The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  “When we first met, you said she was too young for me,” he reminded her.

  “I’m older and wiser now,” she said.

  “Aren’t we all?”

  They were quiet for a few more minutes before Vaner asked another question. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

  “I don’t know,” Bastila admitted. “If he is, why didn’t he come back? On the other hand, there are times when I think I can still sense his presence, like he’s reaching out to me from somewhere far away.”

  Vaner smiled, but didn’t say anything.

  “You think your old mother’s going senile, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes the Force is a little hard to understand.”

  “You’d better get used to it,” she told him. “It’s in your blood. I can already sense it in those kids of yours.”

  “I guess it skips a generation,” Vaner said with a soft laugh.

  After a few more minutes of silence he spoke again; it was a question Bastila had expected to hear for many years.

  “Do you ever wish he had stayed with you instead?”

  “I miss your father every day of my life,” she said, “but I never once thought that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Revan knew there was something out there—something that threatened the Republic. Maybe something that threatened the entire galaxy. He went to stop it, and I know he succeeded.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because you and I are here talking about this,” she said. “We haven’t been wiped out by war, or turned into refugees. The galaxy hasn’t come to some kind of horrific end. Whatever Revan did, he made it possible for you and me to live our lives without fear and hardship. And for that, I will always be grateful.”

  She reached out and placed a wrinkled hand on each of her son’s cheeks, pulling him in close and kissing him softly on the head.

  “I better go check on Emess and the kids,” he said, standing up.

  “Of course,” she said, waving her hand. “Go, go. I’ll just stay here on the couch and have a little nap.”

  Her son headed off to the guest room in the back, and Bastila closed her eyes, quickly drifting into sleep. As always, she dreamed of Revan.

  For my wife, Jennifer

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Revan’s story stretches all the way back to the original Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, and I want to thank everyone at BioWare who contributed to that fantastic game. Similarly, I owe a debt of gratitude to everyone at Obsidian who worked on KOTOR 2, and everyone at BioWare Austin who helped create the Star Wars: The Old Republic MMO. But most of all I want to thank all the Star Wars and Revan fans who have waited so many years for a conclusion to this tale: without your undying support this novel would never have happened.

  Star Wars: The Old Republic: Annihilation is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2012 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization. Excerpt from Star Wars: Scoundrels copyright © 2012 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  DEL REY is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  This book contains an excerpt from Star Wars: Scoundrels by Timothy Zahn. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-53567-2

  www.starwars.com

  www.delreybooks.com

  facebook.com/starwarsbooks

  Jacket design and illustration: LucasArts

  v3.1_r3

  Contents

  Master - Table of Contents

  Annihilation

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dramatis Personae

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Theron Shan; Republic Strategic Information Service agent (human male)

  Marcus Trant; Director of Republic Strategic Information Service (human male)

  Jace Malcom; Supreme Commander of the Republic military (human male)

  Satele Shan; Grand Master of the Jedi Order (human female)

  Gnost-Dural; Jedi Master (Kel Dor male)

  Teff’ith; smuggler for the Old Tion Brotherhood (Twi’lek female)

  Gorvich; smuggler for the Old Tion Brotherhood (human male)

  Darth Karrid; Sith Lord (Falleen female)

  Darth Marr; Sith Lord (human male)

  Minister Davidge; Imperial Minister of Logistics (human male)

  A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.…

  PROLOGUE

  THE AIR INSIDE THE CAVE was cool, but a thin sheen of perspiration coated Satele Shan’s skin. The hard, uneven stone dug into her back and shoulders through the blanket she lay on. She shifted and twisted to escape the discomfort, the dim light of glow sticks casting the shadow of her writhing limbs into a grotesque dance on the far wall.

  “Try to remain still, Satele.”

  Master Ngani Zho, the mentor who had brought her to the sanctuary of this cave, spoke softly, but his deep voice still resonated in the close confines of their hidden refuge.

  Outside, the galaxy was engulfed by war. The Sith, ancient enemies of the Jedi Order long thought extinct, had returned to threaten the existence of the Republic that had stood for thousands of standard years.

  Satele Shan had seen the horrors of this war firsthand, battling with her fellow Jedi alongside the soldiers of the Republic against the enemy hordes. She had seen worlds burn. She had seen friends die. She had suffered more than she ever imagined she could and survived. Yet the pain she experienced now was something entirely different.

  There is no emotion, there is peace.

  The mantra of the Jedi helped her focus, and she closed her eyes as she tried to draw on the Force to calm herself. But her body refused to obey her mind, and instead of a slow pattern of inhale–exhale, her breath continued to come in ragged, rapid gasps.

