CHAMPIONS OF THE FORCE

The Jedi Academy Trilogy

Volume 3

by Kevin J. Anderson

Copyright 1994 by

Lucasfilm Ltd.

All rights reserved.

The explosive conclusion to the blockbuster

saga!

As the New Republic continues its struggle

for survival, a scattered but powerful remnant

of the shattered Empire seeks to destroy three

precious children--among them Han and Leia's

Jedi twins--whicho represent the next generation of

Jedi Knights, in this third and final novel of the

Jedi Academy Trilogy ...

Suspended helplessly between life and death,

Luke Skywalker lies in state at the Jedi

academy. But on the spirit plane, Luke fights

desperately for survival, reaching out psychically

to the Jedi twins. At the same time, Leia is

on a life-and-death mission of her own, a race

against Imperial agents hoping to destroy a third

Jedi child--Leia and Han's baby Anakin--

hidden on the planet Anoth. Meanwhile,

Luke's former proteg@e Kyp Durron has

pirated the deadly Sun Crusher on an

apocalyptic mission of mass destruction,

convinced he is fighting for a just cause. Hunting

down the rogue warrior, Han must persuade

Kyp to renounce his dark crusade and regain his

lost honor. To do it, Kyp must take the Sun

Crusher on a suicide mission against the awesome

Death Star prototype--a battle Han knows

they may be unable to win ... even with Luke

Skywalker at their side!

About the Author

After working for ten years as a technical writer

for one of the largest government research

laboratories in the country, KEVIN J.

ANDERSON can honestly say he has never, ever

met a brilliant but naive weapons scientist

who even remotely resembles Qwi Xux.

Never in his career has he attended meetings as

pointless or time wasting as those described in this

book. He has never worked for an incompetent

manager as wrapped up in procedures and

irrelevancies as Maw administrator Tol

Sivron.

And he has never told a lie in his entire

life.

On the other hand, he has written more than

150 short stories and over a dozen

novels, including Lifeline, The Trinity

Paradox, and Assemblers of Infinity (all

with Doug Beason), and his latest, Climbing

Olympus, a novel about people adapting to the harsh

environment of Mars. He has been nominated for

both the Nebula and the Bram Stoker awards.

He has been to the top of Mount Lassen and the

bottom of the Grand Canyon. He has been

inside a Minuteman III missile silo and

its underground control bunker; inside a

plutonium plant at Los Alamos, New

Mexico; on the floor of the Pacific Stock

Exchange; out on an Atlas-E rocket

launch pad.

His next Star Wars projects will be to edit

three anthologies, Tales from the Mos

Eisley Cantina, Tales from Jabba's

palace, and Bounty Hunters.

OTHER BOOKS

BY KEVIN J. ANDERSON

CLIMBING OLYMPUS

RESURRECTION, INC.

GAMEARTH

GAMEPLAY

GAME'S END

STAR WARS: JEDI SEARCH

STAR WARS: DARK APPRENTICE

STAR WARS: CHAMPIONS OF THE FORCE

as editor

STAR WARS: TALES FROM THE MOS

EISLEY CANTINA (forthcoming)

by Kevin J. Anderson

and Doug Beason

LIFELINE

THE TRINITY PARADOX

ASSEMBLERS OF INFINITY

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

and Kevin J. Anderson

AFTERIMAGE

Dedication

To my stepson and

"research buddy"

JONATHAN MACGREGOR COWAN,

who helped me see

"a galaxy far, far away" through

a child's sense of wonder

Acknowledgments

Much of this novel was written at the

Montecito Sequoia Lodge in the redwood

forests of California. Lillie Mitchell, my

typist, somehow kept up with all the

microcassettes I dumped on her and egged me

to greater speed by asking "What happens next?"

My wife, Rebecca Moesta Anderson,

provided brainstorming and late-night walks

to help iron out plot problems, as well as

giving her personal support and love. Tom

Veitch helped me work out the background of Exar

Kun and the Dark Lords of the Sith, which we've

written into a twelve-issue saga for Dark

Horse Comics. My editor, Tom Dupree,

trusted me to deliver everything on time and in good

shape (and he even enjoyed the story!); his

assistant, Heather McConnell, kept a

million things under control at once and refrained

from hanging up on me whenever I called to pester

her. Lucy Wilson at Lucasfilm helped

make this and all of my other Star Wars

stories possible, and her assistant, Sue

Rostoni, managed to keep the different

projects from crashing headlong into each other. In

our many discussions Ralph McQuarrie

provided a lot more inspiration than he will

admit, including designing the temple of Exar

Kun and other parts of the Jedi academy. West

End Games, as usual, provided an

enormous amount of valuable reference material

on all aspects of the Star Wars universe.

Most of all, I owe thanks to George

Lucas for creating such a wonderful universe and for

letting me play in it.

CHAMPIONS OF THE FORCE

The Sun Crusher plunged into the Caridan

system like an assassin's knife into an

unsuspecting heart.

Old beyond his years, Kyp Durron sat

hunched over the controls with dark eyes blazing,

intent on his new target. With the might of the

superweapon--as well as powerful techniques his

spectral mentor Exar Kun had taught him--

Kyp would extinguish all threats against the New

Republic.

Only days before, he had annihilated

Admiral Daala and her two Star Destroyers

in the Cauldron Nebula. On the fringes of the

explosion, he had dropped off one of the Sun

Crusher's coffin-sized message pods so that the

galaxy would know who was responsible for the

victory.

As his next target, Kyp would challenge the

Imperial military training center on Carida.

The military planet was a largish world with high

gravity to toughen the muscles of potential

stormtroopers. Its untamed land masses

provided an appropriate range of training

environments: arctic wastelands, trackless rain

forests, splintered mountain crags, and searing

desert hardpan crawling with venomous multilegged

reptiles.

Carida seemed the opposite of Kyp's

peaceful homeworld of Deyer, where he and his

family had lived in raft colonies on the

calm terraformed lakes--but that peace had been

shattered years ago when Kyp's parents had

chosen to protest the destruction of Alderaan.

Stormtroopers had crushed the colony, whisking

Kyp and his parents to the spice mines of Kessel

while conscripting his brother Zeth for the

stormtrooper training center.

Now, as he orbited the military planet,

Kyp's face bore the tight, hardened look of a

person who has been through the raging fire of his own

conscience. Shadows rimmed his eyes. He did not

expect to find his brother still alive after so many

years--but he intended to learn the truth.

And if Zeth was not there, Kyp had enough power

to destroy the whole Caridan solar system.

A week ago he had left Luke

Skywalker for dead atop the Great

Temple on Yavin 4. He had stolen

design parameters of the Sun Crusher from the mind

of its naive creator, Qwi Xux. And he had

blown up five stars to incinerate Admiral

Daala and her two Star Destroyers. At the

last moment Daala had tried to flee the

exploding stars, but to no avail. The shock

waves had been intense enough to blank the Sun

Crusher's viewscreens even as fire overtook

Daala's flagship, the Gorgon.

Since that awesome victory Kyp's obsession

had gained momentum, and he had set out on a

hyperspeed course toward annihilating the

Empire. ...

The Caridan defense network spotted the

Sun Crusher as Kyp entered orbit. He

decided to transmit his ultimatum before the

Imperial forces tried anything stupid. He

broadcast on a wide range of frequencies.

"Caridan military academy," he said,

trying to deepen his voice. "This is the pilot of the

Sun Crusher." His mind searched for the name of the

ambassadorial buffoon who had caused a

diplomatic incident on Coruscant by tossing

his drink in Mon Mothma's face. "I wish

to speak to ... Ambassador Furgan

to discuss the terms of your surrender."

The planet below made no response. Kyp

stared at the comm system, waiting for noise to burst

from the speaker.

His alarm consoles flashed as the Caridans

attempted to lock on to the Sun Crusher with a

tractor beam, but Kyp worked the controls with

Jedi-enhanced speed, oscillating his orbit at

random so they could never get a positive lock.

"I am not here to play games." Kyp's hand

bunched into a fist and slammed down on the comm

unit. "Carida, if you do not answer within the

next fifteen seconds, I'll fire a

torpedo into the heart of your sun. I think you're

familiar with the capabilities of this weapon. Do

you understand?"

He began counting out loud. "One ... two

... three ... four ..." He got up

to eleven before a brusque voice came through the comm

system.

"Intruder, we are transmitting a set of

landing coordinates. Follow them precisely or

you will be destroyed. Relinquish control of your

ship to the stormtroopers immediately upon landing."

"You don't seem to understand what's going on

here," Kyp said before he bothered to stop laughing.

"Let me talk to Ambassador Furgan now

or your planetary system is going to be the

galaxy's newest bright spot. I've already

blown up a nebula to wipe out a pair of

Imperial battle cruisers--don't you think

I'd destroy one minor star to get rid of a

planet full of stormtroopers? Get

Furgan, and give me a visual."

The holo panel flickered, and the wide, flat

face of Furgan appeared, shoving aside the comm

officer. Kyp recognized the ambassador

by his heavy eyebrows and fat purplish lips.

"Why have you come here, Rebel?" Furgan said.

"You are in no position to make demands."

Kyp rolled his eyes, losing patience already.

"Listen to me, Furgan. I want to find out

what happened to my brother, Zeth. He was

conscripted on the planet Deyer about ten years

ago, and he was brought here. Once you have that

information, we'll discuss terms."

Furgan stared at him, knitting his heavy

spiked brows. "The Empire does not

negotiate with terrorists."

"You don't have any choice in the matter."

Furgan fidgeted and finally backed down.

"It will take some time to access information that old.

Maintain your position in orbit, and we'll

check."

"You have one hour," Kyp said, then signed off.

On Carida, in the main citadel of the

Imperial military training center,

Ambassador Furgan looked down at his comm

officer, frowning with lips the color of fresh

bruises. "Check that boy's words,

Lieutenant Dauren. I want to know the

capabilities of that weapon."

A stormtrooper lieutenant marched in with a

precise military stride that sent shivers of

admiration down Furgan's spine. "Report,"

he said to the captain.

The helmet speaker amplified the

stormtrooper's voice. "Colonel Ardax

announces that his assault team is ready to depart

for the planet Anoth," he said. "We have eight

MT-AT vehicles loaded into the Dreadnaught

Vendetta, along with a full compliment of

troops and weaponry."

Furgan tapped his fingers on the polished

console in front of him. "It seems an

extravagant effort to kidnap a baby and

overcome a single woman who's watching him--but

this is a Jedi baby, and I will not underestimate

the defenses the Rebels may have emplaced.

Tell Colonel Ardax to prepare his team for

immediate departure. I have a minor irritation that

needs to be dealt with here--and then we can go fetch a

young, malleable replacement for the Emperor."

The stormtrooper saluted, whirled on one

polished boot, and exited through the chamber doors.

"Ambassador," the comm officer said, scanning

readouts, "we know from our spy network that the

Rebels had a stolen Imperial weapon called

the Sun Crusher, which can supposedly trigger the

explosion of a star. And there was a mysterious

multiple supernova in the Cauldron

Nebula less than a week ago--just as the

intruder claims."

Furgan felt a thrill of anticipation as his

suspicions were confirmed. If he could get his

hands on the Sun Crusher and the Jedi baby, he

would have more power at his disposal than any of the

squabbling warlords in the Core Systems!

Carida could perhaps become the center of a blossoming

new Empire--with Furgan at its helm as

regent.

"While the Sun Crusher pilot is

distracted and awaiting news of his brother,"

Furgan said, "we shall mount a full-fledged

assault to cripple his craft. We can't let

such an opportunity escape us."

Kyp stared at the Sun Crusher's

chronometer, growing angrier with each ticking

interval. If it weren't for the hope of learning

news about Zeth, Kyp would have launched one of his

four remaining resonance torpedoes into Carida's

sun and backed off to watch the system explode in

a white-hot supernova.

With a surge of static, the Caridan comm

officer's image appeared before him, contrite and

businesslike. "To the pilot of the Sun Crusher

-comy are Kyp Durron, brother of Zeth, whom

we recruited on the colony world Deyer?" The

officer spoke with a plodding voice, enunciating

each word with unnec precision.

"I gave you that information already. What have you

learned?"

The comm officer seemed to fade out of focus.

"We regret that your brother did not survive

initial military training. Our exercises are

very strenuous, designed to discourage all but the best

candidates."

Kyp's ears filled with a roar like rushing water.

He had expected the news, but confirmation sent

despair through him. "What ... what were the

circumstances of his death?"

"Checking," the comm officer said. Kyp waited

and waited. "During a mountain survival tour

he and his team were snowed in by a sudden blizzard.

He appears to have frozen to death. There is some

indication he made a heroic sacrifice so other

members of his team could survive. I have the full

details in a file. I can upload it if you

like."

"Yes," Kyp said, his mouth dry. "Give

me everything." He recalled an image of his

brother: two boys throwing small reed boats

into the water and watching them drift toward the marshes

-comthen the look on Zeth's face after

stormtroopers had crashed into theirthe home and dragged

him away.

"This will take a moment," the comm officer said.

Kyp watched the data scroll across his

screens. He thought of Exar Kun, the ancient

Lord of the Sith who had shown him many things that

Master Skywalker refused to teach. The news of

Zeth's inevitable death was like severing the remaining

threads of Kyp's fragile restraint. Nothing

could stop him now.

He would show murderous Carida no mercy.

Kyp would remove this Imperial thorn from the

New Republic's side and then move on

to topple the big Imperial warlords gathering their

forces near the galactic core.

He waited for Zeth's files to finish

uploading into the Sun Crusher's memory. It

would take a long time for him to absorb all those

words, to imagine every detail of his brother's

life, the life they should have had together.

Emerging from the thin veil of atmosphere at the

limb of the planet, a battle group of forty

TIE fighters roared toward him. Another

cluster of twenty came from the opposite

horizon in a pincer formation. The ploy of

Zeth's files had merely been a delaying

tactic to keep him preoccupied as the Caridans

launched an attack!

Kyp didn't know whether to be amused or

outraged. A grim smile flickered across his

face, then vanished.

The TIE fighters came in, firing what must

have been intended as crippling laser blasts. Kyp

felt the thumps of their impacts against the Sun

Crusher, but his special quantum-layered armor

could withstand even a turbolaser blast from a Star

Destroyer.

One of the TIE pilots contacted Kyp.

"We have you surrounded. You cannot escape."

"Sorry," Kyp said. "I'm fresh out of

white flags." He used his sensors to track the

lead TIE fighter from which the message had come.

He targeted with his defensive lasers and let

loose a volley that strafed across the ship's

flat solar panel. The TIE ship broke

apart in a flower of white-and-orange flame.

The other fighters retaliated from all sides.

Kyp targeted with his own defensive lasers,

selecting five victims. He managed

to strike three.

Using the extreme mobility of the Sun

Crusher, he accelerated upward just as the

surviving TIE fighters sent return fire

through the expanding explosions of his first round of

victims. Kyp laughed out loud as two of the

fighters hit each other in the cross fire.

The wall of anger rose and strengthened in him,

increasing his reservoir of power. He had already

given more warning than the Caridans deserved.

Kyp had stated his ultimatum, and Furgan had

sent out attack ships.

"That's the last mistake you'll ever make,"

he said.

The TIE fighters continued to fire, missing more

often than not. Laser bolts spanged off his

armor, causing no damage. The pilots did not

seem to know how to target and shoot properly. They

had probably spent all their time practicing in

simulation chambers, without ever fighting an actual

space battle. Kyp relied instead on the

Force.

He shot back, obliterating another ship, but

decided that further fighting was not worth his time.

He had a bigger target. Two fast TIE

interceptors streaked after him as he pulled out of

planetary orbit and set a course for the star at

the heart of the system.

The only damage they could possibly

do to the Sun Crusher would be to take out its tiny

laser turrets. Daala's forces had once

succeeded in disabling the Sun Crusher's external

weaponry, but New Republic engineers had

repaired it.

Another breached TIE fighter spurted

flash-frozen atmosphere as it exploded. Kyp

darted through the debris, straight toward the sun.

The surviving Imperials charged after him, still

firing. He paid them no heed.

Over and over in his mind he rolled images of

Zeth, imagining his brother frozen and hopeless in

a training exercise for an army he had never

wanted to join. The only way for Kyp

to cauterize that memory was to purge the entire

planet with fire, a fire only the Sun

Crusher could unleash.

He activated the firing systems for his

resonance torpedoes. The high-energy

projectile would be pumped out in an oval-shaped

plasma discharge from the toroidal generator at the

bottom of the Sun Crusher.

Last time Kyp had fired the torpedoes

into supergiant stars in a nebula. Carida's

sun was an unremarkable yellow sun, but even so,

the Sun Crusher could ignite a chain reaction

within the core. ...

As Kyp swooped in toward the blazing ball of

yellow fire, flickering prominences reached out of the

star's chromosphere. Boiling convection cells

lifted hot knots of gas to the surface, where

they cooled and sank back into the churning depths.

Dark sunspots stood out like blemishes. He

sighted on one of the black spots as if it were a

bull's-eye.

Kyp primed the resonance torpedo and spared a

moment to glance back. His TIE pursuers had

split off, unwilling to come so close to the glaring

sun.

Fail-safe warning systems flashed in front

of Kyp, but he disregarded them. When the control

system winked green, he depressed the firing

buttons and shot a sizzling green-blue

ellipsoid deep into Carida's sun. Its

targeting mechanisms would find the core and set

up an irrevocable instability.

Kyp leaned back in the comfortable pilot's seat

with a sigh of relief and determination. He had

passed the point of no return.

He should have felt elated, knowing it was

only a matter of time before the military academy

was finally extinguished. But that knowledge could not wash away

the grief he felt for the loss of his brother.

Alarms screamed through the citadel of the

military training center. Stormtroopers ran

along flagstoned halls, taking emergency

positions at strategic points as they had been

drilled; but they didn't quite know what to do.

Ambassador Furgan's face held a

comical expression of shock. His bulging eyes

looked as if they might pop out of their sockets.

His lips scraped together as he fought for words. "But

how could all of our TIE fighters miss?"

"They didn't miss, sir," Comm Officer

Dauren said. "The Sun Crusher seems to have

impenetrable armor, better than any shielding

we've ever encountered."

"Kyp Durron has reached our sun. Although

our readings are scrambled from coronal discharges,

it appears that he has launched some sort of

high-energy projectile." The comm officer

swallowed. "I think we know what that means,

sir."

"If the danger is real," Furgan said.

"Sir--was Dauren wrestled with rising

agitation, "we have to assume it's real. The New

Republic was pointedly uneasy about being in

possession of such a weapon. The stars in the

Cauldron Nebula did explode."

Kyp Durron's voice broke over the

intercoms. "Carida, I warned you--but you chose

to trick me instead. Now accept what you've

brought upon yourvs. According to my calculations, it'll

take two hours before the core of your sun reaches

a critical configuration." He paused for a

beat. "You have that amount of time to evacuate your

planet."

Furgan slammed his fist down on the table.

"Sir," Dauren said, "what are we going

to do? Should I organize an evacuation?"

Furgan leaned over to flick a switch,

toggling to the hangar bay in the lower staging area of the

citadel. "Colonel Ardax, muster your forces

immediately. Get them aboard the Dreadnaught

Vendetta. We will launch our Anoth

assault team within the hour, and I will accompany

them."

"Yes, sir," the reply came.

Furgan turned to his comm officer.

"Are you certain that boy's brother is dead?

Nothing we can use for leverage?"

Dauren blinked. "I don't know, sir. You

told me to delay him, so I made up a story

and sent a fake file. Do you want me

to check?"

"Of course I want you to check!" Furgan

bellowed. "If we can use the brother as a

hostage, perhaps we can force that boy to neutralize

the effects of this Sun Crusher weapon."

"I'll get on it immediately, sir," Dauren

said, and hammered his fingertips on the datapads.

Six of Furgan's training commanders,

summoned by the wailing alarms, marched into the control

center and saluted briskly. Standing shorter than

his commanders, Furgan clasped his hands behind his

back, pushing his chest out as he addressed them.

"Take an inventory of all functional

ships on Carida. Everything. We need

to download the data cores from our computers and

take as many personnel as possible. I doubt

we'll be able to evacuate them all; therefore,

choices will be made on the basis of rank."

"Are we just going to abandon Carida without a

fight?" one of the generals said.

Furgan screamed at him, "The sun is going

to blow up, General! How do you propose to fight

that?"

"Evacuation on the basis of rank?" Dauren

said in a small voice, looking up from his

panel. "But I'm only a lieutenant,

sir."

Furgan scowled down at the man hunched over

his control panels. "Then that gives you all the more

incentive to find that kid's brother and force him

to rescind that torpedo!"

Through half-polarized viewports Kyp

watched the surviving TIE fighters pull away

and swoop back toward Carida. He smiled with

satisfaction. It would be good to watch the

Caridans' panicked scramble as they tried

to grab everything of value on an entire

planet.

Over the next twenty minutes he watched

streams of ships launch away from the main training

citadel: small fighters, large personnel

transports, StarWorker space barges, and one

deadly looking Dreadnaught battleship.

Kyp was annoyed at himself for allowing the

Imperials to haul so much weaponry away. He

was sure it would eventually be used against the New

Republic; but at the moment Kyp took his

pleasure from eradicating the solar system.

"You can't escape," he whispered. "A few

might get away, but you can't all escape."

He glanced at his chronometer. Now that

instabilities had begun pulsing out of the star, he

could get a more accurate determination of how long it

would take for the sun to explode. The Caridans

had twenty-seven minutes before the first shockwave

struck.

The flow of ships had petered out, and only a

few scrap-heap vessels struggled out of the

gravity well. Carida did not appear to be

well supplied with vessels; most of their prime

equipment must already have been commandeered by Grand

Admiral Thrawn or some other Imperial

warlord.

The holopanel flickered, and the image of the comm

officer appeared. "Pilot of the Sun Crusher!

This is Lieutenant Dauren calling Kyp

Durron--this is an emergency, an urgent

message!"

Kyp could well imagine that anyone still on

Carida might have an urgent message! He

took his time answering just to make the comm officer

squirm. "Yes, what is it?"

"Kyp Durron, we have located your brother

Zeth."

Kyp felt as if someone had thrust a

lightsaber through his heart. "What? You said he was

dead."

"We checked thoroughly and found him in our

files after all. He is stationed here in the

citadel, and he has not managed to find

transport off Carida! I've summoned him

to my comm station. He'll be here in a moment."

"How can that be!" Kyp demanded. "You said he

died in training! I have the files you sent me."

"Falsified information," Lieutenant Dauren

said bluntly.

Kyp squeezed his eyes shut as hot tears

sprang to fill his vision: sudden overwhelming joy

at knowing Zeth was still alive, anger at having

committed the most fundamental mistake of all

-combblieving what the Imperials told him.

He snapped a glance at the chronometer.

Twenty-one minutes until the explosion. Kyp

wrenched at the Sun Crusher's controls

and shot back toward the planet like a laser

blast. He doubted he had enough time to rescue his

brother, but he had to try.

He stared at the time display ticking away. His

vision burned, and he felt a jolt go through him every

time a number ticked down.

It took five minutes to get back

to Carida. He orbited around the massive

planet in a tight arc, crossing over the line from

night into day. He set course for the small

cluster of fortresses and buildings that made up the

Imperial training center.

Lieutenant Dauren appeared again in the

small holographic field, dragging a

white-armored stormtrooper into view. "Kyp

Durron! Please respond."

"I'm here," Kyp said. "I'm coming to get

you."

The comm officer turned to the stormtrooper.

"Twenty-one twelve, remove your helmet."

Hesitantly, as if he had not done so in a

long time, the stormtrooper tugged off his helmet.

He stood blinking in the unfiltered light as if

he rarely looked at the world through his own eyes.

Kyp saw a heartrending image that reminded him

of the face he saw when he looked in a

reflection plate.

"State your name," Dauren said.

The stormtrooper blinked in confusion. Kyp

wondered if he was drugged. "Twenty-one

twelve," he said.

"Not your service number, your name!"

The young man paused for a long time, as if pawing

through rusty, unused memories until he came

out with a word that sounded more like a question than an answer.

"Zeth? Zeth Dur ... Durron."

Kyp didn't need to hear him speak his name,

though. He remembered the tanned, wiry boy who

swam in the lakes of Deyer, who could catch fish

with a small hand net.

"Zeth," he whispered. "I'm coming."

The comm officer waved his hands. "You can't make

it in time," he said. "You must stop the Sun

Crusher torpedo. Reverse the chain reaction.

That's our only hope."

"I can't stop it!" Kyp answered. "Nothing

can stop it."

Dauren screamed, "If you don't, we're

all going to die!"

"Then you're going to die," Kyp said.

"You all deserve it. Except for Zeth. I'm

going to come for him."

He plowed like thunder through the high atmosphere of

Carida. Heated air pearled off the sides of the

superweapon as a shock front pushed a shield

in front of him. Sonic booms rippled behind

him.

The planet surface approached with

gut-wrenching speed. Kyp soared over a

cracked, blasted wasteland with craggy red rocks

and fractured canyons. Out in the flat desert

he saw geometric shapes, tracks of

precise roads laid down by the Imperial

corps of engineers.

The Sun Crusher shot like a meteor over a

cluster of bunkers and metallic huts.

Isolated stormtroopers marched about in drills,

unaware that their sun was about to explode.

On the chronometer seven minutes remained.

Kyp called up a targeting screen and found the

primary citadel. The air tugged at his ship,

buffeting him with heavy winds, but Kyp did not

care. Flames from the ignited atmosphere

flickered off the quantum armor.

"Give me your specific location," Kyp

said.

The comm officer had begun sobbing.

"I know you're in the main citadel building!"

Kyp cried. "Where exactly?"

"In the upper levels of the southernmost

turret," Zeth answered precisely,

responding in a military manner, slipping

back into stormtrooper training.

Kyp saw the jagged spires of the military

academy rising from a cluttered plateau.

Kyp's scanners projected an enlarged image

of the citadel, pinpointing the turret Zeth had

mentioned.

Five minutes remained.

"Zeth, get ready, I'm coming in."

"To rescue us both!" Dauren said.

Kyp felt a twinge inside. He wanted

to leave the comm officer who had lied to him, who had

made him despair and forced him into the decision

to destroy Carida. He wanted to let the

lieutenant die in a burst of incinerating solar

flame--but that man could help him, for now.

"Get yourvs into an open area. I'm going

to be there in less than a minute. You can't get

up to the roof in time, so I'm going to blast

it off."

Dauren nodded. Zeth finally overcame his own

confusion and said, "Kyp? My brother? Kyp, is

that you?"

The Sun Crusher streaked over the jagged

minarets and pinnacles of the Caridan citadel.

A mammoth wall surrounded the entire fortress.

Out in the courtyard hundreds of low-ranking

refugees scrambled about in tiny fliers aiming

up into the skies, though with no hyperdrive

capability they could never outrun the fury of the

supernova.

Kyp decelerated abruptly until he

hovered over the fortress. Suddenly the Sun

Crusher lurched from side to side as automatic

perimeter lasers targeted him and fired.

"Shut down your defenses!" he screamed at

the comm officer. He wasted time targeting and firing

at the perimeter lasers. Two of the weapon

emplacements blew up in roiling smoke, but the

third, a blaster cannon, scored a direct

hit against the Sun Crusher.

The superweapon spun end over end, out of

control until it smashed into one of the tall

turret walls. Kyp managed to get control

again and raised the vehicle up. No time to vent his

anger. No time to do anything but get to the tower.

Kyp watched the chronometer click down from

four minutes to three.

"Take shelter!" he said. "I'm going

to blast open the roof."

He targeted with one of his weapons and fired--but

he received an ERROR message. The laser

turret had been damaged by his collision with the

tower. Kyp swore and spun the ship around so he

could target with a different laser.

After a short controlled burst, the roof of the

tower melted inward. Chunks of synrock and

metal reinforcement girders sprayed into the air.

Kyp flicked on his tractor beam to yank the

debris away before it could collapse into the lower

floors.

He brought the Sun Crusher over the smoking

crater that had been the rooftop. He pointed his

scanners down and saw two people scramble out from under

the desks where they had taken shelter.

Two minutes.

Kyp hovered over them. If he lowered his

ship, they could reach the ladder to the hatch, where they

could climb into the shielded Sun Crusher.

He already had an escape route programmed

in.

As Kyp dropped toward them, Lieutenant

Dauren stood up and battered Zeth on the back

of the skull with a broken plasteel shard. Zeth

fell to his knees, shaking his head and pulling out

his blaster in reflex. The comm officer ran to the

Sun Crusher's ladder, but Kyp--furious at

seeing what Dauren had done--raised the ship out

of the man's reach.

Scrambling, waving his arms, the comm officer

jumped up to reach the rungs of the ladder, but he

missed and slapped his hands across the hull instead.

The quantum armor was still smoking hot from Kyp's

fiery plunge through the atmosphere. Dauren

screamed as it burned his hands.

Falling back to the ground, Dauren turned just

in time to see Zeth point the blaster at him. With

precise stormtrooper training Zeth targeted and

fired. The comm officer flew backward, his chest

a black hole. He collapsed among the

debris.

One minute.

Kyp maneuvered the Sun Crusher back

into position, lowered the ladder; but Zeth collapsed

to his knees; blood streamed down the back of his

head, streaking the white stormtrooper armor.

Zeth could not move. He had been too badly

injured by the comm officer.

Thinking rapidly, Kyp locked on to his

brother's limp form with the tractor beam, yanking

him up off the floor and drawing him toward the

Sun Crusher. This would be it. Kyp left the

controls and scrambled to the hatch. He would have

to open the hatch, climb down the ladder, and haul

his brother up inside. He reached for the locking

mechanism that would open the Sun Crusher--

And then Carida's sun exploded.

The shock wave roared through the atmosphere,

bringing instant incinerating fire. The entire

citadel turned into a storm of flames.

The Sun Crusher tumbled end over end, and

Kyp flew against the far wall of the cockpit, his

face plastered against one of the external

viewscreens. He saw the faint afterimage of

Zeth's body disintegrating into a fading

silhouette as the stellar energy ripped across

Carida.

Kyp hauled himself into the pilot seat. In

shock, he used his Jedi instincts to punch

the sublight engines. The first wave from the

supernova had been the prompt radiation,

high-energy particles shot out with the explosion of the

star. A minute or so later the heavier radiation

would come.

As rippling waves from the second hurricane

of energy struck Carida and cracked the planet

open, the Sun Crusher accelerated far beyond its

red lines along the preprogrammed escape

route.

Kyp felt gravity stretching his face into a

grimace. His eyelids squeezed closed, and

anguished tears flowed backward across his

temples with the pull of acceleration.

The Sun Crusher blasted out of the atmosphere

and entered hyperspace. As starlines formed around him

and the supernova made one last grab with hands of

flame, Kyp let out a long anguished cry of

despair at what he had done.

His scream vanished with him into hyperspace.

Leia Organa Solo emerged from the

Millennium Falcon on Yavin 4,

ducking her head as she walked down the landing

ramp. She looked toward the towering edifice of the

Great Massassi Temple.

It was a cool morning on the jungle moon,

and mist rose from the ground, clinging to the low

treetops and brushing against the stone ziggurat like a

thin white shroud. A funeral shroud, she

thought. For Luke.

It had been a week since the trainees at the

Jedi academy had found Luke Skywalker's

motionless body atop the temple. They had brought

him inside, done their best to care for him--but they

did not know what to do. The best New Republic

medics had found no physical damage. They

agreed that Luke still lived, but he lay in

complete stasis. He responded to none of their

tests or probes.

Leia had little hope of doing anything herself, but

she could at least be with her brother.

The twins came clomping down the Falcon's

ramp, seeing who could make the loudest banging

noises with their small boots. Han

stood between Jacen and Jaina, holding their hands.

"Be quiet, you two," he said.

"Are we going to see Uncle Luke?"

Jaina asked.

"Yes," Han answered, "but he's sick.

He won't be able to talk to you."

"Is he dead?" Jacen asked.

"No!" Leia answered sharply. "Come on.

Let's get into the temple." The twins

scampered ahead down the ramp.

The sharp jungle smells brought warm and fresh

memories to Leia as she walked across the

clearing. Fallen trees, decaying leaves, and

flowers mixed into a potent brew of scents. She

had proposed the empty ruins as a site for

Luke's academy, but Leia had never managed

to visit--and now she had come only to see her

brother lying in state.

"I'm not looking forward to this," Han mumbled.

"Not at all." Leia reached over to squeeze his

hand; he gripped hers, holding tighter and longer

than she expected him to.

Robed figures emerged from the temple,

drifting out of the early-morning shadows. She quickly

counted a dozen. In the lead she recognized the

rusty-orange face of a Calamarian female,

Cilghal. Leia herself had seen Jedi

potential in the fishlike woman and had urged

her to join Luke's academy. Cilghal had

managed to use her proven ambassadorial

skills to hold the twelve students together in the

terrible days following the fall of their Jedi

Master.

Leia recognized other candidates gliding

across the dew-damp ground: Streen, an older

man with wild hair tucked haphazardly beneath a

Jedi hood; he had been a gas prospector

on Bespin, a hermit hiding from the voices he

heard in his head. She saw tall Kirana

Ti, one of the witches of Dathomir whom Leia

and Han had encountered during their whirlwind

courtship. Kirana Ti stepped forward, flashing

a bright smile at the twins; she had a daughter

of her own, only a year or so older than the

twins, who remained in the care of others back on

her homeworld.

Leia also identified Tionne, with long

silvery hair that flowed down the back of her

robe. Tionne was a student of Jedi history

who wanted desperately to be a Jedi

herself.

Then came hard-bitten Kam Solusar, a

once-corrupted Jedi whom Luke had dragged

back to the light side. And Dorsk 81, a

streamlined, slick-skinned alien who had been

cloned generation after generation, because his society

believed they had already developed the perfect

civilization.

Leia didn't recognize the other handful of

Jedi candidates, but she knew Luke had been

diligent in his Jedi search. The call still rang

out across the galaxy, inviting those with the potential

to become new Jedi Knights.

Even though their teacher now lay in a coma.

Cilghal raised a flippered hand. "We are

glad you could come, Leia."

"Ambassador Cilghal," she said. "My

brother--has there been any change?" They

walked heavily back toward the oppressive

temple. Leia believed she already knew the

answer.

"No." Cilghal shook her squarish head.

"But perhaps your presence will do something that ours cannot."

Sensing the solemn mood, the twins refrained

from giggling and exploring the msty, stone-walled

rooms. As the party entered the gloomy

ground-level hangar bay, Cilghal led

Leia, Han, and the twins to a turbolift.

"Come on, Jacen and Jaina," Han said,

grabbing their hands again. "Maybe you can help

Uncle Luke get better."

"What can we do?" Jaina asked, her

liquid-brown eyes wide and hopeful.

"I don't know yet, honey," he said. "If

you come up with any ideas, let me know."

The turbolift doors flowed shut, and the

platform rose to the top levels of the temple.

The twins clung to each other in sudden

uneasiness. They had not recovered from their fear of

turbolifts since the last time they had ridden one

all the way down to the decaying bottom levels

of Imperial City. But the ride was over in a

moment, and they stepped out into the grand audience

chamber of the Great Temple. Skylights

spilled sunlight on a broad, polished-stone

promenade that led to a raised stage.

Leia remembered standing on that stage years

before, after the Death Star had been destroyed,

presenting medals to Han, Chewbacca, Luke,

and the other heroes of the battle of Yavin.

Now, though, her breath caught in her throat.

Han groaned beside her, a deep, grieving tone

that she had never heard him make before.

On a bier at the end of the room lay Luke

-coml a body stretched out for a funeral in an

echoing, empty chamber.

Her heart thumped with dread. She wanted

to turn around so she wouldn't have to look at him--but

Leia's feet compelled her forward. She walked

with a rapid step that became a run before she reached

the end of the promenade. Han followed, carrying the

twins, one in each arm. His eyes were red as he

fought to keep tears from flowing. Leia already felt

a wetness on her cheeks.

Luke lay in repose, swathed in his Jedi

robe. His hair had been combed; his hands were

folded across his chest. His skin looked gray and

plasticlike.

"Oh, Luke," she whispered.

"Too bad you can't just thaw him out," Han

said, "like you rescued me from Jabba's Palace."

Leia reached out to touch Luke. Using her own

abilities with the Force, she tried to reach deeper,

to brush against his spirit--but she felt only a cold

hole, an emptiness as if Luke himself had

been taken away. Not dead. She had always felt

she would somehow know if her brother died.

"Is he sleeping?" Jacen said.

"Yes ... in a way," she answered, not knowing

what else to say.

"When will he wake up?" Jaina asked.

"We don't know," she said. "We don't know

how to wake him up."

"Maybe if I give him a kiss." Jaina

clambered up to smack the motionless lips of her

uncle. For an absurd moment Leia held her

breath, thinking that the child's magic just might work. But

Luke did not stir.

"He's cold," Jaina mumbled. The little

girl's shoulders slumped with disappointment when her

uncle failed to wake.

Han squeezed Leia's waist so hard that it

hurt, but she didn't want her husband to stop

holding her.

"He's been unchanged for days," Cilghal

said behind them. "We brought his lightsaber with him.

We found it beside his body on the rooftop."

Cilghal hesitated, then moved to stare down

at Luke. "Master Skywalker told me I

have an innate talent for healing with the Force.

He had just begun to show me how to develop my

skills--but I've tried all I know. He is

not sick. There's nothing physically wrong with him.

He seems frozen in a moment of time, as if his

soul has left and his body is waiting for him

to come back."

"Or," Leia said, "waiting for us to find a

way to help him return."

"I don't know how," Cilghal said in a thin,

husky voice. "None of us knows--yet. But

perhaps working together we can figure it out."

"Do you have any inkling about what really

happened?" Leia asked. "Have you found any

clues?"

She could sense the sudden spike of Han's

turmoil. Cilghal looked away with her big

Calamarian eyes, but Han answered with grim

certainty. "It was Kyp. Kyp did this."

"What?" Leia said, whirling to stare at him.

Han answered in a tumble of words. "The last

time I saw Luke, he told me he was

afraid for Kyp." Han swallowed hard. "He

said that Kyp had started dabbling in the dark side.

The kid stole Mara Jade's ship and took off

somewhere. I think Kyp came back here and

challenged Luke."

"But why?" Leia asked. "What for?"

Cilghal nodded, as if her head were too heavy

for her. "We did find the stolen ship in front

of the temple. It is still here, so we don't know

how he flew away again ... unless he fled into the

jungles."

"Is that likely?" Leia asked.

Cilghal shook her head. "We Jedi

trainees have pooled our talents and searched. We

do not detect his presence on Yavin 4. He

must have left on another ship somehow."

"But where would he get another ship?" Leia

asked, but suddenly she remembered astonished

New Republic astronomers reporting the

impossible news that an entire group of stars in

the Cauldron Nebula had gone supernova at

the same time.

She whispered, "Could Kyp have resurrected the

Sun Crusher from the core of Yavin?"

Han blinked. "How could he possibly do

that?"

Cilghal hung her head gravely. "If

Kyp Durron has managed that, then his power is

far greater even than we feared. No

wonder he was able to defeat Master Skywalker."

Han shuddered, as if afraid to accept what

he knew was true. Leia could sense his emotions

like a maelstrom within him. "If Kyp is on the

loose with the Sun Crusher," he said, "then

I'll have to go and stop him."

Leia snapped around to look at him, thinking

how Han always leaped headfirst into challenges.

"Are you getting delusions of grandeur again? Why

does it have to be you?"

"I'm the only one he might listen to," he

said. He looked aside, staring down at

Luke's cadaverous face. She saw his lips

trembling.

"Look, if Kyp doesn't listen to me, then

he won't listen to anyone--and he'll be lost

forever. If his power is as great as Cilghal

thinks, that kid is not an enemy the New

Republic can afford to have." He gave one of his

lopsided grins. "Besides, I taught him everything

he knows about flying that ship. He couldn't

possibly do anything to me."

It was a somber dinner with the Jedi trainees.

Han used the Falcon's food synthesizers

to create a repast of heavy Corellian food.

Leia picked at some spiced, fried strips of a

woolamander that Kirana Ti had hunted in the

jungle. The twins stuffed themselves with messy

fruits and berries. Dorsk 81 devoured a

bland and unappealing-looking meal of heavily

processed food cubes.

Conversation was minimal, little more than forced

pleasantries. They all feared to discuss what

really preoccupied them--until Kam Solusar

said in a hard-edged voice, "We hoped you would

bring us news, Minister Organa Solo.

Give us some guidance as to what we should do here.

We are Jedi students with no Master. We've

learned a little, but not enough to continue training on our

own."

Tionne broke in. "I'm not sure we should

try to learn things we don't understand. Look what

happened to Gantoris! He was consumed by some

evil thing he inadvertently found. And what about

Kyp Durron? What if we get lured to the

dark side without knowing it?"

Old Streen stood up and shook his head.

"No, no. He's here! Don't you hear the

voices?" When everyone turned to look

at him, Streen sat down and hunched his shoulders,

as if trying to hide under the Jedi robe. He

snuffled and cleared his throat before continuing. "I can

hear him. He's whispering to me now. He talks

to me always. I can't get away from him."

Leia felt a rush of hope. "Luke? You

can hear Luke talking to you?"

"No!" Streen whirled at her. "The Dark

Man. A dark man, a shadow. He talked

to Gantoris. He talked to Kyp Durron.

You shine the light, but the shadow always stays,

whispering, talking." Streen placed his hands against

his ears and pressed his temples.

"This is too dangerous," Kirana Ti said,

knitting her eyebrows. "On Dathomir I've

seen what happens when a large group falls to the

dark side. The evil witches on my planet

made things terrible for centuries--and the galaxy was

saved only because they had no spaceflight. If

the witches had managed to spread their dark workings

from star system to star system ..."

"Yes, we should all stop our Jedi

exercises," Dorsk 81 said, blinking his large

yellow eyes. "This was a bad idea. We

shouldn't have even tried."

Leia slapped both her hands hard on the

table. "Stop this talk!" she said. "Luke would be

ashamed to hear his students saying such things. With

attitudes like that, you'll never become Jedi

Knights."

She fumed. "Yes, there is a risk. There will

always be risks. You've seen what happens

to someone who isn't careful--but that simply means

you must .be careful. Don't be seduced by the dark

side. Learn from the sacrifice that Gantoris

made. Learn from how Kyp Durron was

tempted. Learn from the sacrifices your Master

made in an attempt to protect you all."

She stood and looked at each one of them. Some

flinched. Some met her gaze.

"You are the new generation of Jedi Knights,"

she continued. "That is a great burden, but you must

bear it, because the New Republic needs you. The

old Jedi protected the Republic for a thousand

generations. How can you give up after the first

challenge?

"You have to be the champions of the Force, with or

without your Jedi Master. Learn as Luke

learned: step by step. You must work together, discover the

things you don't know, fight what has to be

fought. But the one thing you can't do is give up!"

"She is right," Cilghal said in her maddeningly

calm voice. "If we surrender, the New

Republic will have one less weapon against evil in

the galaxy. Even if some of us fail, the rest of

us must succeed."

"Do or do not," Kirana Ti said, and

Tionne finished the phrase that Master

Skywalker had drilled into them. "There is no

try."

Her heart pounding, her stomach watery, Leia

slowly sat down. The twins stared at their mother in

amazement, and Han gripped her hand in

admiration. She breathed deeply, began to let

herself relax--

When suddenly a strangling outcry of death

shattered her soul. It sounded like an avalanche

within the Force, an outcry of thousands upon thousands of

lives wiped out in an instant. Around the table the

other Jedi candidates, all those sensitive to the

Force, clutched at their chests or their ears.

Streen let out a long wail. "It's too

many, too many!"

Leia's blood burned through her veins.

Painful claws skittered down her spine,

plucking her nerves and sending jolts through her

body. Both of the Jedi twins were crying.

Baffled, Han grabbed Leia's shoulders and

shook her. "What is it, Leia? What

happened?" He apparently had felt nothing.

"What?"

She gasped. "It was ... a great disturbance

... in the Force. Something terrible just happened."

With a cold wash of dread Leia thought of young

Kyp Durron, turned to the dark side and now

armed with the Sun Crusher.

"Something terrible," she said again, but she could not

answer Han's other questions.

The Force moved through all things, weaving the

universe into an invisible tapestry that tied the

smallest living creature to the largest star

cluster. Synergy made the total far greater

than the sum of its parts.

And when one of those threads was torn, ripples

spread through the entire web. Actions and reactions

... great shock waves that affected all who could

hear.

The destruction of Carida screamed through the

Force, building power as it reflected off other

sensitive minds. It rose to a tumult that

struck--

And woke.

Sensory perceptions rushed back to Luke

Skywalker like a storm, freeing him from the smothering

nothingness that had trapped and frozen him. His final

shout still echoed in his ears, but now he felt

strangely numb.

The last thing he remembered was the serpent-shaped

tendrils of black Force wrapping around him.

Rising from the summons of Exar Kun and

Luke's misguided student Kyp Durron, the

serpents of Sith power had sunk their fangs

into hm. Luke had been unable to resist their combined

might. He had tried to use his lightsaber, but

even that had failed.

Luke had fallen into a bottomless pit

deeper than any of the black holes in the Maw

cluster. He did not know how long he had been

powerless. He remembered only an emptiness, a

coldness ... until something had jarred him

loose.

Now, as the sudden clamor of sensory

impressions filled him, it took him some time

to sort out and make sense of what he could see: the

walls of the grand audience chamber, the

lozenge-shaped stones, the translucent tiles

set out in hypnotic patterns, the long

promenade and the empty benches spread like frozen

waves on the floor, where once the entire

Rebel Alliance had celebrated their victory

over the first Death Star.

Luke's head buzzed, and he felt giddy.

He wondered why he should feel so

insubstantial, until he looked down--and saw

his own body still lying prone and motionless below him,

eyes closed, face expressionless.

Astonishment and disbelief blurred Luke's

vision, but he forced himself to focus again on his own

features. He saw the faded scars from when the

wampa ice creature had attacked him on

Hoth. His body was still draped with the brown Jedi

robe, his hands crossed lightly on his chest. The

lightsaber lay at his hip, a cylinder of

silent plasteel, crystals, and electronic

components.

"What's going on?" Luke said out

loud. "Hello?"

He heard the words thrum through his head like

vibrating transmissions, but they made no sound

at all in the air.

Finally Luke looked at himself--the part of

himself that was aware--and saw an insubstantial

image, like a ghost reflection of his body, as if

he had reconstructed a hologram using his

impression of what he looked like. His spectral

arms and legs appeared to be garbed in a flowing

Jedi robe, but the colors were washed-out and weak.

Everything was sketched with a lambent blue glow that

sparkled as he moved.

With a rush of awe and astonishment Luke

suddenly =new what had happened. Several times

he had encountered wavering spirits of Obi-Wan

Kenobi and Yoda, and his own father, Anakin

Skywalker.

Was he dead, then? It sounded ludicrous because

he didn't feel dead--but he had no point of

comparison. He recalled how Obi-Wan's and

Yoda's and Anakin's bodies had all

vanished upon their deaths: Obi-Wan and Yoda

leaving only crumpled robes, Anakin

Skywalker leaving only the empty body armor

of Darth Vader.

Why, then, had his own body remained intact,

stretched out on the raised platform? Could it be because

he was not yet entirely a Jedi Master,

completely given over to the Force--or could it be that

he was not truly dead?

Luke heard a whirring as the turbolift

rose to the top chamber. The sound seemed eerie and

unnatural, as if he were using senses other than

his ears to hear.

The turbolift doors slid open.

Artoo-Detoo extended his front wheeled foot

and rolled out, moving slowly, almost

respectfully, along the polished stone

promenade. The droid proceeded toward the

raised platform.

Luke's shimmering image stood in front of

his body where it lay in state, and he watched with

joy as the little astromech droid came to him.

"Artoo, am I glad to see you!" he said.

He expected the droid to bleep with wild

excitement. But Artoo gave no indication that he

heard or detected Luke.

"Artoo?"

Artoo-Detoo trundled up the ramp

to Luke's shrouded body. The droid hooted, a

low, mournful sound that expressed deep grief--

if droids could feel such emotions. It tore

Luke apart to see his mechanical friend looking at

the body; his optical receptor winked from red

to blue and back again.

Luke realized that the droid was taking readings,

checking on his body's condition. He wondered if

Artoo would detect anything different, now that

Luke's spirit had been set free; but the droid

gave no sign.

Luke attempted to move over to Artoo,

to touch the polished barrel-shaped body. It took

him a moment to figure out how to move his ghostly

"legs." His image skimmed across the floor with a

dizzying fluidity. But when he stroked Artoo,

his hand passed directly through.

He felt no contact with the plasteel of the

droid's body, no sensation of the floor against his

ethereal feet. Luke tried walking completely

through the droid, hoping somehow to scramble Artoo's

sensors, but Artoo continued to take readings,

unperturbed.

The droid gave another sad hoot as if in

farewell, then spun around and whirred slowly

back toward the turbolift.

Luke called out. "Wait, Artoo!" But he

held little hope the droid would hear.

A quick idea came to him: rather than using his

illusory hands, he reached out with the Force. He

thought of how he and Gantoris had used little

nudges from the Force to rattle metal antennas

in the airborne ruins of Tibannopolis on

Bespin.

Luke reached out invisibly to tap Artoo's

shell, hoping to make a loud spang that would at

least let the droid know something was amiss. He

pushed and thumped with all his intangible might, and

succeeded only in what he thought was a barely

audible bump against the droid's metal casing.

Artoo paused, but while Luke gathered

strength to make another Force assault, the

droid dismissed the unexplained sound and entered the

turbolift. Inside the turbolift, Artoo

turned his optical sensor once more toward the

body of his master, made a low, sliding whistle,

and then the doors whisked closed. Luke heard the

humming of the platform as it dropped back down to the

lower levels of the Great Temple.

Luke stood in the echoing grand audience

chamber all alone--awake again, but

insubstantial and apparently powerless. He would have

to find some other way to solve his predicament.

He looked out through the temple skylights into the

blackness of the jungle moon's deep night, and

he wondered what he could do to save himself.

With a Wookiee bellow of impatience,

Chewbacca urged the last members of the Special

Forces team onto the remaining troop

transport. The other transports had been

shuttling up and down from Coruscant orbit all

day, carrying weapons, equipment, and personnel

to the strike force already assembled in space.

The heavily armed battle group consisted of one

escort frigate and four Corellian

corvettes--enough firepower to occupy the secret

Imperial think tank, Maw Installation, and

to overcome any resistance from the weapons

scientists stranded there.

The last three stragglers hustled up the ramp,

clad in light armor and securing tight packs

onto their shoulders. Chewbacca watched the

soldiers strap into theirthe seats before he punched the

All Clear button to raise the boarding

ramp.

"Your impatience is not helping, Chewbacca,"

See-Threepio said. "The tension level is

already substantial, and you're simply making things

worse. I have a bad feeling about this mission

already."

Chewbacca growled at him, disregarding his comment.

Impatient, he picked up the droid and

dropped him with a metallic clatter into the only

remaining spare seat--which was, unfortunately,

next to Chewbacca's own.

"Indeed!" Threepio said as he dutifully

hooked himself in. "I'm doing my best. This

isn't my area of expertise, you know."

Chewbacca settled into a seat that had never been

designed to accommodate a creature of his

massive proportions. He bent his hairy

knees nearly to chest level. He wished he could

be with Han in the Millennium Falcon, but

Han and Leia had gone to see Luke

Skywalker, and Chewbacca felt his stronger

duty was to go rescue the Wookiee prisoners

left inside Maw Installation.

The rest of the assault team shifted in their

seats, looking around, double-checking their mental

lists of equipment and procedures. Page's

Commandos, a crack assault troop, would be

handling most of the front-line mission, with plenty of

New Republic firepower to back them up. The

Special Operations Commander, General Crix

Madine, had given the Special Forces thorough

briefings on strategy for the planned occupation.

The soldiers were fully trained and competent.

Chewbacca just wished the pilot would hurry up

and take off. He blew out a long sigh through his

rubbery lips, thinking uneasily of Han. He

had waited a long time for an opportunity

to rescue the tortured Wookiee slaves,

though.

When he, Han, and young Kyp Durron had

been captured by Admiral Daala at Maw

Installation, Chewbacca had been forced to work with

captive Wookiees aboard the Star

Destroyers and down in the Installation itself. The

Wookiees had been imprisoned for more than ten

years, working at hard labor, and the resistance had

gone out of them. The thought of their ruined lives

made Chewbacca's blood boil.

Not long ago, with Threepio's dubious

abilities as translator, Chewbacca had

addressed the New Republic Council. He

urged them to occupy the Installation and rescue the

Wookiee prisoners, as well as to keep the

new weapon designs from falling into Imperial

hands. Seeing Mon Mothma's support, the

Council had agreed.

With a mechanical whir and a thump of metal

against metal, the landing struts of the transport

drew up inside the hull. With a lurch the

transport rose on its repulsorlifts, then

headed off the landing platform, rising into the sky as the

metropolis of Imperial City glittered below.

Threepio began talking to himself. Chewbacca

marveled at how sophisticated the droid's

electronic brain must be to consistently find so

many things to complain about.

"I simply don't understand why Mistress

Leia ordered me to go with you. I am always happy

to serve in any capacity, naturally, but I could

have assisted greatly in watching the children while she

visited Master Luke on Yavin 4. I've

been doing a good job of taking care of the twins,

haven't I?"

Chewbacca grunted. Threepio continued.

"True, we misplaced them at the

Holographic Zoo for Extinct Animals,

but that was only one time, and it all turned out right in

the end." He swiveled his golden head.

As the acceleration increased, Chewbacca closed

his eyes and growled at him to be quiet.

Threepio ignored him. "It would have been nice

to see Artoo-Detoo again at Master Luke's

Jedi academy. I haven't spoken to my

counterpart in a long time."

Threepio did not slow down as he changed

subjects. "I really don't know what use

I'm expected to be on this military mission.

I've never been very skilled at combat. I

don't like combat. I don't like excitement in

any form, though I seem to have encountered enough of it."

Inertia pushed Chewbacca back against his

uncomfortably small seat as the transport

accelerated toward the congregation of battleships in

orbit around Coruscant.

Threepio continued, and continued. "Of course

I understand that I am technically supposed to help

sift through the data in the Maw Installation

computers, and I suppose I could be of some use

translating the languages of alien scientists

-comb certainly there must be some other droid better

qualified for that type of work? Isn't General

Antilles taking along an entire team of

slicer droids to get encrypted information?

