Dark Apprentice

by Kevin J. Anderson

  of hydraulic pressure. The bitter-oil smell of exhaust hung in the humid

  air,

  mixing with the peppery and sweet scents of jungle flowers and leaves.

  The mechanical smell reminded Luke of the bustling metropolis of Imperial

  City, the governmental center of the New Republic. Though he had been at

  peace

  for months now on Yavin 4, Luke felt a tingle of sweat down his back. He

  could

  not let his guard slip for one second--he had a mission to do for the New

  Republic. This was not a vacation.

  The hull of the space barge continued to mutter to itself as it settled.

  With a coughing hiss the rear cargo doors slid apart slowly as if two giants

  pushed them back one step at a time. Bluish-white light shone down on crates

  and boxes wrapped in storage nets or bolted to the walls--food,

  communications

  equipment, clothing, and amenities.

  Moving softly across the packed clearing, Gantoris and Streen came up

  beside him. Streen's eyes went wide with a sense of wonder, but Gantoris

  wore

  a puzzled, sour expression. His skin remained dark, as if in a constant

  angry

  blush. "Do we need these things, Master Skywalker?"

  Luke glanced at the contents. Judging from the material--the unnec

  material--included in the shipment, Leia herself must have compiled the

  cargo

  list. Exotic food synthesizers, comfortable clothes, heaters, humidity-

  neutralizers, even a few hollow Ithorian wind chimes.

  "We'll make do," he said.

  A narrow ramp extended with a groan of pistons and rollers from the

  raised pilot compartment. The silhouette of a man appeared on the ramp,

  booted

  feet, wrinkled and padded flightsuit, rounded helmet. He descended, yanking

  his white helmet off as his gloved bands covered the blue scooped-arc symbol

  of the New Republic. The pilot shook his head, tossing short dark hair from

  side to side.

  "Wedge!" Luke grinned and shouted. "Doesn't the New Republic have

  anything better for its generals to do? A delivery driver in space!"

  Wedge Antilles stuffed his helmet under the padded orange sleeve of his

  flightsuit and extended a hand to Luke. Luke embraced Wedge in the greeting

  of

  two friends who had not seen each other in far too long.

  "You've got to admit I'm qualified for the job," Wedge said. "Besides, I

  got tired of doing demolition work in the armpit of Imperial City, and

  before

  that I got tired of cleaning up wrecked spacecraft in orbit around

  Coruscant.

  I figured a delivery driver was better than a garbageman."

  Wedge flicked a glance over Luke's shoulder, and another smile dimpled

  his cheeks. Gantoris came forward from the cargo bay and gave Wedge a quick,

  almost brutal handshake as he locked eyes with the pilot. "General Antilles,

  have you any word from my people? I trust they have all been safely shuttled

  to their new home on Dantooine?"

  "Yes, Gantoris, they're all settled in and doing fine. We drop-lifted an

  entire settlement of self-erecting living modules. We sent them programming

  units and agricultural droids so they could establish a viable colony right

  away. Dantooine is a very mild planet--plenty of animals to hunt and native

  vegetation to eat. Trust me, they'll be much more comfortable than they were

  on Eol Sha."

  Gantoris nodded solemnly. "That I do not doubt." His glittering eyes

  lo oked past Wedge to the treetops. Orange light from the rising gas giant

  made

  his eyes flicker like the lava pools he had made Luke walk across on Eol

  Sha.

  "Gantoris, Streen--please start unloading the supplies," Luke said. "I

  don't think you'll have trouble lifting the crates with a little nudge from

  the Force. Consider it a test. Artoo, please call Kirana Ti and Dorsk 81

  from

  their quarters to help."

  Streen and Gantoris moved to the corrugated ramp from the loading bay.

  Artoo-Detoo hummed across the landing grid and disappeared into the shadowy

  hangar of the Great Temple in search of the other Jedi candidates.

  Luke clapped his friend on the shoulder. "I'm starving for news, Wedge. I

  hope you brought some gossip with you."

  Wedge raised his eyebrows. His narrow chin and soft features made him

  look more youthful than Luke. They had been through a lot together Wedge had

  flown beside Luke on his triumphant run down the Death Star corridor, had

  assisted in the defense of Echo Base on the ice planet Hoth, and had fought

  against the second Death Star over Endor.

  "Gossip?" Wedge asked, laughing. "That doesn't sound like something that

  would interest a Jedi Master."

  "You got me there, Wedge. How are Leia and Han? How is Mon Mothma? How

  are things on Coruscant? When is Han going to bring Kyp Durron to my

  training

  center? That boy had enormous potential, and I want to start working with

  him.

  "

  Wedge shook his head at the volley of questions. "Kyp will be here, Luke,

  don't worry. He spent most of his life in the spice mines of Kessel, and

  he's

  only been out a month. Han's trying to show the kid how to live a little

  first."

  Luke remembered the dark-haired teen Han had rescued from the black spice

  mines. When Luke had used a Jedi testing technique to see if Kyp had

  potential

  to use the Force, the boy's response had knocked Luke across the room. In

  his

  entire Jedi search, Luke had never encountered such power.

