by Timothy Zahn
“How?” she asked.
“A device,” Lha-Mi said. “We don’t know its nature, nor its source. But it will be fueled by dark matter, harnessed through arcane means. Forbidden. Dreaded. The most dangerous element known to us, and which no Je’daii would dare to even attempt to capture or create.”
“But if there’s no hypergate—”
“Tales,” Lha-Mi said again. “He chases a legend. But whether it exists or not is irrelevant. The threat is the dark matter he intends to use to try to initiate the supposed gateway. It could …” He trailed off and looked to his side.
“Exposing dark matter to normal matter would be cataclysmic. It would create a mini black hole,” Dam-Powl said. “And Tython would be swallowed in a heartbeat. The rest of the system, too.”
“So you see the dire threat we face,” Lha-Mi said.
“Just one man? So arrest him.”
“We don’t know where he is. We don’t even know which planet he’s on.”
“The intelligence is sound?” Lanoree asked, but she already knew the answer to that. Such a gathering of Je’daii Masters for this purpose would not have taken place otherwise.
“We have no reason to doubt it,” Lha-Mi said, “and every reason to fear. If it does transpire that the threat is not as severe as it appears, then that’s a good thing. All we waste is time.”
“But the hypergate,” Lanoree said. “Protect it. Guard it.”
Lha-Mi leaned forward across the table. With a blink he closed off the room—air-conditioning ceased, the door slammed shut and locked. “The hypergate is a tale,” he said. “That is all.”
Lanoree nodded. But she also knew that talking of a simple story would surely not require such care, and such an arrangement as this. For later, she thought, guarding her thoughts.
“And now to why it’s you we’ve chosen for the mission,” Xiang said. “The man is Dalien Brock, your brother.”
Lanoree reeled. She never suffered from space sickness—the Force settled her, as it did all Je’daii—but she seemed to sway in her seat, though she did not move; dizziness swept through her, though the Peacemaker was as stable as the ground it rested upon.
“No,” she said, frowning. “Dalien died nine years ago.”
“You found no body,” Xiang said.
“I found his clothing. Shredded. Bloodied.”
“We have no reason to doubt our sources,” Lha-Mi said.
“And I have no reason to believe them!” Lanoree said.
Silence in the room. A loaded hush.
“Your reason is that we order this,” Lha-Mi said. “Your reason is any small element of doubt that exists over your brother’s death. Your reason is that, if this is true, he might be a threat to Tython. Your brother might destroy everything you love.”
He fled, I found his clothes, down, down deep in the … the Old City.
“You see?” Lha-Mi asked, as if reading her thoughts. For all Lanoree knew he had, and she did not question that. He was a Temple Master, after all, and she only a Ranger. Confused as she was, she could not help her thoughts betraying her.
“He always looked to the stars,” Lanoree said softly.
“We hear whispers of an organization, a loose collection of cohorts, calling themselves Stargazers.”
“Yes,” Lanoree said, remembering her little brother, always looking outward to the depths of space as she looked inward.
“Find your brother,” Lha-Mi said. “Bring him back to Tython. Stop his foolish schemes.”
“He won’t come back,” Lanoree said. “If it really is him, he’ll never return after so long. So young when he died, but even then he was growing to …”
“To hate the Je’daii,” Xiang said. “All the more reason to bring him back to us.”
“And if he refuses?”
“You are a Je’daii Ranger,” Lha-Mi said. And in a way, Lanoree knew that was answer enough.
“I need everything you know.”
“It’s already being downloaded to your ship’s computer.”
Lanoree nodded, unsurprised at their forwardness. They’d known that she could not say no.
“This is a covert operation,” Xiang said. “Rumors of the hypergate persist, but the knowledge that someone is trying to initiate it might cause panic. We could send a much larger force against Dalien, but that would be much more visible.”
“And there’s a deeper truth,” Lha-Mi said.