Page's Commandos are experts in this sort of

thing. Why do I have to go along and do all the hard

work? It seems unfair to me."

Chewbacca barked a sharp command. Threepio

turned to him with his yellow optical sensors

glowing in indignation. "I will not be quiet,

Chewbacca. Why should I listen to you after you put

my head on backward in Cloud City?

"If you yourself had spoken up during the

preparations for putting this team together, you could have

convinced them to let me stay with Mistress Leia.

But you thought I might be an asset to this mission,

and now you're just going to have to listen to me."

With a sigh of annoyance Chewbacca reached over

and hit the power switch on the back of

Threepio's neck. The droid fell silent,

his words slurring to a stop as he slumped forward.

On the troop transport Page's Commandos

-comnoted for their intense training, cold

efficiency, and utter professionalism--

took a moment to applaud Chewbacca's action.

On the command bridge of the escort frigate

Yavaris, General Wedge Antilles looked

across space. Sunlight reflected off the

metal hulls of his fleet. He had asked for

command of this mission because he wanted to return to where

Qwi Xux had spent so much of her life--to where

the secrets of her lost memory might lie

hidden.

The Yavaris was a powerful ship, despite

its fragile appearance caused by the thin spine that

separated its two primary components. At the

frigate's aft end a boxy construction contained

sublight and hyperdrive engines and the power

reactors that drove not only the engines but also

twelve turbolaser batteries and twelve

laser cannons. On the other end of the connecting

rod, separated from the engines, was the much larger

command section, hanging down in an angular

structure that contained the command bridge, crew

quarters, scanners, and cargo bays that carried

two full X-wing fighter squadrons for the

assault.

The escort frigate held a crew of about

nine hundred seasoned soldiers, while the rest

of his fleet--four Corellian corvettes--

carried one hundred on each vessel.

Wedge brushed his dark hair away from his

forehead and set his square jaw. The last of the

troop transports had docked on the

frigate, bringing the remainder of the handpicked

raiders.

Han Solo had reported that Maw

Installation was no longer protected by Admiral

Daala's Star Destroyers, which had been lured

out of the black hole cluster to wreak havoc across

the galaxy. The precious weapons information and

scientists inside the Installation were undefended.

Probably. Wedge was prepared for surprises,

especially from a congregation of Imperial weapons

designers.

On the command bridge of the Yavaris, Wedge

toggled on the intercom. "Prepare to depart," he

said. The four corvettes folded around the

escort frigate in a diamond formation.

Ahead, Wedge saw throbbing blue-white light

as banks of heavy engines pulsed to life.

The corvettes' huge engines were twice as

large as the living compartments and the

hammerhead-shaped control section. Princess

Leia had been riding a corvette when

Vader's Star Destroyer had captured her,

demanding that she return the stolen Death Star

plans, so long ago.

He watched the light-embroidered nightside

of Coruscant veer away from the fleet as they

angled up out of orbit, past metallic docking

stations and heavy parabolic mirrors that directed

magnified sunlight to warm the higher frozen

latitudes.

He wished Qwi had stayed with him to watch the

departure, but she was down in their quarters

reviewing information tapes, studying ... studying.

Since her memory would not come back of its own

accord, Qwi intended to fill the gaps with the

missing information as quickly as possible.

She also had a deep revulsion toward watching

a planet from orbit. It had taken Wedge much

quiet encouraging before she finally told him that the

sight reminded her of her youth, when she had been

held hostage aboard an orbital training

sphere under the harsh tutelage of Moff Tarkin.

Qwi had been forced to watch as Victory-class

Star Destroyers obliterated the honeycomb

settlements of her people whenever students failed their

examinations.

Thinking of the terrible things the Empire had done

to the delicate and lovely Qwi made Wedge

clench his teeth. He turned to the bridge crew.

"Ready for hyperspace?"

"Course set, sir," the navigation officer

answered.

Wedge vowed to do what he could to fill Qwi's

life with joy ... once they had conquered Maw

Installation.

"Move out," he said.

Inside windowless quarters in the protected

lower decks of the Yavaris, Qwi Xux stared

into the tutorial screen and blinked her indigo

eyes. She skimmed file after file, absorbing

the information as enthusiastically as a Tatooine

desert sponge grabbed droplets of moisture.

A small portrait holo of Wedge sat

inside a cube atop her worktable. She glanced

at it frequently, reminding herself what he

looked like, who he was, how much he meant to her.

None of her memories were certain after Kyp

Durron's assault on her mind.

She had initially forgotten Wedge himself,

forgotten the times they had spent together. He had

desperately told her everything, showed her

pictures, taken her out to the same places that the

two of them had visited on the planet Ithor.

He had reminded her of the reconstruction site

of the Cathedral of Winds they had visited on

Vortex.

Some of these things caused elusive images

to flicker in the back of her mind, enough that she knew

they had been there once ... but she could not grasp

them anymore.

Other things Wedge told her exploded back

into her thoughts with full clarity, enough to bring stinging

tears. Whenever that happened, Wedge was there to hold

her in his arms and comfort her.

"No matter how long it takes," he had

said, "I'll help you to remember. And if we

can't find all of your past again ... then I'll

help you make new memories to fill those

spaces." He brushed her hand, and she nodded.

Qwi reviewed the tapes of her speech before the

New Republic Council, where she had insisted

that they dispose of the Sun Crusher and stop trying

to analyze it. The Council members had

grudgingly agreed to mothball the project

by plunging it into the core of a gas-giant

planet. But now it appeared that this had not been

sufficient to keep the superweapon away from an

anger and determination as powerful as Kyp

Durron's.

As she reviewed the holotaped speech she had

given, she heard the words in her own voice, but

did not remember speaking them. She placed the

memories in her mind, but they were external

views of herself as seen and recorded by others. She

heaved a deep breath and scrolled to the next

data file. A cumbersome method, but it would have

to do.

Much of her basic scientific knowledge remained

intact, but certain things were completely gone:

insights she had gained, new weapons designs

and new ideas she had developed. It seemed that

when Kyp had rummaged around in her brain,

yanking out anything that had to do with the Sun Crusher,

he had erased whatever he found questionable.

Now Qwi had to rebuild what she could. It

didn't bother her that knowledge of the Sun Crusher had

been obliterated. She had previously vowed

to tell no one how the weapon worked--and now

telling would be impossible, even if she wanted

to. Some inventions were better erased. ...

The Maw assault fleet had been under way

for almost a full day, heading toward the Kessel

system. Qwi had been studying much of the time,

sparing only a moment to talk to Wedge when he

came to visit after completing his duties on the

command bridge. When he brought her food, they

ate together, making small talk, spending their time

looking into each other's eyes.

As she sat at the data terminal, Wedge would

come and stroke her narrow shoulders, massaging

until her tense muscles turned buttery and

warm. "You're working too hard, Qwi," he had

said more than once.

"I have to," she answered him.

She recalled her youth, when she had studied

desperately, cramming knowledge of physics and

engineering and weaponry into her pliable young brain for

Moff Tarkin. She alone had survived the

rigorous training. Kyp's heavy-handed scouring of

her mind had left her with those painful childhood

memories--memories she would just as soon

forget.

There were some things she could not recapture from

data tapes or tutorial programs. She

had to go back inside Maw Installation, into the

laboratories where she had spent so many years.

Only then could she determine which memories would

come back and how much of her past she would have

to sacrifice forever.

The intercom rang out, and Wedge's voice

flooded into theirthe quarters. "Qwi, would you come up

to the bridge, please? There's something I'd like you

to see."

She acknowledged, smiling at the sound of his

voice. She took a turbolift up to the

frigate's command towers and stepped out onto the

bustling bridge. Wedge turned to greet her--but

her indigo eyes were drawn to the broad

viewport at the front of the Yavaris.

She had seen the Maw cluster before, but her mouth

still dropped open in awe. The incredible maelstrom

of ionized gases and superheated debris

screamed past the edges of the bottomless black

holes in a great whirlpool of color.

"We came out of hyperspace near the

Kessel system," Wedge said, "and we're lining

up our vector to go in. I thought you might want

to watch."

She swallowed a lump in her throat and

stepped forward to take his hand. The black holes

formed a maze of gravity wells and dead-end

hyperspace paths; only a few dangerously

"safe" courses made passage possible through the

tangled labyrinth.

"We downloaded the course from the Sun

Crusher," Wedge said. "I hope nothing's

changed, or we'll all have a big surprise

when we try to make it through."

Qwi nodded. "It should be safe," she said.

"I double-checked the route."

Wedge looked at her warmly, as if her

verification gave him more confidence than all the

computer simulations.

The black hole cluster was an impossible

astronomical oddity; for thousands of years

astrophysicists had attempted to determine its

origin--whichether some freak galactic combination had

led to the birth of the black holes, or whether some

impossibly ancient and powerful alien race had

assembled the cluster for its own purposes.

The Maw sent out deadly radiation and was even

now drawing the Kessel system to its eventual

doom. For the present, though, the Empire had

found a stable island within the cluster and had built

its secret laboratory there.

"Let's go then," Qwi said, looking out at the

brilliant gases flaring in incredible slow

motion. She had much to learn--and a score

to settle. "I'm ready."

The ships of the Maw assault fleet spread

apart, arrowing one by one into the heart of the black

hole cluster.

One wing of the rebuilt Imperial Palace

had been converted into a cr@eche for the water-loving

Calamarian people, humid quarters for those brought

by Admiral Ackbar and trained as his

specialized starship mechanics.

The cr@eche had been built of smooth

plasteel and hard metal fashioned to look like a

reef within the towering palace. Some of the round

portholes looked out upon the glittering skyline

of Imperial City, while others gazed in on

an enclosed water tank that circulated around the

rooms like a trapped river.

A loud venting of mist from the humidity

generators startled Terpfen out of nervous

contemplation. He looked around his quarters

wildly, swiveling his circular eyes, but he

saw nothing in the shadows, only a jewel-blue

light shining through the water windows. He watched as

a gray-green glurpfish oozed its way along

the channel, filtering microorganisms from the

brine. No sound intruded other than the steam

generators and bubbling aerators in the wall

tanks.

Terpfen had heard nothing in his mind, felt no

compulsion from his Imperial masters on Carida for

more than a day, and he didn't know whether to be

frightened ... or hopeful. Furgan usually

taunted and jabbed him regularly, just to remind him

of his constant presence. Now Terpfen felt

alone.

Rumors flew around the Imperial Palace.

Distress signals had been detected from

Carida, and then all contact had broken off.

New Republic scouts had been dispatched

to inspect the area. If Carida had somehow been

destroyed, then perhaps the Imperial hold on his

brain had been severed. Terpfen could finally be

free!

He had been taken prisoner during the

vicious Imperial occupation of the water world

Calamari. Like many of his people, Terpfen had been

dragged to a labor camp and forced to work at the

starship-construction facilities.

But Terpfen had been damned to undergo a

special kind of training. Taken off to the

Imperial military planet of Carida, he

had suffered weeks of torture and conditioning as

xenosurgeons removed portions of his brain and

replaced them with vat-grown organic circuits

that allowed Furgan to use Terpfen as a

perfectly disguised puppet.

The poorly stitched scars on his swollen head

had served as badges of his ordeal once he was

released. Many Calamarians had also been

severely tortured during the occupation, and no one

suspected Terpfen of treachery.

For years he had tried to resist his Imperial

masters; but half of his brain was not his own, and the

Imperial controllers could manipulate him at

will.

He had sabotaged Admiral Ackbar's

expanded B-wing fighter so that it crashed on

Vortex, destroying the precious

Cathedral of Winds and disgracing Ackbar.

Terpfen had planted a tracer on another

B-wing, which had allowed him to obtain the location

of the secret planet Anoth, where baby Anakin

Solo lived in isolation, protected from prying

eyes and minds. Terpfen had passed that crucial

information to a greedy Ambassador Furgan--

even now the Caridans must be mounting an attack

to kidnap the third Jedi child.

Terpfen stood before the aquarium window in his

dim quarters, watching the glurpfish sluggishly

go about its business. An aquatic predator

swooped toward it, flailing spear-tipped fins and

jagged jaws. The predator would fall upon the

glurpfish ... just as the Imperial forces would

fall upon the helpless child and his lone protector,

Winter, who had once been Leia's close

companion and confidant.

"No!" Terpfen smashed his flipper hands against

the thick glass. The vibrations startled the fanged

predator, and it shot away in search of other

prey. The protoplasmic glurpfish, unaware

of what had just happened, continued on its way,

sifting the water for microscopic food.

Perhaps his Caridan masters had only been

distracted temporarily by other things ... but if

Terpfen hoped to accomplish anything, he had

to make his move now. He swore that it didn't

matter what damage it did to his own brain.

Ackbar himself remained in self-imposed

exile on Calamari, working with his people to repair the

floating cities that had been devastated in

Admiral Daala's recent attack. Ackbar

claimed to have no further interest in New

Republic politics.

Since an assault was to be launched against young

Anakin, Terpfen would go directly to Leia

Organa Solo. She could mobilize New

Republic forces and thwart the Imperials. But

she and Han Solo had just departed for the jungle

moon of Yavin. ...

Terpfen would have to go there, commandeer a ship, and

meet her face-to-face. He would confess

everything and put himself at her mercy. She might

execute him on the spot, as would be her right. But

even that would be a just punishment for the damage he had

already done.

His mind made up--at least for as long as it

remained .his mind--Terpfen took a last look

around his quarters. Turning from the aquarium

windows that reminded him of the homeworld he had left

behind, he took a last glance at the faceted

skyline with its kilometer-high skyscrapers,

winking landing lights, gleaming shuttles rising

toward the aurora that blanketed the night.

Terpfen doubted he would ever see Coruscant

again.

He didn't have time for a ruse.

Using his own security access codes,

Terpfen entered the starfighter servicing bay and

walked briskly, confidently. His body odor

was laced with tension, but if he moved fast enough,

no one would notice until it was too late.

The large launch doors had been sealed for the

night. Two Calamarian starship mechanics

stood around one of the B-wing fighters. A group

of chattering Ugnaughts worked under the hyperdrive

motors of a pair of X-wing fighters that had

been jacked together to exchange navicomputer

information.

Terpfen walked toward the B-wing. One of the

Calamarians saluted him as he approached.

The other lowered herself out of the pilot compartment, slinging

down a webbed sack of tools. From his own

terminal Terpfen had already checked the status of this

fighter, knew it was ready to launch. He

didn't have to ask the question, but it distracted them.

"Repairs completed as planned?"

"Yes, sir," the male Calamarian said.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"Just attending to some personal business," he

said, and reached into a pocket of his flightsuit.

He whipped out a blaster pistol set to Stun.

He fired in a sweeping arc, catching both

Calamarians with blue ripples. The male

slumped to the ground without a sound. The female

dangled on the rung, unconscious as she

thumped against the side of the B-wing; finally her

elbow went slack, and she dropped to the hard

floor in a tumble.

Over by the X-wings the Ugnaughts stopped

chattering and stood up in amazement; then they began

squealing. Three ran to the comm alarm next to the

controls of the launch doors.

Terpfen took aim and squeezed the firing

button again, cutting the Ugnaughts down. The

others raised their stubby hands in surrender; but

Terpfen could not risk taking captives, so he

stunned them as well.

Moving purposefully, he hurried across the

slick-plated floor to the controls of the launch

door. From the enameled badge on his left

breast, he withdrew a disguised slicer chip the

Imperials had provided months ago, in case

he should need to make a quick escape. Now, though,

Terpfen used the Imperial technology for the

benefit of the New Republic.

Terpfen jammed the small wafer into the input

slot and punched three buttons in succession.

The electronics hummed, scanning the information in

the chip. The slicer chip convinced the controls that

Terpfen had the appropriate override codes,

that he had authorization from both Admiral

Ackbar and Mon Mothma.

With a groan and a thud, the heavy launch doors

split apart. The night winds whistled outside the

hangar bay, gusting into the chamber and bringing the

chill air.

Terpfen strode to the repaired B-wing, slid

his broad hands under the arms of the fallen male

Calamarian, and dragged him across the slick

floor. He dumped the mechanic beside the slumped

bodies of the stunned Ugnaughts.

When Terpfen moved the female mechanic, she

moaned softly. Her arm hung at an awkward

angle, broken in the fall. Terpfen hesitated

a moment in guilty misery, but the accidental

injury couldn't be helped. A few hours in a

bacta tank would patch her up just fine.

By then Terpfen would be on his way to Yavin 4.

He clambered into the pilot seat of the B-wing

and powered up the controls. All the lights winked

green. He sealed the hatch. With the speed of the

B-wing's engines, he could make it to the Yavin

system in record time. He had to.

Terpfen raised the awkward-looking craft on

its repulsorlifts and maneuvered toward the open

launch doors.

Screeching alarms penetrated the enclosed

cockpit, vibrating from the servicing bay.

Terpfen twisted his head to see what had gone

wrong--and spotted another Ugnaught, one who

had apparently been hiding inside the cockpit of

an X-wing. The lone Ugnaught had squirmed

out in a panic and scurried over to the alarm

panel.

Terpfen cursed under his breath and knew that he

had to hurry. He had hoped not to fight his way

out.

He punched the maneuvering jets and shot out of the

wide mouth of the launching bay. His stolen B-wing

streaked away from the immense towers of

Coruscant and headed out on a high-energy

straight-line path to orbit.

He couldn't waste time fooling the New

Republic security monitors. Terpfen would

appear to be an Imperial saboteur stealing a

starfighter. If they captured him, they would

interrogate him until it was too late to help

young Anakin Solo. Terpfen had done many

terrible things against his will, but now that he was free from

Imperial control, any failure would be his own

fault. He could blame no one else.

It surprised and dismayed him how rapidly the

Coruscant security forces scrambled

to intercept him. Four X-wings soared by at low

altitude and vectored in on his single fighter.

Terpfen's comm buzzed. One of the pursuing

pilots said, "B-wing, you have made an

unauthorized departure from the palace. Return

immediately, or you will be fired upon."

Terpfen merely increased power to the shields

surrounding his ship. The B-wing was one of

Ackbar's prize contributions to the

Rebellion, and it was far superior to the

old-model X-wings. Terpfen could outrun them,

and his shields could probably survive several

direct hits--but he didn't know if he could

withstand the combined firepower of four X-wings.

"B-wing fighter, this is your last chance," the

X-wing pilot said, and fired a low-energy bolt

that spattered against Terpfen's shields. The warning

shot nudged the B-wing, but caused no damage.

Terpfen punched the throttle, kicking in the

afterburners that launched him toward the aurora and a

low planetary orbit that his onboard navigational

systems marked with heavy red danger lines.

A year before, the battle to regain

Coruscant and overthrow the warring Imperial

factions had been won only at the cost of

incredible destruction. Many ruined battleships

remained in low orbit, collected there in a great

garbage pile. Crews had been dismantling them

for months, repairing those that could be salvaged,

sending others down to burn up as they made their

spectacular descent through the atmosphere. Such

work, though, had low priority during the crisis

phase of the formation of the New Republic. A

large junkyard of debris still orbited in

well-marked lanes.

Terpfen, however, had previously scanned the

placement of the twisted hulks and made his own

personal orbital chart. He had found a

dangerous path through the maze, so narrow he would have

to fly with no margin for error--but it seemed his best

chance. He was certain the alarm had sounded across

Coruscant's full security systems, and before

long squadrons of fighters would come screaming in

to converge on him.

Terpfen didn't want to fight. He didn't

want to cause more death and damage. He wanted

to escape as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

As he left the blanket of atmosphere behind

him, the X-wings followed in his wake, firing in

earnest now. Terpfen refused to shoot back,

although if he crippled one or more of the starfighters,

he would have an easier time escaping. But he did

not want the death of an innocent pilot on his

conscience. He had too many deaths to deal with already.

In the blackness of space he flitted past

glimmering shards of metal, reactor pods, and

hull plates from blasted freighters. He

skimmed up and over a tangled cluster of

girders and a largely intact planar solar array

from a destroyed TIE fighter.

Up ahead the breached hull of a capital ship

-coma Loronar Strike Cruiser--hung as little

more than a framework of structural beams and

split plating after its hyperdrive engines had

blown up during a direct hit.

Terpfen streaked toward the hulk, knowing that the

blast cavity in its middle was wide enough for a

B-wing to pass directly through. He had already

studied the path, and he hoped the risk would cause

his pursuers to pull back and give him just enough time

to launch into hyperspace.

Without slowing Terpfen shot through a gaping opening

in the Strike Cruiser's hull. Two

X-wings peeled off, another managed to follow

directly in his wake. The fourth shifted a

micron too far and clipped its wings against a

ragged strut. The X-wing spun and slammed into the

wreckage; its fuel cylinders detonated.

Terpfen felt claws of dismay sink into his

heart. He had never meant for anyone to die.

The last X-wing hung hotly behind him, firing

repeatedly in outrage at the death of his partner.

Terpfen checked his shields and saw that they had

begun to fail under the pummeling. He did

not blame the other pilot for his anger, but neither could

he surrender now. He studied his control

panels. The navicomputer had plotted the best

course to the Yavin system.

Before his shields could buckle, Terpfen took

a short course directly out of the orbital

debris field. The X-wing came at him again

with all weapons blazing. Upon reaching open space

Terpfen punched the hyperdrive engines.

In an instant the B-wing shot forward,

impossibly out of the reach of the other fighter. With

white starlines that looked like spears to impale

him, Terpfen vanished into hyperspace with a silent

bang.

Standing in front of the Millennium

Falcon, Han Solo held Leia in a

long embrace. The oppressive humidity of the

jungle moon clung to them like wet rags against

their skin. Han hugged Leia again, smelling her

scent. The corners of his lips drifted upward

in a wistful smile. He could feel her

trembling against him--or perhaps it was his own hands.

"I really do have to go, Leia," he said.

"I've got to find Kyp. Maybe I can stop

him from blowing up more star systems and killing more people."

"I know," she said. "I just wish we could

arrange to have our adventures together a little more

often!"

Han tried unsuccessfully to give her his

famous no-care grin. "I'll work on it," he

said; then he kissed her long and hard. "Next

time we'll manage."

He bent down to gather the twins in his arms.

Jacen and Jaina clearly wanted to go back

inside and play in the temples.

The children had found a small group of furry

woolamanders nesting in an unused wing of the Great

Temple, and Jacen claimed in his broken

sentences that he knew how to talk to the creatures.

Han wondered just what the hairy and noisy

arboreal animals were saying back to the boy.

He backed toward the boarding ramp. "You know

I need you to stay here in safety with the kids," he

said to Leia. "And with Luke."

She nodded. They had been through this all before.

"I can take care of myself. Now, get going.

If you can do anything to stop Kyp, you

shouldn't be wasting time here."

He kissed her again, waved goodbye to the twins,

and vanished into the ship.

In a rotating cocktail lounge high up in

Imperial City, Lando Calrissian yanked

the fruit stick out of his drink before it could take

root at the bottom of the glass. He sipped the

fizzy concoction and smiled across the table at Mara

Jade.

"Sure I can't get you another drink?" he

asked. She looked absolutely beautiful with

her exotic hair, high cheekbones, generous

lips, and eyes the color of expensive

gemstones. She hadn't touched her first drink

yet, but he made certain he still shone with

confidence.

"No thanks, Calrissian. We've got

business to discuss."

The windows of the observation lounge showed the

glittering former Imperial Palace and

crystallike spires and skyscrapers that

extended to the fringes of the atmosphere. Hover

barges drifted above the buildings, flashing

announcements in numerous languages, ferrying

tourists out to watch the sunset and the brightening

aurora. A pair of mismatched moons hung

in the sky, shining down on the bustling city.

Musical notes drifted into the air from a

complex multilayered bank of keyboards in the

middle of which sat a purplish-black, tentacled

creature. With a flurry of cilia, the creature

played a staggering number of keys at a time.

Instead of eyes on its lumpy head, it was studded

with tympanic membranes of varying sizes so it

could hear music over an incredible range. Its

tentacles flailed, striking upper keys,

drawing out lower resonances, playing tunes both

too high and too low for the human ear.

Lando took another sip and leaned back in his

chair with a sigh and a soft smile. He had draped

his slick burgundy cape over the back of his

chair. Mara Jade wore only a

tight-fitting jumpsuit; her curves looked like

hazardous paths through a complicated planetary

system.

Lando looked across at her. "So you think the

Smugglers' Alliance would be interested in an

arrangement for distribution of glitterstim spice

from Kessel?"

Mara nodded. "I think I can guarantee that.

Moruth Doole let the spice mines fall

into a shambles. Black-market smuggling from the

Imperial Correction Facility has made the

entire planet a pain in the soft parts for any

self-respecting runner trying to earn a living.

It took powerful crime lords like Jabba with enough

strong-arm just to make it worthwhile."

"I'll make it worthwhile," Lando said,

folding his hands together on the tabletop. "I received

a million-credit reward from the Duchess of

Dargul, and I can invest it to bring the systems up

to a more sophisticated level."

"What exactly are your plans?" Mara

asked, leaning closer to him.

Lando responded by leaning over the table himself,

bringing his large brown eyes close to hers. His

pulse raced. She frowned and sat up straight

again, still waiting for him to answer.

Rebuffed, Lando looked for words. "Uh, I

don't have any great fondness for the prison where

Doole centered his operations, but I think I can

use that as a starting point. Dismantle most of the

old correction facility, but use the buildings

for a new base.

"And I don't plan to use slave labor,

either. I figure we can get worker droids. On

Nkllon I got familiar with some

sophisticated mining systems, and if I use

supercooled devices, the infrared signatures

won't attract those energy spiders that caused so

much trouble before."

"Droids can't handle everything," Mara said.

"You're going to need some people down there. Who will you

get to run a miserable operation like that?"

"Miserable to humans maybe," Lando said,

locking his hands behind his back and sitting straight,

"but not to some other species. In particular,

I've got in mind an old friend of mine, Nien

Nunb, who was my copilot on the Falcon

during the Battle of Endor. He's a

Sullustan, a little creature who grew up

living in tunnels and warrens on a tough

volcanic world. He'd consider the spice mines

a luxury resort!" Lando shrugged at Mara's

skeptical look. "Hey, I've worked with him

before and I trust him."

"Sounds like you've got most of the answers,

Calrissian," Mara said. "But so far it's

all just talk. When are you planning to go

to Kessel and get to work?"

"Well, I lost my ship there. I've got

to get back to Kessel to pick up the Lady

Luck and start my operations." He raised his

eyebrows. "Say, you wouldn't be willing to give

me a lift to the system, would you?"

"No." Mara Jade stood up. "I would

not."

"All right, then. Will you meet me on

Kessel in one standard week? By then I should have a

good feel for how things are going to go. We can lay

down the foundation for a long and lasting relationship."

He smiled at her again.

"Business relationship," she said, but not quite as

sharply as she might have.

"You sure you won't have dinner with me?" he

asked.

"I've already eaten a ration bar," she said, and

turned to leave. "One standard week. I'll see

you on Kessel." She turned and left.

Lando blew her a kiss, but she didn't see

him ... which was probably a good thing.

At the keyboards the tentacled musician

played a mournful tune of unreciprocated

emotional resonances.

In the stuffy Council chambers Han Solo

swallowed a lump in his throat before he addressed

the gathered senators and generals and Mon Mothma

herself.

"I don't often talk to this"--he tried to think

of the appropriate flowery language Leia would

use in front of politicians--"th, um,

august assemblage, but I need some information

fast."

Mon Mothma sat up weakly. Nearby a

medical droid tended the silent monitoring and

life-support systems attached to the Chief of

State's body. Her skin looked grayish, as

if it had already died and was waiting to fall off her

bones. As she declined, she had given up all

pretense of hiding her failing health.

According to Leia, Mon Mothma had only a

few weeks to live with her strange,

debilitating disease. Seeing the woman now,

though, Han wouldn't have laid odds she would

survive even that long.

"What exactly," Mon Mothma began--then

paused to heave a deep breath--"d you need to know,

General Solo?"

Han swallowed again. He couldn't hide the

truth, though he hated to admit it. "Kyp

Durron was my friend, but he went wrong somehow.

He attacked Luke Skywalker. He took

the Sun Crusher and blew up the Cauldron

Nebula to destroy Admiral Daala's

fleet. Leia and all the Jedi trainees on

Yavin just experienced what they called "a great

disturbance in the Force," and she's convinced that

Kyp might have done something else."

General Rieekan spoke in his gruff

voice, looking at Han with weary eyes.

Rieekan had been the commander of Echo Base on

Hoth, and he had seen many hard times. "Our

scouts have just come back, General Solo. Your

friend did use the Sun Crusher again. He

destroyed the Caridan star system, site of the

Imperial military academy."

Han felt his throat go dry, though the news

was no great surprise, considering how much Kyp

hated the Empire.

"This slaughter must stop. It goes beyond even the

Emperor's atrocities," the aging

tactician, General Jan Dodonna, said.

"The New Republic does not employ such

barbarous tactics."

"Well, he does!" interrupted Garm

Bel-Iblis. "And he has obliterated two

crucial Imperial targets. While we may

not agree with Durron's methods, his success

rate is nothing short of astonishing."

Mon Mothma interrupted, somehow finding the

energy to speak a harsh sentence. "I will not allow this

young man to be portrayed ... as a war hero."

She paused for a deep breath and raised her

clenched hand to signal that she had not yet finished.

"His personal crusade must stop. General

Solo, can you halt Kyp Durron?"

"I've got to find him first! Give me the

reconnaissance information your scouts gathered from the

Cauldron Nebula and Carida. Maybe I

can track him down. If I could just talk to him

face-to-face, I'm sure I could make the

kid see reason."

"General Solo, you will have access to everything you

desire," Mon Mothma said, spreading her

palms on the synthetic stone surface in front

of her, as if to support herself. "Do you require

... a military escort?"

"No," he said, "that might scare him

off. I'll take the Falcon and go myself. If

I'm lucky, maybe I can bring the Sun

Crusher back, too." Han gazed slowly around

the Council chamber. "And this time let's make

sure we destroy it completely."

Packing the Falcon, Han had almost finished

his last-minute emergency preparations when he

heard a voice behind him. "Han, old buddy!

Need some help?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see Lando

Calrissian striding toward him across the hangar

bay, ducking under the flat aerofoil of an

X-wing starfighter.

"Just leaving, Lando," he said. "Don't know

how long I'll be gone."

"I heard," Lando said. "Hey, why not let

me come along? You'll need a copilot, with

Chewbacca gone on the Maw mission."

Han hesitated. "I'm doing this by myself. I

can't ask anyone else to go with me."

"Han, you're crazy to fly the Falcon

alone. You don't know what sort of hostile

situations you're going to get into. Who'll be at

the controls if you need to go up into the gun well?"

Lando flashed his most winning smile. "You've

got to admit, I'm the obvious choice."

Han sighed. "Chewbacca would be my first

choice--I miss that fuzzball, you know? At

least he doesn't try to gamble the Falcon

away from me."

"Awww, we don't do that anymore, Han,"

Lando said. "We promised, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Han groaned. Lando

had beaten him in their last round of sabacc,

claiming ownership of the Falcon--and then he had

given the ship back to Han, just to impress Mara

Jade. "But what's your take on this, you old

pirate?" Han said, raising his eyebrows.

"Why do you want to come along so bad?"

Lando shuffled his feet on the polished floor

of the landing bay. At the other end of the chamber a

sublight engine started up, blatted, then coughed

as a team of mechanics scrambled over the

fuselage of a dismantled A-wing.

"To be honest ... I need to get to Kessel

within a week."

"But I'm not going anywhere near Kessel,"

Han said.

"You don't know where you're going yet.

You're looking for Kyp."

"Point taken. What's at Kessel?"

Han asked. "I didn't think you'd want to go

back there soon, after what happened last time. I

sure don't."

"Mara Jade's going to meet me there in a

week. We're partners in a new spice-mining

operation." He beamed, tossing his burgundy

cape over his shoulder.

Han tried to cover his skeptical smile.

"And does Mara herself know about this partnership, or

are you just talking big?"

Lando looked hurt. "Of course she knows

... sort of. Besides, if you get me

to Kessel, maybe I can find the Lady

Luck again, and I can stop hitching rides with people.

This is getting old."

"That's for sure," Han said. "All right, if

we go near Kessel, I'll take you there--but

my priority is tracking Kyp."

"Of course, Han. That's understood," Lando

said, then mumbled under his breath, "just as long as I

get to Kessel within a week."

As a disembodied spirit, Luke Skywalker could

only watch as his Jedi trainees and his sister

Leia filed into the grand audience chamber.

Artoo-Detoo trundled ahead, like an

escort, silently coasting to a stop before the

platform on which he lay.

The other Jedi trainees stood in a row in

front of the motionless form. They stared

respectfully at his motionless body as if they were

attendees at a funeral. Luke could sense

emotion pouring from them: grief, confusion, dismay, and

deep anxiety.

"Leia," he called in his echoing otherworldly

voice. "Leia!" he screamed as loud as he

could, trying to break through the other-dimensional walls

that restrained him.

Leia flinched, but didn't seem to hear. She

reached forward to grip the arm of his cold body.

He heard her whisper, "I don't know if you can

hear me, Luke, but I know you're not dead. I

can sense you're still here. We'll find a way

to help you. We'll keep trying."

She squeezed his limp hand and turned away

quickly. She blinked to cast away the tears

welling up within her eyes.

"Leia ...," he sighed. He watched as the

other Jedi candidates followed her back to the

turbolift. Once again he found himself all

alone with his paralyzed body, staring at the echoing

walls of the Massassi temple.

"All right," he said, looking for another

solution. If Artoo couldn't hear him, and if

Leia or the other Jedi trainees could not

identify his presence, then perhaps Luke could

communicate with someone on his own plane of

existence--another glistening Jedi spirit he had

spoken to many times before.

"Ben!" Luke called. "Obi-Wan

Kenobi, can you hear me?"

His voice hummed through the ether. With all the

emotional firepower he could dredge from the bottom

of his soul, Luke shouted into the silence. "Ben!"

Growing more concerned at hearing no answer, he

called for others. "Yoda! Father--Anakin

Skywalker!"

He waited, but there was no response.

... Until he sensed a coldness ripple

through the air like an icicle slowly melting. Words

trembled from the walls. "They can't hear you,

Skywalker--but I can."

Luke spun around and saw a crack form in the

stone walls. It grew darker as a tarlike

silhouette oozed out and congealed into the shape of a

cowled man whose features were distinct now that Luke

could see him in the spirit plane. The stranger had

long black hair, shadowed skin, and the tattoo

of a black sun emblazoned on his forehead. His

eyes were like chips of obsidian and just as sharp. His

mouth bore a cruel scowl, the expression of one

who has been betrayed and has had much time to think

bitter thoughts.

"Exar Kun," Luke said, and the dark spirit

understood him perfectly well.

"Do you enjoy having your spirit trapped away from

your body, Skywalker?" Kun said in a mocking

voice. "I have had four thousand years to get

accustomed to it. The first century or two are the

worst."

Luke glared at him. "You corrupted my

students, Exar Kun. You caused the death of

Gantoris. You turned Kyp Durron against

me."

Kun laughed. "Perhaps it was your own failings as

a teacher. Or their own delusions."

"What makes you think I'll stay like this for

thousands of years?" Luke said.

"You will have no choice," Kun answered,

"once I have destroyed your physical body.

Trapping my own spirit inside these temples was the

only way I could survive when the final

holocaust came. The allied Jedi Knights

devastated the surface of Yavin 4. They

killed off the few Massassi people I had kept

alive, and they destroyed my own body in the

inferno.

"My spirit was forced to wait and wait and wait

until finally you brought your Jedi students here,

students who could hear my voice once they

learned how to listen."

An echo of fear rang through Luke's mind, but

he forced himself to sound calm and brave. "You can't

harm my body, Kun. You can't touch anything

physical. I've tried it myself."

"Ah, but I know other ways to fight,"

Kun's spirit said. "And I have had endless

millennia to practice. Rest assured,

Skywalker, I will destroy you."

As if finished with his taunting, Kun sank like

smoke through the cracks in the polished flagstones,

descending to the heart of the Great Temple. In his

wake he left Luke alone but more determined

than ever to break free from his ethereal prison.

He would find a way. A Jedi could always find

a way.

When the twins suddenly started crying on their

cots beside her, Leia woke up with a feeling of

dread.

"It's Uncle Luke!" Jaina said.

"He's gonna be hurt," Jacen said.

Leia bolted upright and felt a series of

whistling, tingling vibrations through her body, unlike

anything she had ever encountered before. She sensed more

than heard the howling wind, a gathering storm

trapped inside the temple--centered in the grand

audience chamber where Luke lay.

She threw on a white robe, cinched it around

her waist, and dashed into the hall. Several other

Jedi trainees emerged from their quarters, also

sensing an indefinable dread.

The twins jumped out of their beds, and Leia

called back to them, "You two stay here." She

doubted they would. "Artoo, watch over them!" she

shouted to the droid, who was buzzing in

confusion down the corridors, lights flashing.

"Come to the grand audience chamber," Leia

cried to the Jedi trainees. "Hurry!"

Artoo spun around in the hall and returned to the

children's quarters; the droid's confused bleeps and

warbles followed Leia down the hall. She rode

the turbolift to the top. When it stopped and opened

its doors, storm winds howled around the vast,

open chamber. Leia stumbled out into a cyclone.

Cold rivers of air gushed through the

horizontal skylights high in the walls.

Ice crystals sparkled as the temperature

plummeted. Wind drawn in from every direction

struck the center of the room and spun around,

corkscrewing, picking up speed in an

irresistible force.

Streen!

The old Bespin hermit stood on the

outskirts of the storm with his brown Jedi robe

flapping around him. His wild gray hair writhed

around his head as if charged with static. His lips

mumbled something incomprehensible, and his eyes

remained closed as if he were having a nightmare.

Leia knew that even powerful Jedi could not

manipulate large-scale phenomena like the

weather; but they could move objects, and she

realized that was what Streen did now. Not changing

the weather, but simply moving the air, drawing it in

from all directions, creating a self-contained but

destructive tornado that struck toward

Luke's body.

"No!" she shouted into the starving wind.

"Streen!"

The cyclone struck Luke, buffeted his

body, and lifted it into the air. Leia ran

toward her paralyzed brother, feet barely touching

the ground as the powerful winds knocked her

sideways. The storm wrenched her off balance, and

she found herself thrown through the air, flying like an

insect toward the stone walls. She spun around and

reached out, calming herself enough to use her own

abilities with the Force, to nudge her body

away. Instead of being crushed against the stone

blocks, she slid softly to the floor.

Luke's body continued rising, tugged upward

by the hurricane. His Jedi robe wound around him

as the winds spun him like a corpse launched out

of a star-freighter air lock into the grave of

space.

Streen didn't seem aware of what

he was doing.

Leia staggered to her feet again and jumped. This

time she rode the circling air currents, flying

around the fringe of the cyclone toward her helpless

brother. She reached out to grab the tail of his

robe, felt her fingers clutch rough fabric, and

then burn as the robe was snatched away from her.

She fell back to the floor.

Luke had been drawn up into the tornado's

mouth, rising toward the skylights.

"Luke!" she cried. "Please help me."

She had no idea if he could hear her, or if

he could do anything. Gathering strength in her leg

muscles, she leaped into the air again. It might be

possible to use her Jedi skills of levitation

for a brief moment; Luke had done it several

times, although she herself had never mastered the skill.

Now, though, it mattered more than it ever had before.

As Leia sprang upward, the wind caught

her. She rose high enough to grab Luke's body.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, twisted her

legs around his ankles, holding him, hoping her

weight would drag him down.

But as they started to drop, the winds picked up

in intensity, howling and roaring. Leia's skin went

numb from the blinding wintry cold. They shot

toward the roof of the grand audience chamber, toward the

widest skylight, where jagged icicles hung like

javelins.

Leia suddenly knew what Streen intended to do

to them, whether consciously or unconsciously.

They would be sucked out of the Great Temple,

tossed high into the sky, and then allowed to crash

thousands of feet to the spear-pointed branches of the

jungle canopy.

The turbolift door opened. Kirana Ti

charged out, followed by Tionne and Kam

Solusar.

"Stop Streen!" Leia shouted.

Kirana Ti reacted instantly. She wore

thin but supple red armor from the scaled hides of

reptiles from Dathomir. She had been a

warrior on her own world, fighting with untrained and

unhoned skill in the Force, but she had also fought

in physical combat as well.

Kirana Ti launched herself forward on long,

muscular legs, ducking her head as she charged

into the cyclonic wind that surrounded Streen. The

old hermit stood entranced, spinning slowly around

with his arms dangling at his sides and his

fingertips spread apart, as if trying to catch

something.

Kirana Ti staggered as she hit the wind, but

she wrenched her head aside, spread her legs,

and dug the toes of her bare feet against the stone

floor for traction. She shoved forward into the wind

and finally shattered through into the dead zone of the storm.

She tackled Streen to the flagstoned floor and

locked his arms behind his back.

Streen cried out, then blinked his eyes open.

He looked wildly around in confusion. Instantly

the wind stopped blowing. The air fell still.

High up at the ceiling of the grand audience

chamber Leia and Luke plunged toward the

unforgiving flagstones below. Luke fell like a

doll, and Leia tried to remember how to use her

levitation skills, but her mind went blank with

panic.

Tionne and Kam Solusar raced forward,

stretching out their arms, using what they had been

taught. Less than a meter above the crushing

stones, Leia found herself slowed, pausing in the

air beside Luke's body. They drifted gently

to the floor. Leia cradled Luke against her, but

her brother did not respond.

Streen sat up, and Kam Solusar ran over

to help Kirana Ti hold him. The old

hermit began to weep. Kam Solusar gnashed his

teeth and looked as if he wanted to kill the old

hermit then and there, but Kirana Ti stopped him.

"Don't hurt him," she said. "He

doesn't know what he was doing."

"A nightmare," Streen said, "the Dark Man

talking to me. Whispering to me. He never lets

go. I was fighting him in my dream." Streen

looked around for sympathy or encouragement.

"I was going to kill him and save us all, but you

woke me." At last Streen realized where he

was. He looked around the grand audience chamber

until his gaze fell upon Leia holding

Luke.

"He tricked you, Streen," Kirana Ti

said in a hard voice. "You weren't fighting the

Dark Man. He was manipulating you. You were his

tool. If we hadn't stopped you, you would have

destroyed Master Skywalker."

Streen began sobbing.

On the raised platform Tionne helped

Leia lift Luke back onto the stone table.

"He doesn't seem injured," Leia

said.

"By sheer luck," Tionne said. She wondered

aloud, "Did the ancient Jedi Knights have

to deal with challenges like this?"

"If they did," Leia said, "I hope you

manage to find the old stories. We need

to learn what those Jedi did to defeat their

enemies."

Streen stood, shaking himself free of the gripping

hands of Kirana Ti and Kam Solusar. The

old man's face was filled with outrage. "We

must destroy the Dark Man," Streen said, "before

he kills all of us."

Leia felt a grip of unbearable cold in

her heart, knowing that Streen was right.

Being Chief Administrator of Maw

Installation was a great enough burden under normal

circumstances, but Tol Sivron had never counted

on doing it without Imperial assistance. Standing

inside the empty conference room, Sivron

stroked his sensitive Twi'lek head-tails and

stared out the viewport into the empty space around the

secret facility.

He had never liked Admiral Daala and her

overbearing manner. In the years they had been

stranded in the Maw, Sivron had never felt as

though she understood his mission to create new

weapons of mass destruction for Grand Moff

Tarkin--to whom they both owed enormous favors.

Daala's four Star Destroyers had been

assigned to protect Sivron and the precious

weapons scientists, but Daala had refused

to accept her subordinate position in the scheme

of things. She had let a few Rebel

prisoners steal the Sun Crusher and kidnap one

of Sivron's best weapons designers, Qwi

Xux. Then Daala had abandoned her post

to chase after the spies, leaving him alone and

unprotected!

Sivron paced the conference room, puffed with

pride and saddled with disappointment. He shook his

head, and his two wormlike head appendages

slid across his tunic with a tingle of sensory

perceptions. He gripped one of the head-tails and

wrapped it heavily around his shoulders.

The handful of stormtroopers Daala had left

behind served little purpose. Tol

Sivron had compiled a full tally of the

soldiers: 123. He'd filled out official

reports, gathered their service records,

compiled information that might someday be useful. It

wasn't clear to him exactly how this information would

be useful, but Sivron had based his career on

compiling reports and gathering information. Someone,

somewhere, would find it worthwhile.

The stormtroopers obeyed his orders--that was

what stormtroopers did, after all--but he was

no military commander. He didn't know how

to deploy the soldiers if Maw Installation was

ever attacked by Rebel invaders.

During the last month he had kept the Maw

scientists working harder to come up with better

prototypes and functional defenses, writing

contingency plans and emergency procedures,

outlining scenarios and prescribed responses to every

situation. Being prepared is our best weapon,

he thought. Tol Sivron would never stop being

prepared.

He had requested frequent progress

reports from his researchers, insisting that he be

kept completely up-to-date. The storage

room adjacent to his office was piled high with

hardcopy documents and demonstration models of

various concepts. He didn't have time to review

them all, of course, but it comforted him just to know they

were there.

He heard footsteps approach and saw his

four primary division leaders escorted to the

morning briefing by their designated stormtrooper

bodyguards.

Tol Sivron did not turn to greet them,

staring with a thrill of pride at the huge

spherical skeleton of the Death Star

prototype rising over the cluster of rocks like a

framework moon. The Death Star was the

Installation's greatest success. Grand Moff

Tarkin had taken one look at the prototype and

given him a medal on the spot, along with

Bevel Lemelisk, its main designer, and

Qwi Xux, his primary assistant.

The four division leaders took their seats around

the briefing table, each bringing a hot beverage,

each munching on a reconstituted morning

pastry. Each carried a hard-copy printout of the

morning's agenda.

Sivron decided he would keep the meeting

brief and to the point--noto longer than

two, possibly three, hours. They didn't have

much to discuss anyway. As the Death Star orbited

out of sight overhead, he turned to face his four

top managers.

Doxin was a man wider than he was tall,

completely bald except for very dark, very narrow

eyebrows that looked like thin wires burned into his

forehead. His lips were thick enough that he could have

balanced a stylus on them when he smiled.

Doxin was in charge of high-energy concepts and

implementations.

Next to him sat Golanda. Tall and hawkish

with an angular face, pointed chin, and aquiline

nose that gave her face the general shape of a

Star Destroyer, she was about as beautiful as a

gundark. Golanda led the artillery innovations and

tactical-deployments section. In ten years

she had not stopped complaining about how foolish it was

to do artillery research in the middle of a black

hole cluster where the fluctuating gravity ruined

her calculations and made every test a pointless

exercise.

The third division leader, Yemm, was a

demonic-looking Devaronian who excelled in

saying the right thing at the right time. He supervised

documentation and legal counsel.

Last of all, seated at the far corner of the

table, was Wermyn, a tall, one-armed brute.

His skin had a purplish-green cast that left his

origin in question. Wermyn was in charge of plant

operations and keeping Maw Installation up and

running.

"Good morning, everyone," Tol Sivron said,

seating himself at the head of the table and tapping his

needle claws on the tabletop. "I see you've

all brought your agendas with you. Excellent."

He scowled at the four stormtroopers standing

outside the door. "Captain, please step

outside and close the door. This is a

private, high-level meeting."

The stormtrooper made no answer as he

ushered his companions outside and sealed the door

with a hiss of compressed gases.

"There," Tol Sivron said, shuffling papers

in front of him. "I'd like you each to report on

recent activities in your division. After

we've discussed the possible implications of

anything new, we can then brainstorm strategies.

I take it our revised Emergency Plans have

been distributed to all members of this

facility?" Sivron looked at Yemm, the

paperwork person.

The Devaronian smiled pleasantly and

nodded. The horns on his head bobbed up and down.

"Yes, Director. Everyone has received a

copy of the full

three-hundred-sixty-five-page hard-copy

document with instructions to read it diligently."

"Good," Sivron said, checking off the first

item on his agenda. "We'll leave time at the

end of the meeting for new business, but I'd like

to move right along. I still have a lot of reports

to review. Wermyn, would you like to begin?"

The one-armed plant operations division leader

rumbled through a detailed report on their

supplies, their power consumption rates, the

expected duration of fuel cells in the power

reactor. Wermyn's only concern was that they were

running low on spare parts, and he doubted they would

ever receive another shipment from the outside.

Tol Sivron duly noted that fact in his

log pad.

Next, Doxin slurped his hot beverage and

gave a report of a new weapon his scientists

had been testing. "It's a metal-crystal

phase shifter," Doxin said. "MCPS for

short."

"Hmmmm," Tol Sivron said, tapping his

chin with a long claw. "We'll have to think of a

catchier name before we present it to the

Imperials."

"It's just a working acronym," Doxin said,

embarrassed. "We've constructed a functioning

model, though our results have been inconsistent.

The tests have given us reason to hope for a

successful larger-scale implementation."

"And what exactly does it do?" Tol

Sivron asked.

Doxin scowled at him. "Director, I've

filed several reports over the past seven

weeks. Haven't you read them?"

Sivron flinched his head-tails

instinctively. "I'm a busy man, and I can't

recall everything I read," he said.

"Especially about a project with such an

uninspired name. Refresh my memory,

please."

Doxin grew animated as he spoke. "The

MCPS field alters the crystalline

structure of metals--e.g., those in

starship hulls. The MCPS can penetrate

conventional shielding and turn hull plates

into powder. The actual physics is more

complicated, of course; this is just an executive

summary."

"Yes, yes," Tol Sivron said. "That

sounds very good. What were these problems you encountered?"

"Well, the MCPS worked effectively over

only about one percent of the surface area on our

test plate."

"So it might not be terribly useful?" Tol

Sivron said.

Doxin rubbed his fingers across the polished table

surface, making a squeaking sound. "Not

exactly true, Director. The one percent

effectiveness was distributed over a wide area,

leaving pinhole failures over the entire

surface. Such a loss of integrity would be enough

to destroy any ship."

Sivron grinned. "Ah, very good! Continue your

studies and continue filing those excellent

reports."

Golanda, the hatchet-faced woman in charge of

artillery deployment and tactical innovations,

talked about cluster-resonance shells based in part

upon preliminary theoretical work for the Sun

Crusher.

Yemm interrupted Golanda's summary by standing

up and crying out. Sivron frowned at him.

"It's not time for new business, Yemm."

"But, Director!" Yemm said, gesturing

madly toward the viewport. The other division

leaders stood in an uproar.

Tol Sivron finally whirled to see

silhouettes against the gaseous backdrop of the

Maw. His Twi'lek head-tails uncurled and

stood out straight behind him.

A fleet of Rebel warships appeared

inside the Maw. The invasion force he had dreaded

for so long had finally arrived.

With two Corellian corvettes at point

and two at his flanks, General Wedge

Antilles brought the escort frigate

Yavaris toward the mismatched cluster of rocks

that formed Maw Installation.

Qwi Xux stood pale blue and beautiful

at the observation station beside him, looking tense yet

eager to ransack her old quarters for clues

to her lost memories.

"Maw Installation," Wedge said into the comm

channel. "This is General Antilles, Commander

of the New Republic occupation fleet. Please

respond to discuss terms of your surrender."

He felt arrogant as he said it, but he

knew they had no way of fighting off his fleet.

Hidden in the midst of the black holes, without

Admiral Daala's Star Destroyers to defend

it, the Installation depended on inaccessibility rather

than firepower for protection.

As his ships approached the cluster of rocks,

Wedge received no response. But when the open

metal framework of the Death Star prototype

orbited up from behind the planetoids, he felt a

stab of terror.

"Shields up!" he said instinctively.

But the Death Star did not fire, gracefully

orbiting back out of view again.

As Wedge brought his fleet in closer, a

tracery of laser fire shot toward them from small

buildings and habitation modules on the misshapen

asteroids. Only a few of the beams managed

to strike, reflecting harmlessly off the ships'

shields.

"All right," Wedge said. "Two

corvettes. Surgical strikes only. We

want to remove those defenses, but don't

damage the Installation itself." He shot a glance

at Qwi. "That place holds too much

important data to risk losing it."

Wedge watched the enormous banks of engines

behind the foremost two corvettes as they rained

destructive blasts upon the asteroids. Bright-red

spears lanced down to pulverize the rocks.

"This is too easy," Wedge said.

A desperate signal came from one of the

corvette captains. His image flickered as

he beamed a transmission on the emergency

channel. "Something's happening to our hull!

Shields aren't effective. Some new kind of

weapon. Hull walls are weakening. Can't

pinpoint where--was

The transmission cut off as the corvette

became a ball of fire and shrapnel.

"Back off!" Wedge shouted into the open

channel, but the second corvette plunged

forward, choosing instead to use his full complement of

dual turbolaser cannons as well as a pair

of proton torpedoes that had been specially

installed for the occupation mission.

"Captain Ortola! Back off!"

The captain of the second corvette blasted the

nearest planetoid. Proton torpedoes

sizzled with uncontained energy. Turbolaser

blasts ignited volatile gases and

flammables, reducing the small planetoid

to incandescent dust.

"That won't be a problem anymore, sir,"

Captain Ortola said. "You may deploy the

strike forces at your leisure."

Howling warnings shrieked through the Maw

Installation's intercom so monotonously that Tol

Sivron found it difficult to plan his speech.

"Your attention, please," he said into the

intercom. "Remember to follow your emergency

procedures."

Outside, stormtroopers hustled up and down

the white-tiled corridors. The stormtrooper

captain was yelling and directing his troops to set

up defensive positions at vital

intersections. No one bothered to refer to the

carefully written and tested contingency scenarios

Tol Sivron and his managers had spent so much

time developing.

Gritting his pointed teeth in annoyance,

Sivron raised his voice into the intercom. "If

you need another copy of your emergency

procedures, or if you have difficulty finding

one, contact your respective division leader

immediately. We will see to it that you receive one."

Hanging above Maw Installation, the Rebel

ships looked like nightmarish constructions, brushing

aside the Installation's defensive lasers as if

they were mere insect bites.

Doxin sat by an interlaboratory communication

station and cheered as he saw one of the Rebel

corvettes crumble, disintegrating into a cloud of

pulverized metal plate and escaping fuel and

coolant gases.

"It worked!" Doxin said. "The MCPS worked!"

He tapped the receiving jack in his ear, listened, and

frowned with his enormous lips. When Doxin

wrinkled the brow on his bald head, the ridges

rippled all the way up to his crown like

rugged-terrain treads.

