Heir to the Jedi

by Kevin Hearne

  We had the pick of six ships on the beach, but Drusil chose the one I had entered to find a body bag. It was the sleekest design among a heavily armored bunch, a dark-blue, beetle-shaped crate that may have belonged to the Dressellian whom Nakari had shot off the swoop bike. Drusil avoided the cockpit entirely, searching instead for the guts of the nav computer and the systems service bay. Artoo accompanied her, and I heard him chattering and the Givin mumbling to him as I gently lowered Nakari’s body to the deck.

  Seeing the lifeless black lump of plas that represented her now, a surge of anger and the cold that came with it rose up inside me again. But I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing, and remembered laughing with her. The cold gradually turned to warmth and I felt much better. Instead of feeling an impotent rage over all the time we wouldn’t have, I determined to feel grateful for the time we did, because it had all been good and not everyone gets to enjoy times like those. I carefully sat next to her on the deck, folding my legs in front of me, determined to master my emotions. I still had a mission to complete, and it wouldn’t do to be ruled by them. The bounty hunters we’d eliminated here might not be the only ones on the planet; more could be waiting at the island for us.

  I didn’t know how much time slipped past, but when Drusil entered the bay and told me the ship’s security had been sliced and was now safe to fly, I was ready and the sun was riding low on the horizon.

  “You checked the cockpit, too?” I asked. “There might be additional traps there.”

  “Oh, yes. Everything has been seen to.”

  “All right. Let’s get to the rendezvous.”

  Drusil had fed the coordinates into the computer, and after taking some time to orient myself to the controls, I had the ship rise vertically to a safe height above the ocean before banking west. I didn’t want to become a snack for anything underneath the waves.

  The scanning equipment on the ship was serviceable but not near the level of the Desert Jewel. We got a look at the island, much larger than the one we had left behind, and saw that there were plenty of heat signatures and life readings there, along with a Corellian corvette on the ground that could have anywhere from a dozen to hundreds of people on board. It was one of the combat-outfitted CR90s with six dual turbolasers, and I wondered if Major Derlin could still be there.

  If he was, he’d probably seen this ship before, which meant he would shoot at us on sight if he could. I spun the ship into evasive maneuvers just in time as a volley of laserfire zipped past us into the sky. I flipped on the deflector shields, cursing myself for not doing so as a routine precaution, and changed my approach to the island. We’d have to land some distance away and walk in, calling to make sure we weren’t ambushed. I didn’t know how to hail Major Derlin from this ship—but then I thought maybe Artoo could figure it out, since he was wired into this unfamiliar system. He wasn’t in the cockpit, though, and I didn’t know which of the auxiliary switches would activiate an intercom link to him. Deciding to go low-tech, I shouted over my shoulder and hoped he would hear me.

  “Artoo, can you reach that ship on the island and patch it through if they respond? Tag your query with Alliance codes.”

  We had to scramble out of the firing range of the other craft for another minute, but eventually a voice came through to the cockpit demanding to know how we had come to possess Alliance codes.

  “This is Lieutenant Luke Skywalker. We destroyed all the bounty hunters that came to kill us and I have commandeered this ship. I have Drusil Bephorin on board ready to reunite with her family. Please stop shooting at us and let us land.”

  After a pause, a different voice replied. There was the unmistakable sound of cheering going on behind him. “Lieutenant Skywalker, this is Major Bren Derlin. So good to hear your voice, sir. Drusil’s family is alive and well. You’re cleared to land.”

  “Copy that. Coming around, see you soon.”

  A noise in the ship startled me—something like a bantha horking up a glob of phlegm the size of a small moon. It turned out to be Drusil reacting to the news; she’d been listening in. Givin don’t have mucous membranes similar to humans or even tear ducts, so her loud expression of raw emotion was nothing I would have encountered before.

