Kevin J Anderson

Darksaber

To Lillie E. Mitchell

who does so much of the invisible work on these books, allowing me  the

freedom and the energy to tell my stories as fast as they want to  come  out

of my head

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to pass along my very special thanks  to  Barbara  Hambly,

for helping me with Callista and for giving me such  a  perfect  springboard

for Darksaber.

I am especially indebted  to  the  imagination  and  artwork  of  Ralph

McQuarrie. Much of this novel is tied closely to work  we  developed  during

the creation of The Illustrated Star  Wars  Universe,  which  provided  much

inspiration.

Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta just wouldn't be the same  without  the  work

done by Tom Veitch and Cam Kennedy in their Dark Empire graphic novels.

Kenneth C. Flint helped with the Tatooine portion of the story; Timothy

Zahn gave me guidance with Pellaeon; Bill Smith and West End Games  provided

detailed background material on the Hutts and  on  Crix  Madine.  The  Usual

Suspects Tom Dupree, Lucy  Wilson,  Sue  Rostoni,  Allan  Kausch  made  this

project possible in the first place and assisted along the way.

And my wife, Rebecca Moesta, helped far more in ways both  obvious  and

not so obvious than I could possibly describe on the rest of  this  page.  I

love you.

The time is eight years after the battle of Endor.

Grand Admiral Thrawn and the resurrected Emperor have been defeated and

their forces scattered, leaving only bickering warlords to  fight  over  the

scraps of Imperial war machinery deep in the Core Systems, far behind  enemy

lines. The renegade Admiral Daala  is  believed  dead,  but  with  her  lone

remaining Star Destroyer she has limped back to the shelter of the  tattered

Empire, where she hopes one day to return to the  fight  for  lost  Imperial

territory?

On Yavin 4 Luke Skywalker has formed an academy to reestablish the Jedi

Knights, former guardians of the Old Republic. He has  already  taught  many

students how to use their powers with the Force; more candidates come, while

others decide to go forth and help safeguard the fragile alliance of the New

Republic.

In recent months Luke has destroyed the automated Dreadnaught, the  Eye

of Palpatine, and rescued the spirit of the Jedi  woman  Callista,  who  was

trapped in the Dread-naught's computer for decades. Luke has  fallen  deeply

in love with her, even as she inhabits the body of one of his lost students.

Though Callista is now alive again and free to love Luke Skywalker, she  has

inexplicably lost all of her Jedi powers in the ordeal.

Luke is desperate to find some way for Callista to  get  her  abilities

back. No matter where the search may lead him?

TATOOINE

CHAPTER 1

The banthas plodded in single file, leaving  only  a  narrow  trail  of

scuffed footprints across the dunes.

Twin suns hammered down on the procession. Waves of heat  rippled  like

cloaking shields, blurring the distance and making an oven of the Dune  Sea.

Indigenous creatures took shelter in whatever shadow they could  find  until

the firestorm of afternoon trickled away into the cooler dusk.

The banthas moved with no noise other than  the  muffled  crunching  of

their footsteps in the sand. Swathed in strips of cloth, the Tusken  Raiders

astride the shaggy beasts looked from side to side, keeping watch.

Wrapped entirely in bandages, yet still uneasy about the disguise,  Han

Solo looked out through narrow metal tubes designed to shield the eyes  from

blowing grit. His mouth was covered with a corroded  metal  filter  for  the

sand; the filter contained a small internal moisturizer to  make  Tatooine's

fiery air more breathable.  The  other  Sand  People  had  tiny  ventilators

studded around their desert coverings.  Only  their  strongest  survived  to

adulthood, and they prided themselves on it.

Han rode on his bantha, hoping to remain inconspicuous in the middle of

the procession. The hairy beast swayed as it walked, and Han  tried  not  to

clutch its scalloped, curving horns more often than the other Tusken Raiders

did. The bantha's sharp back ridges were covered with matted  fur,  and  the

disconcertingly thin saddle made the ride excruciatingly uncomfortable.

Han swallowed, taking another sip of his precious water and biting back

a complaint. This had, after all, been his own  crazy  suggestion.  He  just

hadn't expected Luke Skywalker would be so eager to agree, and now  Han  was

stuck. The mission was vital to the New  Republic,  and  he  had  to  follow

through.

With a muttered command, the lead Raider urged his  bantha  to  greater

speed. The procession trudged through fine sand, winding along the crest  of

a shifting dune that stood like a towering sentinel in the arid  ocean.  Han

did not grasp the dune's great size until they had ascended for  the  better

part of an hour without reaching the top.

The suns grew even hotter, if that were possible. The  banthas  coughed

and snorted, but the Sand People were focused on a mission.

Han swallowed, trying to ease his parched  throat.  Finally,  he  could

remain silent no longer  and  whispered  into  the  short-range  transmitter

implanted in his breathmask. "Luke, what's goin' on?" he said. "I've  got  a

bad feeling about whatever they're up to."

It took Luke Skywalker a moment to respond. Han watched the thin  rider

two banthas ahead of him sit up straighter; Luke seemed far more comfortable

in his disguise than Han felt. Of course, Luke had grown up on Tatooine but.

the young man's voice now sounded bone weary  as  it  came  over  the  voice

pickup in Han's ear.

"Nothing to do with us, Han," he said. "A few of the Sand  People  have

vague suspicions, but they haven't centered on us yet. I'm using  the  Force

to distract anyone who pays  too  much  attention.  No,  this  is  something

different entirely. A great tragedy? you'll see." Luke heaved a long  breath

through his breathmask. "Can't talk now. Have  to  concentrate.  Wait  until

they're preoccupied, and I'll explain more."

Up ahead, Luke slumped forward in his Tusken  disguise.  Han  knew  his

friend was expending an incredible amount of energy to lull the Sand  People

into ignoring their two unwanted guests. Luke was able to use his  abilities

to muddle the minds of weak individuals, but never before had Han  seen  his

friend manipulate so many minds at once.

The trick was to keep the Sand People from noticing them; then  it  was

easy for Luke to divert a few stray thoughts. If someone  sounded  an  alarm

and all the Sand People focused on the intruders, though, not  even  a  Jedi

Master would be able to keep up the charade. Then there would be a fight.

Tucked under his tattered robes, Han carried his trusty blaster pistol.

He didn't know if he and Luke could take on the entire band of  Raiders  but

they would make a good accounting of themselves if circumstances  ever  came

to that.

The lead rider reached the peak of the sand mountain. The bantha's wide

feet trampled the wind-sharpened edge atop the dune. The air was  still,  as

if stunned. The sands glittered like a billion miniature novas.

Han adjusted the corroded niters  over  his  eyes.  The  other  banthas

plodded up, surrounding their leader,  who  raised  his  cloth-wrapped  arm,

brandishing a wicked-looking gaffi stick.  Behind  the  Tusken  leader,  his

single passenger  sat  slumped  and  sullen,  though  it  was  difficult  to

understand the body language of these masked and alien people.

Han sensed somehow that this withdrawn passenger was the center of  the

ceremony. Was some kind of honor being bestowed, Han wondered, or  was  this

man being exiled from the tribe?

The passenger slid off the lead bantha, letting himself drop  from  the

shaggy beast. He clung to the woolly fur as if in desperation, but no sounds

came from his bandaged face, not even the guttural  grunts  and  snorts  the

Tuskens used as language. Head  down,  his  eye  tubes  pointed  toward  the

churned sand where bantha footprints had trampled  the  pristine  dune,  the

passenger stood dejected in front of the lead rider.

The leader waited beside his mount, holding the upraised  gaffi  stick;

the other Sand People climbed down from their banthas. They  thrashed  their

own weapons in the air. Han and Luke copied the gestures,  trying  to  blend

in.

In his disguise Luke moved slowly and wearily. This mission was  taking

a heavy toll on the Jedi Knight,  and  Han  hoped  they  would  reach  their

destination soon.

The forlorn passenger hesitated at the edge of the dune, gazing  across

the sweeping ocean of loose sands that  spread  to  the  horizon.  The  Sand

People stood at attention and raised their gaffi sticks high.

While they concentrated on the intensity of the  moment,  Luke's  voice

buzzed in Han's ear. "All  right,  they're  distracted,"  he  said.  "I  can

explain. The lone Tus-ken Raider lost his bantha three  days  ago.  A  krayt

dragon killed it, and unfortunately our friend there got away."

"What do you  mean,  unfortunately?"  Han  mumbled,  hoping  his  voice

wouldn't carry over the restless sounds of the Sand People.

"The Tusken Raiders have a very close relationship with their banthas,"

Luke said. "It is a mental bonding, a symbiosis,  almost  like  a  marriage.

They become part of each other, bantha and Tusken. When one  member  of  the

pair is killed, the other is incomplete  like  an  amputee."  Unconsciously,

Luke flexed his cyborg hand. "He has no place in Tusken society,  though  he

is more an object of pity than of hatred. Many believe he should  have  died

beside his bantha, no matter what the circumstances."

"So, are they just going to kill him?" Han asked.

"Yes and no," Luke said. "They believe the spirit of  the  dead  bantha

must decide. If the spirit wishes for him to bond with  another  mount,  our

friend will find a free wild bantha in the desert, join with it, and  return

in triumph to the tribe,  where  he  will  be  fully  accepted  even  highly

revered. However, if the bantha's spirit wants his  rider  to  join  him  in

death, then the outcast will wander hopelessly in the desert until he dies."

Han barely shook his head. "Doesn't sound  like  his  chances  are  too

hot."

Luke said, "Probably not but that is their way."

The Sand People waited for the exile to make the first  move.  Finally,

with a single anguished cry that might have been triumph  or  challenge,  he

plunged down the steep and shifting slope  of  the  dune.  The  Sand  People

tilted their heads toward the burning sky and let out a loud  ululating  cry

that made Han shudder.

The Tusken Raiders thrashed their gaffi sticks to wish their  companion

well. The banthas raised up their squarish, shaggy  heads  and  bellowed  in

unison, a rumbling, growling cry that shook the Dune Sea.

The lone Raider waded down the steep slope. Dusty golden sand  flew  up

around him as his feet and legs sank in. His robes flapped behind him as  he

plodded on. He tripped and tumbled, flailing his arms,  and  finally  jabbed

his gaffi stick deep into the uncertain surface, one arm thrust out to  gain

balance, leaving a swath of disturbed sand behind him.

The exiled Raider heaved himself to his feet again. Sand trickled  from

his flowing cloaks, but still he marched ahead, not looking back. A  few  of

the banthas bellowed  again.  The  sound  was  swallowed  up  in  the  empty

vastness. The outcast's drab garments soon made him fade into the landscape.

The lead Raider turned and, with a single energetic leap,  mounted  his

bantha. The other Sand  People  climbed  into  their  saddles.  The  banthas

snorted and stomped on the loose sand.

Han got back to his seat. Luke was the last to balance  himself  again,

and by that time the lead Raider had already turned the hairy beast  to  the

side and began to plunge down the shallower slope at the back of  the  dune.

The other Sand People followed, marching  closely  in  line  to  mask  their

tracks.

Han risked a glance behind him. He  could  just  make  out  the  single

exiled Raider dwindling in the distance, moving with slow  determination  as

ripples of heat blurred his tiny figure. Soon he was swallowed completely by

the unforgiving jaws of the Dune Sea.

The heat of the day seemed to last forever, and Han  rode  in  a  fugue

state, barely aware of his surroundings,  self-hypnotized  by  a  litany  of

rocking footfalls. Ahead, Luke  continued  to  sit  upright  on  the  bantha

saddle, though he wavered from time to  time.  Han  wondered  what  sort  of

energy the Jedi Knight was tapping into.

The group camped in a  thick  maze  of  rocky  badlands  punctuated  by

pockmarked stone needles rising out of the  windblown  sand.  Darkness  fell

quickly with the double sunset, and the temperature plummeted. For  a  while

the rocks continued to throb with stored heat, but they quickly cooled.

Grunting and chuffing to each other in  their  baffling  language,  the

Sand People pitched camp. Each knew his or her own duties Han could not tell

whether the individual Tuskens were male or female. Luke had said that  only

assigned mates were able to see each other with faces unwrapped.

Two of the younger people encircled a flat area with smaller rocks, and

piled bricks of what Han realized must be dried bantha dung, the  only  fuel

source available out in the barrens.

Han and Luke moved about, trying  to  appear  busy.  The  banthas,  not

corralled or tied in any way, were simply led to a side  canyon  where  they

could rest for the night. Other Raiders broke out packages of stringy  dried

meat. Han and Luke took their share and squatted on boulders.

Carefully, Han lifted his metal breathmask and jammed a  piece  of  the

meat into his mouth. He chewed and wasted several  drinks  of  water  as  he

tried to make the jerky palatable enough to swallow. "What is  this  stuff?"

he muttered into the voice pickup.

Luke answered without looking at him. "Dried and salted dewback  flank,

I believe."

"Tastes like leather," Han muttered.

"It's more nutritious than leather? I think," Luke said. He turned  his

metal eyetubes toward Han, who could detect no expression on the  wrapped-up

face. Han became disoriented if he swiveled his head too fast while  looking

through the small holes in the eyetubes.

As the Sand People finished their meal, they gathered around the  blaze

as a tall Raider hunched near the  brighter  part  of  the  fire.  From  the

careful way he moved, the slow placement of limbs not to mention the  silent

reverence the other Tuskens granted him Han got the impression that this was

a very old person.

"The storyteller," Luke's voice said in his ear.

Other Raiders brought out long poles and unfurled bright  clan  banners

marked with jagged slashes, some sort of  violent  written  language.  These

must be totems, symbols not seen by the outside world at all.

A young, wiry Raider sat next to the storyteller. Others came back from

their bantha saddles with trophies, visual aids for the story. They held out

scraps of rough cloth, a bloodied  banner.  Han  saw  battered  and  cracked

stormtrooper helmets like the skulls of fallen enemies; a luminous milky gem

the size of his fist, which Han recognized with a start as  a  krayt  dragon

pearl, one of the rarest treasures ever to come from Tatooine.

The old man raised up his bandage-wrapped hands and began to speak. The

other Raiders sat enraptured as stories spilled out in low grunts and barely

recognizable sounds that might have been words.

Luke translated for Han. "He's telling of their exploits, how they took

an entire stormtrooper regiment many years ago. How they slew a krayt dragon

and took the pearls out of its gullet.  How  they  defeated  another  Tusken

clan, slaughtered all their adults, and  adopted  their  children  into  the

clan, thereby increasing their numbers."

The storyteller finished his tale and squatted lower, gesturing to  the

young apprentice who glanced around. Two Tusken Raiders stood on either side

of the boy, holding their gaffi sticks with the axheads pointing down at the

apprentice. The storyteller raised a trembling hand and turned  it  sideways

like a knife blade. The apprentice hesitated for a moment and began to speak

slowly.

"Now what?" Han said.

Luke  answered.  "That  boy  is  being  trained  as  the  clan's   next

storyteller. The Tuskens believe very much in inflexible tradition.  Once  a

story is set down as an oral path, it must remain  forever  unaltered.  This

boy has learned the story: he is now telling about  a  raid  on  a  moisture

farmer who attempted to bring  peace  between  humans  and  Jawas  and  Sand

People."

"But why the weapons?" Han said. "Looks like they're ready to snuff the

poor kid."

"They will, if he makes so much as one mistake. If  the  boy  alters  a

single word, the storyteller will chop down with his hand, and  the  Raiders

will kill the apprentice immediately. They believe that speaking the stories

in any manner other  than  the  way  they  were  originally  told  is  great

blasphemy. "

Han said, "Not much room for mistakes, is there?"

Luke shook his head. The other Tuskens were concentrating completely on

the boy's speech. "The desert is a hard place, Han. It allows  no  room  for

mistakes. The Sand People are a product of that environment. They have harsh

ways, but such harshness has been forced upon them."

The boy finished, and the old storyteller raised his other  hand  in  a

congratulatory gesture. The young apprentice slumped with trembling  relief,

and the other Sand People muttered their appreciation.

After a while, the fire was banked and began to burn  low.  The  Tusken

Raiders settled down for the night.

"I'm going to get some rest," Han said. "You haven't slept in two days,

Luke. Can't you wait until they all go to sleep, then catch a nap yourself?"

Luke shook his head. ' 'I  don't  dare.  If  I  stop  monitoring  their

thoughts, if I release my hold on their minds, they might  suddenly  realize

we're not supposed to be with them. If somebody sounds an alarm, we're lost.

Besides, a Jedi can go a long time without rest."

"Whatever you say, buddy," Han said.

"We should reach Jabba's palace by  tomorrow,"  Luke  said  with  weary

hope.

"I can't wait," Han said. "I mean, we had so much fun the last time  we

were there."

CHAPTER 2

The Sand People roused themselves in the  frigid  darkness  before  the

first of Tatooine's twin suns crept over the horizon. Han shivered,  finding

no warmth in his bandage wrappings. Luke moved more sluggishly than ever.

Han was worried about his friend. In addition to exhaustion,  Luke  was

suffering from deep frustration at his inability to help Callista  the  Jedi

woman he loved? regain her lost powers. And now, after days without sleep on

the razor's edge of peril, hiding  among  ferocious  desert  nomads,  Luke's

stamina was wearing dangerously thin.

The Tusken Raiders saddled their banthas, and the shaggy beasts stomped

impatiently, as if anxious to be off before the day's heat  caught  up  with

them. Soundlessly, with gaffi sticks and scavenged blaster rifles ready, the

Sand People rode out  into  the  desert  as  the  sky  filled  with  purple,

brightening to a lavender shot with molten gold.

When the first sun rose, Han felt the temperature skyrocket after  only

a few moments. The air smelled flat and metallic through his mouthpiece, but

Han endured in silence.

He thought of Leia and their  three  children  back  on  Coruscant  and

fantasized about the peaceful life of a small yet successful trader. But Han

grimaced behind the bandages: such a quiet life would be a  greater  torture

than any vicious punishment the Sand People could devise.

By midmorning, the Tusken Raiders topped a rocky rise and looked across

distended shadows and painted desert  to  the  ruins  of  Jabba  the  Hutt's

palace. The citadel stood silent and monolithic in the crags.  Han  shivered

at his first glance.

"I told you I'd get us here," Luke said through the voice pickup.

"We're not inside yet, kid," Han answered.

"When I split off, follow me,"  Luke  said.  "I'll  distract  the  Sand

People so they won't even notice us separating from them. Once we get out of

sight, I can release my control and I'll be glad for the rest."

Far across the rolling ocean of sand, the collected winds made a  minor

sandwhirl, such as often whipped up in the wastelands but Luke  used  it  to

his advantage.

The lead Raider grunted something and pointed  with  his  gaffi  stick,

wheeling his bantha about to watch the  sandwhirl.  The  other  Sand  People

turned, inordinately fascinated by the  dust  whirl,  They  chattered  among

themselves, grunting and hooting through their breathmasks.

Luke used the diversion to nudge his bantha to the right, splitting off

from the line of Tusken Raiders. Han yanked on the rough curved horn of  his

mount. He couldn't believe it was going to work, but he and Luke  rode  side

by side, trotting down the sandy slope. Their footprints churning  up  dust,

the banthas crossed the great empty bowl into the rocky canyon that  led  to

Jabba's palace.

Han looked back anxiously, but none of the  Tusken  Raiders  turned  in

their direction. The Sand People continued to point their sticks  and  shout

toward the sandwhirl as if it were an approaching army.

Luke urged his bantha between the narrow,  rust-rock  walls  where  the

canyon shadows fell about them. Heat-broken boulders rose  on  either  side,

and the baked sulfu-rous sand and mud was like duracrete  underfoot  as  the

mounts trotted toward the lower entrance of Jabba's palace.

Once they were out of sight, Luke let out  a  heavy  sigh  and  slumped

against his saddle. "We made it!" he said. "They shouldn't  remember  us  at

all. "

"Yeah," Han said, "and we got  all  the  way  from  Anchorhead  without

anybody noticing us no spies, no witnesses, no records. Now we can check out

these rumors and get back home."

A harsh wind whistled down the canyon, moaning through the minarets  of

Jabba's palace. The high observation towers had  open  black  windows,  like

gaps in a grinning skull. Han looked up and saw blaster scoring on the fused

bricks. A few scuttling lizards ran from a pocket of  shade  to  some  other

cool, dark crack.

Han could not see enough through the round eyetubes of the Tusken  face

wrapping. In disgust he peeled the bandages off and removed  the  metal  eye

coverings, tossing them to the ground. He drew a deep breath  of  the  dusty

air and coughed. "Boy, I'm glad to get rid of that."

Luke's face looked monstrous swathed in his  Tusken  disguise;  but  he

carefully unwrapped himself, stuffing the rags inside  his  tattered  desert

robes.

Han shook his head as he looked at the ruins. Jabba had  not  been  the

first inhabitant of the huge palace. It had been built centuries before  the

Hutt crimelord was born, or hatched? or however it was that baby Hutts  came

to life.

Long ago, exiled monks of the B'omarr Order had found an isolated  spot

on  the  backwater  world  Tatooine  and  built  their  towering  monastery,

remaining mysterious and aloof from the planet's other inhabitants. Sometime

later the bandit Alkhara had broken into the monastery and used parts of  it

as his hideout as he preyed upon mois-ture farmers. The B'omarr monks didn't

seem to care about Alkhara's presence, though utterly ignoring him.

Since that  time,  a  succession  of  undesirables  had  located  their

headquarters in portions of the B'omarr monastery, the latest  of  whom  had

been Jabba the Hutt. After Jabba's death at the  Great  Pit  of  Carkoon,  a

civil war had broken out among Jabba's minions as each  scrambled  to  steal

the Hutt crimelord's possessions, ransacking the palace.

With Jabba's crime empire in ruins, the silent and mysterious monks had

taken the opportunity to reclaim what  had  been  theirs,  destroying  those

among Jabba's followers who did not flee fast enough. The palace  had  since

remained a haunted edifice, to be avoided by all but the most daring.

Recently, though, some of what Leia called his  "scruffy"  old  friends

had passed along disturbing rumors that other Hutts were  poking  around  in

the abandoned palace, looking for something something important  enough  for

them to risk coming back.

Luke slid down from his bantha and patted its woolly side.  The  bantha

snorted in confusion and stamped its feet. Han's bantha snuffled.

The corroded door loomed in front of them, a duras-teel barrier  pitted

with blaster scars, some bright and new, others decades old and  worn  away.

Luke and Han approached together. Over the years, the control  circuits  had

crossed or decayed, and the heavy barrier had raised and stuck half a  meter

from the ground. Drifts of sand had collected in the  gap.  A  cool,  musty-

smelling breeze leaked out of the shadowy inner corridors.

"We could crawl under, I suppose," Han said  without  much  enthusiasm,

running his fingers over the heavy durasteel door.

Luke went up to the lichen-covered external panel. "It might  slip  and

squash us both like it did Jabba's rancor. I think I'll try  these  controls

first."

As soon as Luke touched one of the buttons, a panel creaked open in the

center of the door, and a bobbing artificial  eye  extended,  swaying  on  a

rusted metal stalk? Jabba's surveillance system. The  machine's  words  were

garbled and slurred as if its programming had deteriorated.

The scolding tone in its vocal synthesizer was more than Han, weary  as

he was, could tolerate. He reached into the folds of his desert robe, pulled

out his blaster pistol, and blew the thing into smoking shards and  sparking

wires. "Oh, shut up!" he said, then turned to  Luke  with  a  roguish  grin.

"Didn't like the way it was looking at us."

Luke set to work on the door controls, and  finally,  with  a  coughing

sound, the door lurched up another meter and jammed in  its  tracks.  "Think

that's good enough?" he said.

Before Han could reply, the whine of a blaster bolt spanged against the

metal  door,  creating  another  bright  silvery  scar.  "What?"  he  cried,

whirling.

Their two banthas snorted in greeting. Another blaster bolt  shot  down

the canyon and burned a  hole  through  Han's  draped  desert  robe,  barely

missing his chest. Han held up the drab  cloth  in  shock,  looking  at  the

smoldering hole.

The entire group of Sand People thundered  down  the  canyon,  whipping

their banthas to a frenzy and waving gaffi  sticks.  They  fired  recklessly

with their blasters. Han and Luke's two banthas reared.

"Looks like you stopped distracting  'em  too  soon,  kid,"  Han  said,

diving toward the partially open door. "Must have seen our tracks."

"I guess this door is open enough," Luke said and  scrambled  into  the

shadows beside Han. "Now if only I can figure out how to close it?"

More blaster bolts struck the door, making the musty corridors echo and

thrum. The Sand People jabbered with  rage,  and  their  banthas  made  loud

sounds as they churned around the door.

Luke found the inner door controls  and  grabbed  at  a  bunch  of  the

twisted and corroded wires. A single hope-less spark flickered out, then the

entire control panel went dead.

"Better do something quick, Luke!" Han said, crouching  down  with  his

blaster pistol.

One of the Sand People fired into the interior shadows; the energy bolt

ricocheted on the flagstone floor, bouncing into the darkness behind Han and

Luke. Han fired his own blaster at the bandaged feet he could  see.  One  of

the Tusken Raiders yowled and leaped backward.

Luke gave up on the control panel and stood with his hands  hanging  at

his sides. His fists clenched, then relaxed as he concentrated on the Force.

The tracks groaned as he moved the mechanisms holding the heavy door in

place. Suddenly, with a thunderous  clang,  it  crashed  down,  belching  up

clouds of old dust and engulfing the hall in darkness.

"Well, that was fun," Han said. "Don't suppose you remembered to  bring

along a portable glowlamp?"

Luke reached  into  the  folds  of  his  robe.  "A  Jedi  always  comes

prepared," he said and  removed  his  light-saber,  pushing  the  activation

button. With a snap-hiss the vibrant green  blade  spilled  out,  a  rod  of

incandescent light that made Han shield his eyes. "Not the  most  impressive

use I've ever made of my lightsaber," Luke commented, "but it'll do."

The two crept deeper into the winding catacombs of  the  palace  toward

Jabba's throne room. They didn't quite know what they were looking for,  but

both were confident they'd spot something amiss.

"It didn't look that much better when Jabba lived here," Luke said.

"Maybe all the housekeeping droids broke down," Han said.

Inside the abandoned main  throne  room  where  the  bloated  Hutt  had

pronounced judgment on his helpless victims, Luke's  lightsaber  illuminated

the walls with a glare that made the shadows jump  and  ripple.  Scavengers,

small and large, made loud noises in the otherwise tomb-like  room.  Pebbles

trickled from a loose block in the wall.

"Those weird B'omarr monks are still here in  this  place,"  Han  said.

"But they don't look too anxious to reclaim the rooms Jabba used."

"I'm not sure anyone pretends to understand the  B'omarr  Order,"  Luke

answered. "From what I've heard, when they reach  their  greatest  state  of

enlightenment, each monk undergoes some kind of  surgery  that  removes  his

brain and places it  in  a  life-support  jar.  It  keeps  them  from  being

distracted  by  physical  diversions,  leaving  them  to  ponder  the  great

mysteries."

Han snorted and looked into Luke's pale blue  eyes.  "Good  thing  Jedi

don't go for nonsense like that."

Luke smiled at his friend. "I seem to remember you called the  Force  a

'hokey religion' when I first met you."

Han looked away, embarrassed. "Well, I've gotten smarter since then."

Sudden mechanical sounds were as loud  as  distant  explosions  in  the

echoing room. The two whirled: Luke with his lightsaber ready, Han  pointing

his blaster pistol. The  whirring  servomotors  and  articulated  legs  came

closer, many feet clicking like ice picks on the flagstone floors. Han  felt

his skin crawl with remembered revulsion as he thought  of  the  crystalline

energy spiders that lived in the black spice mines of Kessel.

But the thing that emerged was neither entirely a  droid  nor  entirely

alive a set of sharp mechanical legs moving, staggering,  as  if  with  poor

muscular control? an automated steel insect that stumbled  into  the  throne

room. And slung under the legs, where the bloated body  of  a  spider  would

have been, hung a spherical jar filled with clear  fluid  that  bubbled  and

gurgled, pulsing life-support into the convoluted and spongy form of a human

brain.

"Uh-oh!" Han said. "It's one of  the  monks.  Who  knows  what  they're

after?" He pointed the blaster directly at the brain jar.

No, came a flat, processed voice a  synthesized  word  through  a  tiny

speaker mounted on the set of mechanical legs.

Luke held up his other hand. "Wait, Han? I'm  sensing  only  confusion.

There's no threat."

Are you friends of Jabba's? the spider legs asked.

"I've got better taste in my friends," Han said. "Who're you?"

The spider legs skittered from side to side as if the brain had stopped

concentrating and lost control. I am Maizor. I was once a rival of  Jabba's.

We had a? confrontation, and I lost.

The synthesized voice paused, as if processing. Jabba ordered the monks

to perform their surgery on me and place my brain in this jar.

More thinking, more flat and mechanical words. I use these legs when  I

wish to move about. It took me a year  to  stop  screaming  in  silence  and

become adjusted to my new circumstances. Jabba kept me around his palace  as

a joke, so he could laugh at how pathetic I had become.

The spider legs skittered, though the voice grew  louder,  tinged  with

defiance. But now Jabba is dead. The palace is empty. And I am the last  one

laughing.

Han and Luke looked at each other. Han gradually lowered  his  blaster.

"Well, any enemy of Jabba's is a friend of mine," he said. "In fact, we were

there at the Great Pit of Carkoon when Jabba was killed."

I am greatly in your debt, Maizor said. Blinking lights flashed  around

the brain jar's life-support systems.

"Then perhaps you can help us," Luke said. His voice was  calm,  filled

with Jedi power. "We're seeking information. We've heard rumors. If you have

been here in the palace, you might have seen what we need to know."

Yes,  Maizor  said.  Many  strangers  have  come  here  recently.  Much

activity. Very mysterious.

"Can you tell us who they were, what they were looking for?" Han  said,

amazed at how easy the answer had come. "We need to know what the Hutts  are

up to."

Hutts, the mechanical voice said. I  despise  Hutts.  Many  Hutts  have

intruded here. Searching.

"And what were they looking for?" Han persisted.

Information. Jabba's information. Jabba had much knowledge stored  here

in secret databanks. He had his spies everywhere, collecting data to use  or

to sell. Not only was Jabba a crime kingpin, he also  knew  much  about  the

Rebel Alliance though the Empire refused  to  pay  him  enough  to  make  it

worthwhile. Jabba also had many Imperial secrets.

The spider legs bobbed up and down. Imperial secrets. That is what  the

Hutts were looking for.

"Imperial secrets?" Luke said. "But the Empire has fallen.  We  haven't

heard anything from them in years. What could the Hutts possibly  want  with

Imperial information?"

Imperial information, Maizor repeated. Imperial Information Center, the

great database on Coruscant. Jabba knew secret passwords.  He  could  access

the Emperor's most heavily protected information.

Han was startled. "You mean the Hutts can  break  into  our  computers?

Impossible! We've locked down all of those files."

Jabba had ways of accessing them, Maizor replied.

"Tell me," Luke said, "did the Hutts find what they  were  looking  for

when they came here?"

Yes, the spider legs said. They intend to create their  own  bargaining

force, an invincible weapon. The Hutt crime syndicate will be more  powerful

than the Rebels or what's left of the Empire. Maizor flinched.  I  hate  the

Hutts.

Han groaned. "Oh no, not another superweapon!"

"Do you know any details of their plans?" Luke asked, bending closer to

the brain in the jar. ' 'Any specifics?"

No, Maizor said. They have the key they sought, and now they will  move

on to their next step.

Han nodded grimly, looking to Luke. "We have to get back  to  Coruscant

and report to Leia. The New Republic needs to be on their guard."

Luke switched off his lightsaber, plunging the room  into  thick,  oily

shadows, but he reached forward to rub his fingers on the edges of  Maizor's

brain jar. Fizzing bubbles continued to curl through  the  nutrient  fluids,

but the brain hung motionless. "Is there anything we can do for  you?"  Luke

asked. "I might be able to help you find peace in your existence."

A harsh, hiccoughing sound came from the voice synthesizer.  No,  Jedi.

The B'omarr monks have already given as much solace as they could. What  you

must do for me is stop the Hutts' plan.  Humiliate  them.  The  spider  legs

rocked back and forth. I will remain here alone and  continue  to  laugh  at

Jabba. That is my reward.

CHAPTER 3

Since their banthas had run  off,  leaving  them  stranded  at  Jabba's

palace, Han suggested to Luke that they investigate the vehicle  hangars  in

the lower levels. Together, the two of them might be able  to  reassemble  a

functioning speeder so they could make good time away from the  ruins.  Luke

agreed, his mind preoccupied with his real reason for  wanting  to  come  to

Tatooine.

Under the flickering light of old glowpanels,  Han  tinkered  with  the

mechanical subsystems of damaged vehicles. The  scrapped  engines  and  hull

parts were all that remained  after  the  frantic  mass  exodus  of  Jabba's

minions.  Because  of  rumors  and  superstitious  fear,  Jawas  and   other

scavengers had not dared to come steal away what  was  left,  so  dismantled

skiffs and flyers remained in the maintenance bay, salvaged for parts.

Han  and  Luke  worked  together,  swapping  out   components,   making

modifications from what they had on hand. At last they operated  a  clanking

mechanical side door, letting the wash of yellow sunlight scour  the  filthy

hangar bay. They climbed aboard two battered swoops that re-minded  Luke  of

the speeder bikes he and his sister, Leia, had ridden so recklessly  through

the forests on Endor.

Luke sat on the dented metal seat, trying  to  be  comfortable  on  the

scraps of the petrified leather covering. "It's been a long time since I did

something like this," Luke said. "Feels good."

"Just like old times, kid." Han powered up the humming  repulsor-lifts.

"Let's head back to Mos Eisley Spaceport so we can get out of here."

"Wait, Han," Luke said with a pensive expression. "There's something  I

have to do first. We'll need to make a  side  trip,  circle  around  to  the

Jundland Wastes."

Han looked at him, pursing his lips, then he nodded. "Yeah,  I  thought

you had something else on your mind from the way you were  acting.  Anything

to do with Cal-lista?"

Luke nodded, but gave no details.

"I guess I should know by now that when  I'm  with  a  Jedi,  nothing's

simple and straightforward," Han said.

As events continued around him, Luke forced  himself  to  keep  moving,

proceeding to the next step, hoping that he would find some clue at his next

destination. The news of the Hutts' secret plan alarmed him, but  his  heart

ached at being separated from Callista. He longed to be with her. He  longed

to help her.

Following threads of the Force, he and Callista had connected with each

other's personalities from the very first. They had linked like  two  pieces

of a precise puzzle. Callista was right for Luke, and he was right for  her.

Being Jedi, they knew it in a way that few other lovers could understand.

Though Callista had been born decades before Luke, her spirit had  been

frozen within the computer of the automated Dreadnaught  Eye  of  Palpatine.

Luke had fallen in love with Callista's luminous form, until she  came  back

to life in the body of one of his brilliant  students,  who  had  sacrificed

herself to destroy the Dreadnaught.

Now Callista was physically whole again. Flesh  and  blood.  Beautiful.

They could be together.

But in a devastating irony, Callista had lost all her Jedi abilities in

the transformation. She was alive again, but not the  same,  not  completely

there. They could no longer link with each other, mind  and  spirit.  They'd

had only those heady days to remember, trapped together aboard  the  Eye  of

Palpatine.

But it was enough to galvanize the deep love between them and make them

keep trying to find an answer. Luke would never give up until he found a way

to bring Callista back whole?

He stood anxious and alone, feeling like a  prodigal  son  outside  the

ramshackle, collapsed hut that had once been the home of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Han waited by his repaired swoop, drinking the  last  of  their  water.

Luke  had  forgone  his  share,  building  up  his  mental  energy   through

concentration. They would be at the Mos Eisley  Spaceport  soon,  no  matter

what happened at the ruins of Obi-Wan's dwelling.

Luke swallowed and stepped forward,  his  footsteps  crunching  in  the

silence. He had not been here in many years. The door  had  fallen  off  its

hinges; part of the clay front wall had fallen  in.  Boulders  and  crumbled

adobe jammed the entrance.  A  pair  of  small,  screeching  desert  rodents

snapped at him and fled for cover; Luke ignored them.

Gingerly, he ducked low and stepped into the home of his first mentor.

Light slanted in from cracks in the walls. Dust motes drifted like gold

dust through the sunbeams. The place smelled of  mustiness,  empty  shadows,

and ghosts. Unlike Jabba's palace, however, scavengers  had  had  no  qualms

about cleaning Ben Kenobi's abode of everything of the slightest value.  The

stove and heater units had been removed, leaving only vacant notches in  the

clay walls. Ben's sleeping pallet had been stripped down to  its  splintered

frame. Shreds of cloth,  long  since  turned  into  nests  for  rodents  and

insects, lay wadded in the corners.

Luke stood in the middle of the room breathing deeply, turning  around,

trying to sense the presence he desperately needed  to  see.  This  was  the

place where Obi-Wan Kenobi had told Luke of the Force. Here, the old man had

first given Luke his lightsaber and hinted at the truth  about  his  father,

"from a certain point of view," dispelling the diversionary story that Uncle

Owen had told, at the same time planting seeds of his own deceptions.

Luke pulled out his lightsaber and gripped  the  handle,  but  did  not

switch it on. After he had lost his father's weapon on Cloud City, Luke  had

built a new lightsaber that belonged to him and no one else not an  artifact

from the past. He had forged his own path in the absence of his teachers.

It seemed that Obi-Wan and Yoda had begun to prepare him, but had  left

Luke with so many questions, so much knowledge  unlearned?  and  the  insane

Joruus C'baoth could tell him only perversions of what a true Jedi needed to

know. The Emperor had  shown  Luke  dark  side  ways,  but  Luke  needed  to

understand so much more.

He needed to know how to save Callista.

"Ben," he said and closed his eyes, calling out with his mind  as  well

as his voice. He tried to penetrate the invisible walls  of  the  Force  and

reach to the luminous being of Obi-Wan Kenobi who had visited  him  numerous

times, before saying he could never speak with Luke again.

"Ben, I need you," Luke said. Circumstances had changed. He could think

of no other way past the obstacles he  faced.  Obi-Wan  had  to  answer.  It

wouldn't take long, but it could give him the key he  needed  with  all  his

heart.

Luke paused and listened and sensed?

But felt nothing. If he could not summon Obi-Wan's spirit here  in  the

empty dwelling where the old man had lived in exile for so many years,  Luke

didn't believe he could find his former teacher ever again.

He echoed  the  words  Leia  had  used  more  than  a  decade  earlier,

beseeching him, "Help me, Obi-Wan Ke-nobi," Luke whispered, "you're my  only

hope."

Luke waited again, trembling faintly. He had tried everything he  knew.

Callista had undergone other training in her own years as a Jedi.  She  knew

things Luke had never imagined but even she knew of no way to tear away  the

smothering blanket around her, the blindness that prevented her  from  using

the Force.

"Ben, please!" Luke cried. His body shivered with the intensity of  his

desperation and dwindling hope. The empty hut sat around  him  holding  only

memories.

Nothing.

Silence.

Emptiness.

Obi-Wan was not there. The old Jedi teacher would not come. Luke  knelt

down in the dirt on the floor, scrabbling in the dust for  some  sign,  some

other message, as realization sank in.

He would get no help from Obi-Wan after all.

Luke swallowed his despair, vowing never to give up. He lifted his chin

and clamped his lips together in a grim, determined line.

Perhaps that was the message: Obi-Wan's silence, proving  to  him  that

Luke was a Jedi Knight himself. He could not rely on Ben Kenobi or  Yoda  or

others to help him. He controlled his own destiny. He was no longer  just  a

student. Luke would have to solve his own problems.

His resolve hardened within him. No, he had not  tried  everything.  He

would search the galaxy with Callista. He would find the answer one  way  or

another.

Luke stood up and clipped the lightsaber to his belt again. He  had  no

need to draw it. He looked around with one last twinge of hope that he might

see a glowing out-line, the old man nodding to him, reaffirming that  Luke's

answer was the correct one. But he sensed nothing.

When he stepped back out, the blazing sunlight washed over him  like  a

cleansing flood. He took a deep breath and went to meet Han.

Han Solo stood in the shade beside his floating swoop and  wiped  sweat

from his forehead. "Well, kid?" he asked. "Find what you were looking for?"

"No?" Luke said, "and yes."

Han shook his head. "Leave it to a Jedi never to give  you  a  straight

answer."

"In this case,  there  is  no  straight  answer,  Han.  I'm  done  with

Tatooine," Luke said. "We can go back to Mos Eisley now. We have to warn the

New Republic what the Hutts are up to."

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 4

A storm of rocks swept across space, colliding and smashing with enough

force to crush boulders or spaceships to powder.

The Hoth Asteroid Belt was a nightmarish hazard to  navigation.  A  few

fragments collided with the Orko Sky Mine ship's forward deflector  shields,

then vanished into bright plumes of vaporized dust.

On the foredeck Durga the Hutt rested on his levitating platform like a

slab of raw flesh, watching through the command viewports.  Durga  saw  only

one thing as he watched the colliding asteroids:  resources.  Vast  untapped

resources containing every sort of metal and mineral that could be of use to

the Hutts' new secret project.

"Increase deflector  shields,"  Durga  said,  puffing  his  cheeks  and

stretching the smeared birthmark across the left side of his head.

His minions scrambled to do his bidding.  Weequays,  Gamorreans,  human

slaves, and  others  clustered  about  the  expeditionary  ship's  controls,

bickering about how best to implement the order.  Durga  was  not  impressed

with the intelligence or  the  free-thinking  abilities  of  his  contracted

employees? but he had not hired them for those qualities.

Beside the sluglike Hutt, Imperial General Sulamar turned from a status

screen and snapped to attention. Always obsessively attentive  to  protocol,

the general kept his uniform trim and pressed, with edges  that  could  have

cut Mandalorian iron. The left breast of his uniform was  plastered  with  a

treasure chest of medals from previous campaigns he had won (about which  he

never ceased blabbering). He smiled grimly, a sallow-faced, flinty-eyed  man

who looked somehow small inside his uniform, as if he were actually no  more

than a frightened boy trapped in a grown-up disguise.

"Mineral Exploiter Alpha has already begun its hunting  and  processing

routine," General Sulamar  said.  "Mineral  Exploiter  Beta  has  just  been

unleashed." He clicked his black heels together. "I trust  the  profits  for

Orko SkyMine will be up this quarter?"

"They better be," Durga said. "Move us forward so  I  can  observe  the

mining activities." He gestured with one small, slimy hand.

Orko SkyMine was merely a sham corporation that the Hutt  crime  empire

had put together to disguise their expenses a false commercial venture  that

would exploit the untapped Hoth Asteroid Belt.  They  had  wanted  a  remote

location and limitless resources for their secret  project.  The  incredibly

complex and expensive Mineral Exploiter was the first step in what would  be

the Hutts' eventual domination of the galaxy.

"We're tracking Beta, sir," one of the human technicians said.  "Moving

forward to get within view."

"Make sure you steer clear  of  those  asteroids,  Navigator,"  General

Sulamar snapped, making his voice deeper and gruffer, as he always did  when

issuing orders.

Durga gave a guttural growl. ' 7 am in command of this ship, General. I

will give the orders here."

Sulamar bowed in embarrassment and took a step backward. "My apologies,

Lord Durga."

Durga narrowed his huge coppery eyes, then  turned  to  the  navigator.

"You heard the general," he said. "Do as he says!"

As the Orko SkyMine expeditionary ship threaded  its  way  through  the

colliding rocks, Durga eased forward.  He  blinked  his  thick-lidded  eyes,

trying to spot the metallic blip against the starfield.

As they approached, the mammoth ore-processing unit began to stand out,

gleaming and sparkling, a flurry of motion.  A  magnificent  machine,  Durga

thought as he saw the hulk a giant cargo  container  with  a  front  end  of

moving mechanical mouthparts and turbolaser turrets to  blast  asteroids  to

rabble. It stuffed the rubble into a giant processing  maw,  chewed  it  up,

spit out the useless slag,  and  kept  its  precious  ingots  of  worthwhile

metals. The  newly  designed  automated  Mineral  Exploiters  had  a  simple

mission: sophisticated sensors directed  the  behemoths  to  hunt  down  the

highest and purest concentrations of metals out in the asteroid belt and  to

dismantle the rocks and exploit the treasure.

"They seem to be functioning perfectly," Sulamar said,  again  snapping

to attention after  he  studied  the  diagnostic  screen.  "You  have  every

confidence in their abilities?"

Durga let loose a deep belly laugh. "Naturally! My pet scientist  Bevel

Lemelisk designed them. Perhaps you've heard of his other  work?"  The  Hutt

leaned forward so that his huge head was close to General  Sulamar's  sallow

face. "When he was  bonded  to  the  Emperor,  Lemelisk  was  in  charge  of

constructing both the first and the second Death Stars."

Sulamar's eyebrows shot up, showing how impressed he was.

"Bevel Lemelisk designed these Mineral Exploiters, and he will also  be

hard at work overseeing the construction of our new weapon."

"Sounds like you couldn't have found a better man."

Sulamar agreed, then faced forward,  watching  Mineral  Exploiter  Beta

continue its work.

The machine finished devouring a medium-size asteroid  and  dumped  the

molten waste slag, which hardened into small flying shards in its wake.  The

machine's sensors swept the asteroid belt for a new target.

"Beta is picking up a very high concentration of  metal,"  one  of  the

Devaronian diagnosticians said. "It's amazingly pure."

The Mineral Exploiter altered course and increased speed toward its new

target. Durga watched with growing glee.

"Must be even more resources out here  than  we  anticipated!"  another

tech said. "Mineral Exploiter Alpha has found a rich  source  as  well.  The

target seems to be moving on an odd course for one of these  asteroids,  but

it registers as pure metal. Like nothing we've ever seen out here."

Durga chortled with satisfaction. "If these Mineral Exploiters continue

to find such wealth,  we  might  not  need  the  other  two  we  have  under

construction."

The pilot of the Hutt expeditionary vessel increased  shields  as  they

followed Mineral Exploiter Beta through the asteroid belt.

"Alpha is also headed this way," the human technician said.

General Sulamar frowned. "Do you think they could have  picked  up  the

same target?"

"Uh-oh," the Devaronian station chief said.

Durga sat up straight on his repulsorsled. He puffed his rubbery cheeks

again. "I don't like the tone of that, mister.''

"I don't like what I'm seeing," the  horned  Devaronian  responded.  He

raised his clawed hands in panic. "Alpha and Beta haven't picked up the same

target? they've detected each other."

"Well, shut them down," Durga said. "An unfore-seen programming glitch.

We can't afford to lose those two pieces of equipment."

The Devaronian hammered instructions into his control panels. The other

technicians worked frantically to  no  avail.  The  Gamorrean  guards  stood

dumbfounded, blinking at each other in confusion.

The Devaronian pounded his fists on the panel. "I can't, sir!  I  don't

have the override code!"

Durga bellowed, "Well, who does?"

"Only Bevel Lemelisk, sir."

"Get him up here," Durga shouted.

"But, he asked not to be disturbed, sir," the Devaronian said.

Durga gurgled in rage at the comment and punched a  control  button  on

his repulsorsled. Suddenly, the Devaronian technician's chair  erupted  with

electrical fire, deadly voltage arcing across the victim's hands  and  arms,

crawling up his spinal column and skittering around inside  his  skull.  The

alien's skin blackened and burned. He opened his fanged mouth to scream, but

only blue lightning came out.

In seconds the Devaronian slumped down, a skeletal corpse that  steamed

as flakes of ash fell onto the floor of the expeditionary ship.

"Now, would someone else like to get  Bevel  Lemelisk  for  me?"  Durga

boomed. "Before it's too late?"

One of the human technicians leaped  off  his  chair  and  ran  to  the

turbolift.

General Sulamar snapped his fingers,  and  two  Gamorrean  guards  came

forward to remove the charred Devaronian body. Lightly  tapping  the  singed

skin to make sure that all of the electrical current  had  gone  away,  they

whisked the crumbling body out of sight.

Despite his outburst, Durga knew they could  never  rouse  the  weapons

engineer fast enough to do any good. With outrage and horror, he watched  as

the two gargantuan machines came together,  considering  each  other  to  be

prime sources of  metallic  wealth.  Unthinking,  they  fol-lowed  identical

programming: (1) grapple target, (2) dismantle with laser cutters,  and  (3)

process all raw materials.

The giant machines were mindlessly  murderous,  blasting  each  other's

hull plates, ripping metal arms and stuffing them into  processing  maws  an

unconscionable disaster unfolding before Durga's eyes.

The Mineral Exploiters were very  efficient.  It  took  less  than  ten

standard minutes for  them  to  rip  each  other  to  nonfunctional  shreds,

drifting hulks of torn-apart components and half-slagged molten ingots.  The

metal debris drifted apart, taking its own place in the asteroid field.

Durga felt fury boiling inside him, and he hammered his  fists  on  the

control panels.  He  looked  around  at  his  technicians,  seeking  someone

worthless to blame but all of them had leaped  out  of  their  booby-trapped

seats and stood at attention beside their panels,  safely  away  from  their

chairs.

CHAPTER5

Bevel Lemelisk scowled as he trudged along the corridors  of  the  Orko

SkyMine ship, huffing with the effort and with his own annoyance at  Durga's

constant demands. He  stepped  into  the  turbolift  for  the  bridge  deck,

muttering to himself? things he would never dare say in front of the bloated

Hutt crime lord. Durga always wanted the impossible and wanted it now.

The turbolift lurched, yanking Lemelisk upward. He stumbled against the

wall, grabbed the railing, and frowned  at  the  controls  as  if  they  had

intentionally made him lose his balance.

Lemelisk patted his rounded paunch  as  his  stomach  growled.  He  had

forgotten to eat midday meal again. He  kept  losing  track  of  things.  He

brushed his cheeks, feeling the prickle of long, pale stubble, and  realized

he hadn't shaved in two days  either.  He  sighed,  chastising  himself.  He

usually remembered to take care of personal hygiene before  he  appeared  in

front of Durga, but the insistent Gamorrean guard hadn't given him a  chance

to collect his thoughts. Lemelisk ran a hand through his spiky  white  hair,

making sure it stood up in straight shocks, just the  way  he  preferred  it

though he doubted the fat slug boss would ever notice a human's appearance.

The turbolift stopped with a sudden jolt, but this time Lemelisk braced

himself. Before the doors opened, he worked up his indignation. He hated  to

be disturbed while he was concentrating. He had left specific orders that no

one was to barge into his chambers; but the rude guard had done  just  that,

lumbering in when Lemelisk was  completing  final  touches  on  a  difficult

three- dimensional crystal-lattice  puzzle.  All  of  Lemelisk's  plans  had

shimmered and dissolved, plunging him back to square zero.

This time, Bevel Lemelisk vowed he wouldn't be meek and  groveling.  He

strode onto the command deck, drawing in a deep breath  so  that  his  chest

temporarily looked larger than his belly. "Durga, what  is  the  meaning  of

this? " he said, letting contempt fill his voice.

The command deck personnel whirled at his words and cowered as if  they

had just been browbeaten. Lemelisk noticed that not a  single  one  of  them

remained seated at their stations. He smelled singed meat in  the  air  like

badly cooked morning sausages; his empty stomach rumbled again.

General Sulamar hunched forward  as  he  strode  toward  Lemelisk.  The

glittering medals and badges on his chest jangled with a dizzying  flash  of

color. Lemelisk ignored him. The Imperial General with  all  his  blustering

talk of military exploits such as the Massacre of Mendicat, the  Subjugation

of Sinton, and the Rout of Rustibar was all hot air. Lemelisk  himself  had,

after all, overseen the construction of the Death Star battle  station.  How

could mere military exploits compare to that?

Seeing the weapons engineer, Durga issued a wordless  roar  of  outrage

and annoyance that sounded like  a  cross  between  a  belch  and  a  boiler

explosion. Lemelisk stalled in his confident stride. He had never heard such

anger in the Hutt's voice before.

Lemelisk blinked his pale eyes, and  his  attention  flickered  to  the

bridge windows. He saw the spiraling orbits of rocky debris in the  asteroid

belt. Then he noticed the sputtering remnants of the two  automated  Mineral

Exploiters that had torn each other apart. His throat felt as if it had been

filled with quick-drying duracrete. "Uh-oh," he said.

Durga eased his repulsorsled closer to Lemelisk, who stood  transfixed,

trying to think up an excuse faster than the Hutt  could  do  anything  that

Lemelisk might regret.

"I am most displeased with your performance, Lemelisk," Durga  growled,

his birthmark throbbing dark and threatening.

Lemelisk shuddered violently, wincing as the clear and painful memories

flooded back to him. The Emperor had said exactly those words just before he

had executed Bevel Lemelisk for the first time?

Shortly after the Death Star was expected to crush the  Rebel  base  on

Yavin 4, Bevel Lemelisk had been summoned to meet  personally  with  Emperor

Palpatine deep within the Imperial palace.

Lemelisk had been flanked by red-armored Imperial  bodyguards  as  they

whisked him  off  on  a  high-speed  shuttle  across  the  skylanes  of  the

planetwide city. The millions of illuminated  windows  winked  like  corusca

gems. Each point of  light  seemed  to  be  another  torch  celebrating  his

triumph.

Lemelisk rubbed his jowls, pleased that he had remembered to shave this

time. The red Imperial guards were a silent lot, standing at attention  like

statues. Lemelisk hummed and  grabbed  his  jutting  knees  as  the  shuttle

approached the enormous pyramid of the Imperial palace.

The guards rushed him down the  hall  so  quickly  that  their  flowing

scarlet cloaks billowed around them. When the group reached the door to  the

Emperor's private chambers, the guards stood at attention, their force pikes

raised, their smooth plasteel helmets obscuring any expression.

Lemelisk jaunted happily into the vaulted  room,  pleased  to  see  the

black- cowled Emperor waiting for  him.  Palpatine  hunched  in  his  chair,

reptilian yellow eyes glowing through the oily shadows cast by his hood. The

Emperor appeared to be falling into ill health: His skin was  blistered  and

folded in upon itself like a pasty drapery over his bones, as if  decay  had

set in well before the advent of death.

But Lemelisk couldn't be troubled by unpleasant thoughts right now.  He

stood on the polished stone floor and made a cursory bow of obeisance.  ''My

Emperor," he said. "I trust you have received word by  now  that  our  Death

Star has destroyed the secret Rebel base."

"I  have  received  word,"  Palpatine  said  and  gestured   with   one

long-clawed finger. Lemelisk glanced up at a  clattering  sound  and  saw  a

flexible wire cage released from the vaulted ceiling above. He  ducked,  but

the cage fell squarely down over him, seating itself  to  the  floor  as  if

Palpatine were directing it with invisible powers. The cage was made of fine

mesh, the grid barely large enough to stick his smallest finger through.

"Excuse me, Emperor?" Lemelisk said. "Is there  something  further  you

wish to discuss with me? Another project perhaps? Anything else I can do for

you?" Lemelisk swallowed again.

"Yes, my servant," Palpatine said. "You may die for me."

"Uh?" Lemelisk could think of nothing else to say. "I  was  hoping  for

something else, actually," he said stupidly.

Palpatine glowered at him. "I just received word that your  Death  Star

was destroyed at Yavin. A puny band of Rebels with outdated fighters found a

weakness in your design a thermal exhaust port that allowed a single  X-wing

pilot to strike a  fatal  blow.  One  pilot  obliterated  an  entire  battle

station!"

Lemelisk pursed his lips. ' 'Thermal exhaust port, eh?

I knew I must have forgotten something. I'll have to fix  that  in  the

next design."

"Yes, you will," Palpatine said with an icy voice. "But first, you will

die for me."

Lemelisk blinked his watery blue eyes and  reached  out  to  touch  the

fine, tough wires of his cage. He looked around, and nervousness raged  like

a whirlwind around him. Though he had shaved, his neck itched fiercely.

The Emperor sat completely still, yet he must have manipulated a set of

controls because with  a  sharp  snick  at  Lemelisk's  feet  tiny  openings

appeared in the polished stone floor, orifices that  led  down  to  a  black

unknown. He heard clicking sounds, the scrabbling of sharp, hard feet.

"I am most displeased with your  performance,  Lemelisk,"  the  Emperor

said.

Bevel Lemelisk shuffled aside as something small but  iridescent  poked

out of the opening: a beetle of some kind. The  eight  legged,  hard-shelled

insect shone a deep blue as it clambered into the light and paused to  probe

the air with waving antennae. From other  openings  five  identical  beetles

emerged. They fluttered their wing cases, then took flight,  buzzing  around

the enclosed space. Lemelisk swatted at one, but the  blue  beetle  detected

the motion and swooped toward him, sinking  mandibles  with  serrated  razor

edges into the thick flesh of his palm.

"Oww!" Lemelisk flailed his hand until the beetle  lost  its  hold.  He

stomped on it, cracking its carapace. But the scent of blood  attracted  the

other beetles to him. He watched in horrified fascination as a dozen more of

the insects emerged from the floor holes, fluttering their  wing  cases  and

buzzing toward him.

"Those are piranha beetles," the Emperor said,  lounging  back  in  his

swiveling black chair. "They are native to Yavin 4, and  I  considered  them

too precious for extinction when your Death Star was expected to destroy the

moon. So I rescued them."

The beetles swarmed over Lemelisk now. He slapped  at  them,  shouting,

paying little attention to Palpatine's words. "Stop this!" he yelled.

"Not yet," the Emperor said.

The beetles sliced through his clothing to the skin on Lemelisk's arms,

his thighs, his chest, his cheeks. Blood flowed around  him,  drenching  his

shredded clothes. He could not keep up with the new injuries. Hundreds  more

beetles swarmed out, battering themselves against the cage mesh.

"These fine insects are not in danger of becoming  extinct  after  all,

though," Palpatine said, "since your Death  Star  did  not  work!  You  have

failed me, Bevel Leme-lisk," he  said,  slowing  his  words.  His  wrinkled,

rubbery lips bent upward in a fiendish grin.

"And now, I'm going to watch these beetles devour you, bit by bit. They

are very hungry, you see, and don't get satisfied easily. But if they  gorge

themselves and begin to slow down, don't worry  I  have  plenty  more."  The

Emperor let out a glacial laugh, but Lemelisk could no longer hear.

The beetles buzzed in his ears, tearing at his  flesh,  his  hair,  his

clothes. He struck at himself, throwing his body against the cage  mesh.  In

the process, some of the beetles were stunned, and their own companions fell

upon them, cracking through the iridescent shells and chewing  to  the  soft

organs within.

Lemelisk screamed and begged to no avail. The  agony  went  beyond  his

comprehension, beyond his imagination. His vision  turned  black  after  the

piranha beetles devoured his eyes but the pain continued  for  a  long  time

afterward?

Later, Lemelisk had awakened,  blinking  his  restored  eyes,  and  was

completely disoriented. He  found  himself  in  the  same  vaulted  chamber,

wrapped in a clean, white uniform. His body felt young and  strong,  without

the paunch and the flab from spending too much time working on  projects  in

his mind and too little effort maintaining his health.

Lemelisk  bent  his  arms  and  looked  at  his  hands,   blinking   in

astonishment. Hearing a small buzz and clatter, he glanced over to find  the

wire-mesh cage still filled with  buzzing,  clacking  piranha  beetles  that

scampered up  and  down  the  walls,  snapping  their  mandibles.  Spattered

patterns of fresh blood made arcs along the walls of the  cage.  Inside,  he

saw a carcass that had been stripped down to  gnawed  bones  and  shreds  of

clothing the clothing he himself had worn only moments ago.

"You'll grow accustomed to your clone in a moment," the  Emperor  said,

rubbing his knobby fingers over a strange ancient-looking artifact. "I trust

that all of your memories have been transferred properly? It is an uncertain

skill at best, and the Jedi I stole the technique from was reluctant to give

me thorough instruction. But it seems to work."

Lemelisk nodded weakly, wanting to faint but knowing he didn't dare.

"Now don't fail me again, Lemelisk," the Emperor  said.  "I'd  hate  to

have to think of an even worse execution for next time."

Now, as he faced Durga the Hutt and Imperial General Sulamar,  Lemelisk

sought some reservoir of strength within himself. The Mineral Exploiters had

destroyed each other in a horribly embarrassing debacle.

"We can recover from this," he said quickly.  "Yes,  I  believe  I  can

alter our plans so that our schedule will  remain  unaffected  in  the  long

run."

Durga lurched backward, blinking his large copper red eyes. "What?"

"You have the two other automated Mineral Exploiters nearly  completed.

This is a tragic loss," Lemelisk said, gesturing toward the window, "but  we

have to expect a few setbacks. This was poor planning, I admit,  but  I  can

program the other machines so that such a failure will not occur again."

General Sulamar squared his shoulders and glared at Lemelisk. "You  are

absolutely correct," he said. "This will not happen again!"

Lemelisk dismissed him with a wave of his hand, trying to display  more

self-assurance than he felt. "Consider those  two  to  be  test  prototypes,

Alpha and Beta. Expendable. We know the error now."

But Lemelisk mentally kicked himself for letting such a stupid lack  of

foresight nearly cost him his life. He began to tremble and clamped down  on

his muscles, forcing himself to stand firm. He had no wish  to  be  executed

again that had happened enough times already though he was  convinced  Durga

the Hutt could never be a match for Palpatine's cruelty.

"I promise to rectify the problem, Lord Durga," Lemelisk  said  with  a

bow. "But while I'm doing that, you must focus on our main goal. Even before

we worry about construction resources, the primary item on our  agenda  must

be to get those plans from the Imperial Information Center."

Durga growled, a low gurgling sound.

General Sulamar said, "It is not your place to dictate?"

Durga smacked the stuffed-shirt Imperial across the chest with one fat-

fingered hand.  "I  have  already  scheduled  an  expedition  to  Coruscant,

Lemelisk, " he said. "I will have your precious plans shortly."

CORUSCANT

CHAPTER 6

In the plush chambers of the New Republic's Chief of State, Leia Organa

Solo hurried to make herself presentable. Beside her, Han Solo fiddled  with

his shirt fasteners and cursed the tiny  glittering  insignia  he  tried  to

apply to his diplomatic finery.

"I hate this, Leia," he said. "I love you enough to do this but I don't

enjoy getting dressed up even to meet people I like."  He  finally  buttoned

the insignia then brushed down his shirt front. "And I don't  exactly  count

those overgrown mud worms among the people I like."

Leia placed her hand on his shoulder. "Do you think I like it any  more

than you do?" Vividly, she recalled her imprisonment by the vile  Jabba  the

Hutt, when he had forced her to wear a humiliating costume and  sit  chained

in front of him so he could caress her with  his  enormous  rubbery  tongue.

"The Hutts had a death warrant out on both of us  not  long  ago,  but  this

Durga is making some new kind of overture. It's a diplomatic necessity  that

we receive the fat slug and hear what he has to say."

"Diplomatic necessity," Han scoffed. "I wouldn't  trust  one  of  those

blobs of slime farther than I could roll him. Keep a blaster hidden in  your

robes."

Leia checked herself in  the  surround  mirror.  She  looked  cool  and

perfect in her best raiments, impressive and  regal.  "I  will,  Han,  don't

worry."

Threepio entered, quiet hums emanating from  his  servomotors.  "Excuse

me, Mistress Leia," he said. "I believe I am  prepared  for  this  important

meeting of state. I have polished all of my body plates and oiled  my  gears

and brushed up on my programming for protocol and etiquette."

"Great," Han said. "You can take my place. Okay?"

"Sir," Threepio exclaimed, "I hardly believe that would be wise. Why?"

"He's joking, Threepio," Leia said, glaring at Han.

"Sure, Threepio. Just joking," Han agreed a little too quickly.

"The children wish to say good night to you," Threepio said.  "Mistress

Winter is already here and  has  made  preparations  to  tell  them  bedtime

stories. " The droid held his golden arms out as if in a  mechanical  shrug.

"Somehow, the children don't enjoy it when I tell them stories.  I'm  simply

at a loss to explain it."

Leia paid little attention to the litany  of  the  droid's  complaints.

"Children are just difficult sometimes," she said.

The twins, Jacen and Jaina, were three years old now and  beginning  to

get into everything imaginable. Baby Anakin, now nearly two, remained  quiet

and withdrawn, sleeping a lot, barely attempting to  talk.  The  dark-haired

boy with the large ice-blue eyes lived in his own world most  of  the  time,

while the twins insisted on making themselves the center of attention.

"I'm as ready as I'm going to be," Han said, brushing  his  brown  hair

and letting out a long breath. "Still can't believe I'm making  myself  look

pretty for a Hutt."

"I doubt Lord Durga would notice, sir," Threepio added helpfully.  "The

Hutts have a different  standard  of  beauty,  you  know.  In  fact  I  have

learned?"

"Not now, Threepio," Han said  and  offered  his  arm  to  Leia  as  he

escorted her toward the door.

"Some other time, perhaps," Threepio said and hurried after them.

Out in the common room Winter sat on  a  padded  seat  with  the  three

children on the floor as she spoke to them, telling a detailed story she had

memorized word for word.

Leia's personal servant had helped her through  many  difficult  times,

guarding the children during the most vulnerable early years in their Force-

sensitive lives. Winter had a flawless memory and never  needed  to  refresh

her thoughts, able to recall word for word anything she had heard or read in

her life. Despite her calm, emotionless demeanor, Winter carried the deepest

and most unshakable loyalty for Leia herself and for the New Republic.

Winter seemed to enjoy her role of watching the  three  children  while

Leia and Han kept enormously busy with matters of state.  Her  new  position

allowed her to continue advising Leia  as  an  appropriate  confidante,  yet

remain behind the scenes.

Jacen and Jaina leaped to their feet, scuttling over to greet Leia  and

Han. "Hey!" Han cried and grabbed the twins in a  bear  hug.  Jacen's  brown

hair was tousled as it always was while  Jaina's  hung  straight  and  neat.

Anakin remained quiet and politely seated, patiently waiting for  Winter  to

continue the story. He got up when it was his turn for a hug.

"Winter will watch you," Leia said to the children.  "Mommy  and  Daddy

have an important meeting with a Hutt."

The children snickered. Han looked at her with raised  eyebrows  and  a

see- I-told-you-so expression on his face. "Come on, Goldenrod," he said  to

Threepio. "We sure wouldn't want to be late for our 'diplomatic  necessity.'

"

They left their quarters, and a pair of  permanently  stationed  guards

escorted them down the hall. Threepio rattled on as they  marched.  "Perhaps

some background would be of use  in  your  upcoming  negotiations,  Mistress

Leia? I have recently downloaded?"

"We don't know if there are going to be  any  negotiations,  Threepio,"

Leia said. "The Hutts are the biggest gang of criminals in the galaxy.  They

took me prisoner and then they tried to kill us all. I don't think we should

expect too much kindness."

"Yes, yes, but it would be most useful to have a basic understanding of

Hutt philosophy, as I interpret  it  according  to  the  admittedly  sparse?

information I've been able to find," Threepio said.

"The Hutts originally came  from  a  system  called  Varl,  whose  star

suffered some sort of disaster. And so they were forced to move  to  another

planetary system. They took over an entire planet through  devious  business

dealings, until they managed to evict the former inhabitants and  claim  the

world for themselves. They  renamed  it  Nal  Hutta,  which,  in  their  own

language, means 'glorious jewel.' The  moon  of  Nal  Hutta  was  named  Nar

Shaddaa, but in common parlance, it is known as the Smugglers' Moon."

"We've been there, Threepio," Han said, bored.

"Oh, yes! I forgot. In any case, the Hutts have an  extremely  involved

clan system, and no one outside is permitted to know the family name of  any

Hutt thus, Jabba's own clan name was known only to his relatives."

"Very interesting," Han mumbled as they turned the  corner  and  headed

toward the rear of the presidential receiving room. "I sure can't understand

why the kids would rather have Winter tell them a bedtime story."

"Why, thank you, sir," Threepio said,  missing  Han's  irony  entirely.

"Actually, very little is known about how the Hutt clans  interact  although

certain accidents and disasters have led  some  to  speculate  on  interclan

warfare in which stronger Hutt families wipe out weaker ones."

The guard at a large door leading into the receiving room stood  aside.

Leia passed through,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Han.  "Thanks  Threepio.

That'll be all," she said.

"Ah, but I have so much more to tell you," the droid continued.

"Take a hint, Goldenrod," Han said more loudly.

"I? take your meaning, sir," Threepio said, then whirred quietly  after

them into the receiving room.

Leia leaned over and whispered to Han as they passed into  the  echoing

room. "Han, the Hutt crime empire is very powerful, and we'll need  to  show

them diplomatic courtesy. We've got to at least pretend to be civil."

Han rolled his eyes, then pulled his elbow against his  side,  pressing

her hand to his ribs in a warm gesture.  "Pretend?"  Han  said.  "Pretending

happens to be one of my strong suits. You just watch."

Another  set  of  escorts  followed  them  on  either  side  of  inlaid

flagstones that formed a promenade to a pair of  impressive-looking  chairs.

Leia didn't like the frivolous display. It seemed too  regal,  too  Imperial

but appearances were very important in  public  spectacles  and  matters  of

state. While the senators and the military leaders formed  the  backbone  of

her power, Leia herself was the Chief of State and President of the  Senate.

She was the visible face on all decisions made for the  government,  and  so

she was forced to play her part with grace and charisma.

Leia had had  her  difficulties  with  some  members  of  the  council,

particularly those who wished her to remain at home for her entire  term  of

office and never venture out to the  scattered  but  reluctant  planets  who

expressed interest in joining the New Republic. That just wasn't her style.

Leia seated herself in the Chief of State's chair and tried to  collect

her thoughts. Han shifted beside her, crossing and uncrossing his arms  over

his dress shirt, then gripping the scrolled work of the armrests. He  looked

bored already.

Electronic fanfare sounded from outside the chamber. The doors  at  the

other end of the room groaned open, dragged by sluggish worker  droids  that

were no more than boxy torsos upon which were fastened heavy arms  and  legs

for performing difficult labor.

As the doors opened and Durga's entourage  passed  into  the  reception

chamber, Leia saw that the Hutt crime lord also knew the value of spectacle.

The bloated wormlike creature reclined on a broad pallet  that  drifted

above the floor on a cushion of  repulsor-lifts.  But  Durga  moved  forward

through the plodding efforts of a team of Gamorrean  slaves  lashed  to  the

floating platform by  red  velvet  bonds.  The  piglike  guards  kept  their

squinting eyes to the polished flagstones. Drips of moisture splattered  the

floor as the Gamorreans either perspired heavily or simply drooled.

Stooped, lizard servants trooped into the audience chamber in front  of

the Gamorrean guards. Their triangular heads bobbed low  to  the  ground  as

they placed electronic music synthesizers to their lips and hissed into  the

voice pickups. The computer then processed and  transmitted  the  noises  as

beautiful brassy reception music.

Durga the Hutt heaved himself up, as if to emphasize his importance. If

anything, Durga seemed even fatter than Jabba. His sloping head was  like  a

sagging mound of slime, stained by some sort of birthmark  like  dark  green

ink thrown in his face; his huge round eyes were  like  spoiled  fruit.  His

childlike hands seemed out of place on his swollen body.

What made Leia's breath catch in her throat, though,  were  the  dozens

and dozens of hairy creatures swarming over Durga  and  his  retainers  like

large simian lice. The creatures were each about the size of Leia's  forearm

with grayish brown fur and large curious eyes. Each one had four supple arms

that ended in dexterous fingers. The two legs appeared flexible enough to be

used as a third set of arms and hands, should the need arise. The  creatures

constantly shifted position like vermin, blinking their eyes and staring  in

all directions as if voracious for information.

Threepio stepped forward and spoke his prepro-grammed message. "The New

Republic gives greeting  to  mighty  Durga,"  he  said,  but  then  his  own

personality won out. "And if I might be permitted  to  ask  what  are  those

furry? creatures with you?"

"Does a protocol droid speak for you?" Durga said  in  his  deep  belly

voice.

"I would appreciate an answer to his question," Leia said. "I am  Chief

of State Leia Organa Solo"

"My immediate apologies for the? unsettling dealings you have had  with

Hutts in the past," Durga said. "My people have been known to carry  grudges

for a long time, because we are such long-lived creatures."

"Yeah? Well, Jabba didn't live so long," Han  muttered.  Leia  gestured

for him to be quiet.

"Times change," Durga continued, clasping his small hands in  front  of

him. "Many of my clan members are disturbed that I should speak to you,  but

it means a great deal to me. I am  willing  to  let  past  matters  fade  to

shadows for the profit and improvement of our situations. I would appreciate

if you could do the same, at least for the sake of these conversations."

Leia nodded, cool and aloof. "I agree for the moment," she  said,  "but

you still haven't answered my droid's question. I,  too,  am  interested  in

your furry companions. We haven't seen their like before."

"Ah, please excuse me," Durga  said.  "These  are  the  Taurill,  semi-

intelligent  creatures,  busy  workers  and  good  pets.  They  passed   all

quarantine scans when we arrived on Coruscant. They are  insatiably  curious

and would like to explore. They intend no harm."

Leia then used a tactic Luke had taught her, urging that  even  if  she

did not intend to become a full Jedi Knight, she should at  least  learn  to

use her Force sensitivity in diplomatic  matters.  This  was  a  skill  Leia

couldn't afford to ignore, and  as  she  sat  calm-faced,  her  mind  worked

furiously, attempting to sense the real purpose behind Durga's mission.

She detected distant reactions  from  the  Gamorrean  guards  who  knew

virtually nothing about their own  situation.  The  Taurill  were  a  fjzzy,

confusing mass of faint impressions? but Durga the  Hutt  remained  a  blank

wall to her. Somehow, his mind was strong enough to resist her  probing,  or

perhaps the Hutts were genetically shielded,  because  she  remembered  that

Luke also could not read or manipulate Jabba the Hutt.

"If my pets make you uncomfortable," Durga said in a conciliatory tone,

"I would be happy to remove them from my person." He clapped his small hands

together, and the Taurill scattered, departing from his platform and leaping

on to the shoulders of the Gamorrean guards. Leia guessed there must  be  at

least a hundred of the frenetic little creatures. They scampered across  the

flagstoned floor examining alcoves, planetary banners, and displays. One ran

up and studied Threepio, and the golden droid tried to shoo it away.

"Durga, I must insist that you control?" Leia began.

"Pay them no mind," Durga spoke in a loud,  commanding  tone.  "They'll

cause no damage. Now, to the point of my visit."

Beside her, Han flicked his glance  nervously  around  as  the  Taurill

wandered about the room, poking into corners, creeping behind their chairs.

Leia was forced to regain her composure so she could outthink the  Hutt

crime lord. She thought she knew what Durga was trying to do. He  wanted  to

rattle them, distract her into giving something away but  she  wouldn't  let

him manipulate her. She stonily pretended  that  the  distracting  creatures

were not there. That would fluster him.

"Yes, Durga," she said. "I  am  most  interested  in  your  mission  to

Coruscant. What brings a Hutt crime lord to an audience with the  legitimate

government of the New Republic?"

Durga spread his arms wide. "Madam President, your words wound me.  Let

us not begin these talks with definitions  of  crime  lords  and  legitimate

governments. We are all trying to do what is best for  ourselves.  The  Hutt

kajidic,  the  clan  system  of  business  that  my  brothers  and  I   have

established, encompasses a great  many  worlds  a  significant  fraction,  I

daresay, of your own New Republic. The Hutts do not want war  commercial  or

actual and I don't believe your fledgling government can afford a  drawn-out

struggle either. Unlike the Empire,  we  Hutts  have  an  invisible  web  of

influence and relationships in places you cannot imagine, far  more  than  a

simple military garrison you can strike."

He blinked his heavy-lidded eyes. "However, I do not come here to  make

threats, but an overture of peace. Although  you  called  our  operations  a

'criminal empire,' I'm here to offer an end to all that unpleasantness.

"Our simplest solution is legitimacy. I propose that the Hutts form  an

alliance with the New Republic, become commercial partners. If you  legalize

our activities, then we are no longer a criminal  empire,  but  a  respected

commercial venture. Is that not true?" he said with  a  gesture  toward  the

ceiling as if to indicate his high hopes.

"We Hutts could carry out our business without the need for secrecy and

security,  and  thereby  increase  our  profits  enormously.  We  would  pay

appropriate taxes and tariffs, and the New Republic would grow  stronger  as

well. You could  then  marshal  your  defenses  toward  fighting  your  true

enemies, rather than simple business competitors such as ourselves."

"Is that the only reason?" Leia said, trying  to  keep  the  skepticism

from her voice. The Taurill continued their relentless poking  and  prodding

and investigating, but Leia fixed her gaze on Durga the Hutt.

"We Hutts have our pride," Durga continued. "It is our greatest wish to

become respectable, true businessmen rather than powerful outlaws."

"I see," Leia said. Using her mask of diplomatic training,  she  smiled

but in her mind she vowed that all the stars in the  galaxy  would  burn  to

cold ash before she ever entered into an alliance with the Hutts.

Just then one of the New Republic honor guards, who had tried valiantly

to remain quiet during the negotiations, attempted to scare away two of  the

Taurill that had begun crawling on him like mammalian spiders. They  climbed

the guard's uniform though he swiped at them to brush them off. He swung his

ceremonial blaster rifle, trying to jostle them free.

One of the Taurill grabbed the weapon as if it were a tree  branch  and

pulled himself on to the end. The other Taurill climbed the  length  of  the

guard's forearm to the firing button of the blaster and accidentally  though

Leia had the odd impression that it might have been intentional  pushed  the

firing stud. The rifle fired, blasting the hapless Taurill at the end of the

barrel into a flaming ball of furry cinders.

Durga's wide mouth dropped open like  a  trapdoor.  The  other  Taurill

shrieked in sudden panic. The guard gaped  down  at  his  blaster  rifle  in

dismay. "I didn't mean it!" he said.

The hundred Taurill in the reception chamber  fled  in  all  directions

with an ear-splitting volley of panicked chit-ters, heading  out  the  door,

into the air ducts, hiding behind the chairs and in any shadowy corner.

"Don't let them escape!" Durga howled. "They are my pets, and  I  would

be most displeased to lose any of them." The Hutt glared  at  the  poor  New

Republic guard as if he wanted to feed him to a rancor.

The honor guards instantly broke formation, rushing around to grab  the

multiarmed pets. The Gamorreans turned in  circles,  champing  their  tusks,

clearly not understanding what  had  just  happened.  Threepio  flailed  his

golden arms and ran after several of the creatures.

Leia sent for more assistance, but she knew the vast echoing  corridors

of the enormous Imperial palace offered infinite places for the  Taurill  to

hide.

Han lounged back in his chair with a wry, lopsided grin. "Told  you  we

shouldn't have bothered to dress up," he said.

* * *

In the confusion,  three  of  the  Taurill  easily  made  it  to  their

destination, winding through the air ducts, between walls, and along  pipes,

descending deep below the former Imperial palace into  the  shielded  secret

chambers far down in the bedrock.

The Imperial Information Center.

The Taurill were a hive mind, a  single  organism  with  thousands  and

thousands of bodies  sharing  one  collective  consciousness.  Each  of  the

individual creatures was merely an extra set of eyes and ears and  hands  to

do the bidding of the Overmind that controlled all of its members.

Durga had discovered the Taurill in the Outer Rim and had  paid  dearly

for information on how to exploit the scattered mass mind.  Durga  had  then

quietly executed the one explorer and xenobiologist who  had  uncovered  the

secret of the Taurill. Now only Durga knew what the  cute,  furry  creatures

were actually capable of.

He had entered into a pact with the  Taurill,  promising  the  Overmind

great wealth and power but what the Overmind really  wanted  was  to  spread

itself out across the reaches of  the  galaxy,  dispersing  its  members  to

different star systems so that it could grow. Durga was only  too  happy  to

comply.

Now, while dozens of the Taurill remained in the  diplomatic  reception

room, creating a diversion and acting innocently  confused  and  frightened,

these three Taurill commandos slipped into the  shielded  computer  database

compiled by Emperor Palpatine himself.

The room was cold and  sterile,  smelling  of  metal.  The  doors  were

guarded by heavily armed assassin droids. Mechanical  slicers  hunched  over

the information terminals, jacked in and focused entirely on their work.

The Taurill emerged from tiny access  openings,  scrunching  themselves

down to make their bodies small enough to pass through. On nimble feet  they

pattered across the cold floor plates, swinging their four  arms  until  the

three reached separate access terminals.

The Taurill crawled up and began work at different  stations,  punching

through obscure menus, finding the information  they  needed.  Although  the

system was heavily guarded and passworded, the Taurill entered  the  special

codes and phrases that had  been  obtained  from  Jabba's  secret  stash  of

information. Before long, the Taurill had broken through.

One of them inserted a small information cylinder and began downloading

the precious plans. Data spilled into the compact new container, After  only

a few moments, their mission was complete.

