Star Wars: Darksaber

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Without ceremony, Durga’s guards dragged the dead body of Crix Madine off the Darksaber’s command deck.

  Bevel Lemelisk watched the fallen Rebel saboteur with mixed feelings, pursing his lips and scowling with a thousand conflicting thoughts. The expression on Madine’s face—fixed there forever so that Lemelisk would never forget it—was one of secret triumph, as if Madine knew something that the Hutts and the Imperials would never understand. Lemelisk saw the body with a certain amount of envy as well, knowing that at least Madine would stay dead and not have to worry about being brought back again and again and again to be tormented.

  Several Taurill scurried across the bridge, watching the entire execution ceremony with intense curiosity. Lemelisk shooed them away, and the multiarmed creatures scrambled to the inner decks where the rest of the hive mind now rested with the completion of their labor.

  Sitting imperiously on his levitating platform, Durga the Hutt issued commands to the impostor Sulamar. “Power up our engines. You will pilot us out of here. Now. I’m anxious to get under way.”

  Sulamar stammered, “But Lord Durga, I can’t—”

  “I have confidence in your abilities, Sulamar.” He rubbed his green finger lightly over one of the booby-trap buttons. “Or would you prefer that I dispose of you and choose someone else?”

  “No need for that, Lord Durga!” Sulamar said and focused his attention on the controls. “I appreciate your faith in my skills. I won’t let you down.”

  “I’ll make sure of that,” Durga said. “My Darksaber is finished. I’ve had enough waiting around here. Let us begin our sweep across the galaxy and begin collecting our due.”

  Upon hearing Durga’s words, Bevel Lemelisk snapped out of his reverie and gaped in disbelief. “You—you’re not actually going to use this weapon, are you?” he said. “It’s not yet tested.” He stumbled over his words. “Lord Durga … we need to verify all the subsystems and—”

  Durga made a loud, impolite noise and dismissed Lemelisk’s comments. “Nonsense, chief engineer. Your job is nearly finished. Don’t try to prolong your usefulness. My Taurill workers followed your own plans exactly. What could go wrong?” He gestured to Sulamar. “Go, I told you. Move out.”

  Lemelisk nervously twiddled his fingers and scanned the other crew members at their stations, all strapped to booby-trapped chairs. He didn’t speak his concerns out loud, but he had a bad feeling about the overall workmanship of the superweapon. Too often he had encountered gaffes such as the ancient and incompatible computer cores, the below-par materials. Too many miscommunications. Too many malfunctions.

  Lemelisk knew the Hutts were obsessive about getting the best bargain for their money, but Durga had accepted the low bid far more frequently than quality control should have allowed; and the Hutts, being such fearsome crime lords, had somehow missed a basic commercial axiom—you get what you pay for, and nothing more.

  Lemelisk gradually backed toward the turbolift door as the bridge crew busied themselves, preparing the superweapon for its maiden flight.

  “Ah, excuse me, Lord Durga,” Lemelisk said. “I believe my place should be down by the superlaser, monitoring it to make sure everything functions properly.”

  Durga, too intent on the excitement of finally getting into motion, dismissed Lemelisk distractedly. Lemelisk slipped into the turbolift, and his stomach lurched as the elevator platform dropped rapidly down. He patted his stomach, feeling a growl of hunger. He wondered if he might have time to grab something to eat … but decided he shouldn’t risk delaying. He would be in a great deal of trouble if the Darksaber failed to fire as Durga expected, and Bevel Lemelisk had no intention of being around when that happened.

  He exercised the better part of valor and went not to the superlaser control systems, but off to his private launching bay, where he dashed over to the small inspection scooter he had used to watch the final construction of the great weapon.

  Everyone on board the Darksaber had been called to their stations, so the bay stood empty and dim with only standby systems lighting his way. Lemelisk strutted over to the single scooter and climbed into the hatch, working his stiff knees and weak arms until he settled into the seat. The cramped cockpit still smelled awful, and he wished he had thought to order the Taurill to clean the upholstery—but it was too late now.