"Unfortunately, we won't get a second

shot, Director. The MCPS seems to have

malfunctioned," Doxin said. "But I do believe

the original success against an actual

target has proved the system worthy of

additional development."

"Indeed," Tol Sivron agreed, looking

admiringly at the expanding cloud of debris from the

corvette. "We must have a follow-up meeting."

"The system is presently off-line," Doxin

said.

The second Rebel corvette came in with

all weapons blazing, and the asteroid housing the

offices and labs of the high-energy concepts

incinerated under the barrage.

"It appears to be unquestionably out of commission,"

Sivron said.

Doxin was deeply disappointed. "Now we'll

never conduct a post-shot analysis," he said

with a sigh. "It's going to be hard to compile a

full report without actual data."

A loud whump reverberated through the facility.

Tol Sivron peered out into the hall as his

division leaders crowded to get a view.

White-and-gray smoke curled down the

corridors, clogging the ventilation systems.

The screens on the computer monitors inside

the conference room went blank. As Sivron

stood up to demand an explanation, the lights in

all the offices winked out, replaced by a

pale-green glow of emergency systems.

The stormtrooper captain rushed up with a

clatter of boots on the tiled floor.

"Captain, what's going on?" Tol

Sivron said. "Report."

"We have just successfully destroyed the main

computer core, sir," he said.

"You did what?" Sivron asked.

The captain continued in his staccato voice.

"We need your personal codes to access the

backup files, Director. We will

irradiate them to erase the classified

information."

"Is that in the emergency procedures?" Tol

Sivron looked from right to left for an answer from

his division leaders. He picked up the hardcopy

of the Emergency Procedures manual.

"Captain, which page did you find that on?"

"Sir, we cannot allow our vital data

to fall into Rebel hands. The computer backups

must be destroyed before the invaders take possession

of this facility."

"I'm not sure we addressed that contingency when

we wrote the manual," Golanda said

with a shrug, flipping pages as well.

"Perhaps we'll have to put that in an addendum?"

Yemm suggested.

Standing, Wermyn shuffled through the papers with his one

meaty hand. "Director, I see here in

Section 5.4, "In the Event of Rebel

Invasion," Paragraph (C). If such an

invasion appears likely to succeed in gaining

possession of the Installation, I am to lead my

team in a mission to the power-reactor asteroid and

destroy the cooling towers so that the system will go

supercritical and wipe out both this base and the

invaders as well."

"Good, good!" Tol Sivron said, finding the

right page and verifying the words for himself. "Get

to it."

Wermyn stood up. His swarthy

greenish-purple skin flushed darker. "All these

procedures have been approved, Director, but

I don't quite follow our next step. How is

my team going to get to safety? In fact, how

are any of us going to get to safety once I've

set up the chain reaction?"

A stormtrooper's voice cut through the alarm

chatter on the intercom. "Rebel troops have

entered the base! Rebel troops have entered the--was

The words ended in a squawk of dead static.

"Sound the evacuation order," Sivron said,

beleaguered. He stared out the sweeping viewing window

with his close-set, beady eyes. Rebel

battleships pummeled the Installation. Then a

glinting metal framework rose into view, an

armillary sphere the size of a small moon.

"Just go and take care of the reactors,

Wermyn," Tol Sivron said. "We'll fall

back and evacuate to the Death Star prototype.

We can swing by and pick you up, then make our

escape. We'll abandon the Rebels to their

deaths and take our precious knowledge back to the

Empire."

Three transports bearing New Republic

strike teams landed on the Installation's central

asteroid, blasting through the closed bay doors with

their forward laser cannons. As the transports

opened egress doors like mechanical wings, the

teams flooded out of the passenger compartments and

fanned into defensive phalanxes. Crouched low,

heads ducked behind blaster-resistant armor, they

held high-energy rifles in front of

them.

Chewbacca let out a Wookiee bellow as he

thumped down the ramp, holding his bowcaster in

front of him. He squeezed a hairy paw

around the stock and pointed the crossbow-shaped

weapon. His fur bristled. He smelled

smoke, oil, and coolant fumes. Chewbacca

scooped the air with his hairy paw, gesturing for the

elite team of Page's Commandos to follow.

Blaster shots rang out as four stormtroopers

fired from ambush. A member of one of the other

strike teams went down, then forty blaster bolts

converged on the Imperial soldiers.

Chewbacca remembered being a prisoner in the

Maw Installation, when he had been forced to perform

maintenance on Admiral Daala's ships. He

had been tempted to sabotage one of their

gamma-class assault shuttles, but knew that

it would only get him killed while causing no

irreparable harm to the Imperial forces.

Now, though, Chewbacca kept thinking of the other

Wookiee slaves. He remembered their bowed

heads and patchy fur, their gaunt frames. The

fire in their eyes had gone out after years of hard

and hopeless labor.

With a barely contained snarl he also remembered

the sadistic lump of a man who served as the

Wookiee "Keeper," watching over the slave

detail no matter where they were assigned. His

blazing eyes, broken-glass voice, and deadly

force whip had kept the Wookiees in line through

intimidation.

Alarms shrieked through the intercoms, pumping

Chewbacca's adrenaline and anger. He growled

for the teams to hurry. He thought about

See-Threepio still onboard the flagship

Yavaris and was glad the protocol droid would

not be in all the cross fire now. Chewbacca

didn't want to have to put Threepio back together

all over again.

He approached a vast rock-walled

workroom, where he remembered performing endless hours

of heavy labor. The doors stood sealed by heavy

blast shields with rivets the size of

Chewbacca's knuckles.

He hammered on the metal door with his flat

palm. Behind him Page's Commandos rummaged in

their packs. Two members rushed forward with

thermal detonators in each hand. They placed the

detonators at critical

junctures on the blast door and flicked the

timer switches. Amber lights winked on and off,

counting down.

"Back away!" one yelled.

Chewbacca loped after the team as they ran around

the corner just in time to hear a muffled explosion.

An instant later a much louder sound reverberated

as the heavy blast door clanged to the floor.

"Move out," the strike-team leader said.

Chewbacca charged forward through the smoke as he

pushed into the sealed bay. He heard thin hissing

sounds, like lightning strikes mixed with outraged

bellows of pain. The captive Wookiees were in

such a frenzied state that they had forgotten their own

language.

As the smoke cleared, Chewbacca was

disappointed to find the battle already over--but he was

elated that the Wookiees had finally taken a stand

upon hearing the alarms and sensing that the tide of their

misery had turned.

Nine Wookiees had converged on the Keeper,

who now stood backed against a half-disassembled

Lambda-class Imperial shuttle. The

Keeper was barrel-shaped with oily skin enhanced

by a sheen of terrified sweat. His lips pulled

back in a snarl of defiance, and he kept lashing

out with serpent strikes of his force whip. The

Wookiees growled, trying to come close enough to rip

him apart with their claws.

Chewbacca let out his own roar of challenge.

Some of the Wookiees glanced up at the rescue

force, but other hairy giants were so transfixed

by their chance to get the Keeper that they paid no heed.

"Drop your weapon," the commando-team leader said

to the Keeper. All of the blaster rifles were

directed toward him. It amused Chewbacca

to see the cruel man glance at the New

Republic force with an expression of relief.

The Wookiees continued to snarl. They looked

worse now than they had appeared only months

earlier. No doubt without the protection of

Admiral Daala's fleet, the Keeper had

forced the slaves to work even harder to arrange other

defenses for Maw Installation.

"Drop your weapon, I said!" the strike-team

commander insisted.

The Keeper flicked his force whip once more,

driving the Wookiee mob back. Chewbacca

saw the three largest males in front, their fur

streaked and patchy, burned from lashes of the

whip and shiny with waxlike welts from old scars.

The oldest gray-furred Wookiee, whom

Chewbacca remembered as Nawruun, crouched by the

edge of the shuttle, hiding under the sharp panels of the

ship's upfolded wings. The old Wookiee's

bones seemed twisted and crushed from years of

labor, but the anger in his eyes was brighter than a

star.

The Keeper raised his force whip, stared at the

Wookiees, then at Page's Commandos. The

human team leader fired a warning shot, which

spanged off the chamber walls. The Keeper

raised his other hand in surrender, then let the

handle of his force whip fall to the ground. It

clinked on the smooth deck plates.

"All right, now, back away," the team leader

said.

Chewbacca offered his own words in the Wookiee

language. The astonished prisoners stood

tense for a moment. The Keeper looked ready

to collapse in terror, when suddenly old

Nawruun dived to the floor, lunging with a hairy

paw to snatch the handle of the whip. He fumbled the

activation switches.

The Keeper shrieked and backed against the wall,

looking for someplace to hide. Chewbacca yowled

for the Wookiees to stop, but they didn't hear him

as they all surged forward, claws extended,

ready to shred the Keeper into bloody pieces.

Nawruun sprang upon the man's barrellike

form. Though he was misshapen and old, the hunched

Wookiee gripped the force whip like a club and

tackled the Keeper to the floor. The burly man

screamed and flailed.

The other Wookiees fell upon him.

Nawruun jammed the handle of the force whip into the

Keeper's face and switched on the weapon at

full power.

The lance of lashing energy drilled into the

Keeper's head, skirling fireworks inside his

brainpan. Sparks came out of his eye

sockets, until the Keeper's skull

shattered, showering the hysterical Wookiee

prisoners with gore.

Silence thundered down upon the chamber.

Chewbacca walked carefully forward as the

surviving Wookiees withered. Without any stamina

or fury, they backed away from the corpse of their

tormentor. Old Nawruun stood again and stared

blankly down at the force whip in his

hand. He let it drop.

It struck the floor with a hollow sound, and

Nawruun crumpled beside it. His body shuddered,

and he made hollow sounds as he wept.

Tol Sivron tried to find a comfortable place

to sit back and relax in the pilot compartment of the

Death Star, but the prototype had not been

designed for niceties.

Racks of equipment stood surrounded by bare

wires and clumsy welds. Girders and reinforced

framework blocked his view of most of the

embattled Installation, but he could see that the

Rebel forces had overrun the facility.

At the outer perimeter of the clustered

planetoids, the tangled cooling towers and

radiation vanes of the power reactor suddenly

glowed bright and began to collapse.

Wermyn's gruff voice came over the

radio. "Director Sivron, our

explosives have destroyed the coolant systems.

The power reactor will soon go supercritical.

I don't think the attackers can stop it. Maw

Installation is doomed."

"Very well, Wermyn," Sivron said, dismayed

at the loss of capital equipment--but what could

he do, after all? His Imperial guardians had

deserted him. He and his division leaders had done

quite a creditable job of putting up a fight.

Without any military help they couldn't be

expected to succeed against a well-armed strike

force, could they? Besides, they were following established

procedure. No one could fault them for that.

Sivron looked at the stormtrooper captain

and at the other three division leaders. The rest

of the Maw scientists and stormtrooper contingents

had taken refuge inside the prototype's

supply and control rooms.

"I have not had a chance to read the complete

technical readouts of this battle-station

prototype." Tol Sivron looked around.

"Does anyone know how to fly this vessel?"

Golanda looked at Doxin, who in turn

looked at Yemm.

The stormtrooper captain said, "I have had some

experience flying attack vehicles, sir.

Perhaps I can interpret the controls."

"Good, Captain," Tol Sivron said.

"Ummm ..." He stood up from his command chair.

"Do you need to sit here?"

"No need, sir. I can handle it from the pilot

station." The captain went over to a bolted-together

row of controls.

"They must have detected Wermyn's

explosions," Doxin said, watching the Rebel

attack ships clustered around the reactor

planetoid. Two more shuttles descended as

teams were deployed down to the power station. The combined

Rebel firepower would block all rescue

attempts.

"Now, how are we supposed to get Wermyn?"

Sivron said.

Yemm began to flip through the Emergency

Procedures manual again. "I don't think we

addressed that contingency either."

Tol Sivron's head-tails thrashed in

extreme annoyance. "That's not very good, is it?"

He scowled, trying to figure out how he could

adapt on the spot. Twi'leks were good at

adapting. Sivron had managed to adapt when he

left his home planet of Ryloth; he had

adapted when Moff Tarkin had assigned him as

director of the think tank. Now he would adapt

his plans again to make the best of a situation that was

growing worse by the minute.

"All right, so there's no time to rescue

Wermyn. Change of plans. Our duty is to the

Empire. We must take this Death Star

prototype and make a rapid retreat."

Wermyn himself had seen the Rebel strike

teams coming down to retake the reactor

planetoid, and he contacted Tol Sivron again

with a more frantic tenor in his voice.

"Director, what can I do to assist you? How

are you planning to rescue us?"

Tol Sivron opened the channel and said in his

gravest, most sincere voice, "Wermyn, I just

want you to know how much I admire and respect you

for your years of service. I regret that your

retirement cannot be as long and as happy as I had

hoped it would be. Once again, accept my

appreciation. Thank you."

He signed off, then turned to the stormtrooper

captain. "We need to get out of here now."

When the heaviest fighting began to die away,

Qwi Xux shuttled down to the Installation with

Wedge Antilles. Qwi saw the planetoids

growing larger as they approached. She had spent

most of her life down there, but she

remembered little of it.

Other than the destruction of the first corvette,

the New Republic fleet had suffered minimal

losses. The Maw scientists had put up even

less resistance than Wedge had feared. Qwi

looked forward now to going through her old labs,

eager to find her own files in hopes of answering

some of her questions ... but afraid to learn the

answers.

Wedge reached over to hold her hand. "It'll be

fine. You'll be a great help. Wait and see."

She looked longingly at him with her large

eyes. "I'll do my best." But something caught

her attention, and she pointed quickly. "Look,

Wedge! We've got to stop it."

The Death Star prototype rose away from

Maw Installation under its own power, glistening in the

reflected light of the gas cloud.

"According to my own records, Maw Installation

had a fully functional prototype," Qwi

said. "If they take that Death Star into ationew

Republic space--was

Before she could complete her sentence, the

gigantic sphere of the Death Star shot away

toward the edge of the black hole cluster and

vanished into the masking clouds of superhot gas.

Terpfen stood in the looming shadow of the Great

Temple as Yavin's early daylight increased,

warming the jungles until mists rose in the

air.

Paralyzed with fear in front of the towering,

ancient ziggurat, Terpfen swiveled his

circular eyes to look back to the landing area where

his stolen B-wing fighter rested, humming and

ticking as it cooled among the cropped weeds.

He saw discolored smears on its hull from where

the pursuing X-wing fighters on Coruscant

had scored direct hits.

Looking up, he spotted several of the Jedi

candidates, tiny figures atop the temple.

As the jungle moon orbited around the gas

giant, the configuration of the system set up an

unusual phenomenon that had filled the Rebels

with wonder when they first established the small moon

as a secret base.

Bright sunlight streaming through the upper layers

of the Yavin primary refracted in many

different colors, then struck the moon's

atmosphere, filtered through the rising mists to let

loose a shower of rainbows that lasted only

minutes with each dawn. The Jedi trainees,

gathered to watch the rainbow storm high above, had

seen his ship land. They were coming.

In a slick fighter jumpsuit that bore no

insignia, Terpfen felt his heart pounding, his

mind whirling. Confessing his traitorous acts

frightened him the most--but Terpfen had to face it.

He tried to rehearse his words, but decided that it

would not help. There was no good way to share the

terrible news.

He felt dizzy, ready to faint, and grasped

the cool, moss-covered blocks of the temple with

one flippered hand. He feared that Carida had

somehow found him again, that Furgan was sinking his

clutches into the organic components that had been

substituted for parts of Terpfen's brain.

No! It was .his mind now! He had not felt the

tug from his Imperial controllers for over a day

now. He'd forgotten what it was like to think his own

thoughts, and he had tested the new freedom with

growing wonder. He fantasized about overthrowing the

Empire, about throttling bug-eyed

Ambassador Furgan.

And during these thoughts no shadowy presence

squashed his mind. He felt so ... free!

He realized the faintness was just his numbing fright.

The feeling passed, and Terpfen stood straight

again as he heard footsteps approach.

The first to emerge into the bright daylight was Minister

of State Leia Organa Solo herself. She

must have run to the turbolift, expecting that the

B-wing fighter carried some emergency message

from Coruscant. Her hair looked mussed and

windblown, and shadows haunted her eyes. Her

face wore a concerned frown, as if something else

already troubled her.

Terpfen felt the cold despair increase within

him. She would be even more agonized after he told

her that the Imperials knew the location of her son

Anakin.

Leia stopped and looked gravely at him,

sizing him up. Her brows drew together in thought, and

then she said his name. "I know you. Terpfen, right?

Why have you come here?"

Terpfen knew that his battered bulbous head and the

lumpy mappings of scars made him recognizable

even to humans. Behind Leia came

several Jedi students Terpfen did not

recognize, until he saw Ambassador

Cilghal. The female Calamarian's large

round eyes seemed to bore into his soul.

"Minister Organa Solo ...," Terpfen

said in a quavering voice. Then he collapsed

to his knees, partly in abject misery and partly

because his legs refused to support him any longer.

"Your son Anakin is in grave danger!"

He hung his scarred head. Before she could fire

off laser-sharp questions, Terpfen confessed everything.

Leia stared down at Terpfen's scarred head

and felt as if she were being strangled. Luke and

Ackbar's intricate security and secrecy about

Anoth had been breached! The Empire knew where

to find her baby son.

Leia understood little about the defenses on the

sheltered, hellish world. Now her servant and friend

Winter was the only protection baby Anakin

had.

"Please, Minister Organa Solo--we must

go to Anoth at once," Terpfen said. "We must

send them a message, evacuate your child before an

Imperial strike squad can reach him. While

I was under Furgan's influence, I

transmitted Anoth's coordinates to Carida,

but I did not keep a copy of them. I

destroyed that information. You must take us there yourself.

I will do whatever I can to help, but we must move

quickly."

Leia made ready to leap into action, ready to do

anything necessary to save her son. But a paralyzing

realization brought her up short. "I can't contact

Anoth. Even I don't know where the planet

is!"

Terpfen stared at her, but she couldn't read

expressions on his angular, aquatic face.

She continued. "It was kept secret from me,

too. The only ones who knew were Winter--and

she's on Anoth--and Ackbar, who is now

hiding on Calamari, and Luke, who's in a

coma. I don't know how to get there!"

She steadied herself, trying to recall how

fast-thinking she had been in her younger days. On the

first Death Star she had taken charge during Han

and Luke's ill-planned rescue. She had

known what to do then. She had acted quickly and without

hesitation.

But now she had three children to care for, and

her new priorities seemed to scramble her

single-mindedness. Han had already departed to search for

Kyp Durron and the Sun Crusher. She'd been

left here with the twins, supposedly to keep them

safe. She couldn't just leave now.

Ambassador Cilghal seemed to sense her

thoughts. "You must go, Leia. Go save your son.

Your twin children will be safe here. The Jedi students

will protect them."

As if suddenly freed of something she hadn't

known was binding her, Leia felt plans plunge

into her conscious mind. Relaxing, she became

cool and decisive. "All right, Terpfen,

you're coming with me. We'll go to Calamari as fast

as we can. We'll find Ackbar, and he can take

us to Winter and Anakin." She looked at the

traitor with a complex mixture of anger and

hope, pity and sorrow.

He turned away. "No. What if the

Imperials activate me again? What if I

am forced to commit some new sabotage?"

"I'll keep my eyes peeled," she said in

a hard voice. "But I want you to come see

Ackbar." She thought of the Calamarian

admiral's misery, how he had gone to hide in

the wilderness of his planet so others would not have

to look at his shame. "You're going to explain

to him that he wasn't at fault in the Vortex

crash."

Terpfen worked his way back to his feet. He

wobbled on his feet, but finally stood firm.

"Minister Organa Solo," he said. His

voice sounded as if he had swallowed something

unpleasant. "I--I am sorry."

She shot a look at him, but she felt

adrenaline pumping through her, a need to be on the

move, to do anything possible. Hesitation could mean

the loss of everything.

"Apologize when this is all over," she said.

"Right now I need your help."

The Millennium Falcon emerged from

hyperspace near the coordinates of the destroyed

Caridan star system.

Han Solo polarized the segmented viewport

to look out at the rubble that had recently been a

group of planets and a burning sun; now he saw

only a slash of still-glowing gases, a

sea of radiation from the supernova. The sheer

destruction was on a scale greater even than when

he had emerged from hyperspace to find Alderaan

reduced to broken debris--butack before he had

even met Leia, before he had thrown his lot in

with the Rebellion, and before he had believed in the

Force.

Carida's exploded star had spewed stellar

material in a thick band around the ecliptic,

vast curtains of roiling gases that glowed and

crackled with intense energy across the spectrum.

A shock wave plowed through space, where it would

dissipate over thousands of years.

Under his high-resolution scanners Han

spotted a few twisted cinders, burned-out

lumps of worlds that had been the outer planets in the

system. Now they shone like embers in a dying

fire.

Lando Calrissian sat beside him, his mouth

open in amazement. "Boy, that kid sure knows

how to cause damage."

Han nodded. His throat felt dry and raw.

It felt strange not to have Chewbacca in the

copilot's seat. He hoped his Wookiee friend

was having an easier time on his mission than Han

was.

The Falcon's sensor banks barely coped

with the overloading energies that pulsed through the

wreckage of the Caridan system. X rays and

gamma rays hammered against his shields. But

Han saw no sign of Kyp.

"Han, what do you think you'll find with all this

static? If you're real sharp and real lucky, you

might detect an ion trace from the Sun

Crusher's sublight engines, but in the middle of a

supernova you'll never pick up the track.

Odds are--was

Han cut him off with a raised hand. "Never

quote me the odds. You know better than that."

Lando grinned. "Yeah, I know, I know. So

what are we going to do? What was the point of coming

to this system?"

Han pressed his lips together, searching for an

answer. It had felt right to come to Carida to pick

up Kyp's trail. "I want to see what he

saw," he said, "think like he might have been

thinking. What was going through his mind?"

"You know him better than I do, buddy. If

he ignited the Cauldron Nebula to wipe out

Admiral Daala, and now he blew

up the Imperial military training center, where

would he go next? Think for yourself. What would be your

next target?"

Han stared out at the inferno of what had been

Carida's sun. "If my goal was to strike out

at the Empire, causing as much damage as

possible ... I would head for ..." He turned

sharply and looked at Lando.

Lando's deep-brown eyes flew open.

"That's too dangerous. He wouldn't go there!"

Han said, "I don't think dangerous has

anything to do with it."

"Let me guess. Next, you'll say that

we're going to follow him to the Core Systems."

"You got it, old buddy." Han set the

coordinates in the navicomputer, and he heard

Lando mumble to himself.

"Now I'll never get to Kessel on time."

The glowing gases of Carida's exploded star

funneled around them as space elongated. The

Falcon shot into hyperspace, heading far behind

enemy lines and deep into the heart of the remaining

forces of the Empire.

Near the bright heart of the galaxy, where stars

lay close together in uncharted configurations, the

resurrected Emperor had gathered his defenses

to make a last stand. But since Palpatine's

destruction, the Imperial warlords had fought each

other for control. With no military genius like

Grand Admiral Thrawn to unify the

remnants, the Imperial war machine had

withdrawn into the protected Core Systems. The

warlords had left the victorious New

Republic to lick its wounds while they vied for

supremacy in their own corner of the galaxy.

But when one military leader managed to come out

on top, the forces would strike against the New

Republic. Unless Kyp Durron destroyed

them first.

Han and Lando found an exploded red-dwarf

star on the fringes of the Core. The small, dim

sun had been unremarkable, and according to the

Falcon's planetary atlas, had no

habitable worlds. However, scouts had determined that

the red-dwarf system sheltered a starship-construction

yard, weapons depot, and storage for archives

shielded in thick vaults deep within several

lifeless, rocky planets.

Han looked out the viewport and saw

that the small star had exploded in a

less-spectacular fashion than Carida's

sun, a fizzle without enough mass to generate a

significant chain reaction. But the shock

fronts had still pulverized and incinerated the

closely orbiting planets.

"He's done it again," Han said. "You can't

miss a trail like the one Kyp is leaving."

Lando squinted at the scanners. "I'm

tracking eleven Victory-class Star

Destroyers heading out of the system."

"That's just great," Han said. He had enough

to worry about with Kyp and the Sun Crusher; he

didn't want to tangle with an Imperial

fleet at the same time. "Have they picked us up

yet?"

"Don't think so. There's still a lot of

radiation and interference from that explosion. Looks

to me like they just packed up and ran."

Han felt hope blossom in him. "You think

this happened recently? Kyp just triggered the star

explosion?"

"Could be."

"All right. Then you'd better scan for--was

"Already got him, Han. The Sun Crusher

is sitting high above the ecliptic like he's just

... watching."

"Plot a course," Han said, sitting up

straight. "We're going after him. Full

speed."

He punched the thrusters, and the Falcon's

bank of sublight engines blazed white. The

acceleration shoved Han and Lando back into theirthe

seats as the ship made a graceful loop, heading

above the orbital plane and approaching the blip

on their sensors. As the Falcon closed the

gap, though, the Sun Crusher began to flit

away.

"He's spotted us. After him!" Han said.

"If he jumps to lightspeed, we've lost

him."

The Falcon shot forward. Han sighted on

a bright speck moving across their path against the

starfield.

"Want me to power up the lasers, Han?"

Lando asked. "We're not going to shoot him, are

we? What if he doesn't stop?"

"Wouldn't do any good to shoot him--not with that

quantum armor of his." Han opened a comm

channel. "Kyp, it's me, Han

Solo. Kid, we've got to talk to you."

In answer the Sun Crusher winked as it

changed course and increased speed.

"Punch it," Han said. "Let's go."

"We're already pushing the red lines," Lando

said.

"She'll hold together," Han answered, then

bent to the comm system again. "Hey, Kyp, listen

to me."

The Sun Crusher arced around and began to grow

larger in the viewport.

"Ah ... Han?" Lando said. "He's coming

right at us."

Han felt exhilarated, glad that Kyp was

turning around to talk with them.

"I think he's going to ram us," Lando said.

Han blinked in disbelief. He bent over the

transmitter. "Kyp, don't do this. Kyp!

It's me, Han."

The Sun Crusher hurtled past them, swerving

at the last moment to fire a burst of lasers from the

defensive weapons mounted on its hull. Han

heard the blasts thump against the Falcon, but they

caused no damage.

"Must have been a warning," Lando said.

"Yeah, some warning," Han answered. "Kyp,

why don't--was

The young man's brittle voice finally came

at them. "Han, leave me alone. Go away.

I've got work to do."

"Ummm, Kyp--that's what I'd like to talk with

you about," Han said, suddenly at a loss for

words.

The Sun Crusher hurtled toward them as if for

another strafing run. As the small craft rushed

past, Han worked the controls and yanked out with the

Millennium Falcon's tractor beam,

latching on to the small superweapon. "Hey, I

caught him!" Han said in surprise.

The momentum of the Sun Crusher was enough to jerk the

Falcon around, but the tractor beams held.

Han pumped up the power, increasing his invisible

grip. Finally both ships came to a relative

dead standstill high above the orbital plane of the

exploded red-dwarf star.

"All right, Han," Kyp said. "If this is

the way you want it ... I can't let you stop

me." The comm system fell silent.

"I don't like the sound of that," Lando said.

Kyp's voice returned. "One of

these resonance torpedoes is enough to make a whole

star blow up. I'm sure it'll make short work

of a piece of junk like the Falcon."

Han looked out at the crystalline shape of the

Sun Crusher. The toroidal projector

glowed a crackling blue and green, powering up

to launch one of its projectiles at

point-blank range.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Han

said.

The midmorning light shone through open skylights

into the temple's grand audience chamber. Golden

sunbeams dappled the polished flagstones,

reflecting onto the rough-hewn walls.

From the raised platform behind his motionless body,

the spirit of Luke Skywalker watched as Cilghal

led the young twins on another visit. Cilghal

held the twins' hands, gliding forward with fluid

steps. This morning she wore her bluish

ambassadorial garment instead of her drab Jedi

robe. Behind the Calamarian ambassador came

a guilt-ridden Streen beside muscular and supple

Kirana Ti.

Artoo-Detoo hovered close to Luke's

body, like a sentry rolling back and forth. The

astromech droid had taken it upon himself to guard the

Jedi Master after the devastating storm. Luke

found the little droid's loyalty deeply touching,

though not surprising.

Han and Leia's twin children stared wide-eyed

at Luke, and his spirit watched them back longingly.

Unable to communicate, he felt trapped. What

would Obi-Wan have done in such a situation? He

believed the Force would give him an answer, if

he knew where to look.

"You see, children? Your Uncle Luke is

safe. We rescued him last night. Your mother

helped. We all helped. We're still trying

to find some way to wake him up."

"I am awake!" Luke shouted into the empty

spirit plane. "I've got to find a way

to communicate that to you."

The twins stared at the motionless body. "He

is awake," Jacen said. "He's right there." The

little boy tilted his dark eyes up to gaze

directly at Luke's spirit.

With a jolt Luke stared back at

Jacen. "You can see me, Jacen? Can you understand

me?"

Both Jaina and Jacen nodded their heads.

Cilghal wrapped her hands around their shoulders

and steered them away. "Of course he is, children."

Thrilled and suddenly hopeful, Luke started

to drift after them, but Streen came to the platform and

threw himself to his knees, looking so stricken that

waves of confusion rippled from him like a physical

blow to Luke.

"Master Skywalker, I am deeply

sorry!" Streen said. "I listened to the wrong

voices in my head. The Dark Man tricked

me. He will never do that again." Streen looked up,

his eyes unfocused, flicking from side to side.

He seemed to stare at Luke as well.

"Can you see me too, Streen? Can you hear

me?" Luke thought fast, wondering if his

abilities had changed.

"The Dark Man came to me," Streen said.

"But I sense you're here too, Master

Skywalker. I will never doubt you."

Kirana Ti squeezed Streen's shoulder.

Luke's mind raced. Exar Kun could

communicate with the others, if only in subtle

ways--and now Luke knew that was possible for him

too. He could already speak to the twins. Elation

swept over him.

He began to make plans as the other Jedi

candidates filed out of the echoing room. Now he was

confident he could save himself, perhaps with the help of his

Jedi students, his new generation of Jedi

Knights.

From the stone walls behind him an otherworldly

voice said, "How touching. Your clumsy students

still imagine they can save you--but I know more than they

do. My training wasn't limited by cowardice, as

yours was."

Exar Kun stood black and wavering.

"Gantoris was mine, and he is destroyed.

Kyp Durron remains under my tutelage.

Streen is already mine. The others will also begin

to hear my voice." He raised his spectral

arms. "It is all falling into place.

"I shall resurrect the Brotherhood of the

Sith, and with your Jedi trainees I shall form the

core of an invincible Force-wielding army."

Luke rounded on him, still not knowing how to fight this

intangible enemy. Exar Kun laughed, as if an

idea had just occurred to him. "I came

to you first in a dream disguised as your fallen father,

Skywalker ... perhaps I should appear to them in your

own form. They will certainly follow the teachings of the

Sith if the words come from your mouth."

"No!" Luke said. With his astral body he

leaped to tackle the shimmering silhouette of the

Sith lord. But though his sparkling body passed

smoothly through the shadow, Exar Kun did seem

to discorporate momentarily.

Luke felt a spear of ice plunge through his

core as he touched Kun, but he stood firm

while the Dark Lord reeled against the stone wall,

seeping back into the cracks to escape.

"I've already been tempered by the dark side,"

Luke said. "I came out stronger. You are weak

because you know only the evil teachings. Your understanding

is no greater than that of my apprentices."

Before he vanished, Exar Kun called back,

"We shall see who is stronger."

* * *

The sun had set behind the giant ball of

Yavin. With the onset of the moon's half night,

the sky was lit only by an orangish glow

reflected from the gas giant, giving the jungle

a ruddy appearance.

Colonies of jabbering woolamanders settled

down in the high branches for the night. In the

underbrush, predators and prey moved through dances of

survival. Sapphire-blue piranha

beetles buzzed low over the sluggish rivers in

search of victims. Other insects hummed their

mating songs.

Far deeper in the jungle, though, night

creatures rose out of shadowy caves and flapped

their jagged wings. Hissing and mindless, they followed

a burning compulsion that drove them toward the Great

Temple. ...

The creatures' wings made sounds like wet

cloth striking stone as they flapped against

downdrafts in the rapidly cooling air.

Purplish veins pulsed as their black hearts

beat swiftly, giving them energy for the long

flight.

Two heads spread out on long, sinuous

necks from each muscular torso. A wicked

tail dangled behind each creature, ending in a

hooked stinger that glistened with crystals of poison.

Iridescent scales glittered in the coppery

dusk light, as if illuminated by stoked embers.

Yellow reptilian eyes widened their

pupil slits, seeking their target.

Alchemical monsters created long ago during

the dominion of Exar Kun on Yavin 4, these

creatures had lived for generations in the black and

dripping grottoes of distant mountains. Now

three of them had awakened, called to destroy the

body of Luke Skywalker.

The flying creatures struck the open

skylights at the apex of the ziggurat. With

metallic claws they scrabbled on the weathered

stones that framed narrow windows. Each

creature's double heads bobbed up and down,

hissing and snapping in anticipation.

Folding their batlike wings against them, they

squirmed through the skylights into the open chamber.

Moving together, the creatures descended toward

Luke's helpless body, long talons

extended. ...

Luke's image shimmered but cast no light in

the dim chambers where the twins lay sleeping. The

door was open. Cilghal sat up studying in her

own room across the corridor, but she could not yet

hear Luke's voice. The boy Jacen could--and

Luke had no time.

"Jacen," he said with his muffled inside-the-head

voice. The boy stirred. Beside him Jaina sighed

and rolled over in her sleep. "Jacen!" Luke

said again. "Jaina, I need your help. Only you

can help me."

The boy woke up, blinking his dark eyes.

He scanned the room, yawned, then fixed his

eyes upon Luke's image. "Uncle Luke?"

he said. "Help? Okay."

"Wake your sister and follow me. Tell her

to raise the alarm and bring all the other Jedi. But

you have to help me now! Maybe you can hold them off

long enough."

Jacen didn't ask questions. By the time he shook

his sister, she had already started to awaken. She too

saw Luke, and the boy needed only a few words

to explain the situation.

Jacen trotted down the hall on his little

legs. Luke drifted in front of him, urging

Jacen faster, faster, toward the turbolift.

Jaina ran into Cilghal's quarters and

screamed, "Help, help!" at the top of her

lungs. "Uncle Luke needs help." The

Jedi trainees surged out of their quarters.

Suddenly alarms rang out. Luke

realized that Artoo, still standing sentry duty in the

grand audience chamber, must have triggered them. He

didn't know, though, what the astromech droid could

do against the monstrous winged creatures summoned

by Exar Kun.

Jacen hesitated inside the turbolift

while Luke showed which button to push. "Hurry,

Jacen!" Luke said. The turbolift shot

upward and spilled them into the vast, dim chamber.

Down at the end of the promenade, Artoo

hummed back and forth, whistling and warbling shrilly.

His arc-welding arm extended, flashing blue

sparks, but the reptilian creatures flapped

into the air, circling around the sluggish droid as

if they considered Artoo to be no threat.

Two of the creatures flapped up from the raised

platform upon hearing the turbolift doors open.

They honked and hissed, spitting at the very small

boy who emerged alone to challenge them.

Artoo squealed, as if thankful for any sort

of help. The alarms continued to hammer through the

temple.

The third creature perched at the edge of the long

stone table on which Luke's body lay. Its two

heads bobbed forward to let out a dual squeal of

annoyance. One of the heads snapped down to tear a

mouthful of cloth from Luke's robe. The other

head curled back scaled lips and flashed a

jagged row of fangs.

"They're angry," Jacen said as if he had

some kind of empathy with the creatures. "They're

... wrong."

"Chase them away from my body, Jacen,"

Luke said, eyeing the poisonous stingers on their

tails, the vicious teeth, the sharp claws. ...

"Go help Artoo. The others will be here in just a

few seconds."

Without fear Jacen shrieked like a wild

warrior as he ran toward the monsters on his

stubby legs. He flailed his arms, yelling.

Two of the creatures squawked and swooped

into the air, then flapped their leathery wings to dive

at him. Artoo whistled a warning.

Jacen ducked at the last moment. The

creatures dragged their hooked metallic claws

on the flagstone floor, sending up showers of

sparks. The boy didn't slow. He ran toward

the last of the reptilian creatures, who stared

hungrily down at Luke's soft, closed

eyelids.

Jacen reached the raised platform. The third

creature rose into the air, thrashing with its

scorpion tail and snapping with both heads full

of clacking fangs.

Unable to fight for himself, Luke paralleled the

boy as Jacen struggled up onto the raised

platform. Grim and determined, the boy stood

guard by his uncle's motionless form. Artoo

came up beside Jacen, his welding arm still

crackling.

Then Luke saw what to do--if it was possible,

if he could manage to use his skills in such a

way. Next to his robed body lay a black

cylinder studded with power buttons.

"Jacen," Luke said, "take my

lightsaber."

The three flying creatures circled the

chamber, croaking at each other as if receiving

instructions from the Exar Kun.

Without hesitation the boy picked up the

lightsaber handle. It was as long as his small

forearm.

"Don't know how," Jacen said to Luke.

"I'll show you," Luke said. "Let me

guide you ... let me fight with you."

Talons extended, the three flying creatures

plunged toward the boy, squealing with bloodlust in

their eyes.

Jacen held the smooth handle in front of him

and pushed the activation button. With a loud

snap-hiss the lightsaber's deadly shaft

blazed in the dimness. The little boy planted his

feet apart, raised the glowing blade, and prepared

to defend the Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker.

Cilghal scooped Jaina up in her arms and

ran down the halls as Dorsk 81 and Tionne

joined her at the turbolift. They rose to the

highest level, ready to battle for their Master,

as they had done against the unleashed storm. But even

Cilghal's greatest fears did not prepare her

for the astonishing sight that greeted her as she entered

the grand audience chamber.

Little Jacen held a lightsaber in his hand with

all the grace and confidence of a master

swordsman. The trio of flying creatures

came at him, jabbing with their dripping stingers,

snapping with long teeth, reaching with hooked claws.

But Jacen pirouetted with the energy blade,

wielding the lightsaber as if it were an

extension of his arm. The blade crackled and

hummed through the air.

Artoo-Detoo, agitated, buzzed back and

forth, doing his best to keep the creatures from coming

too close to Master Skywalker's body.

Jacen continued to fight.

One of the lizard creatures darted in with gnashing

fangs, but Jacen deftly cleaved off a head with

one smooth stroke. He left only a smoking

neck stump as the other head of the two-headed

monster writhed and flailed and spat. The

creature crashed to the floor and flopped its

leathery wings against the flagstones.

The remaining two monsters struck with their

scorpion stingers. The little boy swung the

lightsaber, neatly slicing off one pointed stinger,

then rolled out of the way as gouts of black

poison spurted from the amputated end. The evil

liquid burned on the ancient Massassi

stones like acid, boiling with greasy

gray-and-purple smoke.

Maddened with pain, the injured thing flapped in the

air until it grappled against its companion,

rending with claws and snapping with two heads full

of tearing teeth. It struck with the useless stump of

its stinger, but the stronger creature stabbed with its own

stinger--leaving a burning hole in the torso of its

attacker, a hole that continued to burn and sizzle

as the poison ate deeper and deeper.

The stronger flying lizard latched its jaws on

to the scaly throat of the other. When its victim

had ceased its struggles, the survivor released

its claws, flapping higher as the dead carcass

fell with a thud onto the floor. Artoo came

forward to zap the limp creature, making certain it

was dead.

Cilghal, Tionne, and Dorsk 81 froze

on the threshold of the turbolift, watching the

impossible tableau. "We've got to help

him!" Dorsk 81 said.

"How?" Tionne asked. "We have no

weapons."

Cilghal assessed the furious battle.

"Perhaps Jacen doesn't need our help."

Jaina snatched her hand free from Cilghal's

grip and scrambled down the promenade even as the

others hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Cilghal ran after her.

The last of the reptiles shrieked through double

throats, infuriated by the attack of its

companion. It dived down in an unstoppable

plunge. Jacen stepped back to meet it,

holding the lightsaber poised at his shoulder,

waiting for the right moment.

Coolly, as the creature came in with dripping

fangs and outstretched claws, Jacen swung in

a clean arc with grace and skill, perfectly in

command of his reflexes. The glowing blade struck

and severed both throats in one sizzling flash. The

carcass of the creature, reflexively convulsing

its wings, crashed into Jacen and drove him to the

floor.

Artoo rolled forward to help, bleeping.

"He is all right," Jaina called, finally

reaching the raised platform. "Jacen!"

"Jaina!" Cilghal shouted, catching up with

her.

The tip of the lightsaber appeared, smoking and

blazing through the carcass as Jacen cut his way

free of the stiff wings. Cilghal assisted him.

In surprise Jaina looked up to see the first

fallen creature lurch back up, clinging to life

with its remaining head, still desperate to kill

Luke. With one stump of its severed neck still

oozing dark blood, it clutched the edge of the stone

table and hauled itself up, snapping its scorpion

tail in convulsive twitches and preparing to sting.

Its wings flapped, helping it balance on the table

where it could rip apart Luke's body.

In one last moment of defiance, pushed on by the

evil spirit controlling it, the wounded creature

struck toward Luke's unprotected throat.

But Jaina arrived first. The little girl jumped

up and grabbed its wings, yanking backward with all

her weight. Writhing and snapping, the creature

tried to bite down on the hands holding its leathery

wings.

A mere second behind Jaina, Cilghal

wrapped her powerful Calamarian hands around the

creature's long serpentine throat even as

Jaina continued to yank backward at its wings.

Cilghal let out a high grunt as she wrung

its neck, crushing a succession of vertebrae as

if they were dry twigs.

The thing slumped down across the table, finally

dead.

Jaina panted and slid into a squat. Jacen

climbed to his feet and looked around as if

confused. He blinked his eyes sleepily, then,

with a deft movement of one small finger,

deactivated the lightsaber. The humming sound of the

blade vanished into the sudden silence of the chamber.

The turbolift opened, and the remaining Jedi

trainees rushed out, drawing up short as they saw

the carnage.

Tionne reached the raised platform. Her

silvery hair flowed behind her like a comet's tail.

She bent over Luke's body and, with an

expression of disgust, gripped the still-oozing

reptilian carcass of the last slain creature and

flung it away from the Jedi Master.

Cilghal rushed to Jacen just as he calmly

replaced the lightsaber beside Luke's motionless

form. She grabbed him, hugged him, and then stared in

awe at the little boy. Only moments ago this

not-quite-three-year-old child had fought like a legendary

lightsaber duelist.

Dorsk 81 and the other Jedi trainees came

forward. "He fought as well as a Master!"

Dorsk 81 said. "It reminded me of the duel

between Gantoris and Master Skywalker."

"Uncle Luke was with me," Jacen said.

"He showed me. He's here."

Cilghal blinked her large round eyes.

"What do you mean?" Tionne asked.

"Can you see him now?" Dorsk 81 said.

"Yes, he's right there," Jaina pointed to thin

air. "He says he's proud of us." She

giggled. Jacen giggled too, but he looked

exhausted, covered with dark ichor. He slumped

down on Cilghal's lap.

The Jedi trainees looked at each other, then

gazed at the open air above Luke's prone

body. Artoo whistled in confusion.

"What else does he say?" Cilghal said.

Jacen and Jaina both sat still for a moment, as

if listening. "Exar Kun. He's making the

trouble," Jacen said.

Jaina finished, "Stop Exar Kun. Then

Uncle Luke can come back."

Leia sat next to Terpfen in uneasy

silence during the entire journey from Yavin 4

to the ocean world of Calamari. Terpfen said

virtually nothing, crouched over the controls as if

unable to bear the weight on his shoulders.

The small ship descended through the

cloud-swirled atmosphere of the

sapphire world toward one of the wrecked floating

cities where Ackbar had been overseeing heroic

salvage operations. As the ship streaked toward the

sunlit water, Leia saw golden trails

reflected off the choppy waves.

She felt an eerie sense of d@ej@a vu,

thinking of when she and Cilghal had come to this planet

in search of Ackbar in his exile. She felt this

time she was coming full circle, riding with the

unwilling Calamarian traitor to redeem

Ackbar ... but more important, to enlist the

admiral's assistance in a rescue operation

to save her son.

"Reef Home salvage team, this is--was

Terpfen hesitated. "This is Minister of State

Leia Organa Solo's ship. We must speak

with Ackbar. Do you have a place for us to land?"

After only a moment Ackbar's own voice

responded. "Leia coming to see me? She's

certainly welcome here." Then Ackbar added,

"Terpfen, is that you?"

"Yes, Admiral."

"I thought I recognized your voice. I would

delight in seeing both of you."

"I'm not so sure, sir," Terpfen said.

"What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

Ackbar replied.

The Calamarian hung his scarred head,

wrestling with his answer. Leia leaned over to the

microphone. "It's best if we explain

face-to-face, Ackbar," she said in a soft but

firm voice. It still felt awkward not to address

him by his rank.

Terpfen nodded a painful thanks to Leia.

He brought the ship down in a steep dive toward

the ocean surface, then pulled up with room

to spare and cruised over the wavetops until they

approached a cluster of floating vessels and a

turmoil in the slate-gray water.

Organic-looking barges with articulated

crane apparatus extended down into the water.

Bloated, inflated ships like enormous bellows

blazed exhaust fire as their engines drove

fans to pump air into the submerged hulk of

Reef Home, one of the majestic Calamarian

floating cities that had been sunk in Admiral

Daala's recent attack.

Leia had been on Calamari trying to convince

Ackbar to reclaim his rank when Daala's Star

Destroyers had struck. Squads of

TIE bombers had managed to sink Reef

Home and damage several other cities. But

Ackbar had come out of his seclusion and rallied the

Calamarian forces to victory.

Now Leia watched the white froth as the hulk

of the city heaved itself to the surface. Bubbles

simmered around the lumpy dome of Reef Home.

Figures clambered over the exposed metal,

attaching grappler cables from the towering cranes on

the surrounding barge ships. The bellows pumps

continued to gush air into Reef Home's sealed

compartments, forcing out the water that had flooded deck

after deck.

In the water, groups of dark figures--

tentacle-faced Quarren--worked at the edge of the

derelict city, prying open wave doors,

patching breaches in the hull, and scavenging the

ocean floor to find lost possessions.

As Terpfen brought the ship to land on the wet

expanse of the main crane barge, the domed city

shouldered its way higher above the choppy ocean.

Leia emerged from the small ship and stopped

to catch her balance on the gently swaying deck.

Cool salt spray struck her, making her

gasp at the cutting wind and the iodine tang of

drifting seaweed. One of the figures in the water

used a jetpack to scoot away from the salvaged

city, climbing a long ladder up the side of the

crane barge.

Leia recognized Ackbar as he scrambled

with enthusiasm onto the barge deck and stood

dripping before them. He peeled off a thin

translucent membrane from his face and took a

deep breath of fresh air.

"Leia, I greet you," he said, raising a

flipper hand. "We're making great progress in

resurrecting Reef Home City. Our crews

should have it refitted and ready for habitation within a

few months.

"And Terpfen!" he said with heartbreaking joy as

he strode to embrace his former chief starship

mechanic. Terpfen stood stiffly, unable to speak

a word.

Leia's immediate need was too great for

pleasantries. "Ackbar," she said, "the

Imperials have learned the location of Anoth.

Winter and baby Anakin are in grave danger

at this very moment. You must take us to them right away.

You're the only one who knows the location."

Ackbar stood in shock, and Terpfen

broke away from his embrace. "I have betrayed

us, Admiral," he said. "I have betrayed us

all."

Working hard to appear useful and important,

Ambassador Furgan stood on the control

deck of the Dreadnaught Vendetta. As they

came out of hyperspace and approached the planet

Anoth, he stepped forward. "Shields up," he

said.

"Already done, sir," Colonel Ardax

answered from the command station. Ardax wore a crisp

olive-gray Imperial-navy uniform with his cap

firmly planted on his short-trimmed hair.

He drew in a deep breath to broaden his

shoulders.

Throughout the journey to Anoth the colonel had

annoyed Furgan by making decisions for himself without

asking for input. Ardax was alt too independent

for Furgan's tastes. True, Furgan was

merely the administrative head of the Caridan

military academy--former military academy,

now that the Rebel terrorist Kyp Durron had

destroyed it--but he was still the most important

person on this entire ship; his opinion should be

valued.

He still thought of the roaring explosion of Carida's

star, the echoed screams of those low-ranking

individuals and all the valuable equipment he

had left behind. Furgan's glorious dreams of

resurrecting the Empire had dwindled to a point

-comb it was a laser-bright point. If he could just

get his hands on the Jedi baby, there would be hope

for the galaxy once more.

The Vendetta passed through a broken belt of

asteroids scattered along Anoth's orbit. The

planet itself had shattered into three components:

two large chunks in contact, scraping and creating

static discharges so that titanic lightning bolts

blasted between them; farther out circled a smaller,

misshapen rock that held a breathable atmosphere

in its lowlands. In a century or two the three

chunks would pulverize each other to space dust,

but at the moment Anoth was a hidden and protected

haven.

Until now.

"Looks like a rather ... rugged place to raise

an infant," Colonel Ardax said.

"It'll toughen him up," Furgan said, "an

appropriate beginning to the rigorous

training he will undergo if he is to be our new

Emperor."

"Ambassador Furgan," Ardax asked,

raising his eyebrows, "do you have any indication of

exactly where we should look for this alleged

stronghold?"

Furgan thrust out his purplish lower lip. The

spy Terpfen had provided the planet's

coordinates, nothing more. "You can't expect me

to do your entire job for you, Colonel," he

snapped. "Use the Dreadnaught's scanners."

"Yes, sir." The colonel gestured toward

the technicians at the analysis and sensor

panels.

"We'll find it, sir," a wide-eyed

corporal said, staring at a screen that showed a

simplified computer diagram of the Anoth

system's three components. "There's not much down

there, so it shouldn't be hard to pick them out."

Furgan stumped to the turbolift at the rear

of the control deck. "Colonel, I'm going down

to inspect the MT-AT vehicles. I trust you

can handle everything here without me?"

"Yes, sir," Ardax said, a bit too

emphatically.

As the turbolift swallowed him, Furgan

thought he heard a muttered comment from the

Dreadnaught captain, but the words were cut off by the

closing metal doors. ...

Down in the Vendetta's hangar bay and

staging area Furgan stepped into a flurry of

stormtrooper activity. White-armored

troopers jogged in tight formation across the

metal-plated floor, carrying weapons, stashing

siege gear and power packs inside the cargo

holds of the MT-AT'S.

On Carida, Furgan had followed the

design and development of the new Mountain

Terrain Assault Transports, and he

relished the opportunity to see them used in

actual combat. He would follow in the rear of the

assault, letting fully trained troopers

face the initial hazards, though there was little

to worry about--a woman and a child hiding on a

rock? How much resistance could they offer?

Furgan ran his stubby fingers across the polished

knee joint of one of the MT-AT walkers.

Designed for ground assaults on remote

mountain citadels, the MT-AT'S' articulated

joints and sophisticated claw

footpads could scale even vertical surfaces

of rock. On each joint were mounted supercharged

lasers that could penetrate a half-meter-thick

blast door. Two small blaster cannons

hung on either side of the low-slung pilot's

compartment to shoot down harrying fighter ships out of the

sky.

Furgan stared at the beautiful construction,

smooth lines, and glossy armor, marveling at the

MT-AT'S incredible capabilities.

"Splendid machine," he said.

The stormtroopers paid no attention to him as they

finished their preparations.

Colonel Ardax's voice came over the

intercom. "Your attention, please! After some

difficulty with electrical discharges and

ionization interference in this system, we have

pinpointed the secret base. Prepare to deploy

the strike force immediately. Let's make this a

clean and quick kill. That is all." Ardax

signed off.

"You heard the colonel," Furgan said as the

stormtrooper teams began to clamber aboard their

MT-AT vehicles. They would be dropped from

orbit on a thunderous plunge through the

atmosphere, encased in a thermal-resistant

cocoon that would detach upon striking the surface.

One trooper scrambled alone into his

cockpit, hauling extra weapons, interrogation

devices, and intelligence-gathering equipment.

"You!" Furgan said. "Stow all that in the

cargo compartment. I am riding with you."

The stormtrooper looked at him in silence for a

moment, his polished eye visor staring blankly.

"Do you have a problem with that order, sergeant?"

Furgan asked.

"No, sir," the voice crackled through the

helmet speaker. The stormtrooper methodically

removed the equipment and stowed it in the

undercompartment.

Furgan heaved himself into the second seat and

strapped in. He pulled two sets of the crash

webbing around his body to make sure he landed without

injury. He didn't want to limp in triumph

into the defeated Rebel stronghold. He waited

impatiently as the rest of the stormtroopers

completed preparations, slipped aboard their

assault transports, and locked themselves down.

When the launching bay dropped out from beneath his

feet like a trapdoor, Furgan

grabbed the arms of his chair and cried out. The

transports plunged like heavy projectiles

into the waiting atmosphere. Even in its thick

cocoon the MT-AT jounced and rocked as if it

were being struck by cannon blasts. He tried

unsuccessfully to stop his yell of panic.

Beside him the stormtrooper pilot said nothing.

Inside the stronghold on Anoth, Leia's

personal servant Winter glanced at the

chronometer and at the giggling dark-haired baby.

It was time to put young Anakin to bed.

Though the triple planet Anoth had its own

unusual cycle of days, nights, and

twilights, Winter insisted on keeping their

chronometers set to Coruscant standard time.

Outside, the thin skies rarely brightened to more than

a dark purple with flashes of searing yellow as

electrical discharges blasted across space.

The planetoid was a stormy world, its

surface covered with stone pinnacles like mammoth

cathedrals reaching up to the limits of Anoth's

low gravity. Riddled with caves from thousands of

geological inclusions that had weathered and

volatilized away during centuries of

planetary stresses, the rock spires

provided a sheltered hiding place.

Winter picked up the baby in her arms and

bounced him against her hip as she went deeper into the

facility. Anakin's shielded bedroom was

brightly lit and decorated with soothing pastel

colors. Tinkling music filled the air, a

cheerful melody mixed with quiet wind and rushing

water.

A boxy rectangular GNK power droid

waddled from station to station in the room, charging the

batteries of Anakin's self-aware toys.

"Thank you," Winter said out of habit, though the

droid had only minimal interactive

programming. The power droid burbled a

response and shuffled out in a slow walk on

accordioned legs.