The Taurill secreted away their data cylinder, and in unison the  three

furry commandos scampered back to the access openings.

The Overmind knew exactly what had been  accomplished  and  transmitted

that information to Durga through one of the  calm  and  recaptured  Taurill

bodies up in the reception room.

Durga petted the creature, rumbling with pleasure.

In the reception chamber Leia held her head in her hands, wondering how

to salvage the situation but also trying  to  stifle  a  laugh.  She  didn't

particularly care if Durga's dignity had been offended.

One of the reptilian retainers  hummed  into  his  musical  synthesizer

again, sending out a loud and soothing tone that made Leia's teeth throb. It

seemed to serve as a summons for the Taurill, though.  Cooing  and  purring,

they ran toward the music, as if drawn by invisible leashes. They approached

Durga's sled, dozens and dozens of them emerging from hiding places  like  a

swarm of vermin.

"If that was so easy," Leia wondered aloud, "why  didn't  Durga  simply

use the musical tones at the very beginning?"

The Gamorreans began counting the Taurill as  they  came  in,  but  the

stupid guards lost track numerous times until Threepio finally stepped in to

help.  He  rapidly  pointed  to  each  of  the  remaining  fuzzy  creatures.

"Ninety-seven, Lord Durga. That is my count for the Taurill."

The Hutt grumbled.  "I  came  here  with  ninety-eight,  and  your  man

executed one of them so I believe our tally is intact."  He  glared  at  the

nervous  honor  guard.  "Perhaps,  Madam  President,  you   would   consider

reassigning your trigger- happy escort, who  is  given  to  such  disruptive

outbursts during a delicate diplomatic negotiation."

"I will consider  it,  Durga,"  Leia  said.  "But  perhaps  you  should

consider leaving your unruly pets behind if you plan  to  conduct  'delicate

diplomatic negotiations.' And if you simply must bring them, keep them under

tighter control when they are in the vicinity of dangerous weapons."

Durga reared up as if offended, then let out a  deep  belly  laugh.  "I

like you, Leia Organa Solo. I am glad to have such a strong counterpart  who

does not cower in fear. I wish to continue these negotiations at  some  time

in the future. Allow me to extend an invitation for you to make a  visit  to

Nal Hutta, at your convenience? I would be happy to receive you there."

Leia nodded, noncommittal. "I'll consider it, Durga," she said. "If  my

rather busy schedule will permit it."

Durga bowed on his repulsorsled and bade them all farewell.

The Gamorrean guards turned the Hutt around and strained against  their

red velvet leashes, pulling the floating sled back out  into  the  corridor.

The worker droids groaned and shuffled as they swung the heavy doors shut.

Leia slumped back in her seat  and  only  then  noticed  that  she  was

perspiring heavily. Han patted her hand.

"We really should spend more time with the Hutts. They seem like such a

pleasant species," he said. "Now how about we get something to eat?"

YAVIN 4

CHAPTER 7

Callista sat alone in the jungles as night gathered on  Yavin  4.  Near

the horizon, a lambent glow from the setting gas  giant  streaked  the  sky;

Massassi trees rose tall, spreading their many-branched silhouettes  against

the deepening purple. Stars poked out, lights twinkling through a  cloak  of

blackness.

She had not gone far from the Great Temple  where  Luke  Skywalker  had

founded his Jedi academy. The staircased pyramid had endured  for  thousands

of years, and stood now like a jagged black cutout surrounded by dusk.

Callista sat with her long legs crossed in front of a campfire she  had

built from dry brush, concentrating,  allowing  no  distractions.  Her  malt

blond hair was mussed and windblown, but her gray eyes  were  fixed  on  the

flames. The warmth spread out in waves, gentle but insistent,  driving  back

the damp coolness that settled over the lowlands.

She stared into the flames and pushed, but she felt nothing, not even a

flicker of her former abilities. Feathery tongues  of  fire  licked  at  the

logs, lending the bark a soft orange glow. Tiny sparks drifted into the  air

in corkscrew patterns, like incandescent starfighters crashing to  oblivion.

Callista grimaced and tried harder to touch the flames  with  her  mind,  to

nudge the embers.

But nothing happened. She sensed no communion with the fire.

Luke's other Jedi trainees could make the flames  dance,  pulling  them

out like flexible sheets to make faces, images, twisting them  into  braids.

It was a simple Jedi exercise. Callista had learned how to do it many  years

ago; back then she had not even needed to concentrate. But now, try  as  she

might, the flames would not respond. Her Jedi powers had abandoned her.

She stood with a lost sigh of frustration and kicked apart the logs  to

let the fire die. Sparks showered upward like a rekindled space battle,  and

the embers fought to maintain their brightness.

Callista trudged back toward the great stone  pyramid,  wondering  when

Luke would come back. Behind her, the fire gasped and  died  into  a  waning

glow.

As Callista readied for bed, alone, she answered a summons at her door,

surprised to find the Jedi woman Tionne standing in the corridor.

"I  found  something  in  the  records,"  Tionne  said,  blinking   her

mother-of- pearl eyes over an anxious expression. She  had  a  narrow  face,

pointed chin, high cheekbones, and large eyes framed by  long  silvery  hair

that gave her an elfin, ethereal appearance. "It isn't much, but  I  thought

you'd like to know." Her voice had a musical lilt, and it was not surprising

that Tionne enjoyed singing, accompanied by a stringed instrument of her own

devising.

Tionne was not one of Luke's stronger trainees, but she had  proven  to

be his most skilled assistant and teacher at the  academy.  She  had  always

been intrigued by Jedi lore and legends, and she spent  much  time  studying

archives, compiling a great history of  the  thousand  generations  of  Jedi

Knights who had served the Old Republic.

"Come in," Callista said, gesturing. "What is it?"

Tionne raised her pale eyebrows. "You might like to know that at  least

you aren't alone. Not in history at any rate."

Callista perked up. "Other Jedi have lost their powers before?"

"Yes, there was another." Tionne sat down  on  the  rumpled  covers  of

Callista's sleeping pallet, her mysterious pearlescent  eyes  widening.  She

enjoyed nothing more than retelling the Jedi legends she knew and  loved  so

well.

"Ulic Qel-Droma, a great warlord who fought in the Sith War on the side

of evil with Exar Kun. He betrayed Kun and led the Jedi Knights here,  where

they trapped Kun's spirit in the temples and laid waste to the entire  moon.

But by turning to the dark side, Ulic Qel-Droma damned himself forever,  and

in a final confrontation he was stripped of his Force ability."

"But how?" Callista said. "The Force is in all things. How can one Jedi

Knight strip another of the ability to use it?"

"Ulic was not deprived of anything," Tionne continued, "in a manner  of

speaking, he was blindfolded to the Force. Ulic no longer had access to it."

"But how could I have had such blinders placed upon me?" Callista said.

"Was it just a consequence of my spirit entering another body?"

"Cray's body," Tionne said with a  slight  tightening  in  her  throat.

Callista remembered that the silver-haired Jedi woman had known  Cray  well,

had trained with her? and now Callista's spirit  inhabited  the  same  body,

while Cray herself had  died  in  a  suicide  mission  against  the  Eye  of

Palpatine.

"I can't explain it," Tionne said with a shrug. "1 can  only  tell  you

what I've learned. Every piece of information adds  more  to  the  solution.

Someday"?  Tionne  rested  her  long  and  delicate  fingers  on  Callista's

forearm?"we'll find the answer."

Callista nodded and stood to usher  Tionne  out  the  door.  The  Great

Temple had fallen silent with late evening, the other Jedi  trainees  either

sleeping or meditating in their own  chambers.  Out  in  the  corridor,  the

little as- tromech droid Artoo-Detoo puttered along the flagstones,  looking

lost without Luke Skywalker.

Callista vowed to keep trying, keep searching. There  had  to  be  some

way. She had waited for so long inside the computer, and now  that  she  had

found her love in Luke, she would not let him go without a  fight.  But  she

could not be a part of him, true Jedi to true Jedi, until she  regained  her

ability to use the Force. She couldn't give everything to him until then.

Their time had been so brief before they had been snatched apart,  left

with only their loss, to look into  each  other's  eyes  with  an  invisible

barrier between them that neither could breach.

Callista  swallowed,  but  her  throat  remained   dry.   Despite   her

reservations, she could not wait until Luke Skywalker returned to her.

When Luke did return several days later, Callista knew  instantly  that

he had been unsuccessful. She was unable to read him in the way she had once

sensed emotions with her Jedi potential but she could tell by  his  demeanor

and downcast expression that he had not found the answers he sought.

She met Luke on the landing grid in front of  the  pyramid.  The  other

Jedi students emerged one by one to welcome their Master home. Callista  ran

to him. Luke moved quickly, delighted to see her. He caught her in his arms,

holding her close, but said nothing.

She kissed him, then spoke quietly into his ear.  "General  Kenobi  did

not answer your summons?" she asked.

He looked at her strangely, blinking  his  cool  blue  eyes,  and  then

smiled. "I keep forgetting you were a Jedi so long ago that you knew Obi-Wan

when he was a young military commander."

He averted his gaze. "No, he didn't answer." Then he spoke  quickly  as

if to reassure her. "But that doesn't  mean  anything.  I'm  going  to  keep

trying and so are you," he said.

"You can bet on that," she agreed.  "I'd  do  anything  so  we  can  be

together."

"So would I," Luke said, "if only I knew what to do."

"Let's go greet the others." Callista slipped her arm around his waist.

He held her, and the two walked toward the temple.  "I'm  sorry  you  didn't

find the answer," she said, "but just having you back makes me happy."

"That much I can give you," Luke said, "but I hope we can have more? so

much more."

"We will," Callista said.

CHAPTER 8

A heavy, warm rain sheared through the jungle, pattering on the  glossy

leaves. Master Skywalker ignored it, or accepted it, as he led his group  of

students along the wet pathways  through  the  undergrowth  surrounding  the

Great Temple. Droplets of glittering water danced across their Jedi robes.

Kyp Durron looked up at the open patches of leaden gray sky through the

tall trees. The rain caressed his face with pearly fingers that  traced  the

contours of his chin and ran into the hollow of  his  throat.  Others  might

have taken the gloom and storm as an ill omen, but rain brought life to  the

jungle moon, and Kyp considered it a healthy change from the humid sunshine.

Cilghal, the Calamarian Jedi  Knight,  walked  directly  behind  Master

Skywalker. Her watery blue robes rippled around her, already soaked,  though

they looked as if they were designed to  be  wet.  Her  salmon-colored  skin

glistened, and she blinked her large fish eyes in contentment at the rain.

Kyp walked beside the cloned alien Dorsk  81,  whose  smooth  skin  and

rounded features made him appear streamlined, with all the sharp edges  worn

away. Dorsk 81 had pale, olive green skin, wide yellow  eyes,  and  an  open

innocent face. The cloned alien  had  been  fighting  to  regain  his  self-

assurance,  struggling  with  generations  of   identical   and   talentless

predecessors in his  genetic  line.  Kyp  and  Dorsk  81  had  become  close

companions in the past year. They had  opposite  personalities  which  might

have made them clash, but somehow the two filled each other's empty spots.

Master  Skywalker  led  the  group  of  trainees  through  the   hushed

underbrush, where even the birds and insects remained subdued, hiding  under

the shelter of thick leaves from the downpour.

They came down an embankment to the wide river that sliced through  the

jungle, a broad ribbon of greenish water that teemed with life. The  current

flowed swiftly; thousands of pockmarks dimpled the surface as  rain  pounded

down."

Across the river and through the rain,  Kyp  could  see  the  ruins  of

another Massassi temple, the tall, crumbling Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster.

Nearby, the  large  power-generating  station  hummed  and  steamed  in  the

afternoon shower.

Master Skywalker stopped at the bank, his feet squishing in the mud. He

spread his hands at his sides as if drawing up lines of Force  from  beneath

the surface. He shrugged back his hood. His pale  brown  hair  had  darkened

from the falling rain and lay plastered in thick clumps  against  his  head.

Raindrops sparkled on his cheeks as he turned toward the other trainees.

"I'm pleased to be marking a passage," he said. "The  river  flows,  as

does the Force never ending, always moving? I brought  you  to  Yavin  4  to

begin your instruction. I can only set you on the path of the light side and

open your minds to the possibilities of the Force.  You  must  all  complete

your own training. Each of you must decide when that time has come.

"Since the  New  Republic  needs  Jedi  Knights  to  spread  peace  and

stability, we cannot stay here indefinitely  in  our  comfortable  academy."

Master Skywalker looked at the drenched candidates and  at  his  own  soaked

robe. "Well, maybe it's not always comfortable," he said. The Jedi  students

chuckled.

Kyp felt suddenly nervous. Although  he  had  looked  forward  to  this

graduation for a long time, he now felt as if he were putting an end to  one

of the most important times in his life even if it meant  he  was  about  to

start an even more crucial or exciting phase.

"Three trainees have decided to  depart  from  the  Jedi  praxeum,  the

academy where we learn action and learn the Force."

Kyp and Dorsk 81 stepped forward to stand beside Cilghal and turned  to

face the other Jedi trainees. Cilghal tilted her head to  the  sky,  letting

the rain stream across her face.

"They have mastered each lesson I prepared for  them,"  Luke  Skywalker

said. "They have built their own lightsabers and completed their training."

Cilghal withdrew her own lightsaber handle from her pale blue robe; her

weapon was silvery and smooth, with subtle indentations and blisters, as  if

organically grown, much like the large Mon Calamari  starcruisers.  Kyp  and

Dorsk 81 pulled out their own  lightsabers.  As  one,  the  three  graduates

flicked on the weapons.  Steam  sizzled  around  them  as  raindrops  hissed

against the glowing blades.

"You three must go and become guardians for the galaxy,  protectors  of

the New Republic," Master Skywalker said. "You must fight the dark  side  in

all its manifestations. You are Jedi Knights now."

Cilghal focused her round eyes on the humming blade in front of her. "I

will return to my homeworld, where I serve both as  a  Jedi  Knight  and  an

ambassador. The Mon Calamari are talented and industrious people.

We can  pool  our  resources  to  enhance  the  stability  of  the  New

Republic."

Dorsk 81 blinked his yellow eyes and looked nervously to Kyp, who  gave

a slight nod of encouragement. The cloned alien said,' 'I wish to return  to

my home planet as well. To Khomm, where our society has  remained  the  same

for centuries. Showing them that I am changed that  I  have  become  a  Jedi

Knight? will shake them up," he said. His slit  mouth  turned  upward  in  a

faint smile. "I believe they need to be reawakened."

Master Skywalker then looked at Kyp, who drew himself  up  to  seem  as

tall as Dorsk 81. "I'll go with him for now," Kyp said.  "His  homeworld  is

toward the center of the galaxy, near the Core Systems. I'm  really  worried

that the Empire has been so quiet in the last couple of years.  Sure,  we've

seen the renegade Admiral Daala and the Eye of Palpatine?"

Here, Master Skywalker flinched and glanced at  Cal-lista  who,  though

she appeared wet and bedraggled in the rain, still  glowed,  with  affection

for Luke.

"But I still think the warlords must be planning something," Kyp  said.

"I can't imagine any greater service to the New Republic than for me to find

out what's going on. I'll slip in and snoop around the Empire."

Master Skywalker nodded in approval,  then  addressed  the  other  Jedi

trainees. "Someday you all will become guardians. Think of where  you  might

go, where you could do  the  most  good.''  He  turned  back  to  the  newly

graduated Jedi Knights. "May the Force be with you."

Kyp looked at the others, saw uneasiness or hard determination.  Tionne

nodded peacefully. Kam Solusar, the hard-edged Jedi, stood unblinking as  if

nothing could affect him. Kirana Ti, the warrior woman from Dathomir, looked

confident in her glittering red-and-green reptilian armor. Beside  her,  the

addle-brained hermit from Bespin, Streen, looked at  the  raindrops  on  his

hands and flicked his gaze from side to side. Kirana Ti placed a strong hand

on his shoulder, as if she could suddenly sense his doubts.

The others reacted in their own ways, agreeing  or  looking  away.  Kyp

knew Luke's original group of  trainees  well;  others  were  new  arrivals,

coming to be trained as the word went out from system to  system,  and  more

potential Jedi Knights were found.

Master Skywalker dropped his hands to his sides, relaxing. Kyp switched

off his own lightsaber, and the handle swallowed  the  silvery  pure  blade.

Cilghal and Dorsk 81 also extinguished their weapons.

Luke smiled at them all. "I think I've had enough rain. Let's  go  back

to the temple."

Suddenly, Kyp felt the tension fade from the air, and it seemed  as  if

they were a group of companions on a simple hike rather than in  a  ceremony

laden with galactic import.

Master Skywalker stepped into the milling group  of  trainees,  seeking

out Callista. He took her hand, and they smiled at each other  as  they  led

the others along an overgrown path back to the Great Temple.

En route to Khomm, Dorsk 81 piloted the small  private  spacecraft  the

New Republic had given them. The cloned alien watched the bright spot of his

homeworld grow.

"Approaching on standard vector," Kyp said from the passenger seat  and

toggled the comm system. "Kyp Durron  and  Dorsk  81  on  approach.  Request

landing coordinates."

Within a moment, the space traffic controller calmly gave Kyp the  data

he needed. He looked curiously at Dorsk 81.  "Are  they  expecting  us?"  he

said.

The olive-skinned alien shook his head. "No, they just  rarely  respond

to anything in an unusual way."

Kyp looked at the cloned alien, recalling  a  previous  time  they  had

traveled together. While under the influence of Exar Kun, the  ancient  Dark

Lord of the Sith, he had gone with Dorsk 81 to an abandoned  jungle  temple,

Kun's private fortress of solitude. There the black spirit tried to  destroy

Dorsk 81 on a whim, to demonstrate the power of the dark side; Kyp had saved

him, though Dorsk 81 hadn't even known about it.

Since the defeat of Kun, when Dorsk 81 had  faced  his  fears  and  his

inadequacy, the cloned alien  had  become  stronger  by  accepting  his  own

limitations. Kyp did not push him, but let the smooth-skinned  alien  follow

his own path.

The pale green sphere of Khomm grew larger, filling the viewport.  From

a distance the planet seemed peaceful and  misty,  featureless.  It  had  no

natural satellites, not even phases of the  moon  to  make  regular  change.

Khomm's orbit was practically circular, the tilt of  its  axis  nonexistent,

creating no change of seasons. So close to the galactic center, the moonless

sky was filled with bright stars.

"Looking forward to going home?" Kyp asked  as  Dorsk  81  altered  the

navigation controls to take them into a low-energy orbit,  from  which  they

could begin a smooth descent to the spaceport.

The alien nodded. "I'm eager to see  my  duplicates  again,"  he  said.

Because they all came from the same clone stock, obviously  Dorsk  81  could

not call them his parents or siblings, because they were all genetically the

same? something subtle had changed with Dorsk  81,  though,  giving  him  an

ability to touch the Force that none of the other clone stock had  exhibited

so far.

"I am particularly looking forward to seeing Dorsk 82," he said. "Grown

from my genes, it is likely he has matured since I have been away."

Kyp blinked in surprise. He hadn't known that Dorsk 81  had  a?  child,

offspring, younger duplicate. "I'm looking forward to meeting him too."

As Dorsk 81 piloted the ship in for a landing, Kyp  looked  up  at  the

densely clustered stars that made a broad river of light across the night of

space. The Core Systems. He vowed to find out what the Empire had been doing

after all this time.

CORE SYSTEMS

CHAPTER 9

True night was impossible in  the  Core  Systems.  Stars  clustered  so

closely together that even the blackest regions of space were a symphony  of

stellar flares and hot  ionized  gas  clumped  in  regions  once  considered

uninhabitable. In a navigational hell like this, remnants of the Empire  hid

among uncharted systems where they could wait and recover and war upon  each

other.

Admiral Daala walked erect and  alone,  a  proud  example  of  Imperial

training as stormtrooper guards provided an armed escort into  the  fortress

of Supreme Warlord Harrsk. Her face appeared  to  be  chiseled  from  stone,

still beautiful but now weathered so that its edges held a bitter sharpness.

Faint lines were etched around her mouth from too many  years  of  clenching

her teeth, too many months  trying  to  reunite  the  feuding  warlords  who

squabbled over the Empire's remaining military might like  nek  battle  dogs

tearing a carcass.

Shadows haunted Daala's eyes, memories of failure and a snuffed fire of

revenge, but the green of her irises flashed molten when she thought of  how

simple it would be to strike effectively against the  clumsy  New  Republic.

Even now, the Rebels still hadn't  managed  to  secure  their  hold  on  the

galaxy, though the Empire had given them years in which to accomplish it.

The stormtroopers formed a tight  and  comforting  honor  guard  around

Daala as she strode down the  fused  corridors  into  the  bedrock.  Supreme

Warlord Harrsk had established his stronghold on a rocky planet that orbited

close to a red giant star. Its surface  crust  remained  soft  and  cracked,

seeping lava like an oozing wound.

In orbit, giant  solar  smelters  provided  energy  and  processed  raw

material  to  construct  Harrsk's  personal  fleet  of  Imperial-class  Star

Destroyers. Upon arrival here, Daala's loyal second in command, Kratas,  had

gone aboard the flagship Shockwave  to  inspect  the  weaponry.  Harrsk  had

completed construction on twelve  of  the  Star  Destroyers  so  far,  using

whatever resources he could scrape together  by  bullying  all  the  systems

within reach.

Daala thought of the unexploited military strength in the  safe  shadow

of Harrsk's planet, where ripping rays from the red giant could  not  damage

the  ships'  systems.  Back  when  she  had  been  ordered  to   guard   Maw

Installation, Daala had commanded only four Imperial Star Destroyers and  in

her private little war against the Rebels,  she  had  lost  three  of  those

ships.

Yes, she could console herself that she had destroyed a  Rebel  colony,

blown up a convoy to a new military  base,  and  attacked  and  damaged  the

waterworld of Calamari? but overall her tactics had been  woefully  outdated

and ill-considered.  She  had  allowed  dark  anger  to  blind  her  to  the

shortcomings of her own schemes. She had suffered from fiendishly  bad  luck

as well but she had no intention of allowing luck to become a factor again.

Daala had given up everything to limp back to the Empire, surviving  in

the battle-scarred wreck of her last Star Destroyer,  the  Gorgon.  Reaching

sanctuary, she had been unimpressed with the weak and childish warlords  who

now held the future of the Empire in their hands.

Imperial  authorities  had  commandeered  Daala's   remaining   troops,

scattering them among other ships in other fleets.  They  had  scrapped  the

Gorgon, taking away the few usable components to rebuild other ships.

Daala, though, did not give them  the  chance  to  reassign  her  to  a

fighting group, preferring instead to act  as  a.  freelance  ambassador,  a

peacemaker visiting the far-flung  warlords.  Each  of  them  had  concocted

increasingly ridiculous titles for themselves, trying to top  their  nearest

competitor from Grand Admiral to High  Admiral,  to  Supreme  Commander,  to

Omnipotent Battle Leader. Admiral Daala had retained her  own  simple  rank,

requiring no further medals or titles. Her mission of  unification  remained

incomplete, and she and Commander Kratas traveled  from  system  to  system,

banking on their reputation and speaking to ears that  seemed  unfortunately

to be filled with duracrete.

Around her now, the air smelled warm and steamy with a  sulfurous  edge

that leaked through the vitrified tunnels.  Daala's  mane  of  reddish  hair

flowed behind her like a comet's tail. She had tried  to  trim  it  back  to

control it, but she disliked the severe look it gave her. Part of her needed

to remain free, confined only by the limits  of  what  she  knew  she  could

accomplish.

Harrsk's stormtroopers formed up and lined the corridor like a gauntlet

for her to pass. Tall synrock doors rose to the ceiling, etched with complex

patterns that evoked an Imperial grandeur. A stormtrooper  struck  his  fist

against a circular brass plate set into the rock, and sound enhancers  piped

the single knock through an echo chamber so that it boomed and  reverberated

like the summons of a powerful deity.

Daala tried to hide her expression of distaste. Elaborate formality and

overblown demonstrations of  supposed  power  did  not  bode  well.  Supreme

Warlord Harrsk seemed to consider himself  very  important  and  in  Daala's

experience, that meant he probably wasn't.

The synrock doors  ground  open,  and  Daala  marched  forward  without

waiting to be announced. Her black boots clicked on the fused  stone  floor.

She saluted. "I give you greeting, Supreme Warlord Harrsk."

In a large chamber  Supreme  Warlord  Harrsk  had  installed  banks  of

observation panels. He sat on a small  floating  chair  that  bobbed  as  he

kicked himself away from the station over to another panel.

"Ah, Admiral Daala," Harrsk answered. The grin  stretching  across  his

face was hideous. The entire left half of his head was sizzled, leaving only

bubbly pinkish skin, a mass of thick and insensitive scar  tissue.  His  eye

had been blinded, but Harrsk had replaced it with a synthetic droid  optical

sensor that caused his eye socket to glow yellow.

Harrsk had been nearly killed in an  explosion  during  the  battle  of

Endor. His Star Destroyer was crippled, but he managed to escape  with  part

of the fleet to a rendezvous point in the Core Systems  just  after  he  had

seen the Death Star explode.  Harrsk  could  have  repaired  his  skin  with

existing medical techniques, but had chosen  not  to,  keeping  the  hideous

scars as a  badge  of  honor  and  no  doubt,  Daala  thought,  a  means  of

intimidation.

He shifted in his repulsorchair, and the seat bobbed with  his  motion.

The hair on the unscarred half of his head was short and neat and black, and

he seemed to show as much meticulous care for the intact side of his  visage

as he showed disdain for the scarred portion.

"Your reputation precedes you," he said. "I am honored to have  such  a

great war hero among us and pleased that you have at last come to  me  after

wasting so much time with my weaker rivals."

Harrsk gestured toward the screens on his wall. Daala noted that he had

holocams mounted on the hellish planetary surface, as  well  as  remotes  in

orbit and more distant spy satellites on the  fringes  of  the  system.  One

image showed an ongoing fissure tearing a rock shelf apart as scarlet-orange

lava spilled out in an incandescent waterfall. Harrsk nodded to the  central

screen that showed his dozen Imperial Star Destroyers in  shadow  where  the

rocky planet eclipsed the red sun.

"I was just speaking with your  Commander  Kratas,"  Harrsk  said.  "He

seems to be most impressed with my Shockwave." He punched a button, and  the

scene shifted to show Kratas leaning over a station on the command bridge of

a new Star Destroyer. His dark eyes glittered, and his heavy  eyebrows  were

upraised.

"Admiral!" Kratas said, snapping to attention. "It feels good to be  on

the bridge again. This  is  a  fine  piece  of  military  machinery.  I  had

forgotten how sleek and maneu-verable an Imperial Star Destroyer  could  be,

after all the damage we suffered on the Gorgon."

Daala reminded herself to chide him for showing such glee. Kratas  must

learn to act more professional. But he had been through enormous ordeals  at

her side. Kratas had been a solid second in command, a foil for  her  ideas?

though perhaps if he had been stronger in his resolve, more willing to  show

a little backbone, Kratas might have convinced her that her tactics  against

the Rebels were unwise.

"I'm glad you are impressed, Commander," Harrsk said. "You may continue

your inspection. Admiral Daala and I have some things to discuss."

Kratas began to snap a  trim  salute,  but  Warlord  Harrsk  ended  the

transmission without even acknowledging him. He  swiveled  in  his  floating

chair to face Daala. She looked at him intently, staring at his one dark eye

and one glowing optical sensor. She saw through his scars, paid no  heed  to

his face or his droid eye only to the mind that  drove  this  collection  of

hardware that could be put to better use.

"Let us not draw out  our  discussions,"  he  said.  "I  know  of  your

mission. You have spent the last year speaking to others, trying to sow  the

seeds of unification. I admire that. I, too,  grow  tired  of  this  endless

civil war but, again, your tactics are all wrong. Such techniques might have

worked under the frail democracy of the Old Republic,  but  it  is  not  the

Imperial way."

When he stood, she saw that the warlord was substantially shorter  than

she. "You are a hero, Admiral Daala. Your word carries  weight.  That's  the

only reason you have been  able  to  travel  unharmed  through  the  hostile

territories in the Core Systems. But it's time you ended this game. You must

throw in your lot with the most powerful warlord myself, obviously. With you

as my second in command, I will have the power to bring those pretenders  to

their knees and forge them into a fighting force. We'll need to kill off the

traitors, of course, but I suspect that many of their loyal  soldiers  would

welcome the change in command. We're all frustrated, you know."

Daala bristled. "I understand what you're saying, Supreme Warlord,  and

your fleet is indeed impressive." She gestured to the screen, which depicted

the shadowed group of Imperial Star Destroyers. "But I'm not convinced  that

you could so easily  overwhelm  your  competitors.  The  moment  you  became

stronger, the others would form alliances, and the struggle  would  be  even

bloodier than before.

"Rather,  we  must  all  focus  the  fleets  on  a  common  goal.   Act

independently, if you wish, but meet and discuss overall strategy so that we

select appropriate Rebel targets and inject our venom where  it  will  cause

the most damage." She raised her gloved fist, glaring with ice-green eyes at

Harrsk. "It serves no purpose for Imperials to be at each others' throats."

Harrsk chuckled, but the smile stretched across only the intact part of

his face, while the scarred mask remained  unmoved.  "I  see  now  why  your

battles were a dismal failure, Admiral," he said.  "You  are  such  a  naive

commander. No wonder Grand Moff Tarkin locked you away where you could cause

no harm while the rest of us continued the real fight for the Empire."

Rage erupted like a volcano within Daala but  before  her  words  could

break through the barrier of  her  clenched  teeth,  the  viewscreens  began

blinking with alarms. One of the distant spy cams  mounted  high  above  the

ecliptic had detected  searing  lights,  trains  of  afterburners  streaking

through space so fast that the sensors could not focus.

Harrsk scuttled toward the screens and pressed his face  close  against

one. The in-system holocams trained on the  giant  sun  showed  more  trails

arrowing in.

The central screen switched, and  Commander  Kratas  was  there  again.

"Admiral Daala uh, excuse me, Warlord Harrsk we've detected incoming  ships,

moving fast." More of the out-system spy holocams triggered alarms, a  dozen

more ships coming from below the orbital  plane  this  time.  "I've  spotted

seventy," Kratas said in disbelief.

Harrsk shouted, "Sound all alarms!" Battle klaxons ripped  through  the

tunnels.

When the images  finally  focused,  Daala  caught  her  breath  as  she

recognized  the  fleeting  forms   of   seventy-three   Victory-class   Star

Destroyers, smaller warships each about half the size of  an  Imperial  Star

Destroyer. But these ships were fast, agile, and  bristling  with  weaponry.

Their hulls were made of a crimson alloy so that the  Victory  ships  looked

like bloody fangs clamping around Harrsk's Star Destroyers.

"Is this a drill?" Daala said. "Are you trying to impress me?"

"No!" Harrsk said, glaring at her  so  deeply  that  even  the  scarred

portion of his face rippled with distaste. "That's High Admiral Teradoc." He

shouted to the Star Destroyers. "Lock on any target and fire."

Running  lights  flashed  on,  powering  up  on  the  bone-white   Star

Destroyers  eclipsed  by  Harrsk's  planet.  Green  turbolasers  shot   out,

skewering target locations but the Victory-class ships roared by  too  fast.

Five of the crimson ships erupted as they took severe hits, but  even  those

losses were insignificant compared with the sheer number  in  the  attacking

fleet.

"Teradoc is trying to disgrace me," Harrsk said.

On screen, Daala could see Kratas  snapping  to  his  duty  as  ranking

officer on the bridge, instinctively issuing emergency orders. She was proud

of how her second in command instantly took  charge.  She  had  trained  him

well.

"Concentrate all firepower," Kratas said. "Select one  target,  destroy

it, then move on to the next. Scattered fire won't accomplish anything."

Kratas took Warlord  Harrsk's  flagship  to  the  point  of  a  phalanx

formation. The Shockwave was larger than the  other  Star  Destroyers,  more

heavily outfitted with  high-energy  weapons.  The  Shockwave  targeted  and

fired, obliterating a sixth  Victory  ship.  It  aimed  again,  crippling  a

target, and the crimson vessel went dim and spun out of control.

Then Daala realized with horror  that  the  Shockwave  itself  was  the

primary target for the combined assault  of  a  hundred  Victory-class  Star

Destroyers. They converged like metal filings drawn to a magnet, firing  and

firing.

"He's trying to destroy my flagship!" Harrsk said,  balling  his  fists

and standing next to his floating chair. "He wants to humiliate me.  I  told

you."

"Cease fire," Kratas ordered his bridge crew. "Route all power  to  our

shields. We've got to withstand this salvo."

The Victory-class destroyers came on without pausing.  The  other  Star

Destroyers in Harrsk's fleet shot at them, taking  a  minor  toll,  but  the

crimson warships were suicidal, seeming not even to notice the loss of their

comrades. The Victory-class ships formed a  blanket  of  "turbo-laser  fire,

stabbing again and again, pummeling the shields of the Shockwave.

"We can't hold out much longer," Kratas  said,  his  voice  harsh  with

strain. "Shields failing." He turned to look out of the  screen  again.  His

dark eyes, wide with realization, seemed  to  be  staring  directly  out  at

Daala. "Admiral, I?"

Then the screen turned to a fuzz of gray  static.  One  of  the  spycam

images showed the Shockwave cracking apart as geysers of molten  white  fire

shot from breaches in the hull.  The  engine  compartment  spewed  unleashed

energy in all directions. The hull integrity could not hold.

The  Victory-class  Star  Destroyers  kept  firing  until  finally  the

Shockwave was no more than a glowing cloud of debris and an agonizing memory

for Admiral Daala. "Oh, Kratas," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Achieving their target, the surviving Victory ships? sixty-two of  them

according to the tally on the data  screens  reversed  course  and  streaked

toward  hyperspace,  even  as  Warlord  Harrsk's  remaining  Imperial   Star

Destroyers took unsuccessful potshots in their wake.

Daala stood, feeling cold outrage. Commander Kratas  hadn't  even  been

part of Harrsk's fighting force. He had  been  a  bystander  in  a  childish

squabble between feuding warlords. Daala's lip  curled  as  the  rage  built

inside her, like pressurized steam rushing through her blood.

"We won't stand for this," Harrsk growled. "This time we'll  get  even,

and I have the means to do so with you, Admiral Daala," he said, looking  up

at her, his golden droid eye blazing.

Daala was startled from her grim reverie. "What?"

Harrsk continued breathlessly. "We must smash  that  obese  coward  now

with everything we have! I've been gathering my military might for a  strike

just such as this."

Daala fixed Harrsk with a withering glare.  "I  have  no  intention  of

assisting you in your childish brawl, Warlord Harrsk. You just lost  me  the

best commander I ever had. I will not perpetuate this?"

"Stormtroopers!"  Harrsk  shouted   toward   the   door.   "Come   here

immediately, weapons ready."

The stormtrooper contingent marched into the large viewing room.  Their

white boots thundered on the glassy floor as they stood at  attention.  Cold

black goggles and white plasteel helmets smothered all expressions.

"Take Admiral Daala to one of my Star Destroyers,"  Harrsk  said.  "She

will command our  retaliatory  strike  against  High  Admiral  Teradoc."  He

scowled at her. "If she  refuses,  you  will  execute  her  immediately  for

treason."

Daala bristled. "I won't allow you to order me around like that."

"I outrank you, and you have my orders," he screamed. "Do you serve the

Empire or do you have your own agenda?"

The stormtroopers brought their blaster rifles  to  bear,  pointing  at

her. They looked uneasy, but they followed  their  warlord's  orders.  Daala

could feel aiming mechanisms focusing on vulnerable points in her body.

"Very well, Harrsk," she murmured, still stunned at the loss of  Kratas

and numb with her own unchanneled anger. She intentionally  denied  him  the

title of Supreme Warlord. Her green eyes narrowed to calculating slits.

''Give me full command of one of your Star Destroyers, and I will  lead

your fleet."

CHAPTER 10

As the forces of Supreme Warlord Harrsk reeled from the attack, Admiral

Daala found herself on the command bridge of  the  Imperial  Star  Destroyer

Firestorm.

She surveyed the carnage High Admiral Teradoc's forces had wrought: the

smoldering wreckage of the flagship, the frozen bodies of all troops lost in

the explosion.  Three  more  of  Harrsk's  Star  Destroyers  had  also  been

sufficiently damaged as to require lengthy repairs. She would not be able to

use them in her retaliatory strike.

That left eight twice as many battleships  as  Grand  Moff  Tarkin  had

given her to defend Maw Installation. It would be enough.

Daala stood rigid on the bridge, staring out at  the  red  giant  star.

Thick filters had been placed across the viewports so she  could  watch  the

blazing  ocean  of  hot  gas  without  blinking.  The  commotion  of  battle

preparations continued around her unheeded.

Inside her, a cauldron of frustration simmered. She  did  not  want  to

fight Teradoc. She did not want to fight Harrsk. She wanted  them  both  and

all the other squab-bling warlords to fight  the  cursed  Rebelsl  Commander

Kratas had died because of their bickering. They  were  a  disgrace  to  the

memory of the Empire; and if this was all the  Imperial  ideal  could  offer

anymore, then perhaps it was best they failed.

But Daala could not accept that. Tarkin had taught her  never  to  give

up. She clasped her hands at the small of  her  back,  squeezing  her  black

gloves so tightly that her bones hurt. There must be a better way,  even  if

she had to force these others kicking and screaming to see it.

Harrsk's magnified image came to her over the comm system. He kept  his

half-scarred face turned squarely into  the  transmission  range,  flaunting

both his ugly and his undamaged side. "Admiral Daala, I am aboard  the  Star

Destroyer Whirlwind at your flank. You will take the point in our attack.  I

trust you have already developed a strategy?"

"Warlord Harrsk," Daala said, looking into the  blurred  image  of  his

face, ' 'I have just  begun  to  study  the  data  your  spies  gathered  on

Teradoc's fortress. Give  me  a  moment  to  assess  the  possibilities  for

attack."

"No," Harrsk insisted. "The High Admiral will never expect us to strike

so swiftly. We lose our element of surprise with each second of delay. It'll

be  a  full-frontal  attack  with  all  weapons  blazing.  We'll  knock  him

reel-ing!"

Daala scowled.  She  took  quick,  controlled  breaths  through  flared

nostrils. "Warlord, I have studied my own failures and realized that many of

them can be traced directly to ill-advised actions in the heat of anger."

"Nevertheless," Harrsk said, "you will follow my orders and  launch  an

immediate attack. I don't have the time or the patience to  deal  with  your

cowardice and insubordination. If you continue to argue, I will strip you of

your rank and place you in the brig."

Daala stiffened. She certainly wanted to  be  removed  from  this  sham

command, but she did not want to be imprisoned and tried for treason. Kratas

was gone. Her former crew was gone. Her every  connection  had  dwindled  to

insignificance. And she must start somewhere to  rebuild  her  capabilities,

This was a beginning, and Daala decided to apply her imagination to discover

some way to salvage the situation.

"Very well, Supreme Warlord," Daala said, saluting him  crisply.  "With

full command authority of this Star Destroyer, I will do my best to strike a

blow for the Empire."

"Good." Harrsk rubbed his hands together. "My personal  Star  Destroyer

will remain off to the side, so as not to draw direct fire. We will  confuse

them by having you lead the charge. Don't let me down."

"I would never let the Empire down, Supreme Warlord," Daala said.

She gave orders to the navigator, and the Firestorm edged to the  front

line of battleships. The three damaged Star Destroyers remained in  eclipse,

huddled in the shadow of Harrsk's  hot  world.  The  eight  remaining  ships

followed Daala's hyperspace coordinates as she gave the orders to launch for

the fortress of High Admiral Teradoc.

A  rocky  swath  of   planetoids   orbited   in   a   disk   around   a

lavender-and-white gas giant. The crumbling, ice-laden  ring  system  looked

beautiful from far away, reflecting distant gold sunlight but Daala  saw  it

as a tactical challenge. The rubble created tens of  thousands  of  possible

targets, all places the High Admiral could have chosen to hide his fortress.

"Let's see if your spies provided good information,"  Daala  said  into

her comm system linked to Warlord Harrsk's on the Whirlwind.

"It better be we paid enough  for  it,"  Harrsk  said.  "A  significant

portion of my budget was devoted to bribing  other  Imperials  to  get  that

information."

Daala's expression did not change, though disgust welled up inside her.

It should never have been possible to bribe Imperial soldiers. That kind  of

unprofessional behav-ior had brought the Empire  to  its  knees  corruption,

dishonesty, and criminal lack of vision.

"Very well, Warlord," she said. "We are heading directly into the  ring

systems, on target. All turbolasers are primed and ready."

Like projectiles shot from a gun, the Star Destroyers plunged into  the

ring plane, swooping toward their target. Large ice  shards  and  reflective

rocks cruised around them. The fleet came on at full speed, hoping to pounce

before Teradoc could muster his forces again.

Daala imagined that the High  Admiral  must  now  be  celebrating,  his

commanders retired and relaxing, expecting  no  retaliation  so  soon.  They

would get a surprise, she thought with a smile and so would Harrsk.

As Daala led the attackers on their  high-speed  assault,  two  of  the

planetoids in the rings exploded, proximity charges  rigged  to  detect  the

passage of incoming hostile ships. The flaming debris from  the  detonations

sprayed in all directions, hailing upon Harrsk's Star Destroyers,  crippling

one and destroying two others.

Five left, Daala saw. What a waste.

"They know we're here, Admiral," her tactical officer said.

Harrsk was  shouting  over  the  comm  system,  his  voice  reedy  with

excitement. "Admiral Daala, what happened? Why didn't you predict that?"

Daala blanked the sound on the  transmission,  enjoying  the  warlord's

livid face as he wordlessly continued to shout at her.

"We are locked on  to  Teradoc's  fortress  right  now,  Admiral,"  the

navigator said.

On a screen in front of  her,  high-resolution  diagrams  of  the  ring

system flashed up: one nondescript, medium-size rock blinked to indicate the

site of the High Admiral's stronghold.

"Victory-class  Star  Destroyers  approaching!"  the  weapons  sergeant

shouted.

Daala  gripped  the  bridge  rail,  studying  all  compo-nents  of  the

situation. She saw  that  dozens  of  the  small  planetoids  were  in  fact

garrisons, hollowed- out rocks  that  served  as  hangars  for  the  crimson

Victory ships. The smaller warships emerged and began  their  pursuit,  some

newly refurbished, others still battle-scarred from  the  recent  attack  on

Harrsk's molten world.

"Do not engage them," Daala said.

The tactical officer sat up, his black eyes  glittering  and  startled.

"Excuse me, Admiral?"

"I said, do not engage," she snapped. "Those  Victory-class  ships  are

not our target. We have a much more important mission to accomplish, and  we

cannot afford to be drawn away by their amateurish attempts to distract us."

Behind her, in the tattered remains of her phalanx of Star  Destroyers,

Harrsk ignored her orders and commanded his  gunners  on  the  Whirlwind  to

shoot at the pursuing Victory ships. Two other battleships followed Harrsk's

lead, but Daala snapped over the open-ship communications. "Cease  fire!  We

need all of our energy for the main thrust." The image of  Harrsk  continued

to bellow in silence with the sound turned off. Daala ignored him.

She turned and looked at the bridge crew under her  command.  "Tactical

officer, I want personal command of the weapons systems."

"Admiral?" the weapons sergeant said. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Personal control," she repeated. "I intend  to  fire  the  first  blow

myself." Then she feigned a soft smile, banking  on  her  reputation.  "I've

been working for this a long time." The weapons sergeant nodded briskly.

Blazing spears of turbolaser fire shot at them from Teradoc's fortress.

On the enhanced view she could discern camouflaged  weapons  batteries,  and

she knew that the High Admiral  himself  was  probably  hiding  deep  in  an

armored bunker, safe from the battle, while  his  swarms  of  Victory  ships

served as disposable perimeter defenses.

Daala moved to the weapons console,  and  the  gunner  surrendered  his

seat, looking at her in awe. She sat  down  and  glanced  at  the  controls,

familiarizing herself in an instant. Daala had spent the last year  learning

to become a part of the Empire's future rather than  staying  mired  in  its

past.

"I am siphoning off all power from the turbolaser batteries," she said,

"and concentrating our entire first strike on the ion cannon."

The tactical officer coughed and  looked  at  her  nervously.  '  'But,

Admiral the ion cannon simply obliterates electrical and  computer  systems.

Are you sure that will  be  sufficient  to  accomplish  our  objective?"  He

squinted down at the readout of Teradoc's rocky fortress.

"It will be sufficient to achieve my goal," Daala said.

As the Victory ships came in, dodging  icy  ring-system  debris,  Daala

targeted the Firestorm's ion cannon and placed  her  finger  on  the  firing

button.

"Admiral!" the weapons sergeant cried, "those coordinates are?"

She removed her sidearm and fired a stun blast at the sergeant. Glowing

blue arcs engulfed him and he tumbled into a  crumpled  mass  on  the  deck.

Before the others on the bridge could react, Daala fired the ion cannon.

The Firestorm's weapon belched out a disruptive blast that washed  over

the bridge tower of Warlord Harrsk's  Star  Destroyer  Whirlwind.  Lightning

bolts traced a thousand wicked fingers across the hull,  shutting  down  his

command systems, his computers, his weapons.

The Firestorm's bridge crew leaped to their  feet  in  an  uproar,  and

Daala stood quickly. She raised her voice to shout down the  objections.  "I

am in command of this ship, and you will follow my orders!"

She leveled her blaster pistol and  flicked  its  switch  to  the  kill

setting. "Anyone who questions my orders will be executed on  the  spot  for

mutiny against the rightful commander of this vessel. Do you understand?"

She gave them only a second to look at  her  in  cowed  silence.  "Drop

back. We will parallel the Whirlwind. Harrsk's ship is  dead  in  space,  so

increase our shields to protect him in case  any  of  Teradoc's  ships  come

after us."

As the others moved sluggishly to  respond,  loud  thumps  reverberated

through the Firestorm. Two of the three remaining Imperial  Star  Destroyers

began firing on her ship.

"They are loyal to Warlord Harrsk," the navigator said.

"They don't know what they're doing," Daala responded. "If any  of  you

bore love for the Empire, you would have done this long ago."

"Our shields are on full, Admiral," one member of the bridge crew said,

voice trembling. "We have covered both ourselves and the Whirlwind, but  the

shields are diffuse. We  cannot  withstand  a  full-fledged  attack  if  the

Victory- class ships or our own decide to take us out."

"Open a channel," Daala said. "All bands. I want to make sure our  Star

Destroyers are listening as well as Teradoc's and Warlord Harrsk himself."

She stepped into the transmitting area and drew a deep  breath  of  the

processed air on the bridge. Good Imperial ships smelled sharp and clean and

metallic. It reinforced Daala's strength to follow her convictions.

"This is Admiral Daala," she said, "in command  of  the  Imperial  Star

Destroyer Firestorm. I serve the Empire. I have always  served  the  Empire,

and I will never fire upon any other loyal Imperial." She swallowed grimly.

"I have made a preemptive strike on Warlord Harrsk's Star Destroyer  to

prevent him from attacking another Imperial stronghold. Harrsk's  attack  is

in direct response to hostile  action  taken  by  High  Admiral  Teradoc.  I

condemn that action as well. I can no  longer  tolerate  wasted  effort  and

squandered resources that could be better applied to destroying Rebel bases.

"Many of you may have  heard  of  my  attempts  to  destroy  the  Rebel

Alliance, when I had only four Star De-stroyers, outdated  information,  and

no support from the Empire."

With a stuttering burst of static, Warlord  Harrsk's  image  broke  in.

Daala was surprised, but momentarily pleased, that he had been able  to  get

his comm system working again so quickly.

"Don't listen to her! She's a traitor and a renegade!" Harrsk said.  "I

order the loyal crew on the Firestorm to take Daala  by  force  and  execute

her. Her crimes are obvious."

Daala continued to hold the blaster pistol, but she let it dip down  as

she swept her gaze at her bridge crew. "Is my crime so obvious?" she  asked.

"My only aim is to stop this civil war so we can fight our  true  enemy.  Do

you honestly believe Warlord Harrsk has the greater interests of the  Empire

in mind or is he merely interested in his personal power?

"I am not taking over. I  do  not  want  personal  power  or  political

leadership. All I ask is a military command. I will serve under  any  leader

who will devote his forces to defeating the  Rebel  Alliance  once  and  for

all."

Working the comm controls, Daala broke through the jammed  transmission

and spoke to all ships again. She noticed  that  the  crimson  Victory-class

ships had swarmed around them, dozens strong, their  weapons  sufficient  to

obliterate Harrsk's Star Destroyers but they held their fire.

Daala went to the command station on the  Firestorm's  bridge,  turning

her back on the crew  to  demonstrate  a  measure  of  trust.  She  remained

extremely tense, but refused to let it show. Out of the corner  of  her  eye

she watched the navigator slowly rise from his seat and  begin  to  withdraw

his blaster sidearm. Daala prepared to turn and shoot him  without  warning,

but one of the operations chiefs placed a hand on the  navigator's  forearm,

making him hold his fire. Daala trembled with relief.

She punched up the command systems for the  Firestorm,  keying  in  her

access code, glad that she had forced

Harrsk to give her full computer privileges before agreeing to run  the

attack on Teradoc's fortress. Harrsk had suspected nothing, and now she  had

the final say on every decision.

The Firestorm's computer recognized only Admiral Daala. She punched  in

a command she had dreaded even to consider on her  own  ship,  verified  it,

then pressed the commit button.

She spoke again into the transmission field. "If this is what my Empire

has become, I no longer wish to serve it. I have just  initiated  the  self-

destruct countdown on the Star Destroyer Firestorm.''

The bridge uproar was more subdued this time, as if the crew were still

stunned from her first mutinous action.

"The countdown is set. Warlord Harrsk's ship is powerless  and  trapped

within my deflector  shields.  Self-destruct  will  take  place  in  fifteen

standard minutes unless Harrsk issues  an  immediate  command  ordering  all

hostilities to cease."

Seated  in  the  cramped  bridge  station  of  the  Victory-class  Star

Destroyer  13X,  Vice  Admiral  Pellaeon   studied   this   unexpected   new

development, both pleased and perplexed. His cap fit snugly against his gray

hair. He tugged  at  his  long  pale  mustache  as  he  sifted  through  the

implications of the broadband message.

If the enemy had continued its headlong surprise attack, the  fleet  of

Imperial Star Destroyers would certainly have caused severe damage  to  High

Admiral Teradoc's fortress. Pellaeon's Victory swarm could  have  mopped  up

the remaining ships, but only at great cost to themselves.

Now, though, the leader of this sudden and unexpected  retaliation  had

turned upon one of her own ships. Not surprisingly, Warlord Harrsk  had  not

led the charge, cowering instead in one of the rear Star Destroyers.

But this Admiral Daala?

Pellaeon leaned back in his padded seat. He had heard of her, two years

after the defeat of Grand Admiral  Thrawn  had  left  Pellaeon  in  personal

disgrace. Daala had come out of nowhere and  begun  a  single-handed  attack

against the Rebels. With such a small fleet she  had  no  hope  of  ultimate

victory, but Daala had seemed interested only in causing significant  damage

now, with no overall strategy, just a desire for destruction.

Pellaeon had admired her efforts to  take  action  the  other  Imperial

commanders seemed to prefer internal arguments. He looked about him  on  the

small control deck of a  Victory-class  ship,  the  smallest  craft  he  had

commanded in a long time. He did believe in High Admiral Teradoc's  plan  of

building up a huge fleet of smaller,  more  versatile  ships  but  still  he

missed the grandeur of commanding the Chimaera.

As he brought his fleet closer, weapons ready but not firing,  Pellaeon

hovered over the stalled Imperial Star Destroyers and looked down at Admiral

Daala's ship, at how she had incapacitated Warlord Harrsk's  Whirlwind.  Her

turnabout had been an interesting, desperate, and  inexplicable  tactic  but

Pellaeon admired its purity of purpose. Daala was someone who, like  Thrawn,

was able to focus on an objective and devote resources and tactics  to  that

end. High Admiral Teradoc and Warlord Harrsk both seemed  little  more  than

ill- behaved children bullying each other about.

He heard Daala's impassioned speech begging for a unified front against

the true enemy. Several crew members on Pellaeon's own ship softly  murmured

in agreement. He kept his own feelings to himself, though he agreed as well.

As he looked at Daala's image, he wondered what kind of  artwork  she  might

like.

"Vice Admiral Pellaeon," his navigator said, "perhaps  we  should  back

off, if  her  self-destruct  threat  is  genuine.  If  both  of  those  Star

Destroyers blow, we'll be caught in the Shockwave and severely  damaged,  if

not destroyed."

Pellaeon sat rigidly for a moment, then stiffly shook  his  head.  "No,

we'll stay right here. Open a channel."

His bridge  crew  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "A  channel  to  the

Firestorm, sir?" the comm officer said.

"No, open band. I want all  ships  to  hear  this."  The  comm  officer

blinked, then nodded and carried out Pel-laeon's order.

He rose slowly from his padded  black  chair.  "This  is  Vice  Admiral

Pellaeon, commander of High Admiral  Teradoc's  fleet,  issuing  a  specific

order to my own ships to maintain position." Several crimson ships had begun

to edge away from their confining net. Harrsk's Star Destroyers had  already

backed away, gaining distance.

"As a gesture of good faith and out  of  respect  for  Admiral  Daala's

request, I hereby order an immediate cessation of hostilities on our part."

Almost immediately a red light flashed on the  13X's  comm  panel.  The

officer turned to Pellaeon. "I have an  urgent  message  from  High  Admiral

Teradoc, sir." The comm officer raised his eyebrows, clearly intimidated and

awaiting orders.

"I'll speak to him here on the bridge," Pellaeon said. He  squared  his

shoulders. "You may all listen."

Teradoc's image came through, red-faced and puffing.  The  man's  girth

had increased threefold in the last year or so. "Pellaeon, what do you think

you're doing?" he shouted. "I order you to press your  advantage!  Use  this

opportunity to strike Harrsk's Star Destroyers while they are weakened.  Now

we can obliterate him completely."

Pellaeon frowned, thinking of  fat  Teradoc  squatting  in  his  bunker

behind dozens of meters of the highest-quality  shielding,  absolutely  safe

from harm while the battle raged outside. Pellaeon did not think a true  war

commander would keep himself so isolated.

"I respectfully disagree, High Admiral. Warlord Harrsk is not my enemy.

He is not the enemy of the Empire.  I  think  we  should  confer  with  this

Admiral Daala and hear what she has to say."

Teradoc's face turned from red to purple. "I don't care what you think.

If you do not fire upon Harrsk, you're a traitor. Have  you  forgotten  your

training? Your entire life speaks of service to the Empire, of following the

orders of your superior officers. You are excrement if  you  will  not  obey

your rightful commander. What would Grand Admiral Thrawn think of you?"

Pellaeon frowned even more deeply as he faced  the  image  of  the  fat

warlord. Teradoc was correct, from a certain point  of  view.  Pellaeon  had

spent many decades of his life in service  to  the  Imperial  Navy.  He  had

commanded Star Destroyers. After the battle of Endor, he had taken over  the

Chimaera when its own commander had been killed in the hostilities.  He  had

spent the following years trying to regain the status of the Empire  through

a  succession  of  weak  rulers,  debilitating  surrenders,  and  losses  of

territory. Pellaeon had watched his once-magnificent  Empire  dwindle  to  a

mere island in what  had  been  considered  the  backwater  territories  and

formerly uninhabitable systems near the core of the galaxy.

It wasn't until Grand Admiral Thrawn had come  back  from  the  Unknown

Territories that Pellaeon had finally found a true leader  he  could  follow

with a genuine chance of recapturing lost glory.  When  Thrawn  had  fallen,

Pellaeon had lost his hope again, merely serving any Imperial  commander  he

happened to find and marching in place.

Now,  though,  Admiral  Daala's  conviction  and  enthusiasm,  and  her

willingness to risk all for  the  appropriate  cause,  made  something  stir

within him again, something powerful.

Pellaeon took a deep breath and spoke to the bloated image of  Teradoc.

"I believe I know what he would think of me," he said  bitterly,  "and  you,

sir, are no Grand Admiral Thrawn."

He switched off the comm, then turned to his crew. "Prepare  a  shuttle

and inform Admiral Daala that I am coming aboard. Time is short, and I  wish

to confer with her in person."

YAVIN 4

CHAPTER 11

As Artoo-Detoo trundled along in front of him, Luke  Skywalker  hurried

out of the Great Temple to see the new visitor. Wind currents had  torn  the

clouds to tatters in the sky above, and he blinked in the hazy  sunlight  of

the jungle afternoon.

Most of the Jedi trainees were working inside their  cool  chambers  or

wandering out in  the  forest  depths.  Cal-lista  sat  alone  studying  the

histories that Tionne compiled for her, although over the past several  days

she had found nothing that would help her regain her powers.

Now Luke saw a slender woman descend from a custom-designed craft  that

bore the cross-hatched insignia of the Smugglers' Alliance. "Mara Jade!"  he

called. "What did I do to deserve the honor of your presence?"

Mara flashed a fast, sharp-edged smile at him. "You don't  deserve  it,

Skywalker," she said, "but I came anyway."

He strode forward and clasped her hand. She withdrew quickly,  glancing

at the close-cropped weeds on the landing grid and then staring  up  at  the

dizzying height of the ancient Massassi pyramid.

"Want to come inside?" he asked.

"No, let's go for a ride in my ship," she answered. "I need to talk  to

you about something."

Luke nodded slowly. "I thought you might. You don't usually  come  here

just because you're bored."

Mara shook her head, and her mane of auburn hair  thrashed  about  like

waves of exotic spice. "I'm never bored, Sky walker." She  gestured  to  the

cockpit of her ship, where the passenger seat sat empty. "It's my outlook on

life."

Artoo whistled and warbled, rocking back and  forth  on  his  footpads.

"You stay here, Artoo," Luke said. "If anybody asks, tell  them  where  I've

gone. We'll be back," he glanced sidelong at Mara, "before too long."

As he slid into the empty seat, finding the armrests and the protective

restraints, Mara punched a button on the cockpit controls. The flip-up  side

door slammed down and hissed into an airtight seal. Before Luke could buckle

his crash webbing, she hit the accelerators. With a blast  of  repulsorlifts

her sleek ship rose into the air and shot off above the treetops.

Luke thought he heard the  scraping  of  witches'  fingernails  as  the

bottom hull brushed gently against the upreaching crowns of the trees.  Mara

grinned as she increased speed, climbing higher.  Acceleration  pushed  Luke

back against the seat, and he decided he could either  be  concerned  or  he

could kick back and enjoy himself.

He thought of his younger  days,  taking  a  T-16  skyhopper  screaming

through  Beggar's  Canyon  on  Tatooine,  avoiding   obstacles,   performing

daredevil stunts. Right now Mara Jade was just showing off and he decided to

let her blow off steam. She probably wanted to rattle him, but  it  wouldn't

work.

Below, the dense greenery looked like clouds of foliage.  Mara  stormed

along, her eyes fixed on her piloting. The Massassi temple dropped  away  in

the distance, but

Luke wasn't worried. Though Mara had repeatedly tried to  kill  him  in

the past, he now trusted her implicitly. Luke smiled to himself at the irony

of their situation.

"So," he said, "what is it you wanted to talk about?"

"Got some information for you," she answered, flicking a glance  toward

him, then looking away just as quickly. "In  my  work  with  the  Smugglers'

Alliance I keep my eyes and ears open.  Sometimes  I  hear  things  the  New

Republic should know about."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Such as?"

Mara  pretended  to  frown.  "You  expect  me  to  give  you  important

information like that for free?"

Luke stared at her in silence for a full second, then smiled. "Yes," he

said. "Yes, I do."

Mara laughed. "That doesn't surprise me a bit from you, Skywalker," she

said. "All right. You know the Smugglers' Alliance was specifically  set  up

to  provide  a  strong  front  against  some  of  the  more  powerful  crime

organizations, especially the Hutts."

"Yes," Luke agreed, suspecting where this might lead.

"We keep tabs on the Hutts'  comings  and  goings,  since  they're  our

enemies or perhaps I should say 'competitors.' Recently they clamped down on

our usual information sources. They've been building up what appears to be a

respectable front several commercial corporations,  the  most  prominent  of

which is Orko SkyMine, a mineral resource development consortium."

"Shouldn't we be happy that the Hutts are trying to  be  'respectable,'

as Lando Calrissian would have put it?"

"We'd be happy if we could believe them," Mara said, then  concentrated

on flying again as a thermal up-draft buffeted them. The  wind  rattled  the

transparisteel windows of her craft, and she banked to  the  left  around  a

volcanic rock outcrop. She increased altitude. "But you know as well as I do

that you can never really believe what the Hutts say." She  looked  at  Luke

again. "I think they're up to something. Something big."

Luke kept his expression bland. "Even though I'm just a Jedi teacher, I

have a few sources of information of my own. And  I'm  inclined  to  believe

your suspicions are right, Mara Jade."

She blinked in surprise. "Ah. So my coming here was unnecessary?"

Luke shook his head. "Your coming to Yavin 4 is never unnecessary. What

did you want me to do with this information?"

"I thought you might take it to your sister on Corus-cant. As the Chief

of State, she can probably think of something to head off trouble."

Luke tapped his fingers together, consciously relaxing in the  face  of

Mara's breakneck piloting. "You could have just gone there  yourself.  Isn't

Yavin 4 a bit out of your way just to deliver a message?"

Mara took a deep breath. "I wanted to do this quietly. Since  I'm  with

the Smugglers' Alliance, I need  to  keep  things  low-key.  My  involvement

shouldn't be too obvious. Talon Karrde taught me that."

"I see," Luke said. "How is Karrde? Still retired?"

"Hah!" she said. "More than a few months of relaxation  was  enough  to

bring him to the brink of insanity and boredom. He's back at it  and  busier

than ever, with his hands in more schemes than I can keep track of."

She pulled her nimble craft hard to starboard in a tight loop and  shot

over the treetops back toward the Great Temple. "The other reason I came  in

person," Mara continued with some uneasiness, "is that occasionally for some

unknown reason I almost look forward to seeing you,  Skywalker.  Not  often?

but there are times."

"And this is one of them?" Luke asked.

"It was," she said. "I'd better be on my way before it wears off."

Luke laughed. "Why don't you stay for a few more hours at least?  We'll

be gathering the trainees in the mess hall for an  evening  meal.  You  need

something better than stale ration bars."

Mara acquiesced far more easily than Luke had  expected.  "All  right,"

she said. "Just a quick meal, then I'm out of here."

Callista sat alone, picking at her meal next to the  empty  spot  where

Luke normally ate but he had gone  off  to  set  up  quarters  for  two  new

potential Jedi who had arrived on a New Republic transport.

With mixed feelings of detachment and frustration, Callista  stared  at

the other Jedi trainees in the narrow stone hall, the weakest  of  whom  had

powers greater than she could command? at the  moment.  It  was  painful  to

watch them grow in strength as they played with their Force  abilities.  She

was denied that, though she tried and tried. She was blind and deaf  to  the

Force.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" Mara Jade  said,  wearing  her  trim  flight

uniform and holding a tray of stew mixed with greens.

Callista barely nodded, and Mara plopped into the  chair,  setting  her

tray on the polished table. She picked up a  thick  bread  wafer  and  poked

around in her stew. "Better than packaged rations, I suppose, but I can tell

you don't have a gourmet droid working here." Mara's  bright  eyes  flashed.

"So, you're Skywalker's new lady?" she asked.

Callista wished she could read the emotions behind Mara Jade's  visage.

The other woman was good at masking her  expressions,  and  Callista  didn't

know what to make of their conversation.

Though their bodies were similar in age, Callista had been born decades

before Mara Jade. Her own powers were gone now, but  she  had  been  a  Jedi

Knight whose abilities surpassed anything that Mara could  manage.  She  had

heard of past connections between Mara Jade and  Luke  and  she  decided  it

would be best if she took the initiative. "Yes I am," she answered. "And you

must be Mara Jade. I've heard about you."

When Mara nodded briskly, Callista raised her eyebrows. "I  also  heard

hints that you might have been interested in Luke yourself at one time."

Mara frowned again in distaste at her stew, but took a large  mouthful.

She swallowed, took a drink, and finally let loose a short laugh. "Who  told

you I was ever interested in Luke Skywalker? When I first met him, the thing

I wanted most in the universe was to kill him. I thought that way for a long

time?" She shrugged. "Sometimes it still seems like a good idea to me." Mara

took another bite and chewed slowly. ' 'Not a great basis  for  a  long-term

relationship, you think?"

Callista shook her head. "No, I suppose not."  Even  without  her  Jedi

powers, Callista wasn't sure she believed Mara's answer.  "Aren't  you  with

Lando Calrissian? I heard something about you two being a hot item."

"Calrissian? You've got to  be  kidding!"  Mara  actually  blushed  and

turned away to take another drink before she  could  cough  on  her  quickly

swallowed mouthful. "We're still good business partners in a very profitable

operation at the spice mines of Kessel right now but I think Calrissian  was

more interested in chasing me than in winning me? which is fine  as  far  as

I'm concerned."

Mara wiped the corners of her mouth. "Well,  good  to  meet  you."  She

stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her flight suit. "Give Skywalker  my

regards. I've got to be heading out. Just stopped by to drop off a message."

Mara left without so much as a nod of acknowledgment to the other  Jedi

trainees, while Callista wondered about her mysterious message.

CORUSCANT

CHAPTER 12

Leaving the Jedi  praxeum  behind,  Luke  took  Callista  with  him  to

Coruscant where Luke had set up a  private  audience  with  his  sister.  He

quickly met with Leia and delivered the information Mara Jade  had  brought.

Added to what they had already learned at the ruins of Jabba's  palace,  the

rumors of a Hutt  secret  plan  grew  more  threatening.  Leia  had  already

reinforced her network of spies, hoping to gather more hints and details.

In the ornate presidential briefing  chambers,  Callista  sat  next  to

Luke, her fingers resting lightly on his forearm, but he could not feel  the

binding of her presence around him. It was as if she did not  exist  in  the

Force.

Luke looked into his sister's large brown eyes, mapping out  the  faint

tired lines that had begun to form around them.  The  weight  of  leadership

pressed down heavily upon her. The New Republic  was  large  and  scattered,

beset by hundreds of problems, brushfire squabbles, and growing threats. And

Leia had three children to contend with, as well as a husband.

"Leia," Luke said, "I have a request, an important favor to ask."

She sat up straighter, looking at Callista and then at her  brother.  '

The last time you asked for a favor was to let Kyp Durron  destroy  the  Sun

Crusher. " She bit her lower lip. "But I suppose that came out all right."

Luke relaxed. "Nothing so monumental this time," he said. "Callista and

I have a lot of things to work out between  ourselves.  We  need  some  time

alone so we can devote our attention to reawakening  her  Jedi  powers.  She

could be one of our strongest Jedi, if she  regains  her  affinity  for  the

Force. She could teach me a lot. I think the only way we can crack that wall

around her is if Callista and I work together. Intensely."  He  grasped  her

hand. "We need a week or so alone, to focus on salvaging her powers,  not  a

thousand other problems. No distractions."

Leia smiled wistfully. "I know exactly how you feel?" Then  she  became

serious. "I can't order you around, Luke. There's no need for you to ask  my

permission."

Leia looked at Callista, and Luke  could  see  that  her  face  held  a

whirlpool of conflicting emotions: the need to see her  brother  happy,  the

desire for Callista to be his equal again, and her own  need  to  keep  Luke

focused on training new Jedi Knights  to  strengthen  and  protect  the  New

Republic.

But Leia loved her brother very much, and her choice was  clear.  "Take

all the time you need. I wish you the greatest success." She looked up.  "Or

should I say, may the Force be with you?"

Later, still holding  hands,  Luke  and  Callista  went  to  the  upper

westside docking platform of the former Imperial palace. The air was thin so

high above ground level, and the gusting breezes were cold and cutting.

He squeezed Callista's hand, and her grip returned his twice as strong.

Though Luke couldn't read anything from her with his Jedi senses, he saw her

obvious eagerness mixed with reluctance. Callista shared his high hopes  for

their journey alone, but she was also afraid they would fail.

Leia, her robes of state whipping briskly around her, held the hands of

the twins, Jacen and Jaina, as she came to see Luke off, while  Han  carried

young Anakin propped against his hip; the dark-haired boy  blinked  his  ice

blue-eyes, drinking in the sights.

Threepio and Artoo came along at  their  own  pace,  though  the  hairy

Wookiee urged them to greater speed. "Do be  patient,  Chewbacca,"  Threepio

said. "I can only move so fast. If you had replaced my leg servomotors  last

week as I suggested I'd be able to move much more efficiently." The  Wookiee

groaned something untranslatable back at the golden droid.

Callista stood by Luke's side at the boarding  ramp  to  a  nondescript

space yacht. Luke saw her in profile her long face and  generous  lips,  her

highlighted blond hair that had been cropped short and was still growing out

from her stormtrooper cut on the Eye of Palpatine. Han' had once called  her

"the blonde with the legs," and Luke couldn't argue with that description.

Callista was so beautiful to him but that wasn't all. Many  women  were

beautiful. With the Force, he had seen Callista inside. He knew her in a way

it was impossible to know most women. They had fallen in  love  before  they

had even seen each other face to face, back when Callista had been  no  more

than a wandering presence. Now she inhabited another body a beautiful  body,

to be sure, but Luke would have loved her no matter what. They had treasured

one another in Luke's dreams before Callista had manifested herself  in  the

body of one of his former students.

Now, as they stood in front of the space yacht, Luke  watched  Callista

staring wistfully at Han and Leia's children. Her lips were  firm,  and  her

eyes remained wide and clear, but he knew exactly what she was thinking.

The children. Luke and Callista had spoken of having children of  their

own if they were to get married. Callista  insisted  that  Luke,  being  the

foremost Jedi Master of the day, must have powerful children,  to  make  the

strong Jedi bloodline flourish if one were to look at romance in such a cold

and? Imperial fashion.

She was terrified that if they had children while she had no access  to

her powers, their descendants might suffer the  same  Force  blindness.  But

Luke didn't care: he wanted Callista, though she would not  listen  when  he

tried to reassure her. Their only  chance  lay  in  severing  the  invisible

chains around her, breaking through the maddening transparent wall.

Leia came forward to hug Luke. High above the skyline, the wind  picked

up, and breezes stung his blue eyes, whipping his hair in all directions. He

bent down to scoop up the kids in a warm hug.

"Now do I get to hug Callista?" Han said, and came forward to give  her

a brief embrace as Leia laughed. Chewbacca blatted something, and Han  waved

him aside. "Nah, Chewie you can hug Threepio if you want."

"Well, the very idea!" Threepio said.

Luke set foot on the boarding platform with Callista at his side. Artoo

whistled mournfully, blinking his optical receptor from red to blue.  "Don't

worry, Artoo," Luke said. "You enjoy your time with Threepio. We need to  be

by ourselves for a bit."

When Artoo gave a low hoot, See-Threepio placed a golden  hand  on  the

dome of the astromech droid in indignation. "Humph! I'm sure I see  no  need

for a starry-eyed couple to turn down the companionship of a faithful droid.

I can't imagine why they'd need to  be  completely  alone."  He  patted  his

counterpart. "Come along, Artoo. We'll find something useful to do."

As the droids hurried toward the turbolift, Luke and

Callista waved farewell again and prepared for launch.

* * *

See-Threepio and Artoo-Detoo passed through nine  security  checkpoints

as the turbolift descended deep into Co-ruscant's  crust.  "We're  obviously

droids, " Threepio muttered. "I simply don't understand why they need to put

us through such indignities to get down here. Virus scanning, indeed!"

Finally the doors hissed  open,  and  they  stepped  into  the  sterile

chambers of  pulsating  mainframe  computers  in  the  Imperial  Information

Center.

"Remember when you  and  I  were  here,  Artoo,  trying  to  find  Jedi

candidates for Master Luke?" Artoo bleeped that of course he remembered.

"This time it's nothing terribly  exciting,  I'm  afraid,  but  in  the

process of studying backup  files  for  Mistress  Leia,  I  discovered  some

troubling computer glitches that I'm at a loss to account for. I cannot find

any trace of them before the day that horrid Durga the Hutt  came  to  visit

and all chaos broke loose. At first I  was  concerned  that  our  mitigation

efforts might have caused some deep core damage,  but  standard  diagnostics

yielded nothing. I have been reticent to point this  out  to  Mistress  Leia

because I'm sure she's still upset about that entire debacle."

Artoo trundled across the polished floor. The assassin  droids  trained

their implanted blasters on the two newcomers,  targeting  systems  tracking

the large motions. A battery of observation  cams  studied  them  with  cold

objectivity from near the juncture of wall and ceiling.

"This place gives me the chills? rather, it would give me  the  chills,

if I had the physical capability to have them," Threepio said. "As it is, my

circuits are merely? Uneasy but if you  could  do  anything  to  assist  me,

Artoo?? "

The astromech  droid  was  already  accessing  a  terminal,  requesting

further details. Artoo's input jack locked into  the  main  drive  and  spun

around. Threepio paced about in stiff discomfort. The assassin droids stared

at them. The sheer droids paid no attention whatsoever.

"Would you like me to tell you  a  story  to  pass  the  time,  Artoo?"

Threepio said.

Artoo blatted an emphatic no.

"Well, really!" Threepio bent over one  of  the  keypads  and  detected

something most surprising. He reached down with his  gold-plated  fingertips

and held up a small tuft of grayish fur. "Oh dear, I  wonder  how  this  got

here?" he said. "This room is supposed to be kept meticulously clean."

He examined the floor and inspected the wall. His optical sensors  were

drawn to a small ventilation intake for the huge intake fans that circulated

supercooled air to the deep levels of  the  Information  Center.  The  cover

plate stood ajar, but it was far too small for any intelligent  creature  to

have come through. Could the Imperial Information  Center  be  inhabited  by

some sort of large rodent?

Artoo shrilled in alarm, and Threepio strutted over to a  screen  where

the astromech droid had begun replaying  archival  video  records  from  the

security monitoring cameras. Threepio saw from the date on the  images  that

the footage had been taken while Durga's entourage met  with  the  Chief  of

State in the reception halls far above. Because no security breach had  been

recorded down here in the Imperial Information Center, though,  no  one  had

bothered to do more than a cursory scan on them.

Artoo manipulated the images, enhancing and enlarging  them,  massaging

out shadows by playing virtual light into the images.

"Why, I recognize those!" Threepio said. Just at the edge of the frame,

motion gave away three of the furry, multiarmed Taurill  scampering  out  of

the ventilation ducts and up to the unmanned computer consoles.

"Whatever are they doing?" Threepio said. "How could they possibly have

gotten down here? We rounded them all up, didn't we?"

Artoo chittered, then froze  another  image  that  showed  the  Taurill

deliberately punching commands into a keypad.

"This is most suspicious," Threepio said.

The droids watched as the three Taurill completed their command strings

and copied a file into a data cylinder, which they  secreted  in  their  own

fur; then they dashed back to the ventilation shafts.

"It would appear that they've copied something from our  records.  What

could they possibly want?" Threepio  said.  At  Artoo's  warbled  reply,  he

added, "Of course I'd like you to find out! Why else would  I  have  brought

you along, you silly whistling trash can?"

Artoo replayed the images slowly, noting the Taurill  command  strings,

then input them himself. The pass-worded files  scrolled  onto  the  screen,

immediately recognizable. In  fact,  Artoo  had  once  carried  the  complex

blueprints inside himself.

Threepio wailed, "We must  warn  Mistress  Leia  immediately!"  He  ran

toward the turbolift doors, shrilling an alarm. Artoo rolled after him.  The

assassin droids snapped to attention and trained their weapons on them.

"Summon Chief of  State  Organa  Solo!"  Threepio  said.  "This  is  an

emergency. The fate of the entire galaxy is at stake."

The assassin droids were not  impressed,  and  Threepio  increased  the

volume in his vocal circuits. "Don't you understand? The plans to the  Death

Star have been stolen!"

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 13

When Durga the Hutt returned to the asteroid  belt  in  triumph,  Bevel

Lemelisk was summoned to the bottom-most deck  of  the  Orko  SkyMine  ship,

where Durga sat in the observation  blister  to  stare  out  at  the  stars.

Lemelisk entered the chamber accompanied by two Gamorrean guards, who shoved

him into Durga's presence with a grunt, then stomped off to other duties.

Durga lay on  inflated  cushions.  A  music  synthesizer  warbled  odd,

discordant notes in a grating yet hypnotic background melody. Pink and  blue

smoke wafted like jagged fingers  back  and  forth  as  the  air  exchangers

alternated on either side of the room. The smoke had an acrid incense smell,

a mild  narcotic  that  affected  Hutts  but  did  nothing  more  than  burn

Lemelisk's human nostrils.

Durga's deep laugh boomed out. "Lemelisk, you're here!"

From another chair General Sulamar stood and straightened his  uniform,

brushing his knuckles across the jingling placards of medals on  his  chest.

"We've been waiting for you, Lemelisk," he said.

- Durga turned to glare at the Imperial.  "You  wait  on  my  pleasure,

General," the Hutt said. "We will start when I wish to start."

"Yes, Lord Durga," Sulamar said, bowing quickly and stepping back.  His

face became the color of soggy white cheese, and he glared at Lemelisk as if

the engineer had done something wrong.

Lemelisk focused his attention on Durga, who  was  the  most  important

enemy/ally at the moment. "Tell me, Lord Durga, did you get the  Death  Star

plans?" Lemelisk felt his heart rise to his  throat,  and  he  unconsciously

rubbed at the rough stubble on his cheeks and chin, scratched the shocks  of

white hair on his head. He had worked hard on those plans, spending so  much

of his life first laboring with Qwi Xux inside Maw Installation  to  develop

the concept and the prototype, then spending months with  the  resources  of

the Empire to build the first enormous battle station.

Durga's enormous mouth bent upward like twisted rubber.  With  a  small

hand he inserted a data cylinder into a player nestled among the cushions at

his side. The projector glowed, sending beams  through  the  pink  and  blue

smoke. A wire-frame diagram of Lemelisk's first-order  blueprints  appeared,

rotating a three-dimensional sphere that showed layers within layers of deck

plans, computer centers, defensive installations, energy storage  areas  and

the planet-destroying superlaser that ran through its axis.

General Sulamar rubbed his hands together, his face  young  and  boyish

again. His grin made him  look  like  a  narrow-faced  rodent.  "Excellent,"

Sulamar said. "Work must begin at once."

Durga scowled at  him.  "General  Sulamar,  I  am  in  charge  of  this

project."

"Of course, Lord Durga," Sulamar  said  but  his  eyes  remained  fixed

hungrily on the Death Star plans.

Bevel Lemelisk decided to use the awed moment to his  advantage.  "Lord

Durga, if I might ask a question?

Exactly what is the Imperial general's purpose here among us?"

Sulamar straightened his shoulders like a spined puffer bird and turned

to Durga. "I bring  Imperial  prestige  to  your  project.  I  will  use  my

connections to obtain some of the items you need,  the  security  codes  you

must possess. And when you begin  your  Hutt  reign  of  terror  across  the

galaxy"?he grinned?"think of how much more effective you will be  if  you're

accompanied by the famed and feared General Sulamar, the Scourge of Celdaru,

the man who successfully carried  out  the  Massacre  of  Mendi-cat  without

losing a single stormtrooper. I held a hundred  worlds  in  my  fist  and  I

squeezed. The entire galaxy learned to tremble at my name."

Lemelisk shrugged. He didn't want to press the issue, but he had  never

heard of Sulamar before. Of course, he had been isolated in Maw Installation

for a long time?

He looked again at the glowing outline of the Death Star. Though he saw

only the outer layer of the projection, he knew the depth and intricacies of

those plans. His heart pounded, and excitement brought a flush to  his  skin

again. At last, a new project that he could sink his teeth into.  He  smiled

and marveled at the design, remembering the first time he had showed it off.

"Magnificent," the Emperor had said, cowled in his  black  hood  as  he

stared at the Death Star plans that Grand Moff  Tarkin  and  Bevel  Lemelisk

presented to him.

"Yes, a technological terror," Tarkin  said.  Lean  and  cruel-looking,

Tarkin stood at attention beside his Emperor, nodding down at the image.

Lemelisk and his naive but brilliant co-worker Qwi Xux had  designed  a

battle station that placed fearsome power in  a  single  commander's  hands.

Tarkin had been delighted with the concept and the plans and the proto-type,

and so he had brought Lemelisk out of Maw Installation to present  the  idea

to the Emperor personally.

"Explain it to me," the Emperor said,  extending  his  hands  into  the

glowing simulation. The lines bent and buckled, curling  around  Palpatine's

clawed fingers. Lemelisk had never seen a hologram react that way before, as

if the image itself were trying to cringe from the Emperor's touch.