  Bren Derlin’s team—a couple of squadrons of experienced troops—was waiting for us outside the ship, weapons ready but lowered, just in case a bounty hunter walked out after all, but they smiled and put away their weapons when I emerged. They looked tired and Derlin’s legendary mustache drooped a bit, but they were otherwise in good shape. He signaled to one of his troops and she waved someone forward who was out of sight on the ship, and that turned out to be Drusil’s family. Her husband and two children clattered down the landing ramp with excited steps and Drusil ran to meet them. They collided together with outstretched arms and many awkward noises.

  “What happened?” I asked Major Derlin. “The bounty hunters followed you here?”

  Chagrined, he nodded. “Unavoidable. Just bad timing. We were in the middle of extracting the family when word went out about the bounty on Drusil. Suddenly the family got checked on and we were discovered. We had a firefight getting out of there—I lost three men—and four hunters followed us out of the system. We lost the Empire once we jumped but picked up more hunters as we went—I think some of them called in their friends.”

  “But they didn’t call the Empire?”

  “The bounty on the family was too small to fight over, but the money for Drusil was worth a stakeout and splitting the proceeds. We hoped you’d be here waiting and we could take off right away, but instead we had to fortify and try to hold them off.”

  “Clearly you succeeded.”

  The major shrugged his shoulders and managed to do the same with his mustache. “They never attacked. They just jammed us to prevent us from broadcasting any messages and waited for you to show up. We couldn’t leave the family here on their own or it would have become a hostage situation, and if we tried to pick a fight, we’d have been outgunned.”

  “Why didn’t they just attack you, then? We were coming regardless.”

  “We made it clear that if they did attack we’d take a couple of them with us. And they made it clear we weren’t allowed to leave and change the venue. The smartest choice for everyone was to wait for you to arrive. And since they weren’t letting the Empire know we were here, I thought you had a good chance of winning through, and you did.”

  “Not without cost, though,” I said. I bobbed my head back at the ship. “We lost the Desert Jewel back there, and lost Nakari Kelen, too.”

  Derlin’s face fell. “Nakari was with you? They didn’t tell me. I’m very sorry, Luke. We met her not long ago. She was a topshelf sniper, taught me and the boys a few things.”

  I nodded, keeping my emotions firmly reined in. “She taught me a lot, too.” I waved a hand at his corvette. “Are you in good shape? Okay to head back to the fleet?”

  “Yeah, we have some scorch marks, but that’s about it.”

  “Can I ride along?”

  “Of course.”

  Drusil came over with her family, elated, and introduced me to her husband and children. They were clothed in something like long, colorful tapestries with a hole for the head and belted at the waist, and underneath were simple black shirts and pants. Her son started to ask me a math question, but Drusil interrupted him. “That’s very polite of you, Pentir, but you can dispense with pleasantries in this case.”

  “Oh. Apologies,” he said.

  “Not to worry. It’s my pleasure to meet you all,” I said.

  “I’m so very grateful to you and the Alliance for engineering a successful escape,” Drusil said. “I’m well aware of the sacrifices you have made to free us. And I have promised you a significant amount of intelligence regarding Imperial codes and search patterns in return. The slicing programs for low-level Imperial encryption that I mentioned, as well as others. Where would you like me to download this information?”

  “Yo
u can share it with Artoo,” I said, “and he’ll distribute it as necessary to the rest of the Alliance.”

  “Excellent. I will begin shortly. May I ask one more favor?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Considering that this location has been compromised, we will need transport offplanet. May we take the bounty hunter’s ship, or might you take us back to the lagoon to secure another? We will settle somewhere else, and I will make contact with the Alliance to set up a continuing employment arrangement.”

  “You can take this ship,” I assured her.

  “And I can arrange a dead drop site for you to use once you’re safe,” Derlin added.

  While Drusil huddled with Artoo and transferred files from her hardware to his memory and Derlin busied himself with getting his corvette ready to depart, I transferred Nakari’s body from the bounty hunter’s craft to the Alliance vessel myself. We would stop at Pasher on the way back to the rebel fleet, and I already knew there was no way to adequately communicate to her father my sorrow at her fate. Even if I could, it wouldn’t matter; he would be as inconsolable as I was, for no matter how personally rich and powerful he became, no matter how he tried, he would never have the power to keep everyone safe—nor would I.