"Good evening, Master Anakin," said the

caregiver droid in Anakin's chambers. An

enhanced protocol model, the TDL droid was

programmed to perform a majority of the functions

required to care for a young child. TDL models had

been marketed across the galaxy as nanny droids

for busy politicians, space military

personnel, and even smugglers who had

children but too little time to spend with them.

The TDL droid had a silvery surface with

all corners and sharp edges smoothed for comfort.

Because nannies and mothers were expected to need more than

the usual set of hands, TDL nanny droids

had four fully functional arms, all of which were

covered with warm synthetic flesh--as was the torso

-comffprovide a more nurturing experience for a baby

held in robot arms.

Anakin cooed with pleasure to see the droid,

said a word resembling its name. Winter patted the

baby on the back, saying good night.

"Do you have a preference from the large selection of

lullabies and bedtime music I have available,

Mistress Winter?" the droid said.

"Make a random selection," Winter

answered. "I want to get back to the operations

room. Something ... doesn't feel right tonight."

"Very well, Mistress Winter," the nanny

droid said, cradling Anakin in her arms.

"Wave good night." She plucked up

Anakin's pudgy hand and puppeted a wave.

Winter made it to the door of the operations room

just before the intruder alarms went off. She rushed

into the control center, scanning the big screens that

showed outside images of the stark landscape.

Sonic booms thundered through the thin air, as

large objects streamed down in a tight cluster.

Winter saw the last of a group of projectiles

impact at the base of the nearest spire of

rock.

Winter activated the automated defense

systems. She closed the massive shield

doors that covered the entrance to the hangar grotto.

Through the rock she could feel the heavy vibration as

the metal doors slammed together.

She saw movement below, just out of range of the

cameras. Then a long metal leg bent up on

a huge articulated joint; a foot spiked with

claws smashed into the rockface, creating traction

with explosive bolts. Then the huge machine

levered itself out of view around an outcropping.

Winter enhanced the audio pickup, listening to the

groaning sounds of straining machinery, pulleys and

grinding engines, the clank of treads.

Working rapidly, she switched to another set of

image enhancers mounted on a distant pinnacle.

The picture that appeared made her gasp in

amazement and fear--an extreme reaction,

considering her usual unemotional and

inflectionless manner.

The smoldering hulks of protective reentry

pods lay strewn about the landscape. The metal

shells had cracked open like black vermin eggs and

unleashed mechanical monstrosities--

eight-legged, arachnidlike machines.

Each of the heavily jointed legs moved along

different axes as the clawed feet helped the

ellipsoid body scuttle over rugged terrain,

finding footholds in the rock and scaling the sheer

peak in which Winter and Anakin hid.

Eight Imperial Spider Walkers swarmed

up the stone pinnacle, firing bright-green blasts

against the thick walls of the stronghold, searching for a

way in.

The Jedi trainees gathered in the dusty,

abandoned war room of the Great Temple. They had

chosen it as the most fitting place to plan their

battle against Exar Kun.

On the third level of the ancient ziggurat the

war room had once been used by the Rebel

Alliance as a control center for their secret

base. Here the tactical genius General Jan

Dodonna had planned the strike against the first

Death Star.

Cilghal and the others had cleared away much of the

debris that had collected in the decade since the

Rebels had left the base behind.

Multicolored lights flickered on the control

panels of the few functional sensor networks;

grime-caked viewing plates and cracked

transparisteel screens made the signals

refract and glitter. Atop a tactical map

the tiny hash-mark footprints of a skittering

reptile were overlaid with the larger clawed prints

of some predator that had chased after it.

Sealed behind the protection of thick stone

walls, the war room allowed no outside

illumination. Newly restored glowpanels in the

corners made the place shine brightly, but also

enhanced the shadows.

Cilghal looked at the group of Jedi

trainees. A dozen of the best ... but now they were

gripped with fear and indecision, unprepared for the

trial forced upon them.

Some--such as Kirana Ti, Kam Solusar,

and, surprisingly, Streen--reacted with

outrage to the long-dead Lord of the Sith. Others,

particularly Dorsk 81, were filled with an

unreasoning fear, afraid to challenge the dark

power that had been sufficient to warp other students

and defeat Master Skywalker. Cilghal herself

did not look forward to the fight, but she vowed to do

everything she could against their unwanted enemy.

"What if Exar Kun can hear our plans?"

Dorsk 81 said, his large eyes shining in the harsh

lights. "Even here he might be spying on us!"

His voice rose, and his yellow-olive skin

mottled with panic.

"The Dark Man can be everywhere," Streen said,

leaning across the cluttered table. His frizzy gray

hair still looked windblown. He fidgeted as he

glanced around the room, as if afraid someone were

watching.

"There's no other place we can go," Cilghal

said. "If Exar Kun can find us here, he can

find us wherever we go. We must operate on the

assumption that we can still fight him." She gazed

at the candidates. She had taken great pains

to develop her oratory skills as

ambassador for Calamari. She had used her

voice and her wits to great success in the past, and

now she took advantage of her gift. "We have

enough real problems to confront--there's no need

to manufacture worse ones from our imagination."

The others murmured in agreement.

"Tionne," Cilghal said, "much of our plan

depends on your knowledge of ancient Jedi lore.

Tell us what you know about Exar Kun."

Tionne sat up in a battered and

uncomfortable chair beside one of the dilapidated

tactical stations. Across her lap lay the

double-boxed musical instrument on which she played

old ballads to anyone who would listen.

Tionne had only a small amount of Jedi

potential. Master Skywalker had made that

clear to her, but she would not be swayed from her

resolve to become one of the new Jedi Knights.

She had become enamored of Jedi legends,

traveling from system to system, digging through ancient

writings and folktales, compiling tales of the

Jedi from thousands of years before the Dark Times.

The Jedi Holocron had been a treasure

trove, and Tionne had spent much of her time

studying it, replaying forgotten legends,

clarifying details. But the Holocron was

destroyed when Master Skywalker had

asked the simulated gatekeeper, the ancient

Jedi Master Vodo-Siosk Baas, to tell of

his student Exar Kun, who had rebuilt the

Brotherhood of the Sith. ...

Tionne flicked molten-silver hair over

her shoulders and looked at the other trainees with

her eerie mother-of-pearl eyes. Her lips were thin

and pale, bloodless with tension.

"It's very difficult to find verifiable legends

from the Great Sith War. That was four thousand years

ago, and it was incredibly devastating--but

apparently the old Jedi Knights were ashamed of

how they had failed to protect the galaxy. Many

of the records were distorted or destroyed, but I

think I've pieced together enough." She swallowed,

then continued.

"Kun seems to have built his primary

stronghold on this jungle moon. He enslaved

the Massassi race to build all these temples

as focal points for his power."

She looked around, sizing up the Jedi

trainees. "In fact, this gathering reminds me

of the Great Council on the planet Deneba, when

most of the old Jedi Knights met to discuss the

dark tide rising through the galaxy. Master

Vodo-Siosk Baas--whicho had trained Exar

Kun--became a martyour when he tried to turn his

student back to the light side. When Master

Vodo did not succeed, the other Jedi banded together

in a massive strike force such as had never before

been gathered.

"Though Kun had enormous power, it seems that

the key"--Tionne tapped the side of her

instrument with a glistening fingernail--"the =ey was that

the other Jedi combined their might. They fought together as

a unit where all the pieces fit together, as

components in a much larger machine powered by the

Force.

"I've found only sketchy information, but it

seems that in the final battle the unified Jedi

wiped out most of the jungles on Yavin 4,

laying waste to everything in their efforts to destroy

Exar Kun. Kun drained dry the life force of

all his Massassi slaves in one last

gambit. The ancient Jedi succeeded in

destroying much of what he had built and

obliterated Kun's body, but he somehow

managed to preserve his spirit within the temples. For

all these years."

"Then we must finish the job,"

Kirana Ti said, standing up. She wore her

reptilian body armor all the time now,

unencumbered by a Jedi robe because she did not know

when she might need to fight at a moment's

notice.

"I agree," Kam Solusar said. His

gaunt face held the expression of a man who

had long ago forgotten how to smile.

"But how?" Streen said. "Thousands of Jedi could

not obliterate the Dark Man. We are only

twelve."

"Yes," Kirana Ti said, "but this time Exar

Kun doesn't have a race of enslaved people to draw

upon. He has no resources but himself. Besides,

Kun has already been defeated once--and he knows

it."

"And," Cilghal interjected, gesturing around the

table, "all of us have trained together from the beginning.

Master Skywalker made us to be a team.

Leia called us champions of the Force--and that is

what we must be."

* * *

Standing at the pinnacle of the Great Temple,

Luke Skywalker's shimmering form could not feel

the cool twilight breeze as the lumbering

orange hulk of the gas giant cast fading light

across the jungles. Luke watched a flock of

batlike creatures take to the air and swarm

across the treetops in search of night insects.

He remembered his nightmare when Exar Kun,

disguised as Anakin Skywalker, had urged

Luke to dabble in the dark side. Against the

backdrop of history Luke had seen the

labors of the broken Massassi erecting

mammoth temples, working until crushed by sheer

labor. Luke had cast off that nightmare, but he

had not interpreted its warning soon enough.

Now he turned to see the hooded form of Kun

standing black against the jungle landscape, but the

sight no longer had the power to make him afraid.

"You're growing bolder, Exar Kun, to keep

showing yourself to me--especially when your attempts

to destroy my body continue to fail."

In the aftermath of the reptilian creatures'

attack, Luke had watched Cilghal tend his

body's minor wounds, cleaning them and binding them

with the meticulous care and empathy he had sensed from

her first days at the Jedi academy. Cilghal was

a born Jedi healer.

She had spoken aloud to Luke's

spirit, though she couldn't see him. "We will do

whatever we can, Master Skywalker. Please

keep faith in us."

Luke had indeed maintained his faith. He

felt it throbbing within him as he confronted Exar

Kun atop the temple, where the Sith Lord and

Kyp Durron had defeated Luke once before.

"I have been toying with you." Kun waved his

silhouette hand. "Nothing will affect my plans.

Some of your students are already mine. The others will

soon follow."

"I don't think so," Luke said with fresh

certainty. "I have instructed them well. You

might show them easy ways to glory, but your

tricks carry a high price. I have taught them

diligence, confidence in their own worth and

abilities. What you offer, Exar Kun, is

mere parlor magic. I have given them the true

strength and meaning of the Force."

"Do you think I don't know of the laughable

plans they make against me?" Kun said. The spirit

of the Dark Lord seemed to be growing more full of

bluster and threats. Perhaps his confidence was shaken.

"It doesn't matter," Luke answered.

"They will defeat you anyway. Your imagined power

is your weakness, Exar Kun."

"And your faith in your friends is yours!" Kun

snapped back.

Luke laughed, feeling his strength and

determination increase. "I've heard talk like that

before. It was proved wrong then, and it will be proved

wrong now."

The black outline of Exar Kun rippled in

an unseen breeze. As the shadow vanished,

Kun's last words were, "We shall see!"

Standoff.

Han Solo felt cold sweat spring from his

forehead as he looked out from the cockpit of the

Millennium Falcon. In front of him the

Sun Crusher powered up its supernova torpedo

launcher.

Han pounded his fist on the console. "Hold

it, kid!" he shouted. "Just hold it. I thought you

were my friend."

"If you were my friend," Kyp's voice croaked

through the speaker, "you wouldn't try to stop me. You

know what the Empire did to my life,

to my family. The Empire lied to me one last

time--and now even my brother is dead."

At the copilot's station Lando scrambled at

the controls. His big eyes flicked back and

forth, and he turned to Han, waving frantically for

him to shut off the voice pickup.

"Han," he whispered, "remember when you and

Kyp took the Sun Crusher away from Maw

Installation? And Luke and I were there waiting

to intercept you?"

Han nodded, not sure what Lando was getting

at. "Sure."

"Back then we linked the ships together because the

Falcon's navicomputer wouldn't work." He

raised his eyebrows and spoke very slowly.

"Listen ... we've still got the Sun Crusher's

control codes in here."

Suddenly Han understood. "Can you do anything with

that? You're not even familiar with the Sun

Crusher's systems."

"Don't have much choice, do we, buddy?"

"All right," Han said in a needlessly low

voice, because the voice pickup was switched off.

"I'll keep him talking--you work to deactivate

the Sun Crusher." Lando, with a skeptical but

determined frown, continued his programming.

Han toggled on the comm system again. "Kyp,

don't you remember when we went turbo-skiing

at the poles of Coruscant? You led me down

one of the dangerous paths, but I went after you because

I thought you were going to fall on your face.

Don't you remember that?"

Kyp didn't answer, but Han knew he had

struck home.

"Kid, who got you out of the spice mines of

Kessel?" he said. "Who broke you out of the

detention cell on the Gorgon? Who was with you

during the escape from the Maw? Who promised to do

everything he could to make your life worth living again

after your years of misery?"

Kyp answered in a halting voice. "It

didn't work."

"But why not, kid? What went wrong? What

happened on Yavin 4? I know you and Luke

didn't get along--was

"It had nothing to do with Luke Skywalker,"

Kyp snapped so defensively that Han knew it

wasn't true. "There in the temples I learned

things Master Skywalker would never teach. I

learned how to be strong. I learned how

to fight the Empire, to turn my own anger into a

weapon."

"Look, kid," Han said, "I don't

claim to understand anything about the Force. In fact

I once said it was a hokey religion full of

mumbo jumbo. But I do know that what you're

saying sounds dangerously close to the dark

side."

After a deep pause Kyp said haltingly,

"Han ... I--was

"Got it!" Lando whispered.

Han nodded, and Lando punched in the control

sequence.

A rapid succession of lights twinkled on the

control panel as the override command was

transmitted across the narrow bridge of space.

In the black gulf lit only by a backwash of

dull light from the exploded red-dwarf star, the

Sun Crusher suddenly went dark: the lights in

its cockpit, the aiming beacons on its laser

cannons, and the blaze of plasma at the end of

its toroidal torpedo generator.

"Yes!" Lando shouted. Han gave a whoop

of triumph, and the two of them reached out to slap their

hands together.

"Let me talk to him," Han said. "Does

he still have power to his comm system?"

"Channel open," Lando said. "But I don't

think he's very happy--was

"You tricked me!" Kyp's voice screamed

through the speaker panel. "You claimed to be my friend

-comand now you've betrayed me. It's just like Exar

Kun said. Friends betray you. A Jedi has no

time for friendship. You should all die."

Astonishingly, the power in the Sun Crusher

surged back to life again, despite Lando's

overrides. The lights came on in a blaze.

"It's not my fault!" Lando squawked,

scrambling to reroute the command. "I didn't know

he could bypass it so fast!"

"Kyp can do things with the Force that you and I can't

understand," Han said.

The energy torpedo launcher fired up with a

flare of intense plasma, brighter than before, ready

to launch at the Falcon.

And this time Kyp did not hesitate.

15

Streen dozed cross-legged on the cold

flagstone floor before Master Skywalker. He

folded his arms over his knees, comfortable in the

many-pocketed jumpsuit he had brought with him from

his lonely days as a gas prospector on

Bespin. He could no longer smell the bitter

sulfurous taint of rich plumes of deep-layer

gases.

Now Streen had a greater mission--to guard

Master Skywalker.

Low-slanted light from outside elongated the

shadows in the grand audience chamber. Twelve

candles, one placed by each of the Jedi trainees,

flickered around Luke's body, shedding a faint

but protective glow into the motionless air. The

small bright points glittered as the darkness

gathered all around.

Streen muttered to himself. No, he would not listen

to the Dark Man's words. No, he would not serve

Exar Kun's purposes. No, he would not do

anything to harm Master Skywalker. No!

In his lap, cool and hard against his callused

hands, he held the handle of Luke's

lightsaber.

This time he could fight it. This time the Dark

Man would not win. Some of the other Jedi trainees

had expressed grave misgivings about letting

Streen near Master Skywalker, especially

armed with a lightsaber. But Streen had begged for his

chance at restitution, and Kirana Ti had

spoken on his behalf.

The others would watch over him. Master

Skywalker would be in danger, but they had to take

the risk.

Streen let the fuzzy caress of sleep work

its way into his mind. His grizzled head nodded

to his chest. Whispering voices sounded like

breezes in his mind, forming gentle words, soothing

phrases ... cold promises.

The words demanded that he wake up, but Streen

resisted them, not knowing if they were evil suggestions

or the insistences of his companions. When Streen

felt he had waited long enough, he allowed himself

to snap awake.

The voices fell silent as he blinked his

eyes. Another voice, external this time,

replaced the silence. "Wake up, my student.

The winds are blowing."

Streen focused on the black form of

Exar Kun in the center of the throne room. In the

flickering candlelight and dim rays from the dying

day, Streen could see chiseled features on the

onyx silhouette, more detailed than he had ever

seen before on the shadow of the Dark Man.

Exar Kun turned a well-defined face

toward him, completely ebony as if molded from

lava stone: high cheekbones, haughty eyes, a

thin, angry mouth. Long black hair like carbon

wires swept across his shoulder, gathered in a

thick ponytail. Padded armor covered his

body, and the pulsing tattoo of a black sun

burned from his forehead.

Streen climbed slowly to his feet. He

felt calm and strong, angry at how the Dark

Man had set a sharp hook in his own weakness and

had dragged him along. "I won't do your bidding,

Dark Man," he said.

Exar Kun laughed. "And how do you propose

to resist? You are already mine."

"If you believe that," Streen said, and took a

deep breath, strengthening his voice, "then you have

made your first mistake." He brought up the

handle of Luke's lightsaber, igniting it with a

loud snap-hiss.

Exar Kun's shadow flinched backward, much

to Streen's surprise and satisfaction.

"Good," Kun said with false bravado, "now

take the weapon and cleave Skywalker in two.

Let us be done with this."

Streen took one step toward Exar Kun,

holding the green lightsaber before him. "This blade

is meant for you, Dark Man."

"If you think that weapon will have any effect on

me," Kun said, "perhaps you should ask your friend

Gantoris--or have you forgotten what happened

to him when he defied me?"

A vision flashed through Streen's mind:

Gantoris's crisped corpse incinerated from the

inside out, his body turned to ash from the incredible

fires of the dark side. Kun must have intended for that

memory to drive Streen to despair;

Gantoris had been his friend; he and Gantoris

were the first two trainees Master Skywalker had

found on his Jedi search.

But rather than causing panic or dismay, the

memory increased Streen's determination. He

strode forward, staring down the shadowy man. "You

are not wanted here, Exar Kun," he said.

To his continued surprise the shadow of the

ancient Sith Lord drifted back from him, down

the promenade.

"I can find other tools, Streen, if you

prove difficult. I will show you no mercy when

I have gained control once more. My Sith

brothers will use the power stored within this network of

temples. If you defy me, I can find new

ways of inflicting pain far beyond the

capabilities of your imagination--and you will endure

all of them!"

Kun's shadow drifted farther away ... and a

tall figure emerged from the left stone

stairwell into the grand audience chamber: Kirana

Ti clad in her polished reptilian armor,

her muscles rippling in the pale candlelight,

her curves making her look supple yet

deadly.

"Are you running away, Exar Kun?"

Kirana Ti said. "Frightened off so easily?"

Streen held his position, still gripping the

lightsaber.

"Another foolhardy student," Kun said,

whirling to face her. "I would have come to you in time.

The witches of Dathomir would be fine additions

to a new Sith Brotherhood."

"You'll never get a chance to ask them, Exar

Kun. You are trapped here. You won't leave this

chamber." She pressed forward to intimidate him

by her very closeness.

Kun's shadow distorted, but he held his

ground. "You cannot threaten me." Kun loomed over

her.

Streen felt a stab of cold fear at the

movement, but Kirana Ti ducked swiftly,

fluidly, into a fighting stance. She reached to her

waist and snatched one of the tools hanging there.

A loud crackle seared the air, and she stood

holding another ignited lightsaber. A long

amethyst-and-white blade extended from the handle,

humming like an angry insect. She thrashed the

lightsaber from side to side.

"Where did you get that weapon?" Kun demanded.

"It belonged to Gantoris," she said. "He

once tried to fight you and failed." She slashed

with the lightsaber, and Kun flinched back toward

Streen. "But I will succeed."

Kirana Ti stalked toward the platform where

Luke's body lay, where Streen stood on

guard with the other lightsaber. Kun was trapped between

them.

Another Jedi trainee emerged from the right-side

stairwell--grim and wiry Kam Solusar.

"And if she fails," he said, "I will pick

up the lightsaber and fight you." He marched

forward, closing the distance to join her.

Then Tionne came from the opposite

stairwell, throwing her challenge at Exar Kun

as she walked up to the platform. "And I will fight

you as well."

Cilghal stepped in with Jacen and Jaina, each

holding one of her hands. "And we will fight you.

We will all fight you, Exar Kun."

The remaining Jedi trainees flooded into the

chamber, converging in a group that surrounded the Dark

Lord of the Sith.

Kun raised his opaque arms in a sudden

brisk gesture. With a flicker of wind the

twelve candles around Master Skywalker's

body snuffed out, plunging the room into deep

shadow.

"We're not afraid of the darkness," Tionne

said in a firm voice. "We can make our own

light."

As his eyes adjusted, Streen saw that all

twelve of the Jedi candidates were limned with the

faintest sheen of an iridescent blue glow that

grew brighter as the new Jedi converged around Exar

Kun.

"Even joined together, you are too weak to fight

me!" the shadowy man said.

Streen felt his throat constrict, his windpipe

close. He choked, unable to breathe. The black

silhouette turned, staring at those who resisted

him. The Jedi trainees grasped their throats,

straining to breathe, their faces darkening with the effort.

Kun's shadow expanded, growing darker and more

powerful. He towered over Streen. "Streen,

take your lightsaber and finish these weaklings. Then

I will allow you to live."

Streen heard the blood sing in his ears as his

body strained for oxygen. The rushing sound reminded

him of blowing wind, gale-force storms. Wind.

Air. He grasped the wind with his Jedi powers,

moving the air itself and making it flow into his

lungs, past Kun's invisible stranglehold.

Cool, sweet oxygen filled him, and Streen

exhaled and inhaled again. Reaching out with his power, he

did the same for all the other Jedi students,

nudging air into theirthe lungs--helping them breathe,

helping them grow stronger.

"We are more powerful than you," Dorsk 81

said, gasping, in a tone that mixed challenge with

amazement.

"How you must hate me," Exar Kun said.

Desperation tinged the edges of his voice. "I can

feel your anger."

Cilghal used the silken ambassadorial

voice she had worked so hard to develop. "There

is no anger," she said. "We don't hate you,

Exar Kun. You are an object lesson for us.

You have taught us much about what it is to be a true

Jedi. By observing you we see that the dark side

has little strength of its own. You have no power that we

do not have. You merely used our own weaknesses against

us."

"We have seen enough of you," Kam Solusar said

grimly from the edge of the circle, "and it's time for

you to be vanquished."

The Jedi trainees stepped closer together,

cinching the circle around the trapped shadowy form.

Streen held his lightsaber high, while across the

circle Kirana Ti raised hers to a striking

position. The nebulous glow around the new Jedi

Knights grew brighter, a luminous fog that joined

them in an unbroken ring, a solid band of light

forged by the power of the Force within them.

"I know your flaws," Kun said stridently.

"You all have weaknesses. You--was The shadow lunged

toward the streamlined form of Dorsk 81. The

cloned Jedi candidate flinched, but the other

trainees gave him strength.

"You: Dorsk 81, a failure!" He

sneered. "Eighty generations of your genetic

structure were perfect, identical--but you were an

anomaly. You were an outcast. A flaw."

But the olive-skinned alien would not back down.

"Our differences make us strong," he said.

"I've learned that."

"And you"--Exar Kun whirled to Tionne--"y

have no Jedi powers. You are laughable. You can

only sing songs about great deeds, while others go

out and actually do them."

Tionne smiled at him. Her mother-of-pearl

eyes glittered in the dim light. "Someday the

songs will tell of our great victory over Exar

Kun--and I will sing them."

The glow continued to brighten as the synergy between the

trainees grew more powerful, weaving threads

to reinforce their weak spots, to emphasize their

strengths.

Streen wasn't sure exactly when another

image joined the Jedi candidates. He saw a

new form without a physical body--short and

hunched, with withered hands held in front of it. A

misshapen funnel face, whiskered with

tentacles, stared with small eyes hooded by a

shelf of brow. Streen recognized the ancient

Jedi Master Vodo-Siosk Baas, who had

spoken to them from the Holocron.

Kun's image also saw the ancient Jedi

Master, and his expression froze in a sculpted

grimace of astonishment.

"Together Jedi can overcome their weaknesses,"

Master Vodo said in a bubbly, congested voice.

"Exar Kun, my student--you are defeated at

last."

"No!" the shadow screamed in a night-rending

voice as the silhouette fought to discover a part of the

circle he could breach.

"Yes," came another voice, a strong

voice. Opposite Master Vodo glimmered the

faint, washed-out form of a young man in Jedi

robes. Master Skywalker.

"The way to extinguish a shadow," Cilghal said

in her calm and confident voice, "is to increase

the light."

Kirana Ti stepped forward with the lightsaber that

had been built by Gantoris. Streen met her

with Luke Skywalker's lightsaber. The two

stared into each other's eyes, nodded, and then struck

with the brilliant luminous blades.

Their beams crossed in the middle of Exar

Kun's shadowy body--pure light intersecting

pure light with an explosion of lightning. The

flash of dazzling white seemed as bright as an

exploding sun.

Darkness flooded out of the shade of Exar Kun.

The blackness shattered, and fragments flew around

the circle, seeking a weak heart in which to hide.

Streen and Kirana Ti kept their

lightsabers crossed, the energy sizzling and

searing.

With the Force, Streen touched the winds again. The

air inside the grand audience chamber swirled with

increasing coriolis force to form a whirlwind. The

cyclone grew tighter in an invisible knot around

the shredded shadow, trapping it and carrying it up

toward the rooftop and out, flinging it into the vast

emptiness.

Exar Kun vanished with only a

brief, curtailed scream.

The Jedi Knights stood joined together for a

final moment, relishing the shared Force. Then, in

exhaustion and relief and triumph, they

separated from each other. The unearthly glow

dissipated around them.

The image of the alien Master Vodo-Siosk

Baas stared toward the ceiling, as if to catch a

last glimpse of his conquered student, and then he

too disappeared.

With a wheezing cough as he expelled

long-trapped air from his lungs and drew in a

fresh breath, Master Skywalker groaned and

sat up on the stone platform.

"You've--done it!" Luke said, gaining strength

with each lungful of cool, clean air. The new

Jedi Knights surged toward him. "You have

broken the bonds."

With squeals of delight Jacen and Jaina ran

to their Uncle Luke. He pulled them into his

arms. They giggled and hugged him back.

Luke Skywalker smiled out at his students,

his face glowing with pride for the group of Jedi

Knights he had trained.

"Together," he said, "you make a formidable team

indeed! Perhaps we need no longer fear the

darkness."

In the Sun Crusher's pilot seat Kyp

Durron crouched over the controls. He stared at

the Millennium Falcon as if it were a

demon ready to spring at him. His fingernails

scratched down the metallic surface of the

navigation panels like claws trying to dig

into flesh.

His mind had been swimming with the bittersweet

memories of happy times with Han, how the two

of them had careened over the ice fields in a

frantic turbo-ski run, how they had made

friends in the blackness of the spice mines, how Han

had pretended not to be all choked up when Kyp

left for the Jedi academy. Part of him was

appalled at the idea of threatening Han

Solo's life, that he would want to destroy the

Millennium Falcon.

It had seemed an easy threat, the obvious

thing to do. But it came from a dark shadow in the back

of his mind. The whispering voice chewed

at his thoughts, haunted him constantly. It was the

voice he had heard during his training on Yavin

4 in the deepest night and in the echoing obsidian

pyramid far out in the jungles, and on top of the

great ziggurat from which Kyp had summoned the Sun

Crusher out of the core of Yavin.

Troubled by that voice, Kyp had stolen a ship

and fled to the forest moon of Endor to meditate beside

the ashes of Darth Vader's funeral pyre. He

had thought to go far enough away to escape Kun's

influence, but he no longer thought that was possible.

Kyp had traveled to the Core Systems, but

still he felt the chains binding him to the Dark Lord,

the malevolent obligations required by the Sith

teachings. If he tried to resist and think for himself,

the angry tauntings returned with full force, the

snapped words, the coercions, the veiled threats.

But Han Solo's words tugged at him too--

weapons of a different sort that made his heart

grow warm, melting the ice of anger. Right now

Exar Kun's voice seemed distracted and

distant, as if preoccupied with another challenge.

As Kyp listened to Han's words, he realized

that his friend, knowing little about Jedi teachings, had put his

finger on the truth. He .was following the dark

side. Kyp's weak justifications crumbled around

him in a storm of excuses built on a

fragile foundation of revenge.

"Han ... I--was

But just as he had been about to speak warmly

to Han, to open up and ask his friend to come talk with

him--suddenly his controls went dead. An

override signal from the Falcon's computer had

shut down the Sun Crusher's weapons systems,

its navigation controls, its life support.

The black net of anger fell over him,

smothering his kind intentions. In outrage Kyp found

the power to send a burst of controlling thought through the

integrated circuits in the Sun Crusher's

computer. He flushed the alien programming,

wiping pathways clean and rebuilding them in an

instant. He remapped the functions with a sudden

mental pinpoint that made the Sun Crusher whole

again. The systems hummed as they returned

to life, charging up.

Exar Kun had also been betrayed by his

supposed partner, the warlord Ulic

Qel-Droma. Now Han had betrayed Kyp.

Master Skywalker had also betrayed him by failing

to teach the appropriate lessons ...

appropriate defenses against Exar Kun. In

his head the voice of the Sith Lord shouted for him

to kill Han Solo, to destroy the enemy.

To let his anger flow through and be strong.

It overwhelmed Kyp. He squeezed his dark

eyes shut, unable to watch as his hands gripped the

control levers for launching the torpedo. He

primed the system. The screens blinked with warning

signals, which he disregarded.

He needed to destroy something. He needed

to kill those who had betrayed him. His fists

gripped the firing handles. His thumbs rested on

the launch buttons, squeezing, ready--

Squeezing--

And then the haunting voice of Exar Kun

rose to a wail in his mind, an utterly forlorn

scream as if he were being torn out of this universe

and exiled to another place entirely, where he could

torment Kyp Durron no more.

Kyp snapped backward in his control seat as

if an invisible tow cable had been severed. His

arms and head dangled like a puppet with suddenly

snipped strings. The cool wind of freedom

whistled through his mind and body. He blinked his

eyes and shuddered with revulsion at what he had

been about to do.

The Millennium Falcon still gripped the

Sun Crusher in its tractor beam. As Kyp

saw the battered old ship, Han Solo's

prize possession, he felt a tidal wave of

despair.

Kyp reached out to the energy torpedo controls and

vehemently canceled the firing sequence. The

plasma generator flickered and faded as the energy

died away.

Without the presence of Exar Kun inside him,

Kyp felt isolated, suddenly in free fall

-comb independent.

He opened the communication channel but couldn't

form words for a few moments. His throat was dry.

It felt as if he hadn't had anything to eat or

drink in four thousand years.

"Han," he croaked, and said louder, "Han,

this is Kyp! I ..." He paused, not knowing

what next to say--whichat else he could say.

He hung his head and finally finished, "I

surrender."

17

The Twi'lek Tol Sivron still felt

jangled from his horrendous passage through the Maw,

escaping from the Rebel invasion force and riding the

gravity between black holes.

His long head-tails tingled with a rush of

impressions, delighted to see that the information he

had long ago stolen from Daala's secret

files--the list of tortuous safe routes through the

black hole cluster--had been accurate. If

the course map had been the least bit

imprecise, he and his retreating crew would not be

alive now.

The Death Star prototype lurched under full

power as it emerged safely from the cluster, but just as

it sped away from the sinuous, brilliant gases,

the propulsion systems fizzled and went off-line.

Sparks showered from panels as the stormtrooper

captain shut down the engine power and rerouted

systems. Yemm attempted to use a manual

fire-extinguishing apparatus to squelch flames

licking out of a nearby console, but he succeeded

only in short-circuiting the intercom systems.

Golanda and Doxin flipped furiously through

repair manuals and design specifications.

"Director," the stormtrooper captain said,

"we have successfully broken free from the Maw,

though the strain has caused a good deal of

damage."

Doxin looked up, scowling. "I remind you that

this was a nonhardened prototype, never meant to be

actually deployed."

"Yes, sir," the stormtrooper said in an

inflectionless voice. "As I was about to say, I

believe the damage can be repaired in only a

few days. It is a simple matter of

bypassing circuits and reinitializing computer

systems. I believe after this shakedown the

prototype will be in much better shape for combat."

Tol Sivron rubbed his hands together and smiled.

"Good, good." He leaned back in the pilot's

chair. "That will give us time to select a suitable

target for our first attack."

Golanda called up a navigational chart,

displayed across the viewscreen. "Director, the

Kessel system is very close, as you know. Perhaps

we should--was

"Let's get the propulsion units up and

running again before we plan too far ahead,"

Doxin interrupted. "Our ultimate

strategy may depend on our capabilities."

Yemm tore the cover off the communications

panel and squinted down into the morass of

blackened wires, sniffing the burned insulation.

Golanda kept studying her station, calling up

readings from the prototype's exterior sensors.

"Director, I've found something puzzling.

Looking at the gas turbulence that surrounds the

black hole cluster, it appears that another very

large ship has recently entered the Maw, only

moments ago. It seems to have followed one of the

other paths Admiral Daala designated as a

safe route through to the Installation." She looked

at him, and Tol Sivron flinched away from her

unpleasant face. "We just missed them."

Sivron didn't know what she was talking about,

nor why it should concern him. All of these frantic

problems were like stinging insects buzzing around his head,

and he swatted at them.

"We can't do anything about that now," he said.

"It's probably another Rebel ship coming

to mop up the invasion of our facility." He

sighed. "We'll get back at them, as soon as

we get the Death Star up and running again."

He leaned back in his pilot's chair and

closed his beady eyes, longing for just a moment's

peace. He wished he had never left his home

planet of Ryloth, where the Twi'lek people lived

deep within mountain catacombs in the habitable band

of twilight that separated the baking heat of day from

the frigid cold of endless night.

Tol Sivron thought of more peaceful days,

breathing the stale air through gaps in his pointed

teeth. The heat storms on Ryloth brought

sufficient warmth into the twilight zone to make the

planet habitable, though desolate.

The Twi'leks built their society around the

governorship of a five-member "head-clan" who

led the community in all matters until such time as

one of them died. At this point the Twi'leks

cast out the remaining members of the head-clan to the

blasted wasteland--and presumably to their deaths--

while they selected a fresh group of rulers.

Tol Sivron had been a member of the

head-clan, pampered and spoiled by the benefits of

power. The entire clan was young and vigorous, and

Sivron had expected to reap the benefits of his

position for many years--spacious quarters,

Twi'lek dancing women renowned throughout the

galaxy, delicacies of raw meat that

he could tear with his pointed teeth and savor the

spicy liquid flavors. ...

But the good life had lasted barely a standard

year. One of his idiot companions had lost his

balance on a scaffolding while inspecting a

deep-grotto construction project and had fallen

to impale himself upon a ten-thousand-year-old

stalagmite.

According to their custom, the Twi'lek people had exiled

Tol Sivron and the other three members of the

head-clan into the blasted deserts of the dayside

to face the heat storms and the scouring wind.

They had resigned themselves to death, but Tol

Sivron had convinced the other three that if they

worked together, they could survive, perhaps eke out an

existence in an uninhabited cave farther down the

spine of mountains.

The others had agreed, clinging to any hope; and

then, as they slept that night, Tol Sivron had

killed them all, taking their meager possessions

to increase his own chances of survival. Covering

himself with thick layers of garments stripped from the

dead bodies of his companions, he had trudged

across the fiery landscape, not knowing what he was

searching for. ...

Tol Sivron had thought the glittering ships were

mere mirages until he stumbled into the

encampment. It was a rugged training base and

refueling station for the Imperial navy, frequented

by smugglers but supported by the Empire.

Tol Sivron had met a man named Tarkin

there, an ambitious young commander who already had

several ships and who intended to make the small

outpost on Ryloth a strategically important

refueling station in the Outer Rim.

Over the years, Tol Sivron had worked for

Tarkin, proving himself to be an unparalleled

manager, a skillful arranger of the complex

business that Tarkin--then Moff Tarkin, then

Grand Moff Tarkin--had under way.

Sivron's career had culminated in his

directorship of Maw Installation--which he had

now fled in the face of a Rebel invasion. If

Tarkin was still alive, the embarrassing retreat would

no doubt figure negatively in Tol

Sivron's next performance appraisal.

He had to do something to make up for it,

posthaste.

"Director," Yemm said, interrupting his

thoughts. "I think the comm system is

functioning again. It will be ready to use as soon as

I log the modifications into xs maintenance

record."

Sivron sat up. "At least something works

around here."

Yemm entered numbers into one of the computer stations

and nodded his horned head at Tol Sivron.

"Ready, Director."

"Turn it on," he said. "Let me speak

to the crew." His last words echoed through the speakers,

startling him. He cleared his throat and leaned

closer to the voice pickup on the pilot's

chair.

"Attention, everyone! Hurry with those

repairs," he snapped into the intercom. His

voice sounded like the commands of a deity as he spoke

through all levels. "I want to destroy something as

soon as possible." He switched off.

The stormtrooper captain turned to him. "We

will do our best, sir. I should have final repair

estimates within a few hours."

"Good, good." He stared across the open emptiness

of space, looking at all the possible starpoint

targets.

Tol Sivron had in his possession one of the

most devastating weapons in the galaxy. But it

remained untested. For now.

The second timed detonation occurred just as

Wedge Antilles and his assault squad charged

into the Maw Installation's power-reactor complex.

Shaped charges planted by a sabotage crew

exploded at the base of the reactor's cooling

towers, shutting down the enormous generator that

powered the facilities, the laboratories, the

mainframe computers, and life-support

systems.

Wearing mottled brown-and-gray body armor,

Wedge had led his assault team across the

connector-tube cat-walks to the power asteroid.

But just as the squad entered, gouts of gray smoke

spurted through the tunnels, carrying dust and

debris along with a hot wind.

Wedge shook his head to clear his ringing ears.

He climbed to his knees and then to his feet

again. "I need an assessment of the damages,"

he shouted. "Quick!"

Three of the leading soldiers raced

down the hall only to encounter a group of Maw

Installation personnel fleeing the wreckage. The

saboteurs were led by a one-armed brute of a man

with purplish-green skin and a sour expression.

Wedge's team snapped up their weapons,

training the barrels of their blaster rifles on the

saboteurs, who halted with a clatter like machine

components locking into place. The one-armed man

skidded to a stop and looked around wildly. The

rest of his crew glared at the New Republic

soldiers.

"Drop your weapons!" Wedge said.

The large brute raised his single hand, palm

outward, to show that he carried no weapons. Wedge

was surprised to see that the others were also unarmed.

"It's too late to stop anything," the one-armed

man said. "I am Wermyn, Division Leader for

Plant Operations. Accept my surrender. My

team and I would appreciate it if you'd get us

off this rock before the whole thing explodes."

Wedge pointed to four of his soldiers. "Use

binders, see that the prisoners are secured.

We've got to get that power reactor functioning

again, or we'll have to evacuate."

The Maw saboteurs did not resist as the

squad took them into custody, though Wedge's men

looked confused about how to apply binders

to Wermyn's single arm.

Wedge and the technicians proceeded

cautiously into the reactor housing. The heat

struck him like a sandwhirl during the hot season

on Tatooine. The air smelled thick with

acrid lubricants, molten metal, and charred

high-energy explosive.

Red warning lights flooded the chamber,

reflecting from whistling jets of steam like droplets

of flying blood. Laboring pumps and engines

thudded with a pounding beat that made Wedge's skull

ache. A large reactor component had been

slagged, left with ragged, dripping edges.

He squinted as the techs ran forward, yanking

handheld detectors from their belts to study

radiation leaks. One trotted up to Wedge.

"Both the primary and the backup cooling pumps have

been destroyed. Our friend Wermyn was right. He

has initiated a meltdown, and there's nothing we

can do to stop it. We can't fix this equipment."

"Can we shut down the reactor?" Wedge said.

"It's been locked on, and the controls are

destroyed," the tech answered. "I

suppose there's a chance we could reroute and rig

up temporary systems in an hour or two, but

if we shut the reactor down, we also terminate

power and life support to the Installation."

Wedge looked around the wreckage as his stomach

sank. With his boot he kicked a broken piece

of plasteel shielding. It clattered hollowly

across the floor until the throbbing engines

swallowed the sound.

"I didn't lead this strike force just to let

all the scientists and the Death Star get away

while the whole Installation is destroyed under my

feet." He drew a deep breath and tapped his

fingers together in an attempt to concentrate, as

Qwi often did, though he wasn't sure it

worked.

Then he yanked the comm link from his hip and

gripped it, toggling on the frequency for the

flagship Yavaris. "Captain," he said,

"get me some engineering experts right away. We

need to rig up emergency cooling pumps for the main

power reactor.

"I know we don't have much equipment, but our

hyperdrive cooling systems shouldn't be too

dissimilar to what this reactor uses. Take one

of the corvettes off line and remove the engine

pumps. We've got to get something working down here

to hold us until we can remove everything of

value."

The two technicians looked up at Wedge

and smiled. "That just might work, sir."

Wedge ushered them back to where the prisoners were

held, vowing not to let the Imperials win so

easily.

Qwi Xux felt like a stranger in her own

house. She walked timidly into the room she had

identified as her former laboratory, expecting

something to jump out at her, memories to come

flooding back.

The illumination came on, shedding a cold

white glow on the design apparatus, her

computer terminals, her furniture. This place

had been her home, the center of her life for more

than a decade. But it looked like a foreign land

to her now. She stared in amazement and sighed.

See-Threepio whirred as he followed her

into the room. "I still don't know why I'm here,

Dr. Xux. I can assist you in assimilating the

leftover data, but I'm a protocol

droid, not a slicer. Perhaps you should have brought my

counterpart Artoo-Detoo? He's much better at

this sort of thing than I am. He is a fine

model, but a bit too headstrong for a droid,

if you catch my meaning."

Qwi ignored him as she stepped farther into the

room, walking on tiptoes. Her skin felt

cold and clammy. The air smelled stale,

empty. She trembled as she ran her fingers

along the cool synthetic stone of the thick

support pillars. She caught a flash of

distant memory--a ragged Han Solo tied to this

pillar, barely able to hold his head upright after the

"deep interrogation" Admiral Daala had

performed on him. ...

Qwi went over to the lab table, picked up her

spectral-analysis sensors, materials--

properties analyzers, stress and strain

simulators, and a holographic 3-D

design projector that glittered darkly under the

bright lights.

"My, this appears to be a completely

adequate workspace, Dr. Xux," Threepio

said. "Spacious and clean. I'm sure you

accomplished a great deal here. Believe me,

I've seen far more cluttered research areas in

facilities on Coruscant."

"Threepio, why don't you take an

inventory of the equipment you see," Qwi told

him, just to keep the droid quiet so she could think.

"Pay particular attention to any demonstration

models you find. Those could be significant."

Qwi discovered a small musical keypad

lying half-hidden in a pile of printouts and

handwritten notes. Beside the keypad stood the

milky eye of a powerless computer terminal.

She switched the terminal on, but the screen

demanded her password before it would allow her access

to her own files. So much for that.

Qwi picked up the musical keypad and

cradled it. The instrument felt familiar and yet

alien. She touched a few of the keys and listened

to the soft, high notes that issued from it. She

remembered standing in the shattered debris of the

Cathedral of Winds, picking up a fragment of

one of the windpipes and blowing a slow, mournful

melody through it. The winged Vors had snatched the

flute from her, insisting that there be no more music

until the cathedral itself was rebuilt. ...

But this keypad held her own music.

Qwi vaguely recalled using it, but she couldn't

quite picture for what. A flickering image came

to mind, like a slick, wet fruit that slipped from

her fingers every time she tried to grasp it--setting

the keypad down, suspecting she might never come

back. ... She winced, drew a breath, and

tapped her fingers together, trying to think.

Han Solo! Yes, she had left everything

untouched as she attempted to rescue Han and

escape with the Sun Crusher.

She let her long blue fingers dance across the

musical keys. Her mind remembered no

particular sequence, but her body knew. Her

hands moved by habit, tapping out a quick loop of

melody. She smiled--it seemed so familiar

to her.

When she finished the sequence of notes, her

computer screen winked, PASSWORD ACCEPTED.

She blinked her indigo eyes, astonished at

what she had done.

ERROR, the computer printed. MAIN

DATABASE UNAVAILABLE ... SEARCHING FOR

BACKUPS. FILES DAMAGED.

Qwi suspected Tol Sivron might have

destroyed the computer core before fleeing in the Death

Star prototype. But she must have left something

stored within the temporary memory of her own

terminal.

RECOVERED FILES FOLLOW, the screen

said.

Qwi looked through a window into her own

journals, her personal notes. Her heart

pounded as she scanned words she herself had typed--but

it was not herself. It was another Qwi Xux, a

Qwi from the past who had been brainwashed

by Imperials, a Qwi who had been twisted as a

child and forced to perform to the utter limits of her

mental abilities.

Taking shallow breaths, she read her daily

accounts with growing uneasiness: the experiments she

had performed, simulations she had run on the

computer, meetings she had attended, endless

progress reports she had filed for

Director Sivron. Though she remembered

none of it, it appalled her to realize that she had

done nothing but work. Her only joy had come from

completed experiments--her only moments of

excitement, when tests proved her designs to be

reliable.

"Was this all my life was?"

Qwi asked. She scrolled down, scanning day

after identical day. "How ... empty!" she

muttered.

"Excuse me?" Threepio said. "Did you

ask for assistance?"

"Oh, Threepio." She shook her head and

found tears stinging her eyes.

She heard footsteps in the outer corridor and

turned as Wedge entered the lab. His face was

smudged with grime, his uniform rumpled. He

looked sweaty and exhausted, but she rushed to him and

hugged him. He squeezed her shoulders, then ran

his fingers through her feathery pearlescent hair.

"Is it bad?" he said. "Sorry I couldn't

be here when you first entered the lab. I had an

emergency."

Qwi shook her head. "No, I had to face

this myself anyway."

"Find anything useful?" He stepped away from

her, becoming the general again. "We need to know how

many scientists were at the Installation. Most got

away on the Death Star, but any information you have

..."

Qwi stiffened and looked back at her computer

terminal. "I'm not sure I can help you." Her

voice carried a desolate, lost quality.

"I've been looking over my daily life. It

doesn't look like I =new any of the other

scientists. I ... I had no friends here." She

looked at him, widening her depthless eyes.

"More than ten years of my life, and I knew

no one. I worked. I thought I was dedicated.

Defeating universal challenges meant a great

deal to me--but I didn't even know what it was for.

All I cared about was finding the next solution.

How could I have been so naive?"

Wedge gave her an encouraging hug. He

felt so warm and comforting against her. "That's all

over, Qwi. It'll never happen to you again.

You've been let out of a cage, and I'm here

to help show you the rest of the universe--if you'll

come along with me."

"Yes, Wedge." She looked up at him with a

faint smile. "Of course I'll come with you."

Wedge's comm link beeped at him from his waist,

and he pulled it out with a sigh. "Yes, what is

it?" he said.

"General Antilles, we've brought down some

temporary equipment to the reactor facility.

We modified the critical components

taken from one of the corvettes, as you suggested.

We've managed to emplace them, and the systems

are marginally functional. The core temperature

levels of the reactor have begun dropping, and we

expect them to go below the red lines within the next

several hours."

"Good. Do we have a time limit here, then?"

Wedge said.

"Well ...," the technician's voice

answered, "the reactors are still shaky, but they're

stable for now."

"Good work," Wedge said. "Pass along my

commendations to your people."

"Yes, sir."

Wedge switched off and smiled at Qwi.

"See, everything's working out after all," he said.

She nodded, raising her face to look through the

long, narrow window at the top of the wall.

Pools of hot gas drifted around the Maw's

black holes.

They seemed safe here, walled off from the

conflicts of the galaxy. Qwi had fought her

greatest personal battles, and now she could allow

herself to relax just a little.

But before she could turn away, she saw a shadow

appear in the multicolored nebula--a huge

triangular shape, like a spear point plunging

through the gases and emerging into the safe gravitational

island.

Qwi stiffened, biting back an outcry of

panic.

Wedge let go of her and whirled, looking up.

"Oh, dear!" Threepio said.

Battered and blackened, an Imperial Star

Destroyer came through the Maw with its weapons

already powering up. Its once-white hull was

blistered and streaked with burn marks; its shielding

plates damaged by an inferno of destruction.

Admiral Daala's flagship, the

Gorgon, had returned to Maw Installation.

The Imperial Spider Walkers ascended the

steep, pitted stone pinnacle. Their long metal

legs bent at odd angles as their claws

hauled them toward the heavy blast doors

protecting Winter and baby Anakin.

Winter stood in the operations room, her jaw

clenched, her eyes narrowed, as she

viewed the progress of the assault

transports. They had reached her first line of

defenses.

When establishing the Anoth hiding place,

Admiral Ackbar and Luke Skywalker had

been unwilling to rely entirely on secrecy.

They had tried to plan for every possible attack

scenario. Winter had hoped she would never need

to test those contingency plans, but now she had to fight

for the child's life--and her own.

Winter looked down at her status panels:

the Foreign Intruder Defense Organism was

primed and ready for automatic strike. She

anticipated that FIDO could take out at least

two of the Spider Walkers. She watched,

gripping the edge of the consoles to steady herself.

Scuttling up the rock wall with insectile

legs, the Spider Walkers reached a line of

caves, small openings to a labyrinth of dead

ends and grottoes within the stone.

Winter tensed as the first two MT-AT'S

passed, unsuspecting, over the black openings.

The uppermost assault walker paused and fired

a preemptive strike against the blast doors

above with two forward lasers. A muffled thump and

clang reverberated through the sealed installation.

As the second Spider Walker also prepared

to fire, masses of whiplike tentacles lashed

out of the hidden caves, long ropes each ending in a

razor-sharp pincer claw. The tentacles took

the Spider Walkers completely by surprise.

Two of FIDO'S writhing arms locked around

the first walker and ripped it from the cliff face.

Before the machine could use its pneumatic claws

to grasp the rock again, FIDO tossed the

Spider Walker over the edge.

The MT-AT tumbled in a long clatter of

wildly gesticulating legs. On its way down

the Walker clipped another of the assault

transports; the two plummeted together and

exploded in a fiery crash on the jagged ground

below.

The second Spider Walker fired with its

laser cannon into the dark caves. One of

FIDO'S tentacles, black and smoking,

withdrew like a flicked whip, vanishing deep into the

tunnels; but other tentacles emerged from different

openings to wrap around the Walker in a

stranglehold. In desperation the turbolaser

fired again, dislodging chunks of rock.

FIDO squeezed, bending the articulated legs

until their hinges groaned and thick rivets

popped out.

Sensor-tipped tentacles comprehended what the

cockpit of the MT-AT was for. FIDO'S heavy

plasteel claws smashed through the armored canopy,

tearing open the roof and plucking out two

stormtroopers to toss them over the precipice like

gnawed bones discarded after a feast. Unmanned, the

walker skidded down the cliff face as the

remaining five assault transports scuttled

out of the way.

Winter clenched her fist and slowed her shallow

breathing. She tried to calm herself. The defending

semiorganic droid had succeeded in removing

three of the attacking machines, but the remaining

five would almost certainly destroy FIDO.

Ackbar had proposed modeling a guardian

droid after the dreaded sea monster from Calamari,

the krakana. Calamarian scientists had

designed a resilient, partially sentient machine

that mimicked many of the krakana's most fearsome

traits. Its tentacles were threaded with

durasteel cables, its pincers plated with

razor-edged alloys. FIDO'S existence

centered on protecting the base. The droid

tentacles writhed out from the cavern, searching for more

prey.

Three of the remaining assault walkers hauled

themselves up on either side of the catacomb openings

to fire repeatedly into the caves.

Unexpectedly, from an apparently empty side

hole, another trio of tentacles grabbed one

of the Spider Walkers, dragging it toward the

central cluster of cave openings.

Winter marveled at the tactic. Not only was

FIDO destroying another one of the vehicles, it

was also using the MT-AT as a shield. But the other

Walkers did not stop shooting. Stormtroopers

considered each other expendable for the sake of a

mission.

The occupants of the captured Spider Walker

continued to fire. FIDO dragged the MT-AT

closer, crushing it against the rock like a

thick-skinned jewel fruit. At close

range the stormtrooper pilot powered up his

low-slung, high-power blaster cannons and fired

a combined blast into the caves. The enormous

explosion ripped out a vast chunk of the

catacombed understructure. Flames and

dust, broken rocks and volatile gases,

sprayed in a plume that rose into the violet

skies of Anoth. The backwash vaporized

FIDO'S body core and, simultaneously,

detonated the captured Spider Walker.

Inside the operations room FIDO'S

diagnostic panel went blank. Winter rubbed

her fingertips along the smooth surface of the

screen. The first line of defense had taken out

half the assault transports. "Good job,

FIDO," she whispered. "Thank you."

The multilegged assault transports began

pounding against the blast doors. The thumps of

turbolaser impacts and the screeching resistance of

heavy metal filled the air.

Winter knew what she had to do. She toggled

on the other automatic defense systems before

fleeing the operations room. With silent footsteps

she hurried down to the grotto, where Admiral

Ackbar had recently come to visit her in his

personal B-wing. Winter wished the

Calamarian admiral could be at her side right

now. She knew she could always count on him, but right

now she had to act for herself and young Anakin.

She ruthlessly clamped down on her personal

fears and forced herself to do what had to be done. No

time for panic. She ran along the tunnels,

leaving the metal hatches open for escape once

the stormtroopers saw her. When she emerged into the

landing grotto, the repeated thudding explosions from

outside nearly deafened her.

The blast doors buckled inward, dented and

glowing cherry-red as continued laser fire melted

away the outer armor, chewing into the super-dense

metal core. The doors bent as she watched; a

split appeared in the middle.

Articulated claws pushed through the opening.

Laser strikes continued around the attachment bolts

until the left-side door twisted. The other

door hung askew in its track.

Whistling wind shrieked into the landing grotto as

Winter stood ready to face the assault.

With a whir of straining engines, the Spider

Walkers clambered into the chamber, bristling with

weapons and manned by crack stormtroopers.