“You don’t want people supporting his cause,” Lanoree said. “If news of what he plans spreads, many more might attempt to initiate the gate. More devices. More dark matter.”
Lha-Mi smiled and nodded. “You are perceptive and wise, Lanoree. The threat is severe. We are relying on you.”
“Flattery, Master?” Lanoree said, her voice lighter. A ripple of laughter passed around the assembled Je’daii Masters.
“Honesty,” Lha-Mi said. He grew serious once again, and that was a shame. A smile suited him.
“As ever, I’ll give everything I have,” Lanoree said.
“May the Force go with you,” Lha-Mi said.
Lanoree stood, bowed, and as she approached the closed door Lha-Mi opened it with a wave of his hand. She paused once before leaving, turned back.
“Master Xiang. Please relay my love to my mother and father. Tell them … I’ll see them soon.”
Xiang nodded, smiled.
As Lanoree left the room, she almost felt her little brother’s hand in her own.
On her way back to her Peacemaker, a riot of emotions played across Lanoree’s mind. Beneath them all was a realization that was little surprise to her—she was glad that Dal was still alive. And this was why she had been chosen for such a mission. There were her past achievements, true, and for one so young she had already served the Je’daii well. Her affinity with the Force and the Je’daii’s purpose and outlook was pure. But her personal involvement might be her greatest asset.
Because she had failed to save her brother’s life once, and she would not let him go again. She would do everything she could to save Dal—from danger, and from damnation—and that determination served the mission well.
But it might also compromise the assignment.
She breathed deeply and calmed herself, knowing that she would have to keep her emotions in check.
Two young Je’daii apprentices passed her by. A boy and a girl, they might well have been brother and sister, and for a fleeting moment they reminded Lanoree of her and Dal. They bowed respectfully and she nodded back, seeing the esteem in their eyes, and perhaps a touch of awe. She wore the traditional clothing of a Ranger—loose trousers and wrapped shirt, ink-silk jacket, leather boots and equipment belt—but as with her ship, she had also personalized her own appearance. The flowing red scarves were from one of the finest clothing stores on Kalimahr. The silver bangles on her left wrist bore precious stones from the deep mines of Ska Gora, a gift from the Wookiee family she’d grown close to during her time there. And her sword was carried in a leather sheath fashioned from the bright green skin of a screech lizard from one of Obri’s three moons. Add these exotic adornments to her six-foot frame, startling gray eyes, and long, flowing auburn hair clasped in a dozen metal clips, and she knew she cut an imposing figure.
“Ranger,” the young girl said. Lanoree paused and turned, and saw that the two children had also stopped. They were staring at her, but with a little more than fascination. They had purpose.
“Children,” Lanoree said, raising an eyebrow.
The girl came forward, one hand in the pocket of her woven trousers. Lanoree sensed the Force flowing strong in them both, and there was an assuredness to their movement that made her sad. With her and Dal it had been so different. He had never understood the Force, and as they’d grown older together that confusion had turned into rejection, a growing hatred … and then something far worse.
“Master Dam-Powl asked that I give you this,” the girl said. She held out a small message pod the size of her thum
b. “She said it’s for your eyes only.”
A private message from Master Dam-Powl, beyond the ears and eyes of the rest of the Je’daii. This was intriguing.
Lanoree took the pod and pocketed it. “Thank you,” she said. “What’s your name?”
But the girl and boy hurried away toward the Peacemaker, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair. The ship’s engines were already starting to cycle up.
Ironholgs stood at the base of her ship’s ramp. It clicked and rattled as she approached.
“All good?” she asked absently. The droid confirmed that, yes, all was good.
Lanoree paused on the ramp and looked around. The Masters’ Peacemaker and several smaller ships were being attended to, and farther afield there were only the hillsides and the ancient standing stones, placed millennia ago to honor long-forgotten gods.
The feeling of being watched came from elsewhere. The Je’daii Masters. They were waiting for her departure.
“Okay, then,” Lanoree said, and she walked up the ramp into the comforting, familiar confines of her own ship.