  "And what about Leia?"

  Wedge considered, and Luke appreciated that he didn't just answer with a

  simple "Of course everything's fine." "She seems to be spending more and

  more

  time with her duties as Minister of State. Mon Mothma has been handing off a

  lot of important responsibilities to Leia while she herself stays in her

  private chambers and rules from a distance. It's got a lot of people

  disturbed."

  That behavior seemed highly unusual for the strong, compassionate ruler

  Luke remembered. "And how is Leia handling it?" He longed to know a thousand

  things at once, wishing he could be in the thick of it all again... while

  another part of him preferred the peace of Yavin 4.

  Wedge sat on the edge of the sloping ramp. He propped one leg next to a

  support strut, then balanced his helmet on his knee. "Leia's doing a

  wonderful

  job, but she's trying to do too much, if you ask me. Even with baby Anakin

  still in hiding, she does have the twins to watch over now. Threepio helps,

  but Jacen and Jaina are still only two and a half years old. It's more than

  a

  full-time job, and Leia is getting exhausted."

  "She could come here for a rest," Luke suggested. "Have her bring the

  twins, since I need to get them started on basic Jedi skills."

  "I'm sure Leia would love to come here," Wedge said. They turned and

  watched as Streen and Gantoris emerged from the barge carrying tall crates.

  The two Jedi candidates walked smoothly, carrying loads that seemed

  impossible, and Wedge's eyes widened at the impressive
feats of strength. "I

  had to have labor droids put those boxes onboard. I couldn't budge one

  myself.

  "

  "Then my students must be showing some progress." Luke nodded. "What

  about you, Wedge? You going to be a delivery driver the rest of your

  career?"

  Wedge smiled; then with a flick of his wrist he tossed the helmet up the

  ramp and into the open cockpit. It clacked and thumped across the floor.

  "No.

  In fact I came here because I have a new assignment, and I won't get a

  chance

  to see you again for some time. The New Republic Council feels that Dr. Qwi

  Xux may be in danger from espionage. Admiral Daala is still out there

  somewhere with her fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers, and any time now I

  expect her to start blasting planets at random with hit-and-run strikes. She

  may try to get Qwi back."

  Luke nodded gravely. Qwi Xux had been the top scientist in the Imperial

  research facility from which Han Solo had escaped--with Qwi's help. "If

  Admiral Daala doesn't want Dr. Xux back, I'm sure someone else will."

  "Yeah," Wedge said, "that's why I've been assigned as her personal

  bodyguard and escort. In the meantime the Council still hasn't decided what

  to

  do with the Sun Crusher weapon that Han captured." Wedge sighed. "That's

  just

  scratching the surface of everything going on back on Coruscant."

  Luke stared at Gantoris and Streen as they continued to unload the cargo

  bay, marching across the clearing to deposit their crates in the empty, cool

  hangar. Artoo-Detoo rattled out of the temple, leading two other students.

  "Sounds like you need the new Jedi Knights more than ever," Luke said.

  Wedge agreed emphatically. "More than you can know."

  Fidgeting from the long voyage in the expanded B-wing fighter, Leia

  Organa Solo rode in silence beside Admiral Ackbar. The two of them sat in

  the

  cramped, metallic-smelling cockpit as the ship plunged through hyperspace.

  Being Minister of State kept Leia on the move, shuttling from diplomatic

  event to ambassadorial reception to political emergency. Dutifully, she

  hopped

  across the galaxy, putting out fires and helping Mon Mothma hold together a

  fragile alliance in the vacuum left by the fall of the Empire.

  Leia had already reviewed the background holos of the planet Vortex

  dozens of times, but she could not keep her mind on the upcoming Concert of

  the Winds. Diplomatic duties took her away far too often, and she used quiet

  moments to think about her husband Han, her twin children Jacen and Jaina.

  It

  had been too long since she had held her youngest baby, Anakin, who remained

  isolated and protected on the secret planet Anoth.

  It seemed that whenever Leia tried to spend a week, a day, even an hour

  alone with her family, something interrupted. She seethed inside each time,

  unable to show her feelings because she had to wear a calm political mask.

  In her younger days Leia had devoted her life to the Rebellion; she had

  worked behind the scenes as a princess of Alderaan, as Senator Bail Organa's

  daughter; she had fought against Darth Vader and the Emperor, and more

  recently against Grand Admiral Thrawn. Now, though, she felt torn between

  her

  duties as Minister of State and her duties as Han Solo's wife and as mother

  to

  three children. She had allowed the New Republic to come first. This time.

  Again.

  Beside her in the cockpit Admiral Ackbar moved his amphibious hands

  fluidly as he manipulated several control levers. "Dropping out of

  hyperspace

  now," he said in his gravelly voice.

  The salmon-colored alien seemed perfectly comfortable in his white

  uniform. Ackbar swiveled his gigantic glassy eyes from side to side, as if

  to

  take in every detail of his craft. Through the hours of their journey, Leia

  had not seen him fidget once.