The Dreadnaught Vendetta maintained its

position in orbit. Colonel Ardax touched his

fingertips to the voice pickup in his ear, listening

to the report from the assault team on the

planetoid below.

"We have succeeded in breaching the blast doors,

Colonel," the stormtrooper commander said into the

radio. "Losses have been heavy. Rebel

defenses are stronger than anticipated. We

are proceeding with caution, but we expect to have the

Jedi child in hand shortly."

"Keep me updated," Ardax said.

"Report to me when the mission is completed, and

we will arrange for pickup." He paused.

"Was Ambassador Furgan one of the

casualties?"

"No, sir," the stormtrooper said. "He was

in the rearmost assault transport and faced no

direct danger."

Colonel Ardax signed off. "A pity."

Ardax was looking out at the three locked

planetoids when sudden alarms rang through the

Vendetta's control deck. "What's that?"

A lieutenant looked up from his sensor station,

his face ashen. "Sir, a Rebel battleship

has just come out of hyperspace! It outguns us by a

substantial margin."

"Prepare to take evasive action,"

Colonel Ardax said. "It appears that we've

been betrayed." He drew a cold breath through

gritted teeth. Furgan must have somehow given

away their plans to Rebel spies.

The wide communications screen sizzled with

gray static that resolved into the image of a

fish-headed Calamarian. "This is Ackbar, in

command of the star cruiser Galactic Voyager.

Surrender and prepare to be boarded. Any New

Republic hostages you have taken must be

returned unharmed."

"Reply, Colonel?" the communications

officer said.

"Our silence is enough of an answer," Ardax

said. "Right now our primary objective is

to survive. The surface team is forfeit.

Set course to fly between the two close components

of Anoth. The electrical discharges will mask us

from their sensors, and from that point we can

escape into hyperspace. Shields at

maximum."

"Yes, sir," the tactical officer said. The

navigator set a course.

"Full speed ahead when ready," Colonel

Ardax said. He paced on the control deck.

With a lurch the Vendetta accelerated toward the

broken planet. The Rebel battleship fired

at them. The Dreadnaught rattled and shook as

heavy explosions struck its shields.

"They outgun us, sir, but they are aiming

to disable, not to destroy."

Colonel Ardax raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, of course--they think we've got the child

already! Let's not convince them otherwise."

The Vendetta sped into the grinding jaws of the

broken world.

Leia squeezed until her nails bit into the

smooth fabric of Ackbar's command chair on the

Galactic Voyager. The battered old

Dreadnaught wheeled in its orbit and set a

new course. "They're calling your bluff,

Admiral," she said.

"They are not responding," Ackbar agreed.

"They won't respond," Terpfen said,

sullen at an auxiliary station. "They will run.

If they already have the baby, there is nothing to keep

them here. They won't risk a fight against a

superior battleship."

Leia swallowed, knowing Terpfen was right. She

wished Han could be beside her right now.

"Then we must not let them get away,"

Ackbar said. He had stuck close to Terpfen's

side throughout the journey. During the mustering of the

rescue force, Ackbar had snatched the most

loyal members of his salvage crew on Reef

Home City; he had gathered others from the starship

construction yards in orbit. In all that time he

had not once mentioned Terpfen's treachery.

Ackbar and Terpfen were having some kind of

silent conflict, a wrestling of wills. Ackbar

claimed he understood how the other had been

manipulated. He himself had been a prisoner

of the Empire, but instead of being programmed as a

spy and saboteur, he had served as an

unwilling liaison to Moff Tarkin. Though those

times had been oppressive, Ackbar had

managed to turn his close association with the cruel

strategist into an advantage during

Admiral Daala's attack on Calamari.

Now, he claimed, it was time for Terpfen to use his

misery against the Imperials as well.

As Leia watched from the bridge of the

Galactic Voyager, the blunt-ended

Dreadnaught ignited its sublight engines.

She closed her eyes, gripped the back of

Ackbar's chair, and sent out a tendril of thought

with her mind to seek the presence of baby Anakin,

hoping to find him or comfort him.

She sensed her baby across the vast distance of

space, but could not pinpoint his location, feeling

only his presence in the Force. She could make no

direct contact, could not see him. Anakin could still

be on Anoth, or he could be a prisoner aboard

the Dreadnaught.

"Crippling strikes only. Fire all

forward weapons," Ackbar said in a maddeningly

calm voice. "Cause only enough damage

to prevent them from entering hyperspace."

High-powered energy beams splashed against the

Vendetta's heavy shields. Residual

radiation glowed from the hits, showing minor damage

to the Imperial ship's hull. But the

Dreadnaught continued to accelerate.

"He's going between two of the planetoids,"

Leia said.

Terpfen leaned forward with interest, swiveling his

round eyes as he concentrated. "He's trying

to use the static discharges as camouflage," he

said. "With so much ionization scramble we'll lose

him on our sensors. Then he can escape on

any heading before we find him again."

Leia breathed deeply to subdue her

anxiety. They were so close--whichyou else would the

Dreadnaught run, unless they already had Anakin

on board? Again she tried to sense where the baby

was.

The two atmosphere-swathed fragments of

Anoth's primary body loomed ahead of the

Dreadnaught, with only a tight channel between the

lumps. Fingernails of lightning skittered from one

atmosphere to the other as the orbiting shards built

up an incredible electrostatic charge.

"Increase speed," Ackbar said. "Stop them

before we lose them in the static."

The Dreadnaught captain still refused

to respond.

"Fire again," Ackbar said. "Increase

power."

Turbolasers struck the starboard side of the

Vendetta, shoving it visibly to one side with the

momentum of the blasts. Its shields buckled;

parts of the Dreadnaught's sublight engines were

crippled. But the captain continued his flight. The

blue-white exhaust glow increased as the engines

powered up, readying for a jump into hyperspace.

"No!" Leia cried. "Don't let them

take Anakin away!" Before she could finish her

sentence, the Dreadnaught passed into the narrow

passage between the split planet.

A blinding blue tracery of static

blanketed the outer shields of the Vendetta, like

a half-formed cocoon. The glow of an ionization

cone spread out in front of it as it plowed through the

thickening atmosphere into spectacular storms.

Leia squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating,

concentrating. If she could establish a link between

Anakin's mind and hers, she had some minuscule

chance of tracking him once the Dreadnaught

vanished into hyperspace.

She sensed the people onboard the Imperial

battleship--but she felt no glimmer of her own

son, nor of her longtime companion Winter.

Leia reached out wider with her searching thoughts as the

Vendetta plowed through the thin bottleneck of

atmosphere.

The giant armored ship was like a metal probe

between a pair of fully charged batteries. The

Dreadnaught became a short circuit across the

two supercharged atmospheres.

A colossal lightning bolt blasted through the

atmosphere and linked across the warship like a chain of

fire. A river of raw power slammed into the

Vendetta from both sides, obliterating it in a

hurricane of searing electricity, leaving only

a burned afterimage on the screen.

Ackbar gasped audibly and hung his head.

Terpfen slumped in his chair, but Leia observed

the destruction with only part of her mind. She cast

across space--until at last she found the bright

point that was her youngest son, Anakin.

Terpfen stood up as if already bound in thick

chains. "Minister Organa Solo, I submit

myself to--was

Leia shook her head. "No punishment,

Terpfen. Anakin is still alive. He's on the

planet. But right now he's in terrible danger.

We have to hurry."

Winter crouched by the metal hatch outside the

landing grotto. She held a blaster pistol in

one hand, knowing her white hair and light robes

would make her easily visible even in the dimness.

Four huge mechanical assault

transports picked their way over the wreckage

of the left blast door and halted with hissing

engines in the middle of the grotto.

Transparisteel canopies flipped up with a

high-pitched whir to disgorge stormtroopers.

Flicking her eyes from side to side, Winter

took a quick inventory. Each of the four Spider

Walkers carried two troopers--eight

targets. She steadied her blaster and aimed at the

nearest white-armored soldier.

Winter fired off three shots in quick

succession. She couldn't tell how many actually

hit the trooper, but he flew backward with his

armor blasted to pieces. Other soldiers boiled

out of the transports, firing in her direction.

Winter hunched down, but could not get another

shot in. The last Spider Walker opened up

to reveal one stormtrooper and a squat man with

huge eyebrows and thick lips.

The other troopers had pinpointed Winter's

position next to the door and hammered repeated

blasts at her. She backed toward the open

hatch.

Winter had two choices: she could either run

back and stay with Anakin to defend him with her

life--or she could lure the seven remaining

invaders away from the baby and do her best to dispose

of them.

Winter squeezed the firing button of her

blaster without aiming. Bright streaks ricocheted

around the grotto. The squat man ducked under the

low-slung cockpit of a Spider Walker. "Go

get her!" he yelled.

One of the stormtroopers, still in the cockpit of

an MT-AT, brought laser cannons to bear and

shot at the wall beside her head, leaving a smoking

crater.

The squat man screamed from his hiding place

under the MT-AT, "Don't kill her. Use

stun until you have the child. You"--he gestured to the

trooper who had emerged from the Spider Walker with

him--his-every with me, we'll ... provide

reconnaissance. The rest of

you--capture that woman!"

Exactly as Winter had hoped. She fled

down the corridor, knowing that most of the assault

team would follow her. She sped along the sloping

tunnels, ducking low through jagged archways,

slamming heavy air-lock doors behind her as she

passed into a deeper level of the installation.

The stormtroopers followed, making short work

of the thick hatches by using focused thermal

detonators that blasted the metal doors out of

their seams.

Winter led them through the labyrinth of passages,

farther and farther away from baby Anakin. The

stormtroopers would be completely disoriented by now.

The troopers fired whenever they got a clear

shot, but Winter managed to avoid being blasted

to pieces. She heaved a sigh of relief--the

only emotional release she allowed herself--whichenough

she finally succeeded in leading the troopers into the

subterranean generator room and computer core.

The chamber itself was a dim morass of tangled

equipment, cooling ducts, metal pipes, and

throbbing life-support systems. The computer

core glowed with oblong green lights that flickered

in a waterfall pattern. The computers themselves,

incorporated into the pumping stations and generator

housing, formed a surrealistic cluster of twisted

metal and plastic and a confusion of transparisteel

diagnostic screens, inputstoutput terminals--

more equipment than anyone could possibly fathom

a purpose for.

Winter knew the equipment was just stage dressing

to hide the real purpose of the chamber.

The troopers hesitated at the threshold, as

if suspecting a trap within the shadows. Winter

pointed her blaster and fired seven rapid shots

at them. The stormtroopers dived for cover and

then, when Winter did not fire again, charged into the

dim room after her.

Winter did not try to hide. She ran to the

glowing pillar of the computer core and then into shadows

on the other side of the chamber, surrounded

by conduits and tubes and flashing lights that served

no purpose. The stormtroopers moved toward

her, still shooting.

Winter fired several more times, just to provoke

them, and to make sure they remained within the chamber.

One of her shots ricocheted off a gleaming

surface and flew into the side of a stormtrooper,

melting the white armor from his right arm.

Winter appeared to be cornered at the far side

of the room as the troopers advanced toward her--

five of them, one hanging back with an injured

arm.

The Imperial soldiers got halfway across

the space before the walls begin to writhe and move.

Jointed pipelines and conduits, bulky

control decks, and spherical readout panels

shifted, clicking together into specific components.

Winter heard pieces locking into place, metal

against metal, connections linking up.

The machine-filled walls suddenly became a

squad of burly assassin droids assembled out

of disguised components. The droids activated

their weapons, forming a shooting gallery whose only

purpose was to destroy stormtroopers.

Winter had no need to issue commands. The

assassin droids knew exactly what they were

supposed to do. They had been programmed

to ignore her and the Jedi children, but they knew their

targets well.

From all sides the assassin droids opened

fire on the five pursuers. The cross fire

of deadly beams cut down the white-armored

Imperials in less than two seconds, leaving

only piles of smoldering wreckage, fused and

melted armor, and useless weapons in dead hands.

None of the stormtroopers had an opportunity

to fire a single shot.

One of the troopers groaned once, hissed in

pain, then fell into the silence of death. The shadows

cast a blanket over the carnage.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Winter stepped

over the bodies, which were still sizzling from the

massacre. She looked down at the

expressionless black visors of the Imperial

enemy. "Never underestimate your opponent," she

said.

Ambassador Furgan crouched low as the

stormtrooper sprinted ahead of him down the

lumpy rock corridors.

Furgan had no combat training and no

experience, but he did his best to imitate his

companion's fluid movements. He held his

blaster rifle in hand, glancing down repeatedly

to make sure the weapon was powered up.

The tunnels were dim and shadowy, lit by white

glowtubes mounted along the ceilings. The

stormtrooper pressed his armor back

against the wall and held his weapon around a corner

to see if he drew any fire; then he jogged

down to the next intersection of tunnels.

They passed door after door, unsealing each

room, ready to snatch the helpless child and run

back to their MT-AT'S. Furgan and the trooper

found storage compartments filled with crates of

supplies and equipment, the dining room, empty

sleeping quarters--but no child.

Far beneath them Furgan heard the patter and

distant echo of blaster fire. He glared back

toward the sounds. "I told them not to shoot her

down. Why didn't they listen to me?" He

turned to the stormtrooper. "Now we'll have to find

the child all by ourselves."

"Yes, sir," the stormtrooper said, without

expression.

The next metal door was locked and sealed.

No one responded when the stormtrooper hammered

with his white gauntlet. He withdrew a pack of

tools from his utility belt, removed a

high-powered cutting laser, and slashed open the

door's control panel. Moving with nimble fingers

despite the thick gloves, he rewired the

sparking controls.

The door ground open, exposing the pastel

colors of a room filled with toys, a plush bed

... and a four-armed nanny droid backed into a

protective position in the corner to shelter a

small child.

"Ah, here we are at last," Furgan said.

He stepped inside looking around for booby

traps. The trooper flanked him, maintaining his

defensive position, blaster rifle in hand.

Furgan saw no other defenses, just the TDL

droid.

"Please leave," the nanny droid said in a

sweet, grandmotherly voice. "You are disturbing the

baby."

Furgan let loose with a full-throated

laugh. "The only defense they managed was one

nanny droid?" He chuckled again. "We sent

an entire assault team to take a baby away

from a nanny droid?"

The TDL droid stood in front of the baby,

who sat very still on the floor. The droid used her

lower set of arms to unfold a blaster-proof

metal apron from the base of her torso to shield

the baby from stray laser fire.

"You may not have this child," the droid said.

"I must warn you that my programming is

to protect him at all costs."

"How touching. Well, I'm going to take that

child--at all costs," Furgan said, nodding with a

triumphant smile to the stormtrooper. "Go

get the baby."

The stormtrooper took one step forward. The

droid held out all four hands in an

imperative gesture to stop. "I'm sorry, but

I cannot allow that," the nanny droid said

calmly. "Close your eyes, baby Anakin."

"What are you waiting for?" Furgan snapped

at the trooper. "It's only a nanny

droid."

With a whir and a click all four of the droid's

hands detached and dropped to the floor, exposing the

blaster barrels hidden in each of her wrists.

"I am an enhanced nanny droid," she said with

prim emphasis, "and you will not harm this child." She

let loose with all four barrels, firing gouts

of deadly energy.

The four beams struck the approaching

stormtrooper before he could swing up his blaster

rifle. He was hurled back against the wall,

shards of white armor flying away from smoking

black wounds.

Furgan yelled in astonishment and terror.

He swung up his blaster rifle and depressed

the firing button long before he took time to aim.

A flurry of incandescent bolts sprayed across

the room, reflecting from the pastel walls,

bouncing off the corners.

Furgan ducked, but continued to fire. The

nanny droid centered all four blaster arms on

him--but Furgan raked his stream of blaster

bolts across her rounded head and soft,

flesh-encased torso, succeeding more through luck than

skill. Sparks flew and molten metal showered

in all directions.

Beneath the blaster-proof apron, the baby began

to wail.

Bruise-colored lips curved upward in a

smile, Furgan stepped over the debris of the

nanny droid and the dead stormtrooper

to retrieve the child. He reached down to grab one of

little Anakin's arms and yanked him into the air by the

cloth of his pajamas. Furgan wasn't quite

sure how to hold a baby, especially one that

continued to squirm as this one did.

"Come with me, little one," he said. "You

are about to begin a whole new life of galactic

importance."

Han Solo longed to get closer to Kyp

Durron in the Council chambers on

Coruscant, wanting to comfort his young friend--but the

armed New Republic guards surrounding Kyp

made it impossible for anyone to approach.

Kyp moved slowly, as if walking barefoot

across shattered glass. His eyes were dull. His

face was seamed with new lines, as if the dark spirit

of Exar Kun had shed his four thousand years of

existence onto Kyp's shoulders.

The Sun Crusher had once again been impounded

by New Republic security, and Mon Mothma

had declared the entire area off limits. There would

be no further research into the workings of the

superweapon. Kyp's chaotic vengeance had

demonstrated how horrible the Sun Crusher

truly was.

Inside the Council chambers the air smelled

thick and oppressive from too much tension and too

little ventilation. The stone added a msty old smell

to the room. The place made Han uneasy and

claustrophobic.

The Council members wore their formal

uniforms like armor, frowning like ancient sentinels,

passing judgment. Some looked as if they hadn't

had any rest. Han felt deeply troubled to be

facing them without Leia. She had departed from

Yavin 4 with Terpfen, supposedly to go see

Ackbar, but he had not been able to learn what had

happened to her. Leia certainly knew how

to take care of herself, though, and he did not dare

leave Kyp alone with the predators here.

Mon Mothma, flanked by her ever-present

medical droids, seemed only partially aware of

what was going on. None of the other Council

members had suggested removing her from office

while she was still willing to attend meetings, though

Mon Mothma contributed little. Han was stunned

by how much the Chief of State had worsened in just the

last few days.

One of the functionaries beside the sculpted door

arch tapped on a long chime, sending a pure

tone into the air to call the attendees to order.

Han didn't know much about the protocol of

government, but he didn't plan to stand

by and do nothing while Kyp was trounced

by bureaucratic bigwigs. Before one of the members

could speak, Han stepped forward. "Hey! Could you

let me put in a word for my friend, Kyp

Durron?"

Aging General Jan Dodonna hauled himself

to his feet. Ancient and weathered, like a piece

of gnarled driftwood, the bearded general still

seemed filled with energy. His eyes flashed at

Han. "The prisoner may speak for himself,

General Solo. He has certainly shown no

reluctance to act for himself. Let him answer our

questions now."

Chastised, Han stepped back and looked at

the floor, tracing patterns made by cracks in

the inset flagstones. Since Dodonna had the

lectern, he leaned forward to look down at

Kyp. The young man lifted his tousled head and

blinked sheepishly at the old tactician.

"Kyp Durron," Dodonna said, "you stole

the Sun Crusher. You attacked and temporarily

incapacitated the Jedi Master Luke

Skywalker. You blew up the Cauldron

Nebula and obliterated two other inhabited star

systems. I will not debate the tactical

significance of your actions--but we cannot tolerate

juggernauts who make up their own orders and

cause wholesale destruction on a whim!"

The other Council members agreed. General

Rieekan's deep, thick voice reverberated

through the chamber. "This Council had already decided

that the Sun Crusher would never be used. We

disposed of it in a safe and protected place, but

you knowingly thwarted our wishes."

The other members fell quiet after

Rieekan's words. They seemed eager to add their

own condemnations, but realized there would be little point

in it.

After a moment of silence Kyp spoke. His

voice sounded impossibly thin and small,

reminding Han and everyone else there just how young this

boy was. "I have no excuse for my actions.

I'll accept the consequences."

"Even if your actions demand the death

penalty?" the obese Senator Hrekin Thorm

asked. "Such destruction as you have caused can

warrant nothing less than execution."

"Wait a minute!" Han said. The Council

members glared at him, but he ignored their

silent rebukes. "I know, I know--but

listen to me for a minute. Kyp wasn't himself.

He was possessed by the evil spirit of a Sith Lord

who has since been defeated. And he did do some

good. He destroyed Daala's fleet. How many

lives did he save by doing that? We are at

war, after all."

Mon Mothma's words wheezed from her cracked

lips. Her voice came out in a ragged whisper.

The rest of the chamber fell into a deep hush as she

began to talk. "Kyp Durron," she said, "you

have the blood of millions, perhaps billions, on

your hands. We are a governing body here, not a

judicial council. We have no right to decide

your fate. You--was She gasped as if using most

of her energy just to fill her lungs. "You must be

judged by the Jedi Master. We are not qualified

to judge your crimes."

She raised one of her hands to gesture toward

Han. "Take him to Yavin. Let Master

Skywalker decide his fate."

Leia, Ackbar, and Terpfen joined the

rescue party from the Galactic Voyager,

swooping through the violet skies of Anoth.

Ackbar took the lead in his own B-wing. His

weapons systems were powered up and ready to attack

any ground assault team the Dreadnaught had

deployed.

The starfighters soared over the fanged landscape

toward the stone turret that Ackbar and Luke had

chosen for the base. Leia saw signs of damage

that made her blood run cold, smoke and

debris from an attack. "We're too late,"

she whispered.

Part of the spire had been blasted away, and

soot splattered the eroded surface. Below, she

saw the still-smoldering remains of several

horrific mechanical spiders.

Ackbar's voice came over the ship-to-ship

intercom. "Winter must be putting up a good

fight. Our emplaced defensive systems are

functioning as planned."

Leia swallowed to clear her dry throat.

"Let's just hope that's good enough, Admiral."

The fighters targeted in on where the

blast doors had been melted aside. One of the

heavy metal shields still hung in place in its

tracks. The rescue ships maneuvered around the

four Walkers that cluttered the floor of the landing

bay. Ackbar, Leia, and Terpfen sprang out

of their cockpits as other Calamarian fighters

joined them.

"Terpfen, go with Minister Leia and half the

fighters directly to the nursery. See if the

baby is still there. I will take the other troops

down into the lower levels to find Winter. I think

I know what her strategy would have been."

Leia, not bothering to argue, yanked out her own

blaster pistol. With a hardened expression she

took the lead, running to see that her child was safe.

The team swarmed down the maze of convoluted

tunnels toward the nursery. Leia glanced around

her as she jogged but saw no signs of blaster

fire on the walls. Weapons rattled against

body armor as the Calamarians ran to keep

pace with her.

As they rounded the last corner toward Anakin's

room, Leia swerved to keep from tripping over the

slow-moving power droid who plodded along on its

rounds, unconcerned with the turmoil. Leia paid the

walking battery no further heed when she saw the

door to the nursery yawning open.

"Oh, no," she said, lurching to a cautious

stop just as Ambassador Furgan backed out,

clutching a squalling Anakin to his broad

chest.

Both Leia and Furgan froze for a moment,

staring at each other. Furgan's eyebrows jerked

up in a muscular twitch like birds about to leap

into flight.

The Calamarian rescuers leveled their

weapons at Furgan. He held the baby in

front of him like a shield.

"Give Anakin back to me," Leia said,

her voice dripping with greater threat than an

entire fleet of Star Destroyers could convey.

"I'm afraid not," Furgan said, and

wrapped a broad hand around Anakin's fragile

neck. His wild eyes flicked from side

to side. "Point your guns away from me, or

I'll snap his neck! I've gone through all this

to get the Jedi baby, and I'm not going to give

him up. He's my hostage, and the only way he

stays alive is for you to let me go."

He edged along the tunnel. His

back scraped against the rough, lumpy wall.

Furgan locked his eyes on the weapons pointed

at him, but he held the baby out, squeezing the

boy's throat. "Even if you stun me, I can still

crush his windpipe. Drop your weapons!"

"Back off," Leia ordered, taking a step

backward.

The Calamarian defenders stepped to the side,

clearing a path for Furgan--all except for

Terpfen. He stood holding his hands in front of

him like sharp claws.

Furgan saw the swollen, sagging

Calamarian head, the tracery of blunt scars

-comand suddenly recognized him. "So, my little

fish, you betrayed me after all. I didn't think

you had the strength of will."

"I found the strength," Terpfen said. He

stepped toward Furgan. Anakin continued

to squirm in the ambassador's arms.

"Stop!" Furgan said. "You have enough on your

conscience, little fish. You wouldn't want to add the

death of this baby to it."

Terpfen made a low gurgling noise that was some

kind of Calamarian snarl. Furgan kept his

wild gaze fixed on all those cornering him as

he slid backward toward the Spider Walkers

and his only escape.

In his grasp baby Anakin's deep-brown

eyes flashed, as if he were deep in thought.

Suddenly Furgan cried out as he stumbled

against the squarish, waddling power droid that had

silently crept up behind him. The power droid

gave out a small jolt of electricity,

shocking Furgan.

The ambassador tripped and fell, still holding

the child. The power droid shuffled out of the way with a

squeal of something like terror.

As the Calamarian defenders snatched up their

weapons again, Terpfen lunged forward to grab the

baby out of Furgan's hands.

The other Calamarians fired at Furgan,

but the squat man rolled across the floor, got

to his knees, and launched himself around the corner,

moving far faster than Leia would ever have thought

possible.

"After him!" Terpfen cried. He passed

baby Anakin to Leia and dashed off in pursuit

of Furgan.

As hot tears flowed from her eyes, Leia

hugged her youngest son, trying to find words

that would console him--but nothing came to mind, so she

just made cooing noises. She sank to the floor,

rocking him back and forth.

Ackbar's broad feet slapped on the stone

floor as he ran deeper into the catacombs. His

lungs burned in the dry air, but still he insisted

on more speed. He pulled ahead of the others. So

far Winter had followed exactly the guidelines

he had established for defense of the base.

He knew from the wreckage outside that the

Foreign Intruder Defense Organism had

done its job, eliminating half the Spider

Walkers before they could breach the blast doors--but

it had not been enough. Winter would have proceeded down

to trigger the camouflaged assassin droids.

The other team members clattered behind him. He

could smell dust and engine oil in the dry air, and

also a sharp, damp smell like copper and smoke--

blood.

The robed form of Winter sprang around the

corner, holding a blaster in front of her,

ready to fire. But she froze. For just an instant

a smile of delight crossed her face.

"Ackbar! I knew you would come."

Ackbar strode toward her, resting his hand on

her arm. "I arrived as fast as I could. You are

safe?"

"For the moment," she said. "The defenses have

eliminated all but two of the intruders, according to my

inventory."

"Are you certain?" he said.

"I never forget anything," Winter said, and

Ackbar knew it was true.

"Leia and the rest of my team should be getting

Anakin now," he said, then continued softly,

"We split up so that I could determine if you

required assistance."

She nodded. The expression on her face

softened. "I will not feel comfortable until I see

the baby safe."

"Let's go," Ackbar said, still out of breath.

Together they began the long run uphill.

Terpfen raced feverishly up sloping

corridors. His feet were raw, bleeding from

running on the textured floor, but still he ran.

He didn't care if this race killed him. He

had to get to Furgan before the ambassador

escaped.

Furgan had jerked his controls and made

Terpfen reveal damning secrets of the New

Republic, forced him to sabotage Ackbar's

B-wing so that it had crashed into the Cathedral of

Winds, made him betray the location of the Jedi

baby.

Terpfen would pay his personal debt in any

way he could--but Furgan would also have to pay the

price.

With determination coursing through his veins, Terpfen

passed the other Calamarian pursuers. Through the

dimness he could hear Furgan scurrying forward like

a krabbex.

"Follow!" Terpfen wheezed as he shot past

the others. Terpfen leaped over fallen hunks of

metal shrapnel, blasted doors that the invading

stormtroopers had blown away. He emerged

into the landing grotto to find Furgan already

scrambling into one of the unoccupied MT-AT'S.

"You can't escape, Furgan!" Terpfen

shouted. He paused to catch his breath against the

melted but now cooled hatch.

Furgan slung one leg over the edge of the

Spider Walker and settled himself into xs

cockpit. His face wrinkled as if someone had

scrunched it up from the inside.

"We already destroyed your Dreadnaught in

orbit," Terpfen said. Finding energy deep within

him, he staggered toward the walker. He heard the

other troops catching up.

Furgan looked amazed at the news, but then

his face smoothed again with disbelief. "I know

better than to trust you, little fish. Your whole

life is a lie."

Furgan closed the transparisteel canopy.

The engines hummed to life. One of the outer blast

doors had been completely torn away; the other

hung half-open. Wind sighed through the opening. In

the clotted purple sky the two larger components

of Anoth rode overhead like stone clouds

exchanging lightning across the silence of space.

Terpfen snarled and ran to another Spider

Walker. He was a chief starship mechanic.

He had helped the Imperials work on their combat

vehicles and their Star Destroyers. He could

run any equipment--probably better than

Furgan himself.

In his panic Furgan had trouble making all

eight of the Walker's legs move in sequence

to make progress across the grotto

floor, but he finally plowed ahead, swiveling the

laser cannons on the joints of the articulated

legs to blast one of the B-wing fighters that stood

in the way.

Terpfen powered up his Spider Walker and

slammed down the canopy. The machine had crude

controls and sluggish response, nothing at all

like the streamlined controls used on Mon

Calamari Star Cruisers.

Furgan's vehicle approached the large

opening at the cliff's edge, and Terpfen knew from

the design of the MT-AT that it could climb

straight down the rockface. He didn't quite know

how Furgan would escape once he got to the

bottom; he doubted the ambassador had thought that

far ahead.

Terpfen found the fire controls and shot his

lasers three times, taking out one joint of the other

Walker's legs. The lower portion of the metal

limb sheared off and fell to the grotto floor with a

clang.

Off balance, Furgan's Walker scuttled

in a drunkard's circle until he managed

to compensate for the lost limb. Once again he made

for the exit.

Terpfen saw the powerful blaster cannons

slung beneath his cockpit--if he fired both of

them in the enclosed grotto, it would obliterate

Furgan's assault transport ... but the

explosion would also destroy him and his own Walker,

and probably most of the B-wings as well.

Then Terpfen saw other rescuers streaming into the

grotto. Admiral Ackbar himself came from a

different entrance and stood with his own team next to a

white-clad woman whom he recognized as

Leia's companion Winter.

He could never fire the blaster cannons now.

But he vowed not to let Furgan escape. Working

the controls, Terpfen lunged the eight-legged

vehicle forward in pursuit just as Furgan's

machine tottered on the edge.

Ackbar arrived in time to see the beginning of the

battle between the two Spider Walkers.

Terpfen's lasers blasted out, striking the

ambassador's MT-AT. Furgan didn't

seem to have a plan, intending only to get away.

Terpfen's Walker scuttled forward. Its

clawed footpads struck sparks from the landing-bay

floor.

Terpfen blasted again and again with his lasers.

Furgan fired back, but his shot missed,

scoring sharp flakes of rock from the grotto

wall.

Terpfen's MT-AT charged ahead, raising its

two front clawed legs, and grabbed the metal

limbs of Furgan's transport, raising it

partway off the floor. Furgan's vehicle

reached out with its own legs to grasp the edge of the

cave opening, trying to haul itself forward and away.

Terpfen fired directly at the

transparisteel canopy of the cockpit, but the

laser shots could not pass through the shielded

surface. His Spider Walker grappled with

Furgan's vehicle, four mechanical legs

planted firmly on the stone floor, four legs

pushing with all his engine's capacity.

A large chunk of rock shattered at the claw

grip. With a horrible sound of rending, tearing

metal, Furgan's walker finally broke free

of the grotto opening.

Terpfen's MT-AT pushed forward and forward.

Inside the cockpit of the ambassador's

vehicle, Furgan frantically grabbed the

controls but did not seem to know which to use.

Terpfen continued his relentless blasting with the

lasers. He shoved Furgan's walker

completely through where the blast door had been blown

away and held out the thrashing MT-AT over open

space.

Terpfen released his grip.

Ambassador Furgan's multilegged

vehicle flailed as it dropped through the air on

a long plunge toward the jagged landscape far

below. Before the assault vehicle could actually

strike the ground, Terpfen fired both of his

powerful blaster cannons. The beams blew up

Furgan's MT-AT with a blinding flash just above

the spiked rocks.

And then, inexplicably, Terpfen's walker

continued its own forward motion, moving mechanical

legs to drive him over the edge in a suicidal

plunge.

Ackbar instantly knew what Terpfen

intended. Not wasting time with a shout that would not be

heard, he lunged for the blast-door controls.

Just as the thrashing metal legs vanished over the

lip of the cliff, Ackbar punched the buttons,

hoping that the skewed half of the door still functioned

just enough. The heavy metal plate

crashed down on top of the last footpad of

Terpfen's Spider Walker, pinning it to the

cliff and preventing it from falling.

"Help him!" Ackbar cried.

The other Calamarians scrambled forward,

accompanied by the admiral himself. Secured with a

tow cable from one of the B-wings, they lowered themselves

over the cliff to open the canopy of Terpfen's

walker. Inside they found him shuddering and nearly

unconscious with shock. The team rigged a sling and

hauled him to the safety of the grotto.

Ackbar bent over him, looking stern. He

called Terpfen's name until the scarred

Calamarian finally stirred. "You should have let me

die," he said. "My death should have been my

punishment."

"No, Terpfen," Ackbar said, "we cannot

choose our own punishment. There is still much you can

contribute to the New Republic, still a great many

things to do before you will be allowed to give up."

Ackbar straightened, realizing that those words could

just as well apply to himself, after he had run away

to hide on the planet Calamari.

"Your punishment, Terpfen," he said, "will be

to live."

The Falcon cruised over the lush

treetops of Yavin 4, and Han Solo set

the ship down in front of the Great Temple. He

bounced down the landing ramp.

Leia and the twins practically tackled him as

they rushed to greet him. "Daddy, Daddy!"

Jacen and Jaina cried in peculiarly

overlapping voices. Leia, back from Anoth,

cradling the one-year-old against her chest,

squeezed Han and gave him a long kiss as

Anakin played with her hair. The twins jumped

up and down against Han's legs, demanding the

attention that was their due.

"Hello there, little guy!" Han grinned down

at Anakin; then he looked deep into Leia's

eyes. "Are you all right? You've got a lot of

details to tell me. That message you sent

wasn't very explicit."

"Yeah," she said. "You'll get the whole

story, when we have some quiet time, just the two of

us. I'm glad all of our children are home to stay,

though. We'll protect them ourselves from

now on."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Han said,

then chuckled and shook his head. "Say, weren't you

telling me that I shouldn't go off and have

adventures by myself?"

Han stepped away from the Falcon as he

saw Luke Skywalker striding toward him across

the flattened landing grid. Artoo-Detoo

puttered along next to him as if reluctant ever

to leave his master's side again.

"Luke!" Han cried. He ran to give

Luke an enthusiastic hug. "Great to see you

up and around again. About time you quit napping."

Luke clapped him on the back and smiled with

dark-ringed eyes that shone with an inner brightness

stronger than ever before. As he conquered each

seemingly insurmountable obstacle, Luke's

Jedi powers grew greater and greater--but, like

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, a Jedi Master

learned to use his powers even less, relying on

wits instead of showmanship.

In the dense jungle surrounding the Massassi

temple a squawking racket boiled up as a

gang of woolamanders startled a pair of feathered

flying creatures; the woolamanders hurled rotten

fruit as the flying creatures flapped into the

air, shrieking down at their tormentors.

Han glanced toward the disturbance, but Luke's

gaze remained fixed on the Falcon, as if

held by a powerful magnet. Han turned to look

-comand stopped.

Kyp Durron, still wrapped in the slick

black cape that Han himself had given him,

descended the boarding ramp. His eyes locked on

Luke's, and the two Jedi stared at each other as

if psychically linked.

Han stepped away from Luke, and the Jedi

teacher silently walked across the weed-strewn landing

grid. Kyp reached the end of the ramp, planted his

feet on the soil of Yavin 4 again, and stood

looking penitent.

Han could tell from Kyp's rigid posture and

his set jaw that the young man was terrified at having

to face his Jedi Master. Han felt cold, not

wanting to be trapped between two people he counted among

his dearest friends.

Leia took the children off to one side, watching the

encounter warily. Concern furrowed her brow as she

flicked her gaze from her brother to Kyp and back

again.

Luke walked toward his student slowly, as if

gliding over the ground. "I knew you would come

back, Kyp."

Han watched him, and it seemed that Luke had

no anger in his bearing, no fury or need for

vengeance.

"Exar Kun is destroyed?" Kyp asked

hoarsely, but he knew the answer already.

"Exar Kun will have no influence on your

future training, Kyp. The question is, what will you

do with your abilities?"

Kyp blinked his eyes in shock. "You--you would

let me continue my training?"

Luke's expression softened further. "I had

to witness the death of my first teacher. I also had

to confront Darth Vader, my own father. I have done

other difficult tasks.

"I did not plan these things, but each time I

passed through the fire of an ordeal such as those, I

emerged a more powerful Jedi. You, Kyp, have been

thrown into the flames. I must determine whether you

have been consumed--or tempered into a great Jedi.

Can you forsake the dark side?"

"I ..." Kyp stumbled over his words. "I will

try."

"No!" Luke shouted with the first glimmering of

anger that Han had heard in his voice. "There is

no try. You must believe you will do it, or you will

fail."

The jungle fell silent. Kyp hung his

head, and his nostrils flared as he took a deep

breath. The young man's dark eyes glittered as

he looked back up into Luke's face.

"I want to be a Jedi," he said.

Lando Calrissian felt as if the

million-credit reward was burning a hole in his

account. He needed to invest it soon.

It was a new feeling for him to have such a large

sum of money and nothing practical to do with it.

He had won control of Bespin's Tibanna

gas mines in a sabacc game, and he had served

for years as Baron Administrator of Cloud

City. He had run metal-mining operations on the

superhot planet Nkllon, and now with his huge

reward from the blob races on Umgul, Lando

saw no reason why he could not make a

successful operation out of the spice mines

of Kessel.

"I really appreciate your taking me,

Han," Lando said. He reached over to slap his

friend's shoulder in the cockpit of the Millennium

Falcon. He knew that Han was not terribly

pleased to leave Leia and his children again so soon,

even if only for a day to drop him off at

Kessel. He suspected, too, that Han was

also worried about Chewbacca and the Maw occupation

force, who had sent no word since advancing into the

black hole cluster. Since the Maw lay near

Kessel, Han probably hoped to learn some

news.

"It'll be worth it, if only to keep you from

begging for rides all the time," Han said, looking

in the opposite direction. He glanced out the

front viewport. "I still think you're crazy

to want to go to Kessel--even crazier to want

to stay there."

Ahead, the small planet orbited near its

faint sun. The misshapen lump of Kessel had

too little gravity to hold its own atmosphere, and

so the gases streamed into space like a tenuous mane

flowing out from its barren rocky outline. A large

moon, on which the alien prison lord Moruth

Doole had stationed his garrison of pirates,

climbed over the limb of Kessel, emerging from the

wispy corona of escaping air.

"Last time I came here with Chewie," Han

said, shaking his head, "we got shot down. I

promised myself I'd never come back--and now it's

only been a couple of months, and here I am

again."

"That's just because you're a good friend, Han. I

really appreciate it. Mara Jade wouldn't

want me to be late."

Han smirked. "If she remembers to show

up, you mean."

Lando laced his fingers behind his neck, staring at the

rising moon as the Falcon arrowed in to a close

orbit. "She'll be there," Lando said. "I'll

bet she's been counting down the days."

"Wish I had Chewie back as a

copilot," Han muttered, rolling his eyes.

"At least he didn't say such hokey things."

At the mention of Chewbacca, both men

subconsciously looked toward the glowing

tapestry of ragged gases surrounding the Maw

cluster. Somewhere inside, Chewbacca and the rest of the

strike force should be mopping up their

efforts to retake the Maw Installation. The

black holes made communication impossible, so

they had no way of knowing what had happened during

the occupation.

"I hope he's all right, Han," Lando said

quietly.

Han leaned forward to finger the controls on the comm

unit. He hesitated, and his face sagged for an

instant; he flicked on the transmitter, then

cleared his throat, businesslike again. "This is

Han Solo on the Millennium Falcon,

approaching Kessel."

Lando watched Han's left hand drift to the

hyperspace controls. A new course had already

been programmed into the navicomputer. Han was

ready to dash away at a moment's notice if

anything suspicious happened.

"We're looking for Mara Jade, a

representative of the Smugglers' Alliance,"

Han continued. "We, uh, request permission

to land on the garrison moon. Please acknowledge

before we come any closer." Han's face was lined

with concern.

"Don't be so nervous, Han," Lando said.

"Things have changed on Kessel. You'll see."

Han's voice took on a defensive tone.

"I just don't want to take any chances after

what's already happened."

Before Lando could respond, Mara Jade's

crisp, businesslike voice came over the

speaker. Lando felt his heart warm at hearing her

subtle tones. He imagined her soft lips

moving, forming the words.

"You're half a day late, Solo," she

said.

"Well, Lando here wanted to make himself look

presentable," Han said, grinning, "and you know how

much time that could take."

Mara gave a short, sharp laugh, and Lando

glared at Han. "Come on in, then," she said.

"I've brought a defensive fleet from the

Smugglers' Alliance. The garrison moon is

secure. We'll discuss our business there. I

have an escort coming for you--something I think

Calrissian will appreciate."

Lando smiled broadly. "She's planned some

kind of surprise for me! Probably a token

of her affection."

"Oh, brother." Han rolled his eyes again.

Han checked the coordinates on his

navigation console and vectored in toward the large

station on Kessel's moon.

Disguised as potential investors in the

spice-mining operations, Lando Calrissian and

Luke Skywalker had been shuttled up to this

moon by froglike Moruth Doole. Doole

had done his best to show off the spice-mining operations

in hopes that Lando would sink his blob-won

credits into the facility.

With a shudder Lando remembered how all the ships

in the hangar bay had launched after them when he and

Luke had stolen Han's repaired Falcon.

The Kessel pirate fleet had run headlong

into Admiral Daala's Star Destroyers, as

they charged out of the Maw cluster after Han Solo.

The two fleets had crashed into each other,

inflicting horrendous damage, but Han,

Luke, and Lando had fled into hyperspace before

seeing the outcome of the battle. ...

Now a single small ship appeared over the

misty horizon of Kessel. "This is Jade.

I'm your escort. Follow me."

The space yacht approached, then spun about

to dart toward the moon. Han increased the

Falcon's speed.

Lando sat up sharply, his eyes blinking in

astonishment. "Hey, that's my ship!" he cried.

"That's the Lady Luck. That's--was

"Well," Han said, "at least that saves us

the trouble of looking for it."

Lando grabbed the comm unit. "Mara, you found

my ship! I can't thank you enough." He lowered his

voice. "If there's anything I can do to repay

you, anything in your wildest dreams ..."

"Keep talking like that, Calrissian, and I

might just send this ship on autopilot into the

sun."

Lando leaned back in the seat with a sigh and a

smile. He flashed a glance at Han.

"She's such a kidder."

The space yacht Lady Luck looked

sleek and angular with propulsion pods slung

below. Her hull gleamed, none the worse for wear,

somehow unscathed from the devastating battles on

Kessel.

Lando fidgeted, anxious to see Mara again,

anxious to sit back in the plush cushions of his

own pilot chair, to luxuriate in the smell and

feel of his own ship.

They entered the cave mouth of the moon

garrison, flying past the thick blast doors

into the garish light of a large landing bay. The

atmosphere-containment fields closed behind them and

repressurized the habitable area. The

Falcon coasted in on its repulsorlifts and

landed in a broad polished area beside the Lady

Luck.

Mara Jade swung out, clad in a tight

metallic jumpsuit with a helmet tucked under

her right elbow. As she tossed her head to loosen

her dark, reddish-brown hair, she narrowed her

eyes. Lando stared with a warm-cold shudder at the

energy and intelligence that radiated from this woman.

He marveled at her generous curves, her tough

exterior.

"Hey, Mara," Han said, "where did you find

Lando's ship? We thought we were going to have to spend

days combing the surface for it."

"Right where Lando claims he landed it. Seems

nobody had time to strip her down and remove the

identification markings."

Lando glanced around the garrison bay, but all

the ships looked unfamiliar, custom designs

-comn the barely moving scrap heaps that had made

up Doole's fleet. These were emblazoned with

markings unique to each vessel, though each

carried a crosshatched design on the wing.

Mara noticed his inspection. "That's our new

insignia for the Smugglers' Alliance," she said.

"Not too obvious, but enough for us."

"What happened to all of Doole's ships?"

Lando sniffed the enclosed dry air, smelling the

powdered rock and spilled hyperdrive fuel that

made the air sour and unpleasant.

"Ninety percent of Doole's ships were

obliterated in their tangle with Daala's Star

Destroyers. Most of the surviving pilots took

their ships and fled into hyperspace. No one knows

where they are now--and frankly, I don't really

care.

"When a few New Republic relief

ships came in, they evacuated most of the

inhabitants, the prisoners in the Imperial

Correction Facility, a few holdouts in the

city of Kessendra. Nobody wants to make

a life on Kessel if they have another option."

"So what you're saying," Lando said, letting his

hopes rise, "is that Kessel is deserted,

ready for the taking?"

"Yes," Mara said. "I've talked

over your proposal with some members of our

Alliance, and it sounds good to us. Not only have you

proved your ability in your other ventures, but

you've also got strong connections with the New

Republic, which will allow efficient distribution

channels for glitterstim. You've even got enough

money to invest in the new infrastructure." She

shrugged. "Sounds like a good deal all around."

Lando beamed. "I knew you'd realize that being

partners with me is a very good deal."

Mara turned abruptly and continued with her

discussion, ignoring his insinuation. "But we need

to move right away. We've heard talk of other,

less-scrupulous crime lords arranging to take

over the mines. The spice tunnels are empty,

ripe for the plucking. Frankly, we'd rather deal with

you, Calrissian, than someone who's going

to bring in his own teams and cut the Smugglers'

Alliance out of the entire operation. That's why we

brought our forces here to hold it, just in case some

Hutt crime lord gets any ideas."

"Makes sense to me," Han said.

Lando rubbed his hands together, looking at the other

ships in the bay. Various smugglers moved around,

humans and aliens, burly-looking men and women,

people he wouldn't want to meet alone in the dim lower

levels of Coruscant. "Should we go down and have

a look at the real estate?"

"Fine." Mara snapped to attention. "Let's

go ahead and take your ship, Calrissian. You

pilot her."

Lando reveled in the feel of his controls again,

running his hands along the soft, polished seats.

This was his own space yacht, specially built

to his personal design. Now he was riding in the

cockpit with a beautiful, intelligent woman,

heading down to a planet where he intended to make a

fortune. He didn't think the day could possibly

get better.

He was right.

When they soared low over the parched and blasted

surface of Kessel, they cruised past one of the

major atmosphere factories, which had once

spewed manufactured air to replenish the constant

loss from the low gravity.

But the tall stack stood half-collapsed.

Black blaster scorches mottled its pale

exterior. The baked, dry ground--already lifeless

except for a few tufts of extremely

hardy vegetation--had been torn up by TIE

bombers and space-based turbolaser strikes.

"Over half of the atmosphere factories are

out of commission," Mara explained. "Admiral

Daala did a lot of damage. Seems she

thought this was a Rebel base, so she struck at

anything that showed up on her targeting screens."

Lando had a sinking feeling deep in his chest.

"This is going to take more work than I had

anticipated," he said. But he consoled himself

by calculating the unclaimed wealth within the

tunnels below and thinking of how he could get teams

of droids, Sullustans, and other races to work

for shares in the profits. It might take a little

longer to earn back his investment, but the demand for

pure glitterstim was so high that he could raise his

prices--at least until he turned a profit.

"I'm heading toward the prison," Lando said.

"That fortress should have withstood the attack from

space. I think I'll use that as my base of

operations. It'll take some conversion, but we should be

able to adapt it into the control center for our new

manufacturing complex."

The speed of the Lady Luck rapidly ate

the kilometers across the empty landscape until

a towering trapezoid stood like a great monument

on the barren surface.

The old Imperial prison was made of

synthetic rock, flat, unappealing tan veined

with other colors. An outcropping of crystal

windows jutted from the slanted smooth front.

Tubed elevator shafts rode along the angled

corners. The place was streaked with burn marks,

but appeared undamaged.

Lando heaved a sigh of relief. "At least the

building looks intact," he said. "Something's

going right for a change. This'll be a great place

to start." He smiled at Mara. "You and I should

christen our new headquarters!"

Mara Jade frowned and kept looking out the

front viewport. "Ah ... there is one

problem, Calrissian."

Lando and Han turned to look at her. The

prison loomed higher as the Lady Luck

continued to approach.

Mara continued. "Well, you see, Moruth

Doole has holed himself up inside the prison

building. He's scared to death, doesn't know

what to do. All of his cohorts have fled or been

killed, and now he's using the

sophisticated prison-defense systems to keep

everyone else out."

The fortress looked impenetrable, a huge

hulking mass of stone armor. Lando had no

desire whatsoever to see Moruth Doole again,

and neither, he knew, did Han.

"I wish you had mentioned that detail a little

sooner," Lando said with a grimace as he brought the

Lady Luck in for a landing.

Inside the rigid cleanness of the medical

chambers in the old Imperial Palace,

Terpfen stood silent and patient. He waited

and watched the massaging bubbles in the bacta tank

working on Mon Mothma's ailing body.

The medical chambers glowed with sterile

whiteness. The tiles on the floor and walls had

been acid scoured; utensils and surgical

equipment gleamed silver and chrome. Wall

monitors blinked with a steady, throbbing rhythm,

proclaiming the declining state of Mon

Mothma's health.

Outside the chamber doors two New

Republic guards stood watch, making certain

no one could intrude.

Sound-absorption panels in the ceiling deadened

the mechanical whispers in the large chamber.

Two bullet-headed medical droids hovered

on either side of the tank, tending Mon Mothma and

paying no attention to Terpfen.

Beside him Ackbar stood tall and strong.

"She'll be finished soon," he said. Terpfen

nodded, not eager to speak to Mon Mothma--but

resigned to the necessity of it.

In these chambers the Emperor had himself undergone

rigorous treatments as dark-side workings rotted

his physical body. Perhaps the same

facilities could remove the scourge within Mon

Mothma's body. Terpfen had little hope of that,

though, now that he knew what had caused it. ...

Mon Mothma blinked her greenish-blue

eyes through the murk of the tank solution. Terpfen

couldn't tell if she could focus on them standing

outside, or if she merely sensed their presence.

She moved her head, and the thick air hose

drifted with her. Bubbles pummeled her body,

forcing invigorating solutions through her pores.

Mon Mothma released her grip on

the stabilizers within the tank and floated up. The

droids assisted her in getting out. She stood

sagging, dripping as her lightweight robes

dribbled solution into drainage grates on the

floor. Even the thin wet robes seemed as

heavy as a leaden shroud to her. Her auburn

hair clung like a skullcap. Her eyes were

sunken, her face chiseled with deep canyons of

pain and weakness.

She filled her lungs and exhaled, resting the

flat of her hand against the medical droid's green

shoulders. She raised her head with obvious effort

and acknowledged her visitors.

"The treatments give me strength for only about

an hour. Their effectiveness decreases every day,"

she said. "Soon it will be useless, I'm

afraid, and I will no longer be able to perform my

functions as Chief of State. The only question is

whether I resign before the Council removes

me. ..." She turned to Terpfen. "Don't

worry, I know why you are here."

Terpfen blinked his glassy eyes. "I

don't believe--was

She raised a hand to cut off his objections.

"Ackbar has spoken to me at great length. He

has considered your case thoroughly, and I agree

with his conclusions. You were not acting of your own free

will, but were merely a victim. You have redeemed

yourself. The New Republic can't afford to throw

away defenders who are willing to continue the

fight. I have already issued a full pardon for

you."

She wavered, on the verge of slumping

backward. The two medical droids moved

to help her to a chair. "I wanted to make sure

that got done before ..."

Ackbar made a grumbling noise as he

cleared his throat. "I am also here to tell you,

Mon Mothma, that I have decided to stay. I will

request that my rank be reinstated, now that it is

clear the crash on Vortex was not solely due

to my error, as I had originally thought. The people of

Calamari are resilient, and they are strong--but

if the New Republic is not also strong, my

work at home will be fruitless, because we will face a

galaxy full of shadows and fear."

Mon Mothma smiled at Ackbar, a sincere

expression of relief. "Ackbar, knowing that you will

be here makes me feel stronger than any of these

treatments ever did." Then she showed a

deeper misery and let her chin sink into her hands,

a moment of weakness she would never have displayed in

front of the Council. "Why did this disease have

to strike me now? I'm mortal just like everyone

else ... but why now?"

Terpfen walked across the slippery floor,

feeling the cold, polished surface on the

soles of his broad feet. He bowed his

scar-traced head. At the doorway the two

New Republic guards stiffened at seeing the

known traitor so close to their Chief of State,

but Mon Mothma showed no alarm. Terpfen

looked down at her.

"That is what I have come to discuss with you, Mon

Mothma. I must tell you what has happened

to you."

Mon Mothma blinked, waiting for him

to continue.

Terpfen searched for the right words. His mind seemed

so empty now that the implanted biological

circuits had been neutralized. He had

hated the insistent compulsions from Carida, but now

he was left alone with his own thoughts--noto one else

inside his skull to taunt him, or to guide him.

"You are suffering from no disease, Mon Mothma.

You have been poisoned."

She jerked in sudden shock but did not interrupt

him.

"It is a slow, debilitating poison

targeted specifically to your genetic

structure."

"But how was I exposed to this poison?" She

looked hard at him, not accusing, but insisting on

answers. "Did you do it, Terpfen? Was this

another of your programmed actions?"

"No!" He reeled backward. "I have done

many things--but this is not one of them. You were poisoned

by Ambassador Furgan himself, as dozens of people

watched. During the diplomatic reception at the

Skydome Botanical Gardens. Furgan

carried his own refreshment because he claimed you

might try to poison him. He had two

flasks, one on each side of his hip. In one

flask he carried his true beverage, in the other

he carried a poison specifically developed

for you. He pretended to propose a toast and then

tossed a glassful of the poison into your face.

It seeped into your pores and has been

multiplying and attacking your cells ever since."

Both Ackbar and Mon Mothma stared

at him in astonishment.

"Of course!" she said. "But it's been

months. Why did they choose such a slow-acting

..."

Terpfen closed his eyes, and the words came to him

as if he were reciting a script. "They wanted

a long, debilitating decline for you because of the

damage it would do to the New Republic's

morale. If you were simply killed, you could

become a martyour. Your death might have

galvanized support from otherwise neutral

systems. But with a slow, progressive weakening,

it could be seen as the decay of the Rebellion."

