Марта Уэллс - From a Certain Point of View

This was it. Her desertion had been noticed, and the Empire was looking for her. She’d been spotted, and the stormtroopers would have her in custody within moments.

Heart thundering in her chest, Deena leaned against the lamppost, trying to blend in with the crowds of people. She glanced in the direction of the squad, their heavy footfalls growing louder as they approached. Some of the city’s citizens had noticed the stormtroopers, too, some stopping to look, and point.

Deena glanced around, trying to pick the best direction to run. The truth was, she had no idea of the city’s layout, and any direction was just as likely to lead her straight into another squad.

Then the sound of booted feet marching in step began to fade; to her surprise, Deena saw the squad move right past her—and keep going. Within a couple of minutes they disappeared from view completely.

Deena checked around her; then, the coast clear, she stepped out from the lamppost and crossed the boulevard, back toward the plaza. She glanced around, but nobody was paying her the slightest bit of attention.

Deena let out a sigh of relief. Maybe she was being paranoid. Or maybe she’d got lucky. Either way, she knew she was in the wrong place. She needed to find a way off the city and out of the system, but she also needed to keep a low profile. She thought back to her arrival in the shuttle and tried to recall the route back to the landing platforms.

No, too open, too obvious. What she needed was passage on a commercial or industrial transport. A ship she could smuggle herself on board, or, better still, sign up as auxiliary crew. For that, she had to reach the city’s industrial port, which would be on a lower level than the main landing pads up top.

To Deena’s surprise, it was relatively easy to access the lower levels of the city. Away from the public spaces, the industrial heart of the complex became apparent. Deena found herself wandering dark corridors, passing various facilities and departments, the air tangy with Tibanna residue and the scent of hot machinery at work. The only other people she’d seen so far had been a handful of Ugnaughts, but they’d been busy in their work, and she had no trouble avoiding detection. Down here, her black bodysuit was practically camouflage, and out of public sight, she’d taken a moment to reassemble her weapon. She didn’t know if she would need it, but she had to admit she felt better with it complete in her hands.

—

She hadn’t found the way to the city’s industrial port yet, but she knew it was a big place and, for the moment, she could afford to be patient. The city’s inner workings felt relatively safe, and, so far, free from Imperial intrusion.

Eventually she came to a larger chamber, some kind of auxiliary control room, in the middle of which was a series of large circular consoles with complex cradles of equipment suspended above. On one side of the room was a large circular conduit that ran up at an angle to another dark room beyond, but Deena was drawn to the circular window opposite. Moving over, she looked out at what seemed to be the central hub of the city, a dizzying funnel of curved walls and windows stretching above and below.

There was a sound from behind her, almost like tentative footsteps. No sooner had Deena registered the sound than there was the heavy clunk of a power relay activating, and the conduit on the other side of the room was lit up in white, the silhouette of a man clearly outlined at the other end. Deena ducked instinctively and scooted around the consoles to find a place to hide. From behind a console at the edge of the space, she watched as the man jumped down into the room. Just as he seemed to get his bearings, a heavy grilled gate snapped shut behind him, closing off the conduit.

Deena watched him with interest. He was dressed in a drab uniform of some sort, with a pouched utility belt, and was holding some kind of cylindrical tool in one hand. He was a worker perhaps, but the way he looked around, it was like he knew as much about his surroundings as she did. Then, as he moved into the room, toward the window, Deena noticed the holstered blaster on his hip. She frowned to herself, wondering why the worker would be armed, when a new sound filled the room—the deep, hollow rasp of artificial respiration Deena knew only too well.

Lord Vader was here.

Immediately the man fell into a combat stance and lifted the cylindrical tool in his hand. There was a fizzing snap, and a blade that looked like it was made of shimmering blue light ignited from the object.

Of course. This man was no city worker. The weapon was a lightsaber, and this was Luke Skywalker, Vader’s quarry.

Quarry that had now been cornered.

Deena squeezed herself into a ball, desperate to remain hidden, feeling like she was in full view. She gasped as Lord Vader lifted his own saber, the blade a brilliant and angry red.

Deena’s heart raced as she risked a look over her shoulder. She had to get out, but the only exit was a corridor behind her, and there was no way she could make it without being seen.

She would just have to wait until the room was clear.

Wait—and watch….

What happened next, though, Deena did not expect. Instead of engaging in a duel, Lord Vader lowered his blade. There was a noise from behind the pilot, a metallic tearing. Deena watched as Skywalker swung his saber at a long, tubular piece of pipework that seemed to have fallen from one of the wall fittings.

Lord Vader seized the moment of distraction and commenced his attack—but strangely, only for a few seconds. From nowhere, an equipment box flew through the air and hit Skywalker on the head, throwing him off balance. As Deena watched, Vader took a step back and lowered his blade again as more equipment was pulled off the walls. Deena saw it with her own eyes this time, bolts shearing as chunks of machinery were ripped, sparking and spitting, from their fittings, without even being touched. Piece after piece flew through the air, directed by Lord Vader himself as he channeled the power Deena had seen him wield many times. But those instances aboard the Executor —the summary termination of subordinates without laying a gloved finger on them, the unfortunate victim occasionally held aloft as they were choked by the invisible force—were nothing compared to the onslaught Deena was witness to, the power multiplied exponentially as Lord Vader wrenched the control room apart with nothing but his mind.

The machinery pummeled Skywalker, who struggled to defend himself with his lightsaber, but he kept swinging in the wrong direction. Stumbling backward, he was narrowly missed by a huge cylindrical object that smashed through the center of the great window behind him.

It was as if a starship air lock had been blown. Deena grabbed the console as best she could as the atmosphere in the room began to evacuate through the broken window. She saw Lord Vader himself struggle against the sudden vacuum, his cloak billowing as he reached for a pillar.

Deena felt her own grip begin to slip, her boots sliding on the smooth metal floor as the wind roared in her ears.

But this was the opportunity she needed. She had no choice. She had to risk it.

She had to get out.

Deena took one look over the top of the console, saw Lord Vader facing away from her, saw Skywalker trying to keep himself from being sucked outside, the blue blade of his lightsaber raised across his face for protection.

Deena braced herself against the console, took a deep breath, and pushed off, powering down the corridor leading out from the control room with all her might as debris flew past her, the endless wind threatening to sweep her off her feet. Halfway down she found her strength beginning to weaken. The corridor wall was broken up by protruding bulkheads. She threw herself against the wall and found herself leaning against a maintenance hatch. Flinging the panel open, Deena pulled herself inside.