Star Wars: Darksaber

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Durga jiggled as he laughed. “Hoo, hoo, hoo! I have seen your so-called command abilities, Sulamar … and I’m inclined to believe this man.”

  Sulamar gasped and stammered as if seeking just the right words, but his tongue kept getting in the way. The motley assortment of armed guards looked uneasily from Madine—their known enemy—to Sulamar, perhaps another target in their midst.

  “Sulamar,” Durga said, his voice low and rumbling. Madine noted with a satisfied leap of his heart that the Hutt had intentionally left off the title of general. “We will take care of this prisoner. You need not fear. Please surrender your blaster pistol to me.” Reclined on his repulsor platform, the Hutt extended a stubby-fingered gray-green hand.

  Sulamar stood rigid. Beads of sweat appeared on his high forehead. His Imperial general’s uniform—no more than a costume, Madine knew—appeared immaculately cared for: all the seams neat, all corners pressed with sharp edges, all the command insignia polished until it gleamed.

  “But … Lord Durga,” Sulamar said. “Perhaps I should be the one to—”

  Durga bellowed with all the threatening volume he could generate from his vast trembling belly. “Do you question my orders, Sulamar?”

  The Imperial impostor leaped to obey. He snatched his blaster pistol from the holster on his hip and extended it barrel forward, pointed at Durga; then he realized his mistake and quickly fumbled to turn the weapon around, handing the butt end to the crime lord.

  “Good,” Durga said, holding the weapon but keeping its energy barrel aimed at Sulamar. “Next, you will seat yourself there in the Darksaber’s pilot chair.” Durga gestured with the blaster to an empty station surrounded by command terminals and a navigational array.

  Madine could see that the chair was rigged with some sort of booby-trap system, power cables running up the stem of the seat, electrodes spaced across metal contact points in the chair.

  Sulamar looked at the pilot seat and paled. “There, Lord Durga? But I can serve you so much better if I—”

  “There!” Durga said.

  Sulamar seemed absolutely terrified—much more so than simply having his lie exposed should warrant. But he moved like a droid under incontrovertible programming, resigned as he shuffled toward the empty seat. Strapping himself in at the Darksaber’s piloting station, he slumped, seemingly more resigned to his fate than Madine, who was already marked for death.

  Crix Madine stood battered and sore and utterly exhausted. He clenched his hands, waiting and waiting. Eyes closed, he sensed the silent invisible signal pounding out from the implanted transmitter, summoning help, pleading for a rescue party now. Now! What was taking so long?

  He ground his jaws together and urged the ships to hurry.

  Empty space rushed by until it began to be cluttered with debris. On the command deck of the Yavaris, General Wedge Antilles leaned forward to peer out the front ports. “Come on,” he muttered. “Come on!”

  Beside him, Qwi Xux clamped her lips together, picking up on Wedge’s anxiety.

  “Are we still at maximum speed?” Wedge called to the helmsman.

  “Best we can manage, sir,” the young officer responded. “Hazardous conditions up ahead, though—General Madine’s signal is leading us directly into the Hoth Asteroid Belt.”

  Accompanied by the Assault Frigate Dodonna from his arm of the fleet, Wedge rode the Yavaris into the asteroid belt. “Shields on full,” he said.

  “Agreed, sir,” the helmsman answered. “But I’m reluctant to proceed at high speed into such a navigational hazard.”

  Wedge shook his head. Somehow he knew they had to hurry. Hurry! “Just stay on your toes, Lieutenant,” Wedge said. “And keep moving with all possible haste.”

  The asteroids flew around them like a cannon blast of fragmented rubble, but Wedge’s fleet continued undaunted, homing in on Madine’s signal, hoping to rescue him in time.

  Strapped in to the pilot’s chair, barely able to move, Sulamar was livid. He spun around, still sputtering and trying to justify his existence.

  Durga the Hutt growled, looking down at him from the height of his repulsor platform. “Why don’t you tell us again about this Massacre of Mendicat you kept bragging about, Sulamar?”

  Madine rolled his eyes and snorted. One of the Weequay guards jabbed him in the kidneys; he gasped in pain, but recovered quickly. “Mendicat?” he said with a sneer, knowing that if he could provoke these people, keep them bickering among themselves … then he had a chance. A slim one.

