Star Wars - The New Rebellion

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Chewie growled again, and reached for the hood.

  "No," Han said. "I don't care what indignities you have to suffer. You leave that thing on. Put the face mask down."

  Chewie shook his head.

  "Put it down, Chewie. You want to be able to see, don't you?"

  Chewie growled.

  Han put up his hands, in a submissive/protective gesture. "Okay, okay. No need to get testy about it. It's your fur, and your decision."

  "The bowcaster is wrapped, just like you requested," Zeen said, handing it to him. "I've got Wynni's here too. Where's she?"

  She growled from below.

  Han suppressed a grin. "What did you do to her, Chewie?"

  Chewie shrugged, took his bowcaster, and slung it over his shoulder. The weapon itself was protected, but the strap remained.

  Blue pushed past him and looked into the cargo bay. "Chewbacca! That's not funny. Untie her."

  Chewie gave Han a pitiful glance.

  "We need her, pal. Sorry."

  Chewie pressed the button beside the bay. The floor rose, slowly, revealing a pink package of female Wookiee, face mask down, arms wrapped around her chest in a mock hug, the wrist ties holding her hands behind her like rope. Her legs were crossed and tied together at the ankles.

  She was cursing, the mask poofing with each breath, the Wookiee words coarser than anything Chewie had ever used, even under extreme duress.

  Blue went behind her to untie her.

  "Wait!" Han said.

  He yanked up her face mask. Her blue eyes were narrow. She cursed him, his ancestors, his wife, his children, and his ship.

  "Watch it," Han said. "No one talks about the Falcon that way. Not in my presence."

  Wynni snarled. Blue shoved her from behind. "If you want out of this, you'd better shut up."

  "Promise to leave Chewie alone, and we'll untie you," Han said.

  Wynni clamped her muzzle shut.

  "Promise," Blue hissed.

  Wynni nodded once.

  "Chewie, you promise to leave Wynni alone," Han said.

  Chewbacca howled.

  "Promise," Han repeated.

  Chewie crossed his arms, straining the fabric over his shoulders. He growled.

  "That's that then," Han said. "Untie her, Blue."

  Blue pulled the strings, and Wynni's arms dropped. Her paws slid out of the sleeves and she lunged at Chewbacca. He moved backward. She tripped. Han and Blue caught her before she hit the ground.

  She was heavy. Han staggered under her weight. She was snapping, growling, and snarling. "Apologize, Chewie."

  Chewbacca shook his head.

  Wynni grabbed at Han's leg, missed, and swiped again. "Apologize, blast it, she's going to kill me."

  Chewie wailed an apology.

  Wynni stopped moving. Then she used Han and Blue to brace herself as she stood. She growled, and Zeen bent to untie her feet.

  "I think we should leave the Wookiees here," Kid said.

  Chewie yowled.

  "I think that's a bad idea," Han said. He stretched. Wynni was strong, stronger maybe than Chewie. "I think you two need to settle your differences when we return to Skip 1. Until then, you have a truce. Is that clear?"

  Chewie nodded. Wynni glared. Her pink hood had come askew, and her fur hung over her eyes. She brushed it away.

  "Wynni? Is that clear?"

  She nodded.

  "Good," Han said. "Let's hope this little diversion didn't give the Reks time to get here."

  "You think Nandreeson knows we're here?" Zeen asked.

  "You think anything happens on this Skip without Nandreeson knowing?" Han asked.

  "Good point," Zeen said. He handed Wynni her bowcaster. "Let's go, then."

  "Someone needs to head this mission," Han said.

  "You're the only one with military experience, General," Blue said. "It's all yours."

  Han felt an internal relief. Chewie and Wynni had just acted out his worst nightmare. The last thing he wanted was for all of them to get down below, and to fight among themselves as to the right thing to do.

  "All right," he said. "Into the mud."

  "You take us such exciting places," Blue said as she grabbed her nose with one hand and leaped out the Skipper's door. She landed in the center of the mud hole and slid in, her long hair disappearing last.

  "Man, this is a dream day for me," Zeen said. "First we get all muddy, then we face off with Nandreeson. All over Calrissian, whom I just love. Next time, Solo, bring your government friends."

