Darksaber

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Luke focused his senses on Burrk and the others, concerned that the desperate refugees might try to blast him and Callista in the back and take their ship--but he sensed only a gnawing fear. These people were too frightened to worry about treachery.

  As Luke and Callista approached their ship sitting calmly on the snow, Luke saw that the hatch stood open, like a dark mouth. Callista said, "Hey, I didn't leave the door like that."

  "I've got a bad feeling about this," Luke muttered. The Cathar looked at each other and snarled.

  "Bad news," Drom Guldi said, already guessing what they would find. Luke bounded up the ramp, while Callista stayed outside to prevent the others from entering the ship.

  Inside in the cockpit, Luke stared. The comm system had been torn to shreds, the panels ripped open with a silver scoring of claws. The navicomputer was gone, torn from its housing and smashed to a tangle of wires and broken chips. Severed cables dangled loose from the other controls.

  It was as if the monsters knew exactly what they were doing.

  A coil of fear tightened in the pit of his stomach. He turned behind him to the locker where the environment suits had hung--and found that the snow creatures had slashed both of the suits, making them unusable.

  Then came a shout from outside, a panicked outcry and sudden blaster fire. Luke charged out of the cockpit, leaping down the ramp. Callista already had her lightsaber drawn, its topaz beam crackling and spitting in the cold.

  Luke could barely distinguish the creatures that blended so perfectly with the snow and rock. Their white pelts made them only a blur of movement, curving horns sweeping from their heads, claws like knives extended as they boiled up, slashing and tearing and roaring.

  Burrk drew both of his blaster pistols and fired, leaving a huge wampa dead in the snow with smoking holes in its fur. The two Cathar snarled, waving their blaster rifles. Burrk tried to fire again, but one of his pistols had been drained dry. The wampas bellowed, setting up an odd howl that careened across the empty steppes like a tidal wave of terror.

  Drom Guldi fired carefully and precisely, taking out another wampa. The remaining monsters pushed forward. One of the two Cathar shot indiscriminately, lancing the snowy distance with blaster fire until his rifle also ran out of charge.

  With an echoing roar that seemed somehow familiar, Luke turned to see a huge wampa standing on a rock outcrop, larger than the others, howling into the night as if directing the battle. Luke saw that this monster had only one arm; its other ended in a cauterized stump. It slashed its single fistful of claws through the icy air when it saw the Jedi lightsabers.

  In unison, the army of wampa ice creatures surged toward their victims.

  NAR SHADDAA

  CHAPTER 29

  The Taurill Overmind did not pause, did not rest. So many of the little interchangeable bodies swarmed over the zero-gravity construction site that work progressed at a relentless pace.

  Bevel Lemelisk was ecstatic to see that in only two days the busy creatures had managed to disassemble their erroneous work, erasing the mistakes and rebuilding the entire faulty section of the Darksaber. Lemelisk watched the efforts and prayed that the Taurill did not make an even worse mistake that might somehow escape his scrutiny.

  At one time during the worst setback, when much of the super-structure remained dismantled, General Sulamar had stepped up behind him on the Orko SkyMine ship with a startling click of his bootheels. The baby-faced general stared out the observation windows. "Good work, Engineer," he said grudgingly, as if Lemelisk had been waiting for such praise. "Carry on." Lemelisk had rolled his eyes and gone to find something to eat. Somehow, he had forgotten to eat lunch again. ...

  He chose the dead hours during the designated sleep period to continue his work with the three-dimensional crystal-lattice puzzle. It amused him with a challenge that stretched him almost --but not quite--to the limit of his mental abilities. When he had reached the critical point, focusing his entire world upon the problem and adjusting the parameters ever so delicately--he was interrupted, again.

  The crystal puzzle sparkled down to random shards as Lemelisk flew into a rage at the Gamorrean guard. The brute let the insults bounce off his thick greenish skin and grunted only one word: Durga.

  Lemelisk quashed his annoyance and followed the Gamorrean down the corridor to the communications center. Durga had sent a private message to him, knowing full well that it was the middle of the sleep period--but then, the Hutt had never shown much courtesy to others.