  “Mendicat was a scrap mining and recycling station.” Madine glared toward Sulamar. “Because of his error in programming the orbital computers, the station went off course and fell into the sun. He barely rescued himself, and now I see that was a wasted effort.”

  Durga chuckled, deep hollow belly laughs that resonated through his Hutt bulk. “After my days of working with the great crime lord Xizor, I should have learned to double-check pretentious stories from my underlings.”

  Madine answered the Hutt, as if speaking to an equal. “I’ve come to the conclusion that those people who truly do great deeds don’t feel the need to talk about them all the time.”

  “You must stop listening to him, Lord Durga,” Sulamar squeaked, struggling against the pilot chair restraints he had strapped across his own chest. “Lord Durga, we must execute this man!” His words became sweeter, more insidious. “Imagine the possibilities. We could use a laser cutter to dice him into pieces, or we could chain him to the reactor core of the Darksaber as we power it up so that he cooks against its shell.”

  Bevel Lemelisk, the pot-bellied, grizzled old engineer, who appeared to watch the entire proceedings with a combination of amusement and distaste, made a comment seemingly to himself but loud enough that everyone heard. “The Emperor could have imagined more … entertaining executions.” The old man visibly restrained a shudder.

  Durga grumbled, still waving Sulamar’s blaster pistol around. “I don’t see any need to draw this out. After all, we have better things to do. A galaxy to conquer, and so forth.”

  Madine stood bravely, clapping his heels together and staring into the large coppery eyes of Durga the Hutt. He said nothing for a moment as he thought back on his years of service to the New Republic.

  He had had a good run, had helped the New Republic grow strong. And now he had followed his duty to the end. He didn’t regret defecting from the Empire many years ago, though he did wish he could have seen his fiancée Karreio one more time—but it was too late for those regrets now. He saw her image in front of his eyes. She had died in the battle for Coruscant, and he had never been able to explain anything to her. Madine just hoped that if she did love him, she must have understood in the end … and if she didn’t understand, then she hadn’t really known Crix Madine at all.

  He fixed his eyes forward, watching the streaming white lights of the asteroid field clustered around the construction site, hoping against hope that at this last minute he would spot an oncoming fleet of rescue ships. But he saw only the rocky ruins of a planet that had broken apart millennia ago. He decided not to give Durga the satisfaction of begging for his life.

  The Hutt pointed the blaster pistol at Madine and fiddled with the controls until he finally figured out how to set the weapon to KILL.

  “Any last words?” Durga said.

  Madine lifted his bearded chin. “Not to you.” Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the brief, white-light flicker of approaching ships. His heart swelled. They were coming to rescue him!

  Durga’s fleshy, smooth shoulders rippled in a shrug. “All right.”

  Guards scattered out of the way.

  Durga fired the blaster pistol, letting loose a long blast of deadly energy.

  Madine was thrown backward into the metal wall as the killing beam burned through to his heart. His entire life evaporated in a brief flash of pain.

  And then blackness.

  YAVIN 4

  CHAPTER 50

  Heading back
toward Yavin 4 aboard the Millennium Falcon, Luke Skywalker and Callista recovered rapidly from their ordeal in space. They looked forward to a long and well-deserved rest at the Jedi academy.

  Han, Leia, and Chewbacca tried to cheer them up, but Luke and Callista both felt a brooding sense of failure and frustration. Threepio’s pestering ministrations failed to help, though the golden protocol droid meant well. Artoo-Detoo hovered protectively beside Luke, whistling and guarding his master like a faithful pet.

  When they were alone together, Luke looked into Callista’s open gray eyes; even without Jedi powers they could share some thoughts.

  “It isn’t going to work, is it, Luke?” Callista asked him. “I’m never going to get my Jedi powers back.”

  “There’s always a chance—” he said.

  “Don’t coddle me,” she snapped, then flicked her gaze away, though the muscles beneath her cheeks flinched as if she wanted—longed—to look back at him, but didn’t dare risk it.

