Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Apocalypse

by Troy Denning

  “Go!” she ordered. “I’ve got your back!”

  Bazel pivoted toward the tunnel entrance, now only a few steps away, and thundered forward. Leia spun into position behind him, running backward, her lightsaber painting loops of color above her head as she defended Allana.

  By now the Sith had them outflanked. Leia heard the thud-sizzle of a dozen bolts burning into Ramoan flesh. Her own leg swung back of its own accord, and she nearly fell, catching her balance on a wounded leg that felt like boiling oil. Allana’s blasterfire became a constant shriek, and the growl of clashing lightsabers sounded on the other side of Bazel’s dancing bulk.

  Then the Force lightning came.

  Leia caught the first fork on her own lightsaber. Less than ten paces away, a second Sith stopped and raised her hands, her fingertips curling toward Allana.

  Leia grabbed for her granddaughter in the Force. “Off!” she commanded, trying to pull Allana from Bazel’s shoulders. “Now!”

  Allana came sliding down, and the lightning crackled past only centimeters above Leia’s head. Bazel’s voice boomed in surprise and anguish.

  Allana knelt next to Leia. She opened fire, and three shots later the woman who had just tried to kill her was down. So was the man who had wounded Leia.

  The floor shuddered, and even before Leia heard the snip-sizzle of a hot blade popping through flesh, she knew Bazel was down. Taking her granddaughter by the arm, Leia spun around his kneeling bulk and emerged on the other side—and found herself facing half a dozen crimson blades. Allana’s blaster pistol shrieked twice, and a tall Sith dropped sideways, releasing a lightsaber that had been buried in Bazel’s chest.

  Amazingly, the Ramoan wasn’t finished. His green blade swept across in front of him, smashing through the guard of two Sith—slicing them apart at the shoulders—before a powerful dark-bearded man finally blocked the attack.

  Bazel’s free arm shot out, collapsing the man’s chest around a massive fist.

  “Behind me,” Bazel ordered. He began to rise. “We stop for—”

  A thunderous chuffing erupted behind them. The entire ceiling of the loading bay flashed blue, and four geysers of molten durasteel erupted near the ceiling on the wall ahead. Leia turned. She saw R2-D2 coming down the boarding ramp toward them—and a familiar face winking at her through the Falcon’s belly turret.

  “Han!”

  The weapon barrels began to depress, and Leia saw what he intended. She spun back around to find Bazel on his feet again. He was sweeping his long lightsaber back and forth like a scythe—not actually killing any Sith, but knocking them off-balance and sending them flying out of his path. Allana was a pace behind him, facing the Falcon and staring at the belly turret with a gaping mouth.

  “Wait!” Allana gasped. “Grandpa’s alive?”

  “Of course, dear.” Leia threw herself over Allana, at the same time hitting Bazel with the most powerful Force shove she could manage. “Now get down so Grandpa can shoot!”

  They were still falling when the chuffing started again. She extended her arms to keep from flattening Allana, but even so she heard a loud gasp as they hit the floor together.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No … way!” Allana’s voice was barely audible over the roaring and crashing of the laser cannons. She began to squirm beneath Leia, no doubt trying to see what was happening around them. “But I’m worried about Barv.”

  “Me, too.”

  Leia put a hand on Allana’s back to keep her from lifting her head too high, then looked forward and—beneath the fiery sheet of crashing cannon fire—saw that the big Ramoan was still battling Sith. He had at least three trapped beneath his huge green body, which was jerking and twitching as they hacked at his belly and chest with their parangs and whatever else they could bring to bear. But the Ramoan was giving better than he took. He had one man’s throat squeezed shut, another one’s skull locked in his crushing grasp, and a third pinned beneath his slashing tusks.

  Between the Ramoan and the tunnel lay a smoking tangle of body parts that had once been Sith warriors. Some of the pieces were still moving, and a couple were even clutching lightsabers in their twitching hands. But none was in any condition to be a threat to Allana—or to anyone else.

  Leia could tell by the molten metal and jagged holes around the tunnel mouth that Han had poured a lot of fire down it, but that didn’t mean there were no survivors lurking inside. On the other hand, there were probably a lot of nooks and crannies in the loading bay itself where their Sith enemies could have taken cover—and it wouldn’t be long before they recovered from the initial shock of the cannon attack.