Lemelisk rubbed the perspiration from his palms on to his shirt  as  he

spoke quickly, nervous in Palpatine's presence but even more excited to talk

about his brainchild. "This battle station will be the size of a small  moon

a hundred kilometers in diameter," he said, "housing a single weapon of mass

destruction. It will tax our construction skills to the limit, but I will be

the chief engineer, and I'm certain I can complete the task personally."

The Emperor's reptilian eyes bored into him. Lemelisk  turned  back  to

the projected plans and brushed his hands over the surface layers.

"The  Death  Star  will  have   planetary   shielding,   surface-to-air

turbolasers,   three-hundred-sixty-degree   sensor   capability,    powerful

multidirectional tractor beams, and heavy ion cannons."

"Impressive," the Emperor said in a frigid  voice,  "but  only  if  our

enemies fall right in our laps! How is this thing supposed to move?"

"Ah!" Lemelisk held up a finger and pointed  along  the  equator.  "The

Death Star is equipped with enormous engines for propulsion in normal  space

as well as hyper-space. This station can go anywhere we wish." His eyes  lit

up, and he lowered his voice to a  childlike  whisper.  "The  superlaser  is

powerful enough to crack entire worlds. One blast can turn a planet  into  a

cloud of rubble."

Grand Moff Tarkin bowed and cleared his throat. "The Death Star will be

a self-contained garrison whose only purpose is to enforce your  New  Order.

It is exactly the doomsday weapon you asked me to create, my Emperor.

"It will be crewed by close to a million officers,  support  personnel,

and  stormtroopers.  It  may  be  enormously  expensive  to  build,"  Tarkin

continued, "but this single Death Star alone will be worth a  thousand  Star

Destroyers. The mere threat of this battle station will  make  any  populace

quiver in terror, for they can have no defenses against it. None."

The Emperor leaned forward to stare at the plans again. Bevel  Lemelisk

had never actually seen someone gloat before? but Emperor Palpatine did.

And so did Durga the Hutt and General Sulamar.

Sulamar held a personal data slate and punched up a summary,  which  he

studied intently. "Lord Durga," he said, "I'm pleased to announce  that  the

second pair of Automated Mineral Exploiters, models Gamma and Delta, are now

functional and reprogrammed"?he shot a wicked glare  at  Bevel  Lemelisk?"to

remove the fatal flaws suffered by the original pair.  The  processors  have

begun exploiting the asteroid field  and  are  smelting  materials  at  this

moment. "

Durga nodded his large head, blinking froglike eyes. Around  him  small

windows mounted at regular intervals around the observation  blister  showed

streaming lights from chunks in the asteroid field as  they  wandered  about

their pell-mell  courses,  flashing  as  they  rotated  irregular  surfaces,

reflecting Hoth's distant sunlight.

"We can afford no further delays," Durga said, jabbing a stubby  finger

at Bevel Lemelisk. He yanked the data cylinder  from  the  reader,  and  the

glowing plans faded into the curling narcotic smoke. "You, Lemelisk, get  to

your redesign work and take care that you don't make foolish mistakes as you

did with the Mineral Exploiters." The Hutt chuckled with a  chilling  deadly

mirth. "I'd hate to have to execute you if you disappoint me."

Lemelisk shuddered out of all proportion to the  threat.  He  took  the

data cylinder from the Hutt's slimy hand and held the  files  close  to  his

chest. "Yes, Lord Durga."

He bowed and scuttled backward out  of  Durga's  private  chambers.  He

rushed to his own quarters already grinning, eager to begin work.

CHAPTER 14

Bevel Lemelisk demanded absolute silence as he worked.  He  had  sealed

his quarters, hoping the Gamorrean guards wouldn't bumble in or pound on his

door without realizing they had the wrong cabin number.

He settled into a wobbly metal seat; he had knocked it  over  in  anger

when he had been unable to complete his  three-dimensional  crystal  puzzle.

Getting the right solution meant a great deal  to  Bevel  Lemelisk,  and  he

disliked failure immensely? though it was much better  to  fail  in  private

than when other people were watching.

Realizing that he hadn't eaten in nearly  a  day,  Lemelisk  had  fixed

himself a fast, high-protein meal and  set  the  steaming  plate  of  bright

orange gruel beside him at the workbench. He didn't  particularly  like  the

stuff, but eating was little more than the necessary refueling of his mental

machine. As he inserted the data cylinder into his  terminal  and  began  to

work, though, he forgot about the meal entirely.

The image shimmered in front of him, a giant spheri-cal battle station,

detailed deck after deck, component after component. Only Lemelisk knew  its

true complexity.

He began to strip away the outer layers of the holo blueprint, removing

extraneous levels, streamlining the construction, and tailoring  it  to  the

Hutts'  needs.  By  eliminating  the  unnecessary  Imperial   padding,   the

superstructures, the personnel quarters, Lemelisk could create a weapon with

far more energy devoted to sheer destruction.

The outline diagram of the main superlaser core glowed in front of  him

with bright lines  indicating  main  support  girders:  the  purity  of  his

superlaser design, unmasked by the external shell. That was much better.

He squinted and leaned close to the projection, remembering how excited

he had been to see the original construction actually taking place?

Grand Moff Tarkin had arrived at the Death Star construction site in  a

nondescript Lambda-class cargo shuttle. He and Lemelisk sat in the passenger

seats and discussed important matters as Tarkin's alien slave, a  Calamarian

named Ackbar, piloted them toward the huge mass of girders and  construction

machinery larger than any space station ever conceived.

Lemelisk couldn't understand why Tarkin spent so  much  time  with  the

salmon-colored alien, whose fishy smell and large round eyes  made  Lemelisk

queasy. Tarkin had crushed the world of the  Mon  Calamari  and  forced  the

strange creatures to serve his will. Now he made Ackbar his personal aide as

another means of whipping him, tormenting him with the duties he resented so

much.

Completely broken, Ackbar meekly  followed  Tarkin's  every  order.  He

guided the Lambda-class shuttle with wooden talent, chauffeuring  them  with

as little enthusiasm as possible. Lemelisk  noted  that,  though  the  alien

reacted little, Ackbar seemed to hang on  every  word  Tarkin  said,  as  if

storing information for whatever possible use a slave might make of it.

The Death Star construction hung in orbit around  the  penal  world  of

Despayre in the Horuz  system.  The  Outer  Rim  territories  were  Tarkin's

personal stomping grounds and he stomped as often and as hard  as  possible.

The world below was a deep green, fissured with blue and  brown  rivers  and

shallow seas. Despayre looked far too calm to be a  hellish  prison  planet,

but Lemelisk knew the prehistoric jungles there writhed with vicious insects

and predators, poisonous plants, and carnivorous crustaceans.  The  convicts

huddled within the walls of their fortresses, hoping never to be  exiled  to

the wilds.

The penal colony provided a ready pool of willing labor  to  build  the

Death Star. The volunteer lists carried five times as many names as the site

could possibly support, and thus the workers  in  the  space  facility  were

expendable but unfortunately they were also uneducated and surly, completely

untrained for the type of sophisticated labor the project required.

Lemelisk directed the routine operations from  his  comfortable  remote

station. As chief engineer, he watched the progress reports to make sure all

the components fit together properly. He didn't like to venture out into the

hazardous construction area, however he wasn't a hands-on manager.

Now, though, as Ackbar piloted the Lambda  shuttle  directly  into  the

forest of girders, Lemelisk looked around, seeing bright  flashes  of  laser

welders and the glowing ends of newly smelted durasteel plates that  emerged

from processing plants. Curls of black smoke and  the  glow  of  waste  heat

spread into open space. Steam glittered in a shower of diamond-ice crystals.

When the Death Star was  complete,  the  world  of  Despayre  would  be

shrouded in an upper-orbital blanket of industrial debris as a  side  effect

of the work. Unfortunately for the convicts, the debris would  make  passage

to the penal colony virtually impossible. Despayre would then be off limits,

and the prisoners would have to fend for them-selves? until supplies ran out

and the ferocious jungles came in.

"You're making good progress," Tarkin said, looking out the port.

Lemelisk cracked his knuckles. "Awe inspiring, isn't it?" He  had  seen

the  plans  so  often,  knew  the  details  so  intimately  but  the  actual

construction still took his breath away, making him feel that all his  years

of exile in Maw Installation had paid off. The small  Death  Star  prototype

had been amazing as well, but that was merely a proof-of-concept  model.  It

functioned, but it wasn't the real thing.

"I will send my report to the Emperor," Tarkin said. "Keep up the  good

work, Engineer Lemelisk."

The Lambda shuttle proceeded through the gridwork of the Death Star and

out the other side, then began a slow orbit of  the  external  construction.

The focusing eye for the superlaser gaped at them  like  a  large  meteorite

crater. In the piloting chair Ackbar remained silent. The alien didn't  seem

terribly thrilled at the magnificence of this new weapon.

Lemelisk smiled as the shuttle turned around and returned to the  base.

Everything was going so well. He felt better than he had in years,  watching

his dreams come to life.

Lemelisk presented the modified design to Durga the Hutt, while General

Sulamar brusquely inspected every step of  the  process,  looking  over  the

engineer's shoulder. Lemelisk spoke as the general pressed in, squinting and

scowling. He longed for an opportunity to "accidentally" jab the general  in

the stomach with his elbow.

"As you know,  the  original  design  consisted  of  a  giant  sphere,"

Lemelisk said, "whose primary purpose was to house the superlaser.  All  the

framework, the decks, the external shell also made it into  a  garrison  for

one of the Empire's largest troop deployments."

On his floating pallet, Durga reached over to scoop a dripping  handful

of some blue gelatinous substance from a bowl and slurped  it  up  with  his

wide muscular lips and tongue. "Mmm hmm," he said, "we know all that."

Lemelisk said, "But you don't need all that  wasted  space.  You  don't

require living space for a million crew members. You don't need TIE  fighter

hangars, support squadrons, dozens of docking ports you just want the weapon

itself."

Lemelisk's stomach growled. He wished he had eaten, though at least  he

had remembered to shave this time. He brushed the stubble on  his  chin?  or

was that yesterday? He  blinked,  then  cleared  his  throat.  On  the  holo

projector, he called up his modified plans and pointed to the new shape.

"As you can see, I have scaled down the outer hull but increased  power

at the same time. In the original Death Star design, the  superlaser  formed

the axis of the sphere. All the energy of the reactor core  was  devoted  to

powering each blast.

"Here, I have taken the  superlaser  itself"?the  image  projected  the

stalk of focusing lenses and high-energy multipliers?"and encased  it  in  a

cylindrical shell. Your new weapon will be the superlaser alone,  surrounded

by an armored hull, with appropriate navigational capabilities and  a  small

outer ring of living quarters. Even with such reduced amenities, this vessel

could hold hundreds of Hutts with their personal entourages."

"But where is the focusing eye for the laser?" Su-lamar said,  clasping

his hands behind his back and leaning forward. Lemelisk saw  an  opportunity

to nudge backward with his sharp elbow, but the general stepped sideways  to

look from a different perspective.

Lemelisk sighed and answered, ' 'Note the end of the cylinder.  I  have

moved the focusing eye so that the beam can come out  the  end  directly,  a

straight shot through the long superlaser that allows us to achieve  greater

energy conversion. We can provide more power to our punch."

The plans sharpened to actual simulation of the  com-pleted  weapon,  a

black armored cylinder rotating in space. As the animation  began,  the  new

weapon fired, and a brilliant beam shot from one end of the tube.

General Sulamar nodded. "That looks like one of those old Jedi weapons?

the lightsaber," he said.

Lemelisk smiled, surprised that the pompous Imperial general  had  seen

the connection. "Yes," he said, ' 'now you understand why I have code  named

this weapon the Darksaber Project."

Durga chuckled with pleasure. "A good name, Engineer."

Sulamar stood stiffly, pondering the possibilities. The  expression  on

his face tightened with  anticipation.  "With  such  a  weapon  we  will  be

invincible." He smiled wolnshly at Durga. "We can collect protection  money,

taxes, whatever. We can hold entire systems hostage. No one will be able  to

stand against us."

Durga grinned with his huge lips and slurped another  mouthful  of  the

gooey blue gelatin. ' 'We can become the overlords of the galaxy!"

Bevel Lemelisk switched off the animation and  shut  down  the  glowing

plans. ' 'Yes, Lord Durga you probably can."

MULAKO CORPORATION

PRIMORDIAL WATER

QUARRY

CHAPTER 15

Hyperspace en route to a destination  Luke  Skywalker  fervently  hoped

would become a place of  self-discovery,  a  time  to  recapture  the  inner

sharing he had experienced with Callista.

He eased back in the piloting chair of the unmarked  space  yacht  they

had flown from Coruscant. He sighed with quiet contentment, happy just to be

alone with Callista no pressures, no worries, and no mission other  than  to

find her Force ability again. He looked over at her in the seat beside  him,

and she gazed back with impenetrable gray eyes. Invisible doors  had  locked

down, allowing him to see Callista only as others saw her, without the added

clues and mysteries of the Force.

She smiled, and he wanted to kiss her. Her cropped  blond  hair  showed

streaks of  a  darker  malty  brown  color  that  lent  a  wildness  to  her

appearance.

"I've picked out a special place for us to go,"  Luke  said.  "A  great

spot. I think you'll like it."

Callista shrugged. "You're the Jedi Master. Lead me and I'll follow."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like the Callista I  fell

in love with."

She clasped his hand. "Then let's go find her and bring her back."

The ship flew through hyperspace on its automatic course. Luke  got  up

from his seat and held out his hand. Callista  stood  beside  him.  She  was

tall, long-legged, and very attractive. Luke reached  forward  and  tenderly

cupped his palms around her cheeks, holding Callista's face in his hands  as

he looked deeply into her eyes.

She looked back, unblinking. "Are you  trying  to  probe  me  with  the

Force?"

Luke shook his head slightly, not releasing her from his gaze. "No," he

said. "I just wanted to look at you."

But the moment was broken. He took her hand and led her to  the  common

area behind the pilot compartment. "Let's try a few things," he said,  "some

learning techniques that worked for the other Jedi trainees."

"But we've been through those already," Callista said in frustration.

"Not like this," he answered. "You're different from my other students?

apart from the fact that I love you, of course," he added with a wry  smile.

"You've already been trained as a Jedi Knight. You know the techniques?  you

just can't use them anymore. But there is one thing you can still use."

"What?" Callista said, baffled as to what he planned.

He went to  the  rectangular  wall  compartment  where  he  stowed  his

personal effects and withdrew two cylinders. He tossed one to Callista,  and

she deftly snatched it out of  the  air.  "Let's  try  a  little  lightsaber

fencing," he said. "It'll get you thinking and moving  like  a  Jedi  again.

Maybe that'll be a start." He switched on his weapon, and the  green  energy

blade extended.

Callista looked down at her own lightsaber, intimidated.

Luke smiled encouragingly. "Come on, I'm  not  asking  you  to  deflect

blaster bolts with your eyes closed.

Watch me, anticipate my moves. You don't have to use the Force just use

your eyes and your reflexes.":

Callista drew a deep breath. Her eyes flashed with  determination,  and

she switched on her own weapon.  The  snap-hiss  from  both  blades  sizzled

through the enclosed common area. Her lightsaber shone  with  the  rich  sun

yellow of topaz, and she looked past her shimmering blade to Luke. "You know

this is dangerous, " she said.

He crossed his blade with hers, testing, pressing lightsabers  together

with a crackle of released energy. His expression grew serious. "I know it's

dangerous, Callista but we have to take that chance. We might  stumble  upon

some clue to bring you back to us."

He drew back, lifted his blade,  and  swung  at  her.  She  raised  her

lightsaber to parry, easing into the contest. "These  are  deadly  weapons,"

Luke said, "but they're also fine tests of your skill."

Callista struck back, and her face lit with an impish grin as she  took

the challenge. Luke had to move fast to counter her blows.  He  laughed  and

increased his offense. Callista matched him, move for move.

Fencing with Callista challenged Luke as well,  because  in  any  other

foe, he could use the Force to sense  emotional  states,  to  detect  subtle

changes that  foreshadowed  impending  moves,  unexpected  attacks,  vicious

tricks. But Callista was a disconcerting blank to him, an empty  spot  which

made her a worthy opponent. Although she could not sense his  moves  or  his

plans, he couldn't detect hers either.

They dueled, feeling their muscles sing with the effort, the  unleashed

energy and emotions, the joy of testing each other. Luke chuckled, and  they

continued, bright lights  flashing,  weapons  hissing  as  he  and  Callista

pressed each other. The mock battle went on for the better part of an hour.

Callista had an open, enthralled expression on her face,  overjoyed  to

recapture some part of  her  former  Jedi  identity.  She  had  not  used  a

lightsaber since she had come back to life in this new body, and now  though

Luke could sense no more of the Force  touching  her  she  had  regained  an

important piece of self-confidence.

Energy blades crossed, they looked into  each  other's  eyes,  pressing

with all their strength,  neither  yielding.  A  complete  stalemate.  Sweat

beaded on Luke's forehead, and  he  finally  broke  their  locked  gaze  and

stepped back, switching off his lightsaber. Callista also shut hers down.

Then, laughing, they came together and held each other for a long time.

Callista took her shift in the pilot seat as they both strapped in  and

watched the diagnostics. Luke kept glancing over at her. "We're about  ready

to leave hyperspace," he said.

She rubbed a fingertip along her  chin.  "I  can't  wait  to  see  this

mysterious place you're taking me."

The counter ran down on  the  navicomputer,  and  the  swirling  colors

snapped into crystal focus, funneling down into  bright  starpoints  on  the

black curtain of space. Nearby hung an orange sun of average  size.  Several

bright planets cruised along their orbital paths in the gravity well.

"Over here," Luke said, pointing.

He watched Callista's expression as she noticed the swollen form  of  a

periodic comet, its gases evaporating into space, shedding a coma and a long

fuzzy tail as it approached the sun.

"A comet?" Callista said. "We're awfully close."

Luke nodded with a  secretive  smile.  "Yes,  Callista,"  he  answered.

"That's where we're going."

CHAPTER 16

As Callista watched him, her gray  eyes  bright  with  curiosity,  Luke

maneuvered the space yacht closer to the wandering  comet.  He  entered  the

wispy coma where gas particles and ion  trails  scintillated  against  their

shields, causing static over the comm system.

"This is the Mulako Corporation Primordial Water Quarry," Luke said. "A

long-term periodic comet that comes back every century or so. Right now it's

near its closest approach to the sun, and we're at high tourist season."

The space yacht approached the irregular lump  swathed  in  a  mane  of

frozen steam. Luke pointed out squarish machines crawling over the tarnished

surface, strip-mining the ice. Gas  geysers  blasted  volatiles  into  space

where the comet's meager gravity could not hold  them,  trailing  a  tenuous

tail along the comet's orbit.

"But what do they do here?" Callista asked. "I've never heard  of  this

system."

"Hey, you've been stuck inside a computer for decades," Luke said.

"Don't remind me," Callista said.

"For much of the comet's orbit," he explained, "the mining  corporation

chops away water ice, storing and distilling it. They sell it at  a  premium

to gourmets and high-class officials who like to show off that  they  settle

for only the very best.  This  is  absolutely  pure  water,  formed  at  the

creation of this solar system.  Primordial  ice,  never  before  touched  or

recycled through organic  life  forms."  Luke  shrugged.  "Of  course,  it's

chemically identical to any other water, but  they  don't  mention  that  in

their advertisements."

"But why did you choose this place?" Callista said.

The Mulako Corporation Quarry sent a homing beacon, and Luke's guidance

computer locked on, shepherding them toward a cavernous  opening  surrounded

by lights brilliant yellow alternating with deep purple, harsh red, and some

that looked black transmitted for customers  whose  eyes  saw  in  different

portions of the spectrum.

"Close to perihelion," Luke said, "the comet becomes one  of  the  most

exclusive resorts in this sector.  The  climate  heats  up,  enough  of  the

volatiles evaporate from the ice to form a breathable atmosphere, and people

can live inside the snowball. It's very unusual. 1 thought  you  might  like

it? besides, no one will ever find us here."

Their yacht passed through the portal, beyond marker lights whose beams

shone like lightsabers through the dense mist curling away from the  comet's

surface.

"The selling point  of  this  resort  is  its  transience.  The  Mulako

Corporation mines it out each orbit as the comet hooks toward  the  sun  and

becomes habitable. They reinstall the facilities, open it to tourists for  a

few months, then close down again as the comet gets too close  to  the  sun,

where it becomes  unstable  with  too  much  gas  evaporating,  new  geysers

erupting, even a small possiblity that the iceball will split apart from all

the mining and tunneling. Then, when the comet races away from the  sun  and

the gases begin to freeze out, there's another several-month period when the

resort is dug out again and re-opened. When it finally becomes too cold, the

quarry is closed to the public, and the mining company operates for the next

hundred years out in deep space, strip-mining the newly deposited layers  of

ice."

"I can't wait to see it." Callista reached over to clasp Luke's hand.

They landed in a warmly lit reception area. Oranges and  yellows  shone

into the ever-present mist, and  porter  droids  appeared  to  unload  their

luggage. Luke checked  in,  keying  their  reservations  into  an  automated

terminal, and the droids escorted them into the resort facility.

He and Callista  held  hands  as  they  followed  the  baggage  droids.

Callista looked around, her cropped malt blond hair  swaying  slightly.  She

blinked at her surroundings and grinned. The Mulako Corporation's  stylistic

logo the letters MC traced within circles with a long cometary tail shooting

out? adorned most of the doors and fixtures.

The cometary resort was filled with water and amazing tropical caverns,

far warmer than a ball of ice might have suggested.  The  frozen  walls  had

been polymerized, showing ice locked  behind  a  molecule-thin  impenetrable

layer and lit by soothing blue lights. Sections of the wall had been cleared

away so that the frozen gases could  drift  out  like  humidifiers,  sending

trails of mist along the floor. Droplets of ultraclean water dribbled  along

the walls like precious springs. Waterfalls hissed from the  ceilings  in  a

diamond curtain that gurgled softly into drains in the floor.

Callista's face filled with childish wonder. "This is beautiful,  Luke.

All the water. I love the water."

"I know," Luke said. "You've told me enough stories about how much  you

miss your home planet, Chad."

Callista looked wistful. She had grown up on a waterworld, living  with

her father and stepmother on a sea ranch, destined to follow in  the  family

business. But her Jedi calling had been stronger, and she had been forced to

leave her beautiful oceans? though she still longed for them.

The porter droids led them down gently curving corridors, past doorways

of plush suites, until they came to the set  of  rooms  Luke  had  reserved.

Multicolored glow-lamps reflected off the polymerized ice walls,  making  it

seem as if they walked through a rainbow caught in crystal.

Delighted, Callista stopped to kiss Luke. "This is so  wonderful,"  she

said. "I can feel the power in this place, the energy. I know we'll be  able

to do something here!"

Inside their spacious suite, fountains bubbled in  the  corners;  mists

drifted around the rooms, passing glowing heaters  that  made  the  multiple

chambers comfortable and homey.  The  furniture  was  oddly  shaped  and  of

varying sizes, carved from rock inclusions that had been  found  inside  the

cometary ice crust, now bearing the  ubiquitous  company  logo.  The  porter

droids deposited their packs, and played prerecorded advertisements for  the

various restaurants and lounges available at the luxurious MC Quarry.

Luke hustled the droids out of the suite  before  they  could  begin  a

droning recitation of sightseeing opportunities. He shut the door and turned

to Callista with a smile and a sigh. "We're here," he said. He slumped  down

onto a polished stone contour sofa. Callista joined him.

"According to the brochures, there's plenty of things to do here," Luke

said. "We could explore the tunnels, or suit up and go out to  the  surface.

The low gravity makes it fun to jump around," he said. "Or we could see  one

of the erupting gas geysers. Those are supposed to be quite spectacular."

She shook her head. "I just want to stay here with you,  Luke.  We  can

relax and talk? and just be alone for a while."

He closed his eyes and realized how wonderful that sounded. "You  won't

get any argument from me."

Callista stared into the foaming fountain; her eyes took  on  a  fixed,

faraway look. Luke knew she must be focusing her thoughts, though  he  still

could not sense her, as if the Force itself didn't know she existed.

"I'm thinking of the oceans on Chad," she said, not looking at Luke but

fully aware he was watching her. "Especially at night at highest tide,  when

all the moons are full in the sky at the same time. The wander-kelp we  kept

corralled in mating season would begin to shimmer with captured  phosphorus,

glowing like an oil slick on fire."

"What are wander-kelp?" Luke asked.

"We used to raise them at our sea ranch," Callista said. "It's sort  of

halfway between plant and animal? really stupid, but it moves under its  own

volition. A big mass of iodine-filled leaves that  we  could  shear  several

times a year, distill, and sell for their medicinal content, while using the

rest of the biomass as cheap protein fiber for animal feed.

"Times were tough. It's not that the market went bad, but the Emperor's

crackdown fouled up  the  trade  routes.  All  the  tariffs  and  impossible

regulations pushed our regular traders out of business. Sometimes we had  to

cook and eat the barnacles growing beneath our corral rafts. Of  course,  my

family is all dead now? years ago, while I was trapped in that computer."

Her lower lip began to tremble, and she  fixedly  refused  to  look  at

Luke. She clamped her lips together.  "Part  of  me  feels  guilty  for  not

staying with them but I carried that around all the years I was  a  Jedi.  I

don't have any regrets, just sadness."

Now she turned and looked at Luke. Her eyes were dry and  strong.  "But

my Jedi Master, Djinn Altis, came and showed me the Jedi way. He arrived  on

his big wandering ship the Chu'unthor, a ship with no destination, much like

your own praxeum on Yavin 4."

"I know," Luke said. "We found the crashed  and  buried  Chu'unthor  on

Dathomir and brought it back."

Callista sighed soberly. "I suppose I must have known Djinn  Altis  was

dead. Perhaps he ran  afoul  of  the  Nightsisters."  Her  eyebrows  knitted

together. "I remem-ber once when Master Altis took me on a long, low  flight

above the seas of Chad. We cruised over singing schools  of  cyeen  and  the

patterns of tubular eels glowing pink in the moonlight. Master Altis  taught

me how to sense the life forms with my new abilities. I didn't  believe  him

at first, but when he showed me how easy it was, I knew I  was  a  Jedi.  He

didn't need to convince me. It was my family that required convincing and  I

don't think I quite succeeded in that."

Luke stood up and went to a pitted black table and pulled out  a  small

disc, a blue chit that gave them a  meal  discount  in  one  of  the  Mulako

Corporation's fine restaurants.

"Let's try something," he said. Luke let his  eyes  fall  half  closed,

channeling his thoughts through the Force in a simple  exercise.  The  small

chit lifted from the palm of his hand and hung suspended in  the  air.  "I'm

going to hold this up," he said. "You try to nudge it. Bump  it  toward  me.

That should be easier than actually lifting it. Open yourself to  the  Force

and let it flow. Just a slight push."

"I'll try," Callista  said  doubtfully  then  caught  herself  as  Luke

replied.

"There is no try."

She answered, "I know, I know. I shouldn't have  said  that."  Callista

squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. Her  breathing  grew  shallow,  her

expression tighter, more compressed.

Luke sent out small, questing tendrils to see if he  could  detect  her

manipulating the Force. The blue disc hovered motionless in the air.

Callista's face became flushed with the effort, and finally she let out

a  shuddering  breath  and  opened  her  eyes,  her  forehead  creased  with

frustration. "I can't. There's nothing." Before Luke could speak,  she  held

up a hand. "Please don't lecture me, Not now. You don't need to train me.  I

know how to do it but I can't."

Luke squeezed her hand instead. "Don't lose hope, Callista,"  he  said.

"Please don't lose hope."

* * *

Later that evening, Luke sipped on a  glass  of  primordial  ice  water

distilled from the comet's reservoirs.  Beaded  droplets  clustered  on  the

outside of the glass. He looked at the mist  rising  along  the  floors  and

breathed the damp air, filling his lungs and savoring the  sensation.  "This

is so different from the place I grew up."

Callista snuggled next to him in one of the oversized seats.  "Tell  me

about it," she said. "I want to know everything about you."

Luke let bittersweet memories flow back to him. "I once  said  that  if

there was a bright center to the universe, Tatooine was  the  place  it  was

farthest from." He shook his head. ' 'A dry, hot  place  a  hopeless  place.

Anybody born there was likely to die there, going nowhere. My Uncle Owen and

Aunt Beru were moisture farmers,  hardworking,  closed-minded  people.  They

knew the truth about my father, told me lies, hoping  against  hope  that  I

wouldn't follow in his footsteps, that I wouldn't want to pursue a dangerous

and glorious life as a Jedi Knight. They wanted me  to  stay  home  where  I

would be safe? and completely uninvolved. They loved me deeply in their  own

way? - but when you feel the calling of the Jedi, there's no denying it."

"I know," Callista murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.

"When Obi-Wan Kenobi began to train me," Luke said, "I didn't know  how

I was going to tell Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru." He  swallowed  and  felt  his

expression harden. "I never had the chance, though. The Empire  killed  them

and burned their farm before I could get back. They would  have  killed  me,

too, if I'd been there."

Callista brushed his arm with her fingertips, radiating a quiet warmth.

"Now Biggs is dead too," Luke said. "Biggs Dark-lighter, the  only  one

of my friends who actually escaped Tatooine. He went to the Imperial academy

for a while, then joined the Rebel Alliance. I met up with him again at  our

base on Yavin 4, though I didn't get much chance to talk with him. Biggs was

my wingman when we flew against the Death Star. He saved me, but he died  in

the battle."

"Was he your only friend there?" Callista said.

Luke stuck his ringer into the fountain, letting the cool water trickle

down his hand. "I had two other close companions, Camie and Fixer.  We  used

to hang out at Tosche Station and talk about our  dreams  and  how  we  were

going to get off that  dustball.  Camie's  family  grew  hydroponic  gardens

underground and bought water from my uncle. Uncle Owen always said  we  were

just wasting time, but we  were  exercising  our  imagination,  thinking  of

things we could do even if we never would. It kept us from going  insane  on

that hopeless planet."

He sighed. "I wonder if Camie and Fixer are still there. My life seemed

like it was going nowhere," Luke whispered, "and now I'm a Jedi Master. I've

found a twin sister I didn't know I had, and she's the Chief of  State.  The

Empire is defeated, and I'm reestablishing the  Jedi  Knights."  He  gave  a

little laugh. "A lot has changed."

He smiled down at Callista and stroked her hair. She had fallen  asleep

in his arms.

KHOMM

CHAPTER 17

As Dorsk 81 piloted them to the main spaceport  on  Khomm,  Kyp  Durron

stared out at the amazingly perfect gridwork of cities.

Dorsk 81 fidgeted at the control panel, looking anxious as  he  brought

their craft in. A few other vessels sat  parked  in  marked-off  rectangles,

out- system traders coming to the clone planet to  offer  their  wares.  The

inhabitants of Khomm rarely left their world, preferring to stay at home and

do what they had always done.

Dorsk 81's olive green skin flushed a deeper hue. "It feels good to  be

back," he said. "I was untrained when I left, but now I can  trace  what  my

senses told me as I grew up. I feel the calming influence of this place, the

comfortable familiarity. After all the difficult decisions I've faced at the

praxeum, I want to sink back into the pool of my own people, absorbing their

warmth and welcome. You'll sense it too, Kyp."

Kyp nodded, masking his skepticism. "I can already  feel  a  low-level?

muffled sensation."

Dorsk 81 nodded his streamlined head and innocently blinked his  bright

eyes. "Yes, yes, that's it."

When they opened the access hatch, Kyp was amazed to see that  a  crowd

had been shuttled in from the tall buildings. He looked at the  hundreds  of

smooth- skinned clones gathered to welcome them. They applauded  when  Dorsk

81 stepped into the hazy sunlight and raised his right arm in greeting.

Kyp stood beside his friend  and  whispered,  "Why  so  many?  This  is

amazing. "

Beaming, Dorsk 81 answered, "I am famous here,  now  that  I'm  a  Jedi

Knight." He cast a sheepish glance at Kyp. "I'm the only person  in  Khomm's

recent memory who has done anything? unpredictable."

Kyp stifled a laugh, knowing that Dorsk 81 was not joking.  He  watched

as one of the cloned aliens came forward on a levitating raft  encircled  by

handrails. The placid-faced alien piloting it wore some sort of uniform with

insignia on the shoulders.

Dorsk 81 was impressed. "That must be our city leader, Kaell 115.  I've

never seen him this close before. He's been our leader for decades. It's  in

his genetic line." But when the standing platform drifted in front of  them,

Kyp saw that the uniformed alien had a childlike roundness to his face  that

did not speak of many years wearing the burdens of leadership.

He raised his right hand in greeting, as Dorsk 81 had done. "I am Kaell

116," he said, "the new leader of this city. Welcome, Dorsk 81! We are proud

to have such an impressive personage return to us." He gestured  toward  the

open platform. "Please allow me to escort you to your domicile."

The city leader gave Kyp a stiff greeting. They climbed aboard, and the

levitating platform drifted just over the heads of  the  crowd.  The  olive-

skinned aliens waved in unison, giving Dorsk 81 a hero's welcome.

Kaell 116 cruised away from the spaceport toward the  identical  blocks

of city buildings. Trees lined every street,  pruned  to  look  exactly  the

same. Lawns of purple and blue grass were carefully manicured  in  front  of

each building. The air  held  a  dusty,  mineral  undertone  that  spoke  of

life-lessness.

The  structures  were   squarish   monstrosities   made   of   polished

green-veined rock, bordered with a rough sandstone. The outer walls bore  no

decorations, no sculptures or window boxes, merely a number engraved in each

cornerstone at street level.

"How do you find your way around?"  Kyp  said.  "Everything  looks  the

same."

Kaell 116 seemed to take  this  as  a  criticism,  and  his  face  grew

pinched. "We have molded our city to be  the  way  we  want  it,  and  we've

maintained it that way. Everything is numbered and cataloged, and Khomm is a

stable, understandable place. Our citizens are happy and content here."

"I see," Kyp said, forcing a smile. His dark eyes flashed toward  Dorsk

81, who looked so pleased to be back home.

As the standing platform  drifted  by,  other  aliens  leaned  out  the

windows to wave at them. Finally, Kaell 116 lowered them to  the  ground  in

front of one building that looked like  all  the  others.  The  city  leader

dropped them off with a perfunctory farewell.

Dorsk 81 rushed to the building unabashedly, gazing  up  at  the  stone

edifice as if he had never seen anything like it before. "This is my  home!"

he said. Kyp followed as the cloned alien fairly ran  up  three  flights  of

stairs to his personal abode.

The well-lit corridor was lined with a dizzying succession of identical

doors, like myriad images reflected from nested mirrors. One  of  the  doors

popped open as Dorsk 81 hurried toward it.

Two figures emerged, wearing grins on their smooth faces; for a  moment

Kyp felt as if he had seen a vortex of alternate  timelines,  images  of  an

identical person at differ-ent stages of life. They both looked  like  Dorsk

81, one older and more weathered, one younger and slightly smaller.

All three embraced and talked quickly in low voices. Kyp stepped  back,

feeling as if he didn't belong there? but he didn't mind. He observed with a

pang of homesickness, thinking fondly of when he and  his  parents  and  his

brother, Zeth, had spent warm times together on his own world of Deyer:  the

floating fishing platforms, the quiet  lake  sunsets?  but  the  Empire  had

crushed that place, and Kyp hadn't seen it since his childhood.

After the brief and intense welcome,  Dorsk  81  gestured  for  Kyp  to

follow him inside. "This is my  friend  Kyp  Durron,  another  Jedi  Knight.

This"?he turned to the older image of himself?"is Dorsk 80, my  predecessor,

and here," he clasped the shoulder of the younger clone, "is  Dorsk  82,  my

successor."

Kyp felt disoriented by the genetically identical copies,  but  he  had

seen many strange things in the galaxy. He glanced around  where  the  Dorsk

family lived, saw adequate furnishings and all the expected rooms.  "Do  any

of you have wives?" he asked, seeing no one else.

All three clones blinked at him, and finally  Dorsk  81  gave  a  short

laugh. The skin on his forehead wrinkled. "Kyp, no one has  wives.  Everyone

on Khomm is genderless. That's why we use the cloning facilities. We haven't

had genders on this planet for thousands of years."

Kyp chuckled in embarrassment. "Well, I just assumed? uh,  obviously  I

was wrong."

"We all  make  mistakes,"  the  elder  Dorsk  80  said  with  a  quick,

meaningful frown in the direction of Dorsk 81. Kyp noticed, but  his  friend

pretended not to.

Later, Dorsk 81 helped make up a bed in their small extra room, and Kyp

used the moment of privacy to ask a question that had been bothering him.

"Dorsk 81," he said. "Now that I've seen how?"he searched for the right

word, "how stable and unchanging your  world  is,  I  don't  understand  how

you're going to be a Jedi watchman. What are you going to Cohere?"

Dorsk 81's yellow eyes suddenly filled with panic. "I don't  know!"  he

whispered, his voice hoarse. "I  don't  know?"  He  repeated  the  words  to

himself, then he left Kyp alone, fleeing back into the outer rooms.

Kyp could not sleep for some time. He looked  out  the  window  into  a

night that glowed with a billion  bright  stars.  Khomm  was  close  to  the

galactic nucleus, near the dreaded Core Systems where the survivors  of  the

Empire had gone into hiding. The stars made a blurry island in space, a lens

that spilled across half the sky.

Kyp stared toward the Core Systems, fearing what they might  hide,  but

also yearning to know.

Young Dorsk 82 spent the next morning showing off his work in the clone

banks. The cloning facility was taller than the other  buildings  and  of  a

different design: the only unusual structure Kyp had seen in the gridwork of

the metropolis. Rather than the ubiquitous  green-veined  stone,  the  outer

walls were immense rectangular sheets of  transparent  crystal,  interlocked

with chrome girders that reflected the hazy sunlight.  The  crystal  windows

were so clear that Kyp could look in from street level and see the carefully

organized activity inside.

"We have maintained everything exactly as it was  when  you  left  it,"

Dorsk 82 said, beaming up at his "father." Inside,  the  air  was  damp  and

laden with a medley of chemical and organic smells that  were  not  so  much

unpleasant as exotic and unusual. Dorsk 80 accompanied  them  like  a  stern

schoolmaster, nodding in pride at his protege Dorsk 82 and looking from side

to side, touching controls and inspecting them as they passed.

"I didn't know this was the work you did before," Kyp said to Dorsk 81.

His friend nodded. "Yes, the computer database holds genetic blueprints

of all the major  family  lines.  When  it  is  time  to  produce  the  next

offspring, we call up the DNA  strings  and  produce  another  copy  of  the

preferred stock."

"Each clone is usually the same," Dorsk 80 interrupted. Kyp  knew  that

Dorsk 81 was an anomaly, Force-sensitive against all odds,  when  he  should

have been identical to all previous incarnations of his clone  pattern;  but

something inexplicable had changed.

Metal incubators lined row after row in banks  carefully  numbered  and

monitored where embryos were grown past the infant stage and accelerated  to

near adolescence, whereupon they were released and raised  by  their  family

units, trained in the duties of their genetic string.

The hissing of moving fluids, the whisper of mist generators,  and  the

clicking of computer operators made the cloning facility a constant hive  of

activity, but tension grew around Dorsk 81 like a blanket of silence.

Dorsk 82 proudly led them to his own  station.  Flat  terminal  screens

displayed the status of thousands of the embryo tanks. "Here  is  where  you

used to sit," Dorsk 82 said. "Everything remains  fully  functional,  and  I

have followed in our family's footsteps but now that you  have  returned,  I

gladly relinquish my position to you, so that I may continue my training and

one day become your true successor."

Dorsk 81  blanched.  "But  that  isn't  why  I  came  back.  You  don't

understand. " He looked to Kyp for support. "Continue in your duties at  the

cloning facility, Dorsk 82. I don't intend to take them again."

The younger clone blinked, uncomprehending. "But you must!"

Dorsk 80's face darkened. "You are my successor,  Dorsk  81.  You  have

always known your place."

Dorsk 81 whirled to look at his elder. "No. I am a Jedi Knight,  and  I

must find my place my new place."

Kyp yearned to help his friend, to support him. But this was a personal

debate, and he would only hurt things if he interfered.

Dorsk 80 looked at him sternly. "You have no choice in the matter."

"Yes," Dorsk 81 said, his face filled with anguish. "Yes I  do  have  a

choice. That's what you  don't  understand."  Dorsk  81's  tear-filled  eyes

flicked back and forth to his younger and older versions.  As  Kyp  watched,

the expressions on all three faces were enough to break his heart.

Dorsk 81's family brooded for  the  rest  of  the  day,  shunning  him.

Looking wretched, the cloned alien came to Kyp, who  had  retreated  to  the

guest room. He felt so sorry for his friend; he could see from the  stagnant

life on Khomm that the others could not comprehend who Dorsk 81 was or  what

he had done.

Dorsk 81 sat beside Kyp. His yellow eyes were very expressive,  but  it

took him a long moment to gather the courage to speak. "I  don't  dare  stay

here," he said. "Even if I try to be strong, I know that if I live  on  this

world, in this city, with my family members? I will eventually give in. I'll

forget what it was to be a Jedi. I will fail in my vow to Master  Skywalker.

It'll all wash away, and my life will vanish as a  minor  deviation  in  the

history of Khomm.

"What am I to do now? It all seemed so clear to  me  when  I  became  a

Jedi. I was going to return to Khomm and be the guardian of this system. But

this system does not need or want a Jedi Knight  to  guard  them.  Now  what

mission do I have?"

Kyp gripped Dorsk 81's arm, feeling his heart pound. "You can come with

me," he said. "I want you to."

Dorsk 81's smooth  face  became  an  open  window  through  which  hope

streamed like sunlight.

Kyp's eyes narrowed, then he felt a glimmer of the old vendetta against

the Empire. "We'll take our ship and slip in to the uncharted Core Systems,"

he said. "You and I together must discover what's become of the Empire."

CORE SYSTEMS

CHAPTER 18

Daala dropped the Firestorm's shields just enough to let  Vice  Admiral

Pellaeon's shuttle approach her Star Destroyer. The self-destruct  countdown

continued toward zero like an avalanche of diminishing numbers.

Daala studied her bridge crew grimly.  She  pitied  them,  yet  admired

their stoic demeanor. She respected Pellaeon's cool, unshakable  bravery  or

perhaps his recklessness for approaching a ship that would  likely  detonate

in his face.

She turned to the comm officer. "Have you been advising Supreme Warlord

Harrsk on the status of our self-destruct countdown?"

Pasty-faced, the  comm  officer  swallowed.  "Yes,  Admiral,  but  I've

received no response."

"A pity," Daala said blandly. "I hope he doesn't think I'm bluffing."

"I've assured him you're not, Admiral," the  comm  officer  said,  then

looked away, his lips pushed together in a pale bloodless line.

"Time remaining?" Daala asked.

"Seven minutes."

"Vice Admiral Pellaeon  has  just  docked  in  the  shuttle  bay,"  the

tactical officer interrupted.

She stood firm at the control station, arms clasped  behind  her  back.

The crimson Victory-class warships surrounded Harrsk's fleet like a pack  of

hungry predators. Daala didn't quite understand what Pellaeon was doing, but

the fact that so many of his battlecruisers followed his seemingly  suicidal

orders gave her great confidence in the vice admiral's leadership ability.

"Escort  him  here  immediately,"  she  said.  "An   honor   guard   of

stormtroopers. Make sure he understands he's not being held  captive.  Treat

him as a respected negotiator."

"Is there time, Admiral?"  the  deck  chief  said.  "Only  six  minutes

remaining."

"Then they'll need to run, won't they? We must be optimists," she said,

her lips twisting in a bitter smile. "Though optimism is  difficult  in  the

face of juveniles like Harrsk and Teradoc."

By the time the honor guard arrived on  the  Star  Destroyer's  bridge,

only one minute forty-five seconds remained on the clock.

Six stormtroopers marched in briskly, hustling a trim, mature man  with

a heavy mustache and neat gray hair. His eyes looked shrewd and bright,  his

body wiry and flexible.

"Vice Admiral Pellaeon, I presume," Daala said in a  calm  voice.  "I'm

pleased you could join me here at the moment of our death."

Pellaeon swallowed. "Admiral Daaja. I've heard much about you, and  I'm

aware of the determination and dedication you have already  demonstrated.  I

doubt you are bluffing. I wish  Warlord  Harrsk  were  similarly  convinced,

however."

"One minute, Admiral!" The officer's voice was a strangled squawk.

"Is our log pod prepared for jettison?" Daala said. "If  nothing  else,

perhaps our desperate act will  make  the  other  warlords  aware  of  their

folly."

Before the comm officer could answer,  Warlord  Harrsk's  grainy  image

appeared.  "All  right!  Stop,  stop!  Cease  the  countdown.  I  order  all

hostilities to end immediately. Daala, damn you stop the self-destruct!"

The deck chief froze. The bridge crew let  out  a  collective  sigh  of

relief. Pellaeon watched her, eyebrows raised.

Daala remained standing at  the  station,  not  moving  to  negate  her

commands, though her heart thudded with triumph. She paused  just  a  moment

longer as the countdown reached the thirty-second point.  She  arranged  her

expression into a mask of subdued disappointment,  just  to  convince  those

watching that she had genuinely intended to blow up the  Firestorm  and  the

Whirlwind with it if her demands had not been met.

"Admiral," Pellaeon said in a careful, yet persuasive  tone,  "I  would

greatly prefer to negotiate with you? if you have the time." His  voice  was

soft but intelligent.

Daala reached out casually to flick  the  pause  on  the  self-destruct

countdown. "Very well, Vice Admiral. I prefer alternate solutions myself."

From memory, she rattled off a string of coordinates to the  navigator.

"We'll take the Firestorm to an isolated  area  for  a  private  conference.

However, to dispel any impression that we  might  be  kidnapping  you,  Vice

Admiral Pellaeon, I invite two of your  Victory-class,  ships  to  accompany

us."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "I think it's  better

to be away from any possible treachery from Teradoc or Harrsk. I don't trust

either of them not to take advantage of the present situation."

"I agree, Admiral," Pellaeon said with a  curt  nod.  The  crows'  feet

around his eyes wrinkled, and Daala felt deep down that this man's  ultimate

goal for the Empire just might match her own. "If you would permit me to use

your comm system, I will encode the appropriate orders to my flagship and  a

companion ship."

Daala turned to her helmsman. "When the  navicom-puter  has  calculated

the best hyperspace path, drop shields and proceed to our  destination.  Two

Victory-class Star Destroyers will follow us."

"But, Admiral?" the second in  command  said,  "that  would  leave  the

Whirlwind helpless and surrounded by High Admiral Teradoc's warships.  After

your ion cannon blast?''

' 'I believe Teradoc will be reluctant to open fire. But if I'm wrong?"

She glanced  down  at  the  chronometer.  "According  to  my  estimate,  the

Whirlwind has had sufficient time to.complete repairs. In fact,  Harrsk  has

already had an additional six minutes. If I  have  misinterpreted  Teradoc's

actions, and if I have overestimated the crew of the Whirlwind then  I  will

extend apologies later," she said, but her grin was smug and laissez-faire.

"It's agreed, Admiral," Pellaeon said from the comm station. "Two of my

ships are ready to follow." He bowed his  head.  "We're  trusting  that  you

won't lead us into an ambush."

Daala nodded, trying to stand  even  more  rigidly  than  Pellaeon.  "I

understand the risk you're taking, Vice Admiral but, believe me, I  wouldn't

go to such lengths just to eliminate  two  small  Star  Destroyers.  Warlord

Harrsk's fleet could have done that just as easily."

The Firestorm's shields faded, leaving Harrsk's helpless Star Destroyer

hanging dark in space.

Flanked by two crimson Victory ships, Daala's Firestorm rose up and out

of the ring plane, cutting across the debris  that  hung  like  a  sparkling

necklace around the lavender  gas  planet.  The  trio  of  ships  shot  into

hyperspace.

Three Star Destroyers, one large and two small, hung in a wasteland  of

space. The nearest star glowed  dimly  twelve  parsecs  distant.  A  diffuse

molecular cloud spread  its  cold  veil  across  the  emptiness.  Daala  had

discovered this stellar desert  while  she  and  her  crippled  ship  Gorgon

struggled  back  to  the  Empire  after  the  devastating  battle  for   Maw

Installation.

Pellaeon sat across from Daala in her private ready-room adjoining  the

bridge. He sipped a cool drink, obviously trying not to succumb  to  comfort

or social talk. Daala appreciated that. She peeled  off  her  black  gloves,

straightened her flaming hair, and folded her hands on the table in front of

her. She leaned across so she could look into his eyes.

"Vice Admiral Pellaeon," she said, "believe  me  when  I  tell  you,  I

intend no mutiny against the  rightful  heirs  to  the  Empire.  I  have  no

interest in becoming a great leader like your Grand Admiral Thrawn.  I  have

read of his exploits, and I cannot replace him. I  resent  any  attempts  to

compare me with him. We are different people with different short-term goals

but I believe his long-term hopes were the same as mine."

"And what are those hopes, Admiral?" Pellaeon asked, as if he wanted to

believe her, needed to believe her yet felt compelled to ask the question.

She nodded slowly. "I continue to bear great love for the ideal of  the

Empire. The galaxy was  so  much  more  orderly.  Lawlessness  did  not  run

rampant. Citizens were not confused as to their place. The Emperor gave them

a destiny. The Rebels have destroyed that and supplied nothing to  fill  the

vacuum. They talk, they pamper, they go through the motions, but  they  have

yet to display any genuine leadership. Is  this  the  only  alternative  for

those of us who served the Emperor? I don't think so.

"On the other hand, I  disdain  what  these  puffed-up,  self-appointed

warlords have inflicted upon  our  fighting  forces.  Yes,  the  Empire  has

suffered many defeats in the past eight years, but we should not  let  those

losses convince us that the Empire no  longer  has  a  significant  fighting

force. That is absurd. If we pooled all available ships, our military  would

at least be comparable to the hodgepodge fleet the Rebels  have  managed  to

assemble."

Pellaeon nodded, carefully sipping his drink again.

"But these squabbling children have caused as much damage to the Empire

as the Rebel Alliance has," Daala continued. "If they would  work  together,

decide on a leader among themselves, then we could strike back."

"I couldn't agree more, Admiral," Pellaeon said. "But how to accomplish

that? Your  strong-arm  tactics  may  have  caught  Harrsk  and  Teradoc  by

surprise, but the others won't crumple so easily."

Daala ran her fingertip across the  rim  of  her  glass,  and  Pellaeon

watched her. She looked out the window at the  empty  blackness,  devoid  of

stars. "I don't for a moment think that Teradoc or Harrsk have  surrendered.

They are plotting ways to destroy me and destroy you as well, since you have

joined me for this conversation. No, they must be made to see."

Her face took on a wistful look as  she  turned  from  the  window  and

stared at the wall and into her past. She muttered, "I was  trained  at  the

Imperial military academy on Carida. Because  I  was  a  woman,  I  was  not

allowed to advance along with my classmates, though I had the same,  if  not

greater, capabilities.

"I excelled in the academy's exercises. I emerged  at  the  top  of  my

class in every case, and yet inferiors continued to be promoted above me.  I

was stuck in backwater assignments, forced to do menial labor. While those I

had trounced in simulated combat rose up to take command of their own ships,

I became a computer clerk, and then a  galley  overseer  preparing  packaged

food for shipment on Star Destroyer fleets.

"I put up with all that," she said,  drumming  her  fingertips  on  the

table, "because I was an Imperial soldier, and we are trained to obey orders

yet I felt that I would let the Empire down if I  allowed  my  short-sighted

superiors ignore the things I could do. The Emperor's personal distaste  for

women and nonhuman species is one of the few things I disagree with."

"Grand Admiral Thrawn was an alien," Pellaeon said.

"Yes," Daala said, "and according to the records I've seen, the Emperor

exiled him to the Unknown Territories, though Thrawn was perhaps one of  the

best military commanders in the fleet."

Pellaeon nodded. "I see your point. I was overjoyed  when  he  returned

and I finally found a commander I  could  follow  with  a  genuine  hope  of

victory, rather than an endless string of defeats."

Pellaeon finished his drink and set the empty glass on  the  table;  he

did not request another. "So what did you do?" he asked. "How did  you  gain

your rank of Admiral?"

"I created  a  false  identity  for  myself,"  Daala  said.  "I  played

simulations remotely on the Caridan computer networks. I defeated  the  best

opponents, over and over again. Some of my tactics were true  breakthroughs,

variations  on  the  zero-gravity  fighting  routines  and  space  maneuvers

developed by General Dodonna himself. All ships in the  Imperial  Navy  were

given copies of my battles to study. Space warfare changed  because  of  the

intuitive leaps I had made all under a fake name, of course.

"My skills came to the attention  of  Moff  Tarkin,  who  journeyed  to

Carida so that he could meet the mysterious  individual  who  had  developed

such innovative tactics. It took him several  months  and  two  black-market

slicers to dig me out of my network hiding place. Tarkin was  astonished  to

learn I was a woman and even more astonished to  see  that  I  was  a  lowly

corporal working in the kitchen.

"The officials on Carida were outraged, terribly embarrassed that their

star tactician turned out to be someone they  had  buried  but  when  Tarkin

realized that, instead of rewarding me for  my  exceptional  intuition,  the

Caridan officials intended to assign me to a lonely  meteorological  station

on the south polar ice cap, he transferred me to  his  own  personal  staff,

promoted me to Admiral, and took me away from Carida.''

She smiled with a memory she had not allowed for some time.  "Once,  he

overheard a young lieutenant mutter that I had achieved my rank only because

I was sleeping with Tarkin." Daala sighed. "Why is it every time a competent

woman is rewarded, others assume it's only because she's having sex  with  a

man?"

Pellaeon didn't answer her, not that she expected him to.

"Tarkin  arrested  the  lieutenant,"  she  said,  "placed  him  in   an

environment suit with a day's worth of air in a low orbit. We both  ran  the

calculations and estimated that he would make about twenty orbits before  he

dropped deep enough into the atmosphere to  burn  up.  Neither  of  us  knew

whether his air would run out first, or if he would be  incinerated.  Either

circumstance provided  a  fine  punishment,  a  gruesome  example  for  Moff

Tarkin's crew to see.  It  was  particularly  effective  that  he  left  the

lieutenant's comm system open, so that for a full day everyone aboard  could

hear his words over the ship's intercom, pleading, cursing, screaming?"

Daala finished  her  own  drink  and  placed  the  empty  glass  beside

Pellaeon's. "After that time, no one ever suggested I had received  my  rank

only because Tarkin was my lover."

Pellaeon paled, but made no comment.

"But I'm digressing," Daala said. "You and I should come to  some  sort

of decision and get back before our respective fleets grow too impatient."

"Agreed, Admiral. What is it that you wish to accomplish?"

"I want to unify the Empire," Daala said simply.  "I  want  someone  to

take the helm as leader but I don't intend for  it  to  be  me.  I  have  no

delusions of political glory. I just want the opportunity to cause  as  much

damage as possible to the Rebels."

"Why not call a detente council,  then?"  Pellaeon  said.  "Perhaps  we

could get the warlords together, make them sit down and talk: Even  if  they

refuse to be united under a single  leader,  perhaps  they  could  agree  on

strategy. Each could strike different targets in the  New  Repub-lie,  using

their own tactics and their own methods to bring the Rebels to their  knees.

Then we can mop up the territory that's rightfully ours." His eyes glittered

with excitement as the ideas flowed from him.

Daala nodded. "An exceptionally good suggestion, Vice Admiral.  Similar

to my own ideas. You  are  perhaps  in  a  better  position  to  make  those

invitations, though I will do what I can. However," she  said,  going  to  a

cyberlocked strongbox beside her personal bureau, "if that doesn't  work,  I

want you to take this." She opened the strongbox and  withdrew  a  palm-size

breathmask membrane, which she handed to Pellaeon.

"What is it for?" Pellaeon said.

"I hope you never need to use it," Daala answered.  "But  if  all  else

fails, you will know."

CHAPTER 19

Tsoss Beacon transmitted its blind signal into the fiery soup of  stars

and gases near the heart of the deep core. The automated  station  had  been

constructed by droids and suicide crews on a planetoid scoured clean  by  an

endless wash of radioactive storms and solar flares that swept  the  region.

No living thing had visited Tsoss Beacon for fifteen years, and the  ionized

flux had long since caused most of the maintenance droids to malfunction.

Admiral Daala considered it the perfect place  to  hold  a  meeting  of

Imperial warlords.

The squarish beacon station was a squat citadel  with  low  walls  more

than a meter thick to block the  radiation.  Before  sending  her  own  Star

Destroyer into the hostile region, Daala  had  dispatched  a  Gamma  assault

shuttle crewed by worker droids who set down and began  the  major  overhaul

chores, following programming and  specifications  that  Daala  herself  had

developed.

When the worker droids completed the  groundwork  and  installed  high-

efficiency radiation-shield generators, Daala brought the Firestorm into the

ravening system, where hot gas  swirled  around  them  and  Shockwaves  from

stellar storms scrambled her sensors. It reminded Daala of her hiding  place

in the Cauldron Nebula when she had been isolated from the Empire, with only

a pitifully small fleet to attack the Rebels. If the  Imperials  could  pool

their resources now?

Once her ship was in place around Tsoss Beacon, Daala sent  a  crew  of

stormtroopers down to complete the preparations, accompanying  them  herself

to oversee the efforts. She chose one of the station's  main  storerooms  to

host the detente meeting. Worker droids had  already  completed  significant

structural changes to the room, which had no windows, no  exits  except  for

the single door equipped with a thick shielded lock.? It would be perfect.

A crew  of  stormtroopers  removed  the  decommissioned  equipment  and

forgotten supplies that had been used to construct the beacon. The machinery

was outdated and alive with secondary radiation. The armored troopers dumped

it all out on the rocky surface.

Daala stood in her  olive-gray  uniform,  coppery  hair  falling  loose

behind her, black-gloved hands  clasped  behind  her  back  as  she  watched

everything. She tried to appear both intimidating and  compassionate  though

the compassion part was difficult.

She watched Harrsk's former soldiers and saw that some remained  uneasy

at what they perceived to be her mutiny, though most had been  converted  to

Daala's cause. They were Imperial soldiers trained to follow  their  leader;

she was not surprised to discover  that  the  majority  of  her  troops  had

despised their service under Harrsk  and  secretly  applauded  her  actions.

These had all learned to respect the ideal of the Empire, and Daala  offered

a return to that; Harrsk promised only a continuance of civil war.

Pellaeon's Victory-class ships arrived a day after Daala had  completed

preparations. As stormtroopers ushered the Vice Admiral in to see  her,  she

felt an icy dread in the pit of her stomach. All would be lost if he had not

succeeded in his mission but she could tell from the faint smile on his lean

face and the brightness in his eyes that it hadn't been a failure after all.

"Mission accomplished, Admiral," he said, standing straight and looking

directly at her. "Thirteen of the strongest Imperial  warlords  will  arrive

for these talks." His smile sagged a little, causing his mustache to  droop.

"It was not easy to convince them. I had to use every tactic I  could  think

of, banking fully on your legendary reputation and my association with Grand

Admiral Thrawn. This uses up all of the influence we had."  He  lowered  his

voice, aware that his words might  be  construed  as  disrespectful.  "You'd

better make it work, Admiral. We won't get a second chance."

Daala tugged her black gloves  onto  her  hands.  "I  understand,  Vice

Admiral," she said. "I have no intention of failing."

Pellaeon's smile turned grim. "If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't  be

here with you."

The warlords arrived with their fleets bristling with weapons and Daala

knew that the slightest misstep could trigger an internecine holocaust  that

would wipe out the remains of the Imperial military. She shook her  head  in

resignation, her face tight and drawn? then realized that if such was to  be

the fate of the Empire, better that it ended here,  rather  than  through  a

long and dishonorable attrition.

She contacted each fleet as it came in. "Only the warlord is allowed to

approach. All armed forces are denied access to this sector."

The warlords argued, insisting on their personal escorts, their guards,

their protective battleships. But Daala refused each one. "No. No  one  will

carry weapons to this meeting. No one will be allowed to position his forces

for a secret attack. This is a political negotiation regarding the  fate  of

the Empire. There is no need for demonstrations of bluster or bravado."

The talks were delayed two days in  the  miserable  fury  around  Tsoss

Beacon, until finally the last of the fleets backed off. Daala was convinced

they departed no farther than the edge of the system, out of  range  of  her

station's scrambled sensors but it was good  enough  for  her  purposes.  It

would give her sufficient time to deal with a crisis, if one occurred.

Inside the shielded supply room, Daala waited at the head of  the  long

table she had installed for the express purpose of the detente meeting.  The

table was irregularly shaped, with rounded corners and a  looping  perimeter

intended to dismiss any subtle hierarchy  in  seating  order.  The  gathered

warlords were all equal as far  as  Daala  was  concerned:  equally  pompous

fools. But she needed to foster an impression of fairness and  impartiality,

if they were ever to begin open negotiations.

Without windows the place seemed like a dungeon,  so  Daala  had  added

electric-blue illumination crystals around the room to shed a soothing  cool

glow from shoulder-high metal staffs, high-tech torches reflecting  off  the

dull gray walls. Outside  the  door,  scarlet-robed  Imperial  Guards  stood

ominously silent, heightening the aura of command in her presence.

Daala sat back in her uncomfortable chair; she prefered rigid furniture

because it kept her  attention  focused.  She  took  several  deep  breaths,

collecting her thoughts, gathering her stamina for what she knew would be  a

dreadfully difficult meeting. Daala despised meetings, preferring instead to

make unilateral decisions and follow through on them but that wouldn't  work

in this case. At least not yet. She had to give the warlords a chance.

Pellaeon stood to one side of the door as an honor guard. High  Admiral

Teradoc was the first to pass through the  doorway,  fat  and  sweaty-faced,

staggering even in the low gravity. His beady eyes were filled with seething

hatred as he flicked a venomous glance at Pellaeon. With an out-thrust lower

lip, Teradoc took the nearest chair to minimize the distance he had to walk.

He placed himself equally distant between Pellaeon,  whom  he  considered  a

traitor, and Daala who, as an interloper, was probably worse.

After him  came  Supreme  Warlord  Harrsk,  the  little  man  with  the

hideously scarred face. Then Superior General Delvardus, a tall and skeletal

man with dark-brown hair  and  shock-white  eyebrows  that  stood  out  like

electrical discharges from his forehead; he had a square chin bisected by  a

deep cleft. Following Delvardus  came  an  endless  string  of  High  Moffs,

Honored Overlords, Supreme Leaders,  and  other  commanders  with  similarly

pompous yet meaningless titles.

When the last of the warlords had taken his seat, Pellaeon clicked  his

heels together and marched briskly to the front. Making his turns sharp  and

exaggerated, he came to stand at attention beside Daala. "I  want  to  thank

you all for coming here," he said. "I know this is  a  difficult  compromise

even agreeing to meet, but you must hear  us  out  for  the  future  of  the

Empire."

Daala rose slowly to her feet, moving at the exact pace she hoped would

capture their attention: fast enough so as not to distract them, slow enough

to give them time to dread what she might say or do. She flashed her emerald

eyes. "One Empire, one fleet only this will guarantee us victory."

From his seat obese High Admiral Teradoc made a  rude  sound  with  his

lips. "Those platitudes might work with impressionable young  soldiers,  but

not us. We're beyond all that high-sounding nonsense."

Pellaeon stiffened beside Daala, and his face blanched. She could sense

the genuine anger boiling up inside him as he said, "Sir, they are not  just

platitudes. We're talking about the fate of the Empire."

"What Empire?" Teradoc said. "We are the Empire." He  waved  his  pudgy

hand to encompass the other warlords and scowled.

Daala threw her words out like a fistful of ice  chips.  "High  Admiral

Teradoc, that would be cause for immediate execution  if  the  Emperor  were

here. "

"Well, he's not here," Teradoc snapped back.

"And so we must function without him." Daala glared at the High Admiral

for a heartbeat, then swept her gaze across the other  warlords  who  seemed

alternately amused or bored by the altercation.

"I have seen what remains of the Imperial starfleet," she  said.  "I've

visited most of you  in  the  past  year,  urging  you  to  put  aside  your

differences. Supreme Warlord Harrsk has a fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers.

High Admiral Teradoc has a force of Victory-class warships. You others  have

blastboats,  capital  ships,  millions  upon   millions   of   stormtroopers

unstoppable military might if we choose to use it as such!

"Grand Admiral Thrawn  proved  the  Rebels  have  not  yet  managed  to

consolidate their own meager resources. Because of your rivalries, every one

of your sectors has devoted vast resources to creating weaponry. It is  time

to use those resources against our real  enemies  instead  of  against  each

other."

"Fine words, Admiral  Daala."  Warlord  Harrsk  mockingly  clapped  his

hands. "And how do you propose that we do that?"

Daala pounded her gloved fist on the table. "By forging an alliance. If

the Rebels can do it, so can we."

Superior General Delvardus at a far corner of the  table  stood  up  to

leave, brushing himself off. "I've heard  enough.  This  is  just  a  poorly

disguised power grab. I've spent more funds than  any  of  you  on  military

buildup." His forehead wrinkled,  and  his  bright  white  eyebrows  crawled

together. "I'm not sharing my glory."

As the skeletally thin man turned his back  to  Daala,  she  touched  a

hidden control panel under the table. The heavy durasteel door heaved up  on

hydraulic pistons and slammed into place, sealing gaskets around the edges.

Multicolored lights scrambled like outraged insects on the square panel

of the operating mechanism.

"What is this!" Delvardus said, whirling.

"That is a cyberlocked door with a timing mechanism," Daala said. "Even

I can't open it for the next three hours. You will sit down, Delvardus."

Several of the warlords lurched to their  feet.  High  Admiral  Teradoc

attempted to rise, but his bulk dragged him back down, and he simply smacked

a sweaty palm on the tabletop. The Imperial commanders shouted and  bellowed

and hammered their fists and lashed out at each other, but Daala stood firm,

weathering their tantrums. Pellaeon remained beside her,  looking  decidedly

uneasy.

"This is not a power grab," Daala finally said when the uproar had died

down. "I know that other Imperial officers have  left  the  fleet,  throwing

their lot in with criminals and lowlifes because it gives them a chance  for

a pathetic personal gain, but you while I resent your destructive tactics at

least hold a shadow of allegiance to our once-great Empire.

"You have three hours to choose a nominal leader. There's nothing  else

you can do. We are all sealed inside this chamber so you may  as  well  make

the best of it."

She sat down and  clasped  her  hands,  squeezing  the  black  leather,

between her fingers with a soft strangling sound. And she waited.

Hour after hour the  squabbling  grew  more  strident,  more  childish.

Rivalries  erupted  between  competing   warlords:   old   vengeances   were

redeclared, allegations of betrayals and threats of reprisals hurled in each

other's faces.

For the first hour Daala was disturbed, but still held out  some  hope.

In the second hour, though she kept her anger well  hidden,  she  wanted  to

bash their skulls together. By the middle of the third hour  Daala  gave  up

any attempt to mask her contempt for the squabbling warlords.

Finally, Warlord Harrsk lost control of himself during a shouting match

with Teradoc; the little scar-faced man leaped across the table,  scrambling

on his knees, and launched himself at the obese High Admiral, trying to wrap

his short fingers around Teradoc's fat throat. The chair  tipped  over,  and

both crashed to the floor, cursing and shouting.

The other warlords stood up, some cheering, others yelling for them  to

stop. Pellaeon finally stormed over to the scene, grabbed Harrsk, lifted the

short man bodily in the low gravity, and  cast  him  onto  the  flat  table.

Teradoc bellowed in rage, his face florid. His  breathing  rasped  into  his

lungs like a damaged air-recirculation system.

Daala turned and ripped one of the electric-blue glowtorches  from  the

floor behind her. "Enough!" she shouted. She raised the durasteel staff high

and smashed it down upon the tabletop. The glowcrystal exploded into  shards

with  crackling  blue  sparks,  and  transparent  fragments  flew   in   all

directions. She hammered the rod down again and again,  denting  the  table,

bending the staff, and fragmenting the end. Five  minutes  remained  on  the

cyberlocked door.

Her action, unexpected and violent, brought the dissenting leaders to a

surprised standstill. She tossed the metal  pole  to  the  floor,  where  it

clanged and clattered and finally lay still.

In utter disgust Daala spoke, her voice low  and  heavy  like  a  blunt

instrument. "I didn't want to  rule.  I  had  no  intention  of  becoming  a

political leader. I wanted to crush the Rebels instead but you  give  me  no

choice. I cannot leave the Empire in the hands of fools like you."

Daala reached into  the  hip  pocket  of  her  olive-gray  uniform  and

withdrew a translucent breathmask, which she placed over her mouth and nose.

She activated the mask with a fingertip, and it sealed itself to  her  face,

grafting its edges to her skin cells. Beside her, Pellaeon  suddenly  looked

up in dawning comprehension. He grabbed for his own mask  as  Daala  reached

under the table again and pressed a button, triggering the nerve-gas systems

she had programmed the worker droids to install. The air vents made  hissing

sounds, like serpents expelling venomous breath into the room.

In unison, the warlords howled  at  the  treachery;  Daala  noted  with

amused irony that at last they had found a way to do something together.

Teradoc attempted to haul his bloated form to his feet. Daala  presumed

he would die of a heart attack if the nerve gas didn't get him first.

Warlord Harrsk and three others didn't waste time  venting  their  rage

but rushed to the door, pounding at the cyberlock,  trying  to  trigger  its

release. But the timer had four minutes yet to run, and Daala knew  the  gas

required only seconds to complete its fatal action.

Tall, skeletal Delvardus snatched at the insignia on his chest with  an

intent look of concentration on his face. He managed to clip several  badges

and medals together. He withdrew a strut from one of his shoulderboards, and

when he had finished clicking the components together, Daala saw that he had

assembled a wicked-looking, if primitive, knife. -

On his long, bony legs Delvardus  staggered  toward  her,  raising  the

blade. His face grew splotchy with  rose-colored  eruptions  of  tiny  blood

vessels in his cheeks and eyes. He gasped.

Daala remained standing where she was, a ready target.  She  stared  at

him with polite interest. Delvardus had accepted the fact he would die,  and

he meant to slash Daala before the nerve gas caused him to succumb.

The warlords were falling right and left now, slumping atop each other.

Some choked, clutching their throats; others vomited.  Two  sprawled  across

the table. Most had managed to make it to the floor.

Delvardus kept coming, one plodding step at a time,  as  if  his  limbs

were sheathed in rapidly hardening duracrete. His  eyes  were  a  deep  red,

filled with blood from the inside as he strained, lifting his knife.

Daala watched him topple at her feet. The knife clattered on the  floor

plates.

Pellaeon looked shocked but  resigned  as  he  watched  the  unexpected

carnage. Fat Teradoc continued to wheeze and cough. Daala was  surprised  to

see that the obese warlord was the last to die?

A few moments later Daala and Pellaeon stood like statues, the only two

survivors, surveying the massacre of Imperial military commanders.  Pellaeon

blinked in shock. "It's done, then," he whispered, as if he  still  couldn't

believe what he had just witnessed.

Daala merely nodded grimly and said, "This is what had to be."

Right on time, the cyberlock clicked, and the heavy  door  swung  open,

setting Daala and Pellaeon free.

CHAPTER 20

Admiral Daala's consolidated fleet arrived in a threatening posture  at

the military outpost of dead Superior General Delvardus. She took  an  ample

landing force as a show of strength when she went  to  parley  with  Cronus,

Delvardus's second in command.

The skeletal Superior General had chosen a small  world  on  the  outer

fringe of the habitable band from its sun, an arid  place  of  rusty  sands,

barren rocks, and labyrinthine canyons left over  from  ancient,  long-dried

floods.

From her newly commandeered Star Destroyers, Daala gathered a  squadron

of assault shuttles that looked like deadly beetles that streaked down in an

impressive phalanx through the pale  green  atmosphere,  homing  in  on  the

secret location of Delvardus's fortress. She had taken the coordinates  from

highly useful spy files  that  Pellaeon  had  downloaded  from  the  central

databanks of High Admiral Teradoc's flagship.

The  squadron  cruised  low  over  the  broken  and  veined  landscape,

following the blistered cracks and fissures. Looming canyon walls cast thick

shadows. As the ships penetrated the canyon  network,  the  box-ended  gorge

stopped abruptly in an imposing fa§ade the  personal  fortress  of  Superior

General Delvardus.

The assault shuttles landed in front of the huge stone gates,  settling

onto  a  dry  wash  as  hard  as  duracrete.  Daala  and  Pellaeon  emerged,

accompanied by half of her heavily armed stormtroopers. The remainder of her

troops stayed inside the assault shuttles, manning the  weapons.  The  Gamma

assault shuttles hissed and ticked as their engines cooled, settling in  for

the siege.

She had no idea how Delvardus's second in command would react.

Two of the stormtroopers opened the back cargo compartment and withdrew

Daala's most important show of force. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon and I will walk

out front," she said. "Two of you will carry the trophy, and the rest follow

on either side as my honor guard."

They marched up the paved wash to the towering edifice of the fortress,

their boots making sounds like gunfire as they clomped  across  the  ground.

The arid wind issued a quiet moan. Daala saw no other movement.

The stormtroopers wrestled with a  blocky  frame  on  antigrav  mounts,

trying to keep it from jerking in the brisk breezes. Suspended in the middle

of the frame, crackling and preserved in a high-powered force field, like  a

dead insect trapped in amber, hung the gangly, cleft-jawed body of  Superior

General Delvardus. His face was blotched and contorted  in  a  grimace,  his

eyes squeezed shut from the effects of the nerve gas.

Daala glanced behind her, fiery hair whipping about in the cold  gusts.

Her lungs burned from the thin air, but  she  didn't  want  to  appear  weak

wearing a breathmask.

Pellaeon straightened his uniform and  stood  with  Imperial  demeanor.

Daala held her head up and strode toward the massive doors  five  times  her

own height Daala  suspected  the  grandeur  was  mostly  for  show.  Despite

Delvardus's  proclaimed  enormous  military  expenditures,  she   had   seen

virtually no armed presence around the entire planet, and  she  wondered  if

the second in command might be planning some sort of ambush.

Stepping apart so that all observers could witness the  suspended  body

of Superior General Delvardus, Daala and Pellaeon stood before the  towering

stone doorway and waited. She spotted voice pickups  cleverly  concealed  in

crevices in the rocks.

"I have a message and a gift for  Colonel  Cronus,"  Daala  said  in  a

normal speaking voice, turning her mouth toward the voice pickups.

With a sound like a disgusted sigh, the great stone doors cracked  open

by two meters, revealing an armed contingent  of  Imperial  soldiers  hiding

inside. Daala did not permit herself to look the least  bit  ruffled.  "Your

Superior General has acted in a heinous and traitorous manner,  putting  his

own wishes ahead of the future of the Empire."

The guards looked as if they wanted to blast her  for  insulting  their

former master so blatantly, but they didn't dare act  in  front  of  Daala's

stormtrooper escort and the heavily armed Gamma assault shuttles.

"Delvardus did not  act  alone,  but  continued  a  war  of  attrition,

fighting other warlords to the detriment of  us  all.  I  present  here"?she

withdrew a holo cube from her pocket and set it in front  of  the  sparkling

frame that held the  suspended  body?"a  recording  of  our  entire  detente

council, so that you may see your general's actions, as well as those of the

other warlords. Then you will understand why it was necessary to take such a

drastic step.

"These assault shuttles are merely a fraction of our forces,  but  they

are sufficient to cause significant damage to your fortress. The rest of our

fleet waits in orbit. Look over these items and decide whether to join us as

part of a reunited Imperial force or whether to be considered renegades like

your former master. You have one hour to deliberate. If we don't  hear  from

you, we will come back and destroy you as accomplices."

She spun about. The stormtroopers set the heavy frame  down,  switching

off its antigrav platform before marching behind Daala and Pellaeon.

Daala did not turn to watch, but she heard the guards hustle out of the

fortress and gather up their fallen leader and the message cube. They rushed

back inside, and the thud of armored doors echoed in the narrow canyon.

After the hour was up, Colonel Cronus decided to join  Daala's  forces.

Wholeheartedly.

An armored fast transport from the  fortress  hangars  took  Daala  and

Pellaeon, along with a contingent of their suspicious  stormtrooper  guards,

away from the planet. Colonel Cronus himself piloted the armored  transport,

transmitting  recognition  signals  into   deep   space.   Leaving   Daala's

battleships behind,  Cronus  took  them  straight  up  out  of  the  system,

perpendicular to the ecliptic and toward the sparse cometary cloud.

Colonel Cronus was a small man but packed  with  power.  His  shoulders

were broad, his chest rippled, and his swollen biceps showed  that  he  took

great care to maintain himself at peak physical form, even  in  the  reduced

gravity of the small, bleak planet. His curly black  hair  was  seeded  with

silvery strands that gave him a distinguished appearance. His complexion was

deeply tanned and seamed with lines that made him look weathered; his  large

brown eyes constantly flicked back and forth, drinking in details. He  spoke

sparingly, answering questions put to him with  just  the  right  amount  of

information.

"I need to make a brief hyperspace hop," Cronus said, ' 'to get us  far

enough to the edge of the system? unless you'd rather we spent weeks at full

burn of our sublight engines?"

Daala stiffened. Pellaeon frowned suspiciously,  and  the  stormtrooper

guards snapped to attention; but she decided that Cronus had little to  gain

here by sudden treach-ery and that trusting him with a  responsibility  such

as this could only plant the seeds of deeper loyalty. "Very well,  Colonel,"

she said. "I'm anxious to see what Delvardus has managed to create with  all

the credits he's been spending."

Pellaeon looked at her as if in warning, his heavy  mustache  drooping;

but she shook her head imperceptibly. The vice admiral sat back  and  forced

himself to relax. Cronus accepted her  orders  without  question  and  began

programming the navicomputer.

Daala felt her nerves taut like high-tension wires running through  her

body. She kept her expression impassive, but adrenaline coursed through  her

as she strapped herself into her chair. Everything had gone remarkably well.

The conquest had been devastating and bloody, but she had taken out selected

targets the appropriate victims and the Empire's harvest grew  stronger  and

richer with each weed she plucked. She felt elated when she thought  of  the

momentum of her triumph.

Pellaeon raised his eyebrow in question, but she  didn't  respond.  The

risk had paid off for her. She would always remain on  guard,  but  for  the

moment the danger was over. Now she had to work on consolidating her power.

Cronus swiveled in his pilot seat, looking at  Daala  with  deep  brown

eyes that held an unexpected warmth; she wondered if he actually appreciated

her takeover. She had seen him  look  upon  the  body  of  Superior  General

Delvardus with barely concealed scorn.

"Entering  hyperspace,  Admiral  Daala,"  he  said.  "Please  don't  be

alarmed." Around the ship, space vanished in a multicolored swirl.

Daala leaned forward to speak to the  colonel.  "We've  researched  the

amount of funding Delvardus funneled into  his  operations,  and  I  am  not

impressed with what I saw at his fortress." She narrowed  her  emerald  eyes

and continued, "I hope he hasn't been squandering the Empire's resources."

Cronus smiled and shook his head. "I assure you, Admiral, he has not. I

think even you will be impressed."

Daala closed her eyes for a moment to tally  her  fleet  in  her  mind,

adding together the Star Destroyers  she  had  already  collected  from  the

various warlords, all of the battleships and firepower she had  to  command.

She vowed to put her fleet to its best use this time.

"Here we are, Admiral." Colonel Cronus flicked the hyperspace  controls

that dropped them back into the normal  universe.  Blackness  washed  around

them, and the distant sun appeared as a bright point at the  center  of  the

system. Other than that, space was dark around the armored transport.

Then Daala noticed a blot  as  she  stared,  an  enormous  shadow  that

eclipsed the stars. It seemed to be kilometers long and grew larger as  they

approached.

Cronus fiddled with the comm system and transmitted a recognition code.

"Power up," he said to some unknown listener. "Let's make a good display."

Daala squinted out the viewport, and suddenly she saw  a  whirlwind  of

tiny lights appear, marking deck after deck on a breathtakingly  huge  ship.

The immense wedge-shaped shadow was a single vessel,  larger  than  anything

she had ever seen before.

"I can't believe it," Pellaeon said beside her. "Only the Executor  was

this big and that one ship practically bankrupted the Empire."

"What is it?" Daala asked.

Cronus smiled, his expressive face showing his obvious enjoyment at her

reaction but it was Pellaeon who answered. "It's a Super Star Destroyer," he

said.

Cronus nodded eagerly. "Worth  twenty  Imperial  Star  Destroyers,"  he

said, his eyes flashing with pride. "It is eight kilometers long, can  carry

a crew of up to a hundred thousand and is plated with stealth armor.  That's

why it appeared as only a black shadow as we approached. Though gigantic, it

is virtually invisible to enemy forces."