  Zeen jumped and landed on the edge of the hole. He lost his balance and slid, back-first, down the opening.

  Kid stepped into place at the door, but Wynni shoved him aside and jumped without saying anything. She landed so hard she splattered mud into the Skipper. The splatter hit Han in the face. The mud was hotter than he had expected, and smelled vaguely of rotten eggs. He wiped the mud off with the back of his arm.

  "Chewie," he asked sweetly, "you want to go next?"

  Chewie yarled.

  "I'll go," Kid said, and jumped. He slid into the hole as if it had been greased just for him.

  "Better you than me, pal, stuck between two Wookiees," Han said under his breath.

  Chewie growled.

  Han shook his head. "I'm last, Chewie. It's better that way. I can face any problems we might have on the surface. If I don't make it down, you guys can get Lando out."

  Chewie snorted, brought a paw up to his nose, and grabbed it. Somehow his look was less elegant than Blue's had been. He closed his eyes, stepped out, lost his balance, and belly flopped into the mud. The splat doused Han, and made Chewie roar in surprise. He staggered, tried to stand, and then slipped into the hole.

  Han wiped his face again, set the door on automatic as Blue had showed him to do, and jumped.

  The mud was hot and slimy. It coated him instantly, but he was sliding right away. There was air in the tube, swampy, stale, foul air, but air, which he could breathe as long as his nose and mouth were clear. He slid round and round and round, corkscrewing his way deeper into the mud hole. The light from the top faded, and he was in complete darkness, surrounded by stinky mud, and sliding faster and faster toward the bottom.

  Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe these tubes were longer than he thought. Maybe they narrowed and all of his friends were stuck in the middle, piled on top of each other, and suffocating.

  He had a horrible vision of Chewie and Wynni coming to blows as the oxygen left them, killing Zeen and Kid in the process. Blue, of course, would have been squished almost from the start.

  Then he slid out in a gush of mud, tumbled through comparatively cool air, and landed, face-first, in the dirtiest water he had ever seen. He sank like a boat with a hole in its bottom, his eyes open. Sediment swirled around him. Sediment, algae, and long black hair.

  Blue was still below, her foot caught in a hole. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks bulging with air, but she wasn't panicked, not yet. Her hands were pulling at the weeds clinging to her ankle.

  Han pulled the small vibroblade from his boot and dove down beside her, touching her arm for reassurance. He cut the weeds away, then yanked her foot. She let out a mouthful of air, bubbles surrounding them, and then she did panic, using his back as leverage to propel herself to the surface.

  The force of her shove sent his arm into the hole that had caught her foot. The heat made his skin prickle, but his arm wasn't trapped. He pulled free, and kicked to the surface, his lungs bursting.

  He gasped a mouthful of air. It was warm and humid and tasted good. But he didn't seem to be able to get enough. It was thin.

  "Nice place, Solo," Zeen said. He was treading water next to the Kid, whose bald head was covered with green algae.

  "Yeah, you shoulda warned us we'd be swimming," Kid said.

  The air in Chewie's suit kept him afloat. Apparently Wynni had gotten a hole in hers. Both their hoods were off.

  Wookiees looked smaller when wet.

&n
bsp; Han felt a smile begin on his face, and Chewie growled it away.

  "Where's Blue?" Han asked.

  "Here, you son of a garbage scow." She was furiously treading water. She would lose all her air quickly if she continued the rapid flailing motion. "I nearly died down there."

  "Ah, Blue, you'd have gotten yourself out."

  "And for no reason." She spat as she spoke. Her black hair streamed around her face, and her makeup had run. She looked years younger. Only her blue tooth reminded him that she was Sinewy Ana Blue. "I'm not going to get rich off this trip. Even now, Nandreeson's people are probably stripping my Skipper. And there's no way out of this rock pond. Have you noticed that?"

  Han looked around. The water went all the way to the edge of the cavern walls. But he saw signs of Glottalphibs. Algae. Lily pads. Gnats.

  "There has to be." He swam forward, rounded a rock wall, and found himself in an even bigger cavern. Six Glottalphibs sat on the rock ledge surrounding the pond, and another Glottalphib—Nan-dreeson—was waist-deep in water.