But she was distracted. This short time on Tython, and hearing of Dal’s mysterious survival, was waking troubled memories once again.
STAR WARS—LEGENDS
What is a legend? According to the Random House Dictionary, a legend is “a nonhistorical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical.” Merriam-Webster defines it as “a story from the past that is believed by many people but cannot be proved to be true.” And Wikipedia says, “Legends are tales that, because of the tie to a historical event or location, are believable, though not necessarily believed.” Because of this inherent believability, legends tend to live on in a culture, told and retold even though they are generally regarded as fiction.
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a legend was born: The story of Luke Skywalker and his fellow heroes, Princess Leia and Han Solo. Three blockbuster movies introduced these characters and their stories to millions of people who embraced these tales and began to build upon them, as is done with myths everywhere. And thus novels, short stories, and comic books were published, expanding the Star Wars universe introduced in the original trilogy and later enhanced by the prequel movies and the animated TV series The Clone Wars. The enormous body of work that grew around the films and The Clone Wars came to be known as The Expanded Universe.
Now, as new movies, television shows, and books move into the realm of the official canon, The Expanded Universe must take its place firmly in the realm of legends. But, like all great legends, the fact that we can’t prove the veracity of every detail doesn’t make the stories any less entertaining or worthy of being read. These legends remain true to the spirit of Star Wars and in that way are another avenue through which we can get to know and understand our beloved heroes in that galaxy far, far away.
—Del Rey Books, May 2014
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars Legends novels to learn more.
THE LAST HYPERSPACE JUMP HAD BEEN A TRICKY ONE, STARTING AS IT did in one minor star system barely on the charts and ending in another even more obscure one. But the ISD Chimaera’s officers and crew were the finest in the galaxy, and as Commander Gilad Pellaeon looked over the repeater display he confirmed that they’d made the jump precisely.
He strode down the command walkway, gazing at the Chimaera’s long prow, wondering what in space they were doing here. The Chimaera was an Imperial Star Destroyer, a kilometer and a half of heavy armor and awesome weaponry, the very symbol and expression of Imperial power and authority. Even the arrogant anarchists of the Rebellion hesitated before going up against ships like this.
So with that same Rebellion boiling ever more loudly and violently across the Empire, with Lord Vader himself tasked with tracking down and destroying their leadership, what in the name of Imperial Center was the Chimaera doing on passenger transport duty?
“This is insane,” Captain Calo Drusan muttered as he came up beside Pellaeon. “What in the galaxy is Command thinking of?”
“It does seem a bit odd,” Pellaeon said diplomatically. “But I’m sure they have their reasons.”
Drusan snorted. “If you believe that, you’re a fool. Imperial Center has gone top-heavy with politicians, professional flatterers, and incompetents. Reason and intelligence went down the garbage chutes a long time ago.” He gestured at the starlit sky in front of them. “My guess is that someone’s just trying to impress everyone with his ability to move fleet units around.”
“Could be, sir,” Pellaeon said, a small shiver running up his back. In general, Drusan was right about the way the Imperial court was going, though even a ship’s captain shouldn’t be discussing such things out loud.
In this case, however, Drusan was wrong … because this particular order hadn’t come from some flunky at Imperial Center. That was how it had looked, and how it was clearly intended to look.
Unlike the captain, though, Pellaeon hadn’t taken the order at face value, but had taken the time to run a backtrack. While it had indeed come through proper channels from Imperial Center, it hadn’t originated there. It had, in fact, come from an undisclosed location in the Outer Rim.
According to the top-secret dispatches Drusan had shared with his senior officers, that was where Grand Admiral Zaarin was right now, quietly touring the edge of Imperial space aboard the ISD Predominant.
Which strongly implied that the Chimaera’s orders had come from the Grand Admiral himself.
“Incoming ship, Captain,” the sensor officer called from the starboard crew pit. “Just jumped into the system. Sensors read it as a Kazellis-class light freighter.”