"I see," Mon Mothma said.

"Very shrewd," Ackbar said. "But what are we

to do with this information? What else do you know of the

poison, Terpfen? How can we treat it?"

Terpfen heard the silence in his head like a

scream. "This is not a true poison. It is a

self-replicating swarm of nano-destroyers:

microscopic, artificially created viruses

dismantling Mon Mothma's cells one nucleus

at a time. They will not stop until her life

ceases."

"Then what do we do?" Ackbar persisted.

Finally the helplessness and all the pain within

Terpfen built until it spilled out of him like a

star finally reaching its flash point.

"We can do nothing!" he shouted. "Even knowing

about this poison does not help us, because there is no

cure!"

The battered Star Destroyer Gorgon

barely survived its passage through the

gravitational whirlpool into the Maw cluster.

Admiral Daala strapped herself to a command

chair on the bridge as the Star Destroyer was

buffeted by tidal forces that would rip the ship apart

if their trajectory deviated from its charted

path. Daala had ordered her crew to stand down and

take refuge in protective areas, to buckle

themselves into theirthe stations and prepare for a rough ride.

Of the very few known paths inside the Maw cluster,

she had chosen the shortest, the "back door," but

still her ship was in no shape to withstand the enormous

stresses for long.

Many of the Gorgon's stabilizers had blown

in their narrow escape from the multiple

supernova explosion in the Cauldron

Nebula. Shields had failed at the end--but

they had held long enough. The Gorgon's

once-ivory metallic hull was now streaked and

scarred. Outer layers of armor had boiled

away, but Daala had taken a gamble.

She had been lucky fleeing from the exploding

suns, while only seconds behind her the

Basilisk had vaporized in flame,

disintegrated by the outrushing supernova shock

wave. But Daala had ordered the Gorgon

to plunge blindly into hyperspace mere moments before

the explosive front had reached her rear

thrusters. The desperate leap knocked them

headlong on a reckless course through the hazards

of the universe. The Gorgon would have been

obliterated if they had stumbled onto an

interdimensional path that passed through the core of a

star or planet. But through some miracle of fate

that had not happened.

The Gorgon had emerged in an uninhabited

void in the Outer Rim. Their shields had

failed, life-support systems partly burned

out, and the hull had been breached in several areas that

let the atmosphere squeal into the vacuum of

space until those compartments were sealed off.

Collectively gasping from their narrow

escape, Daala's crew had set about effecting

repairs. It took her navigators a day just

to determine their galactic position because they had

gone so far afield. Armored spacetroopers in

totally contained environment suits walked over the

external skeleton of the Gorgon, removing

ruined components, patching weak spots in the

hull, rigging replacements from their meager

inventory of spare parts.

The Star Destroyer had drifted in the

uninhabited space between stars. One of the engines was

permanently damaged, and three of the aft

turbolaser batteries were dead. But Daala had

let none of her crew rest until the Gorgon

was functional again. They had a mission to complete.

She did not allow herself the luxury of rest, either,

tirelessly marching down corridors, inspecting

repairs, making personnel assignments,

prioritizing maintenance tasks.

Daala had done well for more than ten years,

drilling her stormtroopers and her space navy

personnel. They were used to grueling labor, and

they performed admirably now that they were

faced with a true crisis.

Grand Moff Tarkin had given her command of four

Star Destroyers to protect Maw Installation.

But her first ship, the Hydra, had been lost

even before she could bring her fleet out of the Maw

cluster. The Manticore had been destroyed

behind the moon of Calamari, unable to run when some

Calamarian tactical genius had

second-guessed Daala's strategy. Her

third ship, the Basilisk, already injured in the

battle against smuggler forces at Kessel, had

not been able to flee the supernova explosions fast

enough.

Daala had been helpless to stop the attrition

of her forces. She had planned a fabulous and

devastating attack on the Rebel capital world

of Coruscant, but before she could strike, Kyp

Durron had used the Sun Crusher against her.

During the long days of repairs Daala had

come to terms with her failure. She had misplaced

her priorities. Her only reason for existence

should have been to protect Maw Installation, not

to wage a private war against the Rebellion.

Once the Rebels knew of the Installation, they

would no doubt attempt to steal its secrets.

Her priority now was to fulfill the mission that

Tarkin had given her.

The Gorgon was wounded, unable to proceed at

full thrust; but still Daala approached the Maw

with all possible speed. She would return to the

Installation and protect what remained of it, to the

best of her ability. There would be no such thing as

surrender. She had a job to do, a duty she had

sworn to her superior officer Tarkin.

Now Admiral Daala clung to her command

chair and kept her eyes open against the blazing

swirls from the inferno of trapped gases. The

Gorgon plunged through the barrier of black

holes and followed a convoluted path. Daala

felt her insides tugged as she passed gravity

wells so deep they could crush an entire

planet to the size of an atom.

The windowports dimmed, but still Daala did not

close her emerald eyes. Presumably only

she knew the detailed route, but young Kyp

Durron had found his way, and she assumed that

other Jedi Knights could perform the same feat.

Daala heard a system squeal with

automatic alarms as some critical component

failed. Sparks shot out of one of the

sensor stations, and a lieutenant strained against the

pull of acceleration to bypass the systems.

In his seat Commander Kratas spoke through

clenched teeth. "Almost there," he said, his voice

barely audible above the racket.

A series of automatic warning signals

echoed through the bridge--and suddenly the colors

washed away from the front viewport like a

blindfold being ripped from her eyes. The Star

Destroyer had stumbled into the shielded calm at the

center of the cluster.

She recognized the isolated clump of

interconnected planetoids gathered in a loose

configuration. Glittering lights showed that the

facility still functioned. In a rapid assessment

she saw that the framework of the Death Star

prototype was gone--and in its place she saw a

Rebel frigate and three Corellian

corvettes.

"Admiral!" Kratas said.

"I see, Commander," she answered in a

clipped voice.

She unbuckled her restraints and stood up,

automatically smoothing down the olive-gray

uniform that clung to her trim body. Sweat

prickled like tiny insect stings on her skin as she

stepped onto the command platform and walked closer

to the viewport as if responding to a summons.

Her gloved hands gripped the bridge railing

as if to strangle something. Black leather squeaked

against enameled metal. The Rebels had come, just

as she had feared--and Daala had arrived too

late to stop the invasion!

Her lips grew white as she pressed them

together. She believed the Gorgon had survived

for a purpose. And now, as she returned to Maw

Installation, it seemed as if the spirit of Grand

Moff Tarkin were looking over her shoulder, guiding

her. She knew what she was destined to do. She could

not fail a second time.

"Commander, power up all functional weapons

systems," Daala said. "Shields up.

Approach the Installation."

She looked back at large-browed,

weak-chinned Commander Kratas, who snapped

to attention.

"It appears we have some work to do," Daala

said.

27

Kyp Durron ducked under a thorny vine as

a flock of scarlet insect-birds thrummed

into the air. Acrid stinging thistles brushed against his

arm, his face. Overhead, the interlocked

branches rustled as arboreal creatures fled from

the noise. Sweat dripped from Kyp's dark

hair, and the oppressive air felt like a moist

blanket, smothering him.

He did his best to keep up with Master

Skywalker, who flowed through the jungle

thickets, finding secret paths that allowed him

to pass unhindered. Kyp had once used dark

tricks to dodge spiny debris and find the

easiest routes through the underbrush; now, though, even

the thought of such techniques made him shudder with

revulsion.

Once, when he had gone on a jungle

sojourn with Dorsk 81, Kyp had brashly

used a Sith technique to generate an

unappetizing aura around himself, driving away

gnats and bloodsucking pests. Now, though,

Kyp tolerated the misery as Master Skywalker

led him far from the Great Temple.

They had left the other Jedi trainees

to continue their independent studies. Master

Skywalker was proud of them. He said that the

trainees were reaching the limits of the techniques

he himself could teach them. The new Jedi Knights

would grow in their own directions, discover their own

greatest strengths.

But since the time he had come within a razor's

edge of blasting Han Solo with the Sun Crusher,

Kyp had been reluctant to use his power,

afraid of what it might drive him to do. ...

Master Skywalker took Kyp alone out into the

jungles, leaving the great pyramid behind as

Artoo-Detoo wobbled and jittered, bleeping with

displeasure at being left behind.

Kyp wasn't sure what the Jedi teacher

wanted from him. Master Skywalker said little as they

trudged for hour after hour through the dripping rain

forest and the oppressive humidity, the

insect-laden air, the claw-thorns of brambles.

Kyp was intimidated to be alone with the man he

had defeated through Exar Kun's evil powers.

Master Skywalker had insisted that Kyp arm himself

-comt he wear the lightsaber built

by Gantoris. Did Luke intend to challenge

Kyp to a duel--a duel to the death this

time?

If so, then Kyp vowed not to fight. He had

allowed his anger to cause too much destruction

already. It was only by a miracle that Master

Skywalker had survived the onslaught of Sith

treachery.

Kyp had recognized the dark side when Exar

Kun whispered in his ear, but he had been too

overconfident, thinking he could resist where even

Anakin Skywalker failed. But the dark side

had swallowed him whole--and now Kyp questioned all

of his abilities and wished he could just be free of

his Jedi talent so he need not fear what he

might do with it.

At the edge of a clearing, with tall grasses

stroking against each other, Master Skywalker

came to a halt. Kyp stopped beside him to see

two ferocious-looking predators, iridescent

in scales of pale purple and mottled green for

camouflage in the thick vegetation. They looked

like hunting cats crossbred with large reptiles:

their shoulders were square, their forearms as powerful as

heavy pistons. They had three eyes across their

boxy faces, yellow and slitted, unblinking as

they stared at the intruders.

Master Skywalker gazed back at them in

silence. The breeze stopped. The predators

growled, opening their mouths to expose scimitar

fangs, and let out a purring howl before they melted

back into the jungle.

"Let's continue," Master Skywalker said,

and walked across the clearing.

"But where are we going?" Kyp asked.

"You'll see soon enough."

Unable to bear his feelings of isolation and

loneliness, Kyp tried to keep the Jedi teacher

talking. "Master Skywalker, what if I

fail to distinguish between the dark side and the light

side? I'm afraid that any power I use now

might also lead me down the path of destruction."

A feathery-winged moth flitted in front of

them, seeking nectar from the bright flowers that

blossomed among the creeping vines. Kyp

watched the moth's flight until suddenly, from

four different directions, sapphire-winged

piranha beetles zoomed in to strike, ripping

the moth's wings to shreds. The moth fluttered and

struggled, but the piranha beetles devoured it

before it could even fall to the ground. The beetles

buzzed so close to Kyp's face that he

could see their saw-toothed mandibles ready to tear

flesh to shreds; but the beetles ratcheted away

to seek other prey.

"The dark side is easier, faster, more

seductive," Luke said. "But you can identify

it by your own emotions. If you use it for

enlightenment to help others, it may be from the light

side. But if you use it for your own advancement, out

of anger or revenge, then the power is tainted.

Don't use it. You will know when you are calm,

passive."

Kyp listened and knew that he had done everything

wrong. Exar Kun had given him false

information. The Jedi Master turned to him; his face

looked haggard with the weight on his shoulders. "Do

you understand?" Master Skywalker asked.

"Yes," Kyp answered.

"Good." Master Skywalker parted the branches

on the other side of the clearing to expose a sight

that made Kyp stop cold in his tracks. They

had come from a different direction, but Kyp could

never forget the site itself. Fragments of burning

ice trickled down his spine.

"I feel cold," he said. "I don't

want to go back there."

They stepped out to where the vegetation dropped off

at the edge of a glassy-smooth lake, a

circular reflecting pond where the water looked

clear and colorless and reflected the cloudless

skies above like a pool of quicksilver.

In the center of the pond sat an island of

volcanic rock on which perched a sharply angled

split pyramid made of obsidian. Two

halves of the steep pyramid had been spread

apart to bracket the polished black statue, a

towering colossus of a man with flowing hair,

bulky uniform, and a long black cape. Kyp

knew the image all too well.

Exar Kun in life.

Inside that temple Kyp had received his

initiation into the Sith teachings, while Dorsk 81

had lain in an unnatural coma against the wall.

The spirit of Exar Kun had meant to destroy the

cloned Jedi student on a whim, as a gesture

of power, but Kyp had stopped him, insisting instead

that the Sith Lord teach him everything. He had seen

things that still left yammering nightmares in the depths

of his mind.

"The dark side is strong in that place,"

Kyp said. "I can't go in there."

Master Skywalker said, "In your fear lies

caution, and in that caution lies wisdom and

strength." He squatted on a comfortable rock at

the edge of the crystalline lake. He shaded his

eyes against the light reflecting from the surface

of the pool.

"I will wait here," Master Skywalker said,

"but you must go inside."

Kyp swallowed, terror and revulsion rising

within him. This black temple symbolized everything

that had rotted his core, everything that had led him

astray, all the mistakes he had made. The

dark lies and goading of Exar Kun had caused

Kyp to kill his own brother, to threaten the life of

his friend Han Solo, to strike down his Jedi

teacher.

Another shiver passed through him. Perhaps this was his

punishment.

"What will I find in there?" Kyp asked.

"Ask no more questions," Master Skywalker said.

"I can give you no answers. You must choose

whether to carry your weapon with you." He nodded

toward the lightsaber handle clipped to Kyp's

waist. "You will have only what you bring with you."

Kyp touched the ridged handle of the lightsaber,

afraid to turn it on. Did Master

Skywalker want him to leave it behind or take

it? Kyp hesitated. Better to have the weapon and

not use it, he decided, than to need it and be

without.

Trembling, Kyp went to the water's edge.

He looked down and observed the tall columns

of stone that stopped just beneath the surface of the water,

providing submerged stepping stones.

Tentatively, he set one foot on the first

stone. The water rippled around his foot. He

drew a deep breath, raised his head high, and

fought back the echoing voices in his head. He had

to face this, whatever it was. He did not look

back at Master Skywalker.

He crossed the water and climbed onto the

lichen-encrusted lava rocks of the island, walking

the narrow path that led to the triangular entrance of the

temple.

Beneath the towering statue of Exar Kun, the

black opening glittered with implanted Corusca

gems. Incised runes and hieroglyphics

broke the polished brightness of the obsidian. Kyp

stared at the writings, finding that he could summon

some of their meaning back to him; but he

shook his head to clear the words from his thoughts.

The temple seemed to breathe a cool air

current that seeped in and out of the enclosed space.

Kyp did not know what he would find inside. His

body stiffened with anticipation. He looked around,

refusing to call out. Kyp took one step into the

doorway and looked up at the dour chiseled

face of the long-dead Sith Lord. Then he entered

the temple chamber.

The walls glittered with an inner light that had

been trapped within the volcanic glass.

Tracings of frost spiraled in a frozen dance

up and down the walls. In the far corner a

cistern dripped, filled with chilled water.

He waited.

Suddenly Kyp's stomach wrenched. His skin

crawled. He blinked as his vision blurred. The

air around him grew grainy as if the light itself

had splintered inside the temple.

He tried to turn, but found himself moving

sluggishly as if the air resisted him,

solidifying around him. Everything flickered.

Kyp staggered deeper into the temple, trying

to move quickly, but his body would not respond with its

customary speed.

A shadow rose from the black wall, an

ominous form, human-shaped. It gained power,

growing as Kyp fed it with his fear. The figure

rose higher, oozing out of the cracks, out of a

blackness from beyond time, a featureless silhouette

that nevertheless seemed familiar to Kyp.

"You're dead," Kyp said, attempting to sound

angry and defiant, but his voice was uncertain.

"Yes," the oddly familiar voice spoke from

within the shadows. "But still I live within you. Only

you, Kyp, can make my memory strong."

"No, I'll destroy you," Kyp said. In his

hand he felt the black power crackling, the

ebony lightning he had used to strike Master

Skywalker: the power of fanged serpents, the dark

teachings of the Sith. How ironic it would be to use

Exar Kun's own power against him! The energy

grew stronger, begging to be unleashed, demanding that

he give himself over to it so he could eradicate the

black shadow for all time.

But Kyp forced himself to stop. He felt his

heart pounding, his blood singing in his ears, his anger

taking control--and he knew that was wrong. He

took deep breaths. He calmed himself. This was not

the way.

The black Sith power faded from his fingertips.

The shadow waited; but still Kyp forced his power

back, smothered his anger. Anger was exactly what

Exar Kun would want. Kyp could not give in to it

now.

Instead he reached for the lightsaber at his hip,

pulled it free, and flicked on the power

button. The violet-white blade shone in an

arc of cleansing electricity, purest light.

The shadow hovered, as if waiting to do battle

with him, waiting for Kyp to make the first move. It

lifted its nebulous arms, blacker than anything

Kyp had seen before. Kyp raised Gantoris's

lightsaber to strike, proud of what he was about

to do. He would use a Jedi weapon instead--a

weapon of light to strike the darkness.

He made ready to swing. The shadow hung

poised, as if stunned--and Kyp halted again.

He could not strike out, not even with a lightsaber.

If he attacked Exar Kun, he would still

succumb to the temptation and ease of violence,

regardless of the weapon he chose.

The lightsaber handle felt cold in his grip,

but Kyp switched the power off and clipped the handle

to his belt. He stood alone, face-to-face

with the shadow that now seemed his own size, merely the

black outline of a human wearing a shroud.

"I will not fight you," Kyp said.

"I am glad," said the voice, which became

clearer now, more maddeningly familiar. Not Exar

Kun at all. It never had been.

The shadowy arms reached up to pull back the

cowl, exposing a luminous face that clearly

belonged to Kyp's brother, Zeth.

"I am dead," the image of Zeth said, "but

only you can keep my memory strong. Thank you

for freeing me, brother."

The image of Zeth embraced Kyp with a

brief, tingling rustle of warmth that melted the ice

in Kyp's spine. Then the spirit vanished, and Kyp

found himself alone again in a msty, empty temple

that no longer held any power over him.

Kyp stepped into the warm sunlight again, free

of the shadows. On the opposite shore he saw

Master Skywalker stand up and look at him.

Luke's face wore a broad grin, and he

opened his arms in a celebratory gesture.

"Come back and join us, Kyp," Master

Skywalker called. His voice echoed

across the flat surface of the still water.

"Welcome home, Jedi Knight."

The immense barricade doors of the Imperial

Correction Facility did not budge, nor

did they open when Han knocked. Naturally.

He stood with Lando and Mara Jade outside

on the scoured landscape of Kessel, dressed in

an insulated jumpsuit taken from the Lady

Luck's stores. Mara leaned closer to Han,

her shout muffled through the breath mask covering her

mouth.

"We could bring down a full-scale assault

team from the moon," she said. "We have enough

firepower."

"No!" Lando shouted. His dark eyes shone with

excitement and anxiety. "There must be a way

to get in without damaging my facility!"

The cold, dry wind stung Han's eyes, and

he turned his head to protect them from the breeze.

He remembered gasping for air when Skynxnex,

Moruth Doole's henchman, had dragged him and

Chewbacca into the spice mines without giving them

breathing apparatus. Right now Han wanted nothing

more than to kick the toadlike Doole out of the

prison so that his frog eyes could blink and his fat

lips pump together as he tried to fill his lungs.

Doole, an administrator of the Correction

Facility, had dealt in black-market

glitterstim, making deals with Han and other

smugglers to deliver the precious cargo

to gangsters such as Jabba the Hutt. But Doole

had a habit of delivering his partners

into Imperial hands whenever it proved convenient.

Doole had ratted on Han long ago, forcing

him to dump his cargo--which had made Jabba very

angry. ...

Han did not want to be back on Kessel.

He wanted to be back home with his wife and children.

He wanted to have his companion Chewbacca back.

He wanted to take a nice, relaxing vacation.

For once.

"I've got a better idea," Mara said,

interrupting Han's thoughts. She craned her

neck to look up at the murky sky. "Up on

the garrison moon I brought along Ghent, our

slicer. You might remember him. He used to be

one of Talon Karrde's top aides.

He can crack into anything."

Han remembered the brash young slicer: an

enthusiastic kid who knew electronics and

computer systems intimately, but didn't know when

to keep his mouth shut. Han shrugged. They

didn't need social skills now; they needed

someone who could crack through the defenses.

"Okay, bring him down along with the

Falcon," Han said. "I've got a few

gadgets inside my ship that might help us out,

too. The sooner we can get in, the sooner I

can get going."

Lando agreed. "Yes, any way to enter without

doing too much damage ..."

Mara pursed her lips. "I'm also going

to bring in a team of fighters. I've got four

Mistryl guards and a handful of other smugglers who

are getting fidgety with our new alliance. Some

of them have been complaining that it's been too long

since they had a good, satisfying fistfight."

An hour later, cold and uncomfortable even in

the insulated suit, Han sat on the Lady

Luck's thruster pod. He saw the faltering

plumes from two distant atmosphere-factory

stacks, but the rest of the world stood lifeless. He

knew from experience, though, that deep within the spice

mines lurked hideous energy spiders, waiting

to strike any creature they found.

Han heard a sonic boom reverberate through

the thin atmosphere, a high-pitched sound mixed

with the thunder of sublight engines. He scanned the

sky until he saw the pronged disk of the

Millennium Falcon.

The ship landed in a powdery white clearing beside the

Lady Luck. The ramp slid out, and five

smugglers emerged: two tall, well-muscled

women--Mistryl guards--a hairy,

tusk-faced Whiphid, and a reptilian

Trandoshan; each wore a uniform with the

crosshatched insignia of the new Smugglers'

Alliance. The smugglers bristled with weapons;

their bulging belts contained enough recharge packs for

an entire assault.

Last down the ramp, still fumbling to adjust a

breath mask over his face, came Ghent the

slicer, with tousled hair and rapidly blinking,

alert eyes. He nodded cursorily at Mara,

then fixed his entire attention on the barricade

gates. Slung over his shoulder was a satchel

crammed with tools, diagnostic

apparatus, splitters, rerouting circuits, and

security-cracking equipment. "Should be a piece

of cake," Ghent said.

Mara Jade and Lando sat next to Han and

watched Ghent fall to work with total concentration, not

the least distracted by the miserable environment of

Kessel.

Han said, "I certainly never dreamed I'd

be trying so hard to break into the Kessel

prison."

Cowering behind a locked door in the lower levels

of the Imperial Correction Facility, Moruth

Doole longed for the good old days. Compared to the

constant paranoia he had endured for the past several

months, even life under the Imperial yoke had

been paradise.

After he had taken over the prison years

ago, Doole had moved into the warden's office,

where he could spend much time staring out at the

landscape, observing the desolate purity of the

alkali wastelands. He had fed upon tender flying

insects. Whenever the whim struck him, he had

mated with one of his captive female Rybets in

his personal harem.

Now, though, since Daala's attack, he

had moved into one of the high-security prison

cells for protection. He had tried to make

preparations, establish defenses, because he knew

someone was going to come after him, sooner or later.

The cell walls were thick and blast proof. The

lights shone down, burning shapes into his

blurry vision. He tapped the mechanical eye

that helped him to focus. The device had broken

during the space battle around Kessel.

Doole had tinkered with the mechanical components,

putting its gears and lenses back together; it no

longer worked quite properly, though, and his vision winked

out from time to time.

Doole paced the cold stone floor of his

cell. Everything had fallen apart. The planet

Kessel had been abandoned, leaving only smoking

rubble on the surface and destroyed hulks of

ships strewn across the system all the way to the

black hole cluster. Doole couldn't even get

a ship of his own to escape. He didn't want

to stay here--but what choice did he have?

Even the blind larvae--the large-eyed creatures

whom Doole had locked inside pitch-black

rooms to process the mind-enhancing

spice, glitterstim--were growing restless. He

had cared for them, given them food (a meager

amount, to keep their growth down, but enough for

survival), but now they had begun to struggle.

Doole snorted, making a squeaking sound with his

bloated lips. The larvae were his own ungrateful

children, immature Rybets who had not yet undergone

their final metamorphosis. Blind and wormlike,

almost as large as Doole himself, the larvae were

perfect workers to wrap the spice fibers in

opaque sheaths, since even brief exposure

to light would spoil the product. His children could work

in the blackness, and be happy. And what sort of

gratitude did they show him?

A few larvae had gotten loose, fleeing

blindly through the winding prison passages, hiding in

shadowy cells, waiting in darkened wings to ambush

Doole if he came looking for them. But he was

not going to look. He had more important things

to do.

To make things worse, one of the largest male

larvae had freed all of Doole's specially

picked females! The females had fled into the

labyrinth of the prison, so that during this time of

greatest terror, Doole couldn't even relieve

his tension with an occasional visit to the harem.

He had no choice but to remain locked inside

his office cell, pace the floor, and be

alternately bored out of his mind and scared out of his

wits. When he did make his way to the

storerooms, he emerged heavily armed, waddled

quickly down the corridors, and came back with as

much food as he could carry.

He had an escape tunnel, of course.

He had blasted a channel into the spice mines

directly under the prison. Doole could lose

himself for a long time in that network, but he still couldn't

get off-planet. And lately the tunnels had

become a far more dangerous place.

After Daala's attack most of the spice

miners had fled. Without guards and construction and

loud machinery, the spiders had surged upward

to lay down their glitterstim webs along the

walls. Looking with specially adapted kinetic

energy detectors, Doole had spotted swarms

of the monsters in the deepest shafts, migrating

closer to the surface.

In despair Doole sat on his bunk and

smelled the dank air of the dungeon. At

another time he might have found it comforting and

cool, but now he just rested his sucker-tipped

fingers against damp jowls and stared at the

monitors.

He was astonished to see a ship land outside.

And even though all humans generally looked

alike to him, Doole was certain he recognized

one of the three intruders pummeling his armored

door: Han Solo, the man he hated most in

the entire universe, the man who had caused all

this misery!

At the ominous prison gates Han watched

as Ghent the slicer worked diligently on the

problem. He jacked in all manner of

equipment, components stolen out of other systems,

barely functional combinations that somehow found

loopholes around defense systems.

Ghent raised a triumphant fist into the

grainy sunlight. The reinforced latticework of the

defensive portcullis rode up on invisible

tracks. With a hollow clunking sound the shipping and

receiving gates split apart, squealing and creaking as

they lumbered into the thick walls. A gust of

higher-pressure air bled out of the prison.

The four large smugglers shouldered their weapons

and plodded forward, crouched over and ready to fight.

The two Mistryl guards took the lead, sliding

along the walls. The burly Whiphid and scaly

Trandoshan strode brashly down the middle of the

hall.

No attack came from the dark passageway.

"Let's go find Moruth Doole," Han said.

None of his options looked good, but Doole had

to make choices. He had watched Han Solo

and his group of commandos force their way in--and

Kessel was supposed to be the toughest prison in

the galaxy. Hah!

Doole didn't know how to use the built-in

defense systems, the external laser cannons,

the disintegrator fields. He was helpless without

his right-hand man, Skynxnex, but the scarecrowish

fool had gotten himself killed chasing Solo through

the spice tunnels, devoured by one of those energy

spiders.

As a desperate measure Doole had come to the

conclusion that he must trust his own children, the blind

larvae he kept in blackness since the moment they

writhed out of the gelatinous egg mass in the harem

wing's breeding pools.

Doole rushed down the corridors, gathering

weapons from the prison's armory. He carried

two satchels of blaster pistols over his shoulder

as he opened the protective vaults. Suddenly

exposed to the light, the larvae reared back like

caterpillars, blind eyes bulging as they

attempted to sense the identity of the intruder.

"It's only me, only me," Doole said.

Bright light stabbed at them, illuminating their

pale skin. Damp vestigial hands reached up,

small fingers and arms short and weak, not

completely formed. Wormlike tendrils quivered

below their mouths as the larvae made soft burbling

noises.

Doole herded the oldest and strongest of the

larvae along ramps to the lower levels. He would

station them as guardians inside his cell. Being

blind, they probably couldn't hit anything with the

blasters, but he hoped they would at least fire with

enthusiasm once he gave them the orders.

Given enough cross fire, Doole could hide behind

a blast-proof screen and hope the firefight would

kill Solo's team.

As Doole ushered them toward his cell, he

smelled the musky wetness of their fear and

uncertainty. The immature Rybets did not like

change, preferring a rigid daily routine

until eventually they molted and became adults,

gaining intelligence and self-awareness.

Distracted by trying to think of what other

defenses he might bring to bear, he was startled

by a high-pitched scream echoing from three of the

nearby chambers. Several of the freed female

Rybets sprang out, wailing and throwing sharp

objects at them.

Doole ducked as broken shards of

transparisteel, sharpened knives, and heavy

paperweights flew at him. Doole tried

to grab a blaster from one of the two satchels on his

back, but a drinking mug struck him on the soft

side of his head. He dropped one of the satchels

and ran wildly down the corridor, waving his

sucker-tipped hands.

Most of the larvae followed him, but a few

split off to stay with their mothers. Doole ran,

wanting only to get back to the safety of his

cell. Finally slamming the thick door behind him,

he emptied his remaining satchel and placed

fully charged blasters in the hands of six

potential defenders.

"Just point it toward whatever noise you hear,"

he said. "When they break in, it's up to you

to shoot. This is the firing button."

The smooth-skinned creatures shivered and ran

their sensitive mouth tendrils over the barrels

of the weapons.

"You point it, and it makes a blast."

Doole repositioned the pistols in their

vestigial hands, pointing them toward the door.

Without warning the vision in his mechanical eye

flickered again, and Doole couldn't see a thing.

He moaned in terror. The escape tunnel was

sounding better and better.

With a growing dread in the pit of his stomach,

Han Solo hurried down the prison

corridors. The entire place was full of

cold shadows, echoing with emptiness.

Over the comm link Mara Jade said, "We've

found him, Solo. He's barricaded in one of the

dungeons. We tapped into the surveillance

cameras. He's got some creatures standing with

him, and they appear to be armed."

"On my way," Han said.

When he reached the lower corridors, Han

saw heavy barricades thrown in place across a

sealed door. Mara watched the operation as the two

female Mistryl guards placed concussion

detonators around the door seal.

Lando paced nervously. "Don't do any more

damage than you have to," he said. "I've got

enough repairs to make here on Kessel as it is."

The two women ignored him as they sprinted out

of the way. They ducked their heads and covered their

ears as a rapid thud thud thud echoed from the

concussion detonators.

They heard a volley of sudden blaster fire

from inside the sealed chamber, a high-pitched

shriek of energetic beams striking and ricocheting

off the walls.

"No, no! Not yet!" came a howling voice

that Han recognized as Moruth Doole's.

With a final thump the last concussion

detonator blew the bottom off the door. The

hairy Whiphid rushed forward to elbow the heavy

plates aside.

"Look out," Mara called.

The Whiphid ducked and rolled as the soft

larvae flailed, pointing their blasters and firing in

every direction. Their huge glassy eyes

spun around without seeing anything.

"Get them!" Doole yelled. The larvae

whirled at the sound of his voice and fired their

blasters toward Doole himself. But he had already

ducked behind a thick piece of wall plating.

"Not at me!"

Hissing, the reptilian Trandoshan shot

inside, cutting down two of the blind larvae. He

lumbered into the chamber, but before the other smugglers

could rush in, another explosion came from the

ceiling. Han, Mara, and the Mistryl guards

used the distraction to muscle their way forward,

ducking down and firing again. Han took out another

of the larvae just as the ceiling collapsed in flaming

chunks.

Wailing for revenge, swarms of female

Rybets dropped through the ceiling into Doole's

private cell. Each bore a blaster of her

own and fired repeatedly at the metal shield

Doole hid behind until its center glowed a

cherry-red.

The blind larvae targeted on the new noise--but

then as if suddenly they understood, as if they could

communicate with their own mothers, the larvae turned and

directed their fire toward Doole as well.

"Stop, stop!" Doole cried.

Han crept in beside Lando, not wanting to draw

fire in the midst of this civil war. Doole

yelped and dropped the superheated protective

shield. His mechanical eye popped off and

broke into a thousand bouncing and rattling components

on the floor. His long squishy fingers punched a

hidden control button, and a trapdoor opened beneath

him. With a mindless squeal Doole leaped through an

access hatch into an escape tunnel, down into the

cold black mines.

"Hurry, before he gets away!" Lando said.

"I don't want him running around in my spice

mines."

The surviving larvae flowed forward as if they

wanted to plunge into the tunnels after Moruth

Doole, either to follow him or to chase him. But the

amphibious females grasped the larvae and

held them back with gentle cooing sounds. Their

wide eyes looked on the invading smugglers with

apprehension.

Han rushed toward the trapdoor and dropped

to his knees, pushing his face into the darkness. He

heard Doole's splatting footsteps diminishing

as he ran on webbed feet deeper into the

catacombs.

The larvae shot several blaster bolts into the

passages after him. Long spears of heat bounced

along the tunnel walls, knocking boulders

loose. The light sparked a scintillating glare

of activated glitterstim.

Then Han heard a new sound that turned his

blood cold. A faint but chilling noise,

hundreds of sharp legs like ice picks

scrambling down the tunnel. Han could still hear

Doole's footsteps getting fainter and fainter

as he fled. Han heard the tik tik tik of

multilegged creatures, attracted by the heat of a

living body ... and Doole's gasping, ragged

breath as the Rybet searched blindly for a way out.

Han heard many more sets of pointed legs

scrabbling, like a stampede from converging tunnels as

the energy spiders found nourishment after the long

silence in the spice mines. Han's skin

crawled.

At the tail end of a high-pitched and

gut-wrenching scream, Doole's footsteps

suddenly stopped. The scream cut off

abruptly, as did the sound of running ice-pick

feet. The instant silence seemed even more

horrible than the scream, and Han quickly pulled

up the trapdoor and secured it before the energy

spiders could seek other prey.

He sat back, heart pounding. The smugglers

looked grimly satisfied at the battle they

had won. The Whiphid leaned against a wall with

arms crossed. "A good hunt," he growled.

The Trandoshan glanced from side to side, as if

seeking something to eat.

The female Rybets hauled away the blasted

larvae, tending the injured, mourning over the dead.

Han sighed as Lando sank down next to him.

"Well, Lando," he said, "now you can start

remodeling."

Han, Lando, and Mara rode back up to the

garrison moon in the Falcon. Mara and Lando

spoke more easily to each other, now that Lando

wasn't pushing so hard to get the slightest word or

smile from her. Mara had even stopped avoiding

Lando's gaze or raising her chin whenever he

spoke. She spent most of her time reassuring

him that the Lady Luck would be just fine behind the

security fields of the reoccupied prison.

Lando didn't seem to believe her

entirely, but he did not want to disagree with

Mara Jade.

"We've got a lot of paperwork to do," Mara

said. "I have all the standard contracts and

agreements up at the moonbase. We can take

care of the formalities between us, but there are still a lot

of forms to digitize and sign, a lot of

records to cross-reference."

"Whatever you say," Lando said. "I want this

to be a long and happy partnership. You and I need

to figure out how we can best implement production

on Kessel. It's in the best interests of both

of us to get the glitterstim flowing soon,

especially since I'm going to have to sink so much of

an investment into the mining work again."

Han listened to them talk but devoted most of his

thoughts to his family. "I just want to go home.

No more side trips."

The Falcon sped away from the wispy

corona of escaping air toward the large moon.

Once leaving the turbulent atmosphere of

Kessel, they coasted smoothly in the vacuum of

space as if on glass.

Suddenly an alert flashed on their

communications panel from the moonbase. "Warning!

We've detected a large vessel approaching

Kessel--and I mean large."

Han reacted instantly. "Lando, check the

scanners."

Lando stared at the copilot station and sat up

quickly, his eyes as big as viewports. "Not just

large," he said.

Han could see the globe-shaped object through the

viewport. Spherical, but skeletal,

crossbraced and arched with giant girders. The

size of a miniature moon.

"It's the Death Star."

The repairs took longer than expected, much

to Tol Sivron's frustration, but the prototype

was finally ready to approach, and attack, the

nearest planetary system.

Sivron shifted in his seat, pleased to observe

the stormtrooper captain giving all the right

orders. Delegating responsibility was the first

lesson of management. He liked sitting in the

pilot's chair while others did the work.

Squat, bald Doxin leaned forward from one of the

other chairs. "The target is coming into view,

Director Sivron."

"Good," Sivron said, looking at the streaked

atmosphere fuzzing around the planet and its

close-orbiting moon.

"There seems to be significant ship

activity in the area," Yemm, the Devaronian,

said. "I'm tracking and documenting it for posterity.

We'll want a careful record in case we

need to file a report on the performance of this

prototype."

"It's a Rebel base," Tol Sivron

said. "No doubt about it. Look at those ships.

Look at its position. This must be where our

prisoner Han Solo came from."

"How can you be sure?" said Golanda.

Sivron shrugged. "We need to test this Death

Star, right? We've got a handy target right here

-coms it might as well be a Rebel base."

The stormtrooper captain sat at the

tactical station. "We're picking up numerous

alarms from the moonbase. It appears to be some

sort of military installation."

A flurry of ships departed from a large opening

in the moon, spewing a random collection of

well-armed and fast cruisers around Kessel.

"They can't get away from us," Tol Sivron

said. "Target the planet. You may fire when

ready." He smiled, and his pointed teeth formed a

serrated edge against his lips. "I've got a good

feeling about this."

Doxin grinned in breathless delight. "I never

thought I'd get a chance to see this weapon in

action."

"It's never been calibrated, you know,"

Golanda said with a sour expression.

"It's a planet-destroying superlaser,"

Doxin shot back. "We can turn that whole world

into rubble. How well does it need to be

calibrated?"

"Targeting now," the stormtrooper captain

said.

In shielded firing chambers below, lit only

by flickering blazes of colored light from complex

control panels, other stormtroopers functioned

as Death Star gunners, after having been told

to scour the instruction manuals.

"What's taking so long?" Tol Sivron

fidgeted against the uncomfortable fabric of the command

seat.

Suddenly the white-noise background hum of the

operating systems dropped an octave.

The lights dimmed on the panels as the

prototype consumed an incredible amount of energy.

Out the front viewport, past main support

struts that arched like giant steel rainbows over their

heads, smaller superlaser beams fired out of the

Death Star's focusing eye, phasing together at the

intersection point. The green beam gained in power

and lanced out in an immense blast, greater in

diameter than a starship.

Its target erupted in a blaze of smoke,

fire, and incandescent rubble.

Tol Sivron applauded.

Yemm took careful notes.

Doxin let out a cry of triumph and

amazement.

"You missed," Golanda said.

Tol Sivron blinked his small dark eyes.

"What?"

"You hit the moon, not the planet."

He saw she was right. The moon that had served as

a garrison for the fighter ships had exploded

into fragmented rubble that was raining down in

spectacular meteor showers on the planet

Kessel.

The fighter ships that had evacuated from the

moonbase swarmed about in a flurry, like

fire-mantids disturbed from their nests during

mating season.

Tol Sivron coiled and uncoiled his naked

head-tails, feeling tingles along his nerve

endings. He leaned back in the chair and waved a

clawed hand in dismissal.

"That can be corrected. The target was

irrelevant. At least now we know the

prototype is fully functional." He nodded

approvingly. "Just as all the progress

reports said."

Sivron took a deep breath, feeling the

thrill build within him. "Now we can put this

weapon to use."

Leia was amazed that Mon Mothma still clung

to life. Anxiously, she stood over the deathbed

of the Chief of State, looking at the

kaleidoscope of medical apparatus and

life-support systems that refused to let Mon

Mothma die.

The auburn-haired woman had once

been such a fiery rival of Leia's father on the

Senate floor; now she could no longer stand on

her feet. Her skin was gray and translucent,

thin as crumpled parchment on a framework of

bones. Her eyelids struggled open as if they were

heavy blast doors. Her eyes took a long

time to focus on her visitor.

Leia swallowed, feeling hot lead in her

stomach. She reached out with trembling fingers to touch

Mon Mothma's arm, afraid that the slightest

pressure could cause bruises.

"Leia ...," Mon Mothma whispered, "you

came."

"I came because you asked me to," Leia said.

Han had dropped her and the children off on

Coruscant, grumbling about having to go away again

with Lando, but promising to return in only a few

days. She would believe that when it happened. In the

meantime Leia was shocked to see the accelerating

decline of Mon Mothma's condition.

"Your children ... are safe now?"

"Yes. Winter is staying here to protect them.

I won't let them be taken from me again."

Leia would be even busier than before; she would

see less of Han, less of her children.

Momentarily she envied the peaceful life of a lower

functionary who could leave work at the end of the day and

go home, letting unfinished tasks wait for tomorrow.

But she had been born a Jedi and raised

by Senator Bail Organa. Her life had

been focused toward a greater destiny, and she could

not shirk either her public or her private

burden.

Leia took a deep breath, tasting the

nauseating chemicals that clung to the air, the

disinfectants, the medicines, the ozone smell of

atmospheric sterilizers.

She felt so helpless. Her excitement at

defeating the Imperial strike force and rescuing

her son seemed trivial in the face of Mon

Mothma's battle against the slow-acting poison.

Leia took little consolation in knowing that

Ambassador Furgan was no longer alive

to gloat.

"I ...," Mon Mothma spoke

ponderously, "have tendered my resignation to the

Council. I will no longer serve as Chief of

State."

Leia realized that empty encouragements would be

useless. She reacted in a way that

Mon Mothma had taught her to respond, thinking

of the New Republic first.

"What about the government?" she said. "Won't

the Council bicker with each other and accomplish

nothing because they can't reach a consensus? Who will they

look to for leadership?"

She looked down at Mon Mothma, and the

haggard woman blinked at her with shining, hopeful

eyes. "You will be our leader, Leia," Mon

Mothma said.

Leia blinked in shock and opened her mouth.

Mon Mothma found the strength to nod slightly.

"Yes, Leia. While you were away, the

Council met to discuss our future. My

resignation is no surprise to anyone, and we

voted unanimously that you should be my

replacement."

"But--was Leia said. Her heart pounded; her

mind whirled. She had not expected this, at least

not now. Perhaps after another decade or two of

dedicated service, then ...

"You, Leia, will be the Chief of State for the

New Republic. If I had any strength

left to give, I would give it all to you. You'll

need it to hold this newborn Republic of ours

together."

Mon Mothma closed her eyes and squeezed

Leia's hand with a surprisingly firm grip.

"Even when I'm gone, I will be watching over

you."

Speechless, Leia knelt at Mon

Mothma's bedside for a long time, far

into Coruscant's night.

Inside Maw Installation one of the members of

Wedge's Special Forces Team had

deciphered enough of the primary controls to sound the

facility-wide alarm. Through the intercom system

an unfamiliar voice barked, "Red alert, an

Imperial Star Destroyer has entered the

vicinity. Red alert! Prepare for attack."

Wedge stood next to Qwi inside her empty

old laboratory as they gaped at the scarred and

blackened hulk of the Gorgon. The mammoth

ship maneuvered into position over the cluster of

lashed-together rocks.

"Oh, my!" Threepio said. "I thought we were

supposed to be safe in here."

Wedge grabbed Qwi's pale hand. "Come on,

we have to get to the operations room."

They ran through the corridors. Qwi did her

best to lead him, though frequently she couldn't

remember which direction to go. Threepio, his

servomotors whirring, tottered after them as fast as

he could go. "Wait for me! Oh, why does this

always happen?"

Inside the operations room Wedge was relieved

to see that a dozen of his troops had gotten there

ahead of him and were already scrambling to operate the

controls. A few of the computer banks had

malfunctioned, but the rest had been jump-started.

Sensor arrays spilled data across their

screens.

Wedge put his hands on Qwi's shoulders,

pressing his face close to hers and looking into her

big eyes. "Qwi, try to remember! Does

Maw Installation have any of its own defenses?"

She looked up through the latticed skylight,

seeing the looming arrowhead shape of the Star

Destroyer. Qwi pointed up. "Those were our

defenses. Maw Installation depended entirely

upon Admiral Daala's fleet."

She hurried over to one of the deadened computer

consoles and used her musical keypad to whistle

her password into the system, hoping to bypass the

damaged circuits with her own files and select

some of the higher-order functioning routines. "We do

have shields," Qwi said, "if only we could

increase them."

Five harried technicians came over

to help her, using their own expertise to access the

generators and reinforce the protective force

field around the primary planetoids.

"That'll hold for now against an assault," a

tech said, "but this makes me very uncomfortable,

General Antilles. The power reactor is

already unstable, and we're placing a tremendous

drain on it. We could be sealing our own fate."

Wedge's gaze flicked to Qwi and then back

to the soldiers. "Well, it's certain death if

we don't do something to protect ourselves now.

We've taken what we need. I think it's time

to leave Maw Installation. Have the ships prepare

for departure."

"If Daala will let us," Qwi said. "I

doubt she'll allow us to walk off now that we've

uncovered its secrets."

Wedge's eyes suddenly blinked in

realization. "We took one of the corvette

engines off-line for spare parts for the power

reactor! One of my ships is crippled and

can't move." He ran to the communications station and

switched on a narrow-beam to the disa4 corvette.

"Captain Ortola, launch all starfighter

squadrons from your bay--notow. Take all

personnel and shuttle over to the Yavaris or

one of the other two corvettes. Without

maneuverability, your ship is a prime

target."

"Yes, sir," Captain Ortola's voice

acknowledged.

The broad trapezoidal viewscreen at the

far end of the operations room surged with static, and

then an image of fiery-haired Admiral

Daala filled the screen. She leaned forward

into the viewing area. Her eyes seemed to throw

pointed javelins right into Wedge's heart.

"Rebel scum, you'll not leave Maw

Installation alive. The information contained in this

facility is now forfeit, tainted by your

sabotage. I'm not interested in your surrender

or your flight. Only your destruction."

Daala ended the transmission herself before Wedge

could formulate a reply. He shook his head at

the flickering static that faded into a dull gray.

He turned back to Qwi and felt his heart

pounding. "Qwi, are you sure there's nothing else

here we can use? Any other weapon?"

"Wait," Qwi said. "Chewbacca took a

team down into the maintenance bay to rescue the

Wookiee slaves. There were always several

assault shuttles or fighter ships being worked

on. Maybe those?"

One of the New Republic commandos snapped his

head up. "Assault shuttles? Probably

gamma class. They're nothing spectacular, but

they are heavily armored and well outfitted with

weapons, worth ten of our starfighters. It could be

a welcome addition in the battle. Daala's

got only one Star Destroyer against us, but she still

outguns the combined force of the corvettes and the

Yavaris."

The squad leader looked down at a scrolling

list of equipment on a data screen. "Just as

I feared, sir. These are old models. They

require a piloting droid to fly complicated

maneuvers, especially in this gravitational

environment. We could probably do it with

only one droid and cross-link to the separate

navigational systems."

At that moment, with heavy footfalls and buzzing

servo-motors, Threepio hurried into the

operations room, emitting a loud sigh of

relief. "Ah, there you are! I've finally found

you."

Wedge, Qwi, and everyone else turned

to look at the golden droid.

Threepio moved forward, his arms waving in

dismay as he negotiated a steep ramp into the

rock-lined maintenance bay. "I don't know why

everyone keeps treating me as if I were some sort

of ... property," he said.

Chewbacca grunted a sharp retort, and

Threepio snapped at him. "That's quite beside the

point. In actual fact, I--was

Chewbacca lifted up the golden droid and

set him bodily on the entrance ramp of a

gamma-class assault shuttle. The recently

freed Wookiee slaves, along with a group of

New Republic commandos, scrambled into the five

armored shuttles that remained in the bay. Each

ship had been maintained in perfect working order

by Wookiee crews.

From above sudden hollow thumps echoed through the

asteroid as the Gorgon pummeled them with

turbolaser blasts. Chewbacca and the other

Wookiees howled at the ceiling, their bestial

noises echoing louder than the thunder of attack.

Faint dust trickled down, split from the sealed

rock walls.

"I still think I'm going to regret this,"

Threepio said. "I wasn't designed for this

kind of work. I can communicate with other

tactical computers and coordinate your flight

paths, but putting me in charge of strategy--was

Chewbacca ignored him and climbed into the

vehicle. Seeing that his arguments were useless, the

golden droid shuffled up the ramp into the confines

of the assault shuttle. "But, then again, I am

always happy to help, where needed."

The other Wookiees, including stunted old

Nawruun, took their places in the gunnery

seats, ready to blast TIE fighters.

Chewbacca slumped into the assault shuttle's

too-small pilot seat and made Threepio

sit beside him in the copilot's chair. "Oh, very

well," Threepio said, and inspected the

computer, deciding how best to communicate with it.

More explosions from the Gorgon's attack

pounded through the thick walls, but those noises were

soon drowned out by the growling purr of the shuttles'

repulsorlift engines.

Chewbacca raised the heavily armed ship off the

floor and guided it down the launching corridor.

Atmosphere-containment fields sealed behind them just

before the heavy launch doors opened into space like a

huge vertical mouth.

Threepio linked up to the guidance computers and the

directional programming of all five assault

shuttles. Behind them identical vehicles flew

in a tight formation, picking up speed. "This is rather

exhilarating," Threepio said.

Chewbacca punched at the controls until the

shuttle rocketed like a projectile through the

launch doors and away from the Installation's

protective shield.

Above, swarms of starfighters streamed from the

Corellian corvettes. The frigate

Yavaris began to fire on the Star Destroyer

as Daala continued to rain turbolaser bolts upon

the Installation. From the lower bay doors of the

Gorgon, squads of TIE fighters streaked

out like spooked mynocks from a cave.

Chewbacca powered up his weapons systems, and

Threepio linked into theirthe preprogrammed attack

patterns. The five assault shuttles from

Maw Installation plunged into the heart of the

burgeoning space battle.

"Oh, my!" Threepio said.

When Leia answered the summons at the door

to her quarters in the rebuilt Imperial

Palace, she saw it was the deepest hour of the

bustling night. For a moment she had a thrilled

thought, that Han might have come back from Kessel

already. But when she rubbed sleep from her eyes and

opened the door, she found her brother Luke standing

there. She paused a moment, utterly astonished,

and then rushed forward to embrace him.

"Luke! When did you come to Coruscant?"

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of

another young man standing off to the side in the dim

corridor. She recognized the tousled dark

hair of Kyp Durron; his eyes were deep-set

and averted, no longer the brash teenager

that Han had rescued from the spice mines of

Kessel.

"Oh, Kyp," she said in a flat,

unemotional voice. Seeing the young man unnerved

her. He had been Han's dear friend, a

companion through enjoyable adventures--but Kyp had

also gone over to the dark side, paralyzed Luke,

killed millions of people, turned on Han. ...

Kyp's face and eyes looked old now,

exhausted from the traumas he had endured--and

caused. Leia had seen eyes like those only

once before: on her brother after he had faced the knowledge

that Darth Vader was his own father. But Kyp had been

through a hell as deep as Luke's had been.

A small courier droid shot down the hall,

blinking red lights to warn others to clear the way as

it propelled itself along on urgent business,

even this late at night.

With a flush of embarrassment Leia remembered

her manners. "Please, come in."

From the back room Winter emerged, gliding

forward on silent bare feet, wearing only a

loose sleeping garment. Winter appeared ready for

action lest some other danger throw itself upon the children.

She bowed her head formally when she saw Luke.

"Greetings, Master Skywalker," she said.

Luke smiled and nodded to her. "Hello,

Winter."

Winter backed into her chambers. "I'll just

check on the children," she said. She vanished, giving

them no chance to say anything else.

Leia looked from Kyp to Luke again, feeling

deep weariness behind her eyes, behind her head. She

had been relying on too many stimulant drinks,

spending too much time negotiating with other

Council members, sleeping too little.

Luke closed the door behind him as he and Kyp

entered the common room. Leia remembered when her

brother had trained her in this room, trying

to unlock her Jedi potential. Now, though, she

sensed that Luke had a much more ominous agenda.

"Is Han here?" Kyp blurted, looking

around the quarters.

Leia noticed that he still wore the black

cape Han had given him as a gift; but now

Kyp seemed to carry it as a symbol over a

light jumpsuit, a reminder to himself of what he

could become.

"He's gone off to Kessel with Lando,"

Leia said, a tired smile tugging at

the corners of her mouth. "Lando wants to try

running the spice mines."

Kyp frowned uncertainly. Luke sat down

on one of the self-conforming cushions and leaned

forward, weaving his fingers together. He directed his

intense gaze at Leia. "Leia, we need your

help," he said.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Leia answered

with a touch of irony. "I'll do everything I can, of

course. What do you need?"

"Kyp and I have ... made our peace. He

has the potential to be the greatest of the Jedi I

am training, but there's one thing he must do before I can

consider him completely absolved."

Leia swallowed, already afraid of what he

might say. "And what is this "one thing"?"

Luke did not flinch. "The Sun Crusher must

be destroyed. Everyone in the New Republic

knows that. But Kyp must do it himself."

Leia simply blinked, unable to say anything.

"But ... how can he destroy it?" she finally said.

"As far as we know, it's indestructible. We

already dropped it into a gas planet's core, but

Kyp"--she turned her exaggerated gaze on the

young man--"managed to retrieve it. I don't

suppose even dropping it into a sun would have made

much difference."

Kyp shook his head. "No, I could have

recovered it just as easily."

Leia looked helplessly at Luke,

spreading her hands. "So what else?"

"Kyp and I will fly the Sun Crusher back

to the Maw. He will set the autopilot and drop

it down one of the black holes. Quantum armor

or no quantum armor, it will be obliterated.

There's no more definite way of erasing something from

this universe."

Kyp piped up. "I know the Sun Crusher

must be taken away from both the Empire and the New

Republic. I ... Dr. Xux no longer

has any memory of how to reconstruct it. The

galaxy will never need to fear such a threat again."

His posture stiffened, his chin rose, his eyes

grew alive again. The guilt and pain were

replaced with a look of pride and determination.

Luke placed a hand on the young man's forearm,

and Kyp fell silent, content to let Luke

continue.

"Leia, I know you've been appointed the new

Chief of State. You can make this

happen." He leaned forward, speaking to her with the

idealistic, boyish energy she remembered from

years before. "You know I'm right."

Leia shook her head, already afraid of the

enormous diplomatic battle she would have

to face at the mere mention of Luke's

preposterous request.

"There'll be a lot of heated discussion. Most

of the Council members are going to refuse to let

Kyp get within sight of the Sun Crusher again.

What's to stop him from rampaging around the galaxy

and blowing up more star systems? Can they take that

risk? Can we?"

"They have to take that risk," Luke said. "It

must be done. And I'll be there with him."

Leia bit her lip. Her brother could be so

forceful. She knew him well enough that she wasn't

simply awed by what the Jedi could do ... but she was

confident that Luke could follow through on his claim.