  Lando was in the middle of the pond, his head barely above water. His face was gray with exhaustion, shadows deep under his eyes, his movements sluggish. Still he managed his Calrissian smile.

  "Some rescue, Han," Lando said.

  "You should never criticize people who are doing you a favor," Han said. Chewie swam up, followed by Wynni. The smell of wet Wookiee overpowered everything.

  "Solo," Nandreeson said. "I was going to give up on getting you. I had Calrissian. That was enough. But since you're here now— He waved a tiny hand and all six Glottalphibs blasted the water with flame.

  Han ducked under and watched the algae burn on the water's surface. He still hadn't gotten enough air. Chewie had apparently stayed above. He splashed the flames out.

  Han surfaced.

  "Next time, why don't you just call ahead?" Lando said. "We'll prepare a welcoming party for you."

  "Stop the sarcasm, pal," Han said. "It was lucky I found out you were here."

  "Yeah?" Lando asked. "Lucky for whom?"

  "Me, of course," Nandreeson said. "Now I get my old nemesis Calrissian and his buddy Solo. Killing you, Solo, will give me an added cachet. The princess's consort—"

  "Husband," Han mumbled.

  "—will be quite a coup for me."

  "What's going on here?" Han asked. "Is he playing water hockey and you're the puck?"

  "Close," Lando said. "He's planning to watch me drown."

  "Nice," Han said. "Lacks drama, but makes up for it in creativity."

  "Not really," Lando said. "He's a Glottalphib. He'd think of drowning first since his entire life is situated around water."

  "I don't need this," Nandreeson said.

  "It does have the added charm of being escape-proof," Lando said.

  "Nothing is escape-proof," Han said. "There's stairs beside Nandreeson."

  "Right," Lando said, "if we can get to them. But his hot-mouthed buddies keep stopping me."

  "That's because you haven't thought this through," Han said.

  "And you have?" Nandreeson leaned forward, disturbing the water around him. "You've only been here a few moments, Solo. You think you have me figured out."

  "Not much to figure, Nandreeson," Han said. "You're greedy, rapacious, and not very bright. If you had half the brains Jabba had, you'd own the Run by now."

  "I do," Nandreeson said.

  Han shook his head. "Naw. If you owned the Run, then how would I have been able to recruit a team?"

  "You didn't." Zeen had Han's arm. Han turned, and found himself nose-to-nose with Zeen's blaster. The Kid had his blaster on Chewie, and Wynni had her bowcaster out and loaded.

  "Great rescue," Lando said. "Excellent rescue. In fact, the best rescue I've ever experienced."

  "I warned you about the sarcasm," Han said. He glanced at Chewie, who looked as stunned as he felt.

  "You know, Solo," Nandreeson said, "you're right. This drowning method lacks originality. I'm tired of watching a man die slowly. Let's speed it up, shall we?"

  Han raised his hands. "Now, Nandreeson, I didn't mean—"

  And then he ducked as the shooting started.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Luke couldn't find a bacta tank, but he found something better: a Pydyrian healing stick. He had forgotten that Pydyr was the place that had invented the healing stick. It had been used all over the galaxy long before the bacta tank came into being, and some thought the healing stick was much better.

  He found his upstairs in the house he was staying in. The healing stick was long, thin, and white. When rubbed against a surface, a white residue remained behind. The computer had assured him the residue had healing properties. What he was learning, as he gingerly applied the stick to his injured back, was that it had soothing properties. Most of the pain from the burn faded.

  If only he could repair his hand. He had peeled most of the artificial skin off, but the moving metal parts reminded him, a bit too painfully, of the price he had paid to become a Jedi.

  He was nearly done with the healing stick when he felt a disturbance in the Force. A familiar presence was nearby. This was the presence he had felt on Telti, the presence that had haunted him when he arrived in Almanian space, the presence that had lured him from Coruscant to here, this desolate side of nowhere.

  A student. That much he was sure of now. He prided himself on his ability to remember all of his students, but this one still eluded him. If he told himself the truth, he remembered all the students who completed the training. The students who left became faces, a memory, and, Leia warned, someday they would become a statistic.