He lowered his voice as if imparting a precious secret.  "We  named  it

the Night Hammer."

Daala's eyes shone with wonder, and her breath came shallow and fast as

Cronus directed the armored transport to the open  bay  of  the  Super  Star

Destroyer. Daala could not restrain herself and stood from her seat, waiting

behind the colonel. She leaned forward, unable to tear  her  eyes  from  the

beauty of the black Night Hammer.

"That will be my ship," she whispered.

CORUSCANT

CHAPTER 21

Inside the cavernous Imperial palace, Leia Organa Solo and  her  family

wore nondescript civilian clothes, stopping at a pleasant cafe to eat  their

lunch like normal citizens. It felt good to be out  of  uniform  where  Leia

could pretend to be invisible  though  she  knew  that  private  bodyguards,

professional protectors, and crack sharpshooters followed at  a  comfortable

distance, monitoring her every movement. Leia resented the interference  but

she also knew after many attempts on her own life  or  on  her  family,  she

couldn't afford to grow careless. Too much was at stake.

Han carried Anakin against his side, and the young  boy  clasped  small

hands around his father's neck. "Come on, kids, there's a table over  here,"

he said. The energetic twins raced to be the first to reach the empty seats.

Chewbacca let loose a long yowl, insisting that the kids slow down  and

be careful but they ignored the big Wookiee.

"If you would simply allow me to  handle  this,  I'm  sure  they  would

behave, " Threepio said. Chewbacca flashed his fangs at  the  golden  droid.

"Really, Chewbacca! There's absolutely no call for such displays."

Artoo-Detoo whistled, but Threepio didn't bother to respond. The golden

droid carried two trays of food, while Chewbacca hefted his own mounded high

with dripping meat.

Their group chose a table at the edge of a towering balcony. Mists rose

around it,  generated  from  vaporizers  in  the  synrock  walls.  Trickling

fountains traced rivulets of water down the dozens of  stories  to  an  open

plaza enclosed within the pyramidal palace.

Threepio and Chewbacca set their trays on  the  table,  but  the  twins

rushed to the edge barricade, standing on their tiptoes to peer far below.

"Look at the people!" Jaina said. "They're so tiny."

"Can I throw something down?"  Jacen  asked,  looking  around  for  any

object to toss over the edge.

"No, you may not," Leia said.

"But Jaina's going to," the boy responded.

"No, she isn't," Leia repeated with a sterner tone.

"No, I'm not!" Jaina said.

"Come on, sit down," Han said, settling Anakin into a chair.

Around them the rustle of  thousands  of  officials,  bureaucrats,  and

aides going about their business made a drone of white noise mixed with  the

buzz of machinery, air exchangers, and climate-control  systems.  Leia  felt

calmer now that she could take  a  brief  break.  At  least  people  weren't

challenging every decision she made for lunch.

Leia appreciated Mon Mothma's confidence in her, when the former  Chief

of State had passed the torch of rulership but Leia did not relish the  work

of being president, though she considered it her duty.

Jacen and Jaina sat down and began to play with their food, and she was

relieved that they had chosen something that wouldn't try too  hard  to  run

away. The twins loved colored cubes of fizzing protein gelatin, though  Leia

couldn't stand the stuff. Han had chosen a  greasy  Corel-lian  dish,  while

Leia contented herself with hydroponic greens sprinkled with intense  flavor

crystals.

She closed her eyes as she sank into her chair. "It's so nice  just  to

be together with the family, if only for a few  minutes."  Chewbacca  agreed

with a loud rumble.

A tall, offensively efficient waitdroid came up with a  gleaming  empty

platter affixed to one metal arm. "May I provide further assistance, honored

customers?" the waitdroid said. "I am proud to offer my services  while  you

dine in our fine establishment. May I take orders for drinks  or  additional

items? Condiments perhaps? The pleasure of my  existence  is  to  serve  you

faithfully."

Threepio grew indignant at the overblown  expressions  of  hospitality.

''I am their personal protocol droid, you pretentious pile of scrap,  and  I

am perfectly capable of taking care of their needs. Now if you  don't  mind,

this is a family outing, and we would much prefer to  be  left  alone.  Good

day."

The waitdroid sniffed, spun its torso 180 degrees, and trundled off.

Han placed his hand over Leia's and gave a crooked smile. "Bad day?"

"Exhausting," Leia answered, her eyes still shut. "Every meeting  seems

like I'm running uphill on a high-gravity planet. Nothing gets  accomplished

easily. I find myself wishing for the 'good old days'  when  we  would  just

blast in, do our jobs, and leave: mission accomplished. Now  I  have  to  go

through so many  different  steps,  so  many  interminable  committees,  get

agreement from an unconscionable number of opposing parties so nobody in the

galaxy is offended by the smallest piece  of  legislation?  it's  impossible

sometimes."

She opened her eyes and looked at her husband. Jacen  and  Jaina  began

throwing gelatin cubes at  each  other.  "In  a  case  like  this,  it's  so

perfectly plain. Why is there any discussion? We  still  can't  come  to  an

agreement."

"The stuff about the Hutts?" Han asked.

She bit her lower lip and nodded. "It's obvious the Hutts are pulling a

fast one. We know what you and Luke found in Jabba's palace, we've  got  the

message from Mara Jade, and we know that Durga's own Taurill stole the Death

Star plans. We can't just ignore it."

She took a mouthful of leaves and crunched, thinking as she chewed. Han

ate one of his grayish green sausages and smacked his  lips,  relishing  the

meal. ' 'There are other ways to find out," he said.

Leia smiled. "I  know."  She  felt  her  face  grow  warm,  fixing  her

attention on the challenge. She squeezed Han's hand in both of hers.  "Okay,

we've had closed Senate meetings, and I've heard enough discussion to make a

statue fall asleep. So what are we really going to do?"

Chewbacca ventured a loud opinion. "Yeah, I was thinking that, Chewie,"

Han said and turned to Leia. "The Hutts probably know we suspect  something.

We've heard news from too many different sources to hope  that  those  slimy

worms don't have an inkling yet. They'll be watching your official  channels

very closely. They've probably got spies scattered throughout  the  Imperial

palace. We have to be careful."

Leia nodded. "So, since they know we're hunting for clues, let's create

a diversion. We'll use a flashy show, carry a big stick in one  hand  and  a

delicate probe in the other."

Han's forehead creased as he thought. "What do you mean?"

"We'll take Durga up on his offer."

Han looked at her blankly. "What offer? You'd accept something  from  a

Hutt?"

Leia shrugged. "He invited us to make a return visit of state. I'm sure

he didn't mean it, but he can't back down now  that  the  invitation's  been

made. Let's set up a diplomatic mission on the spot, head out to  Nal  Hutta

as soon as possible. That way Durga will have no forewarning.

"And," she continued, holding up one finger, "we'll be  accompanied  by

the New Republic fleet. Wedge and Ackbar must  be  itching  to  go  on  some

innocent- sounding war-gaming exercises. Our ships can provide an impressive

show of force. If the Hutts happen to get intimidated  in  the  process,  so

much the better. Let them be nervous, wondering what we're really up to, and

we'll poke around to find some answers."

Threepio piped up. "But Mistress Leia,  how  do  you  expect  to  learn

anything if you're so obvious about it? Won't Durga the Hutt  hide  anything

he knows?"

Leia's expression became mischievous. "If we come in with all the flash

and dazzle we can muster, he may just be blinded to what else  we're  doing.

Meanwhile, Chewbacca and Artoo can take the Falcon and go  to  Nar  Shaddaa,

the Smugglers' Moon. It's a seedy place where all the black-market  dealings

come and go. Durga will be so busy hiding his cards from  us,  Chewie  might

find something important on his own."

Artoo whistled and beeped. "And Artoo, as well," Leia added.  "You  two

poke around. See what you can find, then we'll compare notes."

Chewbacca roared his approval,  and  finally  Leia  relaxed  enough  to

finish her lunch.

NAL HUTTA

CHAPTER 22

On the bridge of the Escort Frigate Yavaris General Wedge Antilles felt

the old excitement of space combat. His ships charged  into  the  Nal  Hutta

system under the pretense of Red Team/Blue Team simulated  battles  in  open

territory that just happened to be near the Hutt homeworld.

"Boy, are the slugs going to be surprised," Wedge said.

The lovely and ethereal scientist Qwi Xux left her station  and  joined

him. "Much better than when we took over Maw Installation,"  she  said.  "At

least we're not risking lives this time."

Wedge nodded. He wanted to hug her, but knew he shouldn't, since he was

in command of the ship, and she was the science  officer  in  training.  The

work was easy for Qwi, and she enjoyed being with Wedge. Since vowing  never

to work on  developing  new  weapons  systems  again,  the  brilliant  alien

scientist hadn't yet  found  a  new  calling  for  her  considerable  mental

energies.

"Check the status of our fleet," Wedge said to  the  tactical  officer,

who displayed a grid showing  the  compo-nents  of  Blue  Team.  Though  the

Yavaris was his flagship, it was not the largest battleship. The cornerstone

of his fleet was the monstrous Assault Frigate Dodonna,  a  highly  modified

version of the fearsome Imperial Dreadnaughts. The Yavaris was smaller,  but

it was the ship Wedge had  piloted  during  his  successful  attack  on  the

Empire's secret laboratory, Maw Installation.

Surrounding his ships were six smaller, versatile Corellian  Corvettes,

whose huge banks of engines looked like rocket-launcher emplacements burning

blue in the darkness of space. All his ships had  strung  out  in  a  picket

line, with the Dodonna and the Yavaris at the center, flanked on  each  side

by three Corvettes. They cruised into the Nal Hutta system.

Wedge asked the comm officer, "Have we heard from  Red  Team  yet?  Has

Admiral Ackbar arrived in position?"

Ackbar had taken his own complement of ships on  a  different  approach

vector: a trio of Corellian gunships, smaller than  the  Corvettes,  and  an

enormous Calamarian Star Cruiser, the Galactic Voyager, one of  the  largest

and most powerful ships in the New Republic fleet. Wedge knew, however, that

sheer size and firepower did not guarantee a victory. Ackbar  was  to  enter

the system from the other side, and the two fleets  would  engage  near  Nal

Hutta itself.

"Red Team confirms they are in position," the tactical officer said.

"General Antilles," the comm officer interrupted. "We  have  an  urgent

message from Nal Hutta demanding to know our purpose here."

Wedge tried to stifle a smug grin. "Let them know we're  just  engaging

in peaceful combat exercises. No cause for alarm," he said,  then  muttered,

"unless they try anything."

Admiral Ackbar waited  for  his  helmsman  to  give  the  announcement.

Finally  the  other  Calamarian  officer  said,  "Both  teams  in  position,

Admiral."

Ackbar nodded his huge head. "Prepare to engage," he said.

The Galactic Voyager was Ackbar's favorite ship in the fleet. Every one

of the  lumpy  pod-shaped  Calamarian  battlecruisers  followed  a  slightly

different design devised by master shipbuilders in orbit around their world.

For years the Mon Calamari  had  worked  nonstop  to  replenish  the  losses

suffered by the New Republic during fierce battles with the Empire, such  as

when Admiral Daala and her  Star  Destroyers  had  attacked  the  Calamarian

shipyards  and  Ackbar  himself  had   caused   the   destruction   of   the

half-completed warship Startide.

Beside him General  Crix  Madine,  the  Supreme  Allied  Commander  for

Intelligence, said, "We need to keep the Hutts preoccupied  and  intimidated

to accomplish our real mission here."

A bearded, middle-aged man, Madine had been in  charge  of  the  ground

assault on Endor, which resulted in the  destruction  of  the  energy-shield

generator, allowing the Rebel fleet to destroy the second Death Star. A long

time ago, Madine had been an important officer in the Imperial military, but

he  had  defected  to  the  Alliance,  bringing  with  him   much   valuable

information. A good many  Rebel  victories  had  resulted  from  the  secret

intelligence Madine had delivered to Mon Mothma. He now kept a low  profile,

serving in his quiet role of necessary covert operations.

"Now that our fleet is in system," Madine said, "I doubt very much that

the Hutts will dare misbehave  when  the  Chief  of  State  arrives  on  her

diplomatic mission.''

Ackbar nodded solemnly. "That may be your motivation,  General  Madine,

but right now my purpose is to score a victory for Red Team."

- As Ackbar began preparations for the engagement, Madine went  to  one

of the sensor stations and  relieved  the  lieutenant.  Crix  Madine  was  a

hands-on person who liked to do his own busy work. He had no way of  knowing

when he might need to be proficient in every  level  of  operations,  so  he

tried to have a broad background and competence in every system on board.

Madine adjusted the Galactic Voyager's long-range scanners to  zoom  in

on the greenish planet of Nal Hutta and its Smugglers'  Moon,  Nar  Shaddaa.

With the arrival of the New Republic fleet, he noted a  marked  increase  in

traffic departing from Nar Shaddaa, no doubt  small-time  criminals  fleeing

the intimidating military force. He resigned  himself  to  letting  so  many

lowlifes get away, but right now he couldn't be interested in the  dregs  of

society. His real target on this mission would be much more devious.

"Blue Team has squared off  in  a  defensive  position,"  the  tactical

officer said.

Ackbar concentrated on his station. "Give  me  a  display."  Images  of

Wedge's fleet appeared in a picket line across space. "Very well," he  said,

"we will be the aggressor in this engagement." He stared at the  arrangement

of Blue Team's ships and shook his salmon-colored head. "I'll have to  teach

General Antilles a lesson in tactics and vulnerability."

Madine returned to the admiral's side.  "What  do  you  mean?"  He  had

always been interested in fleet maneuvers.

Ackbar pointed a flipper-hand toward the images. "We'll plunge  through

them like a dagger," he said. "One  of  our  gunships  in  front,  then  the

Galactic Voyager, then the other two gunships. We'll plow  straight  between

the two frigates those are the primary targets. The lead gunship  will  come

in firing  and  pass  straight  through.  Then  the  Galactic  Voyager  will

obliterate their defenses with our superior firepower. Finally,  the  second

and third gunships will mop up what's left. With one pass,  we'll  take  out

the Yavaris and the Dodonna. Blue Team's flanking Corvettes will  be  unable

to bring their weapons to bear because their own ships block the way."

"Sounds straightforward," Madine said.

"Just watch," Ackbar answered.

* * *

Wedge slumped into his command chair with a boyish grin on his  square-

jawed face. "He's falling for it!" He clapped his  hands.  "All  right,  Red

Team just stepped across the line. We know exactly what they're going to do.

Prepare for it." Wedge shook his head and looked  at  Qwi.  "Doesn't  Ackbar

think I read his own tactical manuals?"

He saw Red Team coming on in a  straight  line,  a  single  gunship  in

front, then the huge Star Cruiser, followed  by  two  more  gunships.  "He's

aiming between the two frigates," Wedge said.  "All  right,  everybody,  red

alert! Battle stations! All weapons, low power.  Just  enough  for  them  to

detect all the hits we score."

"All weapons low power,  sir,"  the  gunnery  sergeant  reported.  "Hit

counters are activated."

Wedge's eyes twinkled as he watched the ships approach. He held up  one

hand. "Full power to lateral shields on both frigates," he said.  "Drop  all

other shields. We know where they're going to shoot."

The gunship came right on target, streaking between the Assault Frigate

and the Yavaris, repeatedly firing simulated shots.

"Shields holding," the defensive officer said.

Then the Galactic Voyager came through, its low-power weapons  blazing.

Wedge chopped down with his hand. "Close the net," he said.

The tactical officer shouted orders into  the  encrypted  communication

system, and the six Corellian Corvettes at  the  flanks  supposedly  out  of

firing range suddenly looped up and around,  encircling  the  two  seemingly

vulnerable frigates. The Corvettes scattered like  static  moths,  flurrying

into position and firing on the Mon  Calamari  Star  Cruiser  from  top  and

bottom.

The Yavaris and the Dodonna  both  fired  upon  the  Galactic  Voyager,

catching it in the crossfire it had expected but Ackbar had not  anticipated

the attack from above and below. Wedge ordered the  Yavaris  to  strike  Red

Team's front gunship, crippling it.

The simulation computer reduced the gunship's capabilities and told its

captain they were dead in space.

General Madine watched as the hit counters tallied the enormous  number

of strikes on Red Team's ships.  Madine  scratched  his  beard,  turning  to

Ackbar. "He lured you, and you fell for the trap."

"Shields failing, Admiral," the helmsman said in alarm.

"Computer reports that both gunships to our rear have been removed from

the game," the tactical officer said.

Admiral Ackbar flushed a blotchy reddish color.  "Increase  speed,"  he

said. "Let's get away from here so we don't suffer any more hits."

"Too late, Admiral," the helmsman said. "Our shields have failed."

Madine turned to watch the hit counter's numbers spiraling upward  like

a cascade reaction. "Hull plates have been breached. Admiral, I'm  sorry  to

report that the Galactic Voyager has been destroyed."

Ackbar's shoulders slumped. "A defeat."

The tactical officer stood up to report. "We did finally disable  their

Assault Frigate and one of their attacking Corvettes, but the computer lists

Red Team as 'out of commission'?the Galactic Voyager and two gunships  down,

our front gunship crippled."

Ackbar sighed. "The price of  overconfidence,"  he  said.  "I  was  not

thinking. Open a channel to Blue Team." Madine  watched  as  the  Calamarian

stood straight and spoke to Wedge Antilles. "This is the Red Team commander.

Congratulations on your victory."

"You were too predictable, Admiral," Wedge said.

Ackbar chuckled, but it was a forced laugh. "I will  try  to  be  more?

erratic with my future commands, General Antilles."

He checked his sensors and saw that Leia's diplomatic ship had  arrived

from Coruscant, exactly on time. Ackbar, as commander of  the  New  Republic

fleet, opened a channel to all ships engaged in wargaming exercises.

"Chief of State Leia Organa Solo's ship has reached  the  system.  Have

the fleet form up and escort her to Nal Hutta," he said. "After that we will

return for a rematch."

Ackbar closed the channel. "On to business. General Madine,  I  believe

you have work to do down on the surface?"

Madine nodded and took the turbolift below decks, where he  would  prep

his commando team for their covert mission to the Hutt planet.

CHAPTER 23

Chief of State Leia Organa Solo's diplomatic cruiser  entered  the  Nal

Hutta system, flanked by an imposing display  of  New  Republic  battleships

innocently engaged in combat exercises.

Leia sat in the hammerhead-shaped command compartment of her  Corellian

Corvette, a diplomatic ship much like the blockade  runner  in  which  Darth

Vader had captured her while searching for the stolen Death Star plans  near

Tatooine. See-Threepio hovered beside her, newly polished so that he gleamed

under the bridge lights. Han, though dressed in less diplomatic finery  than

he had worn during Durga's visit, fidgeted in his clean uniform.

"They've spotted us," Han said as alarms began to go off.

"They already knew we were coming," Leia said. "We sent the Hutts  full

notice at least? half an hour ago." She  chuckled.  "Okay,"  she  said  more

seriously to the crew, "time for  our  performance:  I'm  going  to  make  a

transmission." She stepped to the upper bridge, alone under the lights.  She

held the rail, primped  herself  for  a  mo-ment,  then  composed  a  miffed

expression on her face. "Please open a channel," she said.

When the Hutts responded, Leia began  her  tirade.  "Why  is  there  no

official escort fleet? I expected Lord Durga to  have  taken  care  of  that

personally. What have you been doing all this time?"

The Hutt respondent was a lowly worm, thin  and  with  a  narrow  head,

obviously not a powerful crime lord like  Jabba  or  Durga.  His  huge  eyes

flicked from side to side as he spoke  in  Basic.  "Urn,  excuse  me,  Madam

President, but Lord Durga is not here. We  regret  that  we  are  unable  to

meet?"

"What do you mean, Durga isn't here?" Leia  snapped.  "He  sent  us  an

express invitation to visit him at  our  convenience.  I  trust  you're  not

implying that he lied to the New Republic's Chief of State or do you mean to

suggest that he is in fact retracting his offer to  repay  our  hospitality?

This is an outrage! How does he expect to form some sort of treaty with  the

New Republic? I'd say the chances are becoming vanishingly small,  in  light

of this snub." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the scrawny

Hutt.

"I'm sorry, Madam President, but Lord Durga is away? on  business."  He

waved his stubby hands, totally flustered. "If only you had  given  us  some

warning," the Hutt continued, "we would have prepared for your visit. But as

it is, we have no facilities?"

Leia glared at him coldly. "You don't actually expect us to turn around

and meekly go home after the enormous expense and trouble  we  went  to  for

this highly visible expedition, do you? I hardly think Lord Durga would want

to risk such a galaxy-spanning diplomatic incident. Don't be absurd."

The timid Hutt looked around, as if seeking someone  else  to  consult,

but found no one. "What do you expect me to do?" he wailed.  "I  don't  have

the authority to?"

"Nonsense," Leia said, and raised her chin haughtily.  "We  are  coming

down at Durga's personal invita-tion what further authority could you  need?

We expect to be well treated. See to it!" She signed  off,  then  burst  out

laughing.

Han came over and hugged her. ' 'I think you enjoyed that," he accused,

trying to restrain spasms of laughter. He stepped  back  and  applauded  her

performance.

Threepio meanwhile was totally baffled. "Oh  dear!  Perhaps  we  should

have given the Hutts more time, Mistress Leia. At least they would have  had

the opportunity to prepare. I'm afraid they're so flustered now, this  could

put them completely off balance."

"That's the point!" Han and Leia said, raising their voices in unison.

Threepio staggered backward and shook his golden head. "Well, I'm  sure

this sort of approach wasn't covered in any of the  protocol  programming  I

received. Once again, I feel I'll never understand human behavior."

Leia sat next to Han at one of the discussion tables in her ready-room,

and she reached over to clasp his hands. "Thanks for coming  with  me,  Han.

I'm glad we're finally going somewhere together, instead of splitting up all

the time."

"Yeah, I like it too," he said with  a  lopsided  grin.  "It's  a  nice

change. "

She sighed, then her lips tightened. "We can't cut them any slack.  The

Hutts are dangerous already, and they'll be unstoppable if they  have  their

hands on a Death Star."

Han nodded gravely, and Leia continued, as  if  giving  an  impassioned

speech to the Senate. "The first Death Star was meant  to  be  the  ultimate

doomsday weapon in the hands of  the  Empire.  Now  the  Hutts  will  become

galactic bullies with a big stick and what's to stop them from selling those

plans to any other small-time dictator who wants to  get  his  own  way?  We

cannot let the Death Star proliferate. The galaxy will  be  a  shambles.  If

anyone with enough credits can buy  the  plans  and  go  around  blowing  up

planets, then no one will be safe. We must stop this at all costs."

One of the New Republic guards came in. "Excuse me,  Madam  President,"

he said, "but your dropshuttle is ready. We can take you down to  Nal  Hutta

at your convenience."

"My convenience," Leia said ironically.  "I'm  so  looking  forward  to

this." She felt as if she were dropping into the open jaws of some slavering

beast.

Along with Threepio and their honor guard, Leia and  Han  went  to  the

Corvette's drop ship bay and climbed aboard the  small  diplomatic  shuttle.

"You ready for this?" Han asked.

Leia looked at him, pondering her answer. "No," she said honestly. "But

we have to do it anyway. Let's go visit the Hutts."

CHAPTER 24

Nal Hutta  was  a  bog,  flat  and  sunken  like  a  sewage-reclamation

reservoir,  with  standing  puddles  and  sickly-looking  marsh  grasses   a

landscape the Hutts somehow found attractive. Leia realized she should  have

expected as much.

A Hutt sailbarge coasted toward them as the diplomatic shuttle  settled

on a landing pad near Durga the Hutt's holdings. When she saw  the  sluggish

luxury  ship  cruise  along,  its  directional  sails   billowing   in   the

foul-smelling breeze, Leia's skin  crawled  with  the  memory  of  her  last

fateful trip with Jabba out to the Great Pit of Carkoon.

She,  Han,  and  Threepio  stepped  away  from  the  diplomatic   ship,

accompanied by their New Republic escort, and waited for  the  sailbarge  to

receive them. Above, the sky was draped with shadowy gray  clouds.  As  Leia

and Han stood in their formal attire, a greasy rain began pelting down, cold

droplets clotted  with  residue  from  massive  strip-mining  operations  in

industrial sectors far from the showy palaces of the Hutt crime lords.

"This certainly is a gloomy place, isn't it?" Threepio  commented.  "If

we don't find shelter from  this  dreadful  rain,  I  shouldn't  be  at  all

surprised if my new gold plating  gets  corroded."  He  turned  his  glowing

yellow optical sensors toward the runnels of water trickling down his  arms.

"I do wish you had left me on Coruscant, Mistress Leia.  I'm  sure  I  would

have done a much better job taking care of the children."

"Didn't we tell you, Threepio?" Han said mischievously. "As a matter of

state necessity, we're going to present you to Durga the Hutt. He'll be your

new master."

"What?" Threepio cried, raising his arms in sudden shock. "Oh, no!  You

must be joking. I'm doomed! Please, I urge you to reconsider this,  Mistress

Leia."

Leia elbowed Han in the ribs. "That's mean, Han!"

"Just kidding, Goldenrod," he said and slapped the  protocol  droid  on

one hard metal shoulder.

"Kidding?" Threepio made a flustered sound. "Why, that  wasn't  at  all

funny!"

Across from the Nal Hutta spaceport, Durga's palace rose tall.  Despite

the brown haze of pollution and atmospheric sludge, its walls gleamed  white

and clean. When Leia squinted her brown eyes, she could make  out  the  tiny

forms of slaves climbing up and down the sculptured facades in the  slippery

drizzle, scouring the gargoyles and crenelations.

The sailbarge hovered over them. Guards stood on deck, scowling in  all

directions. A thin Hutt slithered along the top deck, moving under  its  own

power rather than on a repulsorsled; Leia recognized the  narrow,  emaciated

face of the creature she had argued  with  over  the  comm  system.  He  was

alarmingly different from any Hutt she had  seen  previously  scrawny  as  a

ribbon of mottled green leather that hung on a flexible  spinal  column.  He

did not look well.

"Greetings, Chief of State Leia Organa Solo. I welcome you in the  name

of His Great Obesity, the Lord Durga, who is unfortunately unable to be with

us at the moment."

Leia bowed slightly. "Thank you. But I want to meet with Lord Durga. He

invited us here."

"Ah, I have summoned him, Madam President. He is coming  with  all  due

haste." The scrawny Hutt envoy leaned over the barge railing.

"Good," Han muttered. "I'm not exactly crazy about the idea of  staying

for very long."

"I am Korrda, special envoy and slave to Lord Durga. I am  not  worthy,

but it has fallen upon me to entertain you until he can be here in person."

"Oh, that's very nicely said," Threepio said.

Korrda seemed pleased. "I hope you find my Basic acceptable. Lord Durga

insists that all his entourage learn the language so that  we  might  better

work with the New Republic. Might I offer you suitable  hospitality  in  the

meantime? "

"We can't be sure quite what a Hutt means  by  hospitality,"  Han  said

quietly. "As I recall, I've experienced a little of it myself."

Korrda made a  hissing,  sizzling  sound  that  Leia  identified  as  a

strained laugh. "Ah yes, Han Solo I am  aware  of  your  dealings  with  the

defeated Jabba, may his name be spoken with scorn. He is a  worthless  worm.

No Hutt respects the memory of one whose empire  has  fallen.  You  will  be

pleased to note that the Hutts have lifted the bounty on both of you  as  an

initial overture of peace."

"How very? heartening," Leia  said  with  an  acid-sweet  smile.  "Now,

should we climb aboard that sailbarge, or  were  you  planning  to  keep  us

standing here, shouting at each other in the rain all day?"

"Ah, certainly!" Korrda reared back, gesturing with his sinewy hands as

a wide ramp extended to the ground.

They climbed up the  ramp  onto  the  barge.  Their  stoic-looking  New

Republic escorts remained as stony-faced as the sailbarge guards. Korrda did

his best to be obsequious, and simpered as the sailbarge raised  itself  up,

drifting away from the spaceport and  across  the  open  spaces  toward  the

palace.

Spiders and gnats swarmed  around  the  spiky  grasses  below.  Roughly

circular, shallow pools dotted the landscape, covered with a greenish  scum.

Overhead in the thin rain, flocks of large, clumsy birds  squawked  as  they

flew along, chased by rowdy henchmen on swoops who shot them with long-range

blaster rifles. Smoking bird carcasses tumbled out of the  sky  and  plopped

into the bog.

Durga's palace rose taller as they approached, a  nightmare  of  towers

and crenelations with large jawed  gates  plus  an  underground  network  of

dungeons so vast it had achieved galactic renown.

"Ah, I don't know how long it will take for Durga  to  return,"  Korrda

said as the sailbarge docked in the cavernous hangar  bay,  "but  since  I'm

responsible for amusing you, would you like a tour of  our  dungeon  levels?

You'll find them most fascinating."

"No dungeons," Leia said. "Thanks anyway."

"Not interested," Han concurred. "We've seen enough dungeons to last us

for the next century or so."

"Oh," Korrda said, obviously disappointed and at a loss for what to  do

as a backup plan.

Leia had been unable to sense anything from the opaque  mind  of  Durga

the Hutt. Korrda was much weaker, but all  she  could  sense  was  flustered

uncertainty and a nervous frustration, no deception. Korrda honestly  didn't

know what was going on, but he was afraid his neck was on the line.

Leia's Jedi powers also brought  her  many  bad  impressions  from  the

palace itself, lingering echoes of pain and imprisonment, thoughts of murder

and betrayal that seemed to ooze from the stones. It  overwhelmed  her,  and

she quickly shut her senses down again.

"Ah, perhaps we should dine instead," Korrda suggested. "We always have

freshly slaughtered meats and succulent  delicacies.  There  will  be  other

members of Durga's family in attendance. It might be good to meet them."

"That would be acceptable," Leia said, inclining her head  in  a  regal

nod.

Han muttered, "I don't know?  having  dinner  with  a  bunch  of  Hutts

doesn't sound much more pleasant than touring torture chambers."

Inside the dining hall, carrion birds sat  perched  on  stone  lintels,

glaring down to spot any morsel dropped to the flagstones,  ready  to  swoop

and capture any portion of the meal that attempted to escape before it could

be shoveled into a cavernous Hutt mouth.

The other guests, Durga's adolescent cousins,  were  like  wide-mouthed

eels, lean and muscular, some already beginning to build up layers  of  flab

in preparation for mid-life obesity. Their thick lips  contorted  and  their

yellow eyes darted around but these  Hutts  were  obviously  healthy,  while

Korrda was emaciated by some sort of sickness. The whiplike  Huttlings  were

boisterous and insulting, barely able to speak a coherent sentence in  Basic

and uninterested in the work of Durga.

Korrda played the servitor, bringing dishes of gelatinous food:  stewed

insects; parasites drizzled with warm honey; and roasted grain maggots, most

of which lay in crispy husks on their plates, while  others  still  squirmed

about in a struggle to survive.

Leia did her best to be appreciative, though neither she nor Han  found

they had much of an appetite. She  pushed  the  food  around  on  her  dish,

enduring the meal as best she could. Han did the same beside her, the  cords

in his neck tightening as he clenched his jaw. Only Threepio was  not  at  a

loss for words, attempting to decipher the origin of the meal's components.

Korrda suffered more than Han  and  Leia,  however.  The  larval  Hutts

proved excessively rude, slapping him whenever he came within reach.  Korrda

did not eat from a plate of his own, but scraped  leftovers  from  discarded

dishes into his mouth. He looked at Han and Leia with the utmost  gratitude,

perhaps believing they had not eaten their meals so that he could wolf  down

the untouched food.

"Excuse me," Leia said in a low voice when Korrda came to gather  their

dishes, "why don't you sit and eat with us, since you are Durga's designated

assistant?"

"No, I am his lowliest servant," Korrda said. "Look at me." He gestured

to his ribbon-thin body and sickly skin. "I deserve only slop. I am despised

because I have a rare wasting disease. As an  underweight  Hutt,  I  am  the

target of all scorn. How could anyone respect such a  wasted  and  worthless

worm as I?"

"Why does Durga keep you around then?" Han asked. "You seem to be in an

important position while he's gone."

"Ah, Durga detests  me,"  Korrda  said,  blinking  bloodshot  eyes  and

bobbing his narrow head. "He keeps me because I am so despicable. He  shames

me by placing me in situations where I must appear to be  important,  though

it is obvious to anyone with eyes that I am worthless. This  makes  me  feel

even more downtrodden which keeps Durga happy, and therefore, I am content."

Leia's mind spun with the tangled logic, but she didn't try to argue.

From their perches, the carrion birds watched Korrda himself, as if  he

might be their next meal. The creatures squawked as a large lumpy  worrt,  a

long-tongued froglike creature, hopped into the dining hall from one of  the

outer corridors. Frills stood up around its eyes, and it  bobbed  obediently

as it sat waiting, clasping a message placard in its wide toothless mouth.

Korrda rushed over to snatch the placard from the creature, then patted

its warty head as he scanned the message on the  screen.  He  reared  up  in

delight, his mottled skin growing darker. "Ah, good news indeed!"  he  said.

"My master, Lord Durga, is on his way and should be here shortly. He insists

that I show you the pleasure of his private bathhouses while you  wait.  I'm

sure you'll find them most enjoyable."

The concept of a Hutt bathhouse made  Leia's  stomach  churn,  but  she

forced a smile. Han raised an eyebrow  skeptically,  and  clasped  her  hand

under the table. "It's for the New Republic," she said in a martyred tone.

Korrda beamed with pride as  he  gestured  at  the  enclosed  labyrinth

beneath the palace, holding acres and acres of sluggish, steaming water. The

walls were covered with mold and bulbous fungus.  Dim  light  filtered  from

narrow slits in the walls, giving everything a grainy, tarnished appearance.

"This bathhouse is Lord Durga's pride and joy," Korrda said.

"Doesn't surprise me a bit," Han murmured, trying to sound polite.

The maze of canals was an underground catacomb  with  vaulted  ceilings

and algae-covered support pillars dipping into  the  shallow  water.  Things

splashed and swam in the twisted channels, lost in the faint mist.

"This fresh water is pumped in directly from the bogs," Korrda said, as

if confiding a great trade secret. "Lumps and all."

The canals bubbled, and hairy green weed drifted along  the  top.  Leia

hugged herself in the clinging robe Korrda had provided for her. "You expect

us to swim in this?" she said.

"Oh, no!" Korrda flinched backward  in  horror,  whipping  his  sinuous

spine back and forth. "These canals are for Lord Durga and other  Hutts.  We

could not allow a? human to pollute the water."

"We certainly wouldn't want to offend Durga," Han said with relief.

"Ah, no-r-we have a species-segregated section for some of our  honored

visitors. I'm sorry we cannot be fully accommodating;  this  section,  alas,

has only pure water, with none of the special additives that give Hutt  skin

such a pleasurable texture." Korrda led them to a warm, crys-tal-clear  pool

with rough stone steps leading down into it so they could immerse themselves

to shoulder level in the bubbling water.

"This will do just fine, thank you," Leia said, her gratitude genuine.

"As long as we've checked it for traps," Han suggested.

"Oh, indeed, sir. I have been  most  vigilant  throughout  this  entire

mission," Threepio said. "And I detect no treachery here. I assure you,  you

may bathe without fear. I'll remain on guard."

"Oh good," Han said sarcastically, "then I can relax!"

Leia slowly lowered herself into the warm, fizzy water  and  sighed  as

the liquid heat swirled around her aching joints. "In  spite  of  myself,  I

might enjoy this," she said.

"Please relax,"  Korrda  said.  "I  must  attend  to  my  Lord  Durga's

arrival."

"You go right ahead," Han said, waving in dismissal. "Threepio will  be

here to stand guard, and  our  New  Republic  escort  is  just  out  in  the

corridor."

As Korrda slithered away, Han and Leia sank into the pool, listening to

the simmering sounds of other creatures moving in the  canals  reserved  for

Hutt bathing. The labyrinth was so vast that they could feel alone in  their

little corner, although numerous Hutt visitors and  the  reckless  Huttlings

swam in other sections.

"Should we talk?" Han whispered.

Leia slipped an arm around his waist. "No," she said. "We have  nothing

important to discuss at the moment, and there's no telling  whether  Durga's

listening in. Let's just enjoy a moment of relaxation for a change."

Leia grew drowsy, though  she  remained  on  guard,  half-watching  the

canals filled with sludgy bog water. Gradually she became aware  of  ripples

stirring the hairy green seaweed; something large moved beneath the surface,

easing toward them. She sat up straighter, stiffening.

"Oh, dear," Threepio cried. "I do believe some-thing's approaching." He

pointed with a golden hand just as a large bulk heaved itself out of the bog

water near the canal divider opposite Han and Leia.

The sloping mound, dripping with water and seaweed,  blinked  two  huge

copper-red eyes. "Hoo-hoo-hoo," a Hutt voice boomed. "Welcome,  Leia  Organa

Solo. I am pleased to see you again so soon."

Leia recoiled, but managed to mask her shock. She sat back in the pool,

maintaining her  cool  diplomatic  composure  as  she  recognized  the  dark

birthmark on the Hutt's wet face. "Lord Durga, welcome home."

"Your visit comes as such a  surprise,"  Durga  said,  heaving  himself

higher so that the seaweed sloughed off his sloping head  and  dripped  back

into the steaming canals. "I did not expect you to come so soon.  Does  this

mean you are anxious now to form an alliance with the Hutt syndicate?"

"Don't jump to conclusions," Han said.

"Let me handle this, Han." Leia squeezed his arm. '  'Our  visit  is  a

gesture of good faith on our part, Lord Durga. I'm sure you know how quickly

the New Republic can work, once it has made a decision." Han snorted  beside

her, because she had complained so often about how  interminably  long  even

simple processes took. Durga wouldn't know that, however. "If we decide that

an agreement with the Hutts is advisable, you can bet we'll  move  quickly,"

she said in as businesslike a tone as she could muster. "No sense postponing

profit."

Durga, though, seemed  surprised  and  uneasy.  "We  need  not  rush  a

decision as important as this," he said. "We must take great pains to ensure

that all are satisfied with our alliance."

Leia pursed her lips. "I see," she said, realizing that Durga was  just

stalling to keep them off balance. His initial overture to her on  Coruscant

had merely been a ruse to gain access to the Imperial Information Center for

the Death Star plans. It was clear now that he didn't want an agreement;  he

just wanted to keep them chasing false leads while the Hutt superweapon  was

under construction. Leia was determined to learn  the  site  of  the  secret

project and how far along they had managed to get.

"I noticed your battle fleet near our system, Madam  President,"  Durga

continued. "I can't help but express my concern?"

Leia raised her hand out of the water with a splash, and  trickles  ran

down her wrist. "Oh, don't worry, they're just engaged in  routine  military

exercises. They  could  train  anywhere,  I  suppose,  but  they  wanted  to

accompany me. You know how overprotective bodyguards can get."  She  sighed.

"Nothing to be concerned about we're going to be allies, remember? If we can

work out a deal, of course. I  wouldn't  let  a  little  thing  like  a  few

warships engaged in simulated combat bother you."

Durga chuckled again and raised his stubby hands out of the bog  water.

"Bother me? No, you misunderstand. I  merely  thought  there  must  be  some

crucial political brushfires on recalcitrant worlds in  your  New  Republic.

I'm surprised you have excess warships that can be wasted on games."

"We haven't had any problems with the Empire at large for a  couple  of

years," Leia said. "Even so, our fleet needs to keep in practice."

Durga widened his eyes and laughed. "Hoo, the Empire may be doing  more

than you think." His voice boomed in the enclosed catacombs. "To show you my

good intentions, let me offer you a service, something for which  the  Hutts

are justly famous."

"And what is that?" Leia asked, not particularly interested.

"Our network has many good sources of  information  certain  data  that

could be valuable to your New Republic. While  you're  here  on  Nal  Hutta,

allow me to offer you the services of one of my  information  brokers.  I'll

instruct him to check up on what the Empire has been up to recently. I think

you may be surprised."

Han grew suddenly tense and alert beside  Leia;  under  the  water  his

hands clenched into fists. Although she assumed the entire offer was  merely

another diversion, a ploy to distract them from other lines of inquiry, Leia

clasped one of Han's hands and nodded. "I gratefully accept your offer, Lord

Durga. The galaxy functions on the basis of accurate intelligence."

She stood up, dripping in the water. "For now,  though,  I  think  I've

been in the bath too long," Leia said.

Threepio bustled off to get towels.

CHAPTER 25

As night fell outside the opulent palace of Durga the Hutt,  the  other

inhabitants of the bog planet went about their desperate lives. Disguised in

tatters, with dirt and weariness smeared across his bearded face  just  like

any other downtrodden victim  of  Nal  Hutta  General  Crix  Madine  slipped

through the gathering gloom with his destination firmly in mind.

With  liquid  movements,  he  had  developed  during  years  of  covert

operations, Madine worked his way through the dim  streets  between  rundown

prefab shacks in a squatters' village.  Locked-down  warehouses  shone  like

military bunkers under the wan moonlight and harsh security beams around the

heavily guarded spaceport.

Distribution centers busily processed the raw materials torn  from  Nal

Hutta's surface and shipped the supplies to the  moon  Nar  Shaddaa.  Madine

watched chains of light, the trails of regular supply ships, lifting through

the cloud-strewn skies to the Smugglers' Moon and returning with cargo holds

filled with black-market goods that were purchased and laundered on the moon

itself.

The Hutt race had the habit of usurping a  world,  then  using  it  up,

squeezing it dry of resources  and  polluting  the  environment.  When  they

eventually  destroyed  their  stolen  home  planet,  the  Hutts  would  move

someplace else and their crime  empire  was  currently  in  the  process  of

digesting Nal Hutta.

Slum entertainment centers stood on rickety  durasteel  stilts  in  the

glimmering  wet  marshland.  The  entertainment  complex  seemed   like   an

afterthought to provide hopeless amusement for those trapped on  Nal  Hutta.

Even from a distance Madine could hear the loud music and louder screams.

On the other side of the spaceport Durga's palace was lit up with blue-

white spotlights that played across its outer walls. The structure rose like

a giant ivory edifice,  towering  and  aloof  in  the  midst  of  the  other

inhabitants.

Carrying a partially concealed glowlantern, Madine made his way to  the

wire-mesh fence that blocked access to the spaceport  landing  field.  Under

the  security  lights  Durga's  private  ship  rested,   a   custom-designed

hyperspace yacht, long and vermiform, its smooth iron gray hull adorned with

fins and stabilizers for atmospheric travel.

As he crept to the barrier Madine saw other  furtive  figures  huddling

near the fence, staring longingly at the  ships  parked  there,  tantalizing

reminders of a way to escape this world? but all the strangers ran away when

Madine approached. He wished he could call after them, offer them some hope,

promise to rescue them when all this was over but he could not.

He reached the fence and held the  thin,  unbreakable  wires  like  any

other dejected dreamer. Armed Weequay guards  stood  in  a  tight  perimeter

around Durga's ship; their wrinkled, leathery faces  were  stony,  and  they

waited like unflinching statues. Madine knew the Weequays were not  terribly

intelligent, but they were loyal and vicious there would be no chance to get

close to the ship. But he didn't need to.

Madine squatted at the base of the fence  and  pulled  the  glowlantern

from the billows of his ragged cloak. He found the hidden catch  and  opened

the compartment behind the lantern. Madine reached inside and  withdrew  the

small fluttering creature, a moon moth with powder-blue gossamer wings  that

beat gently as it tried to fly.

"Not yet," Madine said. "Pause." - The moth froze in  midmotion.  Other

nocturnal insects buzzed around the brilliant security lights  guarding  the

spaceport landing pad. This moth was a perfect replica of a  common  insect,

crafted by Mechis Ill's finest  droid  specialists.  The  moth  machine  had

limited computer memory but it knew to follow commands, and it knew its  own

mission.

Madine held the moth in the palm of his  hand  and  pointed  it  toward

Durga's well-lit hyperspace yacht. "Acquire target,"  he  said.  The  moth's

antennae gyrated and its wings trembled in affirmation. Madine waited just a

moment to make sure, then he commanded, "Launch!"

The powder-blue moon moth lifted into the air, spi-raling on the  night

breezes. It flew in a careful random pattern, precisely erratic, drawing  no

attention whatsoever.

As Madine tilted his head up,  cold  pearls  of  rain  began  to  drop,

beading on his cheeks. He blinked, rubbed the greasy water  from  his  face,

but his beard absorbed the moisture. Staring at the moth  as  it  approached

its target, Madine's heart pounded.

This mission was simple and smooth. The moth machine fluttered down and

alit on the outer hull of Durga's yacht, just behind one of  the  stabilizer

fins.

The moth stayed on the hull for only a moment, paused  to  deposit  its

precious egg a microscopic droplet then it beat its wings and rose into  the

increasing downpour. Madine waited until the tiny droid was lost to sight up

in the night blackness, flying as far from Durga's  ship  as  the  buffeting

winds would allow.

He felt a twinge of sadness when he reached deep into the torn folds to

his pocket for the tiny controls and pressed the "destruct" button.

He saw a sparkle of white light, a flash of the tiny  detonation.  Then

he turned and was already moving away  from  the  fence,  melting  into  the

shadows around the prefab ghettos. He  had  plenty  of  time  to  reach  the

rendezvous point.

The moth's mission had been successful, and now Madine would be able to

track Durga's movements, wherever the Hutt went.

DAGOBAH

CHAPTER 26

Luke woke in the middle of the night to see Callista standing over him,

her slender body silhouetted  against  pale  watery  light,  a  backwash  of

reflections that penetrated the polymerized ice walls in the comet quarry.

He sat up, instantly aware. "Callista, what is it?" Warm  mists  curled

around her like steam, and he had an eerie sense of  deja  vu,  a  flash  of

memory from when he had seen her spectral image while she was trapped inside

the Eye of Palpatine.

"Luke," she said, her voice quiet and troubled, "we shouldn't be here?"

He increased the light from the glowpanels. "Why not?" He slid  out  of

bed and stood to hold her. She felt soft and warm, fitting comfortably  into

his embrace. ' 'This place is beautiful and peaceful. What better spot could

there be for us to spend some time?"

Callista stared deeply at him with her gray eyes. "This is romantic and

private, Luke, but? that's all. The comet quarry has no focus, no connection

to anything that matters to us. It's not personal. I've  got  to  work  with

something personal." She pressed her  lips  together,  then  continued  with

greater conviction, "Oh, Luke, why not take me  to  where  you  learned  the

Force. I'll see it through my own eyes, and you can guide me."

A silvery tinkle of water spattered from the fountains. The  solidified

ice walls were thick and muffling. He and Callista seemed  isolated,  frozen

away from everyone else as she had been frozen inside the computer banks for

so many decades.

He squeezed her tightly. "Yes," he said slowly. "I can  show  you  many

places it'll be like a pilgrimage to the worlds that influenced my life."

She followed him as he walked out of  the  sleeping  chamber  into  the

common room. He whispered his request to the recessed computer terminal.  As

the computer search sorted public-access navigation charts, he went over  to

the food-prep unit and summoned two steaming cups of  sweet,  soothing  jeru

tea. He handed one to Callista, and she  took  it,  smiling.  This  was  her

favorite beverage, and he had learned to drink it with her.

Luke sat down on the comfortable chair, and Callista took a seat beside

him, running her long fingers across his shoulders, drawing a  melting  line

of relaxation. He ran a hand through his ruffled hair to straighten it  from

the chaos of sleep. He took another sip of the syrupy tea  and  studied  the

navigational analysis in an outwardly spiraling list of distances.

He smiled with a wistful sigh as he found his target. "All  right,"  he

said and turned to Callista. "Looks like we'll go to Dagobah first."

Clouds formed a thick band across the sky of Dagobah, a belt of  storms

that Luke Skywalker's ship plowed  through.  He  increased  the  shields  to

prevent the lightning damage that his X-wing had sustained the first time he

had come to find the Jedi Master Yoda.

Dagobah had many climatic areas, many places not quite as teeming  with

life as the magnificent swamps; but Yoda had chosen to hide  in  the  marshy

areas where his presence could be masked by so many life forces.

Luke talked of Yoda as he brought their space yacht through a break  in

the canopy. "The first time I landed here in a bog, and my  X-wing  sank.  I

thought I'd never get out until Yoda used the Force to heave my ship out  of

the water. I thought it was impossible. He told me that's why I failed."

Luke risked a  glance  at  Callista,  taking  his  attention  from  the

piloting. "Never believe that yourself. You will get your powers back. Don't

think it's impossible."

She nodded. "I know it's not impossible, and I'm going to do it."

The ship spotlights extended brilliant cones to the wet  ground  below.

Luke located a clearing that looked like a field of white boulders,  but  as

he shone the light down to cut through the creeping ground fog, he saw  that

the white rocks were actually spherical fungi.  As  the  beam-played  across

them, their sensitive skins burst, showering fine spores. He could hear  the

faint boom of fungus blasts as the lumps reproduced in the  sudden  wash  of

light.

Luke set the space  yacht  down,  keeping  his  fingers  tense  on  the

controls in case the ship should begin to cant or settle awkwardly. But  the

ground seemed stable beneath them. He switched off the engines. "Shall we go

for a stroll in the swamp?" he said, offering Callista his hand.

They both wore slick, stain-impermeable jumpsuits, and they  pulled  on

hard boots for sloshing through the brackish water. When he cracked open the

hatch, the sudden buzz of millions of life forms croaks,  grunts,  whistles,

and death screams assaulted his ears, a chaos of natural  sounds  that  made

the jungles of Yavin 4 seem peaceful  by  comparison.  Minuscule  gnats  and

biting flies thickened the air.

Luke stood stunned and a little intimidated on  the  boarding  ramp.  A

mist had already begun to unfold. The snowy shower of white  spores  settled

to the ground from the sensitive spherical fungi. He smelled the  damp  odor

of decay and fresh life. "Yoda," he whispered, as memories fell heavy around

him.

"This place is so alive," Callista said beside him, startling Luke from

his thoughts. He still couldn't get used to the fact that he was  unable  to

sense her with the Force, as he did everything else.

A thread of disappointment laced through her voice. "I can see  it  and

hear it, but I can't yeel the web of living creatures as I should."

"You will," he said, clasping her hand. "You will. Come on."

They trudged away from the ship and into the brooding swamps.  Enormous

gnarltrees stretched to  the  sky,  their  twisted  roots  like  multilegged

creatures balanced with bent knees. The  roots  were  sweeping  and  arched,

forming dark warrens for innumerable creatures. The day was  gray  and  fog-

shrouded, growing darker with each moment as sunset approached.

Luke knew that Yoda's home had long since been reclaimed by the  swamp,

torn to a shambles and left in far worse wreckage than Ben Kenobi's hut  had

been. He didn't want to return to the place where  he  had  sat  beside  the

alien Jedi Master's deathbed, learning the truth about his  father  and  his

sister, watching the wrinkle-faced creature fade  into  nothingness  as  his

spirit left his body after nine hundred years.

He and Callista slogged through puddles, climbing  over  fallen  trees,

and scaring creatures that fled into  darker  hollows,  splashing  into  the

swamp. Much larger growling things moved in the distance,  crashing  between

trees.

Luke spoke of Yoda and of his time training here: jogging  through  the

swamp, levitating rocks and Artoo-Detoo, learning nuggets of Jedi philosophy

that Yoda spouted in his convoluted language.

The ground fog thickened into white tentacles that wrapped around their

lower legs. Callista's face carried an openness and a tentative wonder  that

Luke hadn't seen in some time.  Occasionally,  she  gritted  her  teeth  and

seemed to be straining, trying to accomplish something. Apparently  failing,

she said nothing to Luke; he squeezed her hand tighter.

A knobby white spider as tall as a human heaved itself up from  a  pile

of underbrush, its legs like twisted forerunners  of  the  thick  gnarl-tree

roots. But the knobby hunter meant them no harm, and stalked off  in  search

of smaller prey.

"We should head back to the ship," Luke said. "It's  getting  dark.  We

can start some exercises tomorrow."

They circled toward the clearing where they had landed the space yacht,

then sat outside in the darkness. Callista brought out a portable  glowlamp,

and Luke removed a case of  rations  from  the  ship's  stores.  Theysat  on

boulders surrounded by an envelope of light, and-fore into their food  bars.

"What a place for a picnic," Callista said.

She chewed intently while Luke stared down at  his  tasteless  rations.

"Yoda didn't like this food," he said. "Couldn't understand how I managed to

grow so tall if I ate food like this. He fixed me some kind of stew,  and  I

don't think I wanted to know what was in it."

Bugs  swarmed  around  them,  attracted  by  the  light  as  the  night

thickened. "Should we go inside  the  ship?"  he  asked.  "Where  it's  more

comfortable?"

Callista shook her head. "We were  comfortable  at  the  Mulako  quarry

resort. I didn't  come'here  to  be  comfortable."  She  looked  up  at  the

impenetrable sky. "I wanted to feel something here? but it's  not  working."

She turned sharply, flashing her  slate  gray  eyes  at  Luke,  and  he  saw

devastation within them. "Why do you stay with me, Luke?" she said.

He blinked, shocked at her question.

"You are a Jedi Master," she continued,  "one  of  the  heroes  of  the

Rebellion. You could have anyone you want."

Amazed, Luke raised his hand to cut off her  comments.  "I  don't  want

just anybody, Callista I want you."

She flung the rest of her ration bar angrily out into the swamp,  where

it splashed into a weed-covered pool. Luke heard thrashing  and  bubbles  as

underwater creatures fought for loose morsels.

Callista's expression grew stern. "Well, that's fine, Luke but you have

to think of more than your feelings. You have a responsibility  to  the  New

Republic? to the Jedi Knights. If I'm powerless, I'll drag you down."

Longingly, Luke caressed her arm. "No you won't, Callista. I?"

She stood, abruptly stepping away from him. "Yes! There's only one  way

we can be together. It's all or nothing. If I can't  have  my  powers  back,

then we shouldn't stay together. You'd better start preparing  yourself  for

that possibility. I don't want to always be in your shadow, unable to do the

things you do so easily? taunted by the things I used to do myself. You'd be

a constant reminder, opening and reopening my wounds. If I'm not your equal,

I won't be part of this relationship. That's the way it has to be."

"Hey, wait a minute?" Luke said, trying to calm her down.

Suddenly, with a screeching subsonic cry, a swarm of nightbats  crashed

out of the swamp trees  and  swooped  down.  They  had  leathery  wings  and

insectile bodies with six thin segmented legs bearing  small,  sharp  claws.

Attracted by the  light,  the  nightbats  came  toward  them.  Other  flying

creatures flurried in front of them, confused by the high-pitched barrage of

noise.

The nightbats attacked indiscriminately, scratching with their claws at

Callista and Luke, slashing his jumpsuit, his neck.  Luke  fended  them  off

with his hands. Two clutched Callista's malt  blond  hair,  tugging  it  and

fighting with each other as she thrashed to knock them away. With a  hissing

thrumm Luke drew his lightsaber, and Callista yanked hers free.

Luke used the Force to strike at his targets, but  the  nightbats  kept

coming, dozens of them. The lightsaber blades crackled and flared, topaz and

yellow-green attracting more of the creatures.

Callista hissed in anger and  struck  with  her  light-saber,  clumsily

wielding it like a club that sliced through anything she  encountered.  Luke

clipped off the wings of a nightbat, even as more swirled in, shrieking.

Callista shouted curses at them as she attacked blindly and with  brute

force. Her battle disturbed Luke. It was filled  with  a  fury  and  a  wild

abandon he had never seen in her. Callista yelled at  the  nightbats  as  if

they were an incarnation of her greatest enemy.

"It's not fair!" she said, targeting Luke briefly with her gaze.  "I've

finally found you and now I might have to give you up." She raised her voice

and chopped with the sun-yellow blade in such an explosion of fury that  she

sliced through three of the nightbats. "It's not fair-"

And as she released her anger, Luke felt a glimmer, dark  ripples  that

came from Callista. He caught a glimpse of her image in the Force, like  the

flickering afterglow of things seen under a strobelight.

"Leave us alone!" she shouted at the bats and unconsciously pushed. The

remaining nightbats went into a confused spiral away  from  their  campsite?

buffeted by Callista's rage and  fled  shrieking  into  the  night.  Stunned

silence returned to the clearing.

Then  Callista  lowered  her  energy  blade,  slumping  weakly  in  the

aftermath of what she had done. Luke  deactivated  his  own  lightsaber  and

stared at her in amazement. Outside the perimeter of the  glowlamp,  though,

Luke heard other creatures stirring, larger predators crashing  through  the

underbrush, attracted by the commotion. Out of sight, an overhanging  branch

cracked and was flung to the ground as something huge lumbered forward.

Luke switched off the glowlamp, plunging the swamp into a darkness  lit

only by the twinkling lights of phosphorescent insects and  glowing  fungus.

But the large, unseen predators kept coming.

Luke grabbed Callista's arm,  and  she  stiffened,  as  if  he  were  a

stranger. "Come on," he said. "We've got to  get  inside  before  they  come

back."

She snapped out of her funk and followed him up the boarding ramp  into

the space yacht. Luke activated the  hatch  controls  and  the  ship  sealed

itself, locking down for the night.

They both collapsed on one  of  the  passenger  benches,  and  Callista

pressed herself against him. Luke put his  arms  around  her  shoulders  and

squeezed. Callista was shuddering, glistening with  a  sheen  of  frightened

perspiration. "I opened up for just a second," she said.

"I know," Luke answered. "I could feel it."

Then she looked up at him, her eyes very afraid. "But it was  the  dark

side, Luke! We both recognized it."

Luke nodded, and they stared at each other with a mixture of  hope  and

dread. "At least you've cracked through," he said. "Perhaps now you  can  do

something."

Callista sat up straight, gathering her strength again. She spoke  with

absolute certainty as the muffled night sounds of Dagobah's  swamp  enfolded

the sealed ship.

"It's not worth the cost, Luke. If I have to touch  the  dark  side  to

regain my powers, then I'd rather not ever be a Jedi again."

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 27

Shortly after Durga left in a huff for Nal  Hutta  on  some  unexpected

diplomatic  mission,  Bevel  Lemelisk  watched  Imperial   General   Sulamar

transform into an even more pompous ass without the Hutt there to squash his

dictatorial impulses.

Sulamar seemed to think he was the reincarnation of Grand Moff  Tarkin,

strutting about and issuing orders at his whim. But unlike  Tarkin,  Sulamar

gave orders that had no merit, and the general  had  none  of  the  personal

power or iron-hard charisma Tarkin had displayed.

Lemelisk brushed him aside.  He'd  never  had  much  use  for  military

puffballs. He had work to do.

The growing magnificent construction of the Dark-saber filled him  with

joy as he watched from the distant Orko SkyMine expeditionary ship. The main

supports for the superweapon had taken shape, folding the durasteel  lattice

into a cylindrical tube, like a gigantic wind tunnel.

General Sulamar had supposedly used his  influence  to  obtain  surplus

computer cores from old Imperial shipyards, cores powerful enough to  direct

the operations of the Darksaber. The  Hutts  had  been  unable  to  purchase

appropriate computers through regular channels, but Sulamar had promised  to

get them, chin high with self-importance.  Lemelisk  would  believe  in  the

alleged computer cores when he actually saw them.

In Durga's absence, Sulamar  loved  to  remain  on  the  command  deck,

standing significantly in the space where  the  Hutt's  levitating  platform

usually hung. The general wore a smug expression on his old baby face.

Lemelisk, though, preferred the private observation blister that  Durga

used as a relaxation lounge. Here, staring out  at  the  orbiting  battering

rams of crushed rock,  Lemelisk  could  be  alone  and  at  peace  with  his

thoughts, letting his mind buzz as new things  occurred  to  him,  ideas  he

would explore at some later date. The potential  for  destruction  made  him

curiously aware of the power contained within this space shrapnel. It calmed

him.

Once  the  Automated  Mineral  Exploiters  Gamma  and  Delta  had  gone

operational with programming altered so as to ignore each other as potential

targets and resources? the construction had progressed amazingly  well.  Day

by day, Lemelisk could see the behemoth  blossoming,  taking  shape  from  a

jumble of loose, drifting girders into  a  long  and  shimmering  lightsaber

handle whose blade would be a superlaser that could crack planets.

The Taurill workers were the key  Durga's  masterstroke,  and  Lemelisk

gave the Hutt all the credit he deserved. The  multiarmed  simian  creatures

were agile, strong, and intelligent enough en masse.

Lemelisk hadn't  the  slightest  idea  where  Durga  had  obtained  the

thousands of specially made environment suits: small, airtight, heated,  and

with four arms and two legs to fit the Taurill. Like a pack  of  vermin  the

little creatures swarmed outside in the  hard  vacuum,  scurrying  over  the

construction site, working collectively.

Feeling silly at first, Lemelisk had spent hours  with  representatives

from the Taurill, a pair of the fuzzy creatures that seemed  like  simpering

pets. He displayed the

Darksaber plans on the holoprojector, pointing out precise construction

details, tediously going over every step. It had seemed at first  as  if  he

were speaking to a nonintelligent furball that blinked stupidly at him.  But

he knew that those blank, half-amused  stares  were  windows  to  a  greater

Overmind able to concentrate on the input from these two  observers,  absorb

it, and understand it. At least Bevel Lemelisk hoped so.

These mind-linked creatures would have to work  together,  knowing  the

details of the entire design. If everything worked  right,  the  superweapon

would be built in a fraction of the time that  space  construction  normally

required.

As he looked out and saw the long, girder-sheathed tube being assembled

before his eyes, Lemelisk was awed. It was so  different,  so  fantastic  to

have enthusiastic construction workers for once?

The  convicts  from  the  penal  planet  Despayre  had  proved  totally

inadequate for the rigors of constructing the first Death  Star.  They  were

untrained, physically challenged, mentally unstable  a  lousy  workforce  in

every sense. Finally, after their repeated  and  costly  mistakes,  Lemelisk

expressed his disgust  and  displeasure  to  Grand  Moff  Tarkin,  who  took

appropriate action.

After Tarkin had finished executing the entire work crew, Lemelisk  and

six hundred stormtroopers accompanied him? on a "recruitment drive"  to  the

planet Kashyyyk.

"The Wookiees are animals," Tarkin said, his  face  pinched,  his  eyes

flinty. "They are hairy and violent, and they smell? but they're intelligent

enough. If  properly  broken,  they  are  acceptable  workers,  as  well  as

expendable in the usual sense. Their planet is out of  the  way  and  barely

inhabited. A few human traders visit and do a little business,  but  nothing

that will be missed. That's why we've enslaved some of the Wookiees before."

"I know," Lemelisk said. "We  used  a  group  of  the  beasts  to  help

construct Maw Installation. Didn't have much contact with them, though."

"Ah," Tarkin said, nodding, "then you know what brutes they are."

"Yes, but they're certainly strong."

While the Star Destroyers rode in high orbit, Lemelisk accompanied  the

Grand Moff as the assault shuttles dropped through the  atmosphere,  weapons

blazing to get the attention of the natives. They searched for  a  place  to

land on the canopy, and Lemelisk looked out the passenger window  in  dismay

at the leaves and branches swarming with insects and vermin. It  turned  his

stomach to think that this world's inhabitants had done so little to improve

their environment: no developments, no  civilization,  just  primitive  tree

dwellings. The forest itself was unex-ploited:?Lemelisk could barely believe

it, and he lowered his expectations of Wookiee intelligence.

The stormtroopers found a crude landing pad on the canopy, supported by

thousands of meter-thick branches. Though it looked  rickety,  the  platform

proved to be sturdy enough as the assault shuttles settled down with a blast

of repulsorlifts.

The Wookiees they encountered had a blatting,  growling  language  that

was completely incomprehensible. Luckily, they understood blasters. A number

of their leaders also understood Basic,  so  that  when  Tarkin  issued  his

demands, the leaders translated the words into barks and snorts.  When  they

roared in defiance, the Wookiees made it clear they understood completely.

Lemelisk sighed. Tarkin would have to do it the hard way.

So the assault  shuttles  circled,  firing  with  laser  cannons  until

sections of the towering forest gushed with flames. Pillars of  smoke  rose,

spreading like black bloodstains on the sky. The Wookiee animals  wailed  in

betrayal.

Lemelisk had already begun planning how best to use the  brawny  brutes

in the Death Star construction, calculating how many human guards  would  be

needed per group of Wookiee workers, what the optimum  size  for  a  Wookiee

labor gang would be. Such administrative  and  construction  details  always

nagged Lemelisk in the middle of difficult projects.

The Wookiees were lashed with force whips, their offspring herded  into

hostage camps, adult males and females shoved into cargo  compartments.  One

large bull with silver-tipped fur rebelled, knocking stormtroopers right and

left. In moments the other Wookiees joined in the fight, but  Tarkin  didn't

hesitate. He ordered his men to cut down any beast who resisted.

The silver-fringed bull went first, falling off  the  platform  with  a

smoking hole in his chest. His body crashed  through  the  canopy  until  it

finally came to rest, caught in the thick branches far above  ground.  Other

unruly Wookiees were shot, and the resistance ended quickly. From that point

on, all the Wookiees wore binders clamped tightly to their wrists.

Lemelisk wished Tarkin would hurry back to  the  construction  site  so

they could begin training the new workers. The project did have a  deadline,

after all, and the Emperor was  counting  on  them.  Didn't  these  Wookiees

understand? Probably not, he thought. They were just dumb animals.

On the trip back and during the interminable  days  of  indoctrination,

the Wookiees' resistance was further broken with sonic  negative-stimulation

transmitters, drugs in their food, and threats against the  hostages  Tarkin

had abandoned on Kashyyyk.

Once they got started and trained, though, Lemelisk was  proud  of  the

progress the Wookiees made. The work crews were  strong  and  competent,  so

long as they were carefully watched to prevent sabotage attempts.

It was good to see the Death Star moving toward completion again?

* * *

As far as Bevel Lemelisk could tell,  the  Darksaber  construction  was

correct, but he had a bad feeling as he watched  the  Taurill  working  with

such speed. He  recalled  the  difficulties  he  had  experienced  with  the

unwilling Wookiee work crews, and he did a telescopic  scan,  comparing  the

lines on the holographic blueprints with what he could see of the  durasteel

latticework forming the large cylindrical skeleton.

The Taurill were hard workers, amazingly  speedy?  but  their  greatest

flaw, Lemelisk had found, was that they were distractible.  The  hive-minded

Taurill had thousands of different facets of attention, and when an asteroid

soared too close to the construction site or a smuggler's ship  flew  within

view, the Taurill focused their attention on the new sight. As the  Overmind

became intrigued with the novelty, more of the multiarmed components  turned

to look, scrambling for a better view, climbing to  new  positions,  viewing

the intriguing event from a new and well-woven perspective.

Unfortunately, this changed the positions of the  Taurill  bodies,  and

when the fuzzy creatures returned to their work, many hung at new  stations,

connecting different girders together, hooking the wrong circuits.

As he studied the lines, Lemelisk felt his heart sink into his  paunchy

stomach: a large  section  of  the  Darksaber  outer  framework  was  indeed

assembled wrong, girders welded to incorrect counterparts. The computer core

receptacle was connected to the waste-heat exhaust.  The  superlaser  anchor

points were offset ninety degrees from each other, as wrong  as  they  could

possibly be.

Lemelisk immediately stormed  out  of  the  peaceful  womb  of  Durga's

observation blister. He had to find one of the  Taurill  and  shout  at  it,

explaining where the construction had gone wrong. It didn't matter which  of

the creatures he talked to; they were all the same, and the  Overmind  would

hear him oh, yes, the Overmind would hear him.

He felt his stomach churning in dread that Durga would find  out  about

the delay and order Lemelisk's execution after all. Lemelisk didn't want  to

be killed again.

He was relieved the Hutt crime lord was gone. Lemelisk would order  the

Taurill to work double time to rip apart an entire section of the  Darksaber

and start all over. The hive-minded creatures had to pay  closer  attention,

though he feared that was probably impossible.  But  perhaps  the  situation

could be salvaged before anything worse happened.

In all likelihood, General Sulamar wouldn't even notice the mixup.

HOTH

CHAPTER 28

The ice world of Hoth hung beneath its coterie of moons like a  cracked

snowball. Callista piloted their space yacht, following the coordinates Luke

had given her.

He leaned forward in the passenger seat,  tingling  with  anticipation.

"Down there," he said, "that's where Obi-Wan's spirit first came to me, when

I was near frozen in a blizzard. He told me to go to Dagobah, to find  Yoda.

Han tried to convince me it was just a hallucination."

Callista sat subdued, gripping the controls. She had been reluctant  to

tamper with her locked Jedi powers ever since her brush with the  dark  side

on Dagobah. Luke was concerned that her reticence and anxiety would do  more

damage than any of her actual failures had, because now she  was  afraid  to

try. Somehow Luke had to dispel that fear.

Callista stared at the ice planet as they  skimmed  through  the  misty

atmosphere. "I wish my master Djinn Altis would come to me in a vision," she

said. "I'm sure he could offer some insight."

Luke didn't know how to respond, so he squeezed her hand.

She looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and frustration. "I'll be

all right, Luke. Maybe I can't have everything I want, but I'm going  to  do

what I can. I haven't given up."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said. "And down there is the next place  to

try." Luke indicated the white-pocked glacier fields beneath  their  soaring

yacht. ' 'This is where I really learned to fight. I  had  flown  my  X-wing

against the first Death Star, but here during the battle of Hoth is where  I

learned to be a warrior. I left the wreckage of Echo  Base  to  find  Yoda,"

Luke said, smiling wistfully at the memory, "and one of the first things  he

told me was that wars don't make a person great."

"He was wise, your Master Yoda," Callista said. "But sometimes you have

to fight. Sometimes it's all or nothing. That's the only way  to  win."  She

swallowed. "That's why I made my sacrifice in the Eye of Palpatine."

Luke said, "Let's hope you don't ever have to face that  all-or-nothing

choice again."

She forced a smile. "I'd prefer that."

Callista skimmed low under  the  afternoon  sunlight  where  ice  chips

burned bright below the whitish sky. She darkened the  viewport  shields  to

cut down the glare.

"I don't know what shape Echo Base is going to be in," Luke  said.  "It

suffered some pretty extensive battle damage, and it's  been  abandoned  for

years. Don't expect luxury accommodations like the Mulako quarry."

Callista looked across the frozen snowfield. "At least  it  won't  have

any bugs or bats." She sat up straight. "Hey, what's that ship?"

As they approached the line of rocky hummocks, Luke spotted a blackened

hulk lying in the snow, surrounded by a starburst of greasy soot and slagged

wreckage. "Can't be a leftover crash from the battle," he  said.  "That  was

nine years ago. This is something new." Luke stared at  the  burned  debris,

reaching out with his sense.

"Nothing alive there that I can tell. It's recent, but not too fresh."

Callista brought their yacht down  near  the  wreckage,  close  to  the

hidden shield doors that  sealed  off  Echo  Base  in  the  solid  ice.  She

double-checked with her  scanners.  "Yes,  the  metal's  all  cold.  Ambient

temperature. It's been here a few days at least, maybe as much as  a  couple

of weeks."

Luke opened the uniform locker and removed the two insulated  jumpsuits

hanging beside a pair of full environment suits. Luke and Callista pulled on

the uniforms, activating the  body  heaters  and  tugging  on  gloves.  Luke

clipped his lightsaber to his belt and handed the second smooth black handle

to Callista. "Here, you'd better take yours."

"I don't want to," Callista said, glancing away.

"But you should do it anyway," Luke  answered.  "You  always  have  the

option of not using it." White-lipped, she took it, still refusing  to  meet

his gaze.

They climbed out of the yacht into the blinding cold of  Hoth,  leaving

the door closed but not sealed, so they could reenter in a  hurry.  Callista

shivered as she walked beside him. "It's chilly here," she said.

He raised his eyebrows and felt frost already collecting on the skin of

his cheeks. "Chilly?" he said. "But this is the hottest part of the day."

Their boots crunched on the ice-crusted snow  as  they  walked  to  the

wrecked ship. "It was  a  single  transport,"  Luke  said,  bending  over  a

scorched hull plate. "Probably a blockade runner or a light  freighter,  the

kind smugglers and poachers use."

Callista picked up a twisted lump of  metal,  turned  it  over  in  her

gloved hands, then let it drop. Her breath curled in white  steam  from  her

mouth. "Do you think they crashed?" she said. "I don't see any bodies."

Luke shook his head. The icy air sliced into his nostrils like  razors.

"No, look at the pattern. The ship landed safely and then  exploded  on  the

ground. See, none of the snow is plowed up. There'd be a long  crash  furrow

if it came down from orbit."

Luke looked over at the snow-camouflaged opening of Echo  Base.  "Maybe

they took shelter there." He pointed  out  the  blaster  cannon  turrets  on

either side of the shield door. "Let's check this out but be careful."

The wind picked up, skirling around the rocks in  transient  whirlwinds

that whipped ice crystals into the  air  and  scoured  the  snowdrifts.  The

opening to the ice cave was flanked by rocks, though most of Echo  Base  had

been chewed into the centuries-old packed snow and ice.

As they approached the shield doors, the pair of silent  blaster-cannon

emplacements standing like sentinels suddenly  came  to  life.  The  turrets

swiveled, the long deadly barrels seeking a target and finding one.

"Look out!" Callista shouted, and shoved Luke out of the way.

He dived to one side, using his  Jedi  powers  to  fling  him  farther.

Callista rolled, hitting the ground as the first  blast  seared  out.  Steam

boiled from a fresh crater in the ice.

Luke began to run back toward her, but Callista rolled aside and  moved

out of range. The turrets swiveled, targeting on Luke, and fired  again.  He

leaped into the air, and the beam? missed him, exploding one of  the  frozen

rocks.

As the blaster cannon fired a third time, Luke drew his lightsaber  and

deflected the beam with blinding speed, countering the bolt with the  energy

blade. The sheer power of the blaster cannon made Luke reel,  and  only  the

strength of his synthetic hand allowed him to withstand the blast.

"Must be motion detectors, Luke.  They're  tracking  us  as  we  move!"

Callista shouted. "I'm going to run and draw their fire. You use  your  Jedi

powers to rush forward and knock out both weapons."

"No," Luke shouted. "It's too?"

But Callista was already on her way. Luke knew this  was  how  she  did

things: she made up her mind and then took action  without  considering  the

risks or even alternate ideas. For better or worse, Callista was in it  now,

sprinting  in  a  zigzag  pattern  across  the  snow.  Both  blaster  cannon

emplacements swiveled, locking in on her.

Luke plunged forward until he landed in front of  the  cannon.  Holding

the lightsaber in one hand, he scrambled up the tower and slashed  with  the

glowing blade, severing the barrel of the weapon. He threw himself onto  the

snow and scrambled to the second turret just as the damaged one fired.  With

the barrel gone and its end fused, the  cannon  blast  blew  up  the  entire

turret.

The second weapon targeted Callista. She danced to one  side,  throwing

herself into the snow half a second before the beam struck the glacier  with

an explosion sufficient to hurl Callista into the air.

Luke didn't take the time to climb the second blaster turret.  He  used

his lightsaber to hack at the emplacement itself as if it were the trunk  of

a giant tree. He chopped through the armored plating, and a  smoking  square

of durasteel tumbled to the ice. Luke stabbed inside with  the  yellow-green

blade, slashing the power conduits  and  computer  interlinks,  slicing  the

heart out of the weapon. Above him the ominous barrel stuttered to one side,

seeking another target, then went dead.

He  looked  up  and  noted  that  the  weapons  themselves   had   been

jury-rigged, sensors wired in with automatic targeting  systems,  linked  to

motion detectors. He hurried over to help Callista to  her  feet,  wondering

why someone would go to all that trouble on this empty world.

"Good work," she said as they brushed each other  off.  "We're  a  team

even without my Jedi powers."

With a reluctant grinding thud, the shield door split in the middle and

began to spread apart. Icicles flaked off, and chunks of snow crashed to the

ground. Figures appeared,  shadowy  forms  standing  in  the  crack  of  the

partially opened door.

Luke tensed and turned around, the  lightsaber  gripped  in  his  hand.

Callista held her weapon, but did not ignite it. Luke  waited  to  see  what

their mysterious enemies would do.

"Don't just stand there," a gruff  human  voice  shouted.  "Get  inside

quick, before those creatures come back!"

A dark-eyed man  wearing  the  shadowy  stains  of  beard  stubble  and

remnants of white plasteel armor stepped outside, holding a  blaster  rifle.

Beside him came a hairy feline alien with tufts of fur  sprouting  from  his

chin  and  fangs  protruding  below  narrow  black  lips.  A  Cathar,   Luke

recognized. The feline alien also carried a blaster rifle  and  sniffed  the

cold air, tense and ready to fight. They did not point their blasters toward

Luke or Callista, though. Instead, they seemed to watch for  some  invisible

threat from the snows.

Another human man, tall and broad shouldered,  stood  within  the  main

runnel, gesturing for them to  hurry.  Luke  looked  around  at  the  bleak,

seemingly lifeless surface of Hoth; then he felt  a  sudden  uneasiness.  He

grabbed Cal-lista's arm and rushed with her into the shelter.

Only five of them had survived.

"Seemed an easy way to make a few credits, since I was  looking  for  a

new occupation," said Burrk, a former  stormtrooper  who  had  deserted  the

Empire in the turmoil following the battle of Endor. Ever since  that  time,

he had been on  his  own,  surviving  through  shady  dealings  and  illegal

activities.

"I hooked up with these two Cathar, Nodon and Nonak."  The  two  feline

aliens growled and flashed their teeth, glaring through slitted eyes at Luke

and Callista. They appeared identical except for slight  variations  in  fur

color.

"They're both from the same litter," Burrk continued,  "and  they  were

great hunters at least  they  said  they  were."  The  two  Cathar  snarled,

extending hooked claws from their hands. Burrk didn't even seem  to  notice.

He rubbed the stubble  on  his  chin.  His  eyes  were  sunken,  haunted  by

unrelenting tension, as if someone  had  beaten  him  repeatedly  and  might

return at any moment. Together, his group had managed to get only a dozen or

so glowpanels functioning again, and none of the heater units.

"There's a huge black-market price on wampa pelts, you know," he  said,

and finally a spark of pride and daring appeared in his eyes. Although  Luke

sensed the brooding terror surrounding them in the  unheated  meeting  room,

the gaunt former stormtrooper grew more animated as he spoke.

"So, the Cathar brothers and I decided to set up big-game  expeditions.

For a fee, we'd take hunters here to track down and kill the  'biggest  game

in the galaxy'?a bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but that didn't matter  to

rich Baron-Administrators, like him." Burrk gestured to  the  tall  muscular

man with chiseled features, a white smile, and hardened eyes.

"Drom Guldi," the  muscular  man  said,  introducing  himself,  "Baron-

Administrator of the Kelrodo-Ai  gelatin  mines."  He  swelled  with  pride,

confident that everyone had heard  of  him.  "We're  famous  for  our  water

sculptures," he said. "And this is my aide." He indicated a  nervous-looking

man with gray-blond hair and faint wrinkles  across  his  skin,  as  if  his

surface layer had crumpled with a thousand pressure cracks. "Sinidic."

Burrk the stormtrooper continued with his story, giving the rich hunter

a nod of grudging admiration. "We had four customers on this run,  and  Drom

Guldi was the only one worth having."

"I bagged ten of those wampas myself when they  attacked,"  the  Baron-

Administrator said, "though we couldn't go back and collect the  pelts."  He

ground his teeth together, and a flush rose  to  his  bronzed  cheeks.  "The

other monsters kept coming, and we had to retreat."

"What happened?" Callista said.  "How  did  you  let  yourself  get  so

vulnerable?"

Burrk stared at his fingers, nervously twining and  intertwining  them.

"This was our third run. The other two went smoothly.  We  would  track  the

creatures, bag one or two, and then leave. By this time,  the  monsters  had

learned how to work together. We thought they were dumb brutes all teeth and

claws, and no brains but we were wrong."

The two Cathar hissed, and their fur ruffled.

"We knew about this old abandoned base. Used it  as  a  stopping  point

because there isn't much shelter on this rock," Burrk said, and he looked up

at Luke. "We went out on scouting teams: me and Nodon on one ship, Nonak and

the others on another. It was just a day's hunt.  Sun  was  shining.  Looked

perfect." His haunted eyes stared off into the shadows of the room. "We came

back, and found our pilot slaughtered and I mean  slaughtered.  We  had  all

those weapons. We never thought they'd attack us."

"We underestimated the problem," Sinidic said in a  thin  nasal  voice,

then ducked his head, as if realizing he shouldn't have spoken.