Drusan whistled softly. “A Kazellis,” he commented. “That’s a rare bird—they stopped making those years ago. We have an ID yet?”
“Yes, sir,” the comm officer called from the portside crew pit. “Code response confirms it’s the Salaban’s Hope.”
Pellaeon cocked an eyebrow. Not only had their mysterious passenger arrived, but he’d arrived within minutes of the Chimaera’s own appearance. Either he had a highly developed sense of timing, or he was remarkably lucky.
“Vector?” Drusan asked.
“Directly starboard,” the sensor officer called. “Range, eighty kilometers.”
Not only practically on top of the Chimaera in time, but in position, as well. Pellaeon’s estimation of the freighter’s pilot went up another couple of notches.
Of course, not everyone saw it that way. “Kriffing fool,” Drusan grunted. “What’s he trying to do, run us down?”
Pellaeon took a few steps forward and peered out the starboard viewport. Sure enough, the glow of a sublight drive was just barely visible out there against the background stars.
Except that the glow shouldn’t have been visible. Not at that distance. Not unless the pilot was hauling his sublights for all they were worth, and then some.
And the only reason someone would do that …
“Captain, I recommend we go to full alert,” Pellaeon said urgently, turning back to Drusan. “That ship’s running from something.”
For a moment Drusan didn’t reply, his eyes flicking past Pellaeon’s shoulder to the approaching freighter. With an effort, Pellaeon forced himself to remain silent, letting his captain work through the logic in his own unhurried, methodical way.
Finally, to his relief, Drusan stirred. “Full alert,” the captain called. “And reconfirm that identity code. Just in case he’s not running from anyone, but is thinking of ramming us.”
Pellaeon turned back to the viewport, hoping he’d been able to keep his bewilderment from showing before the captain could see it. Did Drusan honestly believe anyone would be stupid enough and suicidal enough to try such an insane stunt? Even the lunatics of the Rebellion knew better than that. Still, as long as Drusan’s paranoid assumption got the shields up and the turbolasers charging—
“Incoming!” the sensor officer snapped. �
�Six unidentified ships jumping in, bearing in sweep-cluster pattern behind the Salaban’s Hope.”
“Come about,” Drusan said, his voice taking on an edge of eagerness. The captain loved it when he had a chance to fire the Chimaera’s turbolasers at something. “All turbolasers to full power.”
Pellaeon grimaced. As usual, Drusan was following standard combat procedure.
Only in this case, standard procedure wasn’t going to work. By the time the Chimaera was ready to fire, the attackers would have caught up with the Salaban’s Hope and be swarming it.
But if the Chimaera threw power to its sublight engines and headed straight toward the freighter, they might scare off the attackers, or at least give them a moment of pause. Closing the distance would also mean getting to the turbolasers’ effective range a little sooner. “Captain, if I may suggest—”
“No, you may not, Commander,” Drusan cut him off calmly. “This is no time for your fancy theories of combat.”
“Captain, the Salaban’s Hope is hailing us,” the comm officer called. “Lord Odo requests your immediate attention.”
Pellaeon frowned. Lord Odo was the sort of name that belonged in the Imperial court, not way out here in the Outer Rim. What would a member of the court be doing this far from Imperial Center?
“Put him through,” Drusan ordered.
“Yes, sir.” There was a click—
“Captain Drusan, this is Lord Odo,” a melodious voice said from the bridge speaker. “As you may have noted, I’ve come under attack.”
“I have indeed, Lord Odo,” Drusan said. “We’re charging the turbolaser batteries now.”
“Excellent,” Odo said. “In the meantime, may I request you shunt all other available power to the tractor beams and pull—”
“Not a good idea, my lord,” Drusan warned. “At this range, a full-power tractor beam could severely damage your hull.”
“That you shunt all power to the tractor beams,” Odo repeated, a sudden edge to his voice, “and pull the two endmost attackers toward you.”
