The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  Vader hurled his ignited lightsaber through the air.

  For a split second Shryne thought that he had done so in anger. Then, in awe, he grasped that Vader had aimed.

  Spinning out from under the lowering security grate, the crimson blade sailed high over the crowd, following a trajectory that took it north of the landing platform; then, on reaching the distal end of its arc, it began to boomerang back.

  Shryne flew for the top of the stairway, his gaze fully engaged on the twirling blade, his heart hammering in his chest. Calling on the Force, he tried to influence the course of the lightsaber, but either the Force wasn’t with him or Vader’s Force abilities were overpowering his.

  The blade was whipping toward the landing platform now, close enough for Shryne to hear it whine through the air, and spinning so swiftly it might have been a blood-red disk.

  Passing within a meter of Shryne’s outstretched hands, the lightsaber struck Fang Zar first, ripping a deep gouge across his upper chest and nearly decapitating him; then, continuing on, it struck an unsuspecting Jula across the back before completing its swift and lethal circle and slamming into the upper reaches of the fully lowered rampart gate, where it switched off and plummeted to the paving stones with a metallic clangor.

  On the landing platform, Skeck was bent low over Fang Zar; Archyr, over Jula.

  Rooted in place, Shryne could sense Vader on the far side of the gate, a black hole of rage.

  Shryne commenced a stiff-legged descent of the stairway, deaf to all sound, blind to color, scarcely in possession of his self.

  He didn’t come to his senses until he reached the foot of the stairs, where he turned and ran to help get his mother and Zar aboard the drop ship.

  One by one Palpatine’s military advisers appeared before him, standing in postures of obeisance below the throne room’s dais, their eyes narrowed against the orange blaze of Coruscant’s setting sun, delivering their reports and appraisals, their expert assessments of the state of his Empire.

  Royal Guards stood to both sides of the high-backed chair; behind them sat Mas Amedda, Sly Moore, and other members of Palpatine’s inner circle.

  He listened to everyone without comment.

  In some outlying systems, arsenals of Separatist weapons, in some cases entire flotillas of droid-piloted warships, had been commandeered by rogue paramilitary groups before Imperial forces could reach them.

  In Hutt space, smugglers, pirates, and other scoundrels were taking advantage of the Emperor’s need to consolidate power by blazing new routes for the movement of spice and other proscribed goods.

  On many former CIS worlds, bounty hunters were tracking down former Separatist colluders.

  In the Mid Rim, Imperial academies were filling with recruits obtained from flight schools throughout the galaxy.

  In the Outer Rim, three new batches of stormtroopers were being grown.

  Closer to the Core, capital ships were being turned out by Sienar, Kuat Drive, and other yards.

  And yet at present there were simply too few battle groups or stormtroopers to deploy at every potential trouble spot.

  Massive protests had been held on Alderaan, Corellia, and Commenor.

  Progress was lagging on several of the Emperor’s most cherished projects, owing to a lack of construction workers …

  When the last of his advisers had come and gone, Palpatine dismissed everyone, including the members of his inner circle, and sat gazing over the western cityscape as it came to brilliant light in the deepening dusk.

  Under the rule of the ancient Sith, the future of the galaxy had been in the able hands of many dark sovereigns. Now responsibility for maintaining order rested only with Darth Sidious.

  For the moment it was enough that his advisers and minions respected him—for reestablishing peace, for eliminating the group that had posed the greatest threat to continued stability—but eventually those same advisers would need to fear him. To understand the great power he wielded, as both Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith. And to that end, Sidious needed Vader.

  For if someone as potent as Vader answered to the Emperor, then how powerful must the Emperor be!

  After he had spent several hours drifting on the currents of possible futures, Palpatine summoned Sate Pestage. Swiveling his chair from the view of Coruscant when the most trusted of his advisers entered the throne room, Palpatine ordered Pestage to take a seat and appraised him.

  “Events unfolded as you assured they would,” Pestage said when Palpatine nodded for him to speak. “Organa was very predictable. My intervention was minimal.”