  The guard left Lemelisk alone to face the flat screen projection of Durga the Hutt. Durga could have used the holoprojector, which transmitted a small three-dimensional image--but the Hutt did not like the 3-D system, because it made his enormous body look diminutive. He wanted the flatscreen, which projected his sloping, birthmarked face as a large and dominating visage. The speakers amplified his voice to a thunderous bellow.

  "Lemelisk," Durga said. "I know Sulamar is on his rest period, so I can speak to you without his interference. Those computer cores he obtained have arrived on Nar Shaddaa. I want you to come to the Smugglers' Moon personally and check them out. No telling what sort of garbage he's found for us. You must inspect them."

  "But--I can't leave the construction site, not now!" Lemelisk said.

  "Why?" Durga demanded. "Have there been problems?"

  "No, no," Lemelisk answered, holding his hands up. He hoped Durga couldn't see the sudden film of cold sweat that sprang out on his skin. "Uh, everything's going smoothly. The Taurill are hard workers, and very fast."

  "Good. I'm sending a ship to get you. You will make no contact with me. Just come to Nar Shaddaa and do your work. I am still trapped in an unpleasant diplomatic matter here."

  "When—“ Lemelisk swallowed, his mind whirling, "um, when will you return to the asteroid belt, Lord Durga?"

  "Soon," the Hutt answered. "This visit of the Chief of State is tedious, but necessary. She has brought a fleet of warships, supposedly engaged in battle exercises, but I am no fool: she means to flaunt her power. That is throwing a bent hydrospanner into our talks, though I don't believe the New Republic suspects anything."

  Durga suddenly growled and snapped back to the matter at hand. "Enough pleasantries! Get to the Smugglers' Moon as soon as possible. Once my Darksaber is finished, I won't need to be so disgustingly nice to these disgusting humans anymore."

  Lemelisk didn't know the type of ship he boarded. It was a battered old craft that seemed heavily (and ineffectively) modified. It had been through numerous battles, judging from the blaster scars on its outer hull plates, and the swollen engines looked sufficient to power a craft ten times the size. It bore no registry markings.

  The Twi'lek pilot said little, even to the human copilot. One of the alien's head-tails was scarred and shriveled, as if it had been burned or partially shot off. Two Gamorrean guards accompanied Lemelisk onto the ship, saying little, throwing supplies on board, and grumbling during takeoff.

  The Twi'lek pilot launched them from the expeditionary vessel, away from the Darksaber site, and out of the asteroid field before Lemelisk managed to strap his crash webbing into place. He craned his neck and tried to look out the rear viewports toward the dwindling construction lights.

  Lemelisk hated to leave, especially at a time like this. He never knew what was liable to happen if he was not there to supervise personally. ...

  Darth Vader had come aboard the first Death Star while it was still under construction. "I'm here to supervise personally," he said, his deep voice echoing through his impenetrable black mask.

  His breath, drawn through pumps on his chest, sounded like a hissing serpent.

  Lemelisk stared in awe at the Emperor's greatest warrior, the black-caped Dark Lord of the Sith, who already had the blood of billions on his gloved hands, and still had a long career ahead of him.

  Grand Moff Tarkin had insisted that a small section of the Death Star's living quarters be completed posthaste so he could move his
offices aboard the battle station. He had set up a large armed reception for Vader's arrival, with an honor guard of stormtroopers, waves of warriors ready to die at the Emperor's command.

  Lemelisk had forgotten to shave, and was afraid his personal appearance might be less than adequate as Vader towered over him. The Dark Lord stared through impenetrable eye goggles and hissed through the respirator. "I am here to ... motivate your workers," he said, looking from Tarkin to Lemelisk.

  Lemelisk rubbed his pudgy hands together, smearing grease stains into the cracks on his knuckles. He wiped his hands on his thighs.

  "Good, Lord Vader! They need some motivation. The Wookiee work crews are strong and competent, but they take every opportunity to stall progress." Tarkin looked at Lemelisk, astonished, and the engineer wondered if he had said something he shouldn't have.

  "Then perhaps the construction foremen need to exercise a tighter grip," Vader said. "Or perhaps I need to demonstrate the limits of discipline."

