Марта Уэллс - From a Certain Point of View

The mission of Blizzard Force was clear and attainable. Bring down the generator powering the defensive energy field that stood between Lord Vader and his ultimate goal: the Rebellion’s destruction.

The rebels were already proving that they would not give up without a fight. They were smart, too; Veers would give them that. They had to be, against something as enormous, as deadly, as the AT-ATs. The rebels could not attack directly, so they targeted the weakest parts—the neck, the joints. And a particularly clever one realized that if the transports could be tripped, they would topple, and began to wind cables around the legs.

Blizzard Force was taking more casualties than expected, and this troubled Veers. They were his soldiers. His unit. They trusted him to lead. But he had also trusted them to follow. Follow, obey orders, die for the Empire if need be. For Lord Vader.

There would be time to mourn the fallen later, when those still living had achieved what they had died for.

The pilot was smooth, the gunner relentless and accurate. And then…there it was: the main generator. The goal. Veers had not wavered; his heart rate had never risen. Worry was uncalled for. He knew he would not fail.

There was a humming sound, and a holographic figure no larger than Veers’s hand appeared. It was Lord Vader in miniature; the small image only served to remind Veers how tall the Dark Lord was in person.

“Is victory imminent, General Veers?”

“Yes, Lord Vader. I’ve reached the main power generator. The shield will be down in moments. You may start your landing.”

Veers pressed a button. “TS-4068, report to me immediately.” The captain of the squad was always prompt, and shortly stood beside his commander, silently awaiting orders. Snowtrooper armor, like that of most troopers, was white plastoid, but—the “snowies,” as they liked to call themselves, had unique adjustments ensuring they would be as effective in a harsh frigid environment as their stormtrooper brethren were. The most unique visual aspects of their armor were helms that seemed to flow over their heads rather than enclose them. It made for a disquieting image, this ghostly figure in the snow, if one was a rebel. Veers, like his lord, understood how powerful a weapon fear could be.

“All troops will debark for ground assault,” ordered Veers. The captain nodded and hastened to notify his men. Now the moment had come. Veers stood behind the gunner and pilot. His features were still composed, but he couldn’t resist a hint of a smile. He could see it clearly with the naked eye, now, jutting up from the snow.

“Prepare to target the main generator.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Veers caught a flash of green. He turned in time to see an AT-AT explode, first its belly, then the command center. It toppled like the great, headless creature it now resembled. Did his soldiers debark? Or had the attack slain forty good troopers? Veers deliberately looked away from the smoking hulk of the AT-AT. The goal was the only thing that mattered. He could not fail Lord Vader.

Below and in front of him, he could see the snowtroopers racing toward the rebels. And beyond them…the generators.

“Distance to power generators?” he inquired, his voice calm. Steady.

“One-seven-decimal-two-eight.”

“Target. Maximum power!” Veers barked. The gunner fired. Seconds later the generators were gone, transformed into a pulsing yellow cloud of fire. Veers gazed at the scene, quietly satisfied. Now Vader and his stormtroopers could enter the rebel base. Now Vader would find this Skywalker, who had so vexed him, and the Rebellion would crumble.

At this moment, having delivered his lord’s greatest desire, Veers had not failed Lord Vader. Far from it.

“I am sure Lord Vader is very pleased, sir,” TK-7834 said.

“That is the goal, is it not?” Veers replied, brushing off the compliment. “This is merely how everyone in the Empire should behave. Obey. And excel.”

At that moment, at the edge of his vision, Veers caught movement. His head snapped to the left, and his eyes widened as a smoking rebel snowspeeder careened toward them.

—

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Fast, so fast. Sounds, dreamy, muffled, distorted. Water. Swimming in water. Weightless, at ease, warm. Ready to drift away. But no, no. That wasn’t right…

The thumping grew faster, faster. Fear crept in, tendrils of darkness, wrapping around, squeezing— no, no, please—

And then came the sound. Rhythmic, almost soothing, calming. Steady. As unfaltering as Lord Vader himself.

Veers tried to say, My lord, then realized that the labored breathing he heard was his own. And as if the knowing of this suddenly made it real, pain such as he had never felt raced through him. The armor had protected him—hadn’t it? He opened his eyes— ah! bright, too bright —and where there had been darkness and softness and warmth and comfort, now there were colors and chaos and agony, so intense and powerful it was almost…pure. And cold. So, so cold…

The strange sounds formed themselves into known things: words, his own heartbeat.

“…pretty bad…Still alive…where are the medics…”

Snow. I remember…

“He’s awake!” It was TK-78…he could not remember the number. It was Lastok. He had removed his helm, against regulations. His face was bloody, but the trooper looked more worried about Veers. Why? Veers tried to ask, but no words came out.

“General…General Veers! Sir, you’ve got to listen to me. Hang on, all right?” Lastok glanced away, looking around, then shouted, “Medic! It’s the general!” He waved, flagging someone down, then returned his attention to Veers.

“Stay with us, sir. You’re going to be all right!”

But Veers had heard fear and hope warring in a soldier’s voice before. He was not at all sure he was going to be all right. He was sufficiently aware to notice that the cold stopped at his midsection. His legs…were they just too cold for him to feel? Or…

His armor should have shielded him from the cold, but he could not stop shivering. Could he move? Legs, arms…anything?

“No, no. You can’t die, General!” Veers knew what Lastok was doing: trying to keep him from drifting away into a place where no medic would be able to help. He closed his eyes again. The softness, the comfort was calling to him again. Veers listened.

“…Lord Vader!”

The gibberish had once again formed into words Veers knew. Words that gripped him, dragged him back into this place of life, of anguish.

Tears stung his eyes at the thought of how close he had come. Lastok was right to have reminded him of his truest duty.

No. I must not fail Lord Vader.

He stopped resisting the pain and welcomed it instead. As Vader would. As Vader must have once. His mind flashed to the glimpses of the man inside the helm. His lord had not just survived unbearable torment but used it to reshape himself. Become the stronger for the suffering.

Each labored gulp of air sent excruciating stabs through his chest. He endured them. He heard the medics rush up, and knew it was safe to let go; they would catch him now. All was well.

No, my lord. I shall never fail you.

Ever.

A NATURALIST ON HOTHHank Green

“The Empire is here.” My commander’s voice was resigned, not as strong as he probably would have liked. “Your evac slots have been assigned.” I looked around the room; we were a bunch of scientists and mechanics, not military personnel. We knew we were in harm’s way, but our job was not to fight and kill. Nonetheless, in war, sometimes it is your job to die.

“There’s a good chance that you’ll make it out of here alive, but if you have any final messages you’d like to send, now’s the time. We’ll encrypt them and then distribute them through the entire fleet, so if anyone gets out, your message will.”