  He and the other inhabitants of the watery world Calamari had suffered

  much under the Empire's iron grip. They had learned how to be quiet, yet

  listen to every detail, how to make their own decisions, and how to act upon

  them. Working as a loyal member of the Rebellion, Ackbar himself had been

  instrumental in developing the B-wing class of starfighters that had taken

  such a huge toll on the Imperial TIE fighters.

  As Leia watched him pilot the stretched-out, cumbersome-looking fighter,

  Ackbar seemed an integral part of the gangly craft that appeared to be all

  wings and turbolaser turrets mounted around a dual cockpit. Ackbar's crew of

  fishlike Calamarians, led by his chief starship mechanic, Terpfen, had

  expanded the former one-man craft into Ackbar's personal diplomatic shuttle,

  adding a single passenger seat.

  Through the curved dome of the cockpit windows, Leia watched as

  multicolored knots of hyperspace evaporated into a star-strewn panorama. The

  sublight engines kicked in, and the B-wing streaked toward the planet

  Vortex.

  Leia's dress uniform felt damp and clingy, and she tried to adjust the

  folds of slick fabric to make herself more comfortable. As Ackbar

  concentrated

  on the approach to Vortex, Leia pulled out her pocket holopad, laying the

  flat

  silvery plate on her lap.

  "Beautiful," she said, peering out the viewport to the planet beneath

  them. The blue and metallic-gray ball hung alone in space, moonless. Its

  atmosphere showed complex embroideries of cloudbanks and storm systems,

  racing

  spirals of clouds that swirled in horrendous gales.

  Leia remembered her astronomical briefings about Vortex. The sharp tilt

  of the planet's axis produced severe seasonal changes. At the onset of

  winter,

  a vast polar cap formed rapidly from gases that froze out of the atmosphere.

  The sudden drop in pressure caused immense air currents, like a great flood

  going down a drain; clouds and vapor streamed southward in a battering ram

  to

  fill the empty zone where the atmosphere had solidified.

  The Vors, hollow-boned humanoids with a rack of lacy wings on their

  backs, went to ground during storm season, taking shelter in half-buried

  hummock dwellings. To celebrate the winds, though, the Vors had established

  a

  cultur al festival renowned throughout the galaxy....

  Deciding to review the details one more time before they landed and the

  diplomatic reception began, Leia touched the icons etched into the synthetic

  marble frame of her datapad. It would not do for the New Republic's Minister

  of State to make a political faux pas.

  A translucent image shimmered and grew out of the silvery screen in a

  miniaturized projection of the Cathedral of Winds. Defying the hurricane

  gales

  that thrashed through their atmosphere, the Vors had built a tall ethereal

  structure that had resisted the fierce storm winds for centuries. Delicate

  and

  incredibly intricate, the Cathedral of Winds rose like a castle made of

  eggshell-thin crystal. Thousands of passageways wound through hollow

  chambers

>   and turrets and spires. Sunlight glittered on the structure, reflecting the

  rippling fields of windblown grasses that sprawled across the surrounding

  plains.

  At the beginning of storm season, gusts of wind blew through thousands of

  different-sized openings in the honey combed walls, whipping up a

  reverberating, mournful music through pipes of various diameters.

  The wind music was never the same twice, and the Vors allowed their

  cathedral to play only once each year. During the concert thousands of Vors

  flew into or climbed through the spires and windpipes, opening and closing

  air

  passages to mold the music into a sculpture, a work of art created by the

  weather systems of the storm planet and the Vor people.

  On the holopad Leia skimmed to the next files. The music of the winds had

  not been heard for decades, not since Senator Palpatine had announced his

  New

  Order and declared himself Emperor. Objecting to the excesses of the Empire,

  the Vors had sealed the holes in their cathedral and refused to let the

  music

  play for anyone.

  But this season the Vors had invited representatives from the New

  Republic to come and listen.

  Ackbar opened a comm channel and pushed his fishlike face closer to the

  voice pickup. Leia watched the bristly feelers around his mouth jiggle as he

  spoke. "Vortex Cathedral landing pad, this is Admiral Ackbar. We are in

  orbit

  and approaching your position."

  A Vor voice like two dry twigs rattling together crackled back over the

  speaker. "New Republic shuttle, we are transmitting landing coordinates that

  take into account wind shear and storm systems along your descent. Our

  atmospheric turbulence is quite unpredictable and dangerous. Please follow

  precisely."

  "Understood." Ackbar settled back into his seat, rubbing broad shoulder

  blades against the ridged back of the chair. He pulled several black

  restraint

  strands across his chest. "You'd better strap in, Leia," Ackbar said. "It's

  going to be a bumpy ride."

  Leia switched off her holopad and tucked it beside her seat. She secured

  herself, feeling confined by the webbing, and took a deep breath of the

  stale

  recycled air. The faintest fishy undertone suggested Calamarian anxiety.

  Staring ahead, Ackbar took his B-wing into the swirling atmosphere of

  Vortex, straight toward the storm systems.