"When we went to investigate," Burrk continued, "the wampas  must  have

been waiting for us. They? erupted out of the snow and fell upon us  like  a

meteor strike. We couldn't see 'em. They killed one of our  guides  and  the

other three clients. Luckily we got to shelter in the base?  we  closed  the

shield doors behind us." He swallowed, reliving the nightmare.

Drom Guldi  picked  up  the  story,  businesslike  and  matter-of-fact.

"That's when they blew up our ship," he said. "Must have been an accident. I

can't believe they knew what to do. They triggered it themselves."

"We've been here four days," Burrk said. "No supplies, and those things

are out there waiting for us. We couldn't even send a distress signal."

Nodon, one of the Cathar, said, "Do you have weapons in your ship?"

Luke and Callista looked at each other. "Weapons? No," Luke admitted.

Callista said, "We didn't think we were coming into combat."

"We got the two blaster cannons working," Burrk  said.  "Rigged  motion

detectors to fire on anything approaching. But you sure took care of those."

A low bubbling growl came from the Cathar throats. "Now we got  no  defenses

other than those doors and we can't stay here forever."

"You can't air fit in our ship, either,"  Callista  said,  anticipating

their next question. "It's only  a  small  yacht.  But  we  can  transmit  a

distress signal, get a rescue crew here within a day or so."

"It's getting dark," Sinidic pointed out. "Shouldn't we do something as

soon as we can?" He looked up to Drom Guldi. "Why don't you order them to go

back to their ship and send a signal."

"We'll all go to their ship," Drom Guldi said. "Otherwise,  Burrk  just

might take them hostage and fly off and leave us here. And I  don't  suppose

I'd blame him." The Cathar snarled, but from the  way  they  looked  at  the

former stormtrooper, Luke suspected they considered the possibility likely.

"We've got only a dozen charges left  in  our  blaster  rifles,"  Burrk

said, not the least bit offended by the accusation. "We won't last  long  if

we're under attack."

Drom Guldi squared his jaw. "We'll have to make the  most  of  what  we

have. Make a stand."

Luke met Callista's  gaze.  Helping  people  was  one  of  the  primary

responsibilities of a Jedi  Knight,  and  they  could  not  turn  down  even

poachers and unscrupulous hunters such as these.  But  Luke  felt  his  skin

crawl with the memory of his own encounter with a wampa.

Coiled  and  tense,  the  two  Cathar  stood  from  the  empty  storage

containers they had used as seats and readied  their  blasters.  Drom  Guldi

slung his rifle over his shoulder. Sinidic  carried  no  weapon,  but  clung

close to the Baron- Administrator. Burrk wore two  blaster  pistols  at  his

hips; they looked battered and well used, repaired enough  times  that  Luke

wouldn't count on them. He and Callista had their lightsabers.

"Let's do this fast," Burrk said, leading  them  to  the  outer  shield

doors. "We can make a dash for it? since we don't have to  worry  about  the

motion sensors anymore." He scowled at Luke.

"Leave the door partially  open  as  a  fallback  option,"  Drom  Guldi

suggested, "in case we need to make a hasty retreat." Burrk nodded.

Luke sensed an interesting shift in  command.  Burrk  was  the  nominal

leader, but Drom Guldi a hardened administrator was  equally  proficient  in

making decisions under stress. The two men seemed to have formed a team  for

their own survival.

The shield door opened, and freezing air and snow gusted  in.  The  sky

had turned a hazy purple as the day drew to  a  close.  Together,  Luke  and

Callista led the five survivors  in  a  sprint  past  the  wreckage  of  the

exploded poachers' ship to their own small space yacht.

Luke focused his senses on Burrk and the  others,  concerned  that  the

desperate refugees might try to blast him and Callista in the back and  take

their ship but he  sensed  only  a  gnawing  fear.  These  people  were  too

frightened to worry about treachery.

As Luke and Callista approached their ship sitting calmly on the  snow,

Luke saw that the hatch stood open, like a dark mouth. Callista said,  "Hey,

I didn't leave the door like that."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Luke muttered. The  Cathar  looked

at each other and snarled.

"Bad news," Drom Guldi said, already guessing  what  they  would  find.

Luke bounded up the ramp, while  Callista  stayed  outside  to  prevent  the

others from entering the ship.

Inside in the cockpit, Luke stared. The comm system had  been  torn  to

shreds, the  panels  ripped  open  with  a  silver  scoring  of  claws.  The

navicomputer was gone, torn from its housing and  smashed  to  a  tangle  of

wires and  broken  chips.  Severed  cables  dangled  loose  from  the  other

controls.

It was as if the monsters knew exactly what they were doing.

A coil of fear tightened in the pit of his stomach.  He  turned  behind

him to the locker where the environment suits had hung and  found  that  the

snow creatures had slashed both of the suits, making them unusable.

Then came a shout from outside, a panicked outcry  and  sudden  blaster

fire. Luke charged out of the  cockpit,  leaping  down  the  ramp.  Callista

already had her lightsaber drawn, its topaz beam crackling and  spitting  in

the cold.

Luke could barely distinguish the creatures that blended  so  perfectly

with the snow and rock. Their white pelts made them only a blur of movement,

curving horns sweeping from their heads, claws like knives extended as  they

boiled up, slashing and tearing and roaring.

Burrk drew both of his blaster pistols and fired, leaving a huge  wampa

dead in the snow with smoking holes in its  fur.  The  two  Cathar  snarled,

waving their blaster rifles. Burrk tried to  fire  again,  but  one  of  his

pistols had been drained dry. The wampas bellowed, setting up  an  odd  howl

that careened across the empty steppes like a tidal wave of terror.

Drom Guldi fired carefully and precisely, taking out another wampa. The

remaining  monsters  pushed  forward.   One   of   the   two   Cathar   shot

indiscriminately, lancing the snowy distance with  blaster  fire  until  his

rifle also ran out of charge.

With an echoing roar that seemed somehow familiar, Luke turned to see a

huge wampa standing on a rock outcrop, larger than the others, howling  into

the night as if directing the battle. Luke saw that this  monster  had  only

one arm; its other ended in  a  cauterized  stump.  It  slashed  its  single

fistful of claws through the icy air when it saw the Jedi lightsabers.

In unison, the army of wampa ice creatures surged toward their victims.

NAR SHADDAA

CHAPTER 29

The Taurill Overmind did not pause, did not rest. So many of the little

interchangeable bodies swarmed over the zero-gravity construction site  that

work progressed at a relentless pace.

Bevel Lemelisk was ecstatic to see that  in  only  two  days  the  busy

creatures had managed to  disassemble  their  erroneous  work,  erasing  the

mistakes and rebuilding the entire faulty section of the Darksaber. Lemelisk

watched the efforts and prayed that the Taurill did not make an  even  worse

mistake that might somehow escape his scrutiny.

At one time during the worst setback, when much of  the  superstructure

remained dismantled, General Sulamar had stepped up behind him on  the  Orko

SkyMine ship with a startling click of his bootheels. The baby-faced general

stared  out  the  observation  windows.  "Good  work,  Engineer,"  he   said

grudgingly, as if Lemelisk had been waiting for such praise. "Carry on."

Lemelisk had rolled his  eyes  and  gone  to  find  something  to  eat.

Somehow, he had forgotten to eat lunch again?

He chose the dead hours during the designated sleep period to  continue

his work with the three-dimensional crystal-lattice puzzle.  It  amused  him

with a challenge that stretched him almost but not quite to the limit of his

mental abilities. When he had  reached  the  critical  point,  focusing  his

entire  world  upon  the  problem  and  adjusting  the  parameters  ever  so

delicately he was interrupted, again.

The crystal puzzle sparkled down to random shards as Lemelisk flew into

a rage at the Gamorrean guard. The brute let  the  insults  bounce  off  his

thick greenish skin and grunted only one word: Durga.

Lemelisk quashed his annoyance and  followed  the  Gamorrean  down  the

corridor to the communications center. Durga had sent a private  message  to

him, knowing full well that it was the middle of the sleep period but  then,

the Hutt had never shown much courtesy to others.

The guard left Lemelisk alone to face the  flat  screen  projection  of

Durga the Hutt. Durga could have used the holoprojector, which transmitted a

small three-dimensional image but the Hutt did  not  like  the  3-D  system,

because it made his enormous body look diminutive. He wanted the flatscreen,

which projected his sloping, birthmarked face  as  a  large  and  dominating

visage. The speakers amplified his voice to a thunderous bellow.

"LemeUsk," Durga said. "I know Sulamar is on his rest period, so I  can

speak to you without his interference. Those computer cores he obtained have

arrived on Nar Shaddaa. I want you to come to the Smugglers' Moon personally

and check them out. No telling what sort of garbage he's found for  us.  You

must inspect them."

"But I can't leave the construction site, not now!" Lemelisk said.

"Why?" Durga demanded. "Have there been problems?"

"No, no," Lemelisk answered, holding  his  hands  up.  He  hoped  Durga

couldn't see the sudden film of cold sweat that sprang out on his skin. "Uh,

everything's going smoothly. The Taurill are hard workers, and very fast."

"Good. I'm sending a ship to get you. You will make no contact with me.

Just come to Nar Shaddaa and  do  your  work.  I  am  still  trapped  in  an

unpleasant diplomatic matter here."

"When?" Lemelisk swallowed, his  mind  whirling,  "um,  when  will  you

return to the asteroid belt, Lord Durga?"

"Soon," the Hutt answered.  "This  visit  of  the  Chief  of  State  is

tedious, but necessary. She has brought  a  fleet  of  warships,  supposedly

engaged in battle exercises, but I am no  fool:  she  means  to  flaunt  her

power. That is throwing a bent hydrospanner into our talks, though  I  don't

believe the New Republic suspects anything."

Durga suddenly growled and snapped back to the matter at hand.  "Enough

pleasantries! Get to the Smugglers'  Moon  as  soon  as  possible.  Once  my

Darksaber is finished, I won't need to be  so  disgustingly  nice  to  these

disgusting humans anymore."

Lemelisk didn't know the type of ship he boarded. It was a battered old

craft that seemed heavily (and ineffectively) modified. It had been  through

numerous battles, judging from the blaster scars on its outer  hull  plates,

and the swollen engines looked sufficient to power a  craft  ten  times  the

size. It bore no registry markings.

The Twi'lek pilot said little, even to the human copilot.  One  of  the

alien's head-tails was scarred and shriveled, as if it had  been  burned  or

partially shot off. Two Gamorrean guards accompanied Lemelisk onto the ship,

saying little, throwing supplies on board, and grumbling during takeoff.

The Twi'lek pilot launched them from  the  expeditionary  vessel,  away

from the Darksaber site, and out  of  the  asteroid  field  before  Lemelisk

managed to strap his crash webbing into place. He craned his neck and  tried

to look out the rear viewports toward the dwindling construction lights.

Lemelisk hated to leave, especially at a time like this. He never  knew

what was liable to happen if he was not there to supervise personally?

Darth Vader had come aboard the first Death Star  while  it  was  still

under construction. "I'm here to supervise personally," he  said,  his  deep

voice echoing through his impenetrable black mask. His breath, drawn through

pumps on his chest, sounded like a hissing serpent.

Lemelisk  stared  in  awe  at  the  Emperor's  greatest  warrior,   the

black-caped Dark Lord of the Sith, who already had the blood of billions  on

his gloved hands, and still had a long career ahead of him.

Grand Moff Tarkin had insisted that a small section of the Death Star's

living quarters be completed posthaste so he could move his  offices  aboard

the battle station. He had set  up  a  large  armed  reception  for  Vader's

arrival, with an honor guard of stormtroopers, waves of  warriors  ready  to

die at the Emperor's command.

Lemelisk had forgotten to shave, and was afraid his personal appearance

might be less than adequate as Vader towered over him. The Dark Lord  stared

through impenetrable eye goggles and hissed through the  respirator.  "I  am

here to? motivate your workers," he said,, looking from Tarkin to Lemelisk.

Lemelisk rubbed his pudgy hands together, smearing grease  stains  into

the cracks on his knuckles. He wiped his hands on his  thighs.  "Good,  Lord

Vader! They need some motivation. The Wookiee  work  crews  are  strong  and

competent, but they take every opportunity to stall progress." Tarkin looked

at Lemelisk, astonished, and the engineer wondered if he had said  something

he shouldn't have.

"Then perhaps the construction  foremen  need  to  exercise  a  tighter

grip," Vader  said.  "Or  perhaps  I  need  to  demonstrate  the  limits  of

discipline."

Lemelisk found Vader terrifying. Yes, a pep  talk  from  the  Emperor's

right-hand man would make even the most recalcitrant  Wookiees  work  harder

and faster.

But Vader did not have a pep talk in mind. Looming over  terminals,  he

scanned through the computer records and work activity reports and  selected

the Imperial crew bosses who supervised  the  construction  teams  with  the

poorest performance.

Grand Moff Tarkin summoned all supervisors to sit around a big table in

the largest briefing room in the completed portion of the Death Star.

"I am most displeased with your progress,"  Vader  said  after  he  had

singled out the two least effective  construction  foremen.  As  the  others

watched, trembling with terror around the  table,  Vader  raised  his  black

leather glove. No one could  read  any  expression  through  his  skull-like

plasteel helmet.

The two unfortunate  foremen  gasped  and  choked,  clawing  as  if  an

invisible, iron-hard fist had wrapped itself around  their  windpipes.  They

kicked and thrashed, spasming, choking. Drool ran  from  their  mouths  then

there came a crunching sound, and the spittle ran a thick  red.  Their  eyes

nearly popped out of their sockets like spoiled fruit.

Then Vader lowered his arm, and the two dead bosses crumpled across the

table. Vader looked at the sweating construction foremen who remained at the

table. ' 'I expect the rest of you to do better from now on," he said.

Vader ordered Tarkin's stormtroopers to take the pair  of  dead  bodies

out to the space construction  site,  where  they  wired  the  vacuum-frozen

corpses to crossbeams on the outer shell of the half-finished Death Star.

Lemelisk was surprised and appalled at Vader's tactics, but he  changed

his mind when he noticed that the crews did redouble their  efforts.  Tarkin

was also very pleased. His own future seemed bright indeed.

* * *

Now, Lemelisk didn't know how he had gotten into such a mess.  He  rode

in a surly silence with the other pilots of the smugglers' ship  approaching

Nar Shaddaa. Space traffic around the Smugglers' Moon was  subdued,  illegal

ship activity hampered by the presence of the nearby New Republic fleet.

As Lemelisk watched Nar Shaddaa, anxiety  gnawed  at  the  pit  of  his

stomach. He didn't want to go there,  didn't  want  to  be  around  so  many

people, didn't want to walk willingly into that nest  of  vermin.  The  crew

accompanying him was unpleasant enough and they were on his  side.  Lemelisk

had no way of knowing what sort of scum he would encounter  in  the  rundown

streets of Nar Shaddaa.

He hoped to be in and out as soon as possible, and he hoped  though  he

didn't expect it that  General  Sulamar  had  actually  obtained  acceptable

computer components for the Darksaber.

Already, Lemelisk found himself longing to be alone with his plans  and

his dreams. But to make his brainchild a reality, he  had  to  make  certain

sacrifices.

As always, Bevel Lemelisk would do his duty, even if it  cost  him  his

life? again.

CHAPTER 30

The New Republic fleet engaged in out-system/in-system speed trials and

maneuverability runs. Ackbar's ships leap-frogged Wedge's squadrons as  they

pushed their piloting skills to the limits, always remaining on call  should

trouble arise for the Chief of State.

Fortunately, everything had been quiet for several days, and it did not

appear that the Hutts were going to be a problem. Leia sent  word  that  she

believed her mission would be over  in  a  day  or  two,  so  General  Wedge

Antilles, taking the opportunity to apply  for  some  rest  and  recreation,

accompanied Qwi Xux down to the Smugglers' Moon.

"You always take me to such interesting places, Wedge," Qwi  told  him,

staring around at the seedy sections of Nar Shaddaa, her indigo eyes  filled

with amazement, and drinking in details.

Wedge laughed. "Well, this isn't exactly  one  of  the  more?  romantic

places I've shown you."

Qwi shrugged and tossed her head. Her hair was  like  a  mass  of  spun

crystal fragments, pearly white strands made of fine feathers that  sparkled

around her head. "No, but it's still fascinating,"  she  said.  She  had  an

elfin appearance with a faint blue tinge to her skin that gave her an exotic

charm? yet she looked and acted completely human.

Qwi Xux had been brainwashed as a child to become  a  weapons  designer

for the Empire. In Maw Installation she had helped design the original Death

Star with Bevel Lemelisk, and she had developed the Sun Crusher by  herself.

She remembered little of that, however, because young  Kyp  Durron,  flooded

with dark side powers, had erased much of her memory in a disastrous attempt

to make it impossible for anyone to re-create such weapons. Despite her many

ordeals, Qwi retained a childlike sense of wonder at discovering new things.

Wedge found it endearing, and he loved her more with each day  he  spent  at

her side.

They left their small shuttle at the Port Authority and paid a  fee  to

guarantee  its  protection  an  exorbitant  enough  price  that  Wedge   was

reasonably sure they would have no troubles. He  wore  no  uniform,  only  a

nondescript jumpsuit in the pockets of which he had stashed an assortment of

weapons, communicators, and locator beacons. They should be fine.

Nar Shaddaa was a nightmare of decrepit  buildings,  empty  warehouses,

and closed doors marked "Keep Out" in numerous languages.  Low-level  fliers

cruised across the sky, belching smoke from poorly tuned engines. Industrial

processing centers spewed toxic wastes into the air and down drainage pipes.

The atmosphere itself was murky and oily, laden with vapors  that  made

visibility equivalent to looking through a glass of dirty water. The  planet

Nal Hutta filled much of the stained sky, a bruised green, blue,  and  brown

sphere, rising halfway over the horizon like a heavy-lidded eye.

Wedge and Qwi strolled  along  the  stuttering  glidewalk,  looking  at

flashing signs that advertised bizarre services.  Giant,  open  repair  bays

yawned wide, full of dis-mantled parts stolen from ships  that  hadn't  paid

exorbitant protection money, as Wedge had done. The Smugglers'  Moon  seemed

like a world-size mechanics' shop, dingy and grease -  tained,  filled  with

discarded components that might eventually find some use, or just as  likely

might remain forgotten in a corner until the end of the universe.

Vendors wedged their carts into alleys under waterproof  canopies  that

deflected the droplets drizzling from overhead gutters.  A  plantlike  alien

sold sizzling hunks of bluish meat on a stick; beside it, a fanged carnivore

sold sliced vegetables. The two glared at each other with animosity.

They passed gambling establishments and  card-reading  cubicles,  where

fortunes were told, or made, or lost. Qwi blinked as she  watched  a  random

game of blinking lights and metal spheres hurled  by  the  players.  If  the

players managed to strike one of the lights while it was  illuminated,  they

won some sort of prize, usually a coupon to play another round of the game.

Wedge found the nuances incomprehensible, but as, Qwi absorbed them she

slowly shook her head. "The probabilities  make  this  game  extraordinarily

difficult to win," she said.

Wedge smiled. "Now you're starting to understand."

A pair of rickety old starships roared  overhead,  and  the  sounds  of

explosions made Wedge glance up. The two ships fired upon  each  other,  and

the pursuing ship exploded into a cloud of shrapnel that rained down on  the

buildings. Across a yawning open space, Wedge watched patrons seated  on  an

outdoor balcony run for their lives as smoldering chunks of metal pelted the

building. The victorious ship continued to limp away,  its  damaged  engines

faltering; then, with a hollow-sounding boom, the engines gave out, and  the

ship spiraled down into the distance, where it crashed.

In a parking area for maintenance vehicles, Qwi stopped  to  inspect  a

vendor's table of trinkets and exotica, including  boots  made  from  rancor

leather and glistening claws that he claimed came from wampa ice creatures.

"How do we know these are real?" Qwi  asked  the  vendor,  a  reptilian

creature with a long tapering forehead and three eyes across his brow ridge.

"You have my word on it," the vendor said.

"No thanks," Wedge said, and took Qwi by the elbow, leading  her  to  a

small self-serve cafe under the fluttering awnings of  an  open-air  bazaar.

Wedge ordered samples from the few recognizable items on the menu,  carrying

a tray laden with fizzjig colorful drinks and glossy dessert pastries.

"This place is different from Coruscant,"  Qwi  said,  summarizing  her

feelings. "Much more? lived in, less polished."

Wedge raised his eyebrows, "You can say that again."

Qwi blinked at him "Why should I?"

"Never mind," he said, smiling indulgently.

They selected a table far from where two enormous, gray-skinned  brutes

were bellowing at each other in what seemed to be either a blood feud or  an

argument; the longer Wedge wathched, however, the more he realized that this

was merely their method of conversation.

The torn umbrella over their heads leaked some of the residue driziling

from above, so Wedge and Qwi moved to the opposite side where the table  was

relatively clean. They stared out across the crowded streets and saw a  long

wall of identical-looking warehouses, some guarded, some merely locked.

Qwi sippid her drink and sat up, startled, as the fizz  bubbled  around

in her mouth. She  swallowed,  drew  several  quick  breaths,  "and  gasped,

"That's very good, but I shall have to restrain myself!"

"Just take a sip at a time," Wedge said, "and you'll enjoy it."

Qwi looked at her dessert pastry and spoke distractedly. "You've  shown

me so many places, Wedge.

Maw Installation is still a blur, though I can  remember  what  it  was

like? at least since you took me back there. It was much smaller  than  this

place, not so many people. Quiet and private and clean.  Everything  in  its

place, regimented, easy to find."

"But without much freedom," Wedge pointed out.

"I believe you're right," Qwi answered. "Of course, I didn't know  that

at the time. I didn't know much of anything. You've  already  given  me  far

more worthwhile memories than I lost," she said. "There  are  times  when  I

think Kyp Durron simply removed the bad parts from my  brain,  leaving  room

for you to show me more wonders."

"So you don't think your past will ever come back?" he said.

"The pieces that are missing are  gone,"  Qwi  said,  "but  those  that

remain are vivid images, bright pieces that I'm able to connect in my  mind.

I can string them together, so that it seems like I  remember,  even  though

much of it is just my imagination." Qwi stared  across  at  the  warehouses,

intent on something.

Wedge watched her. He liked looking  at  her  face,  liked  seeing  her

reactions to new things, and it made him see old familiar places with a  new

eye. He found it refreshing.

Suddenly Qwi's body went rigid, and she  gave  an  absurd  high-pitched

whistle as she sucked in a little gasp of air. Qwi stood up too quickly  and

bumped her drink, spilling the foaming liquid across the tabletop.

"What is it?" Wedge grabbed for her thin wrist.

Qwi pointed across  at  the  warehouses.  "I  just  saw  him  there!  I

recognized him."

"Who?" Wedge said, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Qwi had better eyesight than he did he knew that from  long  experience

but none of the figures moving toward the warehouses seemed distinctive:  an

assortment of surly-looking  humanoids,  a  few  hardbitten  aliens,  and  a

paunchy man, all of whom disappeared into the murky building.

"I know him," Qwi insisted. "I worked  with  him.  Bevel  Lemelisk.  We

designed the Death Star together. He's here. Why is he here? How could he be

here?"

Wedge held her, and her entire body was trembling. "Come on,  Qwi  that

couldn't possibly be him." He lowered his voice.  "You  can't  see  anything

clear enough from here. We were just talking about  your  old  memories.  It

must have sparked something in you. Don't let your imagination run away with

you."

"But I'm sure it was him," Qwi said.

"Maybe it was," Wedge answered doubtfully, "but if  so,  what  does  it

matter? Maw Installation is no longer a threat. The Empire  is  gone.  Maybe

he's fallen in with some smugglers."

Qwi sat down, still troubled. "I don't want to stay here anymore,"  she

said.

Wedge handed her his drink. "We can share mine.  Drink  up,"  he  said.

"We'll go back to our ship"?then he added with a wry smile?"unless you  want

to go find one of those Hutt bathhouses I've heard so much about?"

"No thanks," Qwi said.

Bevel Lemelisk went with his entourage through the back streets of  Nar

Shaddaa until they reached the warehouse sector. Lemelisk  kept  pausing  to

rub his feet on cleaner patches of the pavement, trying to remove the sticky

residue and slime he stepped in every time he  averted  his  eyes  from  the

path.

The Twi'lek captain drew his blaster and stomped toward  an  old,  ugly

warehouse. The towering, corroded door stood locked; giant  letters  painted

across its riveted surface proclaimed restricted  and  trespassers  will  be

disintegrated but then, Lemelisk realized that everything on Nar Shaddaa was

restricted, so the warning hardly mattered.

As they waited for the Twi'lek  to  access  the  heavy  door,  Lemelisk

looked around at the brooding, shadowy city.  His  skin  prickled  with  the

creepy feeling that someone was watching him.  He  turned  and  looked,  but

noted nothing out of the ordinary. When the Twi'lek opened the door into the

cool and musty- smelling warehouse, Lemelisk ducked down  to  be  the  first

inside.

The Twi'lek switched on a bank of glowpanels. One flickered  and  died,

but the  remaining  four  cast  their  dirty  light  into  the  crate-filled

warehouse. Cargo containers stood high against the far wall, stenciled  with

an indecipherable language; many of their sides were  cracked  and  oozed  a

noxious- looking substance.

The human copilot gestured to Lemelisk and grunted,  taking  him  to  a

pair of crates in the center of the room. From the footprints on  the  dusty

floor Lemelisk could tell that the crates had been  placed  there  recently.

The wording on their sides marked them as "Sewage Inspection Systems Quality

Control Samples."

The Gamorrean guards tore open  the  crates,  spilling  out  the  self-

digesting packing material and exposing a  pair  of  large  computer  cores,

antique cybernetic systems, slow and long obsolete.

Lemelisk stifled a laugh. This was the best Sulamar could do  with  his

great Imperial connections? He went forward and brushed at  the  ID  plates,

scanning for their numbers. These things had been old when Maw  Installation

was built but if he had no other choice for the Dark-saber?  Lemelisk  began

to consider the possibilities. It was a challenge, and he liked challenges.

The computer cores would need extensive  modifications  and  upgrading,

but Lemelisk was up to the task. The Darksaber had only a thousandth of  the

systems the original Death Star had required, without  surface  defenses  or

living quarters for a million personnel. The Darksaber only needed  to  move

itself and to fire its weapon that was all. Even those two tasks might prove

daunting for such prehistoric computer cores,  but  perhaps  Lemelisk  could

make it work.

As he studied the equipment, the lowlifes behind him suddenly stood  at

attention. The Gamorrean guards grunted and turned around.

"Hoo-hoo, will they function, Engineer Lemelisk?" Durga the Hutt asked,

emerging from the shadows on his repulsorsled.

Startled, Lemelisk brushed packing material off of himself and tried to

compose his response. "Lord Durga, this is a surprise! I didn't  know  you'd

be here personally."

"Will they work?" Durga repeated.

Lemelisk answered cautiously. "They can be made to work. I  don't  know

what Sulamar told you, but these are bottom-of-the-line junk. I believe they

can be sufficiently upgraded, though. I'll give it my highest priority."

"Good," Durga said. "I have made my excuses to the New Republic's Chief

of State and called our diplomatic meeting to an end.  I'm  anxious  to  get

back and see what progress you have made on my superweapon."

"I think you'll be pleased, Lord Durga," Lemelisk said.

"I had better be," Durga answered. "We will take my own  ship  back  to

the asteroid belt," he said. "I want to be where I can watch my Darksaber."

Lemelisk nodded in full agreement. "I'll be happy to get away from  Nar

Shaddaa," he said, leaning  over  and  whispering  conspiratorially  to  the

bloated Hutt. "There are too many unsavory types here!"

CHAPTER 31

Piloting the Millennium Falcon with only the assistance of Artoo-Detoo,

Chewbacca brought the modified light freighter out of hyperspace as close to

the Nal Hutta System as he dared. With the bank of sublight engines  flaring

white behind them, Chewbacca cruised toward the Smugglers' Moon.

He had no trouble flying the ship by  himself.  He  had  logged  enough

hours on the Falcon to make most space pilots envious of his experience. But

he still felt alone without Han Solo. Long ago Chewbacca had  sworn  a  life

debt to the human, and though his obligations had certainly been  discharged

by now, the Wookiee still considered Han's life to be in his care.

He had visited Nar Shaddaa with Han more than once, and they had nearly

lost their lives. Right now Han was in the Hutt System as well,  engaged  in

one of the inexplicable diplomatic rituals that Leia performed, so Chewbacca

had accepted his assignment with good grace, eager to poke around and  learn

what he could about Durga's underhanded activities.

As Artoo kept track of the in-system traffic,  Chewbacca  slipped  into

the flow of other unmarked vessels approaching Nar Shaddaa. The New Republic

war- gaming fleet showed up conspicuously on the sensors: large  battleships

engaged in mock attacks, shooting low-powered turbolasers at  fake  targets.

Chewbacca watched the blips on the screen. Han  was  either  aboard  one  of

those warships, or down on the big, bruised-looking planet below.

Artoo warbled in alarm, and Chewbacca snapped his attention back to the

piloting controls, avoiding a collision with a large ore freighter that  had

lumbered into the system.

Chewbacca couldn't risk contacting Han to  inform  him  that  they  had

arrived. He and Artoo had to remain completely  invisible,  slipping  in  as

just another anonymous visitor to Nar Shaddaa. They had to find out the real

story of the Hutt secret weapon not the diplomatic lie  Durga  would  likely

tell Leia.

Chewbacca landed the Falcon in one of the astronomically priced docking

bays in the grimy heavy-traffic sectors. As Artoo trundled down the boarding

ramp, Chewbacca took out decoy beacons, warning lights  that  signified  the

Falcon was poison-encased in a deadly protection  field.  The  beacons  were

fake, of course, but they looked real and eliminated the  need  to  pay  the

exorbitant protection surcharges many of the docking barons  charged,  which

foolish and unprepared visitors were forced to pay.

Chewbacca snuffled with his damp nose, detecting  the  acrid  odors  of

engine coolant, fumes from propellant systems, decaying engines in  need  of

repair, and the bodies of a thousand species mingled with the exotic  spiced

substances they consumed for nourishment.

He and Artoo moved purposefully away from the Falcon, plunging into the

grease-encrusted, machine-humming metropolis. They had credits to spend  and

information to buy and Nar Shaddaa was the place to be.

* * *

Artoo jacked into the nearest  "tourist  information  kiosk"-?a  thinly

disguised directory of available  black-market  services  and  vendors.  The

smugglers didn't even try to hide their real activities, though some of  the

cryptic descriptions seemed ominous indeed.

Artoo chugged through the electronic  listings,  searching  for  anyone

willing to provide detailed information about  the  Hutts  but  because  Nar

Shaddaa was a Hutt-controlled world, those willing to offer  such  dangerous

assistance were extremely few; only one of the  information  centers  listed

Durga specifically as a resource.

Chewbacca attempted to decipher a grid map of the upper levels  of  the

city. He and Artoo spent the better part of an hour tracking down the center

connected with Durga and were disappointed to discover in the end  that  the

office was merely a public relations front for the Orko SkyMine Corporation.

They endured a holographic propaganda presentation  about  the  wonders

that Orko SkyMine would bring to the galaxy. When Chewbacca began to ask the

toadlike bu-. reaucratic representative about Durga, the  assistant  flailed

his long-fingered hands and curved his fat lips into a smile.

"You must understand, my Wookiee friend,  that  all  information  about

Lord Durga's activities is strictly confidential, to protect the identity of

Orko SkyMine's largest investors." He blinked his lantern eyes  and  gave  a

thick- lipped smile again.  "However,  if  you  wish  to  donate  a  million

credits, you could become one such investor and gain access to  all  of  our

files." His leathery skin furrowed on his forehead in falsified hope.

The Wookiee and the little droid left indignantly.

Chewbacca decided to forgo  the  black-market  services  directory  and

began asking likely-looking vendors  on  the  streets.  He  went  through  a

hundred credits, bounced from one scrap of information to another until in a

nar-row, dim alley he and Artoo finally found a decrepit  old  slicer  whose

face was a mass of oozing blemishes and flaking skin. The slicer carried his

own portable terminal and a laser welder that he used to cut into the  power

sources and splice his input cables into computer systems, through which  he

would scrounge for information, undetected for a few hours or a day; then he

would slip off to find another place to work.

The slicer took their credits and didn't seem to care why  they  wanted

information about the Hutts: he merely verified that the money was good  and

began tapping into the Nar Shaddaa computer systems.

"No listings," the slicer said. "Nothing for Durga."

Chewbacca growled a question.

"I didn't mean there aren't any," the  slicer  said,  speaking  through

swollen lips and scowling at his keyboard. "I just  can't  find  the  files.

They must be coded or passworded. No way I could get at them, unless I  knew

exactly what they were."

Artoo gave a disappointed whistle.

"Wait a minute let's stand this on its head," the slicer said,  rubbing

a finger along his lower lip,  causing  even  more  skin  to  fall  off.  He

squinted his beady eyes in the dimness.  "I  was  looking  for  files  about

Durga, but let's do a broader-based search, track down anybody who's selling

things to Durga." His fingers, though scabbed with sores  and  armored  with

calluses, flew over the keypad. A blur  of  numbers  scrolled  up,  and  the

slicer began cackling. He held out his hands  for  more  credits.  Chewbacca

growled, but willingly paid, hoping the information would be good.

"I've found a major customer for Durga," the slicer said, then  lowered

his voice. His words came out in a whisper. "An Imperial customer."

Before Chewbacca could growl a new query, another bulky creature strode

into the mouth of the alley: a large cylindrical torso surrounded by  waving

tentacles and eye stalks protruding from the top.  A  gurgling  alien  voice

came from the creature's mouth orifice.

"I'm busy," the slicer said. "Can't you see I got a customer? Come back

later, and I'll be happy to run a search."

But the tentacled creature insisted  on  its  answers  now  and  lunged

forward, flailing its tentacles threateningly, as if it wanted to  lash  the

slicer into submission.

Chewbacca roared and stood up tall, his tan fur bristling. He  grappled

with the alien creature and, after a short brawl, managed to tie five of its

tentacles into knots. With a grunt, the Wookiee sent the moaning,  impatient

creature on its way down the street, where it stumbled  along  burbling  for

assistance in untying its tentacles.

Chewbacca squatted next to the slicer and motioned for him to continue.

"Yes, an Imperial customer, somebody selling to  Durga,"  the  slicer  said.

"It's a major expenditure: computer cores, powerful ones.  I  can't  imagine

what a Hutt would need them for. Especially such old models."

Chewbacca, feeling exhilarated after the scuffle, listened intently.

"The man's name is a  General  Sulamar,  apparently  working  with  the

Hutts. He is somehow connected with Imperial deserters, people who left  the

service of the Empire and went into business for  themselves.  According  to

these files, " the slicer continued,  tapping  the  screen,  "this  Imperial

General Sulamar is the big boss in charge of everything the Hutts do  around

here.

"If that's true, they've kept it a secret from me,"  the  slicer  said,

raising his eyebrows. More dead skin flaked off  and  fell  to  the  ground.

"Durga is supposedly just a minor partner in the operation," he cackled.

Artoo whistled a question, and Chewbacca reinforced it.

"Who is this Sulamar?" the slicer asked. "Is  that  what  you  want  to

know? He doesn't hide his credentials. In fact, he types them all in capital

letters, claims to be an

Imperial military genius. Takes all responsibility for the Massacre  of

Mendicat. Calls himself the Scourge of Celdaru."

Chewbacca groaned. He paid the slicer again, then stood  up,  gesturing

for the droid to follow him. He strode along on long, hairy  legs  as  Artoo

hurried to keep up. The  little  droid  whistled  anxiously,  squealing  his

alarm. They had to get back to the Falcon where they could pass  their  news

to Coruscant. They had learned more than they had ever expected to.

Chewbacca felt a bestial rage rising within him as  he  considered  the

ominous possibilities. If the Empire and the Hutts  had  indeed  teamed  up,

they would make a formidable enemy.

This threat was far worse than they had feared.

CHAPTER 32

Standing on the auxiliary command deck of the Galactic Voyager, General

Crix Madine, Supreme Allied Commander for Special Forces, studied the screen

that showed the bright green tracer he had planted on Durga's private  ship.

He scratched his brown beard and watched his best female commando,  Trandia,

double-check the readings.

"Still hasn't moved, sir," Trandia said. She had long strawberry  blond

hair knitted into a complex braid that hung neatly at her back,  pretty  but

serviceable Madine suspected she let it hang loose while she was  off  duty.

Her face was scrubbed clean and flushed with concentration as her blue  eyes

stayed riveted on the computer.

"He departed from Nal Hutta several hours ago, sir, and landed  on  the

Smugglers' Moon. No word since.  We  could  contact  the  Yavaris,"  Trandia

suggested. "General Antilles has taken some time  off  to  visit  the  moon.

Perhaps he could keep an eye out."

Madine shook his head. "Too dangerous. We have the tracer planted,  and

Durga suspects nothing. Let's just see where he goes.  The  Chief  of  State

says he ended their meeting rather abruptly, so he must be on his  way  back

to his hiding place. We'll find it. Be patient."

Madine wandered across the auxiliary command  chamber.  There  were  no

windows to stare through, only status  screens.  The  secondary  bridge  was

designed to function as an alternate  bridge  if  the  Star  Cruiser's  main

forward compartments were somehow put out of commission.

Madine paced restlessly, anxious to do something. A driven man, he  had

given his utmost strength and imagination to the New Republic for  the  past

nine years, ever since he had defected from the Imperial military.  He  felt

good to be working with the Rebel Alliance, a cause he could believe in  and

the more he devoted himself to serving the New  Republic,  the  more  Madine

could distract himself from the lingering guilt  that  still  had  not  gone

away.

Long ago he had given an oath to uphold Palpatine's New  Order  and  to

serve the Emperor, and he had meant it.  Crix  Madine  did  not  give  oaths

lightly, nor had he ever broken one before his defection. He hoped he  never

had to make such a conscience-rending decision again.

At one time his future had seemed golden  with  the  Empire.  His  rank

increased on a fast track, indicating important things to come.  Madine  had

been  given  heavy  responsibilities,  remarkable  accolades,  medals,   and

citations. The  Emperor  himself  had  commented  upon  his  brilliance  and

impeccable service.

He  had  been  deeply  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  an  important

ambassador; they were going to be married. His fiancee, Karreio, was devoted

to the New Order,  spouting  propaganda  about  the  frailties  of  the  Old

Republic, but blind to the excesses of the Empire. In his  military  service

Madine had seen and done much that would have revolted her such as using his

elite storm commandos  to  plant  the  seeds  of  Candorian  Plague  on  the

uncooperative world of Dentaal.

That last horrendous mission had nearly twisted  and  pulled  free  the

underpinnings of Madine's moral charac-ter, and he had chosen  to  sacrifice

everything rather than give up his own beliefs. Such vicious retaliation was

wrong. He had discarded his bright, guaranteed future. He had  tossed  aside

his own rank, telling Karreio nothing of his plans, because that would  have

made her an accomplice to his treachery, and  she  would  have  been  forced

either to report him or to suffer a traitor's fate.

During wilderness exercises on  Dentaal,  leading  his  team  of  storm

commandos, Madine had just? vanished into a series of caves. Later, after  a

week of hard survival in the jungle, he had made it back  to  the  temporary

Imperial base and commandeered a  shuttle,  stealing  archives  filled  with

Imperial encryption schemes, classified data, secret plans.

He had fled into the starry sky of the Mid-Rim without the  least  idea

of where he  was  going.  He  simply  hoped  that  he  could  track  down  a

representative of the Rebel Alliance before the Imperial  headhunters  found

him.

In all the time since, he had never dared to send  a  message  back  to

Karreio, never attempted to see her again. He hoped that  she  had  survived

without him? hoped that she believed the stories branding him a betrayer  of

the Empire;?and that she had found someone else to love.

When the Rebels did indeed recapture Coruscant after a long and  bloody

battle, Madine had haunted the personnel archives, searching the records  to

find Karreio, to make certain that she was safe. Instead,  he  learned  that

she had died in the attack, an unnoticed name on a long list paired with  ID

numbers and casualty descriptions. So many civilians had been killed in  the

battle that only the letter D for "deceased" burned beside Karreio's name.

Crix Madine had much to feel guilty for.  One  of  his  first  missions

after defecting to the Rebel  Alliance  had  been  to  plan  the  successful

commando raid on Endor that took out the shield generator  and  allowed  the

Rebel fleet to destroy the second Death Star. Thus Madine's own actions  had

resulted in the death of Emperor Palpatine, the man who had once issued  him

a citation for his exemplary service and commendable loyalty.

For Madine the time for second thoughts was long past. The decision had

been made. He had not  had  any  doubts,  regardless  of  the  consequences.

Threats continued to harry the New Republic, and Madine could not rest until

his chosen government was safe.

He feared that meant he would never rest.

The motion of the green blip on the diagram of Nar Shaddaa startled him

out of his reverie. Trandia sat up straighter.  "Sir,  the  target  ship  is

departing. Tracking now."

"So, he's on his way," Madine said, and laced his fingers  together  in

anticipation. He took a deep breath before snapping into motion. "All right,

we're ready to pursue. Trandia, I'd like you on my team and Korenn,"  Madine

said,  thinking  of  the  enthusiasm  and  unquestionable  talent   of   the

sandy-haired boy who looked  far  younger  than  his  experience  and  skill

suggested. "Let's get prepped. Ackbar has  given  us  three  scout  A-wings.

We'll streak in and see what Durga is up to.

"But," Madine said, extending a finger, "we'll also  implant  emergency

transmitters, because we may be  pressed  for  time.  Wherever  this  hidden

weapon is, if we see a chance to sabotage it, we  must  take  it.  We  can't

afford to let the Hutts complete their own Death Star."

Madine stood in the launching  bay,  admiring  the  three  trim  A-wing

fighters. Trandia came up to him, moving  with  the  lithe  grace  that  had

convinced him she would be good in covert operations. She wore a  flightsuit

now, her braid tucked beneath the collar. She carried a helmet in the  crook

of her arm. "Ready to depart, sir," she said,  "as  soon  as  you  give  the

order."

A moment later Korenn, the other young member of the team  stepped  up.

His eyes sparkled with excitement, and his sandy hair was spiky and  unruly.

Korenn popped a helmet on his head.

"Do we have our destination yet?" Madine said.

Trandia flashed a faint smile. "The Hoth  Asteroid  Belt,  sir.  That's

where Durga's gone to hide."

Madine raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. Asteroids will call for  some

tricky flying." He fixed  his  gaze  on  Korenn  and  Trandia.  "How's  your

piloting? "

"Excellent, sir," they responded in unison.

"Good," Madine said. "Let's go then."

HOTH

CHAPTER 33

The ice creatures lunged in a mass of  white  fur,  spread  claws,  and

flying blood.

"Watch your back, Callista!" Luke yelled, slashing  as  a  white-furred

monster bore down on her. His lightsaber opened a sizzling,  blackened  gash

through its rib cage, and the wampa fell to the snow, gurgling hot bile.

Callista lunged, decapitating another  creature  as  it  leaped  toward

Luke, its fanged mouth open and ready to tear flesh. "I'll watch my back  if

you watch yours," she's.aid, raising a challenging eyebrow.

Burrk, the former stormtrooper,  fired  until  he  emptied  his  second

blaster pistol.  His  face  held  a  haggard  hopelessness,  yet  a  foolish

determination. Luke knew he would keep fighting until the  wampas  took  him

down.

"You Jedi!" Burrk shouted, "we've got to get back to the base. Can  you

clear us a path with your light-sabers?"

Luke and Callista both nodded curtly. The heavy shield door  under  the

icy overhang was their only sanctu-ary. Luke felt a sudden relief that  they

had left the shield door partially open so they could dash back inside.

One of the Cathars, Nodon, fired the last trickle of  charge  from  his

blaster rifle, just as a huge wampa rose before him, muscular arms  dangling

to its knees and curved claws extending a dozen  centimeters  beyond.  Nodon

yowled and spat a primal feline sound and thrust the blaster rifle toward it

like a blunt spear, punching the attacking monster below  the  sternum.  The

creature roared in pain and lashed out to  knock  Nodon  to  the  snow,  his

shoulder ripped in a sequence of parallel furrows, spraying red.

The Cathar's brother hissed in fury and leaped to  Nodon's  aid.  Nonak

sprang onto the back of the attacking wampa and slashed with his own  claws,

tearing into the wampa's neck with sharp fangs. The monster forgot about the

wounded Cathar and bellowed, reaching behind him to pluck away  the  vicious

feline alien. Nodon, wounded, backed away, trying to scramble to his feet as

his blood stained the snow.

From the rocky outcrop where he  directed  the  battle,  the  one-armed

brute roared something incomprehensible. Other wampas turned on  Nonak,  who

still fought with the wampa who had injured his brother. The wampas came in,

focused on a single target.

They tore Nonak apart.

"Follow me!" Drom Guldi bellowed without the slightest trace of  terror

or even  tension  in  his  voice.  Sinidic,  his  aide,  huddled  under  the

protection of his muscular master's rifle, a high-powered brand-new  hunting

weapon. Drom Guldi still had charges left, and he fired with slow precision:

no random spraying of high-energy bolts, but surgical shots that  killed  or

injured an ice creature every time he pressed the firing stud.

The  big  Baron-Administrator  trudged  toward  the  base  doors,   not

hurrying, making sure the others followed. Nodon got to his feet and  wailed

at seeing the bloody remnants of his brother. Burrk grabbed him by  the  fur

on his neck and yanked Nodon around. "Come on!" he shouted.

Luke and Callista flanked Drom Guldi as they fought their way  back  to

Echo Base. With their lightsabers they each  killed  another  creature.  The

base doors seemed immeasurably  far  away,  but  Luke  and  Callista  pushed

forward.

Drom Guldi blasted three more wampas that blocked the open shield door.

As they kept moving, his aide  Sinidic  seemed  paralyzed,  stumbling  along

because his master told him to. Sinidic tripped over the smoldering body  of

an ice creature. Without pause, Drom Guldi grabbed  his  aide's  collar  and

yanked  him  to  his  feet  as  if  he  were  no  more  than  a   rag.   The

Baron-Administrator reached the shield door  and  shoved  Sinidic  into  the

waiting darkness.

Burrk helped Nodon inside Echo Base, pushing the wounded  Cathar  ahead

of him, though the feline obviously wanted to throw himself  back  upon  the

monsters in a frenzy and die ripping them to shreds.

Luke and Callista waited in the cold outside the door, driving back the

last of the wampas.

"Get in here, Jedi!" Burrk said. "Now!"

Luke and Callista jumped into  the  waiting  darkness.  Burrk  hit  the

shield door controls, and the heavy door ground shut. At the  last  instant,

the wampas pushed forward, grabbing at the durasteel door with their  claws,

but the relentless pistons were too powerful even for these creatures.

In the sparse light of the few functioning glowpanels, Luke,  Callista,

and the four survivors slumped against the hard-packed  snow  walls  as  the

sudden loss of  adrenaline  hit  them,  leaving  only  exhaustion.  Everyone

trembled in silence for several moments, shielded at last in  the  temporary

safety of walls.

Then came a scratching sound, muffled howls, and  a  repeated  pounding

from outside. Burrk turned bloodshot eyes toward the  sealed  door.  Sinidic

glanced up in terror, and then looked to Drom Guldi for comfort.

"They can knock, but they can't come in," Drom Guldi said.

Callista got up and went to the picked-over supplies, finding discarded

Rebel uniforms she could tear into bandages to tend Nodon's wounds; but  the

Cathar's healing abilities had already stopped the blood flow. As he sat  in

silence, staring with slitted eyes toward the blank  white  wall  of  packed

snow, Nodon's feline claws repeatedly extended and sheathed themselves as he

wrestled with inner anger.

Outside, the monsters kept pounding, foolishly trying to find a way in,

though the base was  impenetrable.  Night  was  falling  on  Hoth,  and  the

temperature would soon  plummet.  All  living  creatures  should  be  taking

shelter until the meager warmth of sunlight returned  but  the  wampas  were

relentless. They had their quarry cornered.

Drom Guldi's tanned,  sculpture-beautiful  face  wore  a  contemplative

look. "Think of all those prize pelts out there," he said, shaking his head.

"What a waste."

A loud clang reverberated against the thick door. The wampas had picked

up a rock chunk? but they could batter uselessly for years without  breaking

through the durasteel.

Burrk's gaunt face was filled with exhausted  resignation.  "Now  would

have been a perfect time to use those  perimeter  guns,"  he  said,  looking

pointedly at Luke and Callista.

"Let's move away from the door," Luke said. "That  pounding  will  only

wear us down."

Weakly, they shuffled into the dim briefing room where Burrk  had  told

his terrifying story. The former stormtrooper took a  quick  inventory.  "My

blaster pistols are out of charge. Nodon's rifle  is  drained.  Drom  Guldi,

what have you got left?"

The big-game hunter inspected his weapon. "Ten shots," he said,  as  if

that was all they could possibly need.

"And we've got your two lightsabers," Burrk said to Luke and Callista.

Luke pursed his lips. "Given time,  we  could  work  out  some  way  to

recharge the blasters. There must be a way to jury-rig a thermal unit  or  a

light source to dump power into the blaster charge packs."

Burrk shrugged. "If you've got the  time  and  the  resources  and  the

inspiration?"

Luke rummaged around in the scrap equipment. Burrk squatted and took  a

more primitive approach; pulling out pipes and  rods,  he  used  instant-set

epoxy to fasten on knife blades fashioned from metal shards.  He  made  four

crude spears. They were hopeless weapons against an onslaught from  the  ice

creatures, but the former storm-trooper had no intention of giving up.

Drom Guldi cleaned and polished his blaster rifle. Sinidic sat listless

beside him, fidgeting with his hands. The  Baron-Administrator  elbowed  his

aide. "We need a morale booster. Sinidic, see if  you  can't  find  us  some

rations. Maybe something hot to eat and drink. There isn't much, but we need

to keep our strength up."

"Me?" Sinidic said, blinking stupidly.

"You're sitting there paralyzed you need something to do. Keep yourself

busy. First order of business."

Sinidic got up, swallowed, and  nodded.  His  grayish  skin  grew  more

flushed. He looked at Drom  Guldi  for  confirmation  of  the  orders,  then

trotted off to one of the storerooms to do his master's bidding.

Luke and Callista sat together, holding each other for  comfort.  "This

isn't quite the vacation I planned," Luke said.

Callista leaned her head against his. "Remind me  never  to  listen  to

your fancy talk again."

Burrk stood up, grasped one of his new spears, and tossed it across the

room. The sharp tip plunged into the packed snow walls, and the  spear  hung

there, quivering. "I think that'll do," he said.

A loud shriek erupted from the darkened storeroom, followed  by  a  wet

ripping sound and then a gurgling gasp.  The  five  survivors  in  the  room

lunged to their feet, Drom Guldi the first among them.  They  had  taken  no

more than a few steps down the ice-walled corridor before a  bloodied  wampa

lumbered out of the storeroom, his claws dripping, his  white  fur  drenched

with fresh gore.

Drom Guldi faltered for just an instant, then he brought up his blaster

rifle, firing three times in rapid succession. He hit  precisely  each  time

the wampa's stomach, the center of its chest, and its hideous head. With  no

more than a hollow cough, the monster fell to  the  packed  floor  with  the

sound of a crashing cargo hauler.

' 'Must have slipped in the open door while we were fighting  outside!"

Burrk said.

Drom Guldi looked toward the supply room where he had sent his aide. He

didn't bother to go inside. Instead, the Baron-Administrator reached  toward

Burrk and grabbed one of the stormtrooper's newly fashioned spears. With the

metal blade, Drom Guldi hacked down, chopping off one of the wampa's  curved

tusks. The big-game hunter held the dripping prize in his hand and inspected

it critically. "This one," he said coldly. "This is the one I'll take for my

trophy. And  for  Sinidic."  He  threw  a  second  glance  at  the  darkened

storeroom, and his face grew stony. "These monsters are persistent."

From outsideT the dull echoing thuds continued  as  the  ice  creatures

attempted to pummel their way inside.

Then, to make things worse, all the lights went out.

"They trashed the generator," Burrk said, his  voice  coming  from  the

emptiness of darkness.

Luke pulled out his lightsaber and pressed the power  stud.  The  green

beam crackled out with an eerie glow that illuminated the walls of  ice  and

snow. Callista drew her blade, and the two stood side by side.

Luke tensed. He  heard  something?  a  scratching,  digging  sound.  He

wondered if other wampas lay hidden in  the  darkened  rooms.  The  pounding

outside the shield door redoubled, and everyone turned, though they knew the

wampas could not get through.

Just then the walls crumbled on all sides, blocks of  hard-packed  snow

showered down as more of the creatures plowed their way directly through the

ice.

Luke realized that the futile pounding  and  scratching  on  the  outer

shield door had been a distraction,  something  to  preoccupy  the  victims,

while the wampas dug through the snow, burrowing their way into  Echo  Base.

With bellows of triumph and anticipation, an army of ghostly white  monsters

surged into the corridors.

Nodon, finally unrestrained, yowled and threw himself upon the  nearest

wampa, but the others turned  and  fell  upon  him.  The  Cathar  went  down

fighting, a blurry mass of fur  and  claws  and  biting  teeth  and  sudden,

spraying blood.

Burrk backed against a rough rock that protruded from the carved  snow.

In each hand he held one of his metal spears, thrusting and jabbing,  trying

to intimidate the ice creatures but though the blades  were  sharp  and  the

points long, the spears were pitiful against the bloodthirsty  monsters.  He

stabbed and lunged, making no outcry. He wore a grim, defeated  look  as  he

fought until the mass of attacking snow monsters swallowed him up.  Finally,

in the last instant, he screamed.

Luke and, Callista remained back-to-back, slashing with lightsabers and

slaughtering the monsters that came too close, but there were too many. "Get

back to the shield door!" Callista said. "We have to run to our ship. Try to

fix it. That's our only chance."

Luke said, "I don't have a better idea,"  then  swung  his  lightsaber.

With a sizzle he sliced a towering creature in two.  Luke  recognized  dimly

that the monsters had stopped pounding outside. They must  have  flocked  to

the new openings that allowed them access into the base. The front might  be

clear.

Drom Guldi used his seven remaining shots, killing a wampa each time he

pressed the firing button; but  that  drained  the  weapon.  He  tossed  the

blaster rifle to the ground, tucked the wampa tusk into his utility belt, as

if it remained important to him, then gripped the metal speal' he had  taken

from Burrk, sweeping it from side to side. He laughed, his eyes bright,  his

tanned face flushed. The wampas surrounded him, and he grinned.  "Come  on!"

Drom Guldi said. "Get what's coming to you!"

The wampas came.

Trying to drown out the last gurgled screams of  Drom  Guldi,  Callista

and Luke fought their way down the corridor toward  the  shield  door.  They

mowed down the ice creatures who threw themselves recklessly at the  glowing

blades. Though Callista was unable to use the Force  in  her  fighting,  the

wampas were not difficult targets, huge hulks of white fur and taut muscles.

But it would take the slip of only an instant for a  raking  claw  to  slice

open either Luke or Callista.

As they passed beyond  where  the  wampas  had  tunneled  through,  the

attacking monsters grew sparse, and Luke and Callista were able  to  run  at

full speed. The shield door  reflected  the  light  of  their  weapons,  and

Callista ran for the controls.

"We'll seal ourselves in the ship and  hope  that  within  just  a  few

minutes we can rig it to blast off," Luke said. "Those things could rip open

the hull in no time."

The shield door heaved open. Callista turned to defend their  backs  as

Luke made ready to run out into the night. The dark chill struck him like  a

sledgehammer, knocking the wind out of him with an intense  freezing  blast,

colder than anything Luke could remember.

Directly outside, under the wan light of multiple moons, stood the one-

armed wampa ice creature, the tallest of them  all,  blocking  their  escape

from Echo Base.

The monster roared  into  the  ice-bright  night  and  raised  his  one

enormous  hand,  spreading  the  claws.  Luke  felt  a  momentary  flash  of

remembered fear that made him falter.  He  stood  gripping  the  lightsaber.

Finding no danger behind them, Callista turned back to see what the  problem

was.

And, with its eyes fixed on Luke, its nemesis?  the  one-armed  monster

lunged for Callista, instead.

She couldn't react fast enough. Seeing the  down-sweeping  arc  of  the

sharp claws and the blinding  speed  with  which  the  wampa  charged,  Luke

yelled, "No!" and cut sideways with his lightsaber.

Putting all the Force behind his swing, Luke cleaved the one-armed snow

creature in half.

The dead monster continued to growl and gurgle as it lay smoking on the

threshold of the shield door. "I thought I had done that a long  time  ago,"

Luke whispered.

More wampas surged from the tunnels below. Outside in  the  night  snow

creatures stood up from the outcrops, no longer bothering to hide.

"Don't just stand there," Callista said, shoving Luke as he  stared  at

the dead one-armed creature. "Run!"

The two sprinted across the hard-packed snow.  The  cold  slashed  like

razors at their lungs as they gasped for breath, already exhausted from  the

battle.

The wreckage of the poachers' ship looked ominous in the watery  light,

but their own space yacht shone like their only hope. As the wampas pursued,

leaping across the snow-swept rocks, Luke and Callista ran with  their  last

surge of strength.

Reaching the ship, Luke hammered at the door controls.  Callista  stood

behind him, her lightsaber glowing. The door slid open, and Luke pulled  her

inside, then sealed the door again.

He ran to the pilot compartment and stared at  the  controls,  stifling

the sickening despair that swept over him. The controls  were  smashed.  The

navicomputer gone. The comm system ripped out. The wampas hadn't ruined  the

engines, though the cables for thrust control had been torn free.

He and Callista set to work, removing  dented  or  slashed  panels  and

trying to cross-wire anything, just to get them lifted off.

Outside, the wampas began to batter the hull of the  space  yacht  with

sharp rocks. If they breached the hull, Luke  knew  he  and  Callista  could

never leave the atmosphere of Hoth. Callista hunched beside him, working  on

a different panel. She sorted  wires,  traced  connections,  moving  with  a

frantic, efficient energy that wasted not a second. "Try  this,"  she  said,

and pulled out an  alternative  power  source,  which  he  jacked  into  the

thruster control.

"We can ignite the engines, lift up out of here," Luke said.

Callista agreed. "We'll never be able to restart the engines if we land

again. We have to move now, and we have to get (#this planet."

Luke triggered the firing button, and the space yacht's engines  roared

to life at full power. The$ had no directional control. The ship lurched  up

off the ground? and the last thing they heard from the wampas  was  a  long,

shrieking scrape of claws against the metal hull  as  the  ship  tore  away,

plunging upward into the night. The icy cracked surface dwindled below  them

with dizzying speed. They had no maneuverability,  just  a  blind  ballistic

takeoff that hurled them into the atmosphere.

Callista worked at the other controls. Luke already  knew  what  damage

the wampas had done, but her voice faltered as she gave her own assessment.

"No comm system, no navicomputer, only five percent life support."  She

sighed. "Who knows where we'll end up? We might have been better off staying

down there."

NAL HUTTA

CHAPTER 34

Though See-Threepio was miffed that Durga the Hutt had  cut  short  the

diplomatic visit so  suddenly  (after  offering  a  wealth  of  excuses  and

apologies), Leia felt an oppressive weight leave her shoulders  as  soon  as

the fat slug was off the planet.

It had become clear that Durga either had no overall authority from the

Hutts or no inclination to enter into a bargain with  the  New  Republic  as

Leia had suspected. Their negotiations had gone exactly nowhere,  and  Durga

feigned ignorance every time Leia mentioned the subject of secret weapons.

"We are businessmen,  not  warriors,"  Durga  had  said.  "Our  battles

consist of under-the-table negotiations, not blasters and detonators."

Although Han glanced at Leia  with  an  I-told-you-so  expression,  she

could tell that she had managed to shake Durga.  The  birthmarked  Hutt  had

hoped to stall longer, and  he  seemed  decidedly  uncomfortable  throughout

their "diplomatic" visit but Leia had not given him any easy opportunity  to

get rid of them.

Han and Leia were both surprised, however, when even after  his  speedy

departure, Durga did provide  access  to  one  of  his  private  information

brokers? true to his word. Before Leia and Han departed in their  diplomatic

ship, Korrda the emaciated Hutt ordered one of the  brokers  brought  in  to

"service" them.

Gamorrean guards dragged a cart with creaking wheels  into  the  dining

hall. The carrion birds still perched on their ledges, waiting  for  dropped

food or for a guest to stop moving long enough that they could pounce.

The cart was old and stained with clumps of decomposing refuse,  as  if

someone had mistaken it for a  garbage  receptacle.  A  huge,  spiral-shaped

mollusk shell filled the cart, its ridges worn and covered with  algae.  The

opening to the corkscrew shell was black and foul-smelling. Leia wasn't sure

she wanted to know what lurked within.

Korrda slithered forward to rap briskly on the shell with a thin stick.

With a sound like a long stream of sand  poured  into  thin  mud,  a  fleshy

appendage nudged out of the open hole in  the  corkscrew  shell,  protruding

like a long tongue. The creature emerged like a worm from a piece of  rotten

fruit, sickly tan-gray with a cluster of five milky white eyes on its smooth

rounded head. "What do you want?" the creature said in a surly voice.

Korrda reared up to glare at the shell creature. "Lord  Durga  commands

that you provide information to  these  guests.  They  need  to  know  about

Imperial activities." Korrda finally seemed filled with self-confidence, now

that he spoke to a creature even lower in the pecking order than he was.

The information broker grumbled. "Information on  Imperial  activities,

eh? Couldn't narrow it down a little, I suppose? Noooo, that's too  much  to

hope for, isn't it? We could at least limit ourselves  to  current  Imperial

activities, couldn't we?"

"Yes," Leia said. "We want to know what the remnants of the Empire  are

up to right now."

"Oh, good that's much  easier,  isn't  it?"  the  shell  creature  said

sarcastically.  "I  suppose  you  require  a  specific  listing   of   every

individual's,activities I have records of five billion  or  so,  and  that's

without even looking hard or would generalizations be good enough, hmmm?"

"Generalizations would be sufficient," Leia answered tightly.

Without a word, the smooth head slipped back into the dark opening with

a wet pop.

Leia heard muffled rummaging sounds as the creature stirred  about,  as

if it were searching through a labyrinth  inside  the  enormous  shell.  She

wondered what the creature could be doing  in  there;  then  the  damp  head

popped up again and turned its eye cluster toward Leia.

"You're in luck, aren't you??plenty of schemes afoot.  Imperial  forces

have been  unified,  squabbling  warlords  executed.  Starship  construction

increased tenfold, new soldiers appearing by the tens of thousands that  the

sort of thing you're looking for? Imperial military  forces  have  clustered

around a single commander, and it would appear that even  women  and  aliens

are allowed to serve to the extent of their abilities a vast change from the

Emperor's way of thinking, wouldn't you say? Charming to see an  enlightened

Imperial commander, isn't it?"

Han looked over at her, and Leia sat up straight. The alien information

broker had piqued her interest, despite her  initial  resistance.  Could  it

actually be telling the truth? Leia suspected this entire charade was  still

part of Durga's scheme, a distraction  to  keep  them  concerned  about  one

threat while the Hutts completed another  one.  But  even  Durga's  ulterior

motives did not preclude an actual Imperial plot.

Leia said, "Do you know what their plans are?  Has  the  Empire  formed

some sort of strategy?"

The information broker wavered in the air. "Scattered  Imperial  fleets

have come together with such a buildup of weapons they are almost  certainly

planning a major assault against  the  New  Republic,  wouldn't  you  think?

Specific target unknown, so it's no use asking, is it?"

The information broker swiveled its eye cluster toward Korrda. ' 'May I

go now? I have a lot of work to do you can see how busy I am, can't you?"

"Wait," Han interrupted. "Who is this new Imperial commander? I need to

know."

The information broker rumbled deep inside its body.  "Oh,  that's  all

you want, is it? Why not ask for the number of sand grains on the beaches of

Pil- Diller, or ask me to count the leaves in the forests of Ithor, eh?"

Korrda rapped the shell with his gnarled  stick  again.  "Shut  up  and

answer the question."

"All right, all right, I was just  getting  to  that,  wasn't  I?"  the

information broker said,  and  slithered  back  into  the  shell,  where  it

rummaged around for an interminable time before it finally popped out again.

"Daala," the creature said. "The admiral in charge of the Imperial forces is

named Daala, you see? But that's all I've  scraped  the  walls,  haven't  I?

Since I have no more information, good night!"

With that, the fleshy head popped back into the shell, leaving Leia and

Han to gape at each other in amazement. Leia had expected nothing like this.

Han looked sickened. He blinked his eyes uncom-prehendingly.  "But  how

could it be Daala?" he mumbled. "She's? dead."

Leia met his eyes and decided she didn't want or  need  an  explanation

right now. "Apparently not," she said.  "This  puts  a  whole  new  spin  on

things, doesn't it?"

CORE SYSTEMS

CHAPTER 35

In Admiral Daala's hands, the remnants of the Empire became a  machine,

a massive cohesive engine being tuned to peak performance.

Cogs  spun.  Components  fit  together.  Armament  factories  processed

resources into additional weapons: TIE  fighters,  blastboats,  AT-STs,  and

structural components of new Star Destroyers. Hyperdrives were mass-produced

and installed in ship after ship. Weapons' cores were charged  with  tibanna

gas. Formerly  downtrodden  workers  even  aliens  and  females  were  given

responsibilities and put to work for the glory of the Empire.

Daala reveled in the progress reports  she  received.  Now  aboard  her

great black ship, the Night Hammer, she progressed from  system  to  system,

knitting  together  once-scattered  allegiances>  cementing  loyalties,  and

squeezing more work out of subjects who had been lax for too  long,  drawing

tight the Imperial net.

Accompanied by awesome red Imperial  Guards,  she  spoke  at  armaments

factories and shipyards, raising  her  voice  and  building  morale,  making

herself visible so that all could see a charismatic leader who was there  to

do something against the enemy, fostering hope in the future once more.

She paced around the Night  Hammer's  ready-room,  a  private  strategy

chamber that was itself as big as the entire command deck on a Victory-class

Star Destroyer. Daala  stared  out  the  viewing  window,  drinking  in  the

brilliant spatter of stars at the heart  of  the  galaxy.  Nebular  material

streamed in ribbons across star clusters.

The huge ready-room seemed extravagant, almost intimidating. She  would

have preferred a more confined place to gather  her  thoughts,  but  in  her

position she could not take command of any ship other than  the  Super  Star

Destroyer. The ready-room had its  own  sleeping  quarters,  food-processing

stations, even access to command-level escape pods, should  disaster  befall

the warship. Though it was immense,  the  Night  Hammer  functioned  with  a

relatively small crew, relying  on  massively  redundant  automated  command

systems.

Vice Admiral Pellaeon cleared his throat and waited for her  attention.

Daala knew the older officer had arrived, but she let her thoughts wander  a

while longer. "Our fleet is growing strong," she finally said out  loud.  "I

can feel it."

Pellaeon waited for her. "Yes, Admiral."

"I don't want to strike before we are ready? but I'm anxious to  go  to

battle again." She sighed and  turned  to  Pellaeon,  who  stood  holding  a

datapad with the latest fleet statistics. She frowned wearily and sank  into

one of her chairs. "I do grow tired of administrative details, though,"  she

groaned. After only a moment she stood up again and began to pace around the

ready- room, a blur of nervous energy.

"These details  are  necessary,"  Pellaeon  said.  "Without  sufficient

attention to detail, all your work will  fall  apart.  You  must  understand

that, if you intend to run the Empire."

Daala fixed him with a sharp stare. "But I have no

designs on running the Empire. That's not what I'm  after.  Surely  you

understand that by now? Once the battle  is  won,  I  intend  to  relinquish

command with great pleasure to you or whomever else is most  suited  to  the

damn job."

Pellaeon's head snapped back and his watery eyes-widened. "Me, Admiral?

I am no emperor!"

She let loose a laugh. "Neither am I, Vice Admiral? but let's not worry

about that until the war is over. Give me a rundown. Where do we stand?"

With obvious relief at the change of subject, Pellaeon sat down at  the

table while Daala continued to pace. He called up numbers  on  his  datapad.

"We  now  have  one  hundred  twelve  fully  functional  Victory-class  Star

Destroyers. I've placed them under the command  of  Colonel  Cronus,  as  we

discussed at our last meeting."

"Yes," Daala said, "a good choice. He seems a competent commander."

"We also have forty-five Imperial Star Destroyers?  and  of  course  we

have the Night Hammer.'' He slid the datapad across the  table.  "There's  a

full listing of our TIE fighters, interceptors, and bombers  as  well  as  a

tally of Gamma assault shuttles, Lambda-class shuttles, AT-ST walkers, scout

transports, and blastboats. The next entry summarizes our entire  complement

of personnel and their areas of expertise."

Daala glanced at the numbers but felt her green eyes glaze  over.  This

was not her strength. "I'll study these later," she said. "Right now my mind

is occupied with other concerns." She drew a deep breath.  "We  are  getting

close, very close. You and I must discuss the strategy for our first attack.

I prefer not to make this decision alone. You have decades of experience and

a wealth of knowledge. We are here with the door sealed and no one  watching

I want your honest opinion." She lowered her voice. "I  will  not  make  the

same mistakes again."

Pellaeon swallowed slightly. "I appreciate your faith in  me,  Admiral,

but surely you recognize that this time you have a  genuine  fleet  at  your

disposal! "

Daala slapped the palm of her hand down on the table, her eyes blazing.

"And I will not waste it!"

Pellaeon stood up. "Shall I get us a drink, Admiral?"

She nodded and turned her eyes to stare out at the  stars.  She  didn't

speak until he had returned with a tall, cool glass of stim tea.

"As I see it, Admiral," Pellaeon said  slowly,  "we  have  two  obvious

primary targets. The first  is  Coruscant,  the  capital  the  most  heavily

populated and fortified world in  the  New  Republic.  If  we  destroy  that

planet, it would turn the Rebels into a scattered flock of whipped  animals,

fleeing for sanctuary to a hundred separate bases all over again."

"I agree," Daala said. "However, the battle for Coruscant will be  long

and difficult. And bloody. We will lose a large portion of our new fleet  if

we choose that as our first target."

Pellaeon nodded, tugging at his gray mustache. "I'm forced  to  concur,

and I must also confess to a certain  reluctance  to  devastate  the  former

Imperial planet."

Daala's lips drew together in a pinched expression. ' 'What I'm looking

for, Pellaeon, is a decisive victory, an important Rebel target that we  can

utterly squash with minimal loss to our forces. We  need  a  morale-building

strike that will set the Rebels reeling and buoy our own  troops  up  in  an

ecstasy of renewed patriotism. At that point we can come back with twice our

strength and hammer Coruscant to rubble. I have such a target in mind,"  she

said. "Are we thinking of the same one?"

Pellaeon took a sip of his cool tea.  She  watched  him.  He  paused  a

moment, then answered without hesitation. "Yavin 4." He raised his eyebrows.

"Where the new Jedi training center is located."

"Yes," Daala said. Her smile congratulated him. "The Jedi  Knights  are

powerful symbols to the Rebels? and they will be powerful enemies if we  let

them prolifer-ate, as the enemy seems to intend. If we strike now and uproot

this weed before it goes to seed, we can  strike  a  mortal  blow  to  these

Rebels. "

Daala recalled her  iron-willed  mentor  Tarkin,  who  had  taught  her

everything about tactics, strength of character, and love  for  the  Empire.

Tarkin had died while attacking the Rebel base on Yavin 4?and she thought it

would be a fitting target in her new campaign.

"Excuse me, Admiral?" Pellaeon said, startling her out of her thoughts.

She glanced at him and  realized  he  had  just  said  something.  "I'm

sorry," she said. "I didn't hear you."

"I suggested that we diversify our strike. Allow Colonel Cronus to take

his Victory fleet and strike at dozens of minor targets, so that the  Rebels

believe they're under attack at all  points.  This  will  cause  damage  far

beyond the risk incurred, and it will  add  to  the  turmoil  and  confusion

surrounding our own surprise attack."

Daala smiled. "Excellent idea, Vice Admiral. Colonel Cronus will launch

his strikes. You will take a fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers  directly  to

begin the obliteration of the small jungle moon. And I will  follow  in  the

Night Hammer to ensure that we retain possession of this worthless system."

She gulped down the last of her cold stim tea, and it felt like a thick

rivulet of ice crawling down her throat and spreading through her body.

"We'll begin at once," Daala said.

CHAPTER 36

Kyp Durron hunched forward in front of the control panel. His dark eyes

narrowed as he scanned the enemy forces arrayed around them.

Dorsk 81 piloted their stolen Imperial  ship  into  the  massed  battle

fleet. His slender, olive-green hands dartced nervously on the controls; his

yellow eyes widened in astonishment, as if he were still unable  to  believe

what Kyp had talked him into doing.

"I'll bet this is the biggest gathering of the fleet since  the  battle

of Endor," Kyp said, "or at least since Thrawn's last attack."

Dorsk 81 licked his thin lips and  nodded,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the

frenzy of ship activity, like flotsam tossed about in  a  hurricane.  "There

certainly are a lot of ships," he said. "We'll be blown  out  of  space  the

moment they suspect us."

Kyp waved his hand dismissively and leaned forward to  squint  out  the

front viewport. "They won't suspect anything. This ship has  all  the  right

markings. Don't let it get to you," he said, then turned  his  attention  to

running a fall analysis of forces on the computer.

Over the past few days Kyp and  Dorsk  81  had  penetrated  deeper  and

deeper into the Core Systems. Kyp had watched  with  growing  horror  as  he

realized just how far along the Empire's plans had already progressed.  They

had seen weapons depots, giant factories that spewed out TIE fighters by the

hundreds,  construction  yards  with  skeletal  frames  of   Imperial   Star

Destroyers in progress. They had witnessed a massive  migration  of  people,

soldiers gearing up for a deadly conflict, and dozens of  overloaded  supply

trains hauling resources deeper into the Core.

Kyp had convinced Dorsk 81 to tag along just at the  fringe  of  sensor

range behind one of the convoys. When they arrived at the massing  point  of

the new Imperial fleet, though, Dorsk 81 had been terrified.

"I still think we should get out of here," the  clone  Jedi  said.  "We

need to bring this information back to the New  Republic.  They  don't  even

know about the Imperial buildup."

Kyp shook his head. "We've got to  find  out  more,  see  exactly  what

they're up to. We won't get a second chance like this."

"But if they capture us, then everything?" Dorsk 81 began.

Kyp held up his hand and watched Dorsk 81 stop and swallow hard. In the

past, the cloned alien had struggled with a lack of self-confidence, and  he

had overcome it. Kyp did not see him as a coward only as someone who did not

push his bravery to its limits.

Kyp pointed at him, wearing a  serious  expression.  "You  are  a  Jedi

Knight, Dorsk 81," he said. "A Jedi does not take  the  easiest  choice.  We

will do what we have to." Dorsk 81 slowly nodded in firm acceptance.

The comm system crackled, startling both Kyp and Dorsk 81.

"Shuttle pilot," a stern voice snapped a female voice, which in  itself

was unusual since most Imperial soldiers were male. The woman said,  "You're

behind schedule to attend the rally. Hurry up. Follow this vector  and  move

it! The admiral would be most displeased  if  late  arrivals  disturbed  the

speeches."

Dorsk 81 stared blankly at the speaker, but  Kyp  instantly  responded.

"On our way. Apologies for the  inconvenience."  He  snapped  off  the  comm

system. "They're going to  let  us  in,"  he  said.  Already  his  mind  was

churning, wondering who "the admiral" could be.

Ships large and small clustered around a staggeringly immense  grid  of

landing platforms and  docking  bays,  a  huge  nexus  built  of  metal  and

glittering with panes of transparisteel. It hid in the dark  void  of  space

between star systems and would not be easy to locate unless one already knew

where to look. The complex was studded with antennas and trackers, perimeter

defense satellites, and automated droid ships that  monitored  the  dizzying

flow of ship activity.  The  coordinate  vectors  took  them  to  a  central

platform where thousands of ships had already gathered.

Dorsk 81 stiffened in his seat. "Easy," Kyp said. "We have to do this."

The alien gave a jerky nod and brought the shuttle in to land among all  the

other ships.

Figures streamed toward the open mall area of the nexus station, a room

large enough for an audience of tens  of  thousands.  Stormtroopers  marched

about, ushering spectators to acceptable standing places for the rally.

"I can't go out there,"  Dorsk  81  said.  "The  Empire  doesn't  allow

nonhuman soldiers."

"They seem to have changed their rules," Kyp answered, indicating  some

of the uniformed personnel, an array of exotic humanoids and strange  flying

creatures. "Here." Kyp rummaged in the shuttle's uniform bin. He pulled  out

two sets of overalls with the insignia of the repair team  assigned  to  the

outer depot where Kyp and Dorsk 81  had  stolen  the  shuttle.  "We'll  wear

these, and nobody will know the difference."

Dorsk 81 looked at the outfit dubiously, but  adrenaline  sang  through

Kyp, whispering in his ears. "Look," he said in a  reassuring  voice,  "this

rally should give us all the information we need. We'll find  out  what  the

Empire is up to and then we can go back and make our report." He grasped the

cloned alien's arm. "Just be brave for me a little while longer, Dorsk 81."

They stepped down the landing ramp, and the current of the crowd  swept

them into the open mall area of the nexus station.  The  sounds  and  smells

assaulted Kyp, an exotic melange of the familiar and the fantastic. The main

language was proper Imperial Basic, though a few muttered comments came in a

variety of languages Kyp did not recognize. Dorsk 81 followed closely, still

looking stiff and nervous.

In the distant center of the open  space,  a  speaking  deck  had  been

raised to enclose a stage, tall amplifiers, and a turbolift that could bring

guests onto the stage without forcing them to pass  through  packed  crowds.

Scarlet- cloaked  Imperial  Guards  stood  on  all  corners  of  the  stage.

High-resolution screens towered over  the  audience  like  video  billboards

projecting an image of the speaker at the podium; the effect was to turn the

distant figure into a titan looming over those gathered for the rally.

A gaunt, trim old man was speaking in a precise voice that held  little

charisma. His eyes were pale and narrow, his forehead  creased  as  if  with

heavy thoughts. A bushy pale mustache covered his lip.

"He looks familiar," Kyp said. "I've seen his image before."

Stormtrooper  guards  appeared  out  of  nowhere,  their  white   armor

clacking, voices snapping gruffly through their helmets. "Silence while Vice

Admiral Pellaeon is speaking."

Kyp held back a retort, though excitement  kept  him  on  edge,  making

self- control difficult. With an effort, he nodded meekly, turning  back  to

look at the towering visage of the Imperial  commander.  Was  this  the  man

leading the new troops? Kyp recognized his name. From  what  he  had  heard,

Pellaeon had had something to do with Grand

Admiral Thrawn, though Kyp himself had been deep in the spice mines  of

Kessel during Thrawn's rampages.

The vice admiral had apparently been speaking for  some  time.  He  and

Dorsk 81 were indeed late for the rally, and Kyp wondered how much  valuable

information he had already missed.

"The main phase  of  our  assault,"  Pellaeon  continued,  "will  be  a

decisive attack on the new training facility where the Rebels are attempting

to create a commando force of their  own  Jedi  sorcerers.  Our  fleet  will

strike their training center and destroy it before the Rebels even know that

we are on the march. Without their Jedi Knights, the Rebel Alliance will  be

a weak assemblage of inept idealists."

The audience cheered, and Kyp felt compelled to applaud as well, so  as

not to draw further attention to himself. Dorsk 81 looked ill, and Kyp  knew

what the cloned alien was thinking that they needed  to  leave  immediately,

warn the New Republic, gather defenses around Yavin 4.

But to move now would focus the attention of the entire Imperial  fleet

on them. They had to wait.

Pellaeon droned on, and Kyp felt himself growing tenser.  The  audience

seemed to be keyed up and enthusiastic. Along the walls  holographic  images

of Emperor Palpa-tine played, animated murals  of  how  the  New  Order  had

supposedly brought a too-brief golden age to the galaxy.

"Our preparations are nearly complete," Pellaeon said.  "Your  superior

officers will give you full details of troop movements and how you will best

serve in this sudden and decisive attack. But first, allow me to present the

one person responsible for bringing us all together."

He gestured toward the turbolift as it opened on the stage behind  him.

The towering videoscreens showed a figure emerging, slim  and  tall  with  a

mane of hair that looked like copper fire. "Admiral Daala!"  Pellaeon  said,

and stepped aside.

Kyp felt a bomb with a rapidly burning fuse drop down into his guts, as

he stared in disbelief and horror. The Imperial admiral stepped up to speak,

her face narrowed and sharpened by failure; its once  hard  beauty  was  now

even more angular? more evil.