  “Senator Organa was willing to allow Fang Zar to escape, you mean.”

  “It certainly seemed that way.”

  Palpatine considered it. “He may bear watching in the future. But at present we won’t make an issue of it. And Senator Zar?”

  Pestage sighed with meaning. “Gravely wounded. Perhaps dead.”

  “Pity. Does Organa know?”

  “Yes. He was very troubled by the outcome.”

  “And Lord Vader?”

  “Even more troubled by the outcome.”

  Palpatine allowed a grin of satisfaction. “Even better.”

  Returned to its astral sanctuary, the Drunk Dancer drifted in space.

  From the hatch to medbay, a 2-1B droid hovered out to report that it had been able to save Jula, but that Fang Zar had died on the operating table.

  “Damage sustained by major vessels that supply the heart was too extensive to repair, sir,” the droid told Shryne. “Everything that could be done, was done.”

  Shryne looked in on Jula, who was heavily sedated.

  “I dragged you right back into it,” she said weakly.

  He pushed her hair off her forehead. “There might have been other forces at work.”

  “Don’t say that, Roan. We just need to get farther away.”

  He smiled with effort. “I’ll ask Archyr about outfitting the ship with an intergalactic drive.”

  He let her drift into sleep and went to his bunk. Whenever he shut his eyes, he would see the trajectory of Vader’s blade; would see it slicing through Zar, through Jula … He didn’t need to shut his eyes to recall how it had felt to be overwhelmed by Vader’s ability to use the Force.

  To use the power of the dark side.

  A Sith.

  Shryne was certain now.

  A Sith in service to Emperor Palpatine.

  That was the revelation he couldn’t banish.

  Count Dooku might as well have won the war, save for the fact that in place of independent systems, free trade, and the rest, the galaxy answered to the exclusive rule of Palpatine.

  But how? Shryne asked himself. How had it happened?

  Had Palpatine’s alliance with Vader been brought about by the death of the Chosen One? Had Vader—Darth Vader—killed Anakin Skywalker? Had he struck a deal with Palpatine beforehand, promising Palpatine unlimited power in exchange for sanctioning Vader’s murder of the Chosen One and the elimination of the Jedi, thus tipping the galaxy fully to the dark side?

  Was it any wonder, then, that beings were fleeing for the far-flung reaches of known space?

  And was it any wonder that Shryne had lacked the strength to alter the course of Vader’s lightsaber? He had thought of his diminished abilities as a personal failure—owing to the fact that he had lost his faith in the Jedi order, allowed his two Padawans to die, grown thought-bound—when, in fact, it was the Force as the Jedi had known it that had been defeated.

  The flame extinguished.

  On the one hand, it meant that Shryne’s transition into regular life could probably proceed more smoothly than he had thought; by contrast, that regular life meant existing in a world where evil had triumphed and ruled.

  In the antechamber of his private retreat, Sidious, dressed in a dark blue cowled robe, paced in front of the curved window wall. Vader stood rigidly at the center of the room, his gloved hands crossed in front of him.

&n
bsp; “It appears you attended to our little problem on Alderaan, Lord Vader,” Sidious said.

  “Yes, Master. Fang Zar need no longer concern you.”

  “I know I should feel some sense of relief. But in fact, I’m not entirely pleased with the outcome. Zar’s death could arouse sympathy in the Senate.”

  Vader stirred. “He left me no recourse.”

  Sidious came to a halt and turned toward Vader. “No recourse? Why didn’t you simply apprehend him, as I asked?”

  “He made the mistake of attempting to flee.”

  “But you against someone like Fang Zar? It hardly seems an equitable match, Lord Vader.”

  “Zar was not alone,” Vader said with venom. “What’s more, if you don’t like the way …”

  Suddenly intrigued, Sidious moved closer. “Ah, what’s this? Allowing your words to trail off—as if I can’t see their destination.” Anger showed in his yellow eyes. “As if I can’t see the thought behind them!”

  Vader said nothing.