  She glanced back toward the Falcon. The laser cannons were still sweeping toward the right side of the loading bay, firing on full automatic and cutting down anything that moved—and most of what didn’t. R2-D2 was already within a couple of meters of her, coming out of the smoke with his grasping arm extended and a grenade in the pincer claw.

  Leia tried to catch sight of her husband inside the belly turret, but the smoke was too thick and the flashing of the cannons too bright. She shook her head. He really does think of everything!

  She extended her hand and used the Force to gently tug at the grenade. To her relief, R2-D2 seemed to understand and opened his claw. The grenade was a Merr-Sonn C-20 concussion model, perfect for clearing the tunnel without rendering it impassable. Leia set the fuse for two seconds and removed the safety pin, then finally took her weight off Allana.

  “When I run—”

  “I follow,” Allana yelled back. “I have had evasion training, you know!”

  Leia did know, and it broke her heart to realize just how essential that training had been. Her nine-year-old granddaughter was already a veteran of several assassination attempts and practically an old hand at close-quarters combat.

  R2-D2 rolled past, making straight for the tunnel. Leia released the firing handle and tossed the grenade ahead of the droid, then used the Force to float it into the mouth of the passage—where it stopped dead as someone inside caught it in the Force. Leia pushed harder and felt the Sith pushing back. Then a white flash filled the tunnel, and Leia felt nothing inside the passage at all.

  Pulling Allana up beside her, Leia jumped to her feet—and felt a cold ripple race up her spine. She shoved Allana forward.

  “Go!” she yelled. “And blast anything that moves in there!”

  As Leia spun around, Sith heads started to pop into view, peering over smoking bodies and from behind the Falcon’s struts. Bolts of energy began to streak toward her from half a dozen directions. She deflected the first three, then launched herself into a backward Force flip—and nearly collapsed when she came down hard on her injured leg.

  Bazel was two meters away from Leia, trailing long loops of intestine as he crawled toward her—and the tunnel—on hands and knees. She switched to a one-handed grip and extended her free hand toward the Ramoan, trying to use the Force to help him to his feet.

  A fork of Force lightning crackled past a fist’s width above his back, and Leia barely managed to catch it with her one-handed lightsaber grip. Bazel looked up and shook his head.

  “No.” A pained smile creased his wide mouth, and one of his tiny eyes squeezed shut in a weary wink. “It’s an … act.”

  Leia felt her grasp slipping and had to grab her lightsaber with both hands. Bazel slumped, but instead of dropping back to his belly, he lifted himself higher, into the path of the Force lightning.

  “Go!” he boomed. “Allana needs …”

  Allowing the sentence to trail off, he simply pointed at the tunnel. Then, incredibly, he rose to his feet again and turned, bringing his lightsaber up to catch the Force lightning. Somehow, over the roar of the Falcon’s cannon turrets and the screaming blasters and the hissing lightsabers, Leia heard Allana crying out for her friend, begging him to come back.

  Bazel was right. Allana needed her.

  Leia turned and raced into the tunnel mouth. There she f
ound Allana kneeling among the corpses, Bazel’s huge blaster pistol braced atop R2-D2’s grimy dome and tears streaking down her face. She was continuing to pour fire out into the loading bay, trying to help her big green friend. Judging by the blaster wounds in some of the bodies strewn around Allana, Leia could tell that at least a few of those Sith had still been alive when Allana entered the passage.

  “I told them to surrender,” Allana said, almost shouting to make herself heard over her screaming blaster pistol. “But they just kept reaching for their weapons.”

  “Then you had no choice,” Leia said. She glanced up the tunnel. “Did any—”

  “No,” Allana yelled, shaking her head. “No one escaped. I killed them. All of them.”

  “It’s okay, Allana.” In truth, Leia didn’t know if it would ever be okay. The despair and cold detachment in her granddaughter’s voice tore at her inside—perhaps because it reminded Leia of what Allana’s father had become—but she could offer no comfort or wisdom until they were safe. “You did the right thing.”