Daala had captured Han Solo and Kyp after they escaped from  the  spice

mines of Kessel, and because she deemed Kyp a worthless  prisoner,  she  had

ordered his execution. Kyp had  thought  to  destroy  her  in  the  Cauldron

Nebula, using the Sun Crusher to ignite a cluster of hot blue suns. Somehow,

she had miraculously escaped to attack the Maw Installation  again  but  she

had died there. Kyp was sure of it. She could not be here! She could not  be

in charge of the new Imperial fleet!

All of this passed through his mind in a  fraction  of  a  second,  and

Dorsk 81 sensed through the Force the volcano waiting to erupt  within  Kyp.

The cloned alien placed his olive hands on his shoulder to hold him back but

the sudden grip startled Kyp into losing control.

He shouted, "No!" tearing himself away from Dorsk  81's  grasp.  "She's

dead! Daala has to be dead."

While others in the audience cheered, those nearest to  him  turned  at

the disturbance. Kyp brought himself under control, furious at his own  lack

of restraint.

The stormtroopers appeared again, efficient and fast moving. "Stop this

outburst immediately!" they said, blasters  already  drawn.  "This  is  your

second warning. Show me your work assignment and papers."  Two  others  came

up, pointing weapons at Kyp and Dorsk 81.

"Yes, yes sure," Kyp said, patting his pocket. His mind whirled.  Dorsk

81 looked as if he were about to faint, though the alien stood up  straight,

tense, ready to fight if necessary. Kyp knew they had no  other  choice.  He

slid a hand into the pocket of his overalls, ostensibly to remove  his  work

assignment card and wrapped his fingers around his lightsaber handle.

The stormtroopers were more annoyed than uneasy. Kyp  would  take  them

totally by surprise.

Admiral Daala's voice boomed out from the amplifi-cation systems like a

horrible echo from Kyp's past. "You can all be proud of what you  are  about

to do," she said.

Yes, Kyp thought in a flash, yes I am. He snatched out the  lightsaber,

and with a snap-hiss the energy blade sprang out. In a single  sweeping  arc

he slashed off the stormtrooper's armored hand  at  the  wrist,  taking  the

blaster pistol with it, then followed through  to  strike  down  the  second

trooper in line. Dorsk 81 moved like a flicked whip. His own lightsaber came

out ablaze as he struck down a third stormtrooper.

The audience around  them  recoiled  in  surprise  and  confusion.  The

lightsabers were unmistakable weapons of the hated Jedi Knights. The  uproar

spread like the Shockwave from an exploding star. Spies had appeared in  the

rally, and the mob of dedicated Imperial defenders would demand blood.

"We've got to get out of here," Kyp shouted,  hacking  right  and  left

with his lightsaber. People and alien workers spread apart like  ripe  grain

in a strong wind, though more fled in panic than were actually cut  down  by

the blazing lightsabers. Kyp and Dorsk 81 fought shoulder to shoulder.

"Jedi Knights!" Admiral Daala shouted from the podium.  Even  from  her

distance she could recognize the unmistakable glare of lightsabers  and  now

her face, dozens of meters tall and reflected over and  over  again  on  the

immense videoscreens, seemed like an outraged deity demanding justice. "Kill

the Jedi Knights!"

Stormtroopers clustered around them, firing blaster rifles. Dorsk  81's

lightsaber deflected the first bolt high into the ceiling of the mall, while

the second shot burned through the back of a fleeing Imperial lieutenant.

"Don't fight unless you have to," Kyp said. "It'll only slow  us  down.

Run." He knew now that his partner  had  been  right  in  wanting  to  leave

earlier. They needed to get their information back to the New Republic,  and

if they let the Empire capture them, billions would die unwarned.

The size of the crowd worked in their favor,  and  as  ripples  of  mob

panic ricocheted from the walls, mass confusion  swallowed  all  details  of

where and what exactly the disturbance was.

Kyp and Dorsk 81 sprinted back to where they had  landed  their  stolen

shuttle. Blaster bolts  followed  them  down  the  corridors  of  the  nexus

station, spanging off wall-plates, but the shots were poorly aimed.

When Kyp and Dorsk 81 reached their ship, they rocketed off the landing

pad with repulsorlifts and sublight engines at full power in  a  pinwheeling

escape. As Dorsk  81  worked  the  stabilizers  to  straighten  them,  their

tumbling course aided in their escape because  the  droid  perimeter  ships,

attempting to lock onto them, shot repeatedly but missed.

"Launch into hyperspace fast," Kyp said.

Dorsk  81's  long  fingers  scrambled  over  the  navicom-puter  board.

"There's no time to calculate a long path," he said.

"Then make a short jump! Just get us out of here."

"The coordinates for Khomm are  programmed,"  Dorsk  81  said  briskly,

punching up a readout. "I, uh, did that  earlier.  That's  just  beyond  the

outer core. We can send an alarm from my homeworld."

"Fine! Fine!" Kyp said.

Just then, one of the  droid  ships  struck,  singeing  their  sublight

engines. They nearly stalled, coasting along with  only  their  considerable

momentum.

"The damage is bad," Kyp reported  as  Dorsk  81  flared  up  the  main

lightspeed engines, coaxing them to readiness, "but it's only  the  sublight

engines, not our hyperdrive. We need to go.

Behind them on the nexus station hundreds of ships  had  already  begun

lifting off.

"Engaging hyperdrive," Dorsk 81 finally said.

Droid perimeter  defenses  closed  in  on  their  drifting  ship.  More

crippling turbolaser bolts spat past them, barely  missing.  An  ion  cannon

blast rippled by, brushing against their shields and causing minimal damage.

"If an ion blast hits us, we're dead in space," Kyp said. "We  have  to

go now."

"Got it!" Dorsk 81 said. "Hang on."

They vanished into starlines as the Empire scrambled after them.

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 37

Three acceleration-enhanced A-wing fighters  streaked  off,  separating

from the cluster of ships  around  Admiral  Ackbar's  Galactic  Voyager  and

vanishing into hyperspace with a silent bang of light.

General Crix Madine stared down at his  cockpit  controls  through  the

smooth curve of his helmet faceplate. Powerful engines  roared  around  him,

making the A-wing throb. Madine had flown many ships before: fast ships  and

cargo haulers, interceptors and scouts. He had participated in raids for the

Rebel Alliance, and earlier for the  Imperials.  But  since  the  battle  of

Endor, he had spent most of his effort behind the scenes, setting up  covert

missions that younger recruits carried out.

But not this time.

The eerie nickering glow of hyperspace roared around him as the A-wings

tunneled through the walls of space-time, crossing the  galaxy  faster  than

the speed of light. Before launch, Madine's team  had  sent  no  message  to

Ackbar, no comm  signal  whatsoever.  The  Hutts  must  not  know  of  their

departure.

Their navicomputer had plotted the shortest  path  to  the  coordinates

provided by the tracer on Durga's personal craft. On either side  of  Madine

flew Korenn and Trandia, in communications silence, intent on their mission.

He smiled grimly, acknowledging the caliber of his  companions.  The  Rebels

had always been astute at getting topflight volunteers.

In the muffled boredom of hyperspace, during the  programmed  hours  of

their journey, Madine let his thoughts wander. He  had  been  one  of  those

Rebel recruits, too, convinced to defect from the Empire by  a  few  of  his

companions, friends from early days before the  New  Order  had  broken  the

backbone of the Old Republic friends such as Carlist Rieekan, who had  risen

to the rank of general in the Rebel Alliance and had commanded Echo Base  on

Hoth.

Shortly after joining the Rebellion, Madine had begun  working  closely

with Mon Mothma, who had taken him in as a trusted adviser even while others

were not so certain about this new defector. Ackbar himself had been a  good

friend, after his own rescue from the  Empire.  Gruff  and  courageous,  the

Calamarian knew how to administer the Rebel fleet.

But Crix Madine had always been different in  his  priorities  and  the

lengths to which he was willing to go  to  accomplish  his  objectives.  Mon

Mothma valued his opinions because  he  gave  a  fresh  perspective.  Madine

himself had fought against the Rebels on the side of the Empire. He knew the

tactics that were effective and those that had failed utterly.

Madine also knew his place: he was  necessary,  though  covert  tactics

weren't always pretty. Before the battle of Endor, while  planning  strategy

and deciphering the precious data that trickled in from a fragile network of

Bothan spies, Mon Mothma's original plan had  been  simply  to  destroy  the

second Death Star while it was still under  construction.  When  the  Rebels

learned, however, that Emperor Palpatine himself would  inspect  the  battle

station, Crix Madine had rejoiced at the opportunity.

Mon Mothma, though, appeared sickened. "The assassination of  political

leaders is not the sort of tactic the Rebel Alliance will condone," she said

in a closed-room session with Madine and  Ackbar.  "Even  if  they  are  our

enemies."

"Then we will lose," Madine said. "The Empire has no  such  reluctance.

Do you think they would hesitate to  assassinate  you  in  an  instant,  Mon

Mothma, if they were given the chance?"

Mon   Mothma   stood,   her   face   flushed,    her    voice    rising

uncharacteristically and hammered her fists on the table-top.  "I  will  not

allow my government to become as warped and as evil as the Empire."

"Mon Mothma," Ackbar said,  "we  have  risked  too  much  to  put  this

operation together. Our fleet is  ready  to  depart  for  Endor.  Our  decoy

mission has already begun at Sullust. We cannot scrap our plans just because

the Emperor will be on the Death Star."

"We will save millions of innocent lives," Madine  said.  "There  is  a

cost to ourselves, but the payback is potentially much greater. If we  allow

that Death Star to be completed, Alderaan will be only the first in  a  long

chain of planets turned to rubble at the Emperor's whim."

And so Mon Mothma had eventually agreed that the Emperor was  to  be  a

target as well. Once the decision was made, she gave it her full enthusiasm,

issuing orders with firm determination.

Thus the Death Star had been destroyed, the Empire overthrown, and  the

New Republic established? though peace and harmony had  not  come  about  as

quickly as they might have hoped.

Now, Madine found himself streaking through hyper-space  in  an  A-wing

scout vessel toward another superweapon being built by another tyrant hoping

to rule the galaxy.

Sometimes he felt it would never end.

* * *

The A-wings emerged from hyperspace on  the  fringes  of  the  asteroid

belt, and suddenly it seemed that  a  giant  invisible  fist  had  hurled  a

handful of crushed rocks at him. The tracker on Durga's ship had given  them

the exact location deep in the heart of the rubble-strewn danger  zone,  but

it offered no safe path to follow.

Madine risked a burst of comm traffic tightly focused to the two  craft

paralleling him. "Trandia," he said, "take the lead. Thread the needle. Find

a way through these rocks so we can get to the  construction  site  and  see

what's going on there."

"Yes, sir," Trandia said, her voice bubbling with exuberance  at  being

selected. He would let Korenn lead the flight back out.

Trandia's A-wing shot through the  clusters  of  asteroids,  arcing  in

tight curves and accelerating  through  openings  created  by  stony  bodies

drifting apart. Her rear engines glowed blue-white as she  increased  speed.

Madine and Korenn kept pace with her, locked on and following  her  tortuous

route.

Madine admired Trandia's flying as her A-wing battered its way  through

the space-borne pebbles. Her forward shields glowed faintly as she increased

power. Madine hated to break comm  silence  again,  but  he  opened  another

channel. "Trandia, no need to impress me. Be careful."

"Don't worry, sir," she said.

Before Madine could say anything else, though, Korenn  suddenly  jerked

his A-wing and dropped back. "Sir," his voice crackled  with  static,  "I've

been hit by a small piece of debris that penetrated my rear shields."

"Trandia," Madine snapped, "throttle down. Korenn,  give  me  a  status

report. How much damage?"

"Partial engine loss," the young  pilot  said,  and  as  Madine  looked

through the cockpit window he saw  sizzles  of  blue  lightning  around  the

engine banks of

Korenn's A-wing. More than minor damage: the core was breached.

"Korenn, listen to me?" Madine said, his heart pounding.  The  crippled

A- wing slung to one side out of control and spun as the asteroids continued

to hammer around them like a giant grinding machine.

"Loss of altitude control," Korenn said in a  rising  voice.  "I  can't

stabilize!"

"Korenn!" Trandia shouted. Her A-wing swung around.

"Pull up, pull up!" Madine shouted.

Trandia zoomed toward  her  companion.  Madine  didn't  know  what  she

expected to do, but before she could reach him, Korenn's A-wing slammed into

a jagged shard of rock. His engine core buckled.  The  ship  erupted  in  an

aftershower of fire.

Trandia cruised low over the still-smoldering wreckage on  the  surface

of the large asteroid; the detonation had flung  hull  plating  and  slagged

components into orbit.

"Checking for survivors, sir," Trandia said, her voice  strained  close

to the breaking point.

Though Madine knew it was hopeless, he allowed her  a  few  moments  to

cruise over the spinning rock until she brought her ship close to his again.

"Nothing to report, sir," she said. Her voice was bleak.

"I know," Madine said. "But we have to proceed."

"It's my fault, sir," Trandia said. She sounded as if she were begging.

"And it's my fault for ordering you to take  the  lead,"  Madine  said.

"And the Chief of State's fault for ordering the mission in the first place,

and the Hutts' fault for building the weapon at all and so on, and so on. We

could spend a great deal of time assigning an endless chain of blame but I'd

rather accomplish our mission. Wouldn't you?"

Trandia took a long moment to respond. "Yes, sir," she said finally.

They continued slowly, nearing the heart of the asteroid  belt.  Edging

forward with low engine power, their running lamps off, they  came  at  last

upon the spangle of lights at the construction site.

Madine set his  course  and  transmitted  a  comparable  trajectory  to

Trandia's A-wing. Once locked into the  appropriate  path,  they  shut  down

their engines and drifted along, just like other hunks of space wreckage.

With dry eyes and an intent stare, Madine watched the construction site

approach with infinite slowness. He drank in the details: a huge cylindrical

fortress, a gleaming metal structure almost completed, like a  giant  tunnel

in space. Along its axis, this battle station appeared to contain one of the

planet-cracking superlasers.

The Hutts had extensively modified the Death  Star  plans.  That  could

only mean they had impressive engineering expertise available to them.

He and Trandia  landed  their  A-wings  on  a  large  asteroid  at  the

outskirts of the construction site. The newly built battle station rode high

against the black star-strewn sky. Madine sent a narrow-burst  communication

again.

"We'll stay on this asteroid to do our reconnaissance," he said,  "then

we'll suit up and attempt to infiltrate."

CHAPTER 38

As their damaged ship limped away from Hoth, Callista  worked  side  by

side with Luke Skywalker. They  desperately  cross-wired  systems,  bypassed

ruined components, and fastened vital equipment back into place,  trying  to

repair each failure before another one occurred.

The wampa ice creatures had not actually  breached  the  yacht's  outer

hull, but they had caused a wealth of damage. The craft's sublight  engines,

operating at barely half power, had lurched away  from  the  frozen  planet,

reluctantly heaving them into orbit. The engines attempted to  fail  several

times, but somehow struggled on.

Their ship's hyperdrive was gone,  their  navicomputer  beyond  repair.

They plunged headlong into the broken asteroid field at the fringes  of  the

Hoth system with only minimal shields and virtually no  control  over  their

course. The asteroids began to grow thicker around them,  battering  at  the

tiny ship. Callista did not voice her growing dread.

Luke looked up at her  with  red,  bleary  eyes  and  a  haggard  face.

Callista knew she probably looked just as  bad  with  her  malt  blond  hair

mussed and her gray eyes bloodshot, but Luke's  pallid  skin  had  begun  to

flush again with hope. "I might be able to use the Force to navigate us," he

said. "At least enough to keep us from a major collision but  I  don't  know

where we're going to go."

"I wish I could help you," Callista said. "But I can't.  I  can't,  and

I'm afraid to try."

"You fought well with the lightsaber against the snow creatures,"  Luke

answered reassuringly, "and I didn't feel any glimmer from the dark side  as

I did on Dagobah."

"No," Callista said. Her words were a whisper. "I didn't let  it  out."

She knew, though, that the  dark  side  had  been  there  like  black  wings

hovering at the edge of her consciousness, demanding to be set free. She had

refused but, oh, the temptation had been great?

In a shower of sparks and burned  circuits,  the  life-support  systems

gasped and died. Luke  and  Callista  pulled  components  from  nonessential

computers trying to get the systems functioning again. "It's only  at  about

ten percent," Luke said. "That's not going to help us much."

Callista shivered. The temperature had already begun  to  drop  in  the

cabin. "We're not going to get out of this, are we?" she  said  with  quiet,

brutal honesty.

Luke stared at her for a long moment, then his  face  forced  a  smile.

"Not in any obvious way," he finally said with a sigh. "That just  means  we

have to look for a solution that isn't obvious."

Luke and Callista studied the torn environment  suits  the  wampas  had

shredded. Somehow, using several repair kits and other patches they found in

forgotten packages left by some unknown station mechanic on Coruscant,  they

managed to piece together one of the suits. But only one.

Within the hour, the atmosphere began to  thin  noticeably,  and  their

body heat did little to warm the cabin as the cold of space leached it away.

Luke ran his fingers along the crude, lumpy patches in the suit, and he

took Callista's hand. "You have to wear it, Callista."

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself," she said. "You wouldn't let me do

it on the Eye of Palpatine."

Luke raised her hand to his cheek. "I have no intention of  sacrificing

myself. I can go deep into a Jedi trance and slow down  my  metabolism,  put

myself practically in suspended animation. Then we wait, and hope."

Callista eyed the repaired suit, still reluctant, then she  gazed  into

Luke's clear blue  eyes,  wishing  she  could  read  his  thoughts  and  his

emotions.

"Maybe I can use the Force to contact someone," he said,  "send  out  a

message with my thoughts. I doubt anybody'll be able to read it, but we have

to try."

Callista slowly pulled the thick fabric of the  environment  suit  over

her long legs. "Yes," she said, defeated,  "we  have  to  try."  Before  she

clamped her helmet in place, she kissed Luke. "Will you be all  right?"  she

said.

He smiled wanly at her. "As long as you're here to watch over me."

Luke's blue eyes fell closed and rolled upward slightly as he sank into

himself, using his Jedi techniques to enter a deep trance  that  walled  him

off from the rest of the universe.

Callista longed to join him, but her grasp on the Force had  become  so

slippery she could not touch her abilities. She was unable even to begin the

deep Jedi trance that Luke brought upon himself.

She watched him, feeling her heart ache with love as she struggled with

the silence of the Force in her mind. Once again, she saw the  dark  shadows

of possibilities in her mind, luring her with an easy way to use  the  Force

again?

Join the dark side!

?even if it meant she had to succumb to evil influences.

"No," she whispered to herself, though she knew she could  not  disturb

Luke now. She fled from the dark alter-native, and it  frightened  her  that

the persistent shadows had come more easily this time.

The silent cabin grew colder and colder. The environment suit  crinkled

around her as she curled up next to Luke, conserving energy and  wanting  to

be next to him.

He appeared to be a statue. Frost formed on his cheeks from  the  faint

exhalations of his breath.  She  desperately  wished  she  could  touch  his

thoughts, share in his efforts to send out a plea for help but  Luke's  mind

remained closed to her.

The crippled ship drifted through the outer  fringes  of  the  asteroid

belt with minimal shields and failing life support, while Callista sat alone

in the darkness.

Inside the featureless Force shell he had wrapped  around  himself  and

his mind, Luke Skywalker centered his thoughts into a single  projectile,  a

tangible shout across space and time. In his mind his words  thrummed  along

the lines of Force that connected everything in the cosmos.

He recalled hanging on Cloud City's lower antennas, dangling above  the

clouds as he held on for dear life. He  had  issued  a  similar  call  then,

before he had known the truth about his sister? before he had realized there

was a connection between  them.  Luke  had  still  known  whom  to  ask  for

assistance.

"Leia!" he called from the far fringes of the asteroid  belt,  flinging

his thoughts undirected across space. "Leia? Leia?"

CHAPTER 39

Exhausted from the fraying  effects  of  constant  tension  during  the

diplomatic mission to Durga's fortress compounded by the startling knowledge

that Admiral Daala was still  alive  and  gearing  up  for  another  assault

against the New Republic Leia sat in her comfortable seat in the  diplomatic

shuttle. Han piloted it away from Nal Hutta, avoiding  the  Smugglers'  Moon

entirely and arrowing out to open space where Ackbar's fleet waited.

Relieved that he no longer required stuffy diplomatic finery, Han  wore

his familiar old clothes again: black vest, white shirt, and dark pants that

had seen better days. Leia wished she had brought along comfortable  clothes

herself, but she had forgotten to pack them while preparing for her surprise

performance on the Hutt homeworld.

Beside her, Threepio helpfully chattered his list  of  all  the  duties

waiting for her upon returning to Coruscant. His thin voice rattled off  one

obligation after another; some she had forgotten, some she had ignored,  and

some she just didn't want to remember. As Threepio continued with  unbridled

enthusiasm for the safe trivialities of a  govern-mental  life,  Leia  found

herself lulled into an uneasy doze. The smooth vibrations of the  diplomatic

ship hummed into her bones like an electronic massage. Her thoughts drifted.

Her breathing became more regular?

And suddenly a spear of thought  lanced  through  her.  Leia  sat  bolt

upright as a convulsive shudder made her skin crawl. She blinked  her  large

brown eyes and gasped. The thought came again like a bullet of ice  shooting

through her mind.

Leia?

Leia!

"Luke?" she whispered.

Threepio, still reciting his list, finally noticed that  something  was

wrong. "Mistress Leia, are you all right?"

Han turned from the pilot's seat, an expression of concern on his face.

"Hey, Leia what is it?"

Leia shivered and squeezed her eyes shut. She ran her fingertips across

her forehead? and the voice continued to echo through her skull,  a  distant

pleading call with no details, just the repeated summons.

Leia!

"It's Luke," she said. "He's in trouble."

"Do you know where he is?" Han said, his face filled with questions  he

did not ask. In their years together, Han had learned not to  inquire  about

certain details of the Jedi, because he would never understand anyway. He no

longer considered it a "hokey religion," but he still didn't comprehend it.

"No," she said. Luke's ethereal voice faded to the  back  of  her  mind

where it remained, its insistent summons growing  no  worse  but  issuing  a

continuous call. "I think I can find  him  if  I  concentrate  hard  enough,

though. We have to?"

"Hey, look!" Han pointed out the cockpit as  they  approached  the  New

Republic fleet. Wedge's escort frigate Yavaris hung in front of them like  a

jagged monstrosity. Connected to one of the docking ports was  the  familiar

battered shape of the Millennium Falcon. "Chewie must be back  with  Artoo."

Han spun in his chair and looked at Leia. "When we get to the  fleet,  we'll

give them our news about the Hutts. Then we can take all these warships with

us to rescue Luke or we can just go in the Falcon."

"All right." Leia bit her lower lip. "I don't  think  the  whole  fleet

would help, though. We've got to go soon." She swallowed, trying to ease her

dry throat. "We'll have to brief Ackbar on what we  learned  about  Imperial

activities. He'll need time to plan strategy."

When the diplomatic shuttle  pulled  into  the  receiving  bay  of  the

Yavaris, they sprang out of their ship with the New Republic  armed  escort.

Before Han could get his bearings, the towering lanky form  of  a  bellowing

Wookiee rushed to greet him.  Chewbacca  embraced  Han  so  hard  that  Leia

thought she could hear bones crack.

Wedge Antilles came running up  breathless.  "Han,  Leia!  Glad  you're

back. Chewie and Artoo found out something on Nar  Shaddaa,  but  once  they

heard you were on your way, they insisted on waiting."

Chewbacca barked a rapid story that Leia could  not  understand.  Artoo

also wheeled up whistling and chit-tering. "Wait a minute,  you  two,"  Leia

said, raising her voice.

Han held out both hands, palm outward. "Chewie," he said, "hey,  buddy?

talk slower! I can't understand you."

It took several minutes for Han to extricate the message about Imperial

General Sulamar linking up with the Hutts to build their superweapon.  This?

tied with the information that  Admiral  Daala  had  unified  the  remaining

Imperial forces and was planning her assault made  the  galaxy  a  dangerous

place indeed.

Leia listened, sick with anxiety for Luke, yet knowing she had to  give

instructions, issue standing orders for her fleet before  she  went  rushing

off.

"General Antilles," Leia said, "let's go to the war room  and  link  up

with Admiral Ackbar. We've got to discuss strategy, but Han and  I  have  to

leave with all possible speed my brother, Luke, is in trouble.  Everything's

happening at once."

"Luke's in trouble?" Wedge asked. "Let's go!"

They rushed to the sealed war room, and a coded transmission brought  a

holographic simulacrum of Admiral Ackbar  into  the  room  with  them.  Leia

drummed her fingertips on the table, looking around, feeling the prodding of

Luke's mental call that hadn't lessened.

Luke needed her. He was trapped somehow. She had to leave. She  had  to

leave.

"The  Hutts  are  building  their   own   superweapon   with   Imperial

assistance," Leia began. "And our old friend Admiral Daala is unifying a new

fleet to strike against the New Republic. All this is happening right  under

our noses."

She  glanced  from  Wedge's  square-jawed  face  to  Ackbar's   glassy,

unreadable Calamarian eyes. "I want all of our teams on  yellow  alert  from

this moment on. Make sure everyone is  ready  for  immediate  deployment  to

battle, wherever the Imperials may strike." She turned toward  Wedge.  "But,

we mustn't tip our hand. The only advantage we have is that they don't  know

we know what they're up to.  They  probably  realize  we  suspect  something

because we're here  snooping  around?  but  they  won't  think  we've  found

anything. You will continue your maneuvers, as before.

"Right now Han, Chewie, and I will take the Falcon and go rescue  Luke.

We can't let the Hutts think anything has changed. Wait for your report from

General Madine's mission and act accordingly if I haven't returned  I  trust

you all."

Leia stood with a determined look on her face. "Now I have to  go  save

my brother." Han took her hand as they ran to the Falcon.

Leia sat strapped into her seat, still concentrating, following  Luke's

gradually fading request for assistance. Her

Force abilities had been sharpened through Luke's training, and  though

she couldn't give Han any direct coordinates for his navicomputer, she could

take him in the right general direction;  as  they  approached  closer,  she

narrowed down Luke's location.

The battered space yacht looked like a derelict careening in  a  random

path along the fringes of the asteroid  belt.  Artoo-Detoo  squealed  as  he

detected the ship on the sensors, and Chewbacca triangulated on its position

as he steered the Falcon to the rescue.

With the Falcon's tractor beam, they took the ruined yacht in  tow  and

brought their airlocks together, sealing them so that Han, Leia, and  Chewie

could open the outer hatch and enter the  darkened  wreck.  Leia  had  noted

disturbing marks on the outer hull, not simply dents and scars  from  meteor

impacts but long scratches that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  made  with

impossibly sharp claws.

She couldn't understand what he had been doing out in the Hoth  system.

When he and Callista departed from Coruscant, Luke had intended to  go  with

her to the exclusive and romantic cometary resort of the  Mulako  Primordial

Water Quarry but something must have changed.

Panting, Han dropped down into the empty hold of  Luke's  ship  with  a

thud, and called up for breathmasks.  "Almost  no  air  left  in  here,"  he

gasped, "and it's freezing cold. Reminds me of Kessel."

Chewbacca tossed a clatter of glowlights and  breathmasks  down  before

lowering his hairy body into the dim chamber. Han and Leia placed the  masks

over their faces, and each took a light,  which  they  shone  into  the  dim

chambers. Chewbacca shivered and rubbed his fur-covered arms.

"They're completely out of power," Leia said. "Life-support systems are

practically dead."

"Doesn't seem to be any engine control, either," Han said.

Leia shook her head. "I can sense Luke, though.  It's  just  a  whisper

now, but he's here."

They found the two motionless bodies in the  back  chamber,  the  small

sleeping area: Luke lay on the floor like a statue, and  Callista  clung  to

him in a tattered and failing life-support suit. Luke looked frozen solid. A

rime of frost covered his eyebrows, his eyelashes, and his  upper  lip.  His

skin appeared colorless and flat, like wax.

Callista gave a rattling groan, shifting in  her  slick  suit.  Powdery

frost crumbled from the joints in her arms.

"Her suit's almost gone. Let's get them into  the  Falcon,"  Han  said.

"Chewie, carry Luke. Leia and I will get Callista."

They carried the sagging Jedi back into the warmth and the air  of  the

Falcon, then disconnected from the ruined  space  yacht,  letting  the  hulk

drift into the asteroid field like discarded rubbish, where  it  would  soon

become crushed in the relentless chaos of the meteor storm.

Callista revived first. With a change into warm clothing  and  generous

cups of stim tea, she recovered  enough  to  insist  on  helping  tend  Luke

Skywalker as they nursed him back to health.  In  his  deep  trance  he  had

depleted his reserves, keeping himself at the ghost edge of death  when  the

life support had ceased to function. Only his will to survive had  kept  his

heart beating and oxygen molecules moving through his lungs. In another  few

hours he would have succumbed.

Callista's gray eyes were red-rimmed as she took a poly  sponge  soaked

in warm water and bathed Luke's face, his forehead, his neck. She  whispered

to Leia, "I had to watch him as my own supplies dwindled. As  he  dwindled."

She shuddered. "I held him, but I couldn't touch him. I  told  him  so  many

things?" She reached out with her fingertip, gently caressing Luke's cheek.

Suddenly his blue eyes snapped open, and he  took  a  deep  breath.  He

blinked, and color flooded back into his cheeks. Drawing several  more  slow

breaths, he revived like a  time-lapse  exposure  of  a  blossom  unfolding.

"We're safe?" he said. His voice was a hoarse croak, but it was alive he was

alive!

Callista hugged him, and Han  and  Chewie  and  Leia  gathered  around,

barely restraining themselves from smothering him again with their delight.

"Yes, Luke, you're safe now," Leia said, "and we're on our  way.  We'll

take you back to the Jedi academy, where you can relax and recover."

CHAPTER 40

From his personal offices on the  nearly  completed  Dark-saber  battle

station, Bevel Lemelisk gazed out the array of  latticed  windows,  studying

the final steps in the mammoth construction project.

His office was unabashedly  austere,  with  cold  metal  walls,  little

furniture, and no decoration whatsoever. He didn't waste time on frivolities

like artwork or comfort. The thing that concerned him most was ensuring that

he had the right equipment and plenty of it. He was only  truly  happy  when

surrounded with technological toys.

As Lemelisk watched the continually  shifting  chaos  of  the  asteroid

belt? random patterns of motion from the drifting rocks tugged by their  own

minimal gravities into complex fifth-order permutations he noted the distant

light reflected off the hull of some other ship in  the  asteroid  belt.  He

squinted. Yes, it was definitely a vessel, not another asteroid.

"Spies?" he wondered with a thrill of adrenaline; he doubted  it.  This

huge weapon was doing nothing to con-ceal itself. More likely it was a group

of smugglers who thought they were safe in an uncharted area of space.

Most bothersome, though, in Lemelisk's opinion, was the fact  that  the

Taurill had  once  again  been  thrown  into  a  frenzy  of  distraction  by

unexpected movement. He couldn't imagine how the busy  little  creatures  in

their tiny, custom-made spacesuits could notice something so faint  and  far

away, but the Taurill Overmind had thousands of eyes and it took only one to

notice.

The tiny Taurill construction workers jockeyed around for better  views

of the moving reflected lights, leaving their positions so they could  stare

upward and point with multiple arms.

Lemelisk scowled. Now he would have to  go  on  another  plate-by-plate

inspection outside the Darksaber just to  make  sure  they  didn't  mess  up

again. He had successfully managed to conceal the first debacle  from  Durga

the Hutt, but he wasn't confident he could continue to trick the crime lord.

He waddled down the hall, taking a turbolift to the construction access

bay, and climbed inside a smelly old inspection scooter,  a  tiny  spherical

craft that held one person and that just barely.

Lemelisk tucked his paunch behind the crude controls and sealed himself

in. The laboring air-recirculation systems did little to dampen the odor  of

decaying upholstery that continued to outgas even so many  years  after  the

scooter had been put into operation.

Lemelisk raised the small vehicle off the floor and passed through  the

magnetic atmosphere field, then puttered along the cylindrical hull of black

anodized plates.

He remembered the time he had taken a similar inspection  tour  of  the

original Death Star with Grand Moff  Tarkin?  and  he  hoped  this  time  it

wouldn't turn out to be such a disaster.

* * *

He and Grand Moff Tarkin had departed from  the  Governor's  palace  on

Eriadu, an important trading and governmental hub on the  Outer  Rim,  where

Tarkin had established his primary base of operations  when  he  became  the

regional governor of the fringe  worlds.  With  the  Death  Star  completed,

Tarkin  had  summoned  Bevel  Leme-lisk   back   from   one   of   his   new

weapons-building assignments to Eriadu so they could perform the first  test

flight of the battle station together.

Tarkin took his pet Calamarian, Ackbar, to pilot them  in  an  unmarked

Lambda-class shuttle away toward the Horuz System where the Death Star  hung

in orbit over the penal colony of Despayre.

Tarkin preferred to travel without a full complement of guards  because

it allowed him to move unhindered, to slip in where he might hear traitorous

words and then crack down accordingly. He also didn't want to draw attention

to the superweapon's location now that it was so nearly finished.

"What are you waiting for, Ackbar?" Tarkin snapped from  the  passenger

seat beside Lemelisk. "Let us  go  see  this  weapon  that  will  crush  all

resistance to the Emperor's New Order."

The Calamarian hunched over his controls and made no  response,  taking

the Lambda shuttle away from Eriadu toward the jump point where  they  would

enter hyperspace.

Tarkin  took  every  opportunity  to  taunt  and  harass   the   quiet,

unflappable Calamarian slave. Ackbar was supposedly  intelligent,  according

to Tarkin, and Lemelisk knew  that  the  Grand  MofF  spent  merciless  time

showing Ackbar the tactics he would use to defeat  the  Rebels,  the  secret

plans, the tricks and feints  designed  to  evoke  despair  from  those  who

resisted Imperial rule.  Ackbar  seemed  suitably  downcast,  all  spark  of

resistance crushed? or at least well buried.

"Preparing to enter hyperspace," Ackbar said with a  complete  lack  of

enthusiasm, his words devoid of inflection.  "Destination  Despayre  in  the

Horuz System."

Without warning, three Rebel Y-wings appeared out of  nowhere,  bearing

down on Tarkin's shuttle and firing their laser cannons.

"It's a Rebel attack!" Tarkin said. "Ackbar, take evasive action."

The Calamarian moved with sudden efficiency but  instead  of  launching

them immediately into hyperspace, Ackbar shut down the shields.

"You fool!" Tarkin shouted.

"Er, what do you think we should do now?" Leme-lisk asked.

The Rebel Y-wings came around again, firing precision shots. Explosions

erupted from the rear of the Lambda-class shuttle. The craft rocked back and

forth. Flames and smoke poured from  the  rear  compartment,  and  the  ship

reeled out of control.

"You will die for this, Ackbar," Tarkin said.

Then the Rebels hit  again,  sending  the  crippled  shuttle  spinning.

Tarkin had just climbed to his feet, and the new jolt hurled him against the

far wall. He tumbled over Lemelisk, still strapped into his seat.

"Shields are down, our engines crippled," Ackbar said.  "And  now  they

are coming in for the kill." He looked up at the  front  viewport.  "I  just

wanted you to understand that I have  brought  this  upon  you,  Grand  Moff

Tarkin, in exchange for all the pain you have inflicted upon me  and  others

like me."

Lemelisk saw the Rebel ships approaching again, deadly weapons  already

glowing in preparation for firing. Tarkin scrambled to his feet and  grabbed

Lemelisk by the collar, ripping him out of his chair.

"The escape pod," Tarkin said. "We'll leave this traitor  to  the  fate

he's earned for himself."

Together Tarkin and Lemelisk dived into the small escape  pod  intended

for the comfort of only one person. Lemelisk stumbled and fell flat  against

the bulkhead and felt something crack in his face; blood poured out  of  his

nose. Tarkin did not pause, but punched the  automated  launch  button.  The

rear hatch of the lifepod sealed, and with an  explosion  seemingly  greater

than anything the Rebel Y-wings had inflicted upon them, the lifepod  soared

away from the shuttle as the Y-wings came in for their final attack.

The universe reeled, spinning in confusion as Leme-lisk tried to stanch

the flow of blood from his nose. He saw the Rebel ships circle the  crippled

shuttle, but instead of immediately detonating it,  they  clustered  around,

connecting hatches.

"They'll be after us in a moment," Tarkin  said  as  he  triggered  the

distress signal built into the escape pod. Lemelisk saw that the Grand  Moff

had also been injured, burned by the hot bulkhead.

Suddenly, with a miracle of good luck, space around the  Eriadu  System

rippled and an Imperial Star Destroyer stabbed out of hyperspace. He learned

later that it was Admiral Motti's flagship; Motti had come to escort Tarkin,

though the Grand Moff had not asked for it.

The Star Destroyer locked onto the distress signal and came toward  the

would-be Rebel assassins, its turbolasers ripping through the darkness  with

spears of disintegrating light.

Lemelisk looked up and saw the three attacking Y-wings  fire  again  at

the Lambda shuttle, this time destroying it utterly.  As  it  exploded,  the

Y-wings split off in  three  different  directions  and  vanished  into  the

cloaking distance of space?

As they spun around, dizzy inside the careening lifepod, Lemelisk  felt

as if he were about to  be  spacesick.  The  engineer's  part  of  his  mind

wondered distantly just how much of a mess he would make if he vomited  into

the confined atmosphere of the craft as it whirled  around  like  a  child's

toy.

"Very strange," Lemelisk commented. "It  appeared  as  if  those  Rebel

ships wanted to rescue your Calamarian slave."

Tarkin was incredulous. "Rescue Ackbar? Why should they bother with  an

animal?"

Lemelisk shrugged  as  Admiral  Motti's  Star  Destroyer  followed  the

distress beacon and approached them for rescue. "I've never  understood  the

Rebel mind," he said?

Later, they recovered in the Death  Star's  infirmary  rooms.  Lemelisk

nursed a broken nose, and Tarkin lay bandaged from sprains  and  superficial

burns. They received the grim news that the assassination attempt on  Tarkin

had been only part  of  the  Rebel  treachery.  A  group  of  commandos  had

succeeded in stealing a copied set of the full Death  Star  blueprints,  the

technical readouts that specified every  system,  each  component,  all  the

weaponry capabilities of the great battle station, and smuggled them to  the

Toprawa Relay Station, from which point they had vanished.

A young corporal with spit-polished boots, clean  uniform,  and  neatly

trimmed hair stood nervously as he delivered his message, afraid that Tarkin

might fly into a rage and order the young man's execution. "Darth  Vader  is

even now tracking down the Toprawan Rebels, sir.  He  anticipates  capturing

them before they can deliver their stolen plans."

Lemelisk watched Tarkin and was amazed by the Grand Moff's seeming lack

of concern. He gave a mysterious thin smile while  his  hard  eyes  flashed.

"Seeing the full details  may  even  increase  their  fear  of  this  battle

station," Tarkin said. "They won't find a flaw." He looked over at Lemelisk,

who felt foolish with the cumbersome bandage across his nose. "My Death Star

is invincible."

Lemelisk leaned back on the infirmary bed and hoped Tarkin was right.

Now, as he cruised in the inspection scooter over the outer hull of the

Darksaber, Lemelisk didn't have such confidence in the new Hutt superweapon.

He would have to chastise the Taurill for their shoddy work once again,  and

the little creatures would scramble to perform  the  necessary  reparations?

until the next screwup.

But the Taurill weren't the only problem.

Sulamar's antique computer cores kept crashing, no matter how carefully

Lemelisk reprogrammed them and backed them up. The devices  must  have  been

defective from the time of manufacture, and now they were  so  outdated  few

people remembered how to fix them.

Some of the thick metal sheeting purchased from low-bid contractors was

found to have millions of micro holes bad enough  for  structural  material,

but this had been intended for the engine shielding. This entire  Dark-saber

project was one misery after another.

The front-end girders of the kilometers-long  cylinder  didn't  exactly

match up with the aft girders in the final assembly, and if  the  superlaser

was not perfectly aligned when Durga fired the weapon, the deadly beam could

vaporize the Darksaber rather than its intended target.

And there was more?

His groan echoed inside the inspection scooter. He had overseen repairs

to each of these problems, but finding so many instances of ineptitude  made

him wonder about the many problems he had not yet found.

CHAPTER 41

Crix Madine and Trandia locked down their A-wing fighters in the  dense

shadows of rocky outcrop bristling  from  the  rugged  surface  of  a  small

asteroid.

"All systems  on  standby  and  powered  up,"  Madine  said.  "Even  if

everything goes as planned, we need to be ready to leave here fast."

Trandia responded with the grim fatalism she had shown since the  death

of Korenn, the third member of their team. "Are we going to return from this

mission, sir?" she said.

Madine thought of responding with a reassuring answer, then decided she

deserved something  more  honest.  "We  must  remain  optimists,"  he  said.

"There's a chance we'll get back home eventually."

Trandia said, "Good enough for me, sir."

Madine and Trandia  wore  heavily  padded,  single-mission  spacesuits,

walking outfits of armor like self-contained mobile ships. They stood on the

crumbly surface of the asteroid, checking their  complement  of  detonators,

life-support packs, and surveillance systems.

"Ready to go, sir," Trandia said.

Madine stood beside her, bulky in  the  hardened  survival  suit.  They

looked out at the enormous structure taking shape as it  hung  at  a  stable

point in the asteroid belt. "Launch," Madine said.

He and Trandia leaped upward, tearing themselves free of the asteroid's

negligible gravity. Momentum carried them across the gulf  of  space  toward

the superweapon under construction. As he  and  Trandia  drifted  like  tiny

pieces of rubble toward the giant cylindrical assembly, Madine  had  a  good

deal of time to stare at the Hutt project through his faceplate.

The design concerned him. He was aware that the Hutts  had  copied  the

Death Star plans from the Imperial Information Center but this was no  Death

Star. It appeared instead to be no more  than  the  superlaser,  a  straight

cylinder that would serve as a destructive offensive weapon. If this  weapon

were completed, the Hutts would show little reluctance to use it against any

system that failed to pay them for protection.

And the construction seemed nearly finished.

The two suited figures floated in, specks against  the  kilometers-long

assembly. Madine spoke in a focused line-of-sight beam at Trandia.  "We  may

be able to cripple the weapon if we can get inside and place our  detonators

in appropriate spots."

"From the looks of it, we'd better not wait  too  long,  sir,"  Trandia

said. "Seems like the Hutts are ready to go."

At last, their magnetic boots made contact with the armor plates, black

metal that reflected little starlight. Using  his  adhesive  gloves,  Madine

clambered like an insect along the hull. The Hutt weapon was  so  vast  that

the curvature of the cylinder was unnoticeable beneath him.

He and Trandia worked their way along the metal plates, and Madine  was

surprised to see that many of the hull segments were mismatched  and  loose,

welded together but leaving gaps and  uneven  seams.  Such  a  con-struction

couldn't possibly hold an atmosphere. He was appalled by  the  reprehensible

workmanship.

At least it would be easy to get inside.

They came upon one particularly loose plate, and Madine removed a crude

crowbar from the tool compartment of his bulky suit. With it he was able  to

peel free some of the crumbling welds. The  sheet  of  metal  drifted  away,

tumbling end over end. The missing plate left an opening  large  enough  for

Trandia and Madine to crawl through even in their cumbersome suits.

They entered a darkened, half-completed corridor, little more  than  an

access space between the shoddy outer hull and a not-much-better inner wall.

Bright beams from their helmets lit the way as they pulled themselves along.

Finally they reached a bulkhead door that allowed them to pass deeper inside

the construction and work their way toward the aft interior  chambers.  They

cycled one at a time through a cramped airlock.

Clomping  in  his  heavy  boots,  Madine  entered  another  dimly   lit

passageway and stood waiting  for  Trandia.  When  she  joined  him,  Madine

removed his helmet. "There's atmosphere here. Let's take off our suits,"  he

said. "We'll need the freedom of movement.  We  might  have  to  hide  on  a

moment's notice, and I can hardly move inside this contraption."

Trandia disassembled the heavy components, piling her armor beside  his

in an unused storage alcove. The empty suits looked like enough metal to  be

the shrapnel from an Imperial scout walker. Trandia's braid had come  loose,

and strands of hair swam around her face. Perspiration  dampened  her  neck,

and her skin was flushed but her eyes were flinty.

Madine and Trandia removed the tools  and  the  detonators  from  their

packs. He scratched his beard and held a clenched fist in the air.  "To  the

success of our mission."

Trandia matched his upraised fist. "We will succeed," she answered.

Ducking low and moving quietly,  they  sprinted  along  the  corridors,

heading toward where the propulsion systems would be. Some  of  these  decks

were already inhabited by a skeleton crew, and they  hesitated  at  corners,

crept past droning voices of guards and crew  members  who  lurked  in  open

rooms.

As they hurried, though, Madine noted many darkened  glowpanels,  wires

dangling from ceiling plates  but  connected  to  nothing,  and  dead  blank

computer terminals that seemed as  if  they  had  never  functioned.  Madine

muttered to Trandia, "Maybe we don't need to sabotage the weapon after  all.

This whole thing is a disaster waiting to happen."

The engine sections were a great pulsing dungeon filled with smells  of

oil and coolant, hissing steam that might have been intentionally vented  or

just leaking from reactor cores. The storm  of  noise  and  flashing  lights

throbbed around them, drowning their surreptitious sounds as they crept into

the tangle of engines.

More guards patrolled the catwalks above stupid-looking Gamorreans  and

a hodgepodge of unsavory alien creatures: Weequays, Niktus, and walrus-faced

Aqualish. Madine checked the blaster  pistol  and  the  four  detonators  he

carried, then gestured that he and Trandia would split up.

The Darksaber's guidance computers were giant banks of  circuit  boards

fenced off by a transparent mesh that steamed  with  supercooled  air  blown

through the hot circuitry.

The enormous engines themselves thrummed behind a thick shielding wall.

If  they  could  plant  remote  detonators  in  various  spots  around   the

compartment, the two of  them  unaided  could  cripple  this  great  weapon,

leaving it dead in space until New Republic forces could finish the job.

He and Trandia moved apart  into  the  deeper  shadows  and  the  loud,

unmuffled machinery. Trandia held her precious store of  detonators  as  she

slithered through the murk, darting from cover to scant cover,  working  her

way over to the shielding wall that blocked the engines.

Alone, Madine moved to the mesh surrounding the  propulsion  computers.

He bent down and removed a cutting tool from his equipment pouch,  intending

to slice through the protective fence. A detonator or two  could  completely

kill the computers that drove the superweapon.  He  switched  on  the  small

vibroblade and felt the high-pitched hum through its handle.  He  hacked  at

the thin flexible mesh but as soon as he severed the  crystalline  cords,  a

squawking alarm burst from the top of the computer.

Madine deactivated the  vibroblade  with  a  curse,  grabbing  for  his

blaster pistol. The guards in the engine compartment hurried to discover the

nature of the disturbance, though they  seemed  somewhat  apathetic.  Madine

wondered how often they responded to false alarms resulting from  the  inept

construction work.

Madine decided not to fire just yet and slid back into shadows  as  the

alien guards lumbered toward him, their own weapons drawn. If he could  just

be silent, they might miss him  and  go  about  their  business.  His  heart

pounded. The guards came closer.

Suddenly Trandia stood up from her hiding place near the  wall  of  the

engine compartment. She waved her arms  and  yelled  to  draw  attention  to

herself. As the guards turned in astonishment,  she  fired  her  blaster  at

them, hitting a leathery-faced Niku, who hissed as he fell to the floor.

The other guards spun about and launched a volley of blaster  bolts  in

Trandia's direction. She ducked, but one bolt burned through  her  arm.  She

cried out and slumped behind one of  the  consoles  for  cover.  The  guards

converged on her hiding place, completely forgetting Madine.

"Run!" she shouted at him. Her voice was high with pain. "Run."

Madine cursed again under his breath, wishing Trandia  hadn't  been  so

impulsive. He began to crawl away from the propulsion computers, pulled  his

blaster, and looked for a chance to draw  the  guards  away  from  her.  The

vicious aliens pushed toward her position and  just  as  they  reached  her,

Trandia triggered every one of the detonators she carried.

The resulting explosion  drowned  out  even  the  cacophony  of  engine

sounds. A wall of flame gushed outward in a blazing ring. The explosion took

out the entire complement of guards as well as Trandia  herself,  though  it

barely damaged the engines' containment wall. Lights flickered and went out.

The shockwave knocked Madine flat, turning  his  consciousness  into  a

static of black insects before his eyes. He  shook  his  head,  gasping  for

breath, and  struggled  back  to  his  feet.  The  enemy  was  alerted,  the

infiltration ruined. It would do no good to stay.

Madine stumbled as he ran. He couldn't think straight, stunned as  much

by the loss of Trandia as by the explosion. Then a deeper core  of  Madine's

personality asserted itself, reinforced by the  years  of  training  he  had

undergone, the lessons he himself had taught his commando team members.

The mission was paramount.

They had to succeed.

The mission.

Madine hauled himself to his feet and found that his back was bleeding,

nicked by several chunks of shrapnel  unleashed  by  the  explosion.  Alarms

continued to whoop and screech, demanding attention. Madine somehow  reached

the doorway, though he was disoriented and couldn't recall how to  find  his

way back to their armored mission suits.

He lurched  through  the  open  door,  staggered  down  the  dimly  lit

corridor? and stumbled right into another group of alien guards  rushing  to

see what the commotion was all about.

Madine's heart sank. Trandia  had  given  her  life  hop-ing  to  cause

irreparable  damage,  hoping  to  let  her  commander  escape  but  she  had

accomplished neither.

Gamorreans clasped stubby fingers around his arms, throwing  Madine  to

the deck and piling on top of him as if they meant to keep him from moving.

"Saboteur!" one of the Weequays snarled down at him.

They hauled Madine to his feet. Five separate guards clutched  him,  as

if in a contest to see how many could actually claim credit for his capture.

Madine struggled, but said nothing.

The guards hauled him off alone, a trophy to be  brought  before  Durga

the Hutt.

CHAPTER 42

Up  on  the  Darksaber's  supposedly  functional  control  deck,  Bevel

Lemelisk watched the childish glee evident on  the  faces  of  both  General

Sulamar and Durga the Hutt. The two normally surly partners  sat  enthralled

with the controls in their grasp as they itched to begin their grand plan of

conquest.

Despite the difficulties Lemelisk had experienced with the Taurill  and

any number of other convoluted problems encountered during  construction  of

the massive superweapon, the Darksaber project had  somehow  bumbled  along,

adhering to its schedule more through mutual  annihilation  of  errors  than

actual efficiency.

Per  Durga's  demand,  the  Darksaber  was  now  technically  complete,

constructed  according  to  Lemelisk's  modified  plans  and  completed   in

conjunction with the work and inspection crews though Lemelisk did not  want

to guarantee the quality of any portion of the project.  In  fact,  he  felt

great anxiety when he began to think Durga might actually wish  to  use  the

weapon anytime soon.

"Observe," Durga said,  summoning  a  holographic  map  of  the  galaxy

centered on the Nal Hutta system and extending outward in the intended  path

of the Hutts' "outreach program," using  the  Darksaber  to  hold  rich  and

vulnerable planets ransom.

Sulamar gave far too much unwanted advice, and Durga refused to  listen

any longer, gloating over the holo map, his rubbery lips forming a leer that

pushed the discolored birthmark up the side of his face.

On the control deck Durga's other crew members sat strapped into  their

chairs, secured with lock restraints because Durga did not want them to leap

from their booby-trapped seats if he grew displeased with them.

Lemelisk rubbed the scratchy stubble on his chin, as Durga peered  into

the map of the galaxy, which would soon be under his entire control.

Without warning, the  alarms  went  off,  whooping  from  the  security

stations. Klaxons echoed through  the  empty  corridors  of  the  Darksaber.

Startled, many of the crew members on the command deck tried  to  flee,  but

the locked webbing held them in place.

Durga bellowed, "I demand to know the meaning of this racket."

"That's the security alarm, sir," Bevel Lemelisk said. "I selected  its

sound to be particularly unpleasant and attention grabbing."

Sulamar sneered. "You did your job well, engineer."

Durga was not satisfied. "And why did this alarm go off?"

Lemelisk  shrugged.  "Because  of  a  security  breach,  perhaps?"   he

suggested.

"You mean sabotage?" the Hutt said.

Before Lemelisk could answer, the echoing thump of a distant  explosion

vibrated through the walls. "I think that would be a safe bet, Lord  Durga,"

he said.

"Damage report, sir," said one of  the  Devaronian  crew  members.  "An

explosion has occurred in the engine levels. A saboteur planted a bomb."

"Extent of damage?" Lemelisk asked.

"Unknown at this time," the Devaronian said.

Durga howled in outrage. "Sabotage! This will put us  behind  schedule.

How did anyone penetrate our defenses?" His lanternlike  Hutt  eyes  scoured

across the members of his command crew. "I demand to know who is  in  charge

of security!" He reared up on his levitating platform. "Who?"

Everyone on the bridge deck huddled down and cowered until  one  pasty-

faced Twi'lek finally raised a clawed hand. The wormlike head-tails dangling

from the back of his skull quivered with fear. "I?  I  am  in  charge,  Lord

Durga. We did not anticipate?"

Durga roared and reached for his small  control  pad,  punching  a  fat

greenish finger against one of the buttons. The Twi'lek let out a little yip

of anticipatory terror but instead a  hapless  Weequay  at  another  station

yowled and began to jitter as arcs of blue electrical fire  curled  up  from

the base of  his  booby-trapped  seat.  The  discharge  crisped  his  flesh,

electrocuting him in an instant. The  Weequay's  smoldering  corpse  slumped

against his navigational station.

Durga frowned and glanced down at  his  control  pad.  "Oh,"  he  said.

"Sorry, wrong button." The smell of disintegrated flesh wafted  through  the

bridge deck in greasy, sooty wisps from the collapsed body.

"Well, let that be a lesson to you, then," Durga said, glowering at his

intended victim.

The demon-faced Devaronian interrupted, consulting  his  communications

panel. Everyone on the  bridge  deck  trembled  in  fear.  "I,  uh,  I  have

something more to report, sir," he said. "Security has announced the capture

of one terrorist. One other was killed."

Durga growled, looking at the Weequay corpse slumped at  its  stations.

"There will be more executions when we get to the bottom of this.''

Hearing  this,  Bevel  Lemelisk   shuddered   and   tried   to   remain

inconspicuous. Simply hearing the word execution brought back  to  his  mind

the full horrors  of  the  Emperor's  executions,  the  excruciating  deaths

Palpatine had inflicted upon Lemelisk each time he made an error?

The  deaths  remained  in   Lemelisk's   mind,   ever-present   shadowy

nightmares? seven executions in all. Once, Palpatine had launched him out an

airlock; the pain had been excruciating, though  the  death  was  mercifully

swift as the sudden drop of pressure and the  freezing  cold  destroyed  his

internal organs.

He also remembered being slowly lowered into a vat  of  molten  copper,

watching his body burn away inch by inch. (Why molten copper?  Lemelisk  had

wondered. Finally one day, more than a month later, he  asked  the  Emperor.

Palpatine's answer had proved surprising in its utter mundanity. "It's  what

the smelter used that day.")

Lemelisk had also been trapped in a vault filled with  thickening  acid

mist so that his  lungs  dissolved  and  he  coughed  blood,  and  the  acid

continued to eat him from the inside out.  The  other  deaths  had  been  as

imaginative and just as painful.

He was certainly glad the Emperor had been killed in the destruction of

the second Death Star. Otherwise Lemelisk would really have been in trouble!

Now, on the Darksaber's control deck, while Durga reeled  in  shock  at

the news of the captured saboteur, General Sulamar saw  an  opportunity.  He

became even more overbearing, swelling his chest so that the medals jangled.

As if trying to outdo Durga's obvious annoyance, Sulamar  glared  accusingly

at Lemelisk.

"How could this happen?" Sulamar sniffed, as though Lemelisk had caused

the problem by failing to plan for terrorists and sabotage in  his  original

holographic blueprints. "In all my years serving the Empire, with  thousands

and thousands of people under my command, we performed  the  dirtiest,  most

difficult deeds. But I never had such a disastrous act  of  sabotage  occur.

Not while I was in charge."

Lemelisk averted his gaze and muttered under his breath. "Well, there's

a first time for everything."

* * *

Durga's guards were angry and brutal. They beat Crix Madine every  time

he faltered, which made him stumble again? which allowed them  to  beat  him

again?

He was bruised and bloodied by  the  time  they  shoved  him  into  the

turbolift on the way to the command deck. He felt none of the pain, focusing

his thoughts, still in angry shock over Trandia's death? but he accepted his

capture and the consequences. This possibility had always been a shadow over

every mission he led.

Madine kneaded his hands together, though they were  bound  behind  his

back. He was satisfied and  confident?  he  had  triggered  the  transmitter

implanted in his palm. Even now the high-powered, specific-frequency message

would be beaming across space, summoning assistance. The coded signal  would

be transmitted instantly through a security channel in the Galactic  Holonet

directly to Ackbar's fleet.

It was just a matter of time? if only Madine could hold on.

The Gamorrean guards shoved him forward just  as  the  turbolift  doors

opened, and he blinked in the command deck's flood of light. His vision swam

in and out of focus. He wondered if he had received a concussion from one of

the vicious backhands the guards had dealt him.

Madine moved with a numb resignation. He had lost his team: Korenn dead

in the asteroid belt, Trandia blowing herself up to save him and damage  the

Hutt battle station.  In  his  youth  Crix  Madine  had  served  the  Empire

faithfully for years. After  defecting  to  the  Rebellion,  he  had  always

suspected that this day would come, that he would continue to volunteer  for

more and more difficult covert operations as if  he  wanted  to  be  caught.

Somehow he had known he would be captured  and  brought  in  chains  to  the

enemy.

The guards dragged him into the presence  of  Durga  the  Hutt.  Madine

tried to sneer, but his face produced little more than a grimace and a wince

of pain. Blood from a cut near his eye dribbled  down  his  cheek  into  his

beard.

The bloated Hutt lounged  on  his  repulsor  platform,  the  discolored

blotch on his face like dye  that  someone  had  thrown  across  it.  Madine

swiveled his throbbing head and noticed a  swaggering  man  in  an  Imperial

general's uniform. The general  marched  across  the  metal  deck,  striding

toward him in polished black boots.

Madine looked up at the close-set eyes, the boyish face, the weak chin?

and from the depths of his past a geyser of recollection erupted. He reacted

with astonishment, drawing himself up as  he  stumbled  against  the  guards

holding him. Madine saw a flash of horrified recognition  also  wash  across

the face of the general.

At the moment their eyes met, they yelled in unison, "You!"

KHOMM

CHAPTER 43

Through hyperspace, the escape to Khomm lasted only an hour.  Dorsk  81

shot their stolen shuttle toward his  hofheworld,  frantic  to  deliver  his

warning to the cloned aliens and the New Republic. He was  dismayed  to  see

that traffic control accepted him as yet another incoming ship, not  at  all

alarmed by an unscheduled Imperial craft charging in at top speed.

"This is Dorsk 81," he said, "issuing an emergency call.  We  must  use

your long-range comm systems immediately. Prepare for  an  Imperial  attack.

Announce a red alert."

The traffic controller responded, "Message received, Dorsk 81. We  will

arrange a meeting with you and City Leader Kaell 116  as  soon  as  possible

upon your arrival."

"You don't understand," Dorsk 81 said. His olive skin flushed a  darker

green, and his hands trembled. He looked wildly at Kyp Durron, who  wore  an

expression of disgust.

"Don't worry about it now. It's a waste of breath  arguing,"  he  said,

then took over the comm system.  "This  is  Jedi  Knight  Kyp  Durron.  I'll

require full use of your spaceport communication systems." The anger  behind

Kyp's eyes seemed barely restrained by his Jedi calm.

"That can be arranged," the controller said with maddening calmness.

When they landed on the empty spaceport grid, Kyp  leaped  through  the

access hatch with Dorsk 81 close behind him. "I'll go transmit the wide-band

alert to the New Republic," Kyp said. "You warn your people.  Admiral  Daala

is going to launch in only a couple of days. We have that long  to  mobilize

the fleet." His face was drawn and grave as he ran to the tall  transmitting

tower.

Dorsk 81 hurried to meet the cloned aliens  who  approached  him.  They

were flustered and uneasy not because of the  dire  warning,  he  knew,  but

because of the unexpectedness of the situation. "We must hurry," he said  to

the stony- faced driver of the floating platform. "We have little time.  Kyp

and I have to go help defend the Jedi academy."

The driver nodded calmly,  but  did  not  increase  the  speed  of  the

vehicle. The floating platform took Dorsk 81 away from the landing grid, and

he looked back at the transmitting tower, hoping Kyp would get  the  message

out.

They reached the opulent political headquarters where a  quick  meeting

had been rammed through the schedule of the  generational  politician  Kaell

116. Dorsk 81, still wearing the clinging work overalls he  had  taken  from

the garment locker in the Imperial shuttle, brushed his slender  hands  down

the fabric, trying to make himself more presentable. He smelled of smoke and

blood and violence.

Kaell 116 already stood in the large, white  meeting  room.  The  walls

were made of curved arches that glittered in the light  as  if  molded  from

solidified salt. Dorsk 81 had never been in such important chambers, and  he

doubted anyone in his genetic line had either.

The city leader stood dressed in full diplomatic finery; his expression

held a mixture of annoyance  at  this  unsettling  break  from  routine  and

continuing admiration for Khomm's galactic celebrity.

"Dorsk 81," he said, "for a person of your importance, we  can  shuffle

our schedule to allow a brief audience, but no more than fifteen minutes.  I

suggest that our primary goal will be to work out a better time for  a  full

conference of appropriate duration and with an official agenda."

"No," Dorsk 81 said, pounding his fist on  the  table  and  astonishing

everyone there. "Fifteen minutes will be enough if you listen to me."

Kaell 116 sniffed. "Of course we will listen. We always listen."

Dorsk 81 leaned over the  table  and  fixed  his  yellow  eyes  on  the

politician. "But this time you must hear. You must understand this,  because

the fate of our world and of the galaxy may be at stake."

Kaell 116 squirmed uncomfortably and  then  sat  down.  "Yes,  yes,  of

course. We'll take detailed notes."

Before Dorsk 81 could speak, the door opened  again,  and  a  flood  of

outside light shone into the white  chambers,  sparkling  off  the  crystal-

embedded walls. Dorsk 81 turned to see  the  older  and  younger  copies  of

himself, his predecessor and his successor at the cloning  facilities.  Both

wore the uniforms  of  their  profession  and  appeared  confused  at  being

summoned away from their daily tasks.

The older Dorsk 80 saw him and snorted. "I might have known."

The younger version looked first at the elder clone, then at Dorsk  81.

"Why have you come back?" Dorsk 82 said.

Kaell 116 motioned for them to sit down. During  the  interruption,  an

assistant came in bearing cool beverages. The others gratefully took  theirs

and sipped, nodding their thanks. Dorsk 81 ignored  the  sweating  glass  in

front of him. "Kyp Durron and I just returned from  the  Core  Systems,"  he

said, speaking slowly and carefully.

"You should not go there," Dorsk 80 said.

Dorsk 81 looked at his predecessor and jabbed  a  finger  at  him.  "Be

silent and listen. This is important." Offended, the elder clone glowered.

"Kyp and I found a full Imperial fleet massed and ready to  launch.  We

infiltrated one of their rallies and learned their plans. The Empire is back

under the command of Admiral Daala. They will attack the New Republic within

a matter of days. Until now, no  one  has  suspected,  and  Khomm"?Dorsk  81

spread his arms to indicate the world?"is right on the fringe  of  the  Core

Systems. The Empire  could  strike  here.  You  must  prepare.  Engage  your

defenses. Establish emergency plans."

Kaell 116 leaned across the table, putting his  elbows  on  the  salted

surface. "Khomm has always remained neutral in these galactic conflicts, and

we've never had problems  before.  I  don't  see  why  this  should  be  any

different. "

"You don't have to see why," Dorsk 81  said.  "Listen  to  me.  Admiral

Daala intends to attack where she is least expected. She  knows  Kyp  and  I

heard her plans. This entire world is in great danger."

"Yes? well." Kaell 116 stood up with a vague smile of dismissal. "We'll

see what we can do, then. Thank you for bringing this to our attention."

"You can't risk this continued complacency,"  Dorsk  81  said,  growing

impatient. "I have done and seen things you  cannot  imagine.  Trust  me  in

this: there is great danger."

Dorsk 80 stood to rebuke him. "You left us. Ages ago  our  predecessors

determined that our society was the perfect model, but  you  felt  you  knew

more  than  our  forefathers.  You've  forsaken  our  ways  for   your   own

independence. Why should we listen to you? You have not listened to  us.  In

all your escapades, where is the voice of wisdom?  You'll  never  accomplish

anything more important than what you could have done here."

Dorsk 81 turned to him. It was obvious  that  his  elder  presumed  the

vindictive words would destroy the younger clone's composure  but  Dorsk  81

felt nothing but a sad. pity at the narrowness of his elder's viewpoint.

"You're wrong," he said coldly to his predecessor, "and you will  never

see how wrong you are, because you are blind."

Dorsk 82 came over to him, and it appeared that the younger clone might

actually believe part of Dorsk 81's warning. "We  don't  know  how  to  make

defenses," the younger clone said. "But you've had that  experience,  you've

had the training." Dorsk 82's yellow eyes flashed. "Perhaps you  could  stay

here and help us establish our defenses? Then you would be here to defend us

if you are indeed correct. If you're wrong, you could still stay and perform

your old duties in the cloning facility? until the threat has passed."

The younger clone's face held an ocean of hope. Dorsk 81 heard the plea

and thought of his beautiful, peaceful homeworld, of the years he had  spent

as part of an enormous machine working smoothly,  without  worries,  without

threat. How could he abandon this place to its fate? But what if Dorsk  82's

words were just a ploy, a desperate trick to get him to  stay  on  Khomm  so

that all could be normal again?

"No," Dorsk 81 said, and stood up. He touched the cylindrical shape  of

his lightsaber inside the pocket of his work overall. "I am a  Jedi  Knight,

and I have important work to do."

"And we must get back to the cloning facility," Dorsk 80  said  sourly.

"We know our place and we have important work to do as well."

Dorsk 81 did not respond, but instead returned to their  ship  to  meet

Kyp Durron. As they departed in their shuttle, he looked  across  the  misty

vistas of Khomm with vague apprehension, a premonition that he would not see

his familiar homeworld ever again?

During the brawl and confusion at the Imperial rally, Admiral Daala and

Vice Admiral Pellaeon ducked into the nexus station's turbolift and  plunged

away from the fren-zied mob. Daala  breathed  rapidly,  cold  air  whistling

through her clenched teeth. She couldn't believe it. "Jedi spies!  Right  in

our midst. They heard everything."

Pellaeon nodded. "We'll have to reevaluate our security."

Daala shook her head, and  flaming  copper  hair  swirled  around  her.

"Later. For now we must reconsider our plans." Then a grin  cracked  through

her outrage as a new tactic occurred to her.

The turbolift stopped at a lower level, and Colonel Cronus strode up to

them, looking harried. "They've escaped, Admiral," he said.  "The  perimeter

defense droids fired on them and caused minor damage, but their  ship  still

managed the jump into hyperspace."

Daala  nodded  at  the  short  and  compact  colonel.  Cronus  appeared

surprised that she hadn't ordered his immediate execution. "Have you tracked

them?" she asked.

"Not completely, Admiral, but we did match their vector, and we believe

there's only one place in the vicinity they would likely have gone: a planet

called Khomm at the edge of the Core Systems."

Daala ran a fingertip along her lips. "Is it inhabited?"

"Yes," Cronus said,  "though  unremarkable.  Its  people  were  neutral

during our previous conflict with the Rebels.  However,  we  did  match  the

physical appearance of the alien Jedi spy with the natives.  Khomm  must  be

more than just a neutral world if  Jedi  have  come  from  there."  Cronus's

muscular chest and upper  arms  pressed  against  the  seams  of  his  tight

uniform.

Daala strode down the corridor with Pellaeon and Cronus  flanking  her.

She remained silent as the possibilities flickered through her mind. "I have

learned that my strategy must be flexible," she said. "I failed before,  but

now I will adapt our plans quickly. Our fleet is  ready  to  launch,  is  it

not?" She glanced from Cronus to Pellaeon.

"Yes, Admiral," Pelleaon said, "for the most part.

What  remained  for  the  next  few  days  is  personnel  reassignment,

inventory, supplies, and.?"

Daala cut him off with a sideways swipe of her hand. "Those Jedi  spies

heard that we were planning to launch in the next few days. Instead we shall

launch immediately. Colonel  Cronus,"  she  said,  "you  have  the  list  of

preferred targets for your Victory-class fleet?"

"Yes, Admiral."

' 'Add the planet Khomm to the top of the list. Gather your forces  and

go at once."

Cronus shot a grin at her. "Yes, Admiral."

"Remember," she added sternly, "your orders  are  to  strike  fast  and

frequently in many different systems. Cause as much damage as possible,  but

your main goal is to create confusion,  not  to  conquer.  The  Rebels  will

disperse their fleet to find you while  we  approach  the  main  tar-get-She

turned. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon."

"Yes, Admiral?"

"You will take your fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers directly to Yavin

4 and proceed with its complete destruction. I  will  follow  in  the  Night

Hammer with sufficient force to occupy  the  Rebel  base  permanently."  Her

green eyes flashed at her two commanders. "I want the fleet launched  within

the hour."

Pellaeon and Cronus dashed off to their  respective  commands.  At  two

minutes short of an hour, Daala's Imperial fleet  was  spurred  into  motion

like a great slavering monster suddenly unleashed on the New Republic.

Like crimson projectiles the Victory-class ships scattered  across  the

orbital lanes of Khomm, their full  turbolaser  batteries  directed  at  the

cities below.

Colonel Cronus sat in the command  chair  of  Vice  Admiral  Pellaeon's

former ship, the 13X, issuing orders to the gunners in  his  fleet.  "Target

the communication and observation satellites first."

The words were barely out of his  mouth  before  a  cleansing  fire  of

turbolaser bolts scoured the blackness of space, obliterating silver dots of

orbiting satellites and leaving behind spangles of debris.

"Now they're blind," he said, "before they even know what's going  on."

He sat back and pressed his hands together, pushing, performing his  endless

ritual of isometric exercises that pitted one muscle against  the  other  to

strengthen him, even as he sat and watched the massacre of Khomm.

He spoke through  the  comm  channel  to  all  ships.  "Target  weapons

indiscriminately on the metropolis below. This is our first target, so let's

make it memorable. Launch TIE bomber squadrons, and let's get busy."

He watched the hail of laser fire rain down through the atmosphere, and

clouds of small fighters spewed from the hangar decks. Cronus  observed  the

flurry of destruction. According to old intelligence reports,  Khomm  barely

had token defenses. He doubted the inhabitants even remembered  how  to  use

them. They would wish differently after his fleet had finished.

"Quick and easy," he muttered. His arm muscles tingled  with  weariness

from his exercises, but he pushed harder, making them ache.

After watching the battle for half an hour, Cronus signaled  the  other

ships. "Hurry up," he said. "We have a lot of other targets on the list."

An uneasy Dorsk 82  left  the  cloning  facility  at  the  end  of  his

afternoon shift, as he always did, while Dorsk 80 remained behind to put  in

an extra hour of work, making up for the loss of Dorsk 81?as he always  did.

Predictability was comfort. On Khomm people lived by those words.

But the younger clone kept hearing the statement of Dorsk  81  echo  in

his mind. Changing possibilities opened up ideas he  had  never  considered.

What if, against all previous history, the Empire did decide to attack their

peace-ful world? But why? he wanted to ask. What would it gain them?

He knew that question would be  carefully  considered  and  settled  by

Kaell 116 and the political leaders. It was their job.  They  had  no  other

task but to make such decisions. Young Dorsk 82 was confident in  the  Khomm

system. It had worked perfectly for centuries. He had no cause to  doubt  it

now.

A moment later, rivers of fire spat  down  from  the  hazy  white  sky,

setting the identical  buildings  ablaze  and  drawing  destructive  fingers

across the perfect gridwork  of  the  organized  city.  TIE  bombers  roared

overhead at a pitch that struck terror  into  the  cloned  pedestrians.  The

ships dropped proton explosives that flattened  entire  blocks  at  a  time.

Flames scorched  skyward  as  fuel  tanks  and  kindling  from  the  ancient

constructions were set ablaze.

TIE fighters screamed down from  the  sky,  firing  laser  cannons  and

strafing the terrified aliens who poured from their buildings but  knew  not

where to go.

Dorsk 82 fled into a narrow alley between two tall buildings. An unwise

move, he supposed, with the imposing structures collapsing all  around  him.

His mind was ablaze with shock and horror. Dorsk 81 had  been  right!  Khomm

had no plans, no defenses and no chance.

A proton bomb exploded above the buildings like a  huge  slapping  hand

that knocked walls down. Dorsk 82 crouched near the  ground,  expecting  the

avalanche to crush him in an instant but the flat wall slabs toppled against

each other, forming a miraculous tent above him.  Rock  dust  and  fractured

stones bit into his smooth skin. He supposed a bone or two was broken a  new

experience for him in his gentle and predictable life but he huddled in  the

unexpected darkness and waited as the screaming chaos continued  around  him

for what seemed like an age, though he knew it must have been less  than  an

hour.

The physical pain came to him as he tried to dig himself out from under

the fallen slabs of rock. He was aching and sore, bruised and  cut?  but  he

was alive. He moved the rubble away  and  emerged  blinking  into  an  early

afternoon dusk caused by black smoke and orange flames.

He stood completely numb. He saw but could not comprehend the magnitude

of the devastation around him. The shining cloning facilities were  entirely

gone, turned into a jumbled mass of molten girders and shattered crystalline

dust all that remained of the broad sheetcrystal windows that had once shone

so brightly in the sun. Greasy smoke drifted to the  sky  like  an  accusing

finger pointing at the Imperial fleet high in orbit.

Old Dorsk 80 had been inside the  cloning  facility,  and  the  younger

clone stumbled with sick apathy into the rubble, looking  without  hope  for

some sign that his predecessor had survived.

This shock competed with the overwhelming consequences in his mind. The

devastation of his entire world, the wreck of  the  cloning  facilities  how

were they to proceed now? How could his civilization continue after  such  a

mortal wound? The survivors of Khomm who even now moaned from  the  pain  of

their injuries or wailed from their  grief  as  they  staggered  across  the

ruined metropolis? would have to change.

And that frightened him as well.

Colonel Cronus watched the remaining fighters return  to  their  ships.

The burning world of Khomm lay beneath him like a festering sore.

He glanced impatiently at the time record and at the damage  assessment

for his fleet. Two fighters lost. Judging from  Khomm's  lack  of  defenses,

Cronus assumed that the two downed TIE  ships  had  been  destroyed  through

accident, malfunction, or inadvertent friendly fire.

He shook his head at the appalling weakness of the clone world.

On his command station  computer  he  punched  up  the  coordinates  of

Admiral Daala's designated targets. He hoped  all  the  raids  would  be  as

successful as this.

"Next system," he said. "Let's be on our way. We've got a  schedule  to

keep."

NAL HUTTA

CHAPTER 44

In the middle of the night shift on the Escort Frigate Yavaris, General

Wedge Antilles sat quietly in the command chair, relaxed but alert.  Despite

the yellow alert, the Yavaris seemed deceptively calm;  the  soldiers  moved

about their routines with calm efficiency. The glowpanels were  dimmed,  the

sounds of movement  hushed  and  muffled.  The  tension  was  thick,  though

invisible.

The alert status had been uninterrupted  for  a  day.  They  had  heard

nothing, no word of an Imperial strike, no report from Crix  Madine  and  it

was beginning to wear on them.

Qwi Xux crept up behind him on the bridge and  squeezed  his  shoulders

with her long, pale blue fingers. He flinched, startled, then reached up  to

clasp her hand against his shoulder. He turned to look into her deep  indigo

eyes. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked.

She shook her head, and her feathery, pearlescent hair flickered.  "The

waiting is so hard," she said.

Wedge nodded. "Much as I hate war, at times like  this  I  almost  wish

something would just happen."

And it did.

All at once.

Crix Madine's silent distress signal came  in  at  emergency  priority,

tunneling through space, its specific frequency targeting the  New  Republic

fleet. Signals went off  at  the  communications  console,  which  triggered

automatic red alerts throughout the Yavaris. Madine's implanted  transmitter

could give no details; it simply sent a distress.

Wedge knew that  General  Madine,  the  Supreme  Allied  Commander  for

Intelligence, would have used it in only the most extreme circumstances.

He said, "We've got to go pull him out."

Qwi  stood  suddenly  tense,  blinking  her  large  eyes.  Her  fingers

tightened on his shoulders. "That means he's found  the  site  of  the  Hutt

superweapon. We have to destroy it before the thing becomes operational.  We

can't let the Hutts or the Empire or anyone else have  another  weapon  like

the ones I used to design."

"You're right about that," Wedge said.

A viewsereen message instantly came from  Admiral  Ackbar  on  the  Mon

Calamari Star Cruiser. "This may be the beginning of  the  overall  attack,"

Ackbar said, dressed in his fine white uniform and holding his flipper-hands

out in a gesture of tension.

"Yes, Admiral. Shall we deploy the fleet? We can home  in  on  Madine's

distress and get there at top speed. We don't know what  sort  of  situation

he's gotten himself into?''

Before Wedge could finish, though, another broad-spectrum message swept

across the communications systems, a second emergency signal, preempting all

other transmissions across the New Republic Holonet.  "This  is  Kyp  Durron

with an urgent message to the New Republic military!"

Wedge flinched, setting his teeth on edge.  Beside  him  Qwi  held  her

composure, but he noticed her stiffen. Kyp had returned from the  dark  side

in service of the Jedi way, and Qwi claimed to have forgiven him  but  still

the over-eager Jedi Knight unnerved both of them.

Nevertheless, Kyp broadcast his message to  anyone  who  would  listen,

raising the alarm. "My fellow Jedi Knight Dorsk 81 and I have penetrated the

Core Systems. We've discovered a massive  Imperial  strike  force  ready  to

launch in the next day or so. Admiral Daala  is  commanding  this  fleet.  I

repeat: Admiral Daala is not dead as we had expected.

"Their main target is said to be Yavin 4. Daala means to destroy all of

the new Jedi Knights. Dorsk 81 and I are on our way to the Jedi  academy  at

this moment to help with the fight. We request any assistance possible."

"So it's a two-pronged attack," Ackbar said. "The  Hoth  Asteroid  Belt

and Yavin 4. They must be confident in their ability to surprise us."

"We know about their plans now," Wedge said. "Should we split up?"

Ackbar rumbled. "That message was sent to the full New Republic  fleet.

We can perhaps hope for reinforcements yet I believe we  should  divide  our

forces now. I doubt either of these attacks is a  feint.  I  will  take  the

Galactic Voyager and head to Yavin 4. You go and rescue General  Madine.  We

cannot ignore the threat from the Hutts."

"Understood, Admiral," Wedge said.

Ackbar's image nodded deeply. "I must bring the remainder of the  fleet

up to full combat status. This is just the beginning."

"Don't worry we'll get Madine and his team out of there,"  Wedge  said.

"And we'll try to wreck that Hutt superweapon while we're at it."

All personnel were summoned from their sleep periods. Lights  increased

on every deck of  the  Yavaris.  Troops  ran  up  and  down  the  corridors,

mustering.

All during the war-gaming exercises, the fleet had remained coy, hiding

their real purpose  and  readiness.  Now,  though,  the  ships  dropped  all

pretense and ignored the

Hutts who were undoubtedly watching from the greenish planet below.

The New Republic war-gaming fleet split into two  separate  prongs  and

established their course vectors, drifting away.

Ackbar and  his  ships  funneled  down  to  starpoints,  plunging  into

hyperspace, while Wedge ordered the Yavaris to proceed at full speed  toward

the Hoth Asteroid Belt and Madine's distress signal hoping  they  would  get

there in time.

YAVIN 4

CHAPTER 45

The seventeen  Star  Destroyers  under  the  command  of  Vice  Admiral

Pellaeon sliced out of hyperspace in a  well-ordered  fleet.  Their  perfect

formation demonstrated the precision and unrelenting dedication of  the  new

Imperial forces Daala had forged.

Standing on the bridge of the Firestorm the Star Destroyer that Admiral

Daala herself had commanded during her double  cross  of  the  war  criminal

Harrsk Pellaeon watched the green jewel of the jungle  moon  approaching,  a

living emerald sphere dwarfed by the enormous gas giant Yavin, whose gravity

tugged at his attacking fleet of ships.

