of view, is it not? I will say this much, however: This place, this plateau is what made me.”
Teller considered it, then asked: “What is the Empire building at Geonosis?”
Tarkin showed him a faint grin. “Unfortunately, Captain, you are not cleared to know that. But I’m willing to make a deal with you. I’m certain you’ll have a difficult time extricating yourself from this trap you stumbled into — what with the depth of the hole and now a broken ankle. But should you succeed, you will find your blaster, just here on the rim.” He made a point of setting the weapon down. “The most dangerous of the Carrion’s predators don’t appear until nightfall. They’ll sniff you out, and … Well, suffice it to say you don’t want to loiter down there. Of course, even if you manage to get out, it’s a long way to the edge of the escarpment.” He paused in thought, then added, “I’ll have Jova park your speeder at the base of the plateau. Should you make it off Eriadu alive, look me up and I’ll reconsider what I said about Geonosis.”
“Tarkin,” Teller said, “you will die horribly because you deserve nothing less. The more you try to coerce the disadvantaged to play by your rules, the more they will rebel. I’m not the only one.”
“You’re hardly the first to prophesize my demise, Captain, and I could certainly make an equally dire prediction about your death. Because here you are, trapped in a deep hole and crippled, and that’s precisely where I intend to keep the others of your ilk.”
Teller smiled with his eyes. “Then if I can escape, the rest will.”
Tarkin returned the look. “That’s an interesting analogy. Let’s see how it plays out in real life, and in the long run. Until then, farewell, Captain.”
Jova stood up as Tarkin approached, gesturing with his stubbled chin to the hole. “Broken ankle or no, he seems capable enough to escape. Do you want me to keep an eye on him, perhaps provide a hint or two of the lay of the land to better his chances?”
Tarkin stroked his jaw. “That might be interesting. You be the judge.”
“And if he makes it down off the plateau in one piece, and to his speeder?”
Tarkin mulled it over. “Learning that he’s actually at large will keep me on my toes.”