  “We’ve tried everything,” Callista said. “We’ve worked all this time, but accomplished nothing. The Force has abandoned me. Its currents are diverted around me, so that I can’t touch them.”

  “But you did touch them,” Luke said. “On Dagobah. I felt it.”

  “That was the dark side,” Callista said.

  “But it might be the key to regaining your powers,” Luke insisted, unwilling to give up all hope.

  “The dark side is never the key to the light,” Callista said. “You would never teach that to your students at the praxeum, so don’t give it to me now as a platitude.”

  “What are we going to do, then?” Luke said. “Just give up?”

  “I can’t give up. I love you too much. But I have to make my own decisions,” Callista said.

  Luke leaned forward, took her hands, and held them until she finally looked at him. “You can,” he said softly. “But I’d like to be part of them.”

  Her expression softened, and she lowered her voice. “You will be, Luke—if I can find any way to make it so.”

  They held each other tightly for a brief moment until Threepio bustled in to the common room. “Master Luke! Master Luke!” he said. “We’ve almost reached the Yavin system, and Captain Solo thought you might wish to join us in the cockpit.”

  Luke and Callista continued to hold each other, and the protocol droid suddenly stammered and stepped back. “Oh dear, have I intruded at an inconvenient time again? I do beg your pardon. I’m afraid I’m dreadful at that sort of thing.”

  “No, Threepio,” Luke said, standing up and holding out his hand to help Callista climb to her feet. “We were finished talking.”

  Arm in arm, Luke and Callista followed Threepio along the corridor to the Falcon’s glassed-in cockpit where Leia sat just behind Han, leaning over and watching as Chewbacca worked the controls.

  “Glad you could join us, kid,” Han said. “Time to get back to work.”

  Artoo warbled at the navigation console, and Han yanked back on the controls to slow them to sublight speed. “Welcome to Yavin 4,” Han said, gesturing with his hand. “The Jedi vacation resort.”

  The Millennium Falcon shot out of hyperspace, broadcasting an announcement that Luke Skywalker had returned. They plunged toward the jewel-green moon around the orange gas planet … and nearly rammed into the Super Star Destroyer Knight Hammer.

  “Whoa!” Han cried.

  Chewbacca roared and grabbed the controls, sending the Falcon whizzing up and around, past the kilometers-long Super Star Destroyer.

  “What the—” Han said. “It’s not my fault!”

  The Knight Hammer continued to fire upon the jungle moon, but as soon as Han arrived, a few stray turbolaser blasts sliced across space toward them. “Chewie, take evasive!” Han said, but the Wookiee copilot was already one step ahead of him.

  “Han,” Leia snapped, “stop transmitting your identification signals. You’re drawing their attention.”

  “Uh, right,” Han said with a sheepish look, and slapped at the comm system, switching off the beacon.

  A transmission burst across their speakers, crackling at a high volume because of the power behind the Super Star Destroyer. “This is Admiral Daala, commander of the Knight Hammer. You will surrender immediately or be destroyed.”

  Han groaned. Chewbacca roared. Artoo squealed a shrill note of alarm. “Admiral Daala! Oh, my!” Threepio said.

  Han toggled the communication system. “Daala, you are such a pain,” he said, then snapped it off, dodging another burst of turbolaser bolts by flying in a figure eight past the Star Destroyer’s targeting locks.

  “Han, stop showing off,” Leia said.

  A cloud of TIE fighters spilled out of the fore hangar decks of the Super Star Destroyer, swirling toward the Falcon. “Shields up!” Han said, and Chewbacca grunted in acknowledgment. Han turned back to Luke. “Sheesh, you go away for a few days, and the whole place falls apart.”

  Chewbacca roared.

  “Uh, Han,” Leia said, pointing. “Han!”

  Two TIE fighters screamed toward them, their laser cannon shots ricocheting off the full-power shields in front of the Falcon. Han punched his own laser cannons, clipped one of the TIE fighters and sent it reeling out of control. The other screamed by without damage.

  “Can we transmit a signal to the New Republic? Sound the alarm?” Leia shouted. “We’ve got to get the whole fleet here.”

  Chewbacca flicked the comm system and groaned. Han looked over at the panels. “She’s doing what? That takes a lot of power.”