  The Masters at the Jedi academy had never prepared her for this. How could they?

  “Satele! Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  Her eyes snapped open in response to Ngani Zho’s voice. Gritting her teeth while another wave of agony washed over her, she could only nod in reply, her fingers clenching his hand as she tried to draw the strength to sustain herself through this ordeal.

  “We’re almost done, Satele. Just one more push.”

  The final contraction felt like it was ripping her apart, but she followed her Master’s instructions and pushed despite the pain. Satele screamed, and then suddenly the pain was gone. An instant
later the loud cries of a child—her child—filled the cave.

  “It’s a boy, Satele,” Master Zho said as he cut the umbilical. “You have a son.”

  Satele had known the child she carried was male for months; she had felt him through the Force as his life grew stronger within her. But hearing the words spoken aloud somehow made this all feel more real. She had brought life into a galaxy overwhelmed with death.

  “Here, Satele,” Master Zho whispered, holding the infant out to her.

  Exhausted, she struggled to find enough strength to reach out with her weary arms. Ngani had wrapped the babe in a swaddling blanket; warm and enveloped as he had been in the womb, he was no longer crying.

  Pulling the child close to her chest, she couldn’t help but wonder what destiny the Force had chosen for her son. She had no doubt his path would be a difficult one, for in these dark times no path was easy. What role would he play in the fate of the galaxy?

  She knew her own role well enough: Satele Shan, hero of the Republic, paragon of the Jedi Order. Strong in the Force. She was a champion of the light; a symbol; an icon.

  The rank and file saw her as the embodiment of everything the Jedi and the Republic stood for. And that was why she had been forced to hide her pregnancy. For the first months it had been simple—the loose-fitting Jedi robes had easily covered the swelling of her belly. But in the later months a more elaborate ruse was necessary.

  She couldn’t have done it without Master Zho’s help. When her condition became impossible to conceal and she had been forced to go into hiding, he had told the Jedi Council and the leaders of the Republic military that he had sent Satele on a vital mission—something he could not speak of for fear of endangering her life. Given Master Zho’s impeccable reputation, none had questioned him.

  Now, however, the mission was over. It was time for her to return; the Republic had fought too long without their champion. The Sith Empire’s relentless advance had gone too far. She could no longer ignore the Republic’s need.

  “Are you sure about this, Satele? You don’t want to reconsider?”

  Satele looked down at the baby resting so peacefully in her arms, and realized she would treasure this moment for the rest of her life. Whenever she was scared or alone or consumed by grief, she could draw on the memory of the first time she held her son.

  In the early stages of her pregnancy, she’d struggled against her maternal feelings as she’d felt the life growing inside her. She had tried to rationalize her protective instincts as nothing more than a biological imperative—an evolutionary mechanism to ensure the propagation of the species. But as the weeks and months passed, she realized her love for her unborn child was more than just biology and hormones. The emotional bond was real, and her desire to do anything—take any risk or commit any act—to protect her son was almost overwhelming.

  She would do everything in her power to protect him—even terrible, violent things. She would put his needs above all others, even if it meant an entire planet must suffer to spare him pain. Given her position and power, this was unacceptable.

  “You promised you would take him,” Satele said softly, gazing down into the child’s wide, wondering eyes.

  “I will,” Ngani assured her. “If that’s still what you want.”

  “What I want has nothing to do with it,” she muttered as she reluctantly handed the child back to her Master. “For the sake of the galaxy, this is what must be.”

  As he took the child from her arms, the moment of greatest joy she would ever know ended. The child began to whimper, so Ngani stood up and began to cross quickly back and forth across the cave’s uneven floor. The movement seemed to settle the child, much to Satele’s relief.

  “And you’re sure you don’t want to tell the father?” her Master asked as he paced.

  “No. He’s a good man, but there is darkness in him.”

  Ngani nodded, accepting her decision.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  Satele was momentarily taken aback. He had never asked her the father’s name before, and she had never offered it. Then she realized he was talking about the baby.

  “You are going to raise him,” she said with a shake of her head. “You should choose his name.”

  The Jedi Master stopped pacing and fixed her with a glare she remembered from her days as a Padawan.

  “You’re his mother. His name should come from you.”

  Satele turned her head to the side and closed her eyes as exhaustion washed over her.

  “Theron,” she murmured. “His name is Theron.”

  CHAPTER 1

  THERON SHAN WALKED QUICKLY through the packed streets of Nar Shaddaa’s Promenade. His unassuming features—pale skin, brown hair, brown eyes, average build—allowed him to blend easily into the crowd. The cybernetic implants visible around his left eye and right ear were his most distinguishing features, but he wasn’t the only one sporting them on Nar Shaddaa, and they typically didn’t draw unwanted attention.