  He strapped in and powered up the inspection scooter, drifted through the atmosphere-containment field and away from the enormous weapon.

  Bevel Lemelisk would take his chances out in open space.

  CHAPTER 53

  “Battle stations!” Wedge Antilles cried.

  “The Hutt weapon is moving out,” the tactical officer said, stating the obvious as the cylindrical behemoth powered up its rear engines like a star exploding.

  “It’s huge,” Qwi whispered. “I understand it now, what they’ve done—they got rid of the extraneous super-structure and channeled all of the power directly into the superlaser. This weapon should be more maneuverable than the Death Star, more easily recharged, able to fire more frequently.”

  “We won’t let it escape,” Wedge said.

  “Bad news, sir,” the sensor chief said, a lieutenant with close-set blue eyes and a pointed nose. He turned away before he continued. “We’ve … sir, we’ve lost the signal from General Madine’s transmitter.”

  The news struck Wedge like a blow to the stomach. He slumped in his seat. “Oh no.”

  Qwi didn’t understand. “But we’ve found the weapon,” she said. “We don’t need the transmitter anymore, do we?”

  Wedge’s voice was hoarse. He intended to speak only to her, but the bridge fell quiet enough that everyone heard his words. “That transmitter is keyed to Madine’s life monitor. If the transmitter has stopped, that means—”

  He sat up straight and gestured violently forward. “All weapons on full. We must not let them get away. The Yavaris and the Dodonna will dive in directly. Corellian Corvettes will target the main engines to slow it down.” He clenched his teeth. “This time, the Hutts picked the wrong people to tangle with.”

  On the Darksaber’s command deck, the Devaronian sensor chief squawked in alarm. He jerked his horned head up. “Lord Durga, Rebel fleet approaching! They’re powering up weapons.”

  “What?” Durga recoiled, blinking his lanternlike eyes. “How did they find us?” Then he turned to Sulamar. “It’s time to test your piloting skills.”

  The engines fired again, and the Darksaber heaved into motion, picking up speed. The thrum vibrated through the hull with barely contained power. The Darksaber built up momentum. Durga laughed with delight at the performance of his superweapon.

  Deep down within the core, a loud groaning sound came from the engines, followed by a clunk and a thud.

  Durga looked around in concern. Sulamar concentrated on the piloting controls, biting his lips and pretending to hear nothing out of the ordinary. Sweat streamed from his temples. The strange sound faded away, and Durga ignored it.

  “Power up the superlaser,” the Hutt crime lord said. “We must be ready to fire a shot when the time is right. We’ll blast the Rebel fleet into space dust.”

  The New Republic warships streaked after the Darksaber as it plowed through the flying rubble of the asteroid belt. The shields sent out bright flashes as they disintegrated small rocks that crossed their path. Several large chunks broke through, though, pounding the hull of the Yavaris.

  “That Hutt weapon is like a battering ram, breaking up the rubble,” Wedge said.

  One of the Corellian Corvettes was struck broadside by a large spinning meteoroid and fell behind in the pursuit. The captain transmitted to Wedge that his engines had been severely damaged, but that containment fields and bulkhead doors had trapped the escaping air from small hull breaches. “No crew loss,” the captain said, “but we’ll be undergoing repairs for a while. Go get the Hutts for us, sir.”

  Wedge nodded. “We’ll do our best.”

  “He’s going into t
he densest part of the asteroid field, General Antilles,” the navigator said, her face pasty white with tension.

  “Then we’re going in after him,” Wedge said.

  The Assault Frigate fired its turbolasers and splintered a jagged asteroid careening toward them. The Yavaris flew through the debris cloud, sustaining little damage. “Thanks, Dodonna,” Wedge said.

  When they got close enough to the Hutt superweapon, he ordered all ships to open fire.

  Asteroids whirled around them, as the field became denser and denser, and Sulamar worked frantically to keep the Darksaber moving forward and in line. It was an impossible task, and Durga spent altogether too much time with his stubby finger poised over the “execution” button linked to Sulamar’s chair.

  “I won’t be able to navigate much longer, Lord Durga,” Sulamar said. “This is the most deadly part of the asteroid belt. None of our scout ships even dare to enter here.”