  Lemelisk found Vader terrifying. Yes, a pep talk from the Emperor's right-hand man would make even the most recalcitrant Wookiees work harder and faster.

  But Vader did not have a pep talk in mind. Looming over terminals, he scanned through the computer records and work activity reports and selected the Imperial crew bosses who supervised the construction teams with the poorest performance.

  Grand Moff Tarkin summoned all supervisors to sit around a big table in the largest briefing room in the completed portion of the Death Star.

  "I am most displeased with your progress,” Vader said after he had singled out the two least effective construction foremen. As the others watched, trembling with terror around the table, Vader raised his black leather glove. No one could read any expression through his skull-like plasteel helmet.

  The two unfortunate foremen gasped and choked, clawing as if an invisible, iron-hard fist had wrapped itself around their windpipes. They kicked and thrashed, spasming, choking. Drool ran from their mouths--then there came a crunching sound, and the spittle ran a thick red. Their eyes nearly popped out of their sockets like spoiled fruit.

  Then Vader lowered his arm, and the two dead bosses crumpled across the table. Vader looked at the sweating construction foremen who remained at the table. "I expect the rest of you to do better from now on," he said.

  Vader ordered Tarkin's stormtroopers to take the pair of dead bodies out to the space construction site, where they wired the vacuum-frozen corpses to crossbeams on the outer shell of the half-finished Death Star.

  Lemelisk was surprised and appalled at Vader's tactics, but he changed his mind when he noticed that the crews did redouble their efforts. Tarkin was also very pleased. His own future seemed bright indeed.

  Now, Lemelisk didn't know how he had gotten into such a mess. He rode in a surly silence with the other pilots of the smugglers' ship approaching Nar Shaddaa. Space traffic around the Smugglers' Moon was subdued, illegal ship activity hampered by the presence of the nearby New Republic fleet.

  As Lemelisk watched Nar Shaddaa, anxiety gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to go there, didn't want to be around so many people, didn't want to walk willingly into t nest of vermin. The crew accompanying him was unpleasant enough--and they were on his side.

  Lemelisk had no way of knowing what sort of scum he would encounter in the rundown streets of Nar Shaddaa. He hoped to be in and out as soon as possible, and he hoped--though he didn't expect it--that General Sulamar had actually obtained acceptable computer components for the Darksaber. Already, Lemelisk found himself longing to be alone with his plans and his dreams. But to make his brainchild a reality, he had to make certain sacrifices.

  As always, Bevel Lemelisk would do his duty, even if it cost him his life ... again.

  CHAPTER 30

  The New Republic fleet engaged in out-systems-in-system speed trials and maneuverability runs. Ackbar's ships leap-frogged Wedge's squadrons as they pushed their piloting skills to the limits, always remaining on call should trouble arise for the Chief of State.

  Fortunately, everything had been quiet for several days, and it did not appear that the Hutts were going to be a problem. Leia sent word that she believed her mission would be over in a day or two, so General Wedge Antilles, taking the opportunity to apply for some rest and recreation, accompanied Qwi Xux down to the Smugglers’ Moon.

  "You always take me to such interesting places, Wedge," Qwi told him, staring around at the seedy sections of Nar Shaddaa, her indigo eyes filled with amazement, and drinking in details.

  Wedge laughed. "Well, this isn't exactly one of the more ... romantic places I've shown you."

  Qwi shrugged and tossed her head. Her hair was like a mass of spun crystal fragments, pearly white strands made of fine feathers that sparkled around her head. "No, but it's still fascinating," she said. She had an elfin appearance with a faint blue tinge to her skin that gave her an exotic charm--yet she looked and acted completely human.

  Qwi Xux had been brainwashed as a child to become a weapons designer for the Empire. In Maw Installation she had helped design the original Death Star with Bevel Lemelisk, and she had developed the Sun Crusher by herself. She remembered little of that, however, because young Kyp Durron, flooded with dark side powers, had erased much of her memory in a disastrous attempt to make it impossible for anyone to re-create such weapons. Despite her many ordeals, Qwi retained a childlike sense of wonder at discovering new things. Wedge found it endearing, and he loved her more with each day he spent at her side.