"Do you know what you're asking?" she said in a

soft, pleading voice.

"Leia, just as I had to face our father, this is

a test Kyp must complete. Tell the Council

that if he passes this test successfully, Kyp

Durron could become the most powerful Jedi

Knight of this generation."

Leia sighed and stood up. "All right.

I'll try--was

Kyp interrupted her and said, "There is no

try: do or do not." Then he allowed himself a wry

smile, gesturing toward Luke. "At least that's

what he always says."

Han Solo gritted his teeth as he yanked

on the Falcon's controls. The modified

light freighter flew up and around in a tight

backward loop. The blinding flash of the Death

Star's superlaser faded to a glowing streak as the

rubble of Kessel's moon mushroomed in a

rapidly expanding cloud.

"That was gonna be my garrison!" Lando

cried. His voice cracked. "First Moruth

Doole, now a Death Star--this deal is getting

worse all the time."

Mara Jade, her face hard as chiseled

stone, quickly leaned between Han and Lando in the two

cockpit seats and shouted into the comm unit. "This

is Mara Jade. All ships

report. How many did we lose? Did the

evacuation order go out on time?"

One of the cool-voiced Mistryl guards

responded. "Yes, Commander Jade," the

warrior woman said. "We scrambled at first

sign of the intruder. All but two ships made it

away from the base. One more was struck and destroyed

by the flying debris."

Mara nodded grimly. "Then we still have enough of a

fighting force," she said.

"Fighting force!" Han said. "Against that thing?

To do what? It's a Death Star, not a cargo

freighter." He looked through the overhead

viewport and saw the skeletal prototype

over Kessel. The superweapon seemed to be

brooding over the destruction it had just caused.

"But, Han," Lando pleaded, "we've got

to do something before it blows up the planet, too.

Think of all the spice down there."

Mara grabbed the comm again. "Attack formation

gamma," she said. "We're going to head out and

pound that Death Star." She turned to Han and

lowered her voice. "If it's just a prototype,

my guess is they won't have the defenses the real

Death Star had, no squadrons of TIE

fighters, no turbolaser fortifications across the

surface. That's what did the most damage to your

Rebel fleets, wasn't it?"

"Not entirely," Lando said. "The second

Death Star used its superlaser against a few of

our capital ships."

Mara pursed her lips as she thought. "Then

we'll just have to keep them busy. I don't think

that superlaser can be very effective at targeting

small moving objects."

"I don't like the odds on that," Lando said.

"Never quote me the odds," Han said,

hunching over the panel and guiding the ship

into position.

"Who, me?" Lando said, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm a sucker for lost causes."

The Millennium Falcon soared into the

vanguard of the smugglers' attack formation. Han

was impressed to see the assortment of large and

small ships fall into a perfect pattern, as

if they were trained and regimented. The motley

bunch must have a great deal of respect for Mara

Jade, he realized; as a rule, smugglers were

notoriously independent and took orders from no

one.

One of the other ships, an insectile Z-95

Headhunter--the type of ship Mara herself often

flew--streaked in beside the Falcon. Its pilot

spoke over the open channel. "This is Kithra.

I'll take the right-hand prong, Shana will take

the left. You fly center, Falcon, and we'll

hit the Death Star in all three places at

once."

Han recognized the no-nonsense voice of

another Mistryl guard. How many had she brought

along with her?

"Agreed, Kithra," Mara said. She turned

to look at Han. "Well, Solo, ready

to lead the attack?"

"I never intended to take the Falcon against a

Death Star," he groaned, even as he prepared

for battle. "I was just giving Lando a lift

to Kessel."

"Think of it as an added bonus," Mara said.

"Come on, Han," Lando urged, "before that

Death Star fires again."

"Good thing Leia's not here," he muttered.

"She'd probably succeed in talking me out of

this."

As the ships converged on the skeletal

behemoth, the superlaser struck once more,

scorching the fabric of space with emerald fire

-comb the beam passed through the scattered ships

descending upon it, causing no damage.

"Shields up," Han said, "for whatever good

it'll do against that."

On either side of the Falcon two segments

of the smuggler fleet peeled off like the skin from a

rustle snake: one prong led by Kithra in her

Headhunter, the other headed by Shana in an

angular blockade runner, a clunkier

forerunner of the Falcon's light-freighter

design.

The smuggler ships drove in, energy

cannons blazing, drawing a deadly tracery of

fire across the superstructures and girders of the

enormous sphere.

Han launched three proton torpedoes into the

labyrinth of cross beams and supports as they

charged toward the emormous construction. A few

reinforced girders glowed molten as projectiles

and energy beams hit.

"It's going to take us a year to chop away at

this thing," Han said, firing from the Falcon's

forward weaponry.

"I never claimed this was going to be easy,"

Mara said.

Tol Sivron's head-tails twitched. He

squinted his black beady eyes at the oncoming

small ships. They appeared so trivial, their

weapons systems so minor. "I can't believe

they're attacking us," he said. "What do they

think they're going to accomplish?"

At the tactical station the stormtrooper

captain spoke through his white helmet. "If I

might point out, Director, this battle station

is for proof-of-concept only. It was never

designed to defend itself against multiple small

threats. In fact, the Death Star was meant

to house over seven thousand TIE fighters, not

to mention thousands of surface turbolasers and ion

cannons and an escort of several

Imperial-class Star Destroyers. We have

none of these.

"Individually, those Rebel ships may be

only a minor threat, but together they can harry us for

an extended period and, if we are unlucky,

cause significant structural damage."

"You mean we don't have any fighters of our

own?" Tol Sivron said with stern disapproval.

"That was poor planning. Who wrote that section

of the procedure? I want to know right now."

"Director," the stormtrooper said with a tinge

of exasperation in his filtered voice, "that

doesn't matter at the moment."

"It matters to me!" Tol Sivron said.

He turned toward demon-faced Yemm, who was

already scouring the records.

"It appears that Dr. Qwi Xux was

responsible for that section, Director," Yemm

said. "She devoted much of her time to the operation and

performance of the superlaser, giving short shrift

to tactical considerations."

Sivron sighed. "I see we've found a

flaw in our approval system. Such weak

spots should never have been allowed to pass through the

progress reports and review meetings."

"Director," Doxin said, "let us not allow

this to overshadow the marvelous performance of the Death

Star superlaser itself."

"Agreed, agreed," Sivron said. "We should

have a meeting immediately to discuss the implications

of--was

The stormtrooper captain stood up

from his station. "Director, we must establish

certain priorities right now! We are under

attack."

An outside explosion made the Death Star

framework around the control chamber vibrate.

"That's three direct hits with proton

torpedoes," the stormtrooper said. "So far."

As Sivron watched, four Z-95

Headhunters swooped out of the superstructure,

their rear engines blazing.

"Well, then fire again with our laser," Tol

Sivron said. "Maybe we can hit one of them this

time."

"The power core is only half-charged,"

Doxin pointed out.

Sivron whirled and parted his lips to show pointed

teeth. "Isn't that good enough to knock out a few little

ships?"

Doxin blinked his piggish eyes as if he

hadn't considered the possibility. "Why, yes,

sir--yes, it is. Ready to fire."

"At your convenience, Division Leader,"

Sivron said.

Eagerly, Doxin spoke into the intercom,

commanding the gunners to fire. After a few seconds

the incredible beam of light seared out; side lasers

converged at a focal point and coalesced into a

laser battering ram that plowed through the fringe of the

oncoming cluster of fighters, vaporizing one old

blockade runner in the vanguard of the left

prong. Another ship was damaged by the backwash

of the blast, but the attacking forces spread out and

disappeared into the superstructure like parasites,

firing again.

"Did you see that?" Doxin said with obvious

pleasure. "We hit one!"

"Hooray," Golanda said sourly from her seat.

Her voice carried absolutely no

enthusiasm. "Only about forty more to go, and you can't

even fire the superlaser again for fifteen

minutes."

"Director, if I may make a

suggestion," the stormtrooper captain said. "We

have successfully tested the prototype laser, but

to stay here any longer would serve no purpose.

To endure unnec damage to this fine weapon is

folly. We should protect the Death Star so we

may present it intact to the Imperial

authorities."

"And what do you suggest doing,

Captain?" Tol Sivron said. He dug his

long claws into the armrests.

"We should withdraw to the Maw cluster. I doubt

these small ships will follow. We are not highly

maneuverable, but we can build up considerable

speed. Note that we don't need to go all the

way back to the Installation, just to the opposite

side of the cluster where we can hide." The captain

paused, then said slowly, "Once there, you will have

time to hold a lengthy meeting, to decide what

to do. You can ... discuss the whole situation

wascommittee if you like."

Tol Sivron brightened. "Good idea,

Captain. See to it. Let's head out of here as

fast as we can."

The stormtrooper captain fed in a new

course for the prototype. The huge

open-framework sphere wheeled about on its axis

and accelerated away from Kessel, cumbersome but

picking up speed as it left the flurry of other

ships behind.

After the blaze from the Death Star's third blast

faded, Han Solo rubbed sparkles out of his

eyes, seeing distorted colors. "That was too

close," he said. "The fringe of the beam fried our

forward shields."

Shana's old blockade runner had been

destroyed, and some ships now flew off in

retreat. "We have to regroup," Kithra's

voice came over the comm system.

"I think we should just get out of here," Han

said.

"Look!" Lando interrupted as the arching

framework of the Death Star spun about and began

to accelerate away from Kessel. "We've got

it on the run."

"For now," Mara said, "but it may just be

retreating long enough to recharge its power core so it

can strike again."

"Kessel won't be safe while that thing is out

there," Lando said. "Han, we've got to go in.

Let's take the Falcon all the way to the

power core."

"Are you crazy, Lando?" Han asked, his

voice rising. "This is my ship, remember."

"I'm not contesting that," Lando said, holding his

hands up, "but I've flown her into a Death Star

before. Remember?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this,"

Han mumbled, and he shot a sidelong glance at

Mara Jade. "But you're right. We can't just run

away. If the prototype falls into the hands of the

Imperial navy, it could cause a lot more

misery than I want to be responsible for.

Let's go in."

He punched his accelerators. Mara sent

orders to her fleet. "All ships back off.

We're going in. Alone."

The Falcon cruised through the nightmarish

maze of overhanging girders, coolant and

ventilation systems, power conduits and substations that

formed the inner structure of the Death Star

prototype. Catwalks laced the open spaces

like so many spiderwebs.

The Falcon shot inward, tunneling deeper

and deeper into the construction as the framework grew

denser, more complex. Han spun the ship left and

right to squeeze through narrow passages.

Just ahead, in the middle of a huge open

corridor, a mammoth-sized construction crane

toppled from its moorings, dislodged by the smuggler

attack and the sudden lurching movement of the

prototype. The crane fell, tumbling in

silence through the vacuum of space, directly

into the path of the Falcon.

"Look out!" Lando cried.

Han punched the firing buttons and sent out a

converging blast from his laser cannons, disintegrating

the falling machine into an expanding plume of

incandescent gas and metal steam. Lando leaned

back and closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh.

As the Falcon careened through, the passengers were

bumped and jostled. Large debris struck the

deflector shields. Sparks flew out of the

control panels, and smoke poured from the engine

panels beneath the floor plates.

"We've got damage!" Lando yelled.

Han fought for control. "She'll hold together,"

he said, as if praying.

Suddenly the Death Star jerked and slammed

forward as its heavy-duty sublight engines fired

up. Han tried to match the speed, spiraling

closer to the power core. The Falcon lurched,

barely responding to Han's attempts

to maneuver.

They passed gargantuan girders ringing the outer

core, tumbling into a vast enclosed space, a

spherical chamber that contained the two gleaming

conical sections of the power core.

Green-and-blue fire crackled between the contacts

as reactors pumped up the energy level,

recharging the weapon to fire again.

"Talk about recurring nightmares," Lando

said. "I never wanted to see anything like this again in

my life."

"I guess we're just lucky," Han said,

scanning his damage reports. "We need

repairs bad," he said through gritted teeth.

"Lousy time for the engines to act up."

The Death Star rotated again, changing course and

accelerating once more with equatorial propulsion

units. Han narrowly avoided an arc-shaped

girder that swung across to slam at them; he

maneuvered the Falcon around it in a tight

loop and limped toward the superstructure that

held the reactor core in place.

"I need to check on those engines," Han said,

"but I can't do anything while the Death Star is

moving and rocking like this. We're going to have

to settle in for the ride."

"Settle in?" Mara asked in astonishment.

"Don't get all bent out of shape. I did

this once before to elude Imperial pursuit," he

said, flashing a lopsided grin. "A nice little

trick built into the Falcon. Added it myself."

Han brought the ship up parallel to one of the thick

girders. "It's my landing claw. I used it

to hang on to the back of a Star Destroyer, then

drifted off with the garbage as the fleet entered

hyperspace."

The Falcon attached itself with a clang.

Directly below them the towering cylinder of the power

core blazed into the emptiness, shining its deadly

light.

"We're secure here for now," Han said.

"But if they plan to go back inside the black

hole cluster, we could be in for one wild ride."

Riding together in the close confines of the Sun

Crusher, Luke felt young Kyp Durron

draw mentally closer to him as they journeyed toward

the black hole cluster.

Kyp was gradually overcoming his fear and

preoccupation with Jedi powers and the potential for

abusing them. After his epiphany inside the

temple of Exar Kun, Kyp had emerged

stronger, able to accept the challenge. If

he could face this final test, Luke would know that

Kyp had passed through the fire of his testing--

tempered by forces as dire and powerful as those Luke

himself had endured. ...

Luke smiled as he recalled how Leia had

argued for Kyp in the Council meeting, fighting

for the chance that Luke offered. During her very first

session as leader of the New Republic, Leia

had presented her brother's demand; in the uproar

that followed she had reasoned, cajoled, or shamed

every one of them into giving Luke a chance.

She had emerged from the hours-long meeting in the

middle of a bright Coruscant day. Kyp and

Luke, waiting for her in one of the high mezzanine

caf@es within the enormous Imperial Palace,

had sipped warm drinks and sampled delicacies

from a hundred planets that had sworn allegiance

to the New Republic. Leia had brushed

aside her two bodyguards and hurried forward

to meet them as other bureaucrats and minor

functionaries stood up from their tables in

recognition of their new Chief of State.

Leia ignored the attention.

Her face was haggard and exhausted, but she could

not hide her satisfied smile and the twinkle in

her large eyes. "The Sun Crusher is yours

to dispose of," she had said. "You'd better take

it before someone on the Council decides my

victory was too easy and moves to reopen the

discussion."

Then Leia had turned a stern face toward

Kyp. "I'm gambling my entire future

administration on you, Kyp."

"I won't let you down," Kyp had

promised, holding his head high. Luke did not

need Jedi powers to sense the determination in the young

man.

They had flown away from Coruscant

into hyperspace on a direct course for the Maw

cluster near Kessel.

The two of them ate rations and shared a warm

silence. When they finished, Kyp fell into a

deep rejuvenation trance, a form of deathlike

hibernation that Luke taught all his students; the

young Jedi awoke after only an hour, looking

greatly refreshed.

En route Kyp had shared fond memories of

his home planet, Deyer. He spoke in a

halting, wistful voice about his brother Zeth. As

Luke listened with quiet understanding, Kyp

let loose his sorrow and wept cleansing tears,

finally allowing himself the freedom granted by the

vision of his brother's spirit in the obsidian

temple.

"Yoda made me take a test of my own,"

Luke told him. "I had to go into a cave in the

swamps of Dagobah, where I confronted a

vision of Darth Vader. I attacked and defeated

him, only to find that I was fighting myself. I

failed my test, but you succeeded."

Luke looked into Kyp's dark eyes. "I

don't promise it will be easy, Kyp, but the

rewards of your efforts will be great, and the entire

galaxy will benefit from them."

Kyp looked away as if embarrassed and

studied the piloting controls of the Sun Crusher.

"Ready to come out of hyperspace," he said. "You

strapped in?"

Luke nodded with a slight smile. Around them

hyperspace looked bruised and distorted from their

proximity to all the black holes.

Kyp stared at the chronometer and concentrated as

the numbers spun by. "Three, two, one."

He released the levers, and suddenly the blur

sprang away from their viewport, and real space

snapped into crystal focus around them.

Luke saw the distant gaseous knot of the

Maw, but he instantly felt a wrenching inside

as if something was terribly wrong.

"What happened to Kessel?" Kyp said.

Luke found the much closer, distorted shape of

Kessel masked by an expanding debris cloud.

"The garrison moon," Kyp said. "It's

gone."

"We've been detected," Luke said.

"Ships coming in." He sensed the anger and dismay

from the pilots in the attack ships now gathering

speed and converging on the Sun Crusher.

The speaker buzzed with a forceful female

voice. "This is Kithra of the Mistryl guard,

representing the Smugglers' Alliance.

Identify yourself and state your business in the

Kessel system."

"This is Luke Skywalker," he said,

restraining a confident smile. "We're here on

business for the New Republic. Our mission is

to destroy the Sun Crusher, and we had hoped

to hitch a ride back to Coruscant with one of

your ships. Mara Jade cleared us by subspace

transmission only yesterday."

"Commander Jade is not here now," Kithra said.

"But she did notify me you would be coming. As you can

see, though, we have recently been under attack."

"Tell me your situation," Luke said.

"Where's Mara? Is she okay? What about Han

Solo?"

Kyp let his eyes fall half-closed,

reaching out with the Force, searching. He jerked his head

to the left, toward the swirling mass of the Maw.

"Han's there--he's over there."

Kithra's voice came over the speaker again.

"A Death Star prototype attacked us," she

explained as the smuggler ships swarmed around them in

a protective contingent. "We suspect it was

fleeing the New Republic occupation force that

recently entered the cluster."

"Wedge and Chewie are inside the Maw,

too," Luke said to Kyp.

"What happened to Han?" Kyp said into the comm

with rising urgency.

"Our ships struck at the prototype and

caused some minor external damage, but Han

Solo flew the Millennium Falcon into the

superstructure. Commander Jade ordered us

to fall back. The Falcon was carried along as

the Death Star retreated toward the Maw. They were

going to attempt to sabotage its power core, but

we've heard no word from them since."

"How long has it been?"

"Only a couple of hours," Kithra

answered. "We've been considering our options."

Luke looked to Kyp, and their eyes met in

shared concern. "We don't have any options,"

Luke said.

Kyp nodded. "We've got to help Han."

"Yes," Luke said, swallowing hard. "Into the

Maw."

For two Jedi, finding a safe path through the

labyrinth of gravity wells proved simple

enough. Working together, Luke and Kyp reinforced each

other's perceptions, flying the Sun Crusher in

tandem, like linked navicomputers.

The Sun Crusher rattled and vibrated with the

strain. Luke experienced a stretching of his mind

as he let his senses extend outward, as if

dragged downward into the bottomless black holes.

Kyp flew with his eyes closed, his jaws

clenched, his lips drawn back in a grimace.

"Almost through the wall," he said through his

teeth.

After passing through an eternity of superhot

colors, they fell into the quiet bubble within the

center of the cluster.

Clearing his vision, Luke searched for the Death

Star prototype, expecting to see it firing at

Wedge's assault fleet. But instead he saw

quite a different space battle in progress:

New Republic forces blasting, starfighters

launched in frantic dogfights--arrayed not against

the Death Star, but against the deadly spear-point

shape of a battered and blaster-scarred Star

Destroyer.

"It's Admiral Daala!" Kyp said, his

voice thick with hatred.

The wire-frame prototype hid, powered

down, on the far side of the Maw cluster as Tol

Sivron, Golanda, Doxin, Yemm, and the

stormtrooper captain held a meeting to discuss

the implications of their changed situation.

It had taken some time to find an empty

storeroom that could be converted into an appropriate

conference chamber, and they had to forgo their hot

beverages and morning pastries. But these were

emergency times, Sivron admitted, and they had

to make sacrifices in the name of the Empire.

"Thank you, Captain, for pointing out that

loophole in our procedures," he said, flashing

a pointy-toothed smile.

The stormtrooper had shown them in an appendix

to the emergency procedures, under the subheading

"Dissemination of Information," a clause pertaining

to the total secrecy of Maw Installation

inventions--"Rebel access to Maw Installation

research and development data must be denied at

all costs." This clause, he argued, could be

interpreted as mandating the destruction of the

facility, now that it had been overrun.

"At all costs," the captain repeated,

"clearly means we should forfeit the Installation itself

rather than let the Rebels have access to our work."

"Well," Doxin said, "it would give us

another opportunity to fire the superlaser for the

good of the Empire." He raised his wire-thin

eyebrows so that his scalp furrowed like treadmarks

across a sand dune.

Yemm, the Devaronian, continued

to flip through paragraph after paragraph of the

procedures on his datapad, studying the

terminology. "I see nothing to contradict the

captain's assessment, Director Sivron,"

he said.

"All right, the resolution has passed,"

Sivron said. "We shall direct the prototype

back into the Maw, using our previous flight

path. Captain, take care of the details."

"Yes, sir," the stormtrooper captain said.

"So that's all settled, then," Tol

Sivron said, clacking his long claws on the

tabletop. "If we have no new business, the

meeting is adjourned."

Everyone stood to leave, brushing their uniforms and

stepping away from the table.

Tol Sivron looked at the small

chronometer; barely two hours had passed.

He blinked his beady eyes in surprise. This

had been one of his shortest meetings ever.

Threepio's dizzying preoccupation with battle

configurations and tactics and ships swarming around the

five gamma assault shuttles absorbed all

his concentration. He forgot entirely about his dread.

The Gorgon cruised ominously overhead,

firing down on the Installation or shooting across at

the New Republic ships.

Chewbacca growled, squinting his fur-rimmed

eyes to study the Star Destroyer's firing

pattern. He chuffed and grunted an idea

to Threepio and, without waiting for a response,

opened the tight-beam ship-to-ship communications

systems.

Chewbacca spoke rapidly in the Wookiee

language, which Threepio decided was a

tactically wise thing to do. Although he himself was a

protocol droid and understood more than six

million forms of communication, he doubted that

anyone on the Gorgon would know what Chewbacca

was saying.

Even as acknowledgment came from the Wookiee

pilots in the other assault shuttles,

Threepio broke away from his full concentration

to speak to the Wookiee. "I simply

don't see how we can possibly take out all

of the starboard turbolaser banks on the Star

Destroyer. It's suicide. Why don't we

wait for more fighters from the New Republic

ships? I think that would be by far the safest

strategy."

Chewbacca snarled, and Threepio decided it

was unwise to press the point any further.

A combat wing of TIE fighters soared past

them, firing bursts from their laser cannons. One

of the assault shuttles passed into the

crossfire, and as Threepio reconstructed the

images an instant later, he determined that it

received eight direct hits within two seconds.

Its shields failed. Hull plates buckled,

and the shuttle exploded as the TIE fighters

roared past to face the X-wings and ally-wings

pouring from the New Republic battleships.

Chewbacca let out a grief-stricken roar at

seeing some of his newly rescued friends die. The

cry was echoed across the comm system by the other

Wookiees.

With the explosion Threepio experienced a sudden

disorientation; he had been partially linked to the

destroyed ship. It felt as if a part of him had

been disconnected.

"Oh, dear!" he said, then shifted his

concentration to managing the other shuttles.

"Chewbacca, you have my complete support. We

simply cannot allow them to do this sort of thing."

Chewbacca roared agreement and gave

Threepio a comradely slap on the back that

practically sent the droid through the control

panels.

A tiny streak of light shot past them, and

Threepio was able to freeze the image in his

optical sensors: it was the angular crystalline

shape of a tiny two-man ship. He recognized

it instantly.

"Oh, my, isn't that the Sun Crusher?"

Threepio asked.

Preoccupied, Chewbacca roared a challenge

as the four remaining assault shuttles cruised

low over the Gorgon's starboard side. They

soared above the complex topography of the hull, a

blur of indecipherable outcroppings, piping,

fuel shafts, portholes, and life-support

equipment. Daala's heavy turbolasers shot

alternately at the Maw Installation and at the

New Republic starfighters.

Seven TIE fighters broke away from the

main attack and circled back to head off

Chewbacca's squadron. But the Wookiees

unleashed a smoking volley from the assault

shuttle's heavy blaster cannons. Stunted

old Nawruun and several other Wookiees sat

in the gunner seats and fired relentlessly.

A web of blaster bolts spewed from the

shuttles, clipping four of the attacking TIE

fighters. Two others veered wildly away from the

sudden firepower and careened into the side of the

Gorgon. The lone survivor of the attack

group peeled off and fled to get reinforcements.

Chewbacca grunted in satisfaction.

The assault shuttles hammered the Star

Destroyer's turbolaser batteries as they

streaked back and forth, launching their store of

concussion missiles. With the smoldering eruptions of

hull plates and exploding weapons systems, the

Gorgon was defenseless on one side.

"Oh, well done, Chewbacca!" Threepio

cried. "You did it."

Chewbacca purred in satisfaction. Loud,

triumphant roars came from the back of the

assault shuttle and the gunner bay. But as

TIE reinforcements arrowed toward them, Threepio

decided it was time to cease the frivolity.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but hadn't

we better retreat now?"

Like a master pilot Kyp Durron brought the

Sun Crusher into a berth on one of the

planetoids. He maneuvered the thorn-shaped

ship through the blast doors and into the bay.

Luke let the young man pilot as he himself

worked the communications systems, transmitting to the

escort frigate and then to the Installation operations

center.

"Wedge, are you there? Are you all right? Tell

me what's going on. This is Luke."

A response came over the comm, accompanied

by a cacophony of alarms and shouted orders,

status reports, and the background rumble of

direct hits from the Star Destroyer.

"Luke, you're alive! What are you doing

here?"

He realized that Wedge had been inside the

Maw cluster since before the defeat of Exar

Kun. "We brought the Sun Crusher here

to destroy it. But it looks like you're

having problems of your own."

"I'd need a few hours to tell you everything

that's happened since this operation started," Wedge

said. His voice was harried. "Are you safe?"

"We're fine for now, Wedge. We're landing

in one of your maintenance bays."

"Good. I can sure use whatever help you can

offer."

After Kyp secured the Sun Crusher, he

popped open the hatch, and the two of them clambered

down the metal ladder. They set off at a

brisk jog through the curving corridors that

tunneled through the dead rock. The rhythmic pounding

of Daala's repeated blasts echoed through the

tunnels.

The two of them spilled into the operations center,

trying to make sense of the frenzy of preparations

Wedge had underway.

Wedge Antilles ran forward to embrace his

friend. Both men clapped each other on the back.

"I'm so glad you're back with us," Wedge said

in a voice filled with unasked questions. Then he

flashed a distrustful glance at Kyp Durron,

who stood contritely on the threshold. "What's

he doing here?"

Beside him Qwi Xux also saw him and gasped,

taking a step backward.

"I'm sorry," Kyp said quietly.

Luke looked sternly at Wedge. "Kyp is

here to help us, Wedge. He has returned from the

dark side, and I've made my peace with him.

If you still hold a grudge, then take it up with

him once this is all over."

Wedge looked to Qwi, and her gentle narrow

face tightened before she nodded briefly.

"Kyp came here to destroy the Sun Crusher

as a form of penance, but now--was Luke gripped his

apprentice's shoulder. "Now we are two Jedi

offering our services in this fight."

Wedge called to one of the other commandos. "Give

me a status update now," he said.

The tactical crew rattled off a list of

starfighters deployed, shots fired, a tally of

enemy and ally losses. "Chewbacca's team

appears to have knocked out the Gorgon's starboard

turbolaser batteries."

Wedge looked relieved. "If only we can

keep damaging Daala faster than she can

damage us." He shook his head.

"Where's Han?" Luke asked.

Kyp perked up, eagerly awaiting the answer.

Wedge frowned. "What do you mean?" Luke

explained about the prototype and how Han,

Lando, and Mara Jade had last been seen

inside its superstructure.

Wedge shook his head. "The Sun Crusher and the

Gorgon are already here--notow you're telling me the

Death Star is coming back?" He blinked in

disbelief before starting to snap out orders to the

tactical team. "You heard what Luke said!

Looks like we've got another surprise coming

our way."

It didn't seem possible, but everyone

managed to bustle a little faster. Luke stared through

the broad skylights of the operations center. He

sensed it before he saw it.

Through the flaring lights of battle overhead and the

muffled din of repeated explosions, the armillary

sphere of the Death Star prototype emerged through the

pastel glow of the Maw and entered the fray.

The Millennium Falcon's landing claw

clung to the Death Star's superstructure as the

skeletal sphere lurched into motion again and careened

through the black hole cluster.

Han, Mara, and Lando sat strapped into theirthe

swiveling seats, gritting their teeth from

gravity's onslaught. The Falcon held

on, but the prototype bucked from the enormous

tidal pulls.

Once the rough passage was over, Han

scanned the diagnostics. "Got to do something about

these hyperdrives," he said. "If we fly fast

enough, we could just blow the reactor core and run.

But the way the Falcon's limping along, we'd

never get away in time."

Han turned his seat to look at Lando and

Mara. He wiped dark hair away from his eyes.

"And even if we did get away in time, we'd

never make it back through the Maw cluster without

top-notch maneuverability."

"Not to mention we don't know the way out,"

Mara said. "My Jedi instincts aren't strong enough

for a job like that."

"Uh, now, that's another good point

...," Han admitted.

"But Han," Lando said, "we've got to do

something. If the Death Star's come back to Maw

Installation, it's bound to be up to no good."

"Yeah," Han said, nodding grimly.

"Chewie is in here with the rest of the occupation force.

I won't just leave him if he's in trouble."

Mara pulled herself to her feet. "So it's

obvious," she said. "We've got

to deactivate that superlaser." She shrugged.

"As long as we're here."

"But the hyperdrive engines--was Han began.

"You've got environment suits, don't you?"

she said. "A light freighter like the Falcon

ought to have at least a couple for emergency

repairs."

"Yesss," Han said, drawing out the word, still

unable to guess what Mara had in mind. "I've

got two suits: one for me and one for Chewie."

"Good," Mara said, cracking her knuckles.

"Calrissian and I will go out and plant timed

detonators on the reactor core. You work on

the hyperdrive engines. The timers will let us get

out of the superstructure before they blow."

Lando's mouth dropped open. "You want

me--his"

Her eyes challenged him. "Got any better

ideas?"

He shrugged and grinned. "Why, no. I'd be

honored to escort you, Mara."

Lando sneezed as he tugged on the huge padded

suit. "This whole thing smells like Wookiee

hair," he said. "Did Chewbacca exercise in

this thing and put it away wet?"

The sleeves were enormous, and his feet swam

in the Wookiee-sized boots. He tugged the

bulky fabric around his waist, fold upon fold,

and then used the adjustment straps to cinch it tighter

around him. He felt as if he were walking inside

a giant inflated mattress.

"We've got a job to do, Calrissian,"

Mara said. "Quit complaining or I'll do it

myself."

"No," Lando said. "I want to help you.

Really."

"Here." Mara held out a case of the timed

detonators. "Carry these."

Lando looked down at them and swallowed.

"Thanks."

Han gave a hollow grunt of pain as he

bumped his head on something down in the repair

crawl space. Lando heard his friend mutter something

about wishing for a decent droid to do the dirty work.

"A couple of the components are fried," Han

called up to them. His voice sounded tinny through the

compartment. "But I've got spares--or at least

close enough that I can get the ship running again.

We've got three fused circuits. One we

can get by without; two I can bypass."

"We'll give you half an hour," Mara

said, pulling the helmet on and sealing it over her

neck.

Han repositioned himself in the coffin-sized

maintenance bay to stick his head above the deck

plates. Grease and leaked coolant stained his

cheeks. "I'll be ready."

"You better be, if we trigger those timers,"

Lando said, and secured his own helmet. It

seemed as large as a shuttlecraft on his head.

"Come on, Calrissian," Mara said.

"We've got some wrecking to do."

From his comfortable chair Tol Sivron squinted

out at the panorama of the Maw's center,

assessing the situation but making no decisions--like

a good manager.

"It's the Star Destroyer Gorgon, sir,"

the stormtrooper captain said. "Shall I hail

it?"

Sivron scowled. "About time Admiral

Daala came back to do her duty," he said.

It still rankled him that she had abandoned her

primary mission of protecting the Maw

scientists. Now that the Rebels had already taken

over the Installation, it was too late for her

to make amends.

"Why did she come back with only one Star

Destroyer?" Sivron said. "She had four.

No, wait--one was destroyed, wasn't it?

Well, three, anyway. Does she simply

want to flaunt her weaponry?" He sniffed.

"Well, this time we've got our own Death Star,

and we're not afraid to use it."

"Excuse me, Director," the captain

said, "but the Gorgon appears to be severely

damaged. The Rebel forces are attacking her.

I believe it's our duty to come to her aid."

Tol Sivron looked at the captain

incredulously. "You want us to rescue

Admiral Daala after she deserted us? You have

an odd sense of obligation, Captain."

"But," the stormtrooper said, "aren't we all

fighting the same battle?"

Sivron frowned. "In a sense, perhaps. But

we must have different priorities--as Daala

herself evidenced by leaving us behind."

He saw the Rebel ships opening fire on the

lone Star Destroyer, saw the attack increasing

as starfighters met TIE fighters in a flurry

of pinpoint laser strikes. The colorful

battle had a hypnotic effect--and he thought

of the blazing heat storms on the Twi'lek

homeworld of Ryloth.

He felt a lump of comet ice form in his

stomachs. His career had been long and successful,

but he was about to end it by destroying the facility he

had so successfully administered for years and

years.

In the pilot chair of the Death Star

prototype, Sivron said in a cold voice,

"All right, let us show Admiral Daala we

scientists can hold our own."

Suddenly an alarm ratcheted through the chamber.

Sivron sighed. "Now what?"

Yemm and Doxin both flipped through their

manuals, searching for an explanation.

"We've detected intruders," the

stormtrooper captain answered. "On the power

core itself. It seems we picked up one of those

smuggler ships near Kessel."

"Well, what do they think they're doing?"

Sivron asked.

"According to our sensor cameras, two people have emerged

from their ship and--as far as we can tell--are

attempting some sort of sabotage."

Sivron sat up in alarm. "Well, stop

them!" He snatched the manual out of Doxin's

hands and flipped through the pages. "Use emergency

procedure number--was He continued to skim over

the pages, squinting down at the bulleted lists,

flipped a few more pages before tossing the book

aside in disgust. "Well, just use the correct

procedure, Captain. Do something!"

"We have only a few men and not much time," the

captain said. "I'll order two

spacetroopers to suit up and take care of the

intruders personally."

"Yes, yes," Sivron said, waving his

clawed hand, "don't bother me with

details. Just get the job done."

Lando tilted the face shield of his enormous

helmet back and forth, the better to see with, but the

Wookiee-sized suit folded around him in

strange and uncomfortable ways. He had to work

twice as hard just to figure out where he was going.

His magnetic boots clomped on the metal

plating of the gigantic cylindrical power core.

Tapered at one end like a spindle with a

diamond-hard point, the core pressed against

another contact point that rose from the south pole

of the Death Star. Between the two points starfire

crackled as the charge built up.

The skeleton of girders and access tubes,

walled-off compartments, temporary quarters, and

storerooms, formed a giant cage around them.

Linked catwalks spanned open spaces like a

tangled net. Though the prototype was the size

of a small moon, it held very little gravity.

Lando had to work hard to keep his balance, letting his

magnetic boots determine the direction

"down."

"We have to go closer to the energy pods," Mara

said, her voice buzzing through the tiny earphone.

Lando looked for a way to respond and finally

figured out how to activate his own helmet

microphone. "Whatever you say. The sooner I

get rid of these detonators, the happier

I'll be." He sighed partly to himself but also for

Mara's benefit. "You'd think destroying one

Death Star in a man's lifetime would be enough."

"I prefer men who never settle for enough,"

Mara answered.

Lando blinked, not sure how to take her comment.

He allowed himself a broad grin.

Holding out his gloved hand to steady Mara, Lando

worked his way down the immense cylindrical

core. He tilted his visor to shield himself from the

glare pouring from the discharge at the contact points.

Above them the pronged disk of the Falcon clung

to a thick girder.

"Should be good enough here," Mara said, reaching out.

"Give me the first detonator."

Lando rummaged in the shielded container and

withdrew one of the thick disks. Mara cradled it

in her padded glove and bent down to fasten it to the

metal hull.

"We'll work our way around and place them on

the perimeter," she said, pushing her thumb

down on the synchronization button. The

detonator lit up with seven lights blinking

slowly, like a heartbeat, waiting for final

activation.

"When they're all emplaced," Mara's

voice said, "we'll give ourselves twenty standard

minutes. That should be ample time to get back to the

Falcon and get away."

Without waiting for him to agree, Mara worked her

way around the curving reactor core and turned

to take a second detonator from him, planting

it squarely against the plating.

Lando felt the faint vibrations of the core

throbbing against his magnetic boots. The stored

power seemed to be restless, building, waiting to be

unleashed.

It seemed to take forever to traverse the

circumference of the vast power core, planting the

seven detonators. When they returned to their

starting point, Mara leaned closer so Lando could

see her face through the curved faceplate.

"Ready, Calrissian?"

"Sure thing," Lando answered.

She punched the activator button on the first

device. All around the perimeter the

detonators winked blue as they began their

countdown.

"Back to the Falcon. Hurry," Mara

said. Lando clomped after her.

A movement caught his eye from the side of the

bucket-sized helmet, and he turned his head just

in time to see the blocky armored suit of an

Imperial spacetrooper. The enemy looked like

a man-shaped AT-AT walker with reinforced

joints on elbows and knees, heavy boots--and

vibroblades like claws in his gloves. One

slash and the spacetrooper could rip open Lando's

suit, killing him with explosive

decompression.

The spacetrooper emerged from an access hatch

in the framework above. He let the low gravity

cushion his fall as his bulk dropped onto the

power core. His heavy boots clanged on the

metal as he landed next to Lando and Mara.

"Where did he come from?" Lando said, ducking as

the spacetrooper lunged with the vibroblades in his

gloves. Lando bent backward like a mucus

tree in a gale. His magnetic boots held

his feet in place, but he threw himself in the

opposite direction. Vibroblades

slashed past his chest.

Mara reacted more swiftly, swinging the empty

padded container that had held the detonators,

putting all her momentum behind it. The sharp-edged

metal banged against the spacetrooper's thick

helmet.

The trooper reached up, stabbing through the plated

case with vibroblade claws. Mara used his

temporary disorientation to grab Lando and add his

mass to her own as she shoved the spacetrooper.

With her foot Mara pried free one of the

spacetrooper's boots as he fought to regain his

balance. She slammed against him, breaking the

magnetic grip of his other boot. In an

instant the trooper snapped free.

Suddenly unattached to the core, he dropped

with the momentum imparted by the force of Mara's

attack. The spacetrooper scrabbled to find

purchase against the smooth cylindrical hull as

he slid down toward the fiery contact points.

The vibroblades in his glove made long,

silvery score marks on the metal, but did no

good.

Sucked inexorably down, the trooper

plunged into the flaming discharge between the contact

points and vaporized in a bolt of

green-and-blue static.

The detonators continued their countdown.

Lando signaled. "We're on our way,

Han, old buddy. Make sure you're ready

to go."

When he felt a vibration through his boots,

Lando looked up to see another spacetrooper

drop down from the catwalks. This one carried a

blaster rifle, but Lando guessed that the trooper

dared not use it in the vicinity of the power core.

The second trooper brought his blaster rifle

to bear, motioning for them to surrender, but no voice

came over their helmet radios. Lando wondered

if the trooper had tuned to a different

frequency, or if he merely expected the

blaster rifle to be a universal language.

"Can he hear us?" Lando said.

"Who knows? Distract him. Our time is

running out." Lando waved his gloved hands and

pointed down the expanse of metal to the blinking

detonators. He flapped his palms

frantically and threw his arms wide to mime an

explosion.

As the spacetrooper glanced in the

other direction, Mara launched herself forward and

grabbed the barrel of his blaster rifle, using it like

a lever. In free fall her own momentum

knocked him free, sending the trooper tumbling

back up toward the catwalks.

"Let's go! Don't worry about him," Mara

said, returning to Lando's side. "Get to the

Falcon before those detonators blow."

Mara and Lando toiled back to the ship still clinging

to the support girders. Behind them the second

spacetrooper managed to reach out and grab one of the

tangled coolant pipes, stopping his reckless

tumble. He descended toward the power core again,

ignoring Lando and Mara as he hurried to the

detonators.

Lando felt Chewbacca's enormous baggy

suit folding around him, making it difficult

to walk. He looked back and saw the

spacetrooper working with the detonators, but he

knew Mara had cyberlocked them together. With only

a few minutes left, the spacetrooper would be

able to do nothing.

Less than a minute before the timed detonation,

Lando and Mara sealed themselves inside the Falcon

just as Han disengaged the landing claw.

"Glad you could join me!" Han said, immediately

punching the accelerators.

The Falcon raced back out along the Death

Star's equator. Its sublight engines flared

white-hot behind it.

The surviving spacetrooper managed to reach the

ring of detonators. He worked meticulously but

rapidly, disconnecting each one, using the

built-in laser welder in his suit to remove the

explosives. He tossed each one, still blinking,

into the open space.

He succeeded in disarming six of the seven

detonators. He was standing right above the last one,

prying it up, when it exploded beneath him.

Outside, in the midst of the space battle,

Admiral Daala gritted her teeth. Her

face wore a perpetual look of disdain as she

stared at the dizzying firefight.

The attack was not going well. Her forces were

being gradually worn away. She hadn't had many

TIE fighters to start with; most of them had been

left behind in the Cauldron Nebula when she had

wheeled the Gorgon about to escape the

exploding stars. She had only her reserves, and

most of those squadrons had been wiped out

by Rebel starfighters.

When the Death Star prototype reappeared

among the gases overhead, Daala felt a

thrill of awe. She rejoiced at the enormous

destructive potential suddenly available

to her. The tide of the battle had turned--notow they

could wipe out the Rebel infestation.

But when she determined that the prototype was

piloted by the incompetent fool Tol Sivron,

her hopes dwindled. "Why doesn't he

fire?" she said. "One blast and he could take out

all three corvettes and the frigate. Why

doesn't he fire?"

Commander Kratas stood by her side. "I can't

say, Admiral."

She glared to make it clear she hadn't

expected an answer. "Tol Sivron has

never had any initiative in his entire life,"

she said. "I should have known I couldn't expect him

to do his duty now. Redouble our efforts against the

Installation. Let us show Tol Sivron how it

must be done."

She narrowed her brilliant eyes to look

around the bridge. "Enough practice," she said.

"It's time to destroy Maw Installation once and for

all. Open fire!"

In the Maw Installation operations room, one

of the technicians pounded her fist on a control

deck. "Shields are failing, General

Antilles!" she announced.

Another engineer ran in from the outside

corridor, florid-faced and puffing. Sweat

plastered his hair to his forehead, and his blue

eyes were glassy with panic. "All this pounding

has knocked out the temporary cooling systems

we installed on the reactor asteroid! It was

never meant to withstand such punishment. The reactor's

going to explode--noto chance of patching it this time."

Wedge gritted his teeth and looked to Qwi.

He squeezed her hand. "Looks like we're about

to save Daala the trouble," he said. "Time

to evacuate."

Beside him Luke whirled around. "Hey! Where's

Kyp?"

But the young man was gone.

"I don't know," Wedge answered, "but we

don't have time to look for him now."

* * *

Kyp Durron's heart hammered, but he used

a Jedi calming routine, forcing himself to relax.

He required his bodily systems to operate

efficiently, providing strength where he needed it,

allowing neither fear nor exhaustion to hinder him.

The tumult of alarms and the external attack

rattled the Installation. New Republic

soldiers ran across corridors, grabbing

equipment and rushing back to their transports.

No one stopped to look at Kyp; if anyone

had bothered to question him, he would have used a simple

Jedi trick to distract them, blur their

memories, making them believe they had never seen

him.

Kyp was pleased that Master Skywalker had not

noticed his departure. With the sudden appearance of the

Death Star prototype and the continued pounding from the

Gorgon, Kyp had known what he must do.

He also knew Master Skywalker would try

to stop him, and Kyp had no time for that.

He had used his own powers--light-side

powers, he fervently hoped--to .tract everyone

while he slipped out into the corridor. He had

blanked his thoughts, his keyed-up emotions; unless

Master Skywalker made a directed effort

to pinpoint him, Kyp would go unnoticed in the

chaos.

As he ran, the tempo of the battle outside

increased, and he knew that the Installation would not

last much longer. If the Death Star prototype

managed even one shot, they would be annihilated

in an instant. That was the primary threat at the

moment.

As he sprinted down the rocky tunnels to the

maintenance bay where he had landed the Sun

Crusher, he recalled when he and Han had fled

through the spice mines of Kessel. The memory of

Han brought a deep pang.

The Death Star had reappeared in the center of the

Maw, but Kyp had seen no sign of the

Millennium Falcon. Did that mean Han

was dead, destroyed in his sabotage attempt?

Kyp had been cursed with impulsiveness,

making his decisions and acting on them without thinking

of the consequences. Right now, though, that was a strength.

He had to fight against the New Republic's

mortal enemies, and he could not ponder

and debate the ultimate results of his actions.

Kyp knew he had a great deal to atone for.

He had listened to the dark teachings of Exar Kun.

He had struck down his teacher and Jedi Master.

He had wiped clean the memories of Qwi

Xux. He had stolen the Sun Crusher and

obliterated entire star systems ... he had

caused the death of his brother Zeth.

Now he would do all he could to rescue his friends

-comn only to salve his conscience, but because they

deserved to live and continue the fight for freedom

in the galaxy.

Kyp stared at the oily metallic texture

of the Sun Crusher's faceted sides. The

quantum armor reflected light in strange

directions, distorting it, making the superweapon

appear to have been polished with slow light.

With trembling hands he gripped the rungs of the

ladder and ascended. Han Solo and Chewbacca

had climbed these same rungs to get into the Sun

Crusher during their escape from the Installation.

Kyp's brother had attempted to pull himself

aboard before Carida's star exploded--but Zeth

had not succeeded.

Kyp swung shut the hatch as if he were sealing

himself off from the rest of the galaxy for all time. He

didn't know if he would ever see the outside again,

if he would ever return to Coruscant, or if

he would ever speak to Han Solo or Master

Skywalker again.

He slumped into the pilot's seat and stilled

those thoughts with a Jedi technique. Only a few

hours earlier he and Luke had been riding in the

Sun Crusher, peaceful companions talking about

their lives and their hopes. Now Kyp could not think

beyond working the simple controls of the Sun Crusher.

He raised the spike-shaped craft on its

repulsorlifts and guided himself through the long

launching tunnel into open space where the battle

raged.

He approached the giant framework sphere

of the Death Star. Kyp had seen the effectiveness

of the Sun Crusher's ultrastrong armor when

Han Solo had flown at full speed through the

bridge tower of the Hydra--but even the quantum

armor could not possibly withstand a blast from the Death

Star's superlaser.

Kyp had two remaining resonance torpedoes

that could trigger a supernova. He doubted he could

get a critical mass in the

prototype's skeletal structure, but a

direct hit would still cause a substantial chain

reaction.

He accelerated forward, a mere pinprick on

the vast canvas of garish-colored gases around the

Maw's black holes.

Then, without warning, a bright flower of orange and

white erupted from the power core at the center of the

Death Star, a small explosion. An instant

later, flying in the opposite direction, the

Millennium Falcon blasted out of the

superstructure, gaining speed.

With a warm melting sensation of relief and

triumph, he knew that Han Solo had

survived! Now Kyp could strike the crippled

Death Star with no second thoughts. And then he would

go after Daala.

He powered up his targeting and weapons

systems. With Jedi senses Kyp could feel the

power surging beneath him in the toroidal torpedo

generator--energy sufficient to crack open stars.

For one last time, he had to use it.

The explosion in the power core sent the entire

Death Star reeling off its axis. The lone

spacetrooper attempting to disarm the detonators

was hurled backward, already torn to shreds of

plasteel armor and incinerated bone.

The detonator had ripped open a gash in the

cylindrical core, splitting the armored plating

wide and spraying a jet of radioactive

fire.

Tol Sivron's head-tails stretched out

straight with outrage. "I ordered those two

spacetroopers to stop the sabotage!" He

whirled to the Devaronian Division Leader.

"Yemm, record their service numbers and make

a special disciplinary notation in their files!"

He tapped his claws on the chair arm and

finally remembered to say, "Oh, and give me a

damage assessment."

Doxin ran to the status console and pulled up

a visual. "From what I know of the blueprints,

Director, there appears to be a relatively

insignificant breach in the power core. We can

repair it before radiation levels get too high.

It's a good thing no more than one of those

detonators blew, though. Otherwise we

wouldn't be able to contain it."

The stormtrooper captain was on his

feet, chattering orders into his radio helmet.

"I've already sent a full squadron of

troopers down to suit up, sir. I have

instructed them that their personal safety is

forfeit."

"Good, good," Tol Sivron said absently.

"How soon will I be able to shoot again?"

The stormtrooper studied his panels. The

white plasteel helmet masked any hint of

expression. "The spacetroopers are suited up

and on their way. They are descending the catwalks

now." He pointed his featureless black goggles

at Sivron. "If the repair work goes as

planned, you could fire within twenty minutes."

"Well, tell them to hurry," Sivron said.

"If Daala destroys Maw Installation before

I do, I'll be very annoyed."

"Yes, Director," the captain said.

Tol Sivron watched with simmering frustration

as the Millennium Falcon disappeared toward

the other fighting ships inside the Maw. He

noticed the New Republic battleships that

had overrun his facility; he noticed the large

conglomeration of planetoids where he had spent so

many years of his career. And then he looked at

Admiral Daala's Star Destroyer.

Daala, whom he loathed, who had deserted him

and her duty at the time of greatest need.

Tol Sivron muttered to himself as he

fidgeted in the command chair. "So many targets,"

he said, "and so little time."

The battle-scarred Star Destroyer cruised

so low over the Maw Installation's weakening

defensive shields that Luke's instinct was

to duck. The complex clutter of the Gorgon's

hull flowed like an unending river past the

skylights, showing just how immense the battleship

was.

"Shields just failed completely," one of the

technicians said. "We won't survive

another pass, and the reactor asteroid is going

critical!"

Wedge punched the facilitywide intercom and

shouted orders. His voice echoed through the labyrinth

of tunnels in the clustered asteroids of the

Installation. "Last call for evacuation. Everyone

to the transport ships. Now! We've

only got a few minutes to get out of here."

The alarms somehow grew even louder. Luke

turned to follow the troops running toward the

doors. Wedge grabbed the thin blue arm of Qwi

Xux, but she resisted, staring in horror at the

computer screens. "Look!" she said. "What is

she doing? She can't!"

Wedge stopped to glance at the streams of data

flying across the screens at high speed. He

blinked and saw rapid-fire images of

blueprints, weapons designs, test data.

"Admiral Daala must have known Director

Sivron's password," Qwi cried. "She's

dumping the data backups we couldn't crack.

She's downloading all the weapons information!"

Wedge grabbed Qwi by the waist and yanked her

away from the terminal, rushing her toward the door.

"We can't do anything about that now. We've got

to get out of here."

They ran down the corridors with the assault

troops in the lead. Qwi's feathery hair

streamed behind her, glinting in the harsh white light from

the glowpanels.

Wedge felt overwhelmed, his tension rising, as

if his internal chronometer were ticking down the

seconds until the explosion of the fragile

reactor asteroid, until Admiral

Daala's next attack, until the whole

Installation bloomed into a white-hot cloud of

rubble.

Wedge had never wanted to be a general

anyway. He was a good wing man, a fighter

pilot. He had flown beside Luke down the trench

of the first Death Star, and next to Lando

Calrissian to destroy the second one.

By far the best assignment had been to escort the

lovely Qwi Xux. Even frightened and dismayed,

Qwi looked exotic and beautiful. He wanted

to hold her and comfort her--but he could do that on the

transport back to the Yavaris. If they

didn't get out of here immediately, they would all

die.

As the refugees scrambled across the takeoff

area, one of the transports declared itself fully

loaded. Wedge grabbed his comm link. "Go, go!

Don't wait for us!"

They charged up the ramp of another waiting

shuttle. The remaining troops scattered to their

seats. Wedge took a second to make sure

Qwi had a safe place to strap herself

in. Luke bolted for the cockpit and threw himself

into the copilot's chair, powering up the sublight

engines.

Wedge took one last glance back at the

personnel compartment to verify that everyone was at least

close to being seated. "Secure the door!" he

cried.

One of the lieutenants slammed a palm against

the hatch controls. With an impatient hiss the

ramp drew in like a retracting serpent's

tongue. The doors clamped shut.

Wedge wasted no time securing himself into his

seat before raising the transport off the landing pad.

With a scream of acceleration the troop ship launched

itself away from the dying Maw Installation.

The bootsteps of Commander Kratas sounded like

hammers on sheet metal as he ran up to the

bridge observation platform. Admiral Daala

turned, anxiously awaiting a favorable

report.

Kratas tried to regain his composure but did

not succeed in wiping the idiotic grin from his lips.

"Transfer successful, Admiral. Complete

core dump of all the Maw's backup computer

files." He lowered his voice. "You were

correct. Director Sivron never bothered

to change his password. He was still using the same one

you obtained ten years ago."

Daala snorted. "Sivron has been

incompetent in everything else. Why should he

change now?"

Most of her TIE fighters had been wiped

out. None of her starboard turbolasers were

functional. Engines operated at only 40

percent efficiency, and many systems were severely

overheating.

She had never anticipated the battle would

take this long. She had meant to obliterate the

Rebel forces and then finish mop-up operations at

her leisure. She didn't understand why Sivron

and his Death Star didn't do anything. But finally

something had gone right; she had retrieved the

precious data from the Maw Installation computers.

Daala watched as troop transports fled

the cluster of rocks below, but she deemed them

insignificant targets.

"Installation shields are completely down," the

tactical lieutenant said.

"Good," she snapped. "Wheel about.

We'll make a final attack run."

"Excuse me, Admiral," Kratas

interrupted. "We're getting anomalous readings

from the reactor asteroid. It appears to have suffered

severe damage and is highly unstable."

Daala brightened. "Ah, excellent. We'll

target that. Perhaps the reactor can do most of the

destructive work for us."

She looked out the bridge tower and saw the

ocean of screaming gases around the infinitely

black pinpoints. The Gorgon turned about and

headed toward Maw Installation.