  After farewells and promises of future contact, we lifted away from Omereth, leaving it to churn and spin in isolation. Major Derlin and his crew kept me occupied and accompanied for much of our very roundabout return to the fleet, but I found myself eating a lonesome bowl of noodles for lunch at some point in the ship’s cavernous mess, Artoo by my side but unable to share food or much in the way of conversation. Thinking of my previous small victories with noodles made me miss Nakari again and threatened to set my emotions aboil, but I also recollected the amusement of those times and Nakari’s delight in my progress in the Force—or at least her delight in flying noodles. It occurred to me that I would honor her memory much more by continuing to improve rather than by wallowing in a swamp of regret. And that empty space inside me could be filled with pleasant memories instead of anger.

  The door to the mess was open and I flicked my eyes that way, listening for a moment to make sure no one was nearby. Once satisfied that I’d be alone for at least a few more minutes, I closed my eyes and stretched out to the Force, recalling that feeling of confidence and encouragement Nakari had given me before. I focused on the fork, currently submerged beneath a carpet of noodles in a vegetable broth. It felt the way it used to, warm and kind rather than that one time it had been cold and implacable. Gently lifting, feeling the Force supporting the fork, I floated up a glob of noodles and then guided it into my mouth, where I bit down and slurped a little bit, holding the fork between my teeth and opening my eyes to make sure this was really happening. I smiled around the fork and some juice leaked out the corners of my mouth, staining my tunic. Of course. That started me laughing, and Artoo seesawed on his arms and tweeted his own amusement. I reached up with my hand to grab the fork before it got any worse.

  “That has to be the weirdest way to eat,” I said to Artoo. “But Nakari would have loved it.”

  Artoo chirped his agreement and I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, arriving at a clear, quiet place in my mind. Using the Force in this way was a gift Nakari had given me, and it would be senseless to let it go to waste.

  I would practice, and think of her, and get better at this. Much, much better.

  I would still prefer a teacher, of course, but Nakari showed me that progress is possible without one, and so I owe it to her—and to Ben, and everyone else I’ve lost and might lose in the future—to make what strides I can.

  It might take me many years, but I am determined to become a Jedi like my father.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When The Empire Strikes Back first came out in 1980 and I saw Luke summon his lightsaber to his hand in the wampa cave, I remember thinking, “Whoa! Awesome!” And then, after I’d seen it maybe ten more times, I wondered, “Where’d he learn how to do that?” My nine-year-old self never suspected that one day I’d get the chance to provide the answer, and I’m grateful to Del Rey and Lucasfilm for making it happen.

  Many thanks are due to Alan O’Bryan for discussing with me the potential hyperspace applications of eigenvalues and eigenvectors. It was one of the most nerdtastic conversations ever.

  ALSO BY KEVIN HEARNE

  Hounded

  Hexed

  Hammered

  Tricked

  Trapped

  Hunted

  Shattered

  IRON DRUID CHRONICLES NOVELLAS

  Two Ravens and One Crow

  Grimoire of the Lamb

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  KEVIN HEARNE is the author of the Iron Druid Chronicles, an urban fantasy series from Del Rey Books. He lives with his wife, daughter, and doggies in Colorado.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  LORDS OF THE SITH

  By Paul S. Kemp

  PUBLISHED BY DEL REY BOOKS

  VADER COMPLETED HIS MEDITATION and opened his eyes. His pale, flame-savaged face stared back at him from out of the reflective black surface of his pressurized meditation chamber. Without the neural connection to his armor, he was conscious of the stumps of his legs, the ruin of his arm, the perpetual pain in his flesh. He welcomed it. Pain fed his hate, and hate fed his strength. Once, as a Jedi, he had meditated to find peace. Now he meditated to sharpen the edges of his anger.

