Dark Apprentice
Page 20
death by the Empire. He had lived in the pitch-dark spice mines of Kessel
for
over a decade. He had fought against a predatory energy spider. And he had
flown through a black-hole cluster. As he looked at the imposing
liquid-black
outline, though, he felt awe and curiosity.
"Who are you?" Kyp asked.
"I could be your teacher," the dark shape said. "I could show you many
things that even your Master Skywalker does not comprehend."
Kyp felt a thrill rush throug h him. "What things?"
"I could show you techniques that were lost thousands of years ago,
secret rites and hidden doorways of power that no weak Jedi Master like
Skywalker dares to touch. But you are strong, Kyp Durron. Do you dare to
learn?"
Kyp felt reckless, but he trusted his instincts. They had served him well
in the past. "I'm not afraid to learn," he said, "but you have to tell me
your
name. I won't learn from a man who is afraid to identify himself."
Kyp felt foolish even as he said it. The shadowy form seemed to ripple as
if with silent laughter. His voice boomed out again, full of pride.
"I was the greatest Dark Lord of the Sith. I am Exar Kun."
Han Solo dashed into his and Leia's empty sleeping chambers. "Lights!" he
shouted so loudly that the voice receptors didn't understand his words. Han
forced himself to articulate with brutal clarity through clenched teeth,
"Lights," until the illumination came on in the room.
He glanced from side to side, trying to think of everything he would need
to bring. After unsealing the coded security chamber atop one of their
closets, he snatched a fully charged personal blaster, then grabbed an extra
power pack. He pulled out a clean set of clothes, felt a startled pang as he
saw Leia's garments hanging untouched in the storage unit.
"Chewie!" he bellowed. "In here."
For some reason the voice-response lights went off again. In disgust he
snapped, "Lights on!" for the third time.
See-Threepio strutted into the room with two bawling children in tow.
"Sir, must you be so rushed? You're upsetting the children. Will you please
take a moment to explain what's going on?"
Chewbacca roared from the outer room, and Han could hear him knocking
furniture aside as he ran to the bedroom. The Wookiee stood in the doorway,
his tan fur ruffled. He opened his wide pink mouth, showing his fangs, and
roared again so loudly that it startled the children.
The bedroom lights went off for a second time.
Han saw that Chewbacca carried his deadly bowcaster and a pack of
concentrated emergency rations, ready to go. Fumbling in the dimness, Han
opened up another small compartment beside the closet and pulled out the
trusty automatic medikit he had removed from the Millennium Falcon.
"Lights," Threepio said in a calm voice, and the illumination stayed on
this time.
"Threepio, where's Lando?" Han said. "Find him for me."
"He's down in the starship bays, sir. He left me a message to tell you
that he is not impressed with your standards of maintenance on your former
ship."
"Well, he'd better have the Falcon running now, that's all I can say,"
Han said.
Jaina sniffed loudly and between sobs cried out, "Where's Mommy?"
Han stopped as if hit with a stun beam. He knelt, looking into his little
girl's face. He brushed aside the tears on her cheeks and placed his hands
on
her tiny shoulders, giving a squeeze of confidence.
"Daddy's going to rescue her," Han said.
"Rescue her? Oh, dear!" Threepio interrupted. "Why does Mistress Leia
need rescuing?" Chewbacca bellowed in answer, but Threepio waved mechanical
hands at him. "You're not helping, you know!"
Han turned to the Wookiee. "Not this time, buddy. I need you here to
watch over the kids. There's no one else I trust as much." Chewbacca blatted
a
response, but Han shook his head. "No, I don't have a plan yet. All I know
is
I need to get to Calamari before the Imperials destroy it. I can't just stay
here and let Leia face them alone."
Han stuffed what he needed into a lightweight mesh sack and grabbed the
emergency rations from Chewbacca's hairy arms, glancing at the labels to
make
sure the food was compatible with human digestive systems.
"How long will you be gone, sir?" Threepio asked, trying to stop Jacen
from climbing into the open closets.
"As long as it takes to rescue my wife," Han answered.
He sprinted toward the door, taking two steps before he froze. He spun
around and returned to his two children. He bent down again and gathered
Jacen
and Jaina in a big hug. "You two behave for Chewie and Threepio. You have to
watch out for each other."
"We are good," Jacen answered with a touch of indignation. At that moment
the little boy looked heart-wrenchingly like Leia.
"I have recently updated my child-care programming, sir," Threepio said.
"We'll have no trouble at all." The golden droid nudged the twins as he
tried
to usher them back to their own room. "Come, children, I will tell you an
entertaining story."
Jacen and Jaina began crying again.
Han took a last longing look at the twins and then ran out of the living
quarters, pausing only a moment to straighten the soft chair Chewbacca had
knocked over.