He stared with narrowed eyes out the viewports of the bridge tower.  He

had trimmed his gray mustache, made certain that his hair lay neatly beneath

his vice admiral's cap. He brushed  down  his  uniform  to  present  a  more

imposing image, a leader for his  fleet  on  their  victorious  mission.  It

invigorated him to be in command of a  worthy  ship  again,  not  the  small

Victory-class Star Destroyer? though even now Colonel Cronus would be using,

the fleet of crimson ships to cause significant destruction  throughout  the

Rebel-aligned worlds.

Pellaeon thought of his days in command of the Chi-maera serving  Grand

Admiral Thrawn and how close they had come to defeating the  Rebellion  once

and for all. Now, with  Admiral  Daala  they  had  that  chance  again?  and

Pellaeon would not waste it.

"Orbital insertion  successful,  sir,"  the  navigator  said  from  her

station.

Pellaeon continued to marvel at  the  new  women  officers  in  Daala's

fleet; they seemed to  serve  with  even  more  dedication  than  the  other

soldiers. "Any sign of defenses?" he  asked.  The  jungle  moon  seemed  too

quiet, too vulnerable. He was astounded that such an important site  to  the

Rebellion would have no apparent defenses whatsoever.

"None detected, Vice  Admiral,"  the  tactical  chief  said  dubiously.

Apparently the man felt the same concerns.

"All right," Pellaeon said, moving  to  the  next  phase.  "Deploy  the

jamming net. We need to get in place and  be  operational  before  the  Jedi

sorcerers can send a detailed signal to their military."

The seventeen Star Destroyers shot  out  clusters  of  small  satellite

transmitters that jockeyed into position around the green moon,  forming  an

interlinked  electromagnetic  web  that  disrupted  any  messages  the  Jedi

trainees might send. The  jamming  satellites  took  only  moments  to  lock

themselves into position, transmitting  an  all-clear  signal  back  to  the

Firestorm.

Pellaeon spoke into the ship-to-ship comm  unit,  and  his  voice  rang

through his fleet. "Strike teams prepare,"  he  said.  "We  launch  in  five

minutes. All Terrain Scout Transports and jungle assault  vehicles  will  be

the first wave. TIE fighters will provide air cover.

"This is a relatively unpopulated world, and it shouldn't take us  long

to finish here. Our victory on Yavin

4 today will be the first large step in the rebirth of a new  and  even

stronger Empire."

Pellaeon signed off and  stood  against  the  bridge  railing.  He  was

pleased to be in command of  an  operation  sure  to  succeed,  rather  than

another doomed last-gasp attempt at Imperial supremacy. Outwardly  calm  but

thrumming  with  energy  inside,  Pellaeon  pondered  the  immense  Imperial

strength Admiral Daala had placed under his control.

He didn't expect much resistance from a few untested Jedi trainees.

Back at the nexus mustering station  in  deep  space,  the  Super  Star

Destroyer Night Hammer prepared for launch. Admiral  Daala  spent  the  last

frantic moments ensuring that everything had been placed  in  perfect  order

for her own decisive assault.

By now Vice Admiral Pellaeon's fleet should already  be  attacking  the

Jedi moon, and she longed to be there with him, taking personal satisfaction

with each slaughtered Jedi, each destroyed Rebel building, each burning tree

but she would not alter her plans now. She knew this was the way  to  strike

the greatest psychological blow to the Rebels. Her initial assault had to be

an absolutely crushing defeat of the Rebel target.

Right now, simultaneous with this major  assault,  Colonel  Cronus  was

causing a wealth of damage with  surgical  hit-and-run  strikes  at  various

spots in the galaxy. His swarm of crimson Victoiy-cl&ss ships would roar  in

with lightning speed, blow up the most convenient targets,  then  flee  into

hyperspace again? leaving destruction, confusion, and panic in their wake.

The jungle moon of Yavin with its Jedi training  center  would  be  the

true symbolic victory, though. Daala smiled, and her green eyes  took  on  a

faraway  look  as  she  imagined  the  unskilled  wizards  under  attack  by

Pellaeon's hopelessly overwhelming forces; she  then  imagined  the  despair

they would feel on seeing her enormous ship  arrive  like  a  second  mortal

blow. Not a rescue, not reinforcements, but a black  Super  Star  Destroyer.

Their hopelessness would increase tenfold.

After today, when Daala departed in triumph, the jungle moon of Yavin 4

must be no more than a cinder. Every last Jedi student  had  to  be  killed,

their bodies strewn about the burning jungle as an unmistakable  message  to

those who would still dare resist the Empire.

As her last order before launching, Daala took the time  to  rechristen

her dark ship, adding a letter to call the Super Star Destroyer  the  Knight

Hammer, just to prove that she did indeed have a sense of humor? so long  as

it involved the ultimate defeat of the Rebel Alliance.

CHAPTER 46

Dorsk 81 and Kyp Durron arrived back at  Yavin  4,  broadcasting  their

constant alarm. They landed their Imperial shuttle near the Great Temple and

called the remaining Jedi trainees to arms barely an hour before  Pellaeon's

forces arrived.

Dorsk 81's stomach had been a hard knot since  their  embattled  escape

from Admiral Daala's staging area; he had felt even worse  upon  seeing  the

apathetic refusal of his homeworld to accept the possibility of an impending

threat. The censure of Dorsk 80  and  Dorsk  82  had  struck  to  his  core,

affecting him even more than his choice to become a Jedi. But he was a Jedi.

He could not change that, and he vowed to be the best  his  potential  would

allow, as Master Skywalker had taught him.

Dorsk 81 and Kyp stepped out of the stolen Imperial  shuttle  to  total

silence. The humid jungles seemed smothered with a blanket  of  tension  and

anticipation.

"Where is everyone?" Kyp said. "We've got to find Master Skywalker."

Dorsk 81 looked up at the  enormous  stepped  pyramid  where  the  Jedi

praxeum had been established. His face grew calm, and he closed  his  yellow

eyes, reaching out with the Force until he sensed the group of Jedi trainees

across a narrow tributary of the river at one of the other temple ruins.

"Over there," he said. "At the Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster."

Kyp nodded, his dark eyes flashing. "We have to  warn  them  and  begin

preparations."

They rushed through narrow jungle paths, crossing the river to the tall

Massassi ruin, a cylindrical tower made of crumbling stones, much in need of

repair. Dorsk 81 saw the Jedi trainees working together,  nearly  thirty  in

all.

He recognized Kirana Ti, the warrior woman from Dathomir and the older,

somewhat-confused hermit from Bespin, Streen, working to haul  fallen  rocks

from a collapsed portion of the temple. They used Jedi powers to lift broken

slabs out of the way, and to keep themselves  safe  from  the  pebbles  that

continued  to  shower  down  as  they  removed  debris.  Kam  Solusar,   the

hard-bitten Jedi veteran, sternly watched the activities, directing the work

of the lesser-trained Jedi students who had arrived at the  praxeum  in  the

last year.

The silvery-haired Jedi scholar, Tionne, spotted them first. "Kyp," she

called. "Dorsk 81. You're back!  Good,  we  could  use  some  help."  Tionne

smiled, and her mother-of-pearl eyes lit  up.  She  explained  breathlessly,

gesturing with small, quick movements of her delicate hands. "With  all  the

new students arriving, we had to find additional living quarters.  This  old

temple is?" Then she finally registered  the  alarm  and  emotional  turmoil

emanating from them.

"What is it?" Kam Solusar  said,  breaking  through  the  conversation.

Kirana Ti stepped beside him, tall and imposing in her reptilian armor.

"Where's Master Skywalker?" Kyp said. His voice cracked, and the  words

came out in a cold, strained tone.

"He and Callista left more than a week ago," Tionne said. "It's only us

here. I'm directing a few training sessions while he's gone but?"

"The Jedi academy is in great danger!" Dorsk 81 blurted. "Admiral Daala

has assembled a new Imperial fleet, and Yavin 4 is their target  this  time.

The Star Destroyers could be here any moment."

"No," Streen said, shaking his frizzy gray head and blinking red-rimmed

eyes as he gazed up into the pale blue sky. "No. They're already here."

As  the  old  hermit  said  this,  Dorsk  81  also  felt   a   brooding

oppressiveness far overhead, like a stain of starless  darkness  across  the

canvas of space.

"Look," one of the new trainees said, extending a clawed finger as  her

bright bluish frill rose up in alarm. A snakelike hiss came from  her  wide,

scaly mouth.

A shower of bright streaks danced through the upper  atmosphere  toward

the jungles lines traced in fire by sharp fingernails made of lava.

"Landers and ground assault vehicles," Kam Solusar said.

"We must prepare to fight them," Kirana Ti insisted.

"But Master Skywalker isn't here!" cried one of the new trainees.

Kyp Durron drew himself up, though he was smaller in stature than  many

of those gathered at the ruined temple. "Master Skywalker will not always be

here to help whenever we are in trouble. Dorsk 81 and I have already sounded

the alarm, and New Republic forces should be on their way. For now,  though,

we must defend the academy ourselves."

"But there are so few of us," a birdlike  trainee  squawked,  his  hard

beak gaping open, then clacking together.

"Yes," Kyp said, "so they won't expect much resistance. We'll  have  to

prove them wrong."

Dorsk 81 stood beside his friend. "We are Jedi Knights.  Remember  what

Master Skywalker has taught you: There is no try.'17

The Imperial landers crunched into the jungle not far  away,  then  dep

oyed giant vehicles from drop shells.

"Here comes the air strike," Kyp said, just as a flurry of  black  dots

in the air screamed closer with a roar of twin ion engines, a full  wing  of

TIE fighters plus a strong complement of TIE bombers.

"Take cover," Kirana Ti shouted. With  a  forceful  motion  she  pushed

Streen toward two mammoth blocks of stone that had toppled from the front of

the ancient temple.

The TIE fighters swooped overhead as the Jedi  trainees  scrambled  for

shelter. Laser cannons shot from the  Imperial  ships,  setting  tall  trees

alight and blasting rubble from the old temple. The TIE fighters fanned out,

uncertain of their target as they searched for the Jedi  Knights  hiding  in

the jungle.

TIE bombers cruised low, dropping  concussion  missiles  that  exploded

into pillars of fire and smoke above the thick  jungle  canopy,  splintering

Massassi trees that had lived for a thousand years. But once the first  wave

of TIE fighters spotted the trainees at the Temple of the Blueleaf  Cluster,

the forces concentrated their firepower on the far side of the river.

"We don't have any weapons," Streen said as he covered his head.

"We have the Force," Dorsk 81 replied.

Three TIE fighters roared in, laser cannons  shooting  continuously  as

they approached in a triangular formation. The warrior woman Kirana Ti stood

out in the  open  near  the  piles  of  rubble  the  Jedi  trainees  had  so

meticulously removed from the ruins. The TIE fighters  saw  her  and  fired.

Ignoring her own danger, she gestured with her hand and, using the Force  as

a sling, she snatched one of the squarish boulders cut  by  Massassi  slaves

thousands of years before and hurled it with all her Jedi strength.

The stone flew through the air and smashed one  of  the  TIE  fighter's

flat power arrays. It careened to one side, and the pilot could  not  regain

control. The ship exploded in the trees on the far side of the temple.

Kam Solusar stood on the other side of  the  clearing  and,  using  the

Force, he, too, began hurling rocks at the remaining two TIE  fighters.  The

boulders battered the Imperial ships, smashing through the cockpits. All the

Jedi trainees had the idea now, and a blast of sharp  rock  shards  hammered

the two fleeing ships out of the sky. Both  exploded  in  midflight  to  the

cheers of the embattled Jedi students.

The second wave of four TIE fighters came  immediately  after.  Streen,

however, did not pick up rocks or other weapons with the Force. He used  the

air itself, moving molecules in the atmosphere to summon storm currents  and

scramble the air attack line with a wall of  wind  that  achieved  hurricane

strength. The gusting currents buffeted the TIE  fighters  right  and  left,

forcing the pilots to concentrate on simply flying and not allowing them  to

fire a single shot.

Streen looked up into the sky, his eyes wide and  bloodshot,  his  hair

wafting about his head. He held his trembling fingers outstretched and  then

brought his hands together symbolically, slamming his hands of wind so  that

the heavy crosscurrents smashed the four TIE fighters together. They crashed

into a single knot of molten wreckage that tumbled out of the air.

A pair of TIE bombers came in low from behind, barely visible over  the

treetops but moving at full speed. Kyp shouted  a  warning.  The  first  TIE

bomber cruised over the temple and let three concussion missiles fall out of

its bombing bay but Kyp reached out, staring at the ship,  and  holding  his

palm flat and upright. He pushed upward  with  the  Force,  visualizing  the

three dropped concussion missiles, and nudged the explosives  back  up  into

the bomber's bay? where they detonated.

The second TIE bomber dropped a single missile  and  then,  seeing  the

fate of his partner, shot off at top speed. Dorsk 81 used the Force to  pick

up a boulder, which he hurled with all his might. The flying rock closed the

distance to the  bomber,  striking  the  second  cockpit  and  damaging  its

altitude control. The TIE bomber spun through the air and landed roughly  in

the jungle underbrush on the far side of  the  river.  Its  lone  concussion

missile struck the ground nearby and detonated, sending a rumble through the

jungle that shook the Temple of the Blueleaf  Cluster.  Loose  stone  blocks

slid down the walls in a shower of dust, crashing around the Jedi trainees.

"This old structure won't last much longer," Kyp shouted. "We've got to

get back to the Great Temple. That's more defensible."

Another wave of TIE fighters soared in with twice the  numbers  of  the

previous strike, and the Jedi trainees gave no  argument  as  they  sprinted

away from the smaller temple and headed into the underbrush.

Overhead, more lines of fire  appeared  as  Pellaeon's  seventeen  Star

Destroyers launched another wave  of  ground  assault  machinery  to  finish

mopping up.

As they reached the giant pyramid that had once  been  fortified  as  a

Rebel base, Dorsk 81  saw  that  the  trainees'  desperate  defense  at  the

crumbling temple had served a  secondary  purpose  he  had  not  expected  a

diversion, a decoy for the Imperial forces who now thought the Temple of the

Blueleaf Cluster was the Jedi  stronghold.  The  TIE  fighters  and  bombers

concentrated their forces there.

Despite  the  fear  that  rattled  through  him,  Dorsk  81   felt   an

exhilaration and a camaraderie with the other  Jedi.  He  was  fighting  for

something meaningful. All his life, as yet another duplicate on a  world  of

clones, he had never felt he had a choice in  his  destiny.  Everything  had

been preset for him until he climbed out of the rut that had been dug in the

Dorsk bloodline. Now he was a Jedi Knight? his own choice. And he  had  just

proved he could be good at it.

The long horizontal door in front of the hangar  levels  of  the  Great

Temple hung halfway open, a dark mouth with thin cool air breathing out from

the shaded interior. The Jedi trainees ducked down and rushed inside, hoping

that the millennia-old walls would  shelter  them  from  the  brunt  of  the

Imperial attack.

Tionne rushed past Kyp Durron, who grabbed her arm and shouted, "Go  to

the communications center! Contact the New Republic and let them know  we're

already under attack. The Imperials struck faster than we expected."  Tionne

nodded, her pale porcelain face so brittle that it looked  as  if  it  might

shatter.

Across the river TIE fighters circled over the Temple of  the  Blueleaf

Cluster, firing repeatedly with laser cannons. Black smoke etched the air.

Kyp looked toward their stolen Imperial shuttle  still  on  the  grassy

landing grid. He gestured toward it as Dorsk  81  headed  for  the  relative

safety of the deep hangar levels. "I'm going back to  the  ship,"  he  said.

"We've got some weapons there. It's all we have."

Dorsk 81 hesitated, then followed as Kyp sprinted across  the  clearing

without looking behind him. Dorsk 81 paused when a  clanking  noise  crashed

through the outer rim of trees, and the  trapezoidal  head  of  an  Imperial

AT-ST scout walker shoved its way out of the forest. It thundered twice with

its mechanical legs, finding support on the rough ground. The head swiveled,

its laser cannons targeted, aiming at Kyp as he ran.

Dorsk 81 froze for just an instant. He saw what was going to happen but

he couldn't allow it. In an instinctive gesture, he released the  Force;  he

did not restrain himself,  did  not  channel  or  direct  the  flow,  merely

releasing his fear and his wish to  get  the  scout  walker  away  from  his

friend.

A wall of invisible  force  slammed  into  the  AT-ST,  flattening  its

cockpit and crushing the walker backward into a tree.

Kyp whirled to gawk at the smashed scout walker.

Everything had happened in only a second. "Thanks," he said.

Dorsk 81 found himself trembling.  "It  just  came  automatically,"  he

said. "I didn't even think about it."

"Then you're a true Jedi," Kyp said with gentle admiration, but  wasted

no more time as he ducked into the shuttle  and  emerged  with  a  pitifully

small assortment: five blaster pistols and one laser  cutter.  "Better  than

nothing," he said.

Dorsk 81 looked at them. "Not by much."

They glanced up at the continuing thunderous sound from the sky as wave

after wave  of  ground  assault  landers  spewed  from  the  fleet  of  Star

Destroyers in orbit?

Inside, deep in the war room on the second level of  the  pyramid,  the

Jedi Knights gathered, unable to shut out the echoing thumps of the constant

attack.

Tionne shook her silvery head. "The Imperials have  a  jamming  net  in

place," she said. "No communications can go out. We have  to  hope  the  New

Republic heard your original warning, Kyp."

"They'll be here," Kirana Ti said with grim confidence.  She  held  the

deactivated lightsaber in her grip. This was the weapon that had been  built

by one of the other Jedi trainees, Gantoris, a year earlier? back  when  the

trainees had encountered the dark spirit of Exar Kun. In fact, in this  very

war room the Jedi trainees again without Luke Skywalker had met to plan  the

defeat of Kun and free their Jedi Master.

"But will the reinforcements be here soon  enough?"  Kam  Solusar  said

skeptically.

Kyp Durron paced the enclosed room. "The Star Destroyers in  orbit  are

the primary threat," he said, gesturing upward. "Though we're being attacked

by TIE fighters and ground assault machinery, we're seeing only  a  fraction

of the complement those Star Destroyers carry.

Tionne, were you able to determine how many ships there are in orbit?"

She looked at him with her quicksilver  eyes.  "Seventeen,  I  believe.

Imperial-class.'''

Some of the newer trainees gasped, but Kyp stood straighter. He  placed

his hands on the tabletop, pressing down  with  his  fingernails  until  his

knuckles turned white. "Right now we feel strong because of all those  ships

we smashed over at the other temple but no matter how good we are, no matter

how many of their  ground  forces  we  successfully  take  out,  those  Star

Destroyers will keep sending ship after ship. We can't succeed if  we  fight

them on such a limited scale."

"But how else can we fight a Star Destroyer from here?" Kirana Ti said.

Kyp looked around hopefully. "I don't suppose anybody has an idea?"

Dorsk 81 sat in turmoil, rigid, his  hands  clasped  on  the  table  as

thoughts whirled around him. He remembered how easy it had been to smash the

AT-ST walker, how he had used the Force to shove it away. If only?

"I have a suggestion," Dorsk 81 said. His lips were a  thin  line;  his

olive green face was blotched as his emotions roiled beneath his skin.

Kyp looked at his friend, and Dorsk 81 could feel the sudden upsurge of

anticipation from the gathered students. He had to give  them  something  to

cling to. He swallowed.  "We  cannot  succeed  if  we  fight  small  battles

individually," Dorsk 81 said. "But together we are more  powerful  than  the

sum of our parts. We can join our abilities."

Kirana Ti and Kam Solusar looked at him, musing.  He  leaned  over  the

table and gestured to the other trainees. "Some of you were  there  when  we

finally defeated Exar Kun. We pooled our strengths, we  joined  as  one,  as

champions of the Force and, united,  we  unlocked  a  greater  reservoir  of

strength than any of us could have imagined.''

"But what can we do?" the young reptilian trainee said, her voice  thin

and hissing from the back of her throat, her blue frill still raised.

Dorsk 81 hesitated for a moment. The suggestion was  preposterous?  but

right now the situation was so grim they would take even an impossible  idea

seriously. He kept his voice flat. "We can use the Force to? move  the  Star

Destroyers away."

The collective gasp among the trainees was a mixture of  disbelief  and

delight. "It's too much," Kam Solusar said. "There are too  many.  Seventeen

Imperial-class Star Destroyers!"

Dorsk 81 was not flustered. "Size matters  not,"  he  said.  "How  many

times has Master Skywalker told us that? At first many of us didn't  believe

we could lift a pebble or a  leaf.  A  little  while  ago  we  hurled  giant

boulders at ships flying high above our heads. Streen just knocked four  TIE

fighters together  with  nothing  more  than  wind.  All  this  was  without

planning, without preparation, and without help.

"The Force is  in  all  things,"  Dorsk  81  continued.  "There  is  no

fundamental difference between a pebble and a Star Destroyer.  Besides,  the

ships have no way to prepare against an attack such as this."

As others began to mutter, Kyp hammered his fist  down.  "Hey!  Haven't

you listened to Master Skywalker's teachings?" he said. "If it doesn't work,

we'll have to find something else but I think we should do this."

That stopped further discussion. Dorsk 81  rose  to  his  feet.  "These

temples were built long ago by the Massassi. We have learned," he nodded  to

Tionne, "that their original purpose  was  to  serve  as  a  focus  for  the

energies that the Dark Lords of the  Sith  manipulated.  We  can  use  these

temples for a similar purpose but  to  serve  the  light  side,  to  protect

ourselves.

"I will go to the top of this temple and be the focal point for all  of

your energies. We will join together, some thirty of us bound by the Force."

Dorsk 81 raised his voice. Inner power grew in him as he spoke. He  had

never before desired leadership of any kind, but now he no longer felt  like

a follower. He felt strong and driven.

"Pool your resources, and I will draw  from  you,  channel  it  through

myself, and push out just as I did with that scout walker. I'll  shove  them

away, tumble them end over end, knock the Star Destroyers far from here."

He trembled as he said this, and Kyp stood  beside  him,  clasping  the

cloned alien's thin shoulder. "And after we get  the  battlecruisers  away,"

Kyp said, "then we can mop up the remnants of the attackers down  here."  He

smiled. "It might be all finished by the time the New Republic gets here."

"We must not wait," Dorsk 81 said. "We are all together  now,  but  the

attack is intensifying. Even this Great Temple won't  be  stable  for  long,

unless we do something."

At the apex of the pyramid, Dorsk 81 stood barefoot on  the  sun-warmed

flagstones that had been locked together to form an  observation  deck.  The

Jedi trainees frequently came up here to watch the rainbow-filled sunrise at

the limb of the gas giant overhead.

Tall fires in the jungles surrounding the temple complex  crackled  and

rose into the sky. Below, squadrons of mechanical scout walkers and  ground-

chewing siege machinery worked their way toward the Jedi stronghold.

The Imperials had figured out that the Jedi Knights were no  longer  at

the Temple of the Blueleaf Cluster; now that the trainees  had  gathered  in

the tallest temple, Pel-laeon's attackers would soon direct their strike  at

the zig-gurat.

Dorsk 81 tilted his smooth face up to the sky and held his hands at his

sides, fingers spread. The stone felt strong beneath the soles of his  feet,

and he calmed himself, reaching within him for threads that  he  could  spin

together with the others.

Kyp and Kirana Ti, Kam Solusar, and all the other Jedi trainees some he

knew well, others he had barely met also focused their abilities.  Dorsk  81

recalled how they had banded together to fight Exar Kun, and now he felt the

same invisible whirlwind surrounding him.

The new Jedi Knights joined together with invisible cords of light. The

bonds were strong, reinforcing their skills from person to person. Dorsk  81

stood in the middle, the eye of the storm, where  he  could  draw  upon  the

Force, magnify it with a strength greater than he had ever conceived.

In his mind an evil shadow of doubt flickered. He suddenly wondered  if

it wasn't indeed impossible to move such a huge fleet. His  doubt  began  to

grow and he recalled again the face of his elder clone, Dorsk  80,  scowling

at him? You'll never accomplish anything more important than what you  could

have done on Khomm.

Why don't  you  stay  with  us?  the  younger  Dorsk  82  had  pleaded.

Everything will be fine, just the way it always was.

But Dorsk 81 wanted more. His life had a greater purpose. He had sensed

that from early on, but had ignored it for  so  long.  Now  he  was  a  Jedi

Knight. A Jedi Knight.

His determination formed a crushing vise in his mind  that  obliterated

the doubt and before he could be distracted  by  other  thoughts,  Dorsk  81

reached out and grasped the threads of Force the other trainees  offered  to

him. He felt as if he had tapped into a huge power source,  an  overload  of

energy that he channeled through himself without hesitation.

He reached upward with his hands,  picturing  the  Star  Destroyers  in

orbit: seventeen wedge-shaped  engines  of  death  bristling  with  weapons,

loaded with more TIE  fighters  and  assault  troops.  His  thoughts  soared

outward, leaving the emerald jungle moon behind,  and  trailing  behind  his

presence came a battering ram of invisible, irresistible Force that would be

undetectable  on  any  Imperial  scan-ners.  The  Star  Destroyers   waited,

overconfident, powerful? unsuspecting.

He found them. Touched them with his mind. They were huge,  greater  in

mass than he had imagined; even so, he used the Force to push.

Dorsk 81 strained, touching the  cluster  of  ships?  but  they  proved

immovable, too large. The Force held them, yet  it  could  not  do  what  he

needed it to do. He tried harder.

He drew more energy from the others. He could  feel  the  determination

and controlled anger of Kyp Durron, the clean fighting prowess of Kirana Ti,

the powerful deep knowledge of Tionne, the grim pain  of  Kam  Solusar,  the

childlike wonder of Streen and more? more. He took all of the Jedi  trainees

within himself, braiding the threads together, becoming a vast  and  complex

set of memories, strengths, and skills. He reached deeper and deeper.

The Force seemed to be a bottomless well, offering  more  than  he  had

thought possible but as Dorsk 81 pulled it inside himself, he also felt  the

danger, the destructive potential: too much of this strength  could  be  his

downfall.

He pushed again, straining harder, abandoning all caution.

The Star Destroyers moved slightly in space, bucking and resisting  but

it was still not enough. In his mind Dorsk 81 saw yet another  wing  of  TIE

fighters launched with orders to finish the destruction of the Jedi Knights.

That must never happen.

Dorsk 81 exerted his mind to the breaking point. His body trembled. His

yellow eyes saw nothing around him now, because every  thought  was  focused

out into space where Pellaeon's Star Destroyers waited.

You are a Jedi Knight, Kyp had told him, and sometimes  that  means  we

must make difficult decisions.

Dorsk 81 knew this, knew it in his heart and he didn't allow fear.  The

Force was with him. Perhaps more

Force than he could handle? but he still had a mission to  perform.  No

matter what it might take.

All the other Jedi Knights depended on him alone, and he knew that this

was what he had to accomplish. This was the deed that his predecessor  Dorsk

80 would never be able to comprehend.

Without a second thought, without hesitation, Dorsk 81 reached all  the

way down, drawing from the deep wells of Force that the thirty gathered Jedi

Knights had opened for  him.  He  took  more  and  more  without  restraint,

hoarding it within himself, letting it build as he absorbed the full searing

power amplified through the Great Temple, focused it through  his  body  and

launched it at the fleet of Star Destroyers.

' 'Move!'' he shouted.

The words  themselves  were  like  power  incarnate,  white-hot  energy

flaming out of his mouth, from his fingertips, surging through his body  and

burning, burning.

The inside of his head went bright like a star going  supernova  behind

his skull, and his consciousness rode along with the tidal wave of Force. He

felt it strike the seventeen Star Destroyers, and they slammed backward like

twigs in a typhoon. The Shockwave flung the entire fleet far out, cast  them

helplessly beyond the fringes of the Yavin System,  their  computers  fried,

their propulsion systems wrecked, still accelerating from the storm  of  the

Force.

Pellaeon's fleet of Star Destroyers went? away.

Dorsk 81 also rode the storm to its ultimate, unknown destination.

The Force dropped Kyp like  a  severed  rope.  All  the  Jedi  trainees

tumbled weakly to their knees. When he could  see  again,  blinking  through

colored spangles in front of his eyes, he saw Dorsk 81?or what  remained  of

him still tottering at the center of the observation platform.

Though his own legs wanted to collapse, Kyp strug-gled forward to  grab

his friend. Dorsk 81 collapsed and fell against him. The two of them slid to

the sun-warmed flagstones.

"Dorsk 81," Kyp said, looking down in horror as the cloned alien's skin

sizzled from within, as if the tissues had been brought  to  a  boil.  Dorsk

81's wide yellow eyes were now only smoldering sockets. Steam rose from  his

body.

A breath of words curled out of his gaping, blackened  mouth.  "They're

gone, my friend," he said.

"Wait!" Kyp said. "Wait, we'll find a healer. We'll get  Cilghal  back.

We'll find?"

But Dorsk 81 was already dead in his arms.

CHAPTER 47

Admiral Daala's black Knight Hammer arrived, the  second  wave  of  the

assault on the Jedi stronghold. The ship  hung  as  an  opaque  wedge  eight

kilometers long, silhouetted like a knife  blade  against  the  pale  orange

sphere of Yavin.

Daala's troops were on full alert, and her  weapons  systems  had  been

powered to maximum levels. She stood on the bridge deck looking out over the

sweeping metal plain that formed the Knight Hammer's upper hull.

By the time she reached the system, she had expected to  find  Pellaeon

virtually finished with his attack, so she could enjoy the final destruction

of the Jedi Knights. But as the Knight Hammer sliced  through  space,  Daala

felt her enthusiasm crumble into astonishment. She saw no sign of Pellaeon's

fleet in orbit around Yavin 4.

The bone-white Imperial Star Destroyers were simply  not  there.  Space

around the green jungle moon was empty.

"Where is he?" Daala demanded. "Open a channel. Find Pellaeon."

"Scanning the area, Admiral," the sensor chief said. "No sign  of  Star

Destroyers in the Yavin System."

Daala glowered down at the jungle moon, appalled and speechless.

"He was here, sir," the tactical officer said.  "The  jammer  satellite

net is in place. The Jedi Knights have not sent any signals, as  far  as  we

can tell, and I do detect some ground activity. Heavy weapons  fire  in  the

jungles. Ground assault troops have been deployed but  the  Star  Destroyers

are no longer here."

Daala ran a gloved finger along her chin. She scowled.  "Something  has

gone terribly wrong." She turned back to  the  sensor  chief.  "Expand  your

scan," she said. "Look across the entire planetary system, not just near the

gas giant. Did Pellaeon retreat? He knew I was coming."

The sensor chief checked and rechecked her readings, shaking her  head.

She looked up at Daala. "There's no sign, sir. I've run a sweep all the  way

to the outer planets and I find no ships. No wreckage either.  Vice  Admiral

Pellaeon was here at the jungle moon but now he's gone."

Daala felt cold needles of sweat prickle her scalp as anger raised  her

body temperature. She looked down at the jungle moon and thought of the Jedi

Knights down there,  fledgling  sorcerers  wielding  a  Force  she  did  not

understand. They should have been such an easy target? Daala knew  where  to

channel her anger.

For most of her professional life, Daala had  restrained  a  wealth  of

spite and venom, barely controlled fury that would have eaten its way out of

her if she had not found a way to express it.

Life had been peaceful for her once, long ago, when she had been  young

and in love but that was before the Carida military academy,  before  Tarkin

(whom she admired more than loved). Now she was left with only anger.

Luckily for the Empire, her methods of releasing  that  inner  pressure

had often resulted in devastation to  the  enemy.  She  could  keep  herself

psychologically strong only if she had a target and  now  she  decided  that

target  must  be  the  Jedi  Knights  on  Yavin  4.  They  had  ruined   her

straightforward total victory.

The Knight Hammer's launching bays were packed with  thousands  of  TIE

fighters and TIE bombers, fully loaded and ready to be deployed,  but  Daala

decided against it. Pellaeon would have taken that tack,  and  if  the  Jedi

Knights somehow had a secret defense against  individual  fighters  such  as

those, she must adapt and use a different strategy.

"Order all TIE pilots to stand down for the moment,"  she  said.  "Have

them return to their crew quarters and remain on  full  alert.  I  won't  be

launching their ships just yet." She wanted to waste no time:

"Do we have plans for an attack, Admiral?" the weapons chief said  from

his station, looking disappointed as he assessed his array of weaponry.

"Yes," Daala said. "We strike from orbit.  All  turbo-laser  batteries,

full strength. Fire at will, targeting any structures in the jungle."

"Yes, Admiral!" the weapons chief said with obvious enthusiasm.

Lances of brilliant energy shot down to the placid surface of the small

moon below.  The  gas  giant  Yavin  seemed  unperturbed  by  the  holocaust

occurring on its tiny sibling.

The Knight Hammer's  weapons  chief  fired  another  volley  of  deadly

turbolasers, and another, and another. Daala stared fixated at  the  target.

She slammed her gloved fist into the bridge rail with each shot, as  if  she

could add to the destructive potential of the blast.

She stood and waited,  feeling  her  anger  smoldering  with  a  barely

expressed  satisfaction.  Her  appetite  for  destruction  had  merely  been

whetted. Even from her place in the Knight Hammer, high above Yavin  4,  she

could already see the forests starting to burn.

CHAPTER 48

Like armored birds of prey, the Victory-class  Star  Destroyers  struck

target after target, leaving a swath of  flames  and  destruction  in  their

wake.

Colonel Cronus sat back in the uncomfortable command chair of  the  13X

and scrutinized his dwindling list of targets compiled by Admiral Daala.  He

clasped his hands together, squeezing, flexing his arm muscles.  His  entire

body felt tense, coiled with fierce pride. His mind was ablaze with  success

after success but he did not allow himself to grow giddy with  satisfaction,

because then he might let his guard down and perform less than perfectly. He

couldn't afford that, not after such a glowing record.

He sat back, strapped himself in,  and  prepared  for  another  battle.

"Shields up," he said.

"Acknowledged," the tactical officer said.

"Prepare to engage." One by one, the other  Victory  ships  checked  in

automatically  as  their  computers  sent  coded  responses.  Cronus  leaned

forward, squeezing the arms  of  his  command  chair  so  tightly  that  his

fingertips left indentations. "Full forward," he said.

The fleet of crimson ships plunged through the  Chardaan  Shipyards,  a

Rebel space facility that produced a variety of starfighters from  the  old-

model X-wings and Y-wings to the newer A-, B-, and  E-wing  fighters.  After

this assault, Cronus thought, the facility wouldn't produce much of anything

at all.

The  shipyard's  zero-g  pressurized  hangars  were  silvery   spheres,

clusters that provided a shirtsleeve working environment for  the  mechanics

who assembled components to form the sleek ships. As Cronus's  fleet  roared

past their targets,  the  hangars  exploded  with  satisfying  eruptions  of

burning air and outflying metal. Significant enemy casualties.  No  Imperial

losses.

A boxy ore hauler lumbered away. The huge  corroded  vehicle  had  seen

better days and was now manned by only a skeleton crew that tried  to  lurch

their ancient vessel out of danger.

Cronus took  pleasure  in  targeting  the  ore-hauler's  rear  engines,

knocking the behemoth out of control. It trailed flames as it  crashed  into

an outer docking ring filled with the personal quarters of engineers.

Cronus did not slow down. He led the fleet through  the  thick  of  the

construction area, firing indiscriminately.

The Rebel forces mobilized with remarkable speed. Starfighters, old and

new, streaked toward the Victory ships, piloted by construction workers  and

off-duty fighters.

"Hit everything you can, but do not engage the Rebel defenses,"  Cronus

ordered. "It's not worth our bother. We'll cruise through at top  speed  and

leave them trembling as we depart."

He could tell by the rapidity with  which  the  Rebels  mustered  their

forces that they must  have  been  put  on  alert.  Somehow  they  had  been

forewarned of Daala's planned attacks. He flexed his arm muscles again.

The small Rebel ships  concentrated  their  firepower  on  two  of  the

crimson battlecruisers, and Cronus admired their strategy. The fighters were

too small and too few to cause significant damage across Cronus's fleet? but

if they picked a single target at a time, they just might?

One of the Victory ships exploded, blowing shrapnel in  all  directions

and taking out a dozen of the harrying Rebel X-wings.

Cronus felt annoyance as much as disappointment. "Increase  speed,"  he

shouted. "Let's get out of here."

The second Victory-class  ship  blew  up,  but  this  time  the  ship's

commander didn't have the foresight to  use  the  destruction  of  his  Star

Destroyer for a final advantage, and  the  resulting  detonation  caused  no

collateral damage.

Cronus no longer had a perfect record, and he was upset.

As they passed through an exploding fuel-supply station and a hazardous

forest of loose, drifting girders, Cronus ordered  his  Star  Destroyers  to

deploy their timed seeker-detonators  with  chaff  and  debris  clouds.  The

small, powerful mines would hunt out innocuous-looking targets,  where  they

would be triggered later a surprise for the Rebels to  find  during  cleanup

operations. Cronus took a great deal of satisfaction  in  knowing  he  could

continue the destruction even after he departed.

"Rebel  defenses  are  aligned,  sir,"  the  sensor  chief  said,  "and

gathering force."

Cronus nodded and leaned forward. "Time to go.  We've  caused  all  the

devastation we can here."

The fleet of Victory-class ships escaped cleanly into hyperspace as the

Rebel forces came gunning after them.

The sweeping cultural museums on Porus Vida  were  renowned  throughout

the galaxy, centuries  old  and  astonishingly  undefended  against  attack.

Colonel Cronus didn't consider them military targets? but Admiral Daala  had

included them as a psychological strike, and Cronus followed orders.

It was a simple act for his ships to sweep by with turbolasers  blazing

to  set  the  art  and  document  storehouses  aflame.  His  remote  sensors

transmitted images  of  sculpture  gardens  melting  under  waves  of  heat,

graceful figures with arms upswept in aesthetic expressions of joy, buckling

in agony as they melted into lava.

The green grasses of manicured gardens were crisped brown at the moment

of flashpoint. Reflection pools  and  fish  ponds  boiled  into  steam,  and

screaming patrons stumbled and fell in their  tracks.  The  museums  burned,

their treasure houses annihilated.

Colonel Cronus tapped his fingers together and  pursed  his  lips.  Who

cared about cultural records anyway? He was in  the  process  of  destroying

their history, and making history of his own.

The Imperial fleet stumbled upon the diplomatic  convoy  through  sheer

serendipity, but Cronus took advantage of the surprise.

The convoy consisted of nine rounded  cylinders  strung  with  gossamer

solar sails, which made them look like flower petals spinning through space,

augmented by sublight engines as  they  came  toward  a  refueling  station.

Beautiful to behold, Cronus thought, but sluggish, poorly maneuverable,  and

slow to respond to an overt attack.

When the desperate alien transmissions came to him, he saw  the  aliens

were  a  species  of  fragile-looking  insec-toid  creatures  with  sweeping

butterfly wings and very  little  weaponry.  When  his  Victory-class  fleet

charged among the ships, turning their solar sails to cinders,  he  received

an immediate and unconditional surrender.

Colonel Cronus was not interested in surrender.

He checked their identification and stated  mission,  filing  away  the

data  in  case  Daala  might  need  it.  Then  he  ordered  their   complete

annihilation.

"These are allies of our enemy, bringing gifts and swearing  allegiance

to Coruscant," Cronus said. "They chose the  wrong  side  in  this  galactic

conflict, and now they will pay for it."

He fired upon the lead ambassadorial ship, using turbolasers  like  hot

razors to rip open the ship's metal belly, so that atmosphere and passengers

spewed into space like spurting blood.

His ships continued the bombardment  until  the  aliens'  reserve  fuel

tanks detonated. Cronus opened the comm channel again to his  fleet.  "Since

this convoy is unarmed, we may as well take the time to finish the job."

The Victory-class ships and their pilots, still angered by  losing  two

ships at the Chardaan Depot, took great relish in slicing apart  every  last

one of the butterfly ships?

They. drifted for a moment surrounded by total wreckage. Cronus  caught

his breath from the excitement and ordered the fleet to proceed. "A job well

done," he said over the comm system. "Now it's time to rejoin Admiral  Daala

at Yavin 4."

He closed his eyes and relaxed for  a  moment  as  his  fleet  of  Star

Destroyers soared onward, unchallenged.

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 49

In the hushed mechanical  silence  of  the  Darksaber's  control  deck,

General Crix Madine, the Supreme Allied Commander for  Intelligence,  glared

accusingly at Sulamar.

The  Imperial  officer  stood  stiff  with  self-importance,  but   his

expression was wild and  panicked.  His  cheeks  flushed  scarlet,  and  his

close-set eyes flicked back and forth. The  other  guards  grasped  Madine's

arms, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

Durga the Hutt leaned forward and smacked his huge lips  together,  the

distorted birthmark across his face  rippling  like  spilled  ink.  "General

Sulamar you know this saboteur?"

Madine laughed, making sure he spoke loudly enough  for  all  to  hear.

"Did you call him a general?" he said. "That buffoon's no general."

Sulamar waved his hands in a frenzy, as if he could wipe  out  Madine's

existence with a gesture. He blinked his eyes like the fluttering wings of a

night insect drawn against its will to a bright hot light. "Don't listen  to

this man, Lord Durga! He's a traitor to the Empire?"

Madine snorted. "And you're a good-for-nothing junior technician, third

grade transferred from assignment to assignment because you kept screwing up

your duties!" He made a rude noise.

Sulamar  stormed  forward,  but  stopped,  his  fists   clenching   and

unclenching. He looked about to choke on thick, syrupy anger. He whirled  to

face the Hutt. "Lord Durga, you've seen my command abilities don't let  this

traitorous spy lie to you."

Durga jiggled as he laughed. "Hoo, hoo, hoo! I have seen your so-called

command abilities, Sulamar? and I'm inclined to believe this man."

Sulamar gasped and stammered as if seeking just the  right  words,  but

his tongue kept getting in the way. The motley assortment  of  armed  guards

looked uneasily from Madine their known enemy to  Sulamar,  perhaps  another

target in their midst.

"Sulamar," Durga said, his voice low and rumbling. Madine noted with  a

satisfied leap of his heart that the Hutt had  intentionally  left  off  the

title of general. "We will take care of this prisoner. You  need  not  fear.

Please surrender your blaster  pistol  to  me."  Reclined  on  his  repulsor

platform, the Hutt extended a stubby-fingered gray-green hand.

Sulamar stood rigid. Beads of sweat appeared on his high forehead.  His

Imperial general's uniform no more than  a  costume,  Madine  knew  appeared

immaculately cared for: all the seams neat, all corners pressed  with  sharp

edges, all the command insignia polished until it gleamed.

"But? Lord Durga," Sulamar said. "Perhaps I should be the one to?"

Durga bellowed with all the threatening volume he could  generate  from

his vast trembling belly. "Do you question my orders, Sulamar?"

The Imperial impostor leaped to obey. He snatched  his  blaster  pistol

from the holster on his hip and  extended  it  barrel  forward,  pointed  at

Durga; then he realized his mistake and quickly fumbled to turn  the  weapon

around, handing the butt end to the crime lord.

"Good," Durga said, holding the weapon but keeping  its  energy  barrel

aimed at Sulamar. "Next, you will seat yourself  there  in  the  Darksaber's

pilot chair." Durga gestured with the blaster to an empty station surrounded

by command terminals and a navigational array.

Madine could see that the chair was rigged with some sort of booby-trap

system, power cables running up the stem  of  the  seat,  electrodes  spaced

across metal contact points in the chair.

Sulamar looked at the pilot seat and paled. "There, Lord Durga?  But  I

can serve you so much better if I?"

"There!" Durga said.

Sulamar seemed absolutely terrified much more so than simply having his

lie exposed should warrant. But he moved like a droid under incontrovertible

programming, resigned as  he  shuffled  toward  the  empty  seat.  Strapping

himself in at the Darksaber's piloting station, he slumped,  seemingly  more

resigned to his fate than Madine, who was already marked for death.

Crix Madine stood battered and sore and utterly exhausted. He  clenched

his hands, waiting and waiting. Eyes closed, he sensed the silent  invisible

signal pounding out from the implanted transmitter, summoning help, pleading

for a rescue party now. Now! What was taking so long?

He ground his jaws together and urged the ships to hurry.

Empty space rushed by until it began to be cluttered  with  debris.  On

the command deck of the Yavaris, General Wedge Antilles  leaned  forward  to

peer out the front ports. "Come on," he muttered. "Come on!"

Beside him, Qwi Xux clamped her lips together, picking  up  on  Wedge's

anxiety.

"Are we still at maximum speed?" Wedge called to the helmsman.

"Best we can manage, sir,"  the  young  officer  responded.  "Hazardous

conditions up ahead, though General Madine's signal is leading  us  directly

into the Hoth Asteroid Belt."

Accompanied by the Assault Frigate Dodonna from his arm of  the  fleet,

Wedge rode the Yavaris into the asteroid belt. "Shields on full," he said.

"Agreed, sir," the helmsman answered. "But I'm reluctant to proceed  at

high speed into such a navigational hazard."

Wedge shook his head. Somehow he knew they had to hurry.  Hurry!  "Just

stay on your toes, Lieutenant,"  Wedge  said.  "And  keep  moving  with  all

possible haste."

The asteroids flew around  them  like  a  cannon  blast  of  fragmented

rubble, but Wedge's fleet continued undaunted, homing in on Madine's signal,

hoping to rescue him in time.

Strapped in to the pilot's chair, barely able  to  move,  Su-lamar  was

livid. He spun around, still sputtering and trying to justify his existence.

Durga the Hutt growled, looking down at him  from  the  height  of  his

repulsor platform. "Why don't you tell  us  again  about  this  Massacre  of

Mendicat you kept bragging about, Sulamar?"

Madine rolled his eyes and snorted. One of the Wee-quay  guards  jabbed

him in the kidneys; he gasped in pain, but recovered quickly. "Mendicat?" he

said with a sneer, knowing that if he could provoke these people, keep  them

bickering among themselves? then he had a chance. A slim one.

"Mendicat was a scrap mining  and  recycling  station."  Madine  glared

toward Sulamar. "Because of his error in programming the orbital  computers,

the station went off course  and  fell  into  the  sun.  He  barely  rescued

himself, and now I see that was a wasted effort."

Durga chuckled, deep hollow belly laughs that  reso-nated  through  his

Hutt bulk. "After my days of working with the  great  crime  lord  Xizor,  I

should have learned to double-check pretentious stories from my underlings."

Madine answered the Hutt, as if speaking to an equal. "I've come to the

conclusion that those people who truly do great deeds don't feel the need to

talk about them all the time."

"You must stop  listening  to  him,  Lord  Durga,"  Su-lamar  squeaked,

struggling against the pilot chair restraints he had strapped across his own

chest. "Lord Durga, we must execute this man!"  His  words  became  sweeter,

more insidious. "Imagine the possibilities. We could use a laser  cutter  to

dice him into pieces, or we could chain him  to  the  reactor  core  of  the

Darksaber as we power it up so that he cooks against its shell."

Bevel Lemelisk, the pot-bellied, grizzled old engineer, who appeared to

watch the entire proceedings with a combination of amusement  and  distaste,

made a comment seemingly to himself but loud  enough  that  everyone  heard.

"The Emperor could have imagined more? entertaining executions." The old man

visibly restrained a shudder.

Durga grumbled, still waving Sulamar's blaster pistol around. "I  don't

see any need to draw this out. After all, we have better  things  to  do.  A

galaxy to conquer, and so forth."

Madine stood bravely, clapping his heels together and staring into  the

large coppery eyes of Durga the Hutt. He said nothing for  a  moment  as  he

thought back on his years of service to the New Republic.

He had had a good run, had helped the New Republic grow strong. And now

he had followed his duty to the end. He didn't  regret  defecting  from  the

Empire many years ago, though he did wish he could  have  seen  his  fiancee

Karreio one more time but it was too late for those regrets, now. He saw her

image in front of his eyes. She had died in the battle for Coruscant, and he

had never been able to explain anything to her. Madine just  hoped  that  jf

she did love him, she must have understood in the end

? and if she didn't understand,  then  she  hadn't  really  known  Crix

Madine at all.

He fixed his eyes forward, watching the streaming white lights  of  the

asteroid field clustered around the construction site, hoping  against  hope

that at this last minute he would spot an oncoming fleet  of  rescue  ships.

But he saw only the rocky ruins of a planet that had broken apart  millennia

ago. He decided not to give Durga the satisfaction of begging for his life.

The Hutt pointed the blaster pistol at  Madine  and  fiddled  with  the

controls until he finally figured out how to set the weapon to kill.

"Any last words?" Durga said.

Madine lifted his bearded chin. "Not to you." Out of the corner of  his

eyes he saw the brief, white-light flicker of approaching ships.  His  heart

swelled. They were coming to rescue him!

Durga's fleshy, smooth shoulders rippled in a shrug. "All right."

Guards scattered out of the way.

Durga fired the blaster pistol, letting loose a long  blast  of  deadly

energy.

Madine was thrown backward into the metal  wall  as  the  killing  beam

burned through to his heart. His entire life evaporated in a brief flash  of

pain.

And then blackness.

YAVIN 4

CHAPTER 50

Heading  back  toward  Yavin  4  aboard  the  Millennium  Falcon,  Luke

Skywalker and Callista recovered rapidly from their ordeal  in  space.  They

looked forward to a long and well-deserved rest at the Jedi academy.

Han, Leia, and Chewbacca tried to cheer them up, but Luke and  Callista

both felt a brooding sense of failure and frustration. Threepio's  pestering

ministrations failed to help, though the golden protocol droid  meant  well.

Artoo-Detoo hovered protectively beside Luke,  whistling  and  guarding  his

master like a faithful pet.

When they were alone together, Luke looked into  Callista's  open  gray

eyes; even without Jedi powers they could share some thoughts.

"It isn't going to work, is it, Luke?" Callista asked him.  "I'm  never

going to get my Jedi powers back."

"There's always a chance?" he said.

"Don't coddle me," she snapped, then flicked her gaze away, though  the

muscles beneath her cheeks flinched as if she wanted longed to look back  at

him, but didn't dare risk it.

"We've tried everything," Callista said. "We've worked all  this  time,

but accomplished nothing. The Force  has  abandoned  me.  Its  currents  are

diverted around me, so that I can't touch them."

"But you did touch them," Luke said. "On Dagobah. I felt it."

"That was the dark side," Callista said.

"But it might be the key to  regaining  your  powers,"  Luke  insisted,

unwilling to give up all hope.

"The dark side is never the key to  the  light,"  Callista  said.  "You

would never teach that to your students at the praxeum, so don't give it  to

me now as a platitude."

"What are we going to do, then?" Luke said. "Just give up?"

"I can't give up. I love you too much.  But  I  have  to  make  my  own

decisions," Callista said.

Luke leaned forward, took her hands, and held them  until  she  finally

looked at him. "You can," he said softly. "But I'd like to be part of them."

Her expression softened, and she lowered her voice. "You will be,  Luke

if I can find any way to make it so."

They held each other tightly for a brief moment until Threepio  bustled

in to the common room. "Master Luke! Master Luke!" he  said.  "We've  almost

reached the Yavin system, and Captain Solo thought you might wish to join us

in the cockpit."

Luke and Callista continued to hold each other, and the protocol  droid

suddenly stammered and stepped  back.  "Oh  dear,  have  I  intruded  at  an

inconvenient time again? I do beg your pardon. I'm afraid  I'm  dreadful  at

that sort of thing."

"No, Threepio," Luke said, standing up and holding out his hand to help

Callista climb to her feet. "We were finished talking."

Arm in arm, Luke and Callista followed Threepio along the  corridor  to

the Falcon's glassed-in cockpit where Leia sat just behind Han, leaning over

and watching as Chewbacca worked the controls.

"Glad you could join us, kid," Han said. "Time to get back to work."

Artoo warbled at the navigation console, and Han  yanked  back  on  the

controls to slow them to sublight speed. "Welcome to  Yavin  4,"  Han  said,

gesturing with his hand. "The Jedi vacation resort."

The  Millennium  Falcon  shot  out  of  hyperspace,   broadcasting   an

announcement that Luke Skywalker  had  returned.  They  plunged  toward  the

jewel- green moon around the orange gas planet? and nearly rammed  into  the

Super Star Destroyer Knight Hammer.

"Whoa!" Han cried.

Chewbacca roared and grabbed the controls, sending the Falcon  whizzing

up and around, past the kilometers-long Super Star Destroyer.

"What the?" Han said. "It's not my fault!"

The Knight Hammer continued to fire upon the jungle moon, but  as  soon

as Han arrived, a few stray turbolaser blasts  sliced  across  space  toward

them. "Chewie, take evasive!" Han said, but the Wookiee copilot was  already

one step ahead of him.

"Han," Leia snapped, "stop transmitting  your  identification  signals.

You're drawing their attention."

"Uh, right," Han said with a sheepish look, and  slapped  at  the  comm

system, switching off the beacon.

A transmission burst across their speakers, crackling at a high  volume

because of the power behind the  Super  Star  Destroyer.  "This  is  Admiral

Daala, commander of the Knight Hammer. You will surrender immediately or  be

destroyed."

Han groaned. Chewbacca roared. Artoo squealed a shrill note  of  alarm.

"Admiral Daala! Oh, my!" Threepio said.

Han toggled the communication system. "Daala, you are such a pain,"  he

said, then snapped it off, dodging another  burst  of  turbolaser  bolts  by

flying in a figure eight past the Star Destroyer's targeting locks.

"Han, stop showing off," Leia said.

A cloud of TIE fighters spilled out of the fore  hangar  decks  of  the

Super Star Destroyer, swirling toward the Falcon. "Shields  up!"  Han  said,

and Chewbacca grunted in acknowledgment. Han turned back to  Luke.  "Sheesh,

you go away for a few days, and the whole place falls apart."

Chewbacca roared.

"Uh, Han," Leia said, pointing. "Han!"

Two TIE  fighters  screamed  toward  them,  their  laser  cannon  shots

ricocheting off the full-power shields in front of the Falcon.  Han  punched

his own laser cannons, clipped one of the TIE fighters and sent  it  reeling

out of control. The other screamed by without damage.

"Can we transmit a signal to the New Republic? Sound the  alarm?"  Leia

shouted. "We've got to get the whole fleet here."

Chewbacca flicked the comm system and groaned. Han looked over  at  the

panels. "She's doing what? That takes a lot of power."

Threepio said, "I believe Admiral Daala  is  successfully  jamming  all

distress signals."

"Terrific," Leia said.

"Go to the gunwale," Han said.

"I'll take it," Luke responded.

"I'll get in the other one," Leia said.

"You?" Luke asked.

She shrugged. "I've been practicing." She ran.

Luke climbed into the gunner's seat and shouted to  Han.  "Daala's  got

more ships than we can possibly handle. Don't stick around  to  fight  them.

Just get down to the moon.'' Luke fired the laser cannons,  and  from  below

Leia shot and hit another TIE fighter.

"You sure we wouldn't be better off just hopping back into hyperspace?"

Han said in a low voice.

Callista stood behind him, gripping the back of Han's chair. "The  Jedi

academy is under attack,"  she  said,  knowing  exactly  the  turmoil  going

through Luke's mind. "We have to help. We need to do whatever we can."

"AH right," Han said. "Chewie, full forward shields.  Punch  it.  We're

gonna make a straight line."

The Millennium Falcon soared  beneath  the  immense  Knight  Hammer.  A

flurry of TIE fighters blocked their way, flying in  a  tight  formation  as

they shot a constant pattern of blasts. Han streaked  toward  them  at  full

speed. Chewbacca roared in alarm.

"Oh, but, sir?" Threepio cried.

"I see 'em," Han said. "They'll move."

The TIE fighters  held  their  position,  still  firing.  The  Falcon's

forward shields began to weaken, but Han plunged onward,  right  down  their

throats. Luke and Leia in  their  respective  gunwales  continued  shooting,

taking out TIE fighters.

"Ummm, please get out of the way?" Han muttered.

At the last possible moment the TIE fighters scrambled aside in such  a

pell-mell frenzy that two crashed into each other while others spun  out  of

control. The Falcon shot through the  defensive  formation  and  grazed  the

atmosphere of the jungle moon, diving toward the treetops.

They cruised over the jungle. Billowing black smoke rose from scattered

forest fires. Strips of the jungle were ripped up and incinerated where  the

powerful turbolasers had sliced down from orbit.

Callista grabbed Luke's arm as he climbed out of the Falcon's  gunwale,

wearing a boyish grin. "It's been a long time since  I've  done  that."  But

then his smile faded again. "The Jedi academy must be under attack. We  have

to get to them."

"I know," Callista said. "I've already told Han."

Han called, "Hey, I'm flying as fast as I can." Leia came  up  to  join

him. "Great shooting, Leia," he said.

"Plenty of incentive  when  the  Imperials  are  using  us  for  target

practice, " she answered.

Two TIE fighters soared over the treetops, firing at  the  Falcon  from

the sides.

"These guys just don't give up, do they?" Han muttered. He launched one

of his concussion missiles directly at one TIE fighter, which was  obviously

expecting a laser-cannon retaliation. The TIE fighter tried  to  veer  away,

but the sensor on the tip of the concussion missile homed  in  on  the  flat

panel and detonated, sending Imperial wreckage tumbling out of the sky.

The second TIE fighter zoomed  upward  out  of  range,  apparently  not

wishing to  continue  the  engagement.  Below  the  Falcon,  ground  assault

machinery moved about, mechanical scout walkers and bulky flying  fortresses

combing the jungle and heading toward the Great Temple.

"We've got to see if the trainees are okay," Luke said.

Han looked around. "Well, maybe  we  could  get  them  all  aboard  the

Falcon, take them to safety."

Luke flashed Han a grim expression. "I don't  think  we'll  be  leaving

Yavin 4," he said.

"But that's crazy, Luke!" Han said.

"Look," Luke said, "if it's only a matter of survival, my Jedi trainees

would probably do better split up and alone in the jungles than  all  aboard

the Falcon. No insult to your piloting skills, Han, but if we evacuated  the

Jedi trainees on the Falcon, one lucky  strike  from  Admiral  Daala's  Star

Destroyer would take out nearly every Jedi Knight in  the  New  Republic.  I

can't risk that. We'll fight here. You can take off. Go back and  get  help,

or stay and fight in some of the ground battles. But the Jedi aren't leaving

here."

"Okay, okay," Han said. "Let's see what the situation is first."

"Well, if you ask me, I believe I should prefer to attempt an  escape,"

Threepio said.

"Shut up, Threepio," Leia said.

"Why is it that nobody ever listens to my opinion?"  the  golden  droid

said.

Han set the Falcon down beside a landed Imperial shuttle  in  front  of

the Great Temple. A battered AT-ST walker lay ruined  at  the  edge  of  the

jungle. Forest fires raged nearby; even the great Massassi  temple  appeared

changed, blackened from air strikes, but it seemed structurally intact.

Luke hoped the Jedi  trainees  had  either  taken  shelter  inside  the

pyramid or had gone out to hide in the jungles.

The Falcon's, ramp extended, and Luke and Callista were  the  first  to

dash out, followed quickly by Han, Leia, and Chewie. Artoo rolled  down  the

ramp, chittering agitated electronic sounds. Threepio hovered  at  the  top.

"Perhaps we should stay here, Artoo to guard the ship,"  he  said.  But  the

little astromech droid gave him an electronic raspberry.

Luke and Callista hurried  toward  the  temple.  The  heavy  horizontal

hangar door ground upward a fraction and a figure appeared as the thunder of

battle continued around them.

Kyp Durron plodded out into the sunlight, bearing in his arms the limp,

blackened body of Dorsk 81. Callista winced, and Luke gasped.

Kyp's voice was hoarse and strained as the other Jedi  trainees  flowed

out behind him. "There were seventeen other Star Destroyers," he  said.  "We

worked together, linked our abilities with the Force. Dorsk 81 guided us. He

took the power upon himself. He got rid of the other Star Destroyers but  it

cost us his life."

With a clanking sound and a crashing of trees, another  Imperial  scout

walker emerged into  the  clearing,  its  blaster  cannons  leveled  at  the

gathered Jedi, but before it could fire a shot, a fiery bolt roared out from

one of the Falcon's gunwales, blowing up the scout walker.  Its  trapezoidal

metal head smoldered from a gaping crater where the pilot had sat.

A moment later a flustered See-Threepio scrambled out onto the boarding

ramp. "I did it! Oh dear, did you see that? I said I would guard  the  ship.

Oh my, I shot an Imperial walker!  I'm  sure  I  had  no  intention?"  Artoo

squealed in triumph.

Callista turned to Kyp. "We have no time to grieve now," she said.

"He was a Jedi," Kyp said. "A Jedi Knight."

"You all are," Luke said. "Come on we've got to defend the academy."

In the jungle they heard  more  explosions,  crashing  noises,  humming

machinery as ground assault vehicles converged on their main target.

Han gestured to Leia and Chewbacca. "Come on, back to the Falcon. We'll

break out our weapons."

Luke and Callista moved toward the Jedi trainees,  ready  to  join  the

fray.

CHAPTER 51

"We can spread out and strike the Imperials," Luke  said  to  the  Jedi

trainees gathered in front of the Great Temple.

The mechanized assault  troops  crashed  forward  through  the  jungle,

firing at imagined targets. Artoo-Detoo trundled toward the open door of the

Great Temple, vanishing into the shelter of the hangar bay's heavy shadows.

"They'll be here in a moment," Luke said. "If we Jedi can spread out in

the jungle, we can hit them with surprise attacks."

Tionne was concerned. "They're much bigger  than  we  are,"  she  said,

"with a lot more firepower."

"Yes," Kirana Ti said with a stern expression, "but we can hide  better

than they can."

"And," Kam Solusar added, "we're Jedi Knights. They're just Imperials."

Luke smiled at their confidence. "Callista," he said, "maybe you should

go with Han and Leia on the Falcon where you'll be safer."

She shook her head vigorously, the short malt blond hair waving in  the

humid air. "Not on your life. I'm staying here with you."

He smiled gently at her. "All right, I'll  protect  you  with  my  Jedi

powers. Just stay close."

She scowled, suddenly reminded of her inability to use the  Force,  but

her face flushed with a fiery determination. Callista  had  her  lightsaber,

and Luke switched on his own  green-yellow  energy  blade.  Kirana  Ti  held

Gantoris's old weapon with the  harsh  amethyst-white  glow.  Kyp  drew  his

weapon. Some of the newer Jedi trainees took hold of the  few  blasters  Kyp

had retrieved from the stolen Imperial shuttle.

Luke held his lightsaber high. "Jedi  Knights,"  he  called,  "may  the

Force be with you!"

The trainees split up and disappeared into the jungle thickets.

As damp vines and tangled undergrowth wrapped  around  her,  Kirana  Ti

stuck close to Streen. They made an odd pair, but the addled  Bespin  hermit

was her good friend. Kirana Ti was strong and muscular, tall, a warrior even

without the  Force.  Streen,  on  the  other  hand,  was  self-absorbed  and

distracted, wanting primarily to be left alone. Kirana Ti accepted him as he

was. She knew he held great power within him when  confidence  let  him  tap

into his full potential. Together, they formed a solid team.

Imperial siege machines crashed toward them,  another  troop  of  gawky

scout walkers clomping through the underbrush. They  blasted  trees  out  of

their way, knocked down heavy branches, and ripped  up  vines  that  tangled

around their cumbersome, jointed legs.

"They're not trying very hard  to  be  quiet,"  Kirana  Ti  said.  "Bad

tactics. Shows overconfidence."

"What's their plan?" Streen said, twisting from side to  side.  "What's

our plan? Does anyone have a plan? We should plan."

She took cover in the shadow of a thicket and  yanked  him  after  her,

squinting toward the approaching AT-STs. Sweat beaded on her brow,  and  she

brushed it away. Kirana Ti gripped the smooth handle of her lightsaber. "The

Imperials didn't expect much resistance  from  a  handful  of  trainees,  so

they're not organized. It's just a mad scramble with plenty of  weapons  and

no plan."

"No plan," Streen agreed, nodding vigorously.

A pair of AT-ST walkers stomped into the  clearing.  Before  she  could

stop him, Streen popped to his  feet  and  chattered,  "I'll  take  care  of

these!" He rushed out to stand in plain sight of the two square-headed scout

machines.

"Streen!" she yelled.  Both  walkers  swiveled  their  boxy  heads  and

trained weapons on the old hermit, but Streen raised his fists  in  the  air

and let out a loud yell as he swept his arms forward,  using  the  Force  to

propel a battering ram of wind.

Kirana Ti was amazed at the speed with which he focused his mind on the

Force, channeled his thoughts into exactly what he wanted to  do,  and  then

unleashed his powers. Or perhaps  Streen  didn't  concentrate  at  all?  and

therein lay his unusual strength.

The two scout transports toppled backward as if they had  been  slapped

by a giant hand, tumbled end over end until they slammed into the bole of an

ancient Massassi tree, flattened by the Force.

Streen rubbed his hands together. "There,"  he  said,  then  flashed  a

lopsided grin at Kirana Ti.

A third scout walker clomped out of the jungle, and Kirana  Ti  reacted

swiftly this time, igniting her lightsaber and leaping toward the two-legged

armored transport. She slashed sideways with the glowing purple-white  blade

and severed a mechanical leg at its knee. The scout walker toppled  sideways

and Kirana Ti jumped out of the way.

The pilot fired his laser cannons as the machine fell,  but  the  bolts

went wide, incinerating  heavy  branches  from  the  trees.  Hidden  animals

crouching in the underbrush burst into flight, squawking  and  shrieking  as

they scrambled through the forest debris.

Kirana Ti lopped open the  armored  hatch  of  the  scout  walker.  The

Imperial soldier inside scrambled to free himself from  the  crash  netting,

reaching for his blaster pistol but Kirana Ti skewered him with the  blazing

lightsaber. He gave a short cry, and then a  crackling  hole  in  his  chest

prevented him from uttering another sound.

Kirana Ti climbed to the top of the smoldering hulk of the AT-ST like a

warrior who had just vanquished a monster. Streen stood looking at  the  two

vehicles he had crushed. Kirana Ti shouted to him. "Three down!" she said.

"Are there many more left?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"Plenty," she said.

Still wearing his perpetual  frown,  Kam  Solusar  met  the  Juggernaut

alone. It was  an  ancient,  cumbersome  ground  assault  vehicle,  obsolete

throughout most of the Empire, though many old hulks could still be found in

the Outer Rim Territories. Solusar remembered these massive "rolling  slabs"

that had been used to strike fear in Imperial  opponents  because  of  their

mammoth size, though certainly not their efficiency or flexibility.

The Juggernaut  was  a  huge  tank  bristling  with  three  heavy-laser

cannons, a pair of  concussion-grenade  launchers,  and  one  medium-blaster

cannon. Its five sets of wheels moved on independent axles, allowing  it  to

roll through difficult terrain. The front and back ends each held a  cockpit

for pilots to drive the clumsy vehicle in either  direction,  since  it  was

nearly impossible to turn the monstrosity around.

A lookout tower rose in a  narrow  unprotected  stem  above  the  front

cockpit where the lowest-ranking storm-trooper had the unenviable assignment

of sporting targets while becoming the most obvious target himself.  Because

the Juggernaut was one of the least sophisticated heavy assault vehicles the

Empire had designed, Kam So-lusar assumed that its crew  was  not  the  best

Admiral Daala's fleet had to offer.

Alone, he  had  no  obvious  weapons:  he  had  not  yet  built  a  new

lightsaber, in part out of reluctance to wield such power again; he had done

plenty of damage before he had temporarily given up his Jedi  heritage.  But

he considered it a greater irony if  he  could  convince  the  Imperials  to

destroy themselves using their own  weapons.  He  couldn't  imagine  a  more

delightful outcome.

Reaching out with the Force, the hard-bitten warrior sensed the crew of

eight through the thick durasteel armor. He found no powerful or charismatic

officer inside, just a  group  of  weak-minded  fools?  exactly  as  he  had

expected.

Kam Solusar didn't even bother  showing  himself.  He  remained  hidden

behind an ancient tree as he closed his eyes and  concentrated.  This  would

need to be quick.

He used the Force to wrench the barrels of the Juggernaut's heavy laser

cannons, punching the guns around to point down at the body of  the  vehicle

itself. Welds shivered and metal strained as  he  ground  the  barrels  into

firing positions they had never been designed to use.

Then he sent out a spike of thought, an urgent message to  the  weakest

mind he found, a simple Imperial gunner who had no idea where he was or  why

he was fighting.

Shoot the enemy! Kam Solusar commanded.

Reflexively, the gunner followed the order. He fired both  heavy  laser

cannons at full power. The Imperial Juggernaut exploded under its own fire.

Kam Solusar ducked, but the trunk of the  Massassi  tree  shielded  him

from the flying shrapnel. He shook his head in disgust. "Stupid idiots,"  he

thought, then slipped off to seek another target.

The horizontal hangar door beneath the Great Temple stood wide open,  a

gaping vulnerability into the pyramid stronghold of the Jedi academy.

A single AT-ST clanked forward  past  the  abandoned  Imperial  shuttle

Dorsk 81 had landed on the jungle  moon.  The  scout  walker  fired  several

times, blackening parts of the temple rock. Then,  unchallenged,  it  strode

across the landing grid toward the open and waiting hangar.

The walker hesitated outside, then brilliant white  spotlights  stabbed

into the cavernous darkness of the hangar bay. Nothing moved  in  the  empty

hangar, only shadows thick and motionless. A few lizard-rodents scurried  to

avoid the light.

The AT-ST commander, still apparently nervous,  fired  twice  into  the

empty chamber. The bolts of his laser cannons ricocheted off the inner walls

and  flashed,  causing  minor  damage  spots  on  the  stone.  Receiving  no

retaliatory fire, the AT-ST lumbered forward. Its commander no doubt thought

he could take over the Jedi stronghold and prevent any long siege.

As the scout walker stepped under  the  heavy  upraised  door,  though,

Artoo- Detoo, hiding in the shadows, chit-tered and came forward to activate

the release controls. The heavy armored slab, thick enough to seal  off  the

temple from heavy blaster fire, came crashing down.

Propelled by hydraulic pistons, the door squashed the scout  walker  in

an instant, hammering it into the stone floor. Fuel tanks erupted,  coolants

spilled, and smoke poured into the air. The body casing  of  the  AT-ST  lay

unrecognizable, like hammered-flat pieces of scrap metal.

Artoo whistled and hooted in triumph, then he worked the door  controls

again, raising up the stone slab and falling silent. The  temple  grew  dark

and sat waiting again, vulnerable.

Artoo watched the sunlit jungle outside, hoping to lure a new target.

As Kyp Durron ran to join Han Solo in the Millennium  Falcon,  Callista

followed Luke and Tionne as they slipped behind the Great  Temple  into  the

thicker jungle where more Imperials were massing.

Callista felt anger and helplessness  crippling  her  again.  Luke  had

meant well, and had spoken only out of concern for her but unconsciously  he

had flaunted the fact that he had Jedi  powers  and  implied  that  she  was

helpless without them.

I'll protect you, he had said.

That was the wrong thing to say to Callista. She  didn't  want  him  to

protect her. She wanted to do her own part. She had to find  some  way  that

she could strike as many blows to defend the Jedi academy as Luke  did.  She

needed to prove that they  could  exist  on  equal  terms.  Otherwise  their

relationship had no future, as far as she was concerned.

She sensed the scratching hum of dark side shadows in the back  of  her

mind, tempting her, luring her to dip into their evil powers for just a  few

moments, and then she would be able to use the light side.

But she knew that was a lie. Callista held her light-saber and sprinted

beside Luke as they dove through a tangle of vines and lacy purple ferns.

A huge piece of heavy assault machinery  plowed  its  way  through  the

jungle toward the temple. Luke gestured for them  to  follow,  but  Callista

hung behind. He and Tionne would work together, linking Jedi powers in a way

that she could no longer share.

Callista came to a dreaded realization that perhaps she had been unable

to attempt new techniques to regain her powers because she was too close  to

Luke. He intimidated her with his own abilities,  unconsciously  emphasizing

the fact that she had so little left. Perhaps she needed time by herself, to

operate on her own terms, with no expectations, no need to perform for  Luke

Skywalker, to meet his level of ability. She and Luke  were  bonded,  joined

heart and spirit but perhaps she needed to find her own  strength  again  so

that she could join his.

Now, in the midst of the jungle battles, she felt help-less and  alone,

tagging along like a burden rather than a  companion.  She  didn't  need  to

prove anything to Luke? but she did need to prove it to herself.

"Here it comes," Luke said, but his attention was focused on Tionne  as

the two Jedi Knights prepared to meet  the  Imperial  battle  machine.  With

their attention diverted, Callista formed her own plan.

The Imperial Flying Fortress approached them about four meters off  the

ground, hovering over an ancient deadfall where several giant Massassi trees

had toppled in ancient storms.

Luke recognized the immense vehicle. Tactically, it  was  like  a  huge

Imperial AT-AT walker but without the legs, merely the armored  body  loaded

with heavy weaponry. It was rectangular with rounded corners and  two  heavy

blaster  cannons  on  a  hemispherical  turret  on   the   top.   A   target

identification network operated from sensors mounted around its outer  hull.

The machine hummed as it cruised forward, nosing its way through  the  thick

branches, snapping them off when they refused to yield.

Its outer armor plates were already scarred from weapons fire,  scraped

from hard branches, and splotched with sticky  smears  of  spilled  sap.  It

cruised  forward,  heavy  blaster  cannons  moving  like  rigid   tentacles.

Receiving signals from the target identification network, they fired  deadly

bursts upon any hapless forest creatures that happened to flee at the  wrong

time.

Luke concentrated on the armored monstrosity cruising toward  them.  He

whispered to Tionne. "Together," he said. "See that sharp tree  stump?  When

the Fortress flies over?"

Tionne nodded, and they waited as the low hum of repulsor  lifts  drove

the Flying Fortress over the ancient deadfall.

Luke focused his blue eyes on the sharpened  trunk.  "Now!"  he  cried.

Luke and Tionne used the Force to-gether, heaving the stump  upward  like  a

wooden stake through the lower hull of  the  Flying  Fortress.  The  impaled

siege vehicle spun about roaring with a burst of engine power.  Its  blaster

cannons fired in all directions, setting trees aflame but it couldn't move.

"That tree." Luke nodded toward another  ancient  trunk  half-collapsed

but held up by a net of vines. He and Tionne tugged on the  dead  tree  with

the Force, snapping the coiled vines and heaving the massive trunk down like

an ax blade, many tons of solid wood slamming the Flying Fortress down  into

the deadfall, crushing it into an unrecognizable mass  of  smoldering  armor

plate.

Luke and Tionne leaped from their hiding place in triumph. They clasped

each other's hands in a celebratory grip-

"See, Callista!" Luke called. "We'll take care of them, one by one!"

But when he turned  to  look  behind  him,  he  saw  no  sign  of  her.

"Callista?" he called, glancing around in alarm.

Tionne also looked, but they saw no motion, received no answer  in  the

thick jungle. Callista was completely masked from the Force,  and  therefore

invisible even to their Jedi powers. Luke could not sense her, no matter how

hard he tried.

"Callista!" he called again.

But she had vanished by herself into the thick jungle.

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 52

Qwi Xux leaned forward and pointed just as Wedge began to  discern  the

organized cluster of lights ahead of them. Her indigo eyes were better  than

his, and she could make out details he hadn't yet been able to imagine.

"Okay, increase magnification," he said.

In the viewscreen they  saw  the  long  cylindrical  construction  amid

islands of hardened slag and discarded spare  components.  The  Hutt  weapon

appeared to be complete and ready to move.

"They actually built it," Qwi whispered. "I hope we're not too late."

"So it was all true," Wedge  mumbled.  "And  the  Hutts  got  this  far

without us detecting them." He nodded grimly  to  the  helmsman.  "But  they

won't get any further." Trailed by  their  three  Corellian  Corvettes,  the

Yavaris and the Dodonna approached the enormous Darksaber.

Without ceremony, Durga's guards dragged the dead body of  Crix  Madine

off the Darksaber's command deck.

Bevel Lemelisk watched the fallen Rebel saboteur with  mixed  feelings,

pursing his lips and scowling with  a  thousand  conflicting  thoughts.  The

expression on Madine's face feed there forever so that Lemelisk would  never

forget it was one of secret triumph, as if Madine knew  something  that  the

Hutts and the Imperials would never understand. Lemelisk saw the body with a

certain amount of envy as well, knowing that at least Madine would stay dead

and not have to worry about being brought back again and again and again  to

be tormented.

Several  Taurill  scurried  across  the  bridge,  watching  the  entire

execution ceremony with intense curiosity. Lemelisk shooed  them  away,  and

the multiarmed creatures scrambled to the inner decks where the rest of  the

hive mind now rested with the completion of their labor.

Sitting imperiously on his levitating platform, Durga the  Hutt  issued

commands to the impostor Sulamar. "Power up our engines. You will  pilot  us

out of here. Now. I'm anxious to get under way."

Sulamar stammered, "But Lord Durga, I can't?"

"I have confidence in your abilities, Sulamar."  He  rubbed  his  green

finger lightly over one of the booby-trap buttons. "Or would you prefer that

I dispose of you and choose someone else?"

"No need for that, Lord Durga!" Sulamar said and focused his  attention

on the controls. "I appreciate your faith in my  skills.  I  won't  let  you

down."

"I'll make sure of that," Durga said. "My Darksaber is  finished.  I've

had enough waiting around here. Let us begin our sweep across the galaxy and

begin collecting our due."

Upon hearing Durga's words, Bevel Lemelisk snapped out of  his  reverie

and gaped in disbelief. "You? you're not actually going to use this  weapon,

are you?" he said. "It's not yet tested." He stumbled over his words.  "Lord

Durga: .. we need to verify all the subsystems and?"

Durga made a loud, impolite noise and dismissed

Lemelisk's comments. "Nonsense, chief  engineer.  Your  job  is  nearly

finished. Don't try to prolong your usefulness. My Taurill workers  followed

your own plans exactly. What could go wrong?" He gestured to Sulamar. "Go, I

told you. Move out."

Lemelisk nervously twiddled his fingers  and  scanned  the  other  crew

members at their stations, all strapped to booby-trapped chairs.  He  didn't

speak his concerns out loud, but he had a  bad  feeling  about  the  overall

workmanship of the superweapon. Too often he had encountered gaffes such  as

the ancient and incompatible computer cores, the  below-par  materials.  Too

many miscommunica-tions. Too many malfunctions.

Lemelisk knew the Hutts were obsessive about getting the  best  bargain

for their money, but Durga had accepted the low bid far more frequently than

quality control should have allowed; and  the  Hutts,  being  such  fearsome

crime lords, had somehow missed a basic commercial axiom you  get  what  you

pay for, and nothing more.

Lemelisk gradually backed toward the turbolift door as the bridge  crew

busied themselves, preparing the superweapon for its maiden flight.

"Ah, excuse me, Lord Durga," Lemelisk said. "I believe my place  should

be down by the superlaser, monitoring it to make sure  everything  functions

properly."

Durga, too intent on the excitement of  finally  getting  into  motion,

dismissed Lemelisk distractedly. Lemelisk slipped into  the  turbolift,  and

his stomach lurched as the elevator platform dropped rapidly down. He patted

his stomach, feeling a growl of hunger. He wondered if he might have time to

grab something to eat? but decided he shouldn't risk delaying. He  would  be

in a great deal of  trouble  if  the  Darksaber  failed  to  fire  as  Durga

expected, and Bevel Lemelisk had no intention  of  being  around  when  that

happened.

He exercised the better part of valor and went not  to  the  superlaser

control systems, but off to his private launching bay, where he dashed  over

to the small inspec-tion scooter he had used to watch the final construction

of the great weapon.

Everyone on board the Darksaber had been called to their  stations,  so

the bay stood empty and dim with only  standby  systems  lighting  his  way.

Lemelisk strutted over to the single scooter and  climbed  into  the  hatch,

working his stiff knees and weak arms until he settled into  the  seat.  The

cramped cockpit still smelled awful, and he wished he had thought  to  order

the Taurill to clean the upholstery? but it was too late now.

He strapped in and powered up the inspection scooter,  drifted  through

the atmosphere-containment field and away from the enormous weapon.

Bevel Lemelisk would take his chances out in open space.

CHAPTER 53

"Battle stations!" Wedge Antilles cried.

"The Hutt weapon is moving out," the tactical officer said, stating the

obvious as the cylindrical behemoth powered up its rear engines like a  star

exploding.

"It's huge," Qwi whispered. "I understand it  now,  what  they've  done

they got rid of the extraneous superstructure and channeled all of the power

directly into the superlaser. This weapon should be more  maneuverable  than

the Death Star, more easily recharged, able to fire more frequently."

"We won't let it escape," Wedge said.

"Bad news, sir," the sensor chief said,  a  lieutenant  with  close-set

blue eyes and a pointed nose. He turned away before  he  continued.  "We've?

sir, we've lost the signal from General Madine's transmitter."