  “Perhaps you’re not enjoying your new station in life, is that it? Perhaps you tire already of executing my commands.” Sidious stared at him. “Perhaps you think you’re better suited to occupy the throne than I am. Is that it, Lord Vader? If so, then admit as much!”

  Breathing deeply, Vader remained silent for a moment more. “I am but an apprentice. You are the Master.”

  “Interesting that you refrain from calling me your Master.”

  Vader inclined his head to Sidious. “I meant nothing by it, my Master.”

  Sidious sneered. “Perhaps you wish you could strike me down, is that it?”

  “No, Master.”

  “What stops you from doing so? Obi-Wan was once your Master, and you were certainly prepared to kill him. Even if you failed.”

  Vader clenched his right hand. “Obi-Wan did not understand the power of the dark side.”

  “And you do?”

  “No, Master. Not yet. Not fully.”

  “And that’s why you don’t try to strike me down? Because I possess powers you lack?” Sidious lifted his arms, hands deployed like claws, as if to summon and hurl Sith lightning. “Because you know that I could easily overwhelm the delicate electrical systems of your suit.”

  Vader stood his ground. “I don’t fear death, Master.”

  Sidious grinned maliciously. “Then why go on living, my young apprentice?”

  Vader looked down at him. “To learn to become more powerful.”

  Sidious lowered his hands. “Then I ask you one final time, Lord Vader. Why not strike me down?”

  “Because you are my path to power, Master,” Vader said. “Because I need you.”

  Sidious narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Just like I needed my Master—for a time.”

  “Yes, Master,” Vader said finally. “For a time.”

  “Good. Very good.” Sidious smiled in satisfaction. “And now you are ready to release your anger.”

  Vader evinced confusion.

  “Your fugitive Jedi, my apprentice,” Sidious said. “They are traveling to Kashyyyk.” He tipped his head to one side. “Perhaps, Lord Vader, they hope to lay a trap for you.”

  Vader clenched his hands. “That would be my most fervent wish, my Master.”

  Sidious clamped his hands on Vader’s upper arms. “Then go to them, Lord Vader. Make them sorry they didn’t hide while they had the chance!”

  PART IV

  KASHYYYK

  Inside the battered transport that had once belonged to an Imperial garrison on Dellalt, Olee Starstone and the six Jedi who had joined her crusade waited to be granted clearance to continue on to Kashyyyk space. The commanders of the half dozen Imperial corvettes that made up the inspection-point picket answered not to distant Coruscant but to the regional governor, headquartered on Bimmisaari.

  The Jedi had done all they could to make the ship look the part of a military-surplus transport. Thanks mostly to Jula’s crew, the drives had been tweaked to produce a new signature, the ship’s profile had been altered, the defensive shields and countermeasures suite repaired. To ensure that what remained conformed to Imperial standards, many of the advanced sensors and scanners had been eliminated, along with most of the laser cannons. The Drunk Dancer’s maintenance droids had given the ship a quick paint job and had helped remove some of the seats amidships, to create a common cabin space.

  To Starstone, the vessel’s fresh look matched the false identities the Jedi had adopted, as well as the clothes that made them look like a motley crew of struggling space merchants.

  The transport’s cockpit was spacious enough to accommodate Starstone and Filli Bitters, in addition to Jambe Lu and Nam Poorf, late of the Temple’s Agricultural Corps, who were doing the piloting, and still-sightless Deran Nalual, who was tucked into the cramped communications duty station.

  No one had said a word since Nalual had transmitted the ship’s authorization key to the picket array’s cardinal corvette. Filli was confident that the transport’s altered drive signature would pass muster, but—new to forging Imperial code—he was less certain about the authorization key.

  Starstone placed her hand on Jambe’s shoulder, as a way of saying: Be ready to make a run for it.

  Jambe was centering himself behind the steering yoke when an officious voice issued from the cockpit speakers.

  “Vagabond Trader, you are cleared for approach to Kashyyyk. Commerce Control will provide you with vector coordinates for atmospheric entry and landing.”

  “Understood,” Deran said into the mouthpiece of her headset.

  Engaging the transport’s sublight drive, Jambe and Nam began to edge the transport through the cordon.