  “Then the Rebels will be too frightened to follow us,” Durga said.

  “Just look out there, Durga!” Sulamar cried, pointing toward the moon-size rocks grinding together like the molars of a beast as large as a planet.

  “Do I need to choose another pilot?” Durga said.

  “No, Lord Durga,” Sulamar mumbled in exasperation.

  The Hutt nodded. “Our superlaser is powered up. We have nothing to worry about.”

  Sulamar swallowed—he could think of plenty to worry about.

  The Rebel fleet came in, firing with their full complement of weapons. Each blast was insignificant in itself, but hundreds of turbolaser bolts struck home, peeling loose plates from the Darksaber’s hull, rattling components loose. The unnerving noises grew louder deep within the engine core.

  The Darksaber had no outer hull defenses, no turbolaser turrets of its own, and no squadrons of TIE fighters to drive off Rebel pests. Several of the larger asteroids plunged in from the side, denting and battering the weapon’s hull—but Sulamar continued flying with grave trepidation. Durga would severely punish any mistakes … if they managed to survive.

  The impostor general looked along their flight path and saw a nightmare. The Darksaber plunged along much too fast to maneuver effectively. Deep inside, the vessel groaned again, startling him.

  Up ahead a pair of the largest rocks he had yet seen spun about, grinding together, like granite jaws waiting for new prey. Sulamar knew they could never avoid the hurtling planetoids at the velocity they were cruising. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Durga raised his hand in defiance. “Get those asteroids out of our way,” he said arrogantly. “Fire the superlaser!”

  Sulamar’s finger trembled on the FIRE button, but he could not hesitate. They hurtled toward the asteroids. He punched down and covered his eyes to block the blinding glare of the deadly energy beam. “Firing now, sir!”

  But instead of a scream of destruction and a pulse of power through the superweapon, Sulamar heard only a loud pffffftt! A fizzle of sparks splattered out the front end of the Darksaber, but nothing more.

  “Oh no,” Sulamar cried. He punched the button again and again—but the Darksaber refused to fire.

  The two broken planetoids smashed together with the Hutt superweapon between them. The Darksaber was crushed in an instant, becoming yet another hunk of space debris that would float forever in the Hoth Asteroid Field.

  YAVIN 4

  CHAPTER 54

  Luke Skywalker’s voice echoed through the thick jungle and the sounds of battle. Callista froze when she heard him calling her name, and her resolve began to melt. She shouldn’t be leaving him—but she had to. There was only one way … if Callista had the courage to follow through.

  “Callista!” Luke called again, but she plunged on through the underbrush, not looking back.

  From above, bludgeons of turbolaser fire slashed through the atmosphere, leaving screeching ionization trails as Admiral Daala’s Knight Hammer pounded Yavin 4. Callista looked up and saw another blast come down. With a single strike, the Super Star Destroyer obliterated an acre of ages-old growth. One lucky shot could level the Great Temple.

  According to Kyp Durron, Dorsk 81 had flung away an entire Imperial fleet, seventeen Star Destroyers hurled beyond the range of battle. The Jedi trainees would have been safe right now had it not been for the appearance of the Super Star Destroyer. The real enemy remained in orbit, out of range.

  Callista pushed thorny twigs away from her face, searching for an opportunity. Up ahead in a flattened section of trees, broken branches, and plowed-up dirt, she spotted a crashed TIE bomber, a ship with angled power plates and a double cockpit, one for the pilot/bomber and a second to hold concussion missiles. The ship had been damaged, part of its rear engine exhausts crimped as if from a thrown boulder.

  The TIE pilot wore an opaque black helmet and padded black flightsuit that seemed uncomfortable and cumbersome; he worked frantically and alone. He had straightened the exhaust crimp, with a toolkit from the cockpit, and test-fired the engines.

  Callista seized the opportunity, plotting an unexpected way to strike at Daala. She didn’t have Jedi powers, and she was armed with only a lightsaber—but Callista knew she had the power to take out the Super Star Destroyer. She alone held that responsibility, and she had no choice but to follow it.

