by James Luceno
“Wookiee ships,” Jambe said. “They’re probably cannibalizing whatever’s useful.”
Filli leaned toward the viewports for a better look. “They take immigrant technology and make it all their own. For enough credits, they could probably build us a wooden starship.”
Starstone had heard as much. Inventive handiwork was the primary reason Wookiees frequently fell prey to slave traders, especially Trandoshans, their reptilian planetary neighbors. Skill, however, hadn’t brought the Separatists to Kashyyyk, or the Trade Federation before them. The system was not only close to several major hyperlanes, but also an entry point for an entire quadrant of space. A Wookiee guild of cartographers known as the Claatuvac were said to have mapped star routes that didn’t even appear on Republic or Separatist charts.
The communications console chimed a repeating series of tones.
“Vector routing from Commerce Control,” Deran said.
“Make sure they understand we want to set down near Kachirho,” Starstone said.
Deran nodded. “Transmitting our request. Relaying course coordinates to navigation.”
Nam threw an excited look over his shoulder. “I’ve wanted to visit Kashyyyk for ten years.”
“Half the Core would like to visit Kashyyyk,” Filli said. “But the Wookiees don’t cater to tourists.”
“What, no luxury accommodations?” Jambe said.
Filli shook his head. “They might be willing to provide a tent.”
“How many times have you been here?” Starstone asked him.
He thought about it, then shrugged. “Ten, twelve. In between regular jobs, we’d sometimes run scrap technology here.”
“Can you speak the language?” Nam asked.
Filli laughed. “I once met a human who could bark a couple of useful phrases, but the best I could ever manage was a ‘thank you,’ and that worked only one out of ten times.”
Starstone frowned. “Do we have a translator droid or some sort of emulator?”
“We won’t need one,” Filli said. “The Wookiees employ a mixed-species staff of go-betweens to