  Leia turned back toward the loading bay and was astonished to see Bazel still on his feet, spinning through a storm of blasterfire. His robe had been reduced to smoking tatters, and his green hide was pocked by so many burn holes that he appeared to be spotted. Meanwhile a steady stream of cannon bolts continued to pour from the Falcon’s belly turret, melting a long furrow into the loading bay’s durasteel wall.

  Bazel seemed to be following the cannon barrage as it continued to sweep away from the tunnel mouth. Leia thought he was simply trying to draw the enemy away from her and Allana—until four more Sith emerged from the smoke. They were angling toward the place where the Falcon’s flight deck used to be, no doubt preparing to board through the now-open access corridor and end the fire from the belly turret.

  Leia deactivated her lightsaber and reached for Bazel’s oversized blaster. Allana shook her head.

  “No.” She continued to fire, slipping a stream of bolts past Bazel’s flank and forcing the four Sith to slow their advance. “I’m a really good shot, Grandma.”

  “Yes, you are,” Leia agreed. “But you’re only nine, and—”

  “You’re just afraid I’ll see Grandpa and Bazel die,” Allana finished. “And I’m afraid I won’t.”

  “Allana.” Leia continued to hold out her hand, her heart breaking at the thought of losing Han—and having her granddaughter see it. “Please.”

  “They’re doing this for me,” Allana said. She managed to put a bolt through the leader’s knee, and a tall blond woman stepped forward to take the man’s place. “And I want to remember it. I need to remember it.”

  The blond woman began to bat Allana’s fire back toward the tunnel, and there was no debating the issue. Leia activated her own lightsaber just in time to deflect the bolts, and then Bazel closed with the remaining Sith and vanished into a tangle of swirling color.

  The chugging cannons continued their deadly sweep, taking out a forward landing strut as they raked the area beneath the cargo mandibles. The Falcon’s nose dipped toward the missing strut.

  Then a trio of blue flashes appeared from the Falcon’s stern, taking the blond in the flank and driving her into Bazel’s flashing blade. Leia glanced over to see the aft cargo lift dropping out of the Falcon’s belly. Naturally, her husband was kneeling behind a corner post, pouring fire into the swarm attacking Bazel. The Falcon’s big quad cannons, obviously locked on automatic mode, continued to burn furrows into the loading bay walls.

  A Sith quickly stepped away from the fight with Bazel and began to bat Han’s blasterfire back toward him. He dived off the lift into a forward roll and came up on one knee, less than five paces from the tunnel mouth.

  Then Han stopped firing and spun back around, facing the Falcon’s belly turret. He began to fumble for something inside his vest pocket.

  “What the …” Leia gasped. Thinking he must be disoriented or wounded, she put the Force behind her voice and added, “Han! Get over here!”

  When he merely continued to fumble in his pocket, she reached for him in the Force and started to drag him toward the tunnel mouth—until Han withdrew his hand holding a silver rectangle that Leia recognized as an electronic droid caller.

  Han pointed the caller toward the Falcon’s sensor dish. The belly turret suddenly reversed direction, and cannon fire began to sweep back toward Bazel and his attackers. Most of the Sith simply broke off and dashed for cover, but the one who had turned to defend the group against Han’s blasterfire rushed to intercept him.

  Bazel roared in fury and charged after him. With one arm gone and his flesh burned and bleeding, the big Ramoan should have been dead by now. Leia had no doubt that he already was, by some medical definitions of the word. But Bazel was still drawing on the Force, calling on its power—and no doubt his devotion to Allana—to keep fighting. He caught up in a step and a half, bringing his lightsaber in for a low leg-slash that the Sith barely managed to spin around and block.

  Too exhausted to launch another attack, Bazel fell to his knees, roaring in rage and pain as the Falcon’s laser cannons continued to sweep toward him. Seeing what was about to happen, the Sith turned to flee. Bazel dropped his lightsaber and extended his hand, using the Force to summon his last enemy back into his grasp.

  The Sith counterattacked wildly, using a powerful two-handed lightsaber strike to hack at Bazel’s arm and shoulder. The Ramoan ignored him and merely looked toward the tunnel mouth, his small sad eyes dropping to where Allana was kneeling at Leia’s side. He flicked his chin toward her, motioning her to go.