  Moving silently with a smoothness born not from the Force but through her own training, Callista eased herself out of the thorny undergrowth and sprinted toward the TIE pilot as he moved toward the access hatch, ready to climb into his bomber again.

  The pilot must have seen some flicker of motion through his helmet visor, though, some telltale signal that gave away Callista’s stealthy approach. He turned, and she found herself facing her dull reflection in the black plasteel of the facemask.

  He reacted with blinding speed, snatching a blaster from the holster at his side. Callista kept moving, picking up momentum, her arm sweeping in an are as she punched the lightsaber’s power button. With a snap-hiss, the topaz beam speared out, dazzling the TIE pilot.

  In a smooth stroke she lopped off his black-gloved hand. Before he could cry out in pain, holding up his smoldering stump, Callista struck sideways across his chest.

  Deactivating the lightsaber, she didn’t slow as she kicked his steaming body away from the repaired TIE bomber. Callista hauled herself up to the hatch and dropped into the cramped cockpit.

  Like a ghost, Luke’s voice echoed thinly through the trees, calling her name. But she forced herself not to hear it. She had seen her personal weakness, watching the other Jedi Knights fighting together—she wasn’t part of their brotherhood anymore. Callista would fight in a different way, her own way—and together they would all succeed.

  She sealed the hatch overhead. The cockpit was cramped and smelled of old lubricants and stale flightsuits. The pilot would normally be wearing a breathmask and helmet, so he wouldn’t notice the recirculated air. Callista didn’t care.

  She easily deciphered the controls. The Empire did not waste time or energy modifying their flight systems, and a TIE bomber still functioned the same way Imperial fighters had worked decades earlier, when Callista had first begun the fight.

  The dark ship rose slowly from the crash scar as its engines warmed up. Climbing into the air above the tangled treetops, she could see the burn path where the damaged craft had plunged through the canopy.

  Then the twin ion engines kicked in with a bone-chilling roar, and the TIE bomber angled up to where the atmosphere thinned—toward the Knight Hammer.

  “I’m sorry, Luke,” Callista whispered, and continued on course.

  The nightmare ship hovered overhead, eclipse-black and so large that Callista could barely grasp its size. She knew little of its internal configuration, though she had once studied sketches of Darth Vader’s flagship Executor. She knew, though, that the Super Star Destroyer—fabulously expensive and cumbersome despite the benefits it gave in sheer magnitude of weaponry—had very few vulnerabilities.

  She had
to get on board somehow and work from within.

  The bomber’s engines didn’t respond at maximum capacity, but Callista headed toward the Knight Hammer with all the speed she could manage. Her mind spun as she tried to concoct a sufficiently audacious bluff that would allow her to land inside the bays: doubly difficult because she was a woman and could not immediately pass for a TIE bomber pilot; she would have to speak gruffly and muffle her words over the comm system.

  Other TIE fighters spun about through space. Admiral Daala’s superiority over Yavin 4 seemed complete, and she could safely sit back and launch deadly volleys against the entire moon without risking herself.

  Callista was surprised to hear a female voice over the comm channel, a battle director requesting her identification and status. A woman! Callista had never heard of the Empire placing female officers and bridge crew aboard their ships; Admiral Daala herself must have changed things. Callista swallowed and leaned forward to respond. She intentionally tuned the comm system slightly off-frequency.

  “This is TIE bomber number—” she adjusted the knob to give a burst of static to obliterate her number, then switched back to a clear signal again, “—sustained heavy damage. All of our Star Destroyers are gone. The Jedi Knights did something, and the entire fleet … wiped out. No sign of them.”

  “TIE bomber,” the female battle director transmitted back, “please repeat, with augmented details. Give a full summary of the battle below.”

  “Most ground forces are destroyed,” Callista said. “The Jedi Knights have put up an incredible resistance, far more than we expected. Our losses are heavy. I’ve managed to escape, but my engines are damaged. I need a place to land right now.” Callista twisted the knob, adding a few extra bursts of static for good measure.

  “State the extent of your damage,” the battle director said.