  Starstone heard Filli’s eased exhalation and turned to him.

  “You all right?”

  “I am now,” he said. “I was flying blind with that code.”

  “I guess we’re both that good,” Deran said from behind him.

  Starstone touched Deran on the arm and smiled at Filli.

  He smiled back. “Glad to help.”

  Starstone was still getting used to Filli’s frequently awkward attempts at flirtation. But then, she wasn’t even ranked a beginner. The idea that the towheaded slicer was on temporary loan from the Drunk Dancer was absurd. Shryne was merely using Filli as a means of keeping tabs on the Jedi, but she refused to let that bother her. If Filli’s slicing skills could help locate fugitive Jedi, so much the better, even if she did have to pretend to be flattered by his attention, as opposed to being embarrassed by it. She liked him more and more, but she had her priorities straight, and involvement wasn’t among them.

  She wasn’t Shryne.

  Initially she had been angry at him and at his ever-persuasive mother, but in the end she had realized that her anger was rooted more in attachment than anything else. Shryne had his own path to follow in the Force, despite his beliefs to the contrary, and despite the fact that she missed him.

  The worst part about it was that she had somehow assumed the mantle of leader. Notwithstanding that both Siadem Forte and the Ho’Din, Iwo Kulka, were Jedi Knights, they had relinquished their due as higher-ranking Jedi without the issue ever being raised. For that matter, even Jambe and Nam outranked her. But because the search had been her idea, everyone had essentially granted her tacit approval to do most of the thinking.

  Clear evidence of everyone’s sense of dispossession, she thought.

  On a mission that wasn’t a Jedi mission, but was all about being a Jedi.

  And thus far the crusade had come to nothing.

  On every world they had visited between Felucia and Saleucami it had been the same: the Jedi had been revealed as traitors to the Republic and had been killed by the clone troopers they had commanded. None had survived, Starstone and the others had been told. And pity any who had survived, for anti-Jedi sentiment was widespread, especially in the Outer Rim, among populations that had been drawn into the war and now saw themselves as having been mere performers
in a game the Jedi had been playing to assume control of the Republic.

  Justification for Shryne to say I told you so when they next met.

  Even in the few standard weeks since the war’s end, a dramatic change had taken place. With the rapid diffusion of the symbols of the Empire, fear was radiating from the Core. On worlds where peace should have brought relief, distrust and suspicion prevailed. The war was over, and yet brigades of stormtroopers remained garrisoned on hundreds of worlds, formerly Separatist and Republic alike. The war was over, and yet Imperial inspection points dotted the major hyperlanes and sector jump points. The war was over, and yet the call was out for recruits to serve in the Imperial armed forces.

  The war was over, and yet the HoloNet addressed little else.

  Starstone believed she understood why: because in the depths of his black heart, the Emperor knew that the next war wouldn’t be fought from the outside in, but rather from the inside out. That not a generation would pass, much less the ten thousand years Palpatine had predicted the Empire to endure, before the disease that had now taken root on Coruscant would infect every system in the galaxy.

  Even so, as desperate as the quest seemed, she was still counting on the Wookiees to provide the Jedi with the hope they needed to carry on. From information gleaned from the Temple beacon database, they knew that three Jedi had been dispatched to Kashyyyk: Quinlan Vos, Luminara Unduli, and Master Yoda himself, who, according to Forte and Kulka, had enjoyed a long-standing relationship with the Wookiees.

  If there was a planet where Jedi could have survived Palpatine’s execution order, Kashyyyk would be it.

  “Wookiee World,” Nam said as he dropped the bow of the transport.

  The planet rose into view, whitecapped, otherwise green and blue. Dozens of huge vessels hung in orbit, including the perforated hulks of several Separatist warships. Ferries and drop ships could be seen emerging from and disappearing into Kashyyyk’s high-stacked clouds.

  Jambe indicated a Separatist ship, tipped over on its starboard side, its underbelly heavily punctured by turbolaser bolts. Umbilicaled to it were a pair of craft that looked more like musical horns than space vessels.