  They left their small shuttle at the Port Authority and paid a fee to guarantee its protection--an exorbitant enough price that Wedge was reasonably sure they would have no troubles. He wore no uniform, only a nondescript jumpsuit in the pockets of which he had stashed an assortment of weapons, communicators, and locator beacons. They should be fine.

  Nar Shaddaa was a nightmare of decrepit buildings, empty warehouses, and closed doors marked "Keep Out" in numerous languages. Low-level fliers cruised across the sky, belching smoke from poorly tuned engines. Industrial processing centers spewed toxic wastes into the air and down drainage pipes.

  The atmosphere itself was murky and oily, laden with vapors that made visibility equivalent to looking through a glass of dirty water. The planet Nal Hutta filled much of the stained sky, a bruised green, blue, and brown sphere, rising halfway over the horizon like a heavy-lidded eye.

  Wedge and Qwi strolled along the stuttering glidewalk, looking at flashing signs that advertised bizarre services.

  Giant, open repair bays yawned wide, full of dismantled parts stolen from ships that hadn't paid exorbitant protection money, as Wedge had done. The Smugglers' Moon seemed like a world-size mechanics' shop, dingy and grease-stained, filled with discarded components that might eventually find some use, or just as likely might remain forgotten in a corner until the end of the universe.

  Vendors wedged their carts into alleys under waterproof canopies that deflected the droplets drizzling from overhead gutters. A plantlike alien sold sizzling hunks of bluish meat on a stick; beside it, a fanged carnivore sold sliced vegetables. The two glared at each other with animosity.

  They passed gambling establishments and card-reading cubicles, where fortunes were told, or made, or lost. Qwi blinked as she watched a random game of blinking lights and metal spheres hurled by the players. If the players managed to strike one of the lights while it was illuminated, they won some sort of prize, usually a coupon to play another round of the game.

  Wedge found the nuances incomprehensible, but as Qwi absorbed them she slowly shook her head. "The probabilities make this game extraordinarily difficult to win," she said.

  Wedge smiled. "Now you're starting to understand."

  A pair of rickety old starships roared overhead, and the sounds of explosions made Wedge glance up. The two ships fired upon each other, and the pursuing ship exploded into a cloud of shrapnel that rained down on the buildings. Across a yawning open space, Wedge watched p
atrons seated on an outdoor balcony run for their lives as smoldering chunks of metal pelted the building. The victorious ship continued to limp away, its damaged engines faltering; then, with a hollow-sounding boom, the engines gave out, and the ship spiraled down into the distance, where it crashed.

  In a parking area for maintenance vehicles, Qwi stopped to inspect a vendor's table of trinkets and exotica, including boots made from rancor leather and glistening claws that he claimed came from wampa ice creatures.

  "How do we know these are real?" Qwi asked the vendor, a reptilian creature with a long tapering forehead and three eyes across his brow ridge.

  "You have my word on it," the vendor said.

  "No thanks," Wedge said, and took Qwi by the elbow, leading her to a small self-serve cafe under the fluttering awnings of an open-air bazaar. Wedge ordered samples from the few recognizable items on the menu, carrying a tray laden with fizzing colorful drinks and glossy dessert pastries.

  "This place is different from Coruscant,” Qwi said, summarizing her feelings. "Much more ... lived in, less polished."

  Wedge raised his eyebrows, "You can say that again."

  Qwi blinked at him. "Why should I?"

  "Never mind," he said, smiling indulgently.

  They selected a table far from where two enormous, gray-skinned brutes were bellowing at each other in what seemed to be either a blood feud or an argument; the longer Wedge watched, however, the more he realized that this was merely their method of conversation.

  The torn umbrella over their heads leaked some of the residue drizzling from above, so Wedge and Qwi moved to the opposite side where the table was relatively clean. They stared out across the crowded streets and saw a long wall of identical-looking warehouses, some guarded, some merely locked.

  Qwi sipped her drink and sat up, startled, as the fizz bubbled around in her mouth. She swallowed, drew several quick breaths, and gasped, "That's very good, but I shall have to restrain myself!"