  He set down the healing stick and put his shirt back on. His lightsaber had never left his side. He glanced in the mirror. His back was covered with white residue. It was foaming. The computer had warned him that a person must rest for the healing stick to work. Luke hoped he would get that chance.

  Slowly he limped his way down the stairs. He was stiff from the fall, his muscles aching with pain. The mistmakers had weakened his system; the burns and the fall had made him lose even more strength. If he was at ten percent of his normal power, he was high.

  Size matters not, Yoda had told him.

  He hoped that applied to strength as well.

  The presence had neared. It was strong in the dark side. He could feel the ripples, feel a power he hadn't felt in a living being since he encountered the Emperor. Luke had never had a student that powerful, of that he was certain. Whoever it was became powerful after he had left the academy.

  So powerful that a man like Brakiss, who had so much talent in the Force that the Empire had taken him, as a baby, to train in the dark side, was terrified of him.

  Once Leia had asked Luke what it felt like when he knew someone steeped in the dark side was near. He hadn't been trained enough as a young Jedi to understand the feeling. It was only later, as he grew in strength, that he understood. And he couldn't explain it then.

  He could now.

  It felt as if a tornado had struck in the middle of a beautiful day. It felt like a blast of cold air in a warm room. It felt as if someone beloved had just died.

  He followed the feeling. It grew closer as he approached its source. He grabbed his walking stick, limped outside the house, into the Pydyrian sunshine, and stopped near the arch.

  In the street, a man stood alone. He was taller than Luke-many people were taller than Luke—and he wore a long black cape, shiny military boots, and body armor reminiscent of the Empire's. Only his face was different. He wore a Hendanyn death mask. Luke had only seen them in museums, never on a face. The mask molded to the skin. The Hendanyn wore the mask after they reached old age, partially to hide the aging, and partially to store memories before death. The information in the mask could be removed after death. The Hendanyn masks Luke had seen had never been used.

  This one had molded itself to the man's face. The cheekbones were raised, the eyes were black and empty, the lips thin and hard. The mask
was white with black accents. It had tiny jewels in the corners of the eyeslits. Behind the jewels, if Luke's memory served, lay the chips that absorbed the personality of the wearer.

  "You still don't recognize me, do you, Master Skywalker?"

  The voice had a depth and resonance that was unfamiliar. But the inflections were familiar. This was an adult voice. Luke had been familiar with the young adult's voice, one that hadn't yet reached its full depth.

  "Dolph?" he said, guessing with as much certainty as he could muster.

  The death mask's mouth closed. Luke felt the surprise in the man across from him. Dolph had counted on not being recognized.

  "You're better than I realized," Dolph said. His resonating voice filled the street. A dry wind made his cape ripple behind him. "My name is Kueller now."

  Everything depended on how Luke played the next few moments. Dolph had been an extremely talented student who had always had a darkness in him. Such darkness wasn't unusual. All of Luke's students had to fight the dishonorable parts of themselves. Most won that battle. But Dolph hadn't stayed at the academy long enough to develop the talent or dispel the darkness. He had left in the middle of the night after receiving news from home.

  "You left before I had the chance to give you my condolences over the deaths of your family," Luke said.

  Dolph—Luke refused to think of him as Kueller just yet— smiled. The death mask moved with startling realness. "Thank you, Master," he said. And then his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. The effect was stunning. The death mask had a powerful, primitive terror built into it. The loss of the smile almost—almost— made Luke take a step backward. It would have overwhelmed a lesser man.

  "But," Dolph continued, "your sympathies are both false and too late. The Je'har brutally slaughtered my family. They did not die quickly. My parents were staked to the bridge leading to the Je'har palace, and left to rot in the heat. It took them a week to die. I didn't hear about it until afterward, but the Je'har left the bodies for me to find. You wouldn't know what that is like, seeing the burned and broken skeletons of the people who raised you, a stench rising from them that should never come from any living being. You don't know what that does to a man."

  The memory of Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen as he had last seen them rose in Luke's mind. Their bodies were burned beyond recognition, smoke still rising from them. The only comfort he took in the years that followed was that they had died side by side, as they had lived.