The cyberfuse made a popping sound as it clattered on the cockpit floor
of the Millennium Falcon. Lando Calrissian stared at it in disgust, then
turned back to the control panels.
He had finished updating the navicomputer software, but somehow that had
caused the cockpit lights to short out. He rummaged around in the small bin
of
old greasy-smelling replacement fuses and yanked out one that looked
appropriate.
The Falcon had been cobbled together from so many different parts, he
could never keep track of how much spit and monofilament wire kept the ship
running. He wondered for the hundredth time why he loved the craft so much.
He popped in the fuse, activated it, and flicked a row of switches that
remained glassy dead. "Come on," Lando said, smacking the panel hard with
the
flat of his left palm.
With a humming whirr and a blast of cold chemical-smelling air from the
recirculating ducts, the controls winked to life. Lando closed his eyes with
a
sigh. "Good old emergency repair procedure number one," he said.
"Hey, Lando!"
He heard the loud, determined voice from outside in the repair bay.
Without looking Lando knew Han Solo had come to shout at him about
something.
He felt tired, itchy from sweat and frustrated at how long it was taking
to get the Millennium Falcon performing up to his exacting standards. He
stood
up from the open control panels and walked across the short corridor, his
boots making impatient clangs on the deck plates. He bent down on the
entrance
ramp to stick his head out.
"Lando," Han said again, hurryin
g toward him, his face red with
agitation. Sweat clumped his dark hair together, and he marched forward with
the unstoppable attitude of an Imperial construction droid.
"Han," Lando said, scowling, "you didn't tell me this junk heap was in
such bad shape when we played sabacc."
Han ignored the comment and sprinted up the ramp, carrying a mesh sack of
supplies and wearing a blaster at his hip. Lando raised his eyebrows. "Han--
was
"Lando, I need the Falcon. Now." He pushed past Lando, dropped his sack
on the deck plates, and hit the controls for the entrance ramp. Lando had to
jump inside as the greased cylinders hauled the slanted metal ramp back into
position.
"Han, this is my ship now. You can't just--was
Han went directly to the cockpit and threw himself into the pilot seat.
Lando charged up behind Han. "What do you think you're doing?"
Han spun around in the pilot chair and fixed Lando with a stare that
skewered him like a pair of stun bolts. "The planet Calamari is being
attacked
by Admiral Daala at this very moment. Leia's trapped there. Now, are you
going
to help me go rescue her in the Falcon, or do I pick you up by your scruffy
neck and throw you off the ship?"
Lando backed off, holding both palms up in a gesture of peace. "Whoa,
whoa, Han! Leia's in trouble? Let's go--but I'm flying," he said, motioning
for Han to move into the copilot's chair. "It is my ship."
Grudgingly, Han unbuckled his restraints and slid over to the right-hand
seat normally reserved for Chewbacca. Lando toggled on the comm system.
"Millennium Falcon requesting clearance for immediate departure."
He raised the modified light freighter off the floor on its repulsorlift
jets, hovered, and punched the sublight engines the moment Coruscant Control
gave them permission to depart. The Falcon shot through the atmosphere and
headed out to the stars.
On the planet Vortex, Qwi Xux wandered on the fringes of the
reconstruction site of the Cathedral of Winds. Her companion, Wedge
Antilles,
had joined the other New Republic cleanup crews. The workers wore thick
gloves
to protect their hands from the razor edges of the crystal shards they
hauled
to the materials-reprocessing bins, dissolving broken fragments and
synthesizing new building material.
Overhead the swirling gray clouds warned of the rapidly approaching storm
season. Soon all the winged Vors would take shelter in their
low-to-the-ground
bunkers and wait out the hurricane-force gales. Already cold gusts hissed
across the unbroken plains of pale grasses. Qwi feared that her own ethereal
form might take flight, whisked into the air by a sudden powerful gust to
join
the lacy-winged inhabitants.
The Vors kept away from the New Republic teams, working at the site of
the devastated cathedral, reinforcing the foundations and preparing to erect
a
new network of hollow musical towers. The aliens followed no plan that
anyone
could see, and had answered only with silence when the engineers asked to
study the architectural drawings.
Qwi watched the activity, wishing she could help. The Vors had not
demanded aid from the New Republic; in fa ct, they had barely acknowledged
it,
simply accepting the new workers and continuing the breakneck pace of their
project. The seemingly emotionless Vors had filed no formal protest, made no
threats of cutting off relations. It was as if they understood the New
Republic bore them no ill will; but as a race they had been stunned and
could
not return to normal activities until their Cathedral of Winds sang again.