The news struck Wedge like a blow to the stomach.  He  slumped  in  his

seat. "Oh no."

Qwi didn't understand. "But we've found  the  weapon,"  she  said.  "We

don't need the transmitter anymore, do we?"

Wedge's voice was hoarse. He intended to speak only  to  her,  but  the

bridge fell quiet enough that everyone heard his words. "That transmitter is

keyed to Madine's life monitor. If the transmitter has stopped, that means?"

He sat up straight and gestured violently forward. '  'All  weapons  on

full. We must not let them get away. The Yavaris and the Dodonna  will  dive

in directly. Corellian Corvettes will target the main  engines  to  slow  it

down." He clenched his teeth. "This time, the Hutts picked the wrong  people

to tangle with."

On the Darksaber's command deck, the Devaronian sensor  chief  squawked

in  alarm.  He  jerked  his  horned  head  up.  "Lord  Durga,  Rebel   fleet

approaching! They're powering up weapons."

"What?" Durga recoiled, blinking his lanternlike eyes.  "How  did  they

find us?" Then he turned to  Sulamar.  "It's  time  to  test  your  piloting

skills."

The engines fired again, and the Darksaber heaved into motion,  picking

up speed. The thrum vibrated through the hull with barely  contained  power.

The  Darksaber  built  up  momentum.  Durga  laughed  with  delight  at  the

performance of his superweapon.

Deep down within the core, a loud groaning sound came from the engines,

followed by a clunk and a thud.

Durga looked around in concern. Sulamar concentrated  on  the  piloting

controls, biting his  lips  and  pretending  to  hear  nothing  out  of  the

ordinary. Sweat streamed from his temples. The strange sound faded away, and

Durga ignored it.

"Power up the superlaser," the Hutt crime lord said. "We must be  ready

to fire a shot when the time is right. We'll  blast  the  Rebel  fleet  into

space dust."

The New Republic warships streaked after the  Darksaber  as  it  plowed

through the flying rubble of the asteroid belt.

The shields sent out bright flashes as they disintegrated  small  rocks

that crossed  their  path.  Several  large  chunks  broke  through,  though,

pounding the hull of the Yavaris.

"That Hutt weapon is like a battering ram,  breaking  up  the  rubble,"

Wedge said.

One of the Corellian Corvettes was struck broadside by a large spinning

meteoroid and fell behind in the pursuit. The captain transmitted  to  Wedge

that his engines had been severely damaged, but that containment fields  and

bulkhead doors had trapped the escaping air from small  hull  breaches.  "No

crew loss," the captain said, "but we'll be undergoing repairs for a  while.

Go get the Hutts for us, sir."

Wedge nodded. "We'll do our best."

"He's going into the  densest  part  of  the  asteroid  field,  General

Antilles," the navigator said, her face pasty white with tension.

"Then we're going in after him," Wedge said.

The Assault Frigate fired  its  turbolasers  and  splintered  a  jagged

asteroid careening toward them. The Yavaris flew through the  debris  cloud,

sustaining little damage. "Thanks, Dodonna," Wedge said.

When they got close enough to the  Hutt  superweapon,  he  ordered  all

ships to open fire.

Asteroids whirled around them, as the field became denser  and  denser,

and Sulamar worked frantically to keep the Darksaber moving forward  and  in

line. It was an impossible task, and Durga spent altogether  too  much  time

with his  stubby  finger  poised  over  the  "execution"  button  linked  to

Sulamar's chair.

"I won't be able to navigate much longer, Lord  Durga,"  Sulamar  said.

"This is the most deadly part of the asteroid belt. None of our scout  ships

even dare to enter here."

"Then the Rebels will be too frightened to follow us," Durga said.

"Just look out there, Durga!" Sulamar cried, pointing toward the  moon-

size rocks grinding together like the molars  of  a  beast  as  large  as  a

planet.

"Do I need to choose another pilot?" Durga said.

"No, Lord Durga," Sulamar mumbled in exasperation.

The Hutt nodded. "Our superlaser is powered  up.  We  have  nothing  to

worry about."

Sulamar swallowed he could think of plenty to worry about.

The Rebel fleet came in, firing with their full complement of  weapons.

Each blast was insignificant in itself, but  hundreds  of  turbolaser  bolts

struck home, peeling  loose  plates  from  the  Darksaber's  hull,  rattling

components loose. The unnerving noises grew louder deep  within  the  engine

core.

The Darksaber had no outer hull defenses, no turbo-laser turrets of its

own, and no squadrons of TIE fighters to drive off Rebel pests.  Several  of

the larger asteroids plunged in from the side,  denting  and  battering  the

weapon's hull but Sulamar continued flying  with  grave  trepidation.  Durga

would severely punish any mistakes? if they managed to survive.

The  impostor  general  looked  along  their  flight  path  and  saw  a

nightmare.  The  Darksaber  plunged  along  much  too   fast   to   maneuver

effectively. Deep inside, the vessel groaned again, startling him.

Up ahead a pair of the largest  rocks  he  had  yet  seen  spun  about,

grinding together, like granite jaws waiting for new prey. Sulamar knew they

could never  avoid  the  hurtling  planetoids  at  the  velocity  they  were

cruising. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Durga raised his hand in defiance. "Get  those  asteroids  out  of  our

way," he said arrogantly. "Fire the superlaser!''

Sulamar's finger  trembled  on  the  fire  button,  but  he  could  not

hesitate. They hurtled toward the asteroids. He punched down and covered his

eyes to block the blinding glare of the deadly  energy  beam.  "Firing  now,

sir!"

But instead of a scream of destruction and a pulse of power through the

superweapon, Sulamar  heard  only  a  loud  pffffftt!  A  fizzle  of  sparks

splattered out the front end of the Darksaber, but nothing more.

"Oh no," Sulamar cried. He punched the button again and again  but  the

Darksaber refused to fire.

The two broken planetoids smashed together with  the  Hutt  superweapon

between them. The Darksaber was crushed in an instant, becoming yet  another

hunk of space debris that would float forever in the Hoth Asteroid Field.

YAVIN 4

CHAPTER 54

Luke Skywalker's voice echoed through the thick jungle and  the  sounds

of battle. Callista froze when she heard  him  calling  her  name,  and  her

resolve began to melt. She shouldn't be leaving him but she  had  to.  There

was only one way? if Callista had the courage to follow through.

"Callista!"  Luke  called  again,  but  she  plunged  on  through   the

underbrush, not looking back.

From  above,  bludgeons  of  turbolaser  fire   slashed   through   the

atmosphere, leaving screeching ionization trails as Admiral  Daala's  Knight

Hammer pounded Yavin 4. Callista looked up and saw another blast come  down.

With a single strike, the  Super  Star  Destroyer  obliterated  an  acre  of

ages-old growth. One lucky shot could level the Great Temple.

According to Kyp Durron, Dorsk 81 had flung  away  an  entire  Imperial

fleet, seventeen Star Destroyers hurled beyond the range of battle. The Jedi

trainees would have been safe right now had it not been for  the  appearance

of the Super Star Destroyer. The real enemy remained in orbit, out of range.

Callista pushed thorny twigs away  from  her  face,  searching  for  an

opportunity. Up ahead in a flattened section of trees, broken branches,  and

plowed-up dirt, she spotted a crashed TIE bomber, a ship with  angled  power

plates and a double cockpit, one for the pilot/bomber and a second  to  hold

concussion missiles. The ship had been damaged,  part  of  its  rear  engine

exhausts crimped as if from a thrown boulder.

The TIE pilot wore an opaque black helmet and padded  black  flightsuit

that seemed uncomfortable and cumbersome; he worked frantically  and  alone.

He had straightened the exhaust crimp, with a toolkit from the cockpit,  and

test- fired the engines.

Callista seized the opportunity, plotting an unexpected way  to  strike

at Daala. She didn't have Jedi  powers,  and  she  was  armed  with  only  a

lightsaber? but Callista knew she had the power to take out the  Super  Star

Destroyer. She alone held that responsibility, and she had no choice but  to

follow it.

Moving silently with a smoothness born not from the Force  but  through

her own training, Callista eased herself out of the thorny  undergrowth  and

sprinted toward the TIE pilot as he moved toward the access hatch, ready  to

climb into his bomber again.

The pilot must have seen some flicker  of  motion  through  his  helmet

visor, though, some telltale  signal  that  gave  away  Callista's  stealthy

approach. He turned, and she found herself facing her dull reflection in the

black plas- teel of the facemask.

He reacted with blinding speed, snatching a blaster from the holster at

his side. Callista kept moving, picking up momentum, her arm sweeping in  an

arc as she punched the lightsaber's power  button.  With  a  snap-hiss,  the

topaz beam speared out, dazzling the TIE pilot.

In a smooth stroke she lopped off  his  black-gloved  hand.  Before  he

could cry out in pain, holding up  his  smoldering  stump,  Callista  struck

sideways across his chest.

Deactivating the lightsaber, she didn't slow as she kicked his steaming

body away from the repaired TIE bomber. Callista hauled herself  up  to  the

hatch and dropped into the cramped cockpit.

Like a ghost, Luke's voice echoed thinly through the trees, calling her

name. But she forced herself not to hear  it.  She  had  seen  her  personal

weakness, watching the other Jedi Knights fighting together she wasn't  part

of their brotherhood anymore. Callista would fight in a different  way,  her

own way and together they would all succeed.

She sealed the hatch overhead. The cockpit was cramped and  smelled  of

old lubricants and stale flightsuits. The pilot would normally be wearing  a

breathmask and helmet, so he wouldn't notice the recirculated air.  Callista

didn't care.

She easily deciphered the controls. The Empire did not  waste  time  or

energy modifying their flight systems, and a TIE bomber still functioned the

same way Imperial fighters had worked decades  earlier,  when  Callista  had

first begun the fight.

The dark ship rose slowly from the crash scar as its engines warmed up.

Climbing into the air above the tangled treetops, she  could  see  the  burn

path where the damaged craft had plunged through the canopy.

Then the twin ion engines kicked in with a bone-chilling roar, and  the

TIE bomber angled up to where  the  atmosphere  thinned  toward  the  Knight

Hammer.

"I'm sorry, Luke," Callista whispered, and continued on course.

The nightmare ship hovered overhead, eclipse-black and  so  large  that

Callista could barely grasp its  size.  She  knew  little  of  its  internal

configuration, though  she  had  once  studied  sketches  of  Darth  Vader's

flagship  Executor.  She  knew,  though,  that  the  Super  Star   Destroyer

fabulously expensive and cumbersome despite the benefits it  gave  in  sheer

magnitude of weaponry had very few vulnerabilities.

She had to get on board somehow and work from within.

The bomber's engines didn't respond at maximum capacity,  but  Callista

headed toward the Knight Hammer with all the speed  she  could  manage.  Her

mind spun as she tried to concoct a sufficiently audacious bluff that  would

allow her to land inside the bays: doubly difficult because she was a  woman

and could not immediately pass for a TIE bomber pilot;  she  would  have  to

speak gruffly and muffle her words over the comm system.

Other  TIE  fighters  spun  about  through   space.   Admiral   Daala's

superiority over Yavin 4 seemed complete, and she could safely sit back  and

launch deadly volleys against the entire moon without risking herself.

Callista was surprised to hear a female voice over the comm channel,  a

battle director requesting her identification and status. A woman!  Callista

had never heard of the Empire placing female officers and bridge crew aboard

their ships; Admiral  Daala  herself  must  have  changed  things.  Callista

swallowed and leaned forward to respond. She intentionally  tuned  the  comm

system slightly off-frequency.

"This is TIE bomber number?" she adjusted the knob to give a  burst  of

static to obliterate her number, then switched back to a clear signal again,

''?sustained heavy damage. All of our Star Destroyers  are  gone.  The  Jedi

Knights did something, and the entire fleet? wiped out. No sign of them."

"TIE bomber," the female  battle  director  transmitted  back,  "please

repeat, with augmented details. Give a full summary of the battle below."

"Most ground forces are destroyed," Callista said.  "The  Jedi  Knights

have put up an incredible resistance, far more than we expected. Our  losses

are heavy. I've managed to escape, but my engines  are  damaged.  I  need  a

place to land right now.'" Callista twisted the knob,  adding  a  few  extra

bursts of static for good measure.

"State the extent of your damage," the battle director said.

"Engines failing," Callista answered. "My solar panel has been damaged.

I think I'm leaking coolant or radiation? can't be sure. Suggest you find an

isolated bay where I can land. Evacuate  it  and  seal  down  just  in  case

something goes wrong. I'll check the leakage and report."

"Acknowledged, TIE bomber," the battle director said. "We are eager  to

debrief you about the battle for Yavin 4."

Callista smiled but made her  voice  sound  ragged.  "Understood."  She

drifted toward the Super Star Destroyer until finally  the  battle  director

gave her instructions on where to land.

The rear bomber bay was cavernous, though the entrance seemed  no  more

than a tiny blemish on the hull of the Knight Hammer.  Callista  guided  her

stolen ship inside and was immensely pleased to see that she had  reached  a

hangar that held an entire squadron of TIE bombers. Apparently Admiral Daala

was not planning to use this particular squadron, content to blast with  her

turbolasers. All personnel were evacuated from the bay because  of  possible

hazardous leakage from Callista's bomber.

As she landed, she found  herself  inside  a  vast  unoccupied  chamber

filled with row upon row of TIE bombers each fully loaded with a  complement

of concussion missiles.

Callista's lips curved in a hard smile. She  couldn't  have  hoped  for

better than this.

CHAPTER 55

The Falcon's engines roared as Chewbacca sat  in  the  copilot's  seat,

grabbing the controls for liftoff. Leia strapped in, while Han Solo stood on

the boarding ramp gesturing toward Kyp Durron. "If you're  coming  with  us,

Kyp? get moving! In the Falcon at least we can provide air cover."

Han's heart wrenched as he watched the young Jedi who had already  been

through so much, who had been helpless while his companion Dorsk 81 perished

from his overloaded contact with the Force. With  brittle  movements  and  a

hard expression, Kyp took one last glance around the jungle and the temples,

then ran to the Falcon.

"Take us up, Chewie," Han called.

Threepio stood behind them flustered. "Oh, dear! You're  not  going  to

ask me to operate the gunwale again, are you, sir?"

Han dropped into the  pilot  seat  and  strapped  in.  "I  don't  know,

Goldenrod. We might make a commando out of you yet."

"Thank you, sir, but that's not in my programming."

Han ignored the droid and punched the accelerators.  "Let's  go.  We've

got some loose ends to take care of."

"I'll take one of the gunwales," Kyp said.

Han gave a nod of encouragement. "Be my guest." Then he turned  to  his

wife. "Feel like showing off again, Leia?"

She smiled. "As Chief of State I don't often  get  the  opportunity  to

take any direct action. If the Council were here, we'd  still  be  having  a

meeting about which button to push to fire the guns."

The Falcon roared away from the Great Temple,  its  white-hot  sublight

engines rippling thunder across the misty sky. Han  followed  the  lines  of

fire through the tree canopy below and saw armored machinery  moving,  scout

walkers plodding through the thick trees, rolling  ground-assault  vehicles,

Juggernauts, and Flying Fortresses.

In the gunwales Kyp and Leia shot repeatedly, but they had a  difficult

time targeting through the tangled mesh of tree branches.

"Chewie," Han said, pointing through  the  cockpit  window,  "see  that

Flying Fortress down there, just barely  between  the  branches?"  Chewbacca

grunted. "Let's drop a concussion missile on its head."

Chewbacca launched one of the Falcon's missiles, which  burned  through

the treetops and exploded below. Through the dense knot of  trees,  Han  saw

only wreckage where the Flying Fortress had been a moment before.  Chewbacca

made a chuffing sound of Wookiee laughter.

"Company from above," Leia shouted, her voice hollow and tinny  through

the gunwale corridor.

"I see 'em," Kyp said, then both gunwales began firing. A  squadron  of

TIE fighters soared overhead, either the remnants of Pellaeon's forces or  a

new wing deployed by Daala's Knight Hammer.

"These are  targets  more  to  my  liking,"  Han  said,  and  took  the

initiative, charging straight at the oncoming fleet.

Chewbacca groaned in distress, and Threepio covered his optical sensors

with his golden hands. But again the bluffing  trick  worked,  and  the  TIE

fighters scrambled out of the way, firing crazily as they split apart.

Han was disappointed to see that their usual clumsiness had improved so

that the TIE fighters' stray bolts did not destroy any of their  own  ships.

Kyp and Leia concentrated their firepower on the lead  ship;  both  of  them

cried out in excitement as it exploded on its hectic flight to escape.

Taking advantage of his new  tactic,  Han  streaked  forward  with  the

Falcon, chasing after the fleeing TIE squadron.  He  wondered  how  long  it

would take them to realize he was only one opponent and they had  many  more

laser cannons to turn against him.

Then an indiscriminate river of fire  seared  through  the  atmosphere,

ripping the air apart in a screaming ioni-zation path. A massive  turbolaser

bolt from orbit struck one of the TIE fighters and  disintegrated  it  in  a

puff of released energy. The Shockwave buffeted the Falcon, making  Han  and

Chewbacca scramble to regain control of the  ship.  Han  pulled  the  Falcon

away, did a backward loop through the air, and rocketed off in the  opposite

direction. The remaining TIE fighters spun about, spiraling out of  control.

They lost their formation and whipped about in a flurry of confusion.

Another turbolaser bolt came down in the distance, igniting  a  portion

of the jungle kilometers away.

"That's Daala," Han said, shaking his head  in  disgust.  "She  doesn't

even know what she's firing at."

Kyp climbed out of the gunwale, and the look of  twisted  determination

on his face made Han shudder. "Admiral Daala owes both of us big time, Han."

Kyp looked away with his sharp, dark eyes. "Dorsk 81 sacrificed  himself  to

get rid of the first Imperial fleet. We would all be safe now if it  weren't

for Daala. She's the target I want to go after."

Threepio stood  up,  indignant.  "But  sir,  that  would  be  a  highly

irrational course of action. The Millennium Fal-

con  is  no  conceivable  match  for  the  likes  of  that  Super  Star

Destroyer."

"You're crazy, kid," Han said uncertainly.

Kyp shrugged. "Just determined and it's worked to my advantage before."

Chewbacca growled  his  reservations,  but  Kyp  squatted  beside  Han.

"Before I came to Yavin 4, Dorsk 81 and I sent an alarm to the New  Republic

fleet. Reinforcements should be on their way. I don't know how long  they'll

take, but we can't let Daala destroy everything before they get here."

Han thought again of how Admiral Daala had strapped him in the  torture

chair of her Star Destroyer Gorgon. "Whatever you  say,  kid,"  he  answered

slowly. "It's like a big sabacc game, so let's throw all our  cards  on  the

table and hope Daala doesn't see that we're bluffing."

The Falcon peeled through the outer skin of atmosphere and headed  into

the blackness of space where the immense planet Yavin  filled  most  of  the

vicinity like a giant eye watching the battle. The Knight Hammer lorded over

the tiny jungle moon, a dark city in space loaded with deadly weapons.

"Punch it, Chewie," Han said. The Falcon  soared  forward,  picking  up

speed directly toward the Knight Hammer.

Leia came down and stood beside Kyp next to Han.  "I  don't  know  what

you're doing, but I hope you have a plan," she said.

"A plan?" Han answered, raising his eyebrows. "I'm just trying  to  get

Daala's attention."

TIE fighters swirled about the front of the Super Star  Destroyer,  but

the Falcon came in so fast they didn't have time to scramble and acquire the

new target. Han punched the comm system.

"Hello, Admiral Daala! Han Solo here, with my friend Kyp Durron.  Maybe

you remember us?"

Within seconds the Knight Hammer had stopped blasting the  jungle  moon

below and targeted the Falcon instead.

"Let's get out of here, Chewie," Han yelled, slammed back into his seat

as acceleration hurled them away from the Knight Hammer.

"That was real smart," Leia said.

"At least we got her attention," Han said. "Not  to  mention  that  she

stopped shooting down at the Jedi academy for a few minutes."

The forward bay doors opened on the  Super  Star  Destroyer,  and  four

squadrons of TIE fighters launched after the Millennium Falcon.

"I hope our shields are strong enough," Leia said.

Daala's TIE fighters closed in, firing repeatedly.  The  Falcon  rocked

and lurched from endless blows hammering its shields. Han uneasily looked at

their power levels, and though the Falcon fled at top speed,  their  shields

were drastically weakening and the TIE fighters kept coming.

"Sir," Threepio said,  "by  my  estimate  there  are  two  hundred  and

eighteen TIE fighters after us, each firing with  two  laser  cannons.  That

provides an anticipated shot number totaling?"

"I don't want to know, Threepio. We're doing our best."

"But what I meant to say," Threepio continued, "is  that  statistically

we can't possibly hope to?"

"Threepio!" Leia said, "I think we've figured that out for ourselves."

Then an unexpected volley of fire came from the side, blasting  through

the swarm of TIE fighters and sending them into absolute confusion.

"What was that?" Han said.

Chewbacca yowled, and Kyp smiled. "It's our reinforcements," he said.

Admiral Ackbar's Galactic Voyager doye into the system, flanked by four

Corellian  gunships.  The  Cal-amarian  Star  Cruiser  stabbed  through  the

clustered TIE fighters, wiping out half of them in its first pass. The

Corellian gunships, more specifically designed to  take  out  attacking

starfighters, enclosed themselves in a cocoon of blaster fire as  the  ranks

of independent gunners took  on  the  mass  of  enemy  ships,  while  a  few

desperate stragglers fled back toward the  Knight  Hammer,  their  twin  ion

engines coaxed to maximum power.

Ackbar's voice came over the comm system. "General Solo, is  that  you?

You look as if you could use a bit of help."

"Admiral, are we glad to see you!" Han said.

"I suggest you, come to safety aboard  the  Galactic  Voyager,"  Ackbar

said.

"Oh, I think that's a splendid idea," Threepio said.

"We'll do that, Admiral," Han  answered,  but  Leia  grabbed  the  comm

system.

"Admiral Ackbar, I'm sure you can see what's going on down at the  Jedi

academy. Luke and his trainees need our help, but I don't know  if  you  can

take on Daala's Super Star Destroyer."

Ackbar made an  indecipherable  angry  sound.  "I  will  never  forgive

Admiral Daala for the damage she caused my beautiful home planet."

Kyp shook his head with an ironic smile.  "Daala's  not  very  good  at

making friends, is she?"

The Falcon was welcomed into the protected landing bay of Ackbar's Star

Cruiser just as Daala opened fire on the  Calamarian  battleship.  The  four

Corellian gunships continued to sweep space clean of TIE fighters,  but  the

Knight Hammer still out-gunned their combined force?

"The remainder of the New Republic fleet is coming to join us,"  Ackbar

said as Han, Leia, Chewbacca, and Kyp came to the  bridge  of  the  Galactic

Voyager. Threepio found another protocol droid and was soon busily  regaling

him with tales of their adventures so far.

"The Empire has launched a concerted attack on all  parts  of  the  New

Republic," Ackbar continued. "General Antilles has  taken  his  arm  of  the

fleet to answer a desper-ate signal from General Madine. We  believe  Madine

has tracked down the Hutt secret weapon and we've been receiving reports  of

destructive Imperial attacks at strategic targets across the New Republic."

"We have to stop them here and now," Kyp said.

"We will," Leia said, and looked up at Han and Ackbar. "That Super Star

Destroyer is a much bigger target than we can handle,  but  we  have  enough

firepower to hold our own, delay Daala's  attack  until  reinforcements  get

here. It shouldn't be long."

As if hearing them, Daala  launched  a  powerful  salvo  of  turbolaser

bolts.

"Shields on full," Ackbar said. "Drop back."

As the Galactic Voyager and the four Corellian gun-ships wheeled about,

increasing their distance from the Knight  Hammer,  an  invincible  wall  of

turbolaser fire appeared off to starboard, without warning. Ackbar's shields

were damaged, and one of the four Corellian gunships,  taken  completely  by

surprise, split apart and exploded beneath the Galactic Voyager.

Ackbar wheeled on the bridge, rocking back in dismay and  confusion  to

see that space had filled with ships. Imperial ships.

The reinforcements had indeed arrived.

Admiral Daala's reinforcements.

Colonel Cronus returned to Yavin 4 with  twenty  of  his  crimson  Star

Destroyers. The remainder of  his  fleet  had  been  sent  off  to  continue

harassing the secondary list of targets, but  Cronus  had  accomplished  his

primary mission. When the Victory-class ships arrived,  though,  Cronus  was

forced to reassess the situation. Vice Admiral  Pel-laeon's  seventeen  Star

Destroyers were nowhere to be seen. Admiral Daala's Knight  Hammer  hung  in

orbit, and she fired upon a group of Rebel battleships that should not  have

been in the system at all, a giant organic-looking Mon Calamari Star Cruiser

and four Corellian gunships: a significant fighting  force,  though  nothing

comparable to the Super Star Destroyer alone.

Colonel Cronus smiled. With the addition of  his  twenty  smaller  Star

Destroyers, they would make short work of the Rebels and leave  only  a  few

burned hulks cooling in space, where the heavy gravity of the  planet  Yavin

would suck them down inside its swirling gas clouds.

He went through his entire chain of contemplation in only a second  and

immediately broadcast orders to his fleet.  "All  ships  engage,"  he  said.

"Let's get rid of some more targets."

The Victory-class battleships attacked with  no  forewarning  and  with

full deadly force. They took out one of  the  Corellian  gunships  on  their

first pass and caused significant damage to the  Calamarian  Star  Cruiser's

shields.  But  the  Rebel  battleship,  rapidly  came  out  of  its  stunned

hesitation,  and  its  powerful  weapons  began  lancing  out   across   the

Victory-class Star Destroyers.

Cronus wished he had brought his entire fleet with him, though  he  was

certain twenty of his ships would be sufficient. He flexed his  arm  muscles

and leaned forward.

"Attrition," he said. "Take out the other Corellian gunships first." He

designated  five  of  his  Victory-class  Star  Destroyers  to   concentrate

firepower on the remaining three smaller ships, while Cronus  took  the  13X

and fourteen warships against the Calamarian Star Cruiser.

Daala's Knight Hammer continued spewing turbo-laser bolts  through  the

frenzy, damaging one of Cronus's own ships. He hissed in anger,  but  didn't

dare open a channel to criticize her. The Calamarian cruiser fired  a  storm

of retaliatory bolts, while the remaining  Corellian  gunships  spread  out,

launching themselves into the fray? where they were doomed.

Cronus's head spun in  the  free-for-all,  and  he  forced  himself  to

concentrate on his primary target, while his other  Star  Destroyers  fought

their designated ships. Turbo-laser fire shot fast and loose around them  in

space. He received a message from one of his squadrons. "A second  Corellian

gunship destroyed, Colonel," the voice  said.  "Another  crippled  close  to

you."

Cronus double-checked the location of the crippled gunship and recoiled

in sudden alarm. The cylindrical armored craft oozed  flames  from  a  dozen

fatal wounds, but its engines still blazed at  full  power.  A  few  of  the

gunwales continued to launch bolts of energy  in  all  directions,  but  the

gunship itself? though only a quarter the size of the 13X lurched forward in

a last-ditch effort. It was doomed, its  hull  rupturing,  its  life-support

spilling into space, its  engines  aflame  from  within?  but  somehow,  the

captain drove forward to ram Colonel Cronus's flagship.

"Evasive action!" Cronus called. The 13X spun about  its  central  axis

and veered to the left, but the wounded Corellian gunship had already picked

up speed, moving much faster than Cronus could get out of the way.

"Increase?" he shouted, and then squeezed his eyes shut in  a  wordless

scream as the  gunship  rammed  the  13X  from  behind,  crashing  into  the

Victory's bank of engine exhaust ports and then exploding in a fireball that

turned the bridge compartment around him into a searing white void.

"Keep firing," Ackbar shouted. "Status report."

One of the Calamarian tactical officers reported. "Three  Victory-class

ships destroyed, Admiral, but only one of our Corellian gunships remains."

The Victory-class fleet fired and fired on the  Galactic  Voyager,  and

Admiral Daala's Knight Hammer shot at them with even greater power from  the

opposite side.

On the bridge, Han gripped Leia's hand. They looked into  each  other's

eyes and then stared out at the overwhelming tide of battle.

Ackbar continued to hold his command together, while Kyp Durron  leaned

forward, his face  hopeless  except  for  a  flickering  core  of  unfocused

determination.

"Shields failing, Admiral," the Calamarian officer said. "Approximately

ten seconds remaining."

The Victory-class Star Destroyers and the Knight Hammer closed in  from

both sides, unrelenting in their attack.

Admiral Ackbar's ship sat practically defenseless, without shields,  in

the midst of the deadly enemy fleet.

CHAPTER 56

Vice Admiral Pellaeon had no idea what had happened to him.

One moment he and his seventeen Star Destroyers were  in  orbit  around

the fourth moon of Yavin, engaged in their  assault.  They  had  encountered

resistance, but nothing they couldn't obliterate with another sortie or two.

And then they found themselves hurled across space as if a  giant  hand

had slapped them aside.

Pellaeon had been thrown over the bridge railing to sprawl on his  back

atop a command station, extremely lucky that he hadn't snapped his spine.

His crew had been tossed about like debris in a storm  system.  Several

uniformed soldiers lay unconscious, possibly dead. Others sat  blinking  and

bloodied. The shocked crew picked themselves up as ripples  of  astonishment

echoed in whispered conversations, rising  to  a  gabble  of  confusion  and

embarrassing fear.

Automatic alarms  roiled  through  the  Firestorm.  The  communications

channels buzzed with activity as the other sixteen Star Destroyers  demanded

to know what had occurred but Pellaeon could give them no answers.

He climbed back to his feet, smoothed his vice admiral's  uniform,  and

staggered as his vision became blurred with black specks, like static from a

jammed transmission. "Status report," he called.

Pellaeon coughed and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. His crew

grumbled and glanced at each other in confusion and dizzy perplexity.

"To your posts," Pellaeon said, raising his voice. More blood came from

his lips, but his commanding tone snapped the personnel out of their torpor.

"I said I want a status report! What happened to us? Tell me where we are."

"Stabilizing, sir," the navigator said.

The stars outside the viewports of the Firestorm's  bridge  tower  spun

around like a whirlpool. Pellaeon, already  disoriented,  found  the  effect

nauseating, but gradually the Star Destroyer regained its firm position.

He clutched the bridge rail for support. Ahead  of  him  the  brightest

star was a brilliant yellow dot, far away. He had  the  sinking  premonition

that this distant star might be the sun of the Yavin system.

"Sir," the navigator said, "I've managed to  crosscheck  our  position.

We've been thrown far outside the solar system in a matter of seconds."

"Our hyperdrive is also damaged," the helmsman added.  "We  can  effect

repairs in a  few  hours,  but  we  can't  make  any  jumps  especially  not

in-system? because the navicomputer has been wiped."

Pellaeon gripped the bridge rail, forcing himself  not  to  slump  with

dismay. "Check the status of all our remaining  Star  Destroyers,"  Pellaeon

said. "I want full repairs on our hyperdrives as soon as possible. For  now,

proceed back to the Yavin system at full sublight power."

"But sir, that'll take weeks!" the helmsman said.

Pellaeon looked at him, cold and calm. ' 'In the  meantime,"  he  said,

"we'll calculate  micro  jumps  by  hand  if  necessary,  even  without  the

navicomputer. We must get back to Yavin 4!"

His crew heard the  determination  in  the  vice  admiral's  voice  and

snapped to their duties. They tried to regain their composure and bring  the

Imperial Star Destroyers back to peak performance.

The fleet began to move, lumbering across the impossible gulf of space.

He couldn't imagine what Admiral Daala would think when she arrived  in  the

system and found that his entire fleet had vanished.  He  trembled,  already

imagining her fury, disheartened by his own incompetence? though  when  Jedi

Knights were involved, logical prediction was often irrelevant.

He gazed out the  bridge  window  again,  fixating  upon  the  suddenly

distant yellow sun of the Yavin system. He kneaded  his  hands  together  in

anxiety and frustration. His eyes burned with shame.

No doubt the battle would be completely over  by  the  time  his  fleet

finally returned.

CHAPTER 57

The Knight Hammer's fully loaded TIE bomber bay was like a trap waiting

to be sprung and as Callista landed her hijacked,  damaged  ship  among  the

other deadly bombers, she vowed  to  trigger  the  destructive  energy  just

waiting here for her.

All the pilots had been evacuated because of Cal-lista's warning  of  a

leaking engine core, but investigators would come soon. She had to hurry.

Squadrons of unmanned TIE fighters and  bombers  sat  in  rows  on  the

gleaming metal deck. The ships had been powered up and ready to launch,  but

for some reason Daala must have decided to keep them aboard the  Super  Star

Destroyer. Callista guessed that the  Admiral  had  opted  to  continue  the

battle from a safe distance rather than unnecessarily risking  her  bombers.

Daala was convinced she would win anyway,  and  she  could  just  as  easily

continue, the onslaught from orbit.

Just as Callista settled  in  and  the  bay  doors  closed,  she  heard

additional alarms pounding through the Knight Hammer  announcements  that  a

new Rebel fleet had ar-rived, and that the Super Star Destroyer was engaging

in space combat. Good, she thought. That  might  delay  the  Imperials  from

interfering here for a few more minutes.

Callista's injured bomber sat in  a  cleared  area  recently  used  for

repair and maintenance of ships. The damaged bomber had flown  well  enough:

the TIE pilot she'd killed had completed field repairs admirably.

She dropped lightly to the deck, crouching low and scanning  around  to

make sure no one had waited to see her, no "helpful" rescue party or medics?

but the bay was empty.

Breathing fast and hard, Callista set to work. She heard the  thrum  of

battle echo through the hull of the Knight Hammer. She hesitated  a  moment,

telling herself she didn't care but she had to find out what was going on.

She raced over to a wallscreen and requested a current battle  display,

surprised to see the Millennium Falcon disappearing  into  Admiral  Ackbar's

flagship, the Galactic Voyager. The stakes were now  raised.  Ackbar's  Cal-

amarian Star Cruiser bore heavy weaponry, but  not  even  the  combined  New

Republic ships could stand against a Super Star Destroyer.

Admiral Daala fired, pummeling Ackbar's shields, and the  Star  Cruiser

backed off. Callista knew she had to hurry, but just before she turned away,

she saw another fleet of Victory-class Star Destroyers appear out of  hyper-

space and join the trouncing of Ackbar's fleet. The  New  Republic  rescuers

would be cut to ribbons in no time if Callista didn't move soon.

She code-locked the bay's access  door  from  the  outer  corridors  to

ensure her privacy. The protection wouldn't last long if an Imperial  slicer

tried to break in, but she just needed to hinder any interference.

Callista sprinted back  to  her  damaged  TIE  bomber  and  opened  the

armament reserves, where she  assessed  the  cargo  of  concussion  missiles

behind their launcher systems.

Rushing back to the wall, she  studied  the  simple  schematic  of  the

Knight Hammer. It wasn't very detailed, designed mainly to aid new  recruits

lost aboard so vast a vessel but Callista recognized that her greatest hopes

had been fulfilled. The TIE bomber bays were far to the rear of  the  Knight

Hammer, separated by thick bulkheads from the immense engine and  propulsion

systems.

Callista fixed her gray eyes on the armored wall at the far end of  the

bay and pointed the leftover missiles from the TIE  bomber  directly  toward

it. She set their timers for automatic launch. It should  be  enough  for  a

breach. And that would be just the beginning.

Then she raced to the next TIE  bomber  and  opened  up  its  launcher,

fiddling with the full rack of concussion missiles. Her  breath  came  fast,

her thoughts pounded loud and heavy in her head. So many explosives, and  so

little time! she thought with a smirk.

Long ago, she had attempted a  similar  thing  to  stop  the  Emperor's

automated death machine, the Eye ofPalpa-tine, from destroying  former  Jedi

colonies. Her spirit had been trapped inside a computer, where she had  hung

in limbo for decades. Her sacrifice had  indeed  diverted  and  delayed  the

Dreadnaught in its mission, until Luke Skywalker had finished  the  job  and

rescued her at the same time.

Luke. She forced the thought away, concentrating on her mission.

Right now Callista was all alone and she  liked  it  better  that  way,

because then she needed to worry about no one but herself. She  didn't  have

to argue with Luke about the best way to salvage a mission.  The  risks  and

the costs were hers alone.

She wished desperately that she had found her Force powers again,  that

she and Luke could have made a life together as two powerful Jedi. She loved

him very much? but this was more important  right  now.  All  the  new  Jedi

Knights would be killed if Daala's Knight Hammer was not  stopped.  And  she

would stop it herself.

Callista had a second chance. She had tried to save the children of the

Jedi so many years before, and now that the new  Jedi  were  so  desperately

few, she had to make a terrible choice. A personal choice. But since she had

none of her powers anyway, the loss of Callista would not be such a terrible

wound to the New Republic.

Would it?

She could  strike  a  great  blow  against  the  Empire.  Nothing  else

mattered.

Callista raced from bomber to bomber setting each store of missiles  on

target, diverting a few to strike the fuel tanks of other bombers in the bay

so that the explosion would be perpetuated, a chain reaction,  building  and

building.

The Knight Hammer would fall.

With all the charges set, Callista locked the access  door  behind  her

and raced along the harshly lit corridor, finding an  empty  transport  tube

that shot her along the inner  hull,  racing  away  from  where  the  deadly

explosions would occur.

The Knight Hammer and the Victory-class Star Destroyers  closed  in  on

Ackbar's flagship. The Calamarian Star Cruiser's defenses were failing,  and

its destruction was imminent.

Callista prayed that she had set the timers to go off soon enough.

The Knight Hammer veered away from the jungle  moon  and  lumbered  out

into space, pursuing Ackbar's retreating ship toward the  gas  giant  Yavin,

but the huge planet offered no safety whatsoever.

Callista knew she had no hope for her own escape. She accepted that. If

her plan succeeded, the Knight Hammer would be destroyed and if her  attempt

failed, she would stay and fight to the death, making  another  attempt  and

another, doing everything she could to stop the brutal Imperials.

In either case, she vowed to make her way to the  bridge  deck  of  the

Super Star Destroyer. At the last, she wanted to face  Admiral  Daala,  look

the destructive renegade in her emerald eyes, and strike  the  admiral  down

with her own two hands.

Callista  gripped  her  lightsaber  as  the  transport  tube  shot  her

kilometer after kilometer along the length of the black warship. She'd  just

begun rising toward the bridge tower when all the charges blew?

Missile after missile shot into the armored retaining wall  behind  the

Knight Hammer's powerful bank of engines. As the first  wave  of  explosions

breached the containment wall, other timers went off and more missiles flew,

erupting through the blast craters or streaking  sideways  to  detonate  the

fuel tanks of other TIE bombers? which in turn  blew  up  in  an  increasing

concussion front that doubled and redoubled its destructive power.

Eight kilometers long and heavily armored, the Knight  Hammer  was  far

too immense to be  destroyed  by  even  such  a  spectacular  explosion  but

Callista's intent had been to rip out the core of the engines, to hobble the

Super Star Destroyer and leave it hanging dead in space.

Lights went black around Callista. The  transport  tube  lurched  to  a

halt, and alarms began shrieking at bone-jarring  volume.  Callista  laughed

with the ecstasy of adrenaline, then popped the evacuation hatch.  Breathing

hard, she hauled herself out into the dark access tunnel.

Callista flicked on her lightsaber, and by the topaz glow of its  blade

she found an emergency  exit  port  that  took  her  out  into  the  chaotic

corridors of the giant ship. In a defensive  crouch,  Callista  flung  sweat

from her close- cropped blond hair, and with the greatest possible speed she

made her way to the bridge decks.

She had an appointment with Daala.

The Knight Hammer began to drift, dead in space.

CHAPTER 58

Admiral Daala  watched  the  last  of  the  battle  unfold  toward  its

inevitable conclusion, and she stood back and smiled with thin, pale lips.

Seeing  themselves  hopelessly  outgunned,  the  meager   Rebel   fleet

attempted to escape  but  the  Knight  Hammer  and  the  Victory-class  Star

Destroyers flew after it toward the huge orange ball of Yavin, pummeling the

Calamarian Star Cruiser's shields. According  to  her  readings,  the  Rebel

defenses had practically been exhausted. It would be only moments until  the

battlecruiser was crushed between Imperial jaws of steel.

A dark-haired young lieutenant rushed up to  her.  His  face  had  been

scrubbed so clean that a flush of pink still  stood  out,  enhanced  by  his

excitement. His words came in a breathless rush. "Admiral,  good  news  from

the sensor station!"

She allowed a smile,  reveling  in  the  continued  satisfaction.  "I'm

always willing to accept good news. What is it, Lieutenant?"

The lieutenant beamed. "We've located Vice Admiral Pellaeon's fleet."

She whirled, suddenly focusing her attention. "Where?"

"They're on the edge of the Yavin system,  Admiral,  making  their  way

here as fast as they can. We've established communication."

"What happened to them?" she said. "Did they  suffer  engine  problems?

All at once?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "No, Admiral it  is  very  strange."  He

looked away as if embarrassed. "The Jedi Knights physically hurled them  out

of the system with their sorcery. The vice admiral is unable to increase his

speed, and it may be days before they can reach the battle."

Daala clasped her leather-gloved hands in  front  of  her  and  nodded.

"Very well," she said. "By that time we'll be finished here but it's good to

know all those ships weren't destroyed." She forced herself not to show  her

immense relief at avoiding yet another disastrous failure. It felt  so  good

to be victorious at last!

Daala leaned closer to the bridge window and slapped one fist into  her

open palm. "So let's redouble our efforts and be celebrating our victory  by

the time the vice admiral gets here!" She drew a deep breath, swelling  with

pride and satisfaction. At last, Grand Moff Tarkin would have  been  pleased

with how she had redeemed herself. She had done everything right this  time,

and the Rebels would pay in blood.

At that moment, the rear portion of the Super Star Destroyer  exploded,

tearing out all the Knight Hammer's engine systems.

It took seconds for the Shockwave to travel through the  kilometers  of

armored metal and sealed bulkheads. The  bridge  tower  shuddered  with  the

blow. Power went out, leaving the command station bathed  in  red  emergency

lights. Daala was thrown to the floor.

The Fz'ctory-class Star Destroyers continued to pursue the  Rebel  Star

Cruiser. The bolts of their turbolaser fire showered  fireworks  across  the

Knight Hammer's bow. For a moment they didn't realize what had happened  and

neither did Daala.

"What was that?" she shouted. "Status report.  I  want  power  back  on

nowl"

Several members of her bridge crew lay stunned or unconscious from  the

explosion, and one had been  crushed  to  death  under  a  toppled  tactical

station. Alarms continued pounding.

The fresh-faced lieutenant hauled himself up to a station that was  not

his own and valiantly punched up a summary in the bloody glow  of  emergency

lights. His face looked stricken with horror.

"Admiral, there have been numerous massive  explosions  in  the  engine

compartments! Source rear TIE bomber bays 14 and 17. The inner engine  walls

have been breached, and all our propulsion chambers are  wrecked.  We're  on

fire. The rearmost third of  the  Knight  Hammer  has  been  sealed  off  by

automatic emergency systems. Life support? has failed."

He paused, taking a deep breath, but he had not  finished  his  litany.

"Outer hull breaches reported in decks 293, 181, and  75.  Massive  loss  of

containment. Toxic and radioactive wastes pouring into the habitable  decks.

Our rear bomber bays are all ruined."

Each phrase seemed like a slap to Daala. ' 'How could this happen?" she

demanded.

The lieutenant stared  at  her,  mouth  open,  eyes  glassy.  "Unknown,

Admiral. It seems impossible."

But Daala  knew  the  only  answer  direct  sabotage.  Such  widespread

destruction could not have been accidental.

Several of the Victory-class Star Destroyers broke off their pursuit of

Ackbar's ship. The comm system squawked. ' 'Knight  Hammer,  Knight  Hammer?

please respond!" She recognized the voice of one of the Victory  commanders,

though she couldn't place his name in her sudden shock. "Admiral Daala, your

ship is in flames. From out here it's it looks hopeless, Admiral."

She lurched to the communication station. "Where  is  Colonel  Cronus?"

she said. "We need  him  to  double  his  efforts.  We  may  require  rescue

assistance."

The commander's voice cracked. "Colonel Cronus's flagship was destroyed

in the Rebel attack, Admiral. I believe  I'm  not  certain  who  is  now  in

command? "

"I am in command!" Daala snapped, but then she slumped backward  as  if

the wind had been knocked out of her. Pellaeon wouldn't be  here  for  days.

Cronus was dead. The Knight Hammer had been severely damaged.

Everything had changed in a matter of minutes.

She whirled, shouting to anyone on the bridge. "How long until repairs?

When can we get our engines up and running again?"

One of the engineers gaped at her, appalled.  Blood  dripped  down  his

cheek from a small cut near his temple. "Admiral, you don't understand!  Our

engines are gone. It will take months to refit. We have no hope  of  repair.

None. Everything is on fire."

"We have no propulsion?" Daala said.

"None whatsoever. We're drifting out of control, and there's nothing we

can do about it. Nothing!"

Daala raged, turning from side to side. She held her  gloved  fists  at

her hips but could find no outlet for her fury. "We can't navigate? We can't

move? " she shouted, and then turned slowly to her viewscreen as the immense

gas giant filled their full view, growing larger every  second.  The  Knight

Hammer drifted along on a tidal wave of momentum, following its last course?

but it began to turn, tugged by  the  unbreakable  chains  of  gravity  from

enormous Yavin.

Her green eyes seemed to  fill  with  steam  from  within.  "Check  our

course," she whispered. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The navigator stared out the window as if he had  seen  and  understood

the same horrible fate that Daala imagined.

She shouted to snap him out of his daze. ' 'Check our course, I said!"

He jerked, startled, then scrambled to call up the screens  he  needed.

"Computers are  down,  Admiral.  Let  me  double-check."  He  punched  up  a

different suite of sensors, and his face  sagged.  "We're  heading  directly

into the planet, Admiral a straight nosedive. Unless we get full power  back

soon, there is no way in the universe we can save this ship."

Daala glared at the fleeing Rebel Star Cruiser,  wanting  nothing  more

than to see it explode so that she might be vindicated that much at least.

As five of the Victory Star Destroyers continued to pursue the  Rebels,

firing recklessly, the rest of the New Republic fleet suddenly  appeared  in

front of them.  Scores  and  scores  of  reinforcements,  Assault  Frigates,

Corellian Corvettes, five more Mon Calamari Star  Cruisers,  Loronar  Strike

Cruisers, Carrac A-class gunships an overwhelming force.

Daala wanted to cry out in outrage  and  despair  but  she  bottled  it

within herself and the anger flowed like lava, compressing into a diamond of

desperate resolve within her. She thought fast. She had to be realistic, not

allow her fury and outrage to stain her rational thought like last time. She

had to think of the future of the Empire, not her personal vendetta.

Revenge would come later. There would be time.

She still had Pellaeon's fleet. She still  had  numerous  Victory-class

ships. More and more great battlecruisers were being built in  the  Imperial

shipyards. This was merely a setback. She had to rethink her strategy again?

or perhaps her disgrace was so great that she should never attempt to  guide

the Imperial fleet again.

Right now, though, the Knight Hammer was doomed, and there was  nothing

she could do. Nothing. She felt stripped of options. Her only chance was  to

escape and reach Pellaeon's fleet.

Because the Knight Hammer  was  exceedingly  automated,  it  carried  a

relatively small crew. They could all fit in the hundreds  and  hundreds  of

evacuation pods if they moved. Her crew of loyal soldiers  could  escape  to

fight again.

She sounded her own alarm. Her  voice  bellowed  through  the  intercom

systems. "This is Admiral Daala. I am ordering an  immediate  evacuation  of

this Super Star Destroyer. All personnel, abandon ship!  Reach  the  nearest

evacuation  pods  and  launch  into  space.  There  are  Victory-class  Star

Destroyers here to pick us up, and Vice Admiral Pellaeon's fleet is  on  its

way. But this ship is going down."

She switched off and stood  looking  at  the  red-washed  bridge  deck.

Overhead white lights flickered but failed to come on. Her bridge crew gazed

at her, astonished that she had ordered a retreat.

"Go!" she shouted at them. "That's an order. Get to the escape pods."

"But, Admiral, what about you?" said the fresh-faced young  lieutenant.

Tears streamed from his eyes. Smoke hovered in the air, but Daala could tell

that he wept not because of chemical irritation but out of despair  for  the

lost glory of the Empire.

"I gave you orders to evacuate, Lieutenant," she said, and  turned  her

back to him, refusing to move.

The crew gave one last look to their commander and then fled  down  the

corridors to the evacuation pods.

Daala stood alone at her  command  station  as  the  universe  crumbled

around her. She stared out the viewport wordlessly, her face white, her lips

pressed together.

The Knight Hammer hurtled toward its doom, its rear sections molten and

spewing  radioactive  fire.  But  she  remained  unmoving,  like  a  captain

dutifully about to go down with her ship.

CHAPTER 59

But Daala had no intention of letting it end there.

When the bridge personnel evacuated, leaving her to stand alone at  the

helm as the ship crashed toward its inevitable  destruction,  she  knew  the

image would burn itself in the minds of her crew. She could rest assured her

legend would live on if any of them survived in the escape pods.

However, Daala herself intended to survive, though  it  never  hurt  to

make contingency plans. She had more battles to fight for the  Empire,  more

ways to strike against the Rebel Alliance.

This time she had caused the enemy pain at least. Her victory  was  not

total but neither was her defeat.

Daala went to the wall by the command station, where she gained  access

to her spacious ready-room and its private  compartments  that  held  escape

pods keyed to command-level personnel only. Before, she had thought the huge

room with its amenities and backup systems to be extravagant,  but  now  she

blessed the designer who had thought of every contingency.

Another wave of explosions thrummed through  the  hull  of  the  Knight

Hammer, throwing the ship from side to side. With one last  glance  out  the

bridge windowports, Daala saw the giant gravity well of Yavin looming larger

by the minute, hungry and waiting to devour her ship. She had to  make  good

her escape now. The Super Star Destroyer would be  crushed  within  moments,

its outer hull already burning as it screamed into the upper atmosphere.

She stumbled as another explosion rocked the  black  ship.  The  lights

flickered in her ready-room, then the red emergency glow came on again.  She

searched for the rear alcove that contained the escape pods and stopped when

she saw a lone person waiting for her.

A woman.

A Jedi Knight holding up a sun-yellow lightsaber blade. Its topaz  beam

crackled in the red-washed dimness of the doomed ship.

"I've been waiting for you, Admiral Daala," Callista said.

She stood face-to-face with her Imperial nemesis.

Callista drew a quick breath, giddy with anticipation and exhilaration.

Gratifyingly loud explosions continued to  ripple  through  the  Super  Star

Destroyer, chain reactions building up as the  destruction  tunneled  deeper

into the Knight Hammer.

Daala, the iron-willed and unpredictable Imperial  admiral  about  whom

Callista had heard so many legends, now looked harried and cadaverous in the

emergency lighting of the command ready-room.

Daala froze upon seeing her, her  face  contorted  in  fury.  "I  don't

believe this. Jedi vermin, everywhere I turn!" She spat out  the  words  and

stalked forward. "You can't stop me."

Callista stood her ground in front of the access hatches to the  escape

pods. "I only need to delay you, Daala," she said. "That'll be enough."  Her

lightsaber thrummed in her hand. "And I have the means to do that."

Callista felt the deep-seated anger boiling through her. Admiral  Daala

was the target for her rage and this close to the climactic end of her life,

just as had happened on the Eye of Palpatine, Callista found herself  filled

with a sudden freedom. She wanted to touch the Force again  one  more  time,

and it didn't matter now whether she allowed herself to be  tainted  by  the

dark side, if that was the only way and it was. The ship would  be  engulfed

in moments anyway.

All that mattered was that she stopped Daala from escaping and wreaking

more destruction upon the  New  Republic.  If  she  confronted  the  shadowy

temptation, Callista could use the Force again. The dark  side  of  it.  The

easy abilities. The strength that  grew  stronger  because  of  itself,  not

because of any innate qualities its wielder possessed.

The possibilities danced before her gray eyes like  smoke,  tantalizing

her, luring Callista to reach out and grasp them, though she might be unable

to let go again?

Seeing her instant of hesitation, Admiral Daala whipped out  a  blaster

pistol from its holster at her hip. With a flick of her finger, she switched

the power to a kill setting and blasted at Callista.

Callista couldn't avoid the deadly bolt, but she could use the Force to

snatch heightened abilities. With  no  choice,  she  let  herself  go  in  a

fraction of a second.

Using the lightsaber  as  an  extension  of  herself,  Callista  struck

defensively. Her  Jedi  weapon  knew  where  it  was  going,  following  the

inexorable path of the Force so that the topaz  blade  struck  each  blaster

bolt as Daala fired again and again. The  deadly  fire  reflected  from  her

light-saber and splashed blackened stains  against  the  ready-room's  metal

walls.

Daala shot four times, but in each instance,  Callista  let  the  Force

flow through her, allowing the dark side to guide her actions. Flaring  with

anger, she struck right and left, deflecting Daala's beams.

"The Force is more powerful than you are, Daala," Callista said through

gritted teeth. She felt the frightening strength surging within her, as  her

anger fed upon itself, growing more and more powerful. She  could  feel  the

Force again! She tried to back away from  the  dark  side,  concentrated  on

throttling back her efforts, to free herself  before  its  grip  became  too

strong.

Daala ceased firing but only for an instant as she switched the setting

to stun. Before Callista could react, Daala shot again. This time, the  beam

was not a discrete bolt of power, but  outspreading  arcs  of  tenuous  blue

energy.

She raised the lightsaber to deflect the stun blast, but the paralyzing

energy rippled around her from all sides and hammered Callista to the floor.

Her lightsaber short-circuited,  flashed  out  and  Callista  crumpled  into

blackness?

Daala stood over the fallen Jedi woman. With her  polished  black  boot

she kicked the dead lightsaber away.

Outside, the atmosphere of Yavin scraped against the hull of the Knight

Hammer with a wailing of lost spirits. The winds tore at the  helpless  ship

as it careened into the crushing depths of the gravity well.

Daala glared at the stunned Jedi woman, annoyed  that  even  the  brief

battle might have been too much of a delay, that she could no longer escape.

"I told you you couldn't stop me," she said,  and  stepped  over  Callista's

body on her way to the escape pod.

CHAPTER 60

The jungle battles continued to rage, but the Imperial  ground  assault

vehicles began to lose their momentum as the Jedi Knights mounted  a  brutal

guerrilla  defense,  destroying  scout  walkers,  Juggernauts,  and   Flying

Fortresses. The remaining TIE fighters and  bombers  circled  overhead,  but

most had already been knocked out of the sky by Force-hurled projectiles.

Luke Skywalker fought hard, the lightsaber throbbing in  his  hand  but

his attention was focused on his desperate mental search for Callista.

Overhead, through the tattered jungle canopy, he could see the  swollen

planet Yavin filling much of the sky. The black sliver of the Knight  Hammer

stood out plainly, creating a triangular eclipse against the gas giant.

Brilliant streams of turbolaser fire danced across space, a  flickering

light show? and Luke remembered a time long, long ago when he  had  been  no

more than the adopted nephew of a moisture farmer, a wide-eyed  enthusiastic

kid who had stared up into the bleached skies of Tatooine to see the distant

space battle above his world.  He  had  never  dreamed  that  Darth  Vader's

capture of Princess Leia's ship would have  so  changed  his  life  and  the

future of the galaxy.

Back then, Luke had heard only rumors of the Jedi Knights, had no  idea

who his father was, and couldn't imagine the possibilities of the Force  and

now Callista was just as helpless as he had been then? but she knew what she

no longer had.

Luke charged through the underbrush shouting her name  over  and  over.

Because she had been walled away from the Force, he could not sense her, had

no idea where she was.

"Callista!" he called again, drawing fire from a hidden scout walker in

the jungle. Laser cannon blasts erupted on either side of him, but he dodged

out of the way, still partially distracted by his search. With a rapid sweep

of his lightsaber, he felled a tall Massassi tree  and  used  the  Force  to

nudge it, toppling it on to the AT-ST in a shower of sparks and flames.

He had to find Callista. His Jedi Knights had fought remarkably well, a

small band of Force-talented soldiers battling  independently  and  wreaking

great destruction on far-superior Imperial technology.

Not long ago Luke Skywalker had been one of  the  only  remaining  Jedi

Knights but now he had created the core of a new order of  valiant  fighters

loyal to the New Republic, trained in using  the  Force.  The  Jedi  Knights

would rise again of that, he had no doubt.

As he thought of Tionne, Streen, Kirana Ti, Kyp Dur-ron,  Kam  Solusar,

Cilghal, and all the others he had worked with, he pondered again Callista's

stated objections: that she could not be with him because she  had  not  yet

regained her Jedi talent? that if they married and  had  children,  she  was

afraid that their sons and daughters would not be able  to  use  the  Force,

would be isolated from it as she was.

But what did it matter? He loved Callista, whether or not she had  Jedi

powers. He had already created a  fine  league  of  defenders  for  the  New

Republic, and he would continue to train Jedi on Yavin 4. It  didn't  matter

if their children might not have the full potential for the Force. It didn't

matter if Callista could use her Jedi abilities. It didn't matter!

He wanted her, and no one else. He had to make that clear to  her  when

he finally found her. He had already brought back the Jedi Knights. Luke had

searched all of his life for Callista, and he could  not  allow  himself  to

lose her, not now.

He made his way back to the Great Temple to the clearing where some  of

his other Jedi trainees had gathered to form a combined  force  against  the

rag- tag leftovers from Vice Admiral Pellaeon's ground assault  troops.  His

heart sank when he failed to see Callista among them.

Where had she gone? Why had he let her out of his sight? He had so much

to tell her. So much to promise her.

But she wasn't there.

"Callista," he whispered longingly, knowing she could not hear him. But

then he looked up into the misty white sky, and suddenly he felt her through

the Force. It was like a door opening to let in a ray of light.

His gaze snapped over and fixed on the black silhouette of  the  doomed

Super Star Destroyer. It was in flames, plunging into the gas giant.  A  few

straggler lifepods sprayed out in all directions as the crew  evacuated  and

Luke knew with a clawing dread that Callista somehow had gone up there.

He groaned to himself, recognizing exactly what  she  must  have  done.

Feeling helpless  without  Jedi  powers,  Callista  had  taken  the  problem

head-on, charging in with focused attention and a  rigid  adherence  to  the

lone  solution  she  thought  would  work.  She  would  consider  no   other

possibilities, only her single-minded way.

"No, Callista," he said. "No!" He got only a nicker of  sensation  from

her, a dark glare through the Force that felt like a shudder down his spine.

She had opened herself up to her powers again, but she was  using  only  the

dark side. Callista had been tempted and let herself slip, but at least  now

Luke could sense her through the tangled skein of the Force.

And then the flicker went away, the door had slammed shut again, as  if

Callista had lost her powers or as if something had happened to her.

With  stinging  eyes  he  stared  up  at  the  dwindling,   sharp-edged

silhouette of the Knight Hammer, trying to focus his Jedi senses to  enhance

his sight. But he could detect nothing from her anymore. The door  into  the

Force had slammed shut and locked, blocking him away  from  any  ability  to

detect her but he knew she was up there on that dying ship.

Luke saw the Super Star Destroyer plunge like a knife  blade  into  the

atmosphere of Yavin, its black-armored hull glowing cherry red with friction

against the atmospheric gases and the buffeting storms.

With a final series of explosions that ignited scarlet and yellow glows

in the upper clouds, the Knight Hammer vanished  into  Yavin,  swallowed  up

forever and taking Callista with it.

HOTH ASTEROID BELT

CHAPTER 61

The Yavaris and the Assault  Frigate  Dodonna  swerved  aside  as  they

escaped the treacherous  core  of  the  Hoth  Asteroid  Field,  leaving  the

wreckage of the Darksaber behind.

"Saves us the trouble," Wedge said, shaking his head.  "But  Madine  is

gone. I wish we had some way of knowing what really happened there."

Qwi stared behind her with wide indigo eyes. "At least the  weapon  was

destroyed without its ever firing a shot," she  said,  then  heaved  a  long

sigh. "I wish people would stop trying to build bigger and better  means  of

destruction. ''

"I couldn't agree more," Wedge said, hugging her. "I wouldn't  mind  in

the least if I found myself looking for a new line of work."

"General Antilles," the sensor chief said, "we're picking up one  small

craft registering a single life form aboard. It's too small to be much of  a

ship."

Wedge frowned. He felt a surge of hope for just a moment perhaps Madine

had escaped!?but he knew that couldn't be true,  because  the  life  monitor

wouldn't lie.

"Maybe it's somebody who  jumped  ship,"  he  said.  "Activate  tractor

beams. Grab it and bring it aboard."

He left the Yavaris's command station, gesturing to Qwi. "Let's go meet

it." He flicked on the intercom. "I want a full security detail to  meet  me

in the forward docking bay. Bring your weapons. We might have some trouble."

Wedge and Qwi waited inside the bay.  Around  them  a  squad  of  armed

guards held blaster rifles at their shoulders, fidgeting nervously and still

keyed up from the days-long alert status they had just experienced, as  well

as the week of space battle simulation in the Nal Hutta system.

Wedge watched through the transparent atmosphere field as a bright  dot

came closer, a metallic hull of a spherical ship reflecting light  from  the

distant sun. He realized with a strange shift in perspective how  tiny  this

craft was, that it already hovered just outside  the  containment  field.  A

round construction pod no more than four meters in diameter, a single-person

inspection scooter.

"Where was he expecting to go in that?" Wedge said.

"Sometimes you take advantage of the only thing you  have,"  Qwi  said.

"In desperation you have few choices."

Wedge looked at her, surprised at the insight. Qwi  had  always  struck

him as sweet but naive. However, she had learned much since her rescue  from

Maw Installation.

The battered inspection scooter drifted in  and  thumped  to  the  deck

plates, guided by the grip of the Yavaris's tractor beams. The New  Republic

guards pointed their rifles, standing ready.

The hatch hissed as it unsealed; then popped open. Wedge  tensed,  then

blinked in surprise as a paunchy old man hauled himself out.  His  face  was

grizzled, his white hair stood up in unruly shocks. He  took  deep  breaths,

scowling in disgust at the interior of his scooter.

The guards rushed forward to take the man prisoner. He  didn't  resist,

looking about him in confusion.

"Bevel Lemelisk!" Qwi said, her eyes filled with anger and surprise.

"You know this man?" Wedge asked.

Qwi nodded. Her glittery hair tinkled around her. "He helped me  design

the Death  Star,"  she  said.  "Grand  Moff  Tarkin  removed  him  from  Maw

Installation to be the chief engineer on the project in the Horuz system.  I

thought I saw him on Nar Shaddaa, remember?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you weren't seeing things after all."

The guards ushered Lemelisk forward. The old engineer looked at  Wedge,

then blinked his rheumy eyes in amazement at seeing Qwi. "Ah, Qwi Xux  fancy

meeting you here! Are you working for these people now? What a coincidence!"

Her pale blue skin flushed darker. Wedge had  never  seen  Qwi  exhibit

such anger and agitation before. He realized that the sight  of  her  former

engineering partner must be gurgling up old memories that  had  been  sealed

away during her forced amnesia.

"You deceived me, Lemelisk," she said, her voice high and  sharp.  "You

lied to me! While we were working in Maw Installation you never told me  our

weapons would be used for such death and destruction. You claimed  they  all

had legitimate, peaceful purposes."

Lemelisk blinked at her again and frowned in disbelief. "Qwi, you  were

always so brilliant but in other ways you managed to be incredibly dense."

She looked as if she had just been slapped, and Wedge grew angry.  "You

were aboard that Hutt superweapon?"

"Aboard the Darksaber?" Lemelisk said. "I helped them build the  thing!

I designed it. Oh, did they get away  after  all?"  he  asked,  raising  his

eyebrows.

"No, the weapon was destroyed in the asteroid field."

"Ah," Lemelisk said. "A pity. Not that I'm surprised, though. I doubted

it would work."

"What about our New Republic commando team?" Wedge asked. "Did you  see

them?"

Lemelisk nodded. "Ah yes, the Rebel saboteur. We killed  one  of  their

team when they tried to sabotage our engine systems. The other I believe his

name was Madine was brought before Lord Durga  and  summarily  executed.  He

died bravely, of course."

Wedge felt anger simmering around him, and he  gestured  to  the  armed

guards. ' 'Take the prisoner and lock  him  up.  We'll  bring  him  back  to

Coruscant and put him on trial." He lowered his voice in a  threat.  "But  I

have no doubt we've got sufficient evidence to order  your  execution  as  a

threat to galactic peace."

"Ah, well."  Surprisingly,  Bevel  Lemelisk  reacted  with  resignation

instead of fear. "If you're going to execute me," he said, "just  make  sure

you do it right this time."

YAVIN 4

CHAPTER 62

Seventeen Imperial Star Destroyers hovered near the edge of  the  Yavin

system, ordered not to go deeper inside or to engage the overwhelming  Rebel

forces that had converged to  defend  the  Jedi  academy,  battleship  after

battleship. All had been confusion for more  than  a  day,  but  the  Rebels

seemed to be reestablishing order.

Shortly after the  destruction  of  the  Knight  Hammer,  most  of  the

Fifcfory- class Star Destroyers had already fled back to their rendezvous in

the Core Systems. Pellaeon's fleet waited, a distant threat, but able to  do

nothing.

"We've detected one more escape pod, Vice Admiral,"  the  sensor  chief

said.

Pellaeon tapped his fingers on the command railing and  ran  his  right

hand over his mustache. "Very well,  lock  on  the  coordinates,"  he  said.

"Let's pick it up. I believe most of them have been accounted for now."

"This one's slightly different, sir,"  the  sensor  chief  said.  "It's

broadcasting a command frequency. It's been out there for quite a while."

Pellaeon felt his heart leap. "A command pod? Haul it into our  forward

bay. I'm going down to meet it."

He strode briskly to the turbolift and rode the platform down,  feeling

very old. The Imperial fleet was in a shambles. The battle on  Yavin  4  had

been a complete rout. The Knight Hammer had gone down in  flames:  the  most

powerful warship in Daala's newly unified fleet, as  well  as  a  symbol  of

Imperial power? trounced by Rebel blind luck and reckless determination.

He stepped into the forward  landing  bay  just  as  the  space-scarred

escape pod penetrated the atmosphere-containment fields. He felt a surge  of

hope upon seeing it, another module launched from the  Knight  Hammer,  this

one with heavier armor and no external identification. A command-level  pod,

obviously. Frost began to dust the outer layers.

Pellaeon didn't know what to think, what the Empire should do next; how

they  could  salvage  this  utter  defeat.  The  loss  of  morale  would  be

devastating. He stepped forward. Stormtrooper guards along the  walls  stood

with weapons ready, just in case the pod happened to be booby-trapped.

Before Pellaeon could open the hatch, though, it popped open of its own

accord, released  by  an  internal  access  panel.  As  soon  as  the  stale

atmosphere  hissed  out  to  mix  with  the  oily,  metallic  smell  of  the

Firestorm's enclosed bay, Admiral Daala climbed out.

Soot smeared her face. Her olive-gray uniform, usually neat,  was  torn

and stained. Blood smeared one cheek, but Pellaeon couldn't tell if  it  was

Daala's own blood or someone else's.

Pellaeon's knees grew watery with relief upon seeing her.  Daala  would

know what to do. She could give orders to straighten out the Imperial fleet.

She stood up slowly, locked her gaze with  his,  and  brushed  off  her

uniform. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon," she said in a dull, lifeless voice, as  if

forcing the words through her teeth. "In light of this disaster, I I  hereby

resign my rank? and hand over command of all Imperial forces to you."

The instant of silence sounded like an  avalanche.  She  continued,  "I

will be happy to follow your orders and assist with rebuilding the Empire in

any way possible, but I feel that I am no longer capable  of  commanding  so

many worthy soldiers. They cannot be asked to lay their lives on  the  line,

to swear allegiance to someone who has been beaten so many times."

With a precise motion,  she  coldly  and  stiffly  saluted  him,  never

letting her emerald gaze  waver.  The  storm-troopers  stood  at  attention,

drinking in the details.

"But Admiral, I can't accept this. We need you to rebuild?"

"Nonsense, Vice Admiral," she said. "You must be  strong.  Follow  your

own convictions. We need an opportunity to recover from such a  debacle.  We

need your strength."

Daala stood next to him looking long and hard into his eyes.  "You  are

in command of the Empire now, Pel-laeon," she said.

She waited rigidly at attention, motionless, until Pel-laeon  gradually

returned her salute.

CORUSCANT

CHAPTER 63

The skies of Coruscant  glowed  with  brilliant  signal  fires.  X-wing

fighters dumped clouds of plasma in a diffuse banner high in  the  twilight.

The ionized gases shone with bright colors, spreading out and serving a dual

purpose: to celebrate another victory against the Empire, and also to  honor

those who had died in the recent battles.

For Crix Madine's memorial service, Luke Skywalker waited  beside  Leia

and Han Solo but his mind was far, far away. He felt  empty  and  cold.  The

group waited atop the Imperial palace next to a dazzling signal beacon  that

stabbed up into the atmosphere. The sharp, thin air whipped around them, but

he didn't feel it.

Overhead, the  X-wing  fighters  continued  to  soar,  splashing  their

spectacle across the darkening sky.

See-Threepio, newly polished and gleaming gold under the bright lights,

stood proudly beside his counterpart Artoo-Detoo. "Oh Artoo," he said. "It's

been the greatest pleasure serving with you again. I wish you didn't have to

return to Yavin 4 and assist Master Luke at his Jedi academy."

Artoo whistled and  twittered,  but  Threepio  straightened  in  sudden

alarm. "What me? Accompany you to that dense and treacherous jungle? I think

not! Here on Coruscant I have many important duties  and?  besides  it's  so

much more civilized."

Artoo gave a low blat of scorn. Chewbacca, standing  beside  them  with

his fur neatly combed and washed, groaned something at Threepio.  Indignant,

the gold protocol droid said, "That will be enough from you, Chewbacca.  For

your information, I am doing a fine  job  assisting  Mistress  Leia  in  her

duties as Chief of State."

Leia looked up, her dark eyes sparkling with  unshed  tears.  An  honor

guard stood around the upper platform of the immense  Imperial  palace  that

looked out upon the towering skylines of the planetwide city.  Han  remained

next to her, troubled but trying to hide it.  He  placed  a  comforting  arm

around Leia's shoulders.

Young Anakin and the twins, Jacen and Jaina, were dressed in stiff  and

uncomfortable finery, but they behaved  themselves,  seeming  to  sense  the

somber occasion.

As Luke looked at Leia's family, it struck home like a dull knife blade

in the heart. He wasn't jealous of Leia and her marriage he and  his  sister

had very different lives but  he  had  longed  for  a  similar  future  with

Callista. Only Callista?

As two powerful Jedi Knights, they should have  been  a  perfect  pair.

They could have been deliriously happy, precisely  matched  and  they  would

have been, if circumstances hadn't repeatedly conspired against them. Luke's

face remained stony, a tired mask that hid his emotions? but his inner  pain

at the loss of Callista  was  so  strong  even  Leia  could  sense  it.  She

flinched, looking at him with concern  but  she  had  her  own  overwhelming

duties as Chief of State now. Luke nodded briefly to reassure her.

He felt as if he had been continually denied a facet of  his  humanity.

Had becoming a Jedi forced an unknown choice upon him, that he would forever

be blocked from the normal joys  and  loves  other  humans  encountered?  He

hadn't realized the cost would be so high.

As Leia stepped to the makeshift podium, the New Republic  honor  guard

snapped to attention, eyes locked  forward.  Luke  glanced  at  the  heavily

decorated heroes of the recent Imperial  onslaught.  His  old  friend  Wedge

Antilles stood with new medals pinned to  his  chest,  and  beside  him  the

ethereal scientist Qwi Xux blinked her indigo eyes, as if once again  amazed

to be the center of attention. Admiral Ackbar wore his bright white uniform,

riding high as commander of the New Republic fleet.

The X-wings overhead finished their run  and  streaked  off  to  battle

stations in orbit. The glowing displays in the air faded out, sparkling with

bright points of fire that gradually dimmed.

Leia began to speak, and dozens of image-recording devices, newsdroids,

and Galactic Information Service representatives transmitted her  speech  to

all the worlds in the New Republic.

"We are  here  to  celebrate  another  victory,"  Leia  said,  "and  to

acknowledge its cost. Once again the Empire has attempted to  overthrow  the

rightful government of the galaxy, and once again they have failed. We  will

always defeat them, because we have the light on our side."

She looked over at Luke who stared stonily ahead. "This victory has not

been without pain, however. Many brave fighters  on  several  wrecked  ships

have died in their service to the New Republic.

"Two Jedi Knights have fallen, as well. Dorsk 81 sacrificed himself  in

order to drive back a fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers.  His  action  alone

saved the lives of the other Jedi Knights on Yavin 4, who continued to fight

until Admiral Ackbar and his reinforcements could arrive.

"Perhaps it is fortunate that Dorsk 81 did  not  live  long  enough  to

learn that his homeworld Khomm was one  of  the  first  targets  in  Admiral

Daala's renewed attack. That planet has been devastated, and  even  now  the

New Republic is sending aid and reparations in honor of the great  sacrifice

their kinsman made.

"We also acknowledge the loss of Callista, the Jedi Knight who,  though

she had lost her powers, still managed to bring about the destruction of the

Super Star Destroyer, sending it into the planet Yavin, where we believe she

and our nemesis Admiral Daala both perished." Leia paused a moment in somber

recollection.

"On another front," she said, turning toward Wedge, "we  are  happy  to

report that the Hutts have been prevented from obtaining their  own  version

of the Death Star superlaser, which they would have  used  to  cause  untold

havoc upon peaceful systems. General Antilles successfully  led  the  attack

that scuttled the Darksaber weapon.

"However, this mission, too, has cost us dearly." Leia's voice dropped.

"Because he kept a low profile, General Crix Madine was not  well  known  to

many of you. He was  our  Supreme  Allied  Commander  for  Intelligence.  By

working behind the scenes, he claimed more victories than  most  of  us  can

imagine: accomplishing goals that were not politically possible to pursue in

the open. Madine and his crew of commandos  sought  out  the  Hutts'  hidden

weapon and led General Antilles to its site, though  Madine's  efforts  cost

him his own life and the lives of his team."

She paused and took a deep breath, shuddering. Luke looked over at her,

able to feel the weight of responsibility crashing around  his  sister.  But

Leia was strong, and she held up. When she spoke, it seemed as if  she  were

talking to every citizen individually and specifically.

"The New Republic is safe once again, thanks to the selfless efforts of

our defenders. We must all continue to add  our  strength."  She  swallowed.

"And may the Force be with you."

* * *

Luke returned to Yavin 4, intending to throw himself entirely into  his

duties as a  Jedi  Master  instructing  trainees  and  bringing  forth  more

defenders of the New Republic.

That was his main task now, the remaining purpose of his life.

Out of nostalgia, he and  Artoo  returned  to  the  jungle  moon  in  a

decommissioned X-wing fighter, the type of ship  Luke  had  flown  long  ago

during his initial battles for the Rebel Alliance. When he landed  in  front

of the Great Temple, he saw with a glimmer of warmth in his heart  that  his

Jedi students were busily at work repairing the damage done to  the  ancient

stone structure from the Imperial attack.

Luke clambered out of his X-wing and then used the Force to yank  Artoo

out of the navigational socket and lower him gently onto the  landing  grid.

The astromech droid had been used as a test object so many times by the Jedi

trainees, he was accustomed to being jostled about by invisible hands.

Kyp Durron hurried over to Luke, his dark eyes shadowed  from  lack  of

sleep. "Welcome back, Master Skywalker. We knew you'd come soon."

Luke nodded. "I've got to help pick up the pieces here. The search  for

Jedi Knights continues, no matter what else happens around us."

Kyp nodded soberly. "We made a fine grave  for  Dorsk  81  out  in  the

jungle, " he said uncertainly. "I originally thought we should take him back

to Khomm to be buried?''

Luke interrupted, shaking his head, "They  have  enough  of  their  own

dead."

Kyp agreed. "Yes and I knew him well enough to understand how he  felt.

Dorsk 81 was a Jedi Knight. He would rather rest here in the  place  of  the

Jedi, than be sent back to the homeworld he spent so  much  time  trying  to

escape. He never fit in there."

Luke looked up into the baleful orange eye of Yavin that filled much of

the mist-covered sky. Its storm systems seemed so peaceful, so soft. And yet

he knew that the gravity of this giant  world  had  swallowed  Callista  and

Daala and the Knight Hammer whole. A shiver ran down his spine, and he hoped

for a moment he would hear Callista's voice, see a vision of her face across

the planet's surface, a message she sent from beyond.

But it was only his  imagination,  and  no  words  from  Callista  were

forthcoming.

Tionne came up,  her  mother-of-pearl  eyes  shining.  She  tossed  her

silvery hair. "The supply ship came while you were gone, Master  Skywalker,"

she said. "Everything is running  smoothly  again,  and  we're  all  working

together but we would achieve better progress under your direction."

Luke forced a smile and looked at the Jedi scholar and loremaster. "You

do a fine job yourself, Tionne."

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said, evading the  compliment.  "The  supply

shuttle brought a sealed message for you. We put it in your quarters."

Luke frowned. "Who is it from?" he said, expecting more trouble.

Tionne shook her head. "We didn't play it. It's a private message."

"All right," Luke said. "Come on, Artoo. Let's get inside." He gestured

in greeting to the other Jedi Knights who continued their training,  putting

test exercises to work completing reparations to the stone  edifice  of  the

temple.

Inside the cool, shadowy corridors of the Massassi pyramid, Luke  found

the way to his quarters as Artoo rolled along behind him, making  occasional

whistles and hoots to show his pleasure at being home again.

Luke found a sealed message cylinder on his sleeping pallet. He  rolled

it on his palm and tried to guess who it might be from, but he  could  think

of no one. He frowned suspiciously, not sure he wanted to know?  perhaps  it

was someone expressing unwanted sympathy and that would only make  his  loss

hurt deeper.

He shucked out of his comfortable flightsuit and wrapped himself in one

of his Jedi robes, feeling the familiarity and the associative power of  the

Force. Then finally, in his guise  of  Jedi  Master  again,  he  opened  the

message cylinder, pulled out the data shaft,  and  inserted  the  components

together so that they played. An image formed in  front  of  him,  and  Luke

gasped.

"Callista!"

Her face looked off into the distance, not seeing him. He couldn't tell

how long ago this had been recorded. She seemed weak and haggard, but with a

new kind of inner strength.

"Hello, Luke. The first thing you need to know, I suppose, is that  I'm

not dead. Sorry if I frightened you. There was no way for me to get back.  I

barely got out of the. Super Star Destroyer in one of the last  escape  pods

before the entire ship crashed into Yavin."

She paused, as if contemplating her words, then continued, "After I got

away, I drifted. Daala's command-level  escape  pods  had  extra  propulsion

systems. But once I was out of danger, once I escaped,  I  realized  that  I

could not come back to you not yet. I'm sorry, Luke.

"The Jedi powers are closer to me now, but they are not yet  within  my

grasp. The wall of the dark side blocks me from them.  I'm  afraid  I'll  be

tempted again if I work too closely with you, because  when  I'm  with  you,

Luke, I want so much to have my powers back that I'm willing to do anything?

almost anything. I can't risk that."

"No, Callista," he whispered to her image. "Please."

"I have to go on my own odyssey," she said. "I'm confident that someday

I will rediscover my powers. That way I can come  back  to  you  on  my  own

terms. I need time, Luke. Just some time. I promise I'll be back if  ever  I

can prove myself worthy of the great Jedi Master I love."

She swallowed. Her image moved away as if she meant to switch  off  the

recorder, but then she turned back. Her gray eyes were wide and  bright  and

strong. "We will be together in time, Luke." She took a  long  breath.  "And

there is a lot of time in the universe."

Her image winked off, and he reached quickly, his fingers brushing  the

air as if to capture just one more second with her but Callista was gone.

His heart swelled with inner turmoil, a huge elation that she  was  not

dead after all. Callista remained alive, alive!?but he had still  lost  her,

for now?

He stepped outside the Great Temple in the waning afternoon of Yavin 4.

The other Jedi Knights moved around him, busy at their activities. He  gazed

up at the huge orange planet and reached across  space  with  his  thoughts,

telling Callista of his love and of his hope that her search  would  someday

be successful.

"There is a lot of time in the universe,"  he  echoed,  "and  we'll  be

together in time, you and I, Callista."

The new Jedi Knights continued  their  work,  linked  together  in  the

Force, and Luke Skywalker went to join them.