"Full ahead," Daala said, standing rigid

at her station, gloved hands clasped behind her

back. Her coppery hair flowed behind her like

spraying lava. "Fire repeatedly, until the

Installation is destroyed--or until our

turbolaser banks are drained dry."

The lumbering ship picked up momentum as the

Gorgon accelerated forward on its final run.

Wedge flicked on the open communications unit

to contact the New Republic fleet. He

didn't care about encryption at the moment--if the

Imperial forces could decode his transmissions,

they wouldn't have time to take action anyway.

"All fighters, regroup and return to the

Yavaris. Prepare to retreat. We are leaving

the Maw. We have everything we came for."

The huge frigate hung like a jagged weapon

waiting to receive the fighter squadrons. X-wings

and ally-wings looped around, disengaging from space

dogfights and heading back to their primary ships.

Wedge accelerated toward the Yavaris. The

squarish opening of the frigate's lower bays glowed

with an atmosphere-containment field, like a

welcoming open door.

Without warning four square-winged TIE fighters

shot up from Wedge's blind spot, mercilessly

battering the front of the transport shuttle with

laser bolts.

Before Wedge could react, an assault

shuttle bearing Imperial markings flew in from the

left, firing multiple beams from its forward

heavy blaster cannons. The attack took the

TIE pilots by surprise. They scrambled and

scattered. Two careened into each other to get out

of the way. Two others succumbed to the focused

blasts, exploding into molten debris.

Wedge heard a loud Wookiee roar

of triumph over the open comm channel, echoed

by growls and shouts from the assault shuttle's

passenger compartment. The clipped metallic

voice of See-Threepio interrupted,

"Chewbacca, please do stop showing off! We need

to get back to the Yavaris."

Luke toggled the communications panel.

"Thanks, guys."

"Master Luke!" Threepio cried. "What

are you doing here? We need to get away!"

"It's a long story, Threepio. We're

doing our best to do just that."

On the opposite side of the Maw, the

Gorgon spun about and accelerated toward the

unprotected Installation like a wild bantha, its

rear engines blazing with star fire. A flurry of

green turbolaser bolts blurred out from the Star

Destroyer's fore section, angling down to strike

the Installation's clustered asteroids. With the

facility's shields down, ionized rock dust

sprayed into space.

Daala fired and fired again, picking up speed

in what appeared to be a suicide run. Her

strafing beams pummeled the Installation, striking

asteroid after asteroid. Metal bridges

vaporized, transparisteel shattered and blew

outward.

The Gorgon came on, unstoppable until

-comj as she soared over at closest approach--the

attack breached the containment housing the unstable power

reactor.

Sitting in the cockpit of the personnel

transport, Wedge and Luke both flinched as the

entire Maw Installation suddenly became a

blaze of light, like a miniature exploding star.

The center of the Maw was filled with an incandescent

purifying fire.

The glare flooded outward, automatically

causing the viewscreens to darken. Wedge flew

blind, trusting the navigation computer's controls and

aiming toward the waiting New Republic

flagships.

When his vision finally cleared, he looked back

to the stable point that had held the Empire's most

sophisticated weapons-research laboratory.

He saw only a far-flung swarm of broken

rocks and smoldering gases in an expanding

backwash of energy. Eventually, the debris would

drift far enough to be siphoned down to infinity through

one of the black holes.

As the glare faded and the fiery gases cleared,

he saw no sign whatsoever of Admiral

Daala or her last Star Destroyer.

Working like automatons, the team of doomed

spacetroopers attached themselves to the breached wall

of the Death Star's power core. Intense radiation

spewed out, darkening their faceplates so they could

barely see, slowly frying their life-support

systems.

Moving sluggishly as they weakened under the

invisible onslaught, they wrestled thick sheets

of plating in the low gravity. They used rapid

laser welders to slap patches over the breach,

reinforcing it to withstand an energy buildup.

One of the spacetroopers, his control pack

sparking with blue lightning as the suit's

circuits all broke down, thrashed about in

eerie silence; his arm movements gradually slowed

until he drifted free. One of the others took

his place, ignoring the lost companion. Every one of

them had already received a lethal dose of radiation.

They knew it, but their training had been thorough:

they lived to serve the Empire.

One of the troopers completed a last weld at

the hottest point of the breach. His skin blistered.

His nerves were deadened. His eyes and lungs

hemorrhaged blood. But he forced himself to finish

his task.

The cold vacuum of space solidified the

welds instantly. With a gurgling voice filled

with fluid, the spacetrooper gasped into his

helmet radio, "Mission accomplished."

Then the remaining troopers, with failing

life-support systems and bodies already

savaged by the fatal radiation, released their hold

on the power core in unison. They drifted

free, dropping toward the brilliant energy

discharge like shooting stars.

At the total destruction of Maw Installation

and the loss of Admiral Daala's Gorgon,

Tol Sivron's initial reaction was one of

annoyance and disappointment.

"The Installation was supposed to be my

target," he said. He glared at his other

Division Leaders. "How could Daala do such a

thing? I have the Death Star; she

doesn't."

As the shock waves and light echoes from the

huge explosion drifted and faded, Sivron could

see the Rebel fleet gathering itself to flee the

cluster.

Sivron sighed. "Perhaps we should hold another

meeting to discuss options."

"Sir!" The stormtrooper captain got

to his feet. "Our power reactor is now

temporarily repaired. I lost nine good

spacetroopers to bring the weapon back online.

I think we should use it. The Rebel fleet is

in retreat. We'll lose them if we don't

act soon. I know this is nonstandard procedure,

Director, but we have no time for a meeting."

Sivron looked from side to side, suddenly

insecure. He didn't like to be pushed into snap

decisions. Too many things could go wrong if one

did not consider the full consequences. But the

captain had a good point.

"All right, then, temporary emergency

actions. Ad hoc committee decision--shall we

use the superlaser to strike out at the Rebel

forces? Doxin, your vote."

"I agree," the squat Division Leader

said.

Tol Sivron turned to the hatchet-faced

woman. "Golanda?"

"Let's cause some damage."

"Yemm?"

The Devaronian nodded, his horns bobbing up

and down. "It will look much better in the report

if we have a unanimous vote."

Sivron considered. "Since Wermyn is no

longer with us, I will act as his proxy and cast my

vote along with his. Therefore, the vote is

unanimous. We will strike the Rebel forces."

He nodded to Yemm. "Please note that in the

minutes."

"Director," the stormtrooper captain

interrupted, "the Rebel fleet is pulling out.

One of the corvettes has already gone into the

Maw."

"Captain, you are so impatient!" Sivron

snapped. "Can't you see we've already made the

resolution? Now it's time to implement it. Go

ahead and establish your first target."

He blinked his tiny eyes and spotted one of the

Corellian corvettes hanging dead in

space. "What about that one?" Sivron

said. "It appears to be either crippled or

boobytrapped. I don't like it--and besides, it's

a stationary target. We can use it to calibrate

our aiming mechanisms ... since you missed a

whole planet last time."

"As you wish, Director." The stormtrooper

relayed the instructions to the team of gunners in the

firing bay.

"I suggest we fire at only half

strength, Director," Doxin said, scanning the

technical readouts. His bald scalp furrowed

again. "Even at reduced power the Death Star

superlaser will be more than adequate to destroy a

simple battleship. In that way we can manage

multiple firings without depleting our reservoir

so quickly. We won't have to wait so long between

shots."

"Good suggestion, Division Leader,"

Sivron said with a smile of anticipation. "I'd

very much like to shoot more than once."

Down in the firing bay the gunners hunched over

sprawling control banks, fingers moving deftly

over the arrays of brightly lit squares to call

up the targeting cross and lock in on the doomed

corvette.

"Hurry up and fire," Tol Sivron's

voice echoed through the speakers. "We want to get

a second shot at those ships before they all

leave."

Together the gunners focused the secondary laser

beams and yanked back on the levers to release the

pent-up energy within the power core.

Along the focusing tubes a wide beam of

incinerating power shot out. It funneled through the

focusing eye and blazed into a deadly spear,

striking precisely on target.

The crippled Corellian corvette was so

insignificant that it absorbed little of the

destructive power. The beam went through the

vaporized wreckage and continued into the curtains

of the Maw.

"Outstanding!" Sivron said. "See what

happens when you follow the correct procedures?

Now target the frigate. The big ship. I

want to see that one explode."

"We have enough energy reserves for several more

blasts," the stormtrooper captain said.

Then a tiny, angular blip of light streaked

across their targeting viewport--as seemingly

insignificant as a gnat--yet it

kept coming. Its hull glistened brightly in

reflected light. The small ship fired its

ridiculously ineffective defensive lasers

at the Death Star.

"What's that?" Sivron said. "Give me a

close-up."

Golanda magnified the image on the screen and

scowled. Her face looked unpleasant enough

to shatter planets. "I believe it's one of our

own concepts, Director Sivron. You may

recognize it yourself."

As he looked at the shard-shaped vessel, his

head-tails twitched. Of course he remembered

it--not only from the working model he had seen

once, but from all the progress reports and

computer simulations its creator, Qwi Xux,

had delivered during her years of development.

"The Sun Crusher," he said. "But that's

ours!" The torus-shaped resonance field

generator glowed with plasma fire at the bottom

of its long spike.

"Open a channel," Tol Sivron said.

"I want to talk to whoever is there. Hello,

hello? You have appropriated property that

belongs to Maw Installation. I demand that you

return it to the proper Imperial authorities

immediately." He crossed his arms over his chest and

waited for a reply.

The pilot of the Sun Crusher answered

by launching one of the supernova torpedoes into the

Death Star.

Kyp felt a rush of satisfaction as he

pressed the firing button, ignoring the

Twi'lek administrator's pompous posturing.

He watched the high-energy projectile shoot from

the bottom of the Sun Crusher and burrow deep

within the complicated framework of metal girders

inside the prototype.

The resonance torpedo vaporized girders as

it tunneled deeper and deeper, until it finally

struck heavier primary struts that foamed as they

disintegrated.

The torpedo dumped its energy in a shower that

triggered a small chain reaction within the solid

superstructure, splitting atomic nuclei and

causing an arc of spreading dissolution. Girders

vaporized in a widening hole that ate its way

farther and farther through the heavy framework.

But Kyp's elation faded as the chain

reaction slowed, and then stopped. The skeletal

Death Star had insufficient mass to continue its

own disintegration.

He had ruined a good portion of the support

framework in one sector of the prototype, but not

enough.

Kyp powered up the weapons panel again and

prepared to fire. He could annihilate the Death

Star piece by piece if necessary. But looking down

at his panel, he noted with dismay that only one of

his supernova torpedoes remained.

Grim-faced, Kyp zoomed in closer to the

prototype. He would have to make this last shot

count.

Wheeling the Millennium Falcon in a

backward arc, Han Solo tried to check how

much damage the detonators had done to the Death

Star's power core.

He was disappointed. He had expected to see

the skeletal prototype bloom into a

fantastic flower of fire, but instead the

detonators seemed to have fizzled, leaving only

a dimming blaze at the center.

The ship drifted in space for a few moments as

Mara and Lando shucked their environment suits.

Lando rubbed sweat from his forehead and wiped his hands

as if disgusted with the griminess of the suit.

"Now what are we going to do?" Han asked when

they had finally joined him back in the cockpit.

Lando looked at the Death Star shrinking in the

black distance behind them. "Maybe we'd better go

see if Wedge--was

Suddenly the Maw Installation and the Gorgon

were swallowed in a brilliant flare as everything

detonated at once.

"Too late," Mara said.

"Now why couldn't the Death Star have exploded like

that?" Lando said miserably.

"Maybe we at least caused some permanent

harm," Han said hopefully. But moments later

they all groaned as a green beam lanced out from the

Death Star to destroy one of the corvettes in the

retreating New Republic fleet.

"So much for permanent harm," Mara Jade

said.

"That Death Star's causing some harm, big

time!" Lando said.

"Wait," Han said as he glanced back at

the Death Star, squinting. "Move in

closer."

"Closer?" Lando said. "You out of your mind?"

"That's Kyp," Han said as the Sun Crusher

streaked across the face of the Death Star and launched

one of its static-filled torpedoes into the

superstructure.

"If he's taking on the Death Star, we've

got to go help." Han said.

The Sun Crusher fled toward the gravitational

walls of the Maw cluster, and Tol Sivron

ordered the Death Star to track the small but

deadly ship.

"Get a lock on it," he said. "We'll

blast it out of space the same way we did with that

Rebel ship."

"Sir," the stormtrooper captain said,

"to lock on to a target so tiny and moving so

quickly--was

"Then get close enough so you can't miss,"

Sivron snapped. "One of his torpedoes ate

up eleven percent of our superstructure! We

can't afford more losses like that. How are we going

to explain it when we get back to the Empire?"

"Perhaps that would be a good reason to stay away from

the Sun Crusher, sir," the stormtrooper

pointed out.

"Nonsense! How would that look on the

report?" Sivron said, leaning forward. "You have

your orders, Captain."

The equatorial propulsion units powered up

and nudged the massive skeletal craft to greater

speed as it pursued the flitting superweapon.

"Fire whenever you have a target," Sivron

said.

The Death Star picked up speed, and the tiny

Sun Crusher slowed down, as if taunting them.

The gases grew hot in the outer shell of the

Maw as they approached one of the bottomless

singularities. The Sun Crusher danced back and

forth, shooting its tiny lasers, destroying minor

struts here and there, causing insignificant

damage. The Death Star had to fight against the

gravity of the nearby black hole.

"What's the matter?" Tol Sivron said to the

gunners over the intercom. "Are you waiting to read

the serial numbers on his engine parts?"

The Death Star shot again. Its green beam

tore through the outer wisps of the cluster, firing

point-blank at the Sun Crusher--but

the laser curved to the left, tugged by the mighty

force of the black hole. The green beam spiraled

like a ball bearing falling into a drain.

"You missed! How could you miss?" Tol

Sivron ranted. "Captain, give me those

flight controls. I'm going to pilot the Death

Star myself. I'm tired of your incompetence."

All of the Division Leaders suddenly looked

at Tol Sivron, aghast. The stormtrooper

captain turned slowly in his chair. "Are you

sure that's wise, Director? You don't have the

experience--was

Sivron crossed his arms over his chest. "I

have read the procedure and I've watched what

you're doing. I know everything I need to know.

Give me the controls right now. That's a

managerial directive!"

Sivron grinned with anticipation as he began

to issue commands directing the Death Star. "Now

we'll finish this properly," he said.

Just like a pet floozam on a leash, thought

Kyp as he flew toward the black hole. The

Death Star followed his every move.

He reversed course and arrowed back toward the

prototype, increasing speed and calling up his

weapons controls. The maze of metal girders

and cross braces spun below him--and he launched

his last resonance torpedo. The blazing cloud of

plasma chewed through the outer layers of the

prototype as it plowed ever-widening circles of

destruction.

The last shot would make them panic. It

wouldn't cripple the Death Star entirely, but

merely crippling the prototype would never be

enough. He had to go for the full victory.

As the chain reaction initiated by his last

torpedo petered out, Kyp sped over the

metallic horizon of the Death Star and raced for the

Maw's nearest black hole.

Kyp used his onboard tactical systems

to estimate the exact position of the event

horizon, the point from which no ship, however

powerful, could ever escape. He came closer and

closer--and the Death Star howled after him.

Han shouted into the comm systems, "Kyp, Kyp

Durron! Answer me. Don't go so close.

Watch out!"

But he received no reply.

Death Star and Sun Crusher were locked in

mortal combat, paying no heed to outside

distractions. The Death Star prototype orbited

close to the black hole. The Sun Crusher

danced from side to side, hammering with tiny laser

blasts.

"I think I know what he's doing," Han said

with deep uneasiness. "The prototype has

greater mass and a much larger volume. If Kyp

can lure it near the point of no return ..."

"Without getting sucked down himself," Lando said.

"That's the catch, isn't it?" Han answered.

The Death Star fired again, and the superlaser beam

curved around, bent even more severely in the deep

gravity well; but this time the gunner had

compensated. The blurred fringes of the beam actually

struck the Sun Crusher and knocked it spinning out

of control.

Any other ship would have been vaporized

instantly, but the quantum armor plating

protected the superweapon--just barely.

Kyp's propulsion systems were obviously

damaged. The Sun Crusher struggled along on

a tangential course, attempting to pull away

from the event horizon. But it was too close, and

gravity was too strong. It spiraled in a tight

orbit, sinking deeper and deeper.

The Death Star pilot couldn't resist making the

final kill, and the prototype loomed closer.

The Sun Crusher and the giant skeletal sphere

orbited the black hole like the ends of a baton,

speeding up.

Only then did the Death Star pilot seem

to realize his peril, and all equatorial

thrusters kicked on at once, attempting

to pull the prototype away. But the giant

vessel had already crossed the edge of the black

hole.

The Sun Crusher could not achieve sufficient

velocity to escape its tightening orbit either. It

spiraled in the wake of the Death Star, with no

hope of getting away.

Han felt as if his chest were being torn apart

by the tidal forces. "Kyp!" he cried.

A final streak of light shot away from the

Sun Crusher, and then it was too late for the tiny

superweapon.

The Death Star prototype plunged into the

thickening cascades of superhot gases that

shrieked down into nothingness. The

spherical prototype elongated like a great egg

under the uneven gravitational stresses. The

curved girders ripped apart, then were crushed into a

cone that stretched into the black hole's funnel.

With a wink of brilliance the tiny Sun Crusher

followed its nemesis down into the black hole.

Lando and Mara remained utterly silent.

Han hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Goodbye, Kyp."

"It's a message cylinder," Mara said,

identifying the small streak shot out by the Sun

Crusher. "We'd better get it quick, because it's

falling toward the black hole, too."

"Message cylinder?" Han sat up, trying

to find his enthusiasm. "Okay, let's snag it

before it's too late."

The Falcon raced toward the event

horizon. Lando and Mara worked together, wrestling

to navigate the ship in the buckling jaws of

gravity. They detected the metallic container,

and Lando swooped in, latching on to it with the

tractor beam moments before the small message

pod could fall over the brink of the gravitational

pit.

"Got it," Lando said.

"All right, pull it inside, and let's get

out of here," Han said in a bleak voice. "At

least I can hear the last words Kyp had to say."

Han and Lando both pulled on stiff gloves

before they wrestled the Sun Crusher's message

canister into the Falcon's common area. Deep

cold had penetrated the canister, and as they brought

it into the enclosed atmosphere, tendrils of frost

grew like lacy ferns across its surface.

The thin metal hull gleamed bright, splotched

in places by electrostatic discharges from when the

cylinder had been launched at high speed from the

Sun Crusher.

"That's one heavy message," Lando said as they

lugged the canister to a flat spot on the floor

and set it down with a metallic thump on the

deck plates.

Little more than a meter long and less than half

a meter wide, the message pod was used by the

captain of a doomed ship to launch his last log

entries and to dump his computer cores and navigation

records for later investigations.

Han remembered Kyp telling him that when the

Coruscant scientists had stumbled upon the

message canisters inside the Sun Crusher,

they had panicked, thinking they had uncovered the

dangerous supernova torpedoes--even though the

cylinder was standard Imperial issue, and any

smuggler or starfighter pilot should have recognized

it immediately.

On his rampages in the Cauldron Nebula

and the Carida system, Kyp had left message

cylinders to explain what he had done and why, so

that no one would construe his actions as simple

astronomical accidents.

Han felt stunned and lethargic with sadness.

His friend had been right, but only to a point. Kyp

Durron's agenda to destroy the Empire had

used tactics as vicious as those of the

Emperor's.

Luke Skywalker had claimed the young man

would redeem himself fully, but now Kyp's

potential as a great Jedi had been extinguished.

Han could not question Kyp's sacrifice, though.

Kyp had eliminated both the Death Star

prototype and the Sun Crusher. He had bought the

galaxy's freedom from terror at the cost of his

life ... one life for potentially billions.

That made sense, didn't it?

Didn't it?

Mara Jade knelt beside the message

cylinder, running her slender hands over its

hull. She popped open the access plate.

"Well, it's not encrypted," she said. "Either

Kyp didn't have time, or he knew we'd be the

ones to pick it up. He left the homing beacon

off."

"Just open it," Han said roughly. He'd had

enough of this grim waiting. What had Kyp thought

to say in his last moments?

Mara punched in the standard sequence. The lights

blinked red, then amber, then flashed green. With a

hiss of escaping air, a formerly invisible seam

appeared down the center of the pod. The long black

line widened as the two halves split, opening

up.

Inside, looking waxen and emotionless as a

statue, lay Kyp Durron. His eyes were

closed, his face drawn into an expression of

intense--yet surprisingly peaceful--concentration.

"Kyp," Han shouted. His voice cracked with

astonished joy, yet he tried to hold

back his hope. "Kyp!"

Somehow Kyp had crammed himself inside the

small volume of the message cylinder, a

vessel barely large enough to hold a child. But Kyp

had managed to crush his legs, fold his arms

until the bones snapped, pressed down on his

rib cage until ribs cracked, compacting

himself.

Han leaned closer to the ashen face. "Is he

alive? He's in some kind of Jedi trance." In

his final desperation Kyp had somehow found the

strength to use his Jedi pain-blocking

techniques, his determination, and all the knowledge Luke

had taught him ... to do this to himself, as his only

chance for survival.

"He's slowed his functions almost to the point of

suspended animation," Mara said. "He's in so

deep that he might as well be dead."

The message canister was airtight but had no

life-support systems, no air other than the

small amount that had fit around his own broken

body.

"That's impossible," Lando said.

"Let's get him out," Han said.

"Careful."

Han gently, meticulously pried the young

man free of the tiny cylinder. As Lando and Mara

helped him carry Kyp to one of the narrow bunks,

the young man's body sagged and flopped from

grievously smashed bones, as if someone had

crumpled him into a ball and then tossed him

aside.

"Oh, Kyp," Han said. As he set Kyp

on the bunk and straightened his arms, Han could

feel the shattered wrists like jelly under his skin.

"We have to get him to a medical center," he said.

"I've got first aid here, but not nearly enough for

something like this."

Kyp's black eyes fluttered open, glazed

and unfocused with incredible pain; but he drove it

back. "Han," he said in a voice as faint as

beating wings. "You came to get me."

"Of course, kid," Han said, bending down.

"What did you expect?"

"The Death Star?" Kyp asked.

"Sucked down into the black hole ... along

with the Sun Crusher. They're both gone."

Kyp's entire body shuddered with relief.

"Good."

He looked as if he were about

to collapse back into unconsciousness, but then his

eyes blinked again, brightening with a new confidence.

"I'll be all right, you know."

"I know you will be," Han answered.

Only then did Kyp succumb to the pain and

allow himself to sink back into his Jedi trance.

"Good to have you back, kid," Han whispered,

then looked up to Mara and Lando. "Let's get

him back to Coruscant."

A Wookiee bellow split from the intercom

system, and Han stood up straight, rushing

back to the cockpit to see a battered Imperial

gamma assault shuttle hanging in space in

front of the Falcon, its engines white-hot and

ready to go.

"Chewie!" Han shouted into the voice

pickups, and the Wookiee responded with a roar.

"What Chewbacca is saying," Threepio's

voice translated unnecessarily, "is that if

you would like to follow us out of the Maw, we have the

appropriate course programmed into our

navicomputer. I believe we are all

anxious to go home."

Han looked at Lando and Mara and smiled.

"You're sure right about that, Threepio."

Inside the dining hall of the Great Temple,

Cilghal stood silent and firm, studiously

showing no reaction to Ackbar's insistence.

Clad once again in his white admiral's

uniform, Ackbar leaned closer to Cilghal. He

placed his splayed hands firmly on the shoulders

of her watery-blue robe. She could feel the

heavy musculature in his hands as he pressed

down. She flinched, afraid of what he would

demand of her.

"You cannot surrender so easily,

Ambassador," Ackbar said. "I will not accept

that this task is impossible until you prove to me

it is impossible."

Cilghal felt small under the probing gaze of

his large eyes. No human would recognize it,

but she could see the effects of long-fought stress

on his face, in the mottling of his dark-orange

color. Ackbar's skin looked dry, and his

lobes had sunk deeply into the sides of his

head. The small tendrils around his mouth looked

frayed and cracked.

Since the terrible crash on the planet

Vortex and his resulting disgrace, Ackbar had

lived with an enormous weight on his conscience.

But now he had come back to himself, returning

to serve his people and the New Republic with greater

determination--and coming to speak with her on Yavin 4.

"There have been no Jedi healers since the great

purges," Cilghal said. "Master Skywalker

believes I possess some aptitude in this

area, but I have had no appropriate training.

I would be swimming in murky waters, uncertain

of my course. I don't dare--was

"Nevertheless," Ackbar interrupted sharply.

He released her shoulders and stepped back so that

his clean white uniform dazzled her eyes in the

dimness of the Massassi temple's dining hall.

Dorsk 81 stepped into the chamber, looking

surreptitiously at Ackbar. His eyes

widened as he recognized the commander of the New

Republic Fleet. The cloned alien muttered

his apologies and backed out, flustered.

But Ackbar's gaze did not waver from

Cilghal. She raised her head to meet his stare

but waited for him to speak.

"Please," Ackbar said. "I beg you. Mon

Mothma will die within days if you do nothing."

"I made oaths to myself, both when I became

an ambassador and when I arrived here to train as

a Jedi," Cilghal said, bowing her head with a

sigh, "that I would do everything in my power to serve and

to strengthen the New Republic."

She looked down at her spatulate hands.

"If Master Skywalker has faith in me, who

am I to question his judgment?" she said. "Take me

to your ship, Admiral. Let us go

to Coruscant."

In the former Imperial Palace, Cilghal

reviewed the situation with growing dread.

Mon Mothma no longer remained conscious.

The infestation of nano-destroyers filled her

body, tearing her cells apart one by one. Without the

life-support systems that kept her lungs

filling, her heart beating, her blood filtered--

the human woman would have died days earlier.

Some Council members had begun advising that

she be allowed to die, that forcibly keeping Mon

Mothma alive in such a state was a lingering

torture. But upon hearing that one of Master

Skywalker's new Jedi would come from

Yavin 4 to attempt healing her, Chief of

State Leia Organa Solo had insisted that

they wait for this last chance, this slim hope.

Arriving in Imperial City, Cilghal was

flanked by Ackbar and Leia as they ushered her

down corridors to the medical chambers where Mon

Mothma lay surrounded by the growing stench of death.

Leia's dark gaze flicked from Mon

Mothma to Cilghal. Her human eyes

glittered with gathering tears, and Cilghal could

sense her hope like a palpable substance.

The smells of medicines, sterilization

chemicals, and throbbing machines made her

amphibious skin feel irritated and rubbery.

She wanted to swim in the soothing waters of

Calamari, to wash the disturbing thoughts and poisons

from her body--but Mon Mothma needed that purging

even more than Cilghal did.

She stepped to Mon Mothma's bedside,

leaving Leia and Ackbar behind her. "You must

realize that I know nothing specific about the healing

powers of the Jedi," she said, as if offering an

excuse. "I know even less about this living

poison that is destroying her."

She drew a deep breath of the tainted air.

"Leave me alone with her. Mon Mothma and I

will fight this together." She swallowed. "If we

can."

Murmuring warm wishes and reassurances,

Ackbar and Leia faded into the background.

Cilghal paid little attention to them as they departed.

Her shimmering blue ambassadorial robes

flowed around her like ethereal waves. She knelt

to stare at Mon Mothma's motionless form. Reaching

out with the Force, but at a loss for what exactly

she was supposed to do, she tried to assess the

scope of damage inside Mon Mothma's

body.

As she began to see deeper, the extent of the

poison's ravages astounded her. She could not

comprehend how Mon Mothma had managed to stay

alive for so long. Uncertainty fluttered in

Cilghal's mind like gathering shadows.

How could she possibly combat such a disease?

She did not understand how working with the Force could heal

living things, how it could strengthen the life of someone

as devastated as Mon Mothma. The best

available medical droids had not been able

to remove the malicious poison. No medicines

had been able to cure her.

Cilghal knew only what Master

Skywalker had taught her--how to sense with the

Force, how to feel living things, how to move

objects. She touched Mon Mothma with glowing

currents of the Force, searching for some kind of

answer, or at least an idea.

Could she use her Jedi skills but in a

different manner that might strengthen Mon

Mothma? Help her body to heal? Find some

method to remove the poison?

Cilghal hesitated as a possibility

struck like a meteor. The magnitude of the effort

stunned her, and she wanted to dismiss the thought

automatically--but she forced herself to study the

idea.

Master Skywalker had explained Yoda's

teachings, his insistence that "size matters not."

Yoda had claimed that lifting Luke's entire

X-wing fighter was no different from lifting a

pebble.

But could Cilghal turn it the other way around?

Could she use her precise control of the Force

to move something so small?

She blinked her round Calamarian eyes.

Millions of the tiny nano-destroyers

saturated Mon Mothma's body.

Size matters not.

But if Cilghal could remove the destructive

poison molecules, if she could somehow keep

Mon Mothma from toppling over the abyss into death

-comthen her body could restore itself, in time.

Cilghal refused to let her thoughts overwhelm

her with visions of the sheer number of poison

molecules. She would have to move them one by one,

tugging each nano-destroyer through cell walls and

out of the dying leader's body.

Cilghal placed her broad fins on Mon

Mothma's bare skin. She picked up the

leader's left hand and raised it over the side of the

bed frame, letting the woman's fingertips rest

in a small crystal dish that had once been used

to dispense medications. Even this gentle touch was enough

to cause red bruises to bloom on the woman's

fragile skin.

Cilghal opened her mental doors, freeing

her thoughts, allowing currents of the Force to flow

into Mon Mothma's form. She let the

nictitating membranes slide over her

Calamarian eyes as she began to see with an

inner vision, traveling through the cellular

pathways of Mon Mothma's body.

She found herself in a strange universe of

rushing blood cells, electrically firing

neurons, contracting muscle fibers, laboring

organs that could no longer perform their functions.

Cilghal couldn't exactly comprehend what she

saw, but somehow she understood instinctively which parts

were healthy, which molecules were sustaining Mon

Mothma, and which were the black scourge.

With the Force, Cilghal could touch with fingers

infinitely small, infinitely precise,

to grasp one of the nano-destroyers and send it

careening out of the dying body.

Cilghal found other microscopic destroyers

and nudged them, pushed them, herding the poison

away from healthy cells, preventing further

damage.

The task was incomprehensibly large. The

poison had spread and replicated, scattering

itself through the billions and billions of cells in

Mon Mothma's body. Cilghal would have to search

and remove every one of them.

After succeeding with the first one, Cilghal sought out

another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

"Has there been any change?" Leia

whispered at the doorway. She had just returned

from a meeting where General Wedge Antilles,

Doctor Qwi Xux, and Han Solo had

given a detailed debriefing on the entire

Maw assault.

Leia had listened with fascination, making eyes

at her husband Han--whichom she had seen too little

of in the past several days. But always in the back of

her mind was a pressing concern for Mon Mothma.

"No change," Ackbar said in a tired

voice. "I wish we understood what Cilghal

is attempting to do."

The female Calamarian had not moved in nine

hours, kneeling beside Mon Mothma's bedside,

flippered hands resting on the dying woman's skin,

deep in a trance. The medical droids had not

expected Mon Mothma to live for this long, so the

mere fact that she still had not succumbed to death meant

something.

From outside the door Leia peeked in to see

that nothing had changed. The leader's hand

lay in a crystal dish as droplets of an

oily grayish liquid emerged from the tip of her

index finger. The process was too slow to watch,

but over the course of half an hour a small

droplet would gather at the tip of her finger,

dangling, until gradually gravity pulled it

off into the dish.

Terpfen walked slowly down the tiled

corridors dressed in a dark-green

close-fitting uniform that bore no insignia.

Even after his full pardon Terpfen had refused

to accept his rank again. He had sequestered himself

in his rooms for much of the time since returning from

Anoth.

The scarred Calamarian stopped several

meters away from them, reluctant to go closer to the

room that held Mon Mothma. Leia knew that

Terpfen still blamed himself for the dying woman's

condition, and he refused to let the guilt be

assuaged. Though she understood his misery, she was

getting impatient with his withdrawal and hoped he

climbed back to his feet soon.

Terpfen bowed ponderously, displaying the network

of scars on his disfigured head. "Admiral, I

have reached a decision." He drew a deep

breath. "I wish to return to Calamari and

continue your work--if our people will have me. I wish

to assist in rebuilding Reef Home. I fear

..." He looked up to stare at the intricate

mosaics on the walls of the Imperial

Palace. "I fear that I will never be comfortable on

Coruscant again."

"Believe me, Terpfen," Ackbar answered,

"I know exactly how you feel. I would not try

to talk you out of your decision. It is a fair

compromise between your need for healing and your desire

to make amends."

Terpfen straightened, as if some measure of

self-esteem had been returned to him. "I would

like to depart as soon as possible," he said.

"I will arrange a ship," Ackbar replied.

Terpfen bowed again. "If I have your leave,

Chief of State?"

"Yes, Terpfen," Leia answered. She

turned once again to watch the motionless tableau

inside the medical chamber.

At a forgotten hour in the depths of

Coruscant's night, Cilghal emerged from the

medical chambers. She staggered,

cradling in her right hand a shallow crystal bowl

half-filled with the deadly poison from the drink that

Ambassador Furgan had thrown in Mon

Mothma's face.

The two New Republic guards stationed at

the door snapped to attention and rushed to help

Cilghal. She was so exhausted she could hardly

place one foot in front of another. She

leaned against the stone doorway, drawing strength from

the solidity of the rock.

Her arm trembled as she extended the crystal

dish to one of the guards. Cilghal barely had enough

strength remaining to lift the small

poison-filled container, but she did not dare

drop it. She felt a deep, bone-melting

relief when the guard took it from her.

"Be careful," she said in a husky, utterly

exhausted voice. "Take this ... and incinerate

it."

The second guard scrambled to the intercom

system and signaled for all Council members

to come immediately.

"Do you have news of Mon Mothma?" the first

guard asked her.

"She has been cleansed and she will heal." The

lids dropped over Cilghal's glassy eyes.

"But for now she must rest." Her flowing robes

whispered against the tiled walls as she slid down

to collapse on the floor.

"As must I," she said, falling immediately into a

Jedi recovery trance.

The Star Destroyer Gorgon limped through

open space like a wounded dragon, leaking radiation

from a thousand damage points.

Only one of the Gorgon's primary

sublight engines still functioned. Admiral

Daala's engineers assured her it would be many

days before they could attempt to enter hyperspace.

Life-support systems were down for the lower

twelve decks. But Admiral Daala's

soldiers were accustomed to harsh and difficult

conditions. Cramped living quarters might

encourage them to make repairs faster. Heating

systems were low, giving the air a frigid edge,

making spoken words emerge from her lips

accompanied by a plume of steam.

Her precious flagship had been

grievously wounded, Daala knew; but she

realized she did not need to make the Gorgon

into a top-flight fighting machine again. Not

anymore. This time she merely needed to complete

sufficient repairs to crawl back

to Imperial-controlled territory, where she could

start from scratch.

Daala's best advantage was that the Rebel

forces must have assumed her ship had been destroyed

in the explosion. Their sensors would have been blinded

in the eruption of the reactor asteroid.

Watching Maw Installation vaporize,

Daala had ordered full shields and full

speed, throwing caution aside as she drove the

Gorgon straight to the walls of the Maw,

seeking her own way out. Now, crawling away from

the energetic outbursts of the black hole cluster,

the battered Imperial battle cruiser would not be

noticed on any Rebel scopes.

Half the consoles on her bridge remained

dim, unable to function after sustaining so many

overloads. Technicians tore open access

plates, bundled in heavy uniforms to keep

warm, rubbing their numb hands together as they tinkered with

electronics. But they did not complain, at least

not while Daala was watching.

A significant percentage of her

stormtroopers had been killed in sudden hull

breaches or explosions beldecks. The sick

bays were filled with injured personnel. Many of the

computer systems were off-line. But they had

survived.

Commander Kratas stepped up to Daala and

saluted. His face looked devastated, smudged

with grease and smoke from his attempts at hands-on

repair work.

"The news is not good, Admiral," he said.

"I want to know our true status," Daala

said, forcing her concern back inside, where it could

increase the pressure in her heart,

crystallizing a diamond of her own resolve.

"Tell me, no matter how bad it is."

Kratas nodded, swallowing. "We have only

seven functional TIE fighters remaining in the

hangar bays. All others were lost."

"Seven!" she cried. "Out of--was She

gritted her teeth and shook her head so that her

hair whirled like an inferno around her face. She

drew a short, controlled breath and nodded.

"Yes. Continue."

"We don't have sufficient spare parts

to repair the damaged external weapons

systems," he said. "Our starboard turbolaser

batteries have been wrecked, but we may be able

to get two guns functional again."

Daala tried to be optimistic. "That might

be enough to defend ourselves if we are attacked. But

we must hope not to encounter such a situation. We will

not initiate any aggressive action at this

point. Is that understood?"

Kratas looked relieved. "Understood,

Admiral. We can repair most of the hull

breaches and repressurize some of the decks, although

..." He hesitated, and his thick eyebrows

knitted together like a giant furworm. "But I

don't really see the point in that, Admiral,"

he finished. "We don't need those quarters, and

it would only tax our resources at this point.

Our repair crews are working around the clock, and

I suggest we devote our efforts to completing

only the systems critical to life support and

those necessary for us to be on our way."

Daala nodded slowly. "Again I agree,

Commander. It is a difficult decision, but we

must be realistic. We have lost this battle--but the

war continues. We will make no excuses for

ourselves but continue to give our best effort for the good

of the Empire."

She drew another controlled breath of the frosty

air, staring through the bridge viewport at the lush

starfield that waited ahead, crossed by a wide

swath like a milky river. Looking through the disk

of the galaxy toward the dense core, she saw the

stars appear to stream like a wide river. The

Gorgon headed toward the luminous bulge of the

galactic center.

"Commander"--she lowered her voice--"what is

your opinion of the overall morale on the ship?"

Kratas took a step closer so he could

answer in a soft voice. "We have good people,

Admiral, as you know. Well trained and well

drilled. But they have repeatedly suffered grievous

defeats. ..."

"Have they lost faith in me?" Daala asked.

Her face was chiseled in stone. She made herself

strong and tried not to show that Kratas's answer could

devastate her. She averted her emerald eyes,

afraid that he might see something in them.

"Absolutely not, Admiral!" Kratas

answered with a tinge of surprise. "They

have the utmost confidence in you."

She nodded to cover her long sigh of relief,

then raised her voice, turning to the communications

lieutenant. "Give me an open-ship

channel," she said. "I want to address all of

our troops."

Daala gathered her thoughts until the

lieutenant nodded to her. She spoke in a loud,

firm voice that reverberated through the damaged

ship.

"Attention, all crew members of the

Gorgon. I wish to commend you for your efforts

against overwhelming odds, against a foe that continues

to gain the upper hand through treachery and uncanny

luck. We must now prepare for the next phase in

this battle, however. We are making our way to the

Core Systems, to the last strongholds that still

swear loyalty to the Empire.

"It was not originally my intention to join with one

of the Imperial warlords struggling for dominance, but it

now appears that we must fight the larger fight.

We need to convince them of their real enemy and show

those still faithful to the Emperor that we must be united

to be strong."

She paused before raising her voice. "Yes,

the Gorgon has been damaged. Yes, we have

suffered severe losses. We have been wounded--but

we will never be defeated!

"Trials such as these only strengthen us.

Continue your efforts to make the Gorgon powerful

again. Thank you for your service." She signaled

for the communications lieutenant to stop the

transmission. She looked out again at the moving

stream of stars.

The Gorgon's computer banks held all the

information Daala had pulled from Maw

Installation's classified computer banks. The

weapons designs and new concepts alone would

help the Empire win the next phase of the war.

As she stood on the cold bridge with gloved

hands clasped behind her back, she watched the

universe unfold in front of her.

The Star Destroyer Gorgon sailed on

toward the Core Systems. Through persistence she

could become victorious. One day.

43

The Lady Luck cruised low over the

jagged surface of Kessel. Bleached sunlight

washed across the alkali flats. The sky

scintillated with intermittent streaks of light,

flaming trails of meteorites--chunks of

Kessel's destroyed moon burning down through the

thin atmosphere.

"You know, this is all kind of beautiful,"

Lando said, "in its own way."

Beside him in the space yacht's overly padded

passenger seat, Mara Jade frowned

skeptically. She looked at him as if she thought

he was crazy--not a new thought. "If you say

so," she said.

"Of course, it'll take a lot of work,"

Lando admitted, lifting one hand off the controls

so he could rest it on the arm of her chair. She

flinched at his move ... but not too much.

"First order of business will be to get the

atmosphere factories up to full capacity

again. I'll have to bring in specially modified

droids. I've already talked to Nien Nunb,

my Sullustan friend, who says he'd love

to make his home down in those tunnels. I think

he'll make a great crew boss."

Lando raised his eyebrows and flashed her his

most dazzling smile. "Defense will be

difficult without the moonbase, but I'm sure

with the help of the Smugglers' Alliance we can put

together a great system. You and I will make quite a

team, Mara. I'm really going to enjoy working

closely with you."

Mara sighed, but it was more of a resigned,

tolerant noise than actual annoyance. "You

just don't give up, do you, Calrissian?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "Nope.

Giving up is not my style. Not ever."

Mara slumped back in her passenger chair and

stared out the Lady Luck's front

viewport. "I was afraid of that."

Overhead in the white skies of Kessel,

shooting stars continued to rain down.

Two medical droids supported a

recovering Mon Mothma. She stood dripping as

she emerged from the bacta tank. She wavered a

little and held on to the smooth shoulder plates of the

droids. Finally she stood on her own again,

took a deep breath, and lifted her

head to smile.

Leia stood watching, impressed at the

rapid improvement. "I never thought I'd see

you stand again, Mon Mothma."

"Neither did I," the former Chief of State

admitted with a rueful shrug. "But my body is

healing itself with a vengeance. The bacta tanks are

working overtime, effective again now that Cilghal

removed the nano-destroyers. I'm anxious

to move about, to see all the things that happened while

I was sick. I have a lot to catch up on. But

the medical droids say I have to stay here and

rest."

Leia laughed. "You have plenty of time, don't

worry. Do you--was She hesitated, not wanting

to push Mon Mothma, but anxious to know. "Do you

have any idea when you'll be ready to take back

your duties as Chief of State?"

Assisted again by the droids, Mon Mothma

toiled over to one of the padded seats near the bacta

tank. She slowly sank into the cushions.

Still-damp garments clung to her wasted body. She

did not answer for a long time. When Mon Mothma

looked up, her expression made Leia's

heart skip a beat.

"Leia, I am no longer Chief of State.

You are," she said. "I served well for many

years, but this wasting illness has made me weak--

not only physically, but also in the eyes of the New

Republic. The New Republic must not waver

in these trying times. Our leadership must be strong and

dynamic. We need someone like you, Leia,

daughter of the legendary Senator Bail

Organa.

"My decision is firm. I won't

attempt to regain my title. It's time for me

to rest and recover with a great deal of thought on how

best to serve the New Republic. Until such

time as that changes, our future is in your hands."

Leia swallowed and forced a comically stoic

expression on her face. "I was afraid you were

going to say that," she said. "But if I can handle a

few Imperial renegades, I suppose I can

keep the Council members in line. After all,

they're on our side."

"You may find that the Imperials surrender a

bit more readily than Council members,

Leia."

Leia groaned. "You're probably right."

The winds sang on the planet Vortex.

Leia stared up at the newly rebuilt

Cathedral of Winds, which rose like a gesture of

defiance against the terrible storms. Beside her Han

kept blinking as the breezes stung his eyes, but

he seemed awed by the tall structure.

The new Cathedral was different from what had

been destroyed by Ackbar's crash, more streamlined.

The winged Vors had shown no interest in recreating

their previous design, following a plan that

seemed to flow from their collective alien minds.

Crystal cylinders glittered in the sunlight,

large and small tubes like a towering pipe

organ. Notches and windows had been cut into the

curved surfaces. The leathery-winged Vors

flew about, opening and closing the orifices to shape

patterns of music as the winds whistled through.

Everything else hunched low to the ground, but the

Cathedral of Winds soared, like the spirit of the New

Republic.

The impending storm rippled the thick carpet of

purple, vermilion, and tan grasses that

covered the plains. Low hummocks, underground

Vor dwellings for the vicious storm season, lay

in concentric rings around the pinnacles of the new

cathedral.

Leia and Han stood surrounded by a New

Republic formal escort on a patch of

grass packed down with polished squares of

synthetic marble, laid out to form a low viewing

stage. The Vors wheeled about in the air,

flapping their wings and circling over the audience.

The winged aliens had allowed no off-worlders

to hear the concert of winds since the Emperor

Palpatine had established his New Order; but

with the success of the Rebellion, the Vors had

finally permitted spectators again, not only

representatives from the New Republic but also

dignitaries from a host of populated worlds.

Leia's first attempt to come here with Ackbar had

ended in disaster, but she was certain that this time everything

would turn out well.

Han stood beside her, dressed in the

diplomatic finery that he obviously found

uncomfortable, but she thought it made him look

dashing. That seemed no consolation to her husband as

he chafed under the rough and stiff formal dress.

He must have sensed Leia looking at him, because

he glanced down to give her a roguish smile.

He snuggled closer, slipping an arm

around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.

The wind whipped around them.

"Feels good to relax," he said. "And it's

good to be with you, Your Highness."

"I'm Chief of State now, General

Solo," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Maybe I should order you to stay home more

often."

He laughed. "Think it would make any

difference? You know how good I am at following

rules."

Leia smiled as the wind stirred her hair.

"I suppose the two of us will just have to work out a

compromise," she said. "Why does it seem as

if the whole galaxy conspires to keep us away

from each other all the time? We used to have

adventures together!"

"Maybe it's payback for all the lucky

breaks I've had," he said.

"I hope your luck comes back soon, then."

She snuggled against him.

"Never quote me the odds." Han ran his

fingers up and down her back, making her skin

tingle. "I feel lucky enough right now."

The wind picked up and the hollow music lifted

higher.

Chewbacca's matted fur blew in all

directions, making him look as if he had

toweled off after a steam bath and forgotten to comb his

body hair. He bellowed over the winds and the

music of the cathedral.

Threepio's tinny voice rang out.

"Anakin. Jacen and Jaina! Children, where are you?

Oh, please do come back here. We're growing very

worried."

Chewbacca and Threepio waded through the thick

grasses in search of the twins and their little brother.

Anakin had crawled off to hide during the

cathedral's opening ceremony. Distracted by the

ethereal harmonies, none of the spectators had

noticed the baby disappearing into the grasses,

including Chewbacca and Threepio.

Upon seeing their little brother missing, Jacen and

Jaina had both dashed out into the expansive

fields, claiming they would help find baby

Anakin--and of course now all three children were lost.

Chewbacca and Threepio tried not to cause too

much of a distraction as they searched.

"Jacen and Jaina!" Threepio said.

"Oh, dear, what are we to do, Chewbacca? This

is most embarrassing."

They stumbled through thick rustling grass that rose

to Chewbacca's chest. Threepio spread his

golden arms to clear a path for himself. "This is

scratching up my plating," he said. "I was never

meant for duty like this."

Chewbacca cocked his head to listen, ignoring

Threepio's complaints. He heard children giggling

somewhere among the whispering grass blades. The

Wookiee plunged through the thickets, swiping with

his hairy paws to knock the blades out of his

way. He found no one--only a trampled path

from where he had heard the sounds. He would find them

sooner or later.

From behind him, swallowed up in the dense grass,

he heard another thin voice. "Oh,

Chewbacca! Where have you gone? Now I'm lost!"

Standing on the polished mosaic platform of

synthetic marble squares, Admiral Ackbar

held himself rigidly at attention beside

white-robed Winter as the cathedral played its

music. They sat among other off-world

dignitaries and lavishly clad

representatives from various planets.

He had been reluctant to come for the christening

ceremony, since he had accidentally destroyed the

old Cathedral of Winds. He had feared the

Vors might hold a grudge against him--but the

Vors were a flat, emotionless race who seemed

unaffected by individual events. They simply

pushed on, recovering and striving to complete their

plans. They had not censured the New

Republic, had demanded no retribution; they

had simply fallen to work reconstructing the

Cathedral of Winds.

The wind whistled cold around his exposed skin.

The music sounded beautiful.

Nearby, a lovely woman decked in

jewels and bright primary colors clung to a

haggard, weary-looking young man, who slumped in

his chair. Ackbar glanced at them, then bent

close to Winter, lowering his voice. "Could you

tell me who those people are? I do not recognize

them."

Winter studied the pair, and her face took

on a distant look as if she were sifting through

various files in her mind. "I believe that is

the Duchess Mistal from Dargul and her

consort."

"I wonder why he appears to be so

miserable," Ackbar said.

"Perhaps he is not a music lover," Winter

suggested, then settled into an awkward silence.

Finally she spoke again. "I am glad you

decided to return to the service of the New

Republic, Ackbar. You have much to give to the

future of our government."

Ackbar nodded solemnly, looking at the

human woman who had served so many years as

Leia's close personal aid.

"I am pleased that you yourself have been freed from

exile on Anoth," he said. "I was concerned for

you. Your personal talents and perceptiveness are

greatly needed, and I have always valued your input."

Ackbar could see that Winter masked her

expression carefully, allowing just a glimmer of a

smile to show that she was holding back as much as he

was.

"Good, then," Winter said. "We shall be seeing a

great deal more of each other in times to come."

Ackbar nodded to her. "I would enjoy that."

* * *

Qwi Xux listened longingly to the music of the

winds. The notes rose higher, dipped lower,

wove around themselves to form a complex,

never-to-be-repeated melody, since the Vors

forbade any recording of their storm concerts, and

no two were ever alike.

The flying creatures flitted up and down the

shafts of crystal, opening hatchways, covering

small holes with their hands or bodies as they

shaped the symphony, building it as the storm

grew closer.

The music seemed to tell Qwi's own life

story. It struck her emotional chords, blowing

through the hollows and crevices of her heart so that

she heard the feelings she had experienced through her

life: her childhood loss, her agonized

training, her brainwashed imprisonment for years in

Maw Installation ... and her sudden thrill of

freedom as she met members of the New

Republic who helped her escape ... then

Wedge Antilles, who had opened up more new

worlds for her, bright dawns she had never before

imagined.

Now, after her time of healing, after she had

returned to Maw Installation and walked

along the old corridors, set foot in her

former laboratory--Qwi no longer chose

to mourn those lost memories.

When the misguided Kyp Durron had erased

her thoughts, it had been a violent act. But, in

hindsight, she thought he might have inadvertently

done her a great favor. She did not wish

to remember her devastating weapons work. She

felt as if she had been reborn, given a new

chance to start a life with Wedge, unencumbered

by dark thoughts of the deadly inventions she had helped

to create.

The music continued: hollow and mournful, then

joyous and uplifting, in an eerie counterpoint like

nothing she had ever experienced before.

"Would you like to go back to Ithor with me?" Wedge

bent close and whispered in her ear. "We can do

our vacation right this time."

Qwi smiled back at him. The idea of

returning to the lush jungle world sounded wonderful

to her: the self-contained cities drifting over the

treetops, and the peaceful alien people. The experience

would do much to ease the pain from the memories she had

lost there.

"You mean we'd no longer have to hide from

Imperial spies? From Admiral Daala?"

"We wouldn't have to worry about any of that,"

Wedge said. "We could concentrate entirely on

enjoying ourselves."

The Vors opened up all of the hatchways and

windows in the Cathedral of Winds. As the storm

center hurled its greatest gales at the

structure, the music built to a spiraling

crescendo, a triumphant finale that seemed

to echo throughout the galaxy.

Sunrise on the fourth moon of Yavin.

Artoo-Detoo trundled ahead up the

flagstoned ramp, chittering and bleeping as the new

Jedi Knights followed him. In silence they

gathered atop the Great Temple to look across the

mist-covered treetops. The orange gas

giant glowed from behind as the system's sun came

closer to the limb, suffusing the upper atmosphere

with light.

As the jungle moon continued in its headlong

orbit, Luke Skywalker took his position in

front of the procession to greet the coming

dawn. Beside him walked young Kyp Durron, still

limping slightly from his newly healed injuries,

but moving with an enormous inner strength. His

entire attitude had changed in such a short

time.

But while Kyp had been through the greatest ordeal

of the new Jedi, Luke's other students had also

proved themselves to be greater than he had foreseen,

greater than he had hoped.

Together they had overthrown Exar Kun, the Dark

Lord of the Sith. Cilghal had saved Mon

Mothma's life with new techniques in Jedi

healing. Streen had recovered his confidence and had

shown remarkable adeptness at feeling and touching the

weather.

Tionne continued her quest to resurrect

Jedi history, a job made more difficult now

that the Jedi Holocron had been destroyed--but

Luke knew there were other Holocrons to be

found, though they might have been lost over the

millennia. Many of the ancient Jedi Masters had

recorded their lives and their wisdom in such

devices.

Others, such as Dorsk 81, Kam

Solusar, and Kirana Ti had not exhibited

their particular aptitudes yet, though their powers

were broad and strong. Some of the new Jedi would stay

on Yavin 4 and continue to train and grow; others

would take their skills out to the galaxy, as

knights to defend the New Republic.

Artoo warbled an announcement, his prediction

of when the first sunlight would strike the apex of the

temple. The little droid seemed immensely

pleased to be at Luke's side.

Luke gathered his Jedi Knights around him,

sensed their growing power intertwined. They were a

team, not just wild cards with powers and abilities

they did not understand.

The others stood on the chipped flagstones of the

observation platform, looking out toward the hidden

sun. Luke tried to find words to express his

glowing pride and his high expectations.

"You are the first of the new Jedi Knights," he

said, raising his hands as if in a benediction. "You

are the core of what will become a great order

to protect the New Republic. You are

champions of the Force."

Though his students did not speak or respond,

he felt the upsurge of their emotions, their

swelling pride.

There would be other students, new trainees who

would come to his Jedi academy. Luke had

to face the fact that he might lose a few to the

dark side--but the more defenders of the Force he could

train, the stronger would be the legions of the light

side.

With a collective gasp the gathered Jedi on

the rooftop watched as the sun burst from the fringe of

Yavin. Brilliant white rays gleaming like

firefacet gems sprayed across the jungle

moon, reflecting and refracting from the swirling

atmosphere.

Artoo whistled; Luke and the other Jedi

simply watched in awed silence.

The rainbow storm cast its glow over all of

them as the dawn continued to brighten.