As she walked among the scattered shards of crystal pipes, Qwi found a
small, narrow tube, a broken piece of one of the high-pitched windpipes from
the tallest pinnacles of the towers. She bent and picked it up with her long
fingers, careful to avoid the sharp edges.
The wind gusted around her, rippling the fabric of her tunic, tossing her
pearlescent feathery hair around her head. She stared at the tiny flute.
Back
at Maw Installation, Qwi had often programmed her own computers using
musical
notes, whistling and humming to set subroutines in motion. She had not
played
music in a long time....
Over at the materials-reprocessing station, Wedge and two helpers
accidentally dropped a large section of crystal pipe, which crashed to the
ground. Wedge shouted, and the others jumped out of the way to escape the
fragments.
At the construction site the Vors fluttered up in the air in a panic,
alarmed by the sound of breaking crystal.
Qwi put the flute to her mouth, taking a tentative breath. The smooth
crystal felt cool against her thin blue lips. She blew into the unbroken end
and held a finger over one of the holes, letting a test note whistle through
the tube. She tried another, and a third, gaining a feel for the songs the
crystal flute could sing.
She planted her feet among the crushed glassy fragments on the ground,
steadying herself against the blowing wind, and she played. It took her
several tries to work the notes into the shapes she wanted, but she closed
her
large indigo eyes and let the music flow from her.
The Vors flapped through the air, approaching her, circling overhead.
Some landed in the whipping lavender grass nearby, turning their angular
faces
toward her, blinking horny eyelids over pupilless obsidian eyes. They
listened.
Qwi thought of the destruction of the Cathedral of Winds, the loss of a
great artifact and work of art, the deaths of so many Vors; the music took
on
a keening tone. In her mind she also saw her own home planet of Omwat, when
Moff Tarkin had placed her in an orbital training habitat as a child so she
and other talented Omwati children could watch as he destroyed their
families'
honeycomb settlements if ever the children failed an examination....
Music skirled out of the flute, rising and falling. She heard the flap of
Vor wings over the sound of the notes and the wind. Qwi blinked nervously
and
looked up at her silent audience, but she kept playing.
From his position with the New Republic workers, Wedge came running over
to see if she needed help. The other human engineers noticed the attention
she
had drawn.
As Wedge approached, breathless and wide-eyed, Qwi stopped playing. She
took a deep breath and lowered her crystal flute.
Surrounding her, the Vors did not speak. They stared at her, fluttering
their wings to keep their balance. Segmented, leathery armor covered their
faces, masking any readable expressions. She couldn't think of anything to
say.
A large male Vor, obviously a clan leader of some kind, stepped forward
and extended his hand to take the flute from her. Still nervous, Qwi placed
the delicate instrument in his leathery palm.
With a
sudden, violent gesture, the Vor squeezed his hand shut and
crushed the flute. The thin crystal sides of the tube shattered. He opened
his
hand to let the fragments fall to the ground. Thin lines of blood blossomed
on
his palm.
"No more music," he said. Her entire audience of Vors spread their wings
and leaped into the winds, flying back over to the construction site.
The leader kept his gaze on her. "Not until we are finished here," he
said, and flew off to join the others.
Stuck in hyperspace, Han Solo could do nothing but wait. He couldn't
hurry the passage of time.
He paced around the common area, looking at the battered holographic game
board and thinking of when he had first seen Artoo-Detoo playing with
Chewbacca. That had been before he had even met Leia, when Luke Skywalker
was
a wet-beh-the-ears moisture farmer and Obi-Wan Kenobi was just a crazy old
man. If he had known how his life would change after that day in the Mos
Eisley cantina, Han wondered if he would have taken the risk to pick up two
passengers and their droids bound for Alderaan.
But then he would never have met Leia. Never have married her. Never have
fathered three children. Never have helped defeat the Empire. Yes, he
thought
despite all the turmoil, Han would make the same choices all over again.
And now Leia was in great peril.
Lando came from the cockpit. "She's on autopilot." He looked at the
dejected expression on Han's face and shook his head. "Han, why don't you
rest? Let's kill some time." Then, as if the idea had just occurred to him,
"How about we play a round of... sabacc?" Lando raised his eyebrows and
flashed one of his famous grins.
Han wondered if his friend was just trying to cheer him up and decided to
see how serious Lando really was. "I'm not interested in sabacc right now."
He
sat down and lowered his voice. "I don't suppose you'd put up my ship as a
stake?"
Lando scowled. "It's my ship, Han."
Han leaned forward across the holographic chess table. "Not for long,
buddy--or are you afraid?"
The Falcon shot through hyperspace on autopilot, oblivious to the fact
that her ownership was being decided.
Tiny pearls of sweat tickled the back of Han's neck as he stared at his
cards. Lando, who prided himself on a perfect bluffing expression, showed