  Threepio said, “I believe Admiral Daala is successfully jamming all distress signals.”

  “Terrific,” Leia said.

  “Go to the gunwale,” Han said.

  “I’ll take it,” Luke responded.

  “I’ll get in the other one,” Leia said.

  “You?” Luke asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.” She ran.

  Luke climbed into the gunner’s seat and shouted to Han. “Daala’s got more ships than we can possibly handle. Don’t stick around to fight them. Just get down to the moon.” Luke fired the laser cannons, and from below Leia shot and hit another TIE fighter.

  “You sure we wouldn’t be better off just hopping back into hyperspace?” Han said in a low voice.

  Callista stood behind him, gripping the back of Han’s chair. “The Jedi academy is under attack,” she said, knowing exactly the turmoil going through Luke’s mind. “We have to help. We need to do whatever we can.”

  “All right,” Han said. “Chewie, full forward shields. Punch it. We’re gonna make a straight line.”

  The Millennium Falcon soared beneath the immense Knight Hammer. A flurry of TIE fighters blocked their way, flying in a tight formation as they shot a constant pattern of blasts. Han streaked toward them at full speed. Chewbacca roared in alarm.

  “Oh, but, sir—” Threepio cried.

  “I see ’em,” Han said. “They’ll move.”

  The TIE fighters held their position, still firing. The Falcon’s forward shields began to weaken, but Han plunged onward, right down their throats. Luke and Leia in their respective gunwales continued shooting, taking out TIE fighters.

  “Ummm, please get out of the way?” Han muttered.

  At the last possible moment the TIE fighters scrambled aside in such a pell-mell frenzy that two crashed into each other while others spun out of control. The Falcon shot through the defensive formation and grazed the atmosphere of the jungle moon, diving toward the treetops.

  They cruised over the jungle. Billowing black smoke rose from scattered forest fires. Strips of the jungle were ripped up and incinerated where the powerful turbolasers had sliced down from orbit.

  Callista grabbed Luke’s arm as he climbed out of the Falcon’s gunwale, wearing a boyish grin. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.” But then his smile faded again. “The Jedi academy must be under attack. We have to get to them.”

  “
I know,” Callista said. “I’ve already told Han.”

  Han called, “Hey, I’m flying as fast as I can.” Leia came up to join him. “Great shooting, Leia,” he said.

  “Plenty of incentive when the Imperials are using us for target practice,” she answered.

  Two TIE fighters soared over the treetops, firing at the Falcon from the sides.

  “These guys just don’t give up, do they?” Han muttered. He launched one of his concussion missiles directly at one TIE fighter, which was obviously expecting a laser-cannon retaliation. The TIE fighter tried to veer away, but the sensor on the tip of the concussion missile homed in on the flat panel and detonated, sending Imperial wreckage tumbling out of the sky.

  The second TIE fighter zoomed upward out of range, apparently not wishing to continue the engagement. Below the Falcon, ground assault machinery moved about, mechanical scout walkers and bulky flying fortresses combing the jungle and heading toward the Great Temple.

  “We’ve got to see if the trainees are okay,” Luke said.

  Han looked around. “Well, maybe we could get them all aboard the Falcon, take them to safety.”

  Luke flashed Han a grim expression. “I don’t think we’ll be leaving Yavin 4,” he said.

  “But that’s crazy, Luke!” Han said.

  “Look,” Luke said, “if it’s only a matter of survival, my Jedi trainees would probably do better split up and alone in the jungles than all aboard the Falcon. No insult to your piloting skills, Han, but if we evacuated the Jedi trainees on the Falcon, one lucky strike from Admiral Daala’s Star Destroyer would take out nearly every Jedi Knight in the New Republic. I can’t risk that. We’ll fight here. You can take off. Go back and get help, or stay and fight in some of the ground battles. But the Jedi aren’t leaving here.”

  “Okay, okay,” Han said. “Let’s see what the situation is first.”

  “Well, if you ask me, I believe I should prefer to attempt an escape,” Threepio said.

  “Shut up, Threepio,” Leia said.

  “Why is it that nobody ever listens to my opinion?” the golden droid said.