  He stared at his reflection a long time. His injuries had deformed his body, left it a ruin, but they’d perfected his spirit, strengthening his connection to the Force. Suffering had birthed insight.

  An automated metal arm held the armor’s helmet and faceplate over his head like a doom, and the eyes of the faceplate that intimidated so many were no peer to his unmasked eyes. From within a sea of scars, his gaze simmered with controlled, harnessed fury. The secondary respirator, still attached to him, always attached to him, masked the ruins of his mouth, and the sound of his breathing echoed off the walls.

  Drawing on the Force, he activated the automated arm, and it descended with the helmet and faceplate. They wrapped his head in metal and plasteel, the shell in which he existed. He welcomed the spikes of pain when the helmet’s neural needles stabbed into the flesh of his skull and the base of his spine, linking his body, mind, and armor to form one interconnected unit.

  When man and machine were unified, he no longer felt the absence of his legs, his arm, or the pain of his flesh, but the hate remained, and the rage still burned. Those he never relinquished, and he never felt more connected to the Force than when his rage burned.

  With an effort of will, he commanded the onboard computer to link the primary respirator to the secondary, and to seal the helmet at the neck, encasing him fully. He was home.

  Once, he’d found the armor hateful, foreign, but now he knew better. He realized that he’d always been fated to wear it, just as the Jedi had always been fated to betray their principles. He’d always been fated to face Obi-Wan and fail on Mustafar—and, in failing, learn.

  The armor separated him from the galaxy, from everyone, made him singular, freed him from the needs of the flesh, the concerns of the body that once had plagued him, and allowed him to focus solely on his relationship to the Force.

  It terrified others, he knew, and that pleased him. Their terror was a tool he used to accomplish his ends. Yoda once had told him that fear led to hate and hate to suffering. But Yoda had been wrong. Fear was a tool used by the strong to cow the weak. Hate was the font of true strength. It was not suffering that resulted from the rule of the strong over the weak, but order. By its very existence, the Force mandated the rule of the strong over the weak; the Force mandated order. The Jedi had never seen that, and so they’d misunderstood the Force and been destroyed. But Vader’s Master saw it. Vader saw it. And so they were strong. And so they ruled.

  He stood, his breathing loud in his ears, loud in the room, his reflection huge and dark on the reflective wall.
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  A wave of his gauntleted hand and a mental command rendered the walls of his ovate meditation chamber transparent instead of reflective. The chamber sat in the center of his private quarters aboard the Perilous. He looked out and up through the large viewport that opened onto the galaxy and its numberless worlds and stars.

  It was his duty to rule them all. He saw that now. It was the manifest will of the Force. Existence without proper rule was chaos, disorder, suboptimal. The Force—invisible but ubiquitous—bent toward order and was the tool through which order could and must be imposed, but not through harmony, not through peaceful coexistence. That had been the approach of the Jedi, a foolish approach, a failed approach that only fomented more disorder. Vader and his Master imposed order the only way it could be imposed, the way the Force required that it be imposed, through conquest, by forcing the disorder to submit to the order, by bending the weak to the will of the strong.

  The history of Jedi influence in the galaxy was a history of one war after another. The history of the Empire would be one of enforced peace, of imposed order.

  A pending transmission caused the intraship comm to chime. He activated it and a hologram of the aquiline-faced, gray-haired commander of the Perilous, Captain Luitt, formed before him.

  “Lord Vader, there’s been an incident at the Yaga Minor shipyards.”

  “What kind of incident, Captain?”

  . . .

  The lights from the bridge computers blinked or didn’t as dictated by the pulse of the ship and the gestures of the ragtag skeleton crew of freedom fighters who manned the stations. Cham stood behind the helmsman and looked alternately from the viewscreen to the scanner and mentally recited the words he’d long ago etched on the stone of his mind so that he could, as needed, read them and be reminded: Not a terrorist, but a freedom fighter. Not a terrorist, but a freedom fighter.