From a Certain Point of View (Star Wars) by Renée Ahdieh & Meg Cabot & Pierce Brown & Nnedi Okorafor & Sabaa Tahir

Author:Renée Ahdieh & Meg Cabot & Pierce Brown & Nnedi Okorafor & Sabaa Tahir [Ahdieh, Renée]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2017-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

THEN:

You may fire when ready.

Wilhuff Tarkin was not the type to have rehearsed words. He was not given to standing before a mirror and imagining his moments of triumph, mouthing or whispering statements that would become cemented in history.

But these words were different. He had waited over two decades to say them. These words would begin an unfathomable frenzy of actions and reactions deep within the enormous weapon he stood in control of, and unleash a torrent of primordial fire that would erase the enemies of the Empire in a searing instant.

It pricked him that Director Krennic had already given the order to fire a test shot that had vaporized Jedha City, but such precautions were necessary. What if it had failed? Better such embarrassment lie at the feet of Orson Krennic than Grand Moff Tarkin. Krennic’s test proved spectacular, but the good director was destined to receive only a footnote mention in the annals of the Empire, as being tangentially connected to a mining disaster on the ancient moon.

Tarkin had carefully modulated his own distance from the project over the years—hovering ever closer when signs pointed to success, floating farther away when delays gnawed at the Emperor’s patience. In that moment over Jedha, the Death Star had moved from concept to proof, and Tarkin had stepped from distant backer to chief architect.

Krennic had tried to steal that moment. What was it he had said? That they stood there amid his achievement? Nonsense. Such claims were as absurd as a bricklayer taking pride in a parapet built at the behest of a king. It is the king’s castle. Glory ascends ever skyward.

Now Tarkin stood atop the sky, looking down at Scarif, a world violated by rebel intruders. A world infested, its secrets—Imperial secrets—exposed to rebel vermin. These secrets were not irreplaceable; there were duplicates of the military development records on Coruscant and, knowing the Emperor, elsewhere. That was beside the point; the rebel threat was here and now. The matter called for an executive decision.

The rebels could not leave Scarif. The information needed to be purged as a limb needed to be amputated before the infection spread elsewhere.

And Krennic was down there, wasn’t he? Returned to the Citadel on Scarif to clean up the mess he’d started. Well, Tarkin could do him a favor and sterilize that mess far more effectively from his current vantage point, inside the Death Star, orbiting high above the tropical planet.

Scarif turned below, bringing the Citadel to the horizon.

“You may fire when ready,” Tarkin said at long last. And he allowed himself the briefest of smiles.

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