  The Hutt-controlled moon was a landscape of unfettered urban sprawl, marked by towering skytowers crammed too close together and gaudy, glowing billboards that dominated the horizon as far as the eye could see in every direction. Sometimes called Little Coruscant, it was hard to accept Nar Shaddaa as a true homage to the Republic capital world; in Theron’s eyes it was more akin to a grotesque parody.

  Coruscant had been designed with an eye to aesthetics: there was a pleasing flow to the cityscape and a consistent and complementary style to the architecture. The city was carefully divided into various districts, making it easy to navigate. The pedestrian walks were crowded but clean, the endless stream of airspeeders overhead stayed within the designated traffic lanes. On Coruscant, there was an unmistakable sense of order and purpose. At times, Theron found it positively stifling.

  Here on the Smugglers’ Moon, however, it was a glorious free-for-all. Run-down residential buildings were scattered haphazardly among seedy-looking commercial structures; factories abutted restaurants and clubs, with no regard for the toxic clouds of filth spilling out over the patrons. With no traffic rules in force, airspeeders and swoop bikes darted and dived in seemingly random directions, sometimes flying so low the pedestrians ducked and covered their heads.

  As Theron turned a corner, he realized someone was following him. He hadn’t actually seen anyone on his tail, but he could sense it. He could feel eyes watching him, scoping him out, measuring him as a target.

  Master Ngani Zho, the Jedi who’d raised him, would probably have claimed Theron’s awareness came through the Force. But despite coming from a long line of famous Jedi, Theron wasn’t one of the Order. In fact, he had no special connection to the Force at all.

  What he did have was a decade’s worth of experience working for Republic Strategic Information Service. He’d been trained to notice minute details; to be hyperaware of his surroundings at all times. And even though his conscious mind was distracted by the details of his coming mission, his subconscious one had instinctively picked up on something that had triggered alarms in his head. He knew better than to ignore them. Careful not to break stride, turn his head, or do anything else that might tip off his pursuer, Theron used his peripheral vision to scan the area.

  At street level, everything was a chaotic mishmash of bright, flashing colors. A constant assault from an army of pink, purple, green, and blue signs and billboards provided perfect camouflage for whoever might be following him. Fortunately the intensity of the inescapable neon was muted by the layer of grime that clung to every surface—a reminder of the unchecked pollution in the atmosphere that would eventually transform Nar Shaddaa into an uninhabitable wasteland.

  It wasn’t easy to pick someone who looked suspicious out from the crowd. The population of the Smugglers’ Moon was as varied, unpredictable, and seedy as the surroundings. In the years since the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant, the Hutts had remained staunchly neutral in the ongoing cold war between the Republic and
the Sith Empire, making Nar Shaddaa a common gathering place for criminal elements from all corners of the galaxy: Black Sun slavers, Rodian pickpockets, Twi’lek hustlers, Chevin stim dealers. Any and all illicit activities were tolerated on Nar Shaddaa, provided the Hutts got their cut.

  Still, there were those too greedy or stupid to cut the Hutts in on their action. When that happened there were consequences. Things got messy.

  Is that what this is about? Theron wondered. Is Morbo on to me? Did he send someone to take me out?

  He passed by the statue of Karragga the Unyielding that dominated the Promenade. Though he’d been to Nar Shaddaa many times, he couldn’t help but pause for a second and shake his head in disbelief: a thirty-meter-tall Hutt made of solid gold was too ostentatious to ignore. Shaking his head also gave him a chance to quickly glance from side to side to catch a glimpse of someone darting into a doorway off to his left. He didn’t get a good look at whoever it was, but the sudden movement was unnatural enough to stand out.

  Someone working alone. Could be a mugger. Or a trained assassin.

  Theron was on a tight schedule; it was time to force the action. He turned down a narrow side street, leaving the worst of the crowds—and the relative safety they provided—behind. Off the main thoroughfare there were fewer neon lights and more shadowy corners. If his tail was going to try something, this was the perfect place to make a move.

  A slight buzzing of the cybernetic implant in his right ear alerted him to an incoming transmission. There was only one person who knew his private frequency. Theron had to take the call.

  “Accept incoming,” he whispered. Louder, he said, “Director.”

  “Theron.” The head of Strategic Information Service, as he so often did, sounded annoyed. “Where are you?”

  “I’m on vacation,” Theron replied. “I put in for some R and R. Remember?”

  Theron realized the Director’s call could work to his advantage. Whoever was following him would think he was distracted, vulnerable. All he had to do was pretend to be oblivious while listening for his stalker to creep up close, then suddenly turn the tables.