  Han stumbled into the safety of the tunnel mouth, out of breath and huffing. Leia caught him by the arm and held him up, and then they both turned and saw that the laser cannons would soon cut through Bazel and his attacker. Han quickly raised his hand, pointing the droid caller toward the Falcon’s sensor dish, but Allana grabbed his arm.

  “No, Grandpa!” she shouted. Her voice was barely audible over the roaring of the cannons. “That’s how he wants to go.”

  Han’s gaze shifted back toward the Ramoan, who had just lost his second arm and part of his skull to his foe’s lightsaber, then nodded and lowered his hand.

  Allana pushed in tight between Leia and Han, then raised three fingers to her lips and held them there until the cannon fire reached Bazel Warv, her best friend ever.

  IT WAS A RELIC OF THE OLD IMPERIAL ARROGANCE, TAHIRI THOUGHT, that Vitor Reige would allow the Bloodfin’s communications officer to waste so much bandwidth on an Imperial News Network report that obviously held no interest for his commander in chief. Seated at the head of the conference table in the admiral’s salon, Jagged Fel was paying more attention to the personal datapad on his lap than to the holographic riot raging above the transceiver pad, and if he was listening to the droning voice of the political operations instructor he had drafted from the Imperial military academy, there was no indication of it in his distracted manner.

  “… can see, the unrest continues to spread,” said the instructor, a gray-haired commodore named Selma Djor.

  As she spoke, Djor used a laser pointer to draw attention to the mob of thugs above the holopad. The image showed them charging into a line of political supporters, most of whom were carrying signs with Jag’s name above a slogan too small to be legible in the image.

  “To tell the truth,” Djor continued, “I’m beginning to believe a general election isn’t appropriate for Imperial citizens. Most of our subjects simply aren’t capable of participating in the democratic process.”

  As Djor spoke, Tahiri expanded her Force awareness toward Jagged. Finding his presence filled with loneliness and fear, she understood the reason for his preoccupation. The assault on the Jedi Temple was well under way, and it was not going well. It only made sense that he would be checking for an update from Jaina. That was probably why he had scheduled Djor’s briefing for this time slot—because he had known he would be distracted by his concern and did not want to have to conc
entrate on anything important. It was so Jag to plan ahead like that, and Tahiri couldn’t help feeling a bit envious of Jaina. Not that she wanted Jagged for herself—she just wanted to feel that kind of love again, to know there was someone out there who cared for her so much he actually planned time to worry about her.

  Djor abruptly fell silent and frowned at Jagged. She looked like a headmistress who had caught one of her charges watching the latest episode of Flame Flicker on his datapad.

  “Please continue, Commodore,” Jagged said, not bothering to look up. “I am listening.”

  “You may be listening, Head of State Fel,” Djor replied. “But without actually seeing these images, I doubt you can comprehend the situation fully.”

  Jagged’s Force aura blazed with a sudden anger, and he looked up to meet Djor’s gaze.

  “Commodore Djor,” Jagged began, “your orders were to remain on Bastion to oversee the development of a proper electoral apparatus. Yet you have come all the way to Exodo Two to do … what, exactly? To persuade me that the Imperial populace is too ignorant to participate in a general election? That the Empire does such a poor job of educating its citizens that they are simply too ignorant to vote for their own leader?”

  Djor drew herself to attention. “Not at all, Head of State Fel,” she said. “But the evidence suggests that the citizenry isn’t prepared to act responsibly at this time. There’s a good possibility that … well, that they might not make a wise decision.”

  “And by ‘not make a wise decision,’ you mean the citizens might choose Daala?” asked Ashik. Jagged’s chief aide and head bodyguard, the blue-skinned Chiss was standing at his superior’s shoulder, directly opposite Tahiri. “Is that correct?”

  Djor glanced at Ashik, then returned her gaze to Jagged. “I’m afraid that Lieutenant Pagorski’s efforts are turning public opinion against you, Head of State,” she said. No sooner had an election been announced than Lydea Pagorski—the same security officer who had given false testimony at Tahiri’s murder trial on Coruscant—had turned up as Daala’s primary campaign coordinator. “Your insistence on keeping Daala and her allies inside the blockade is being perceived as weakness. Most people assume you’re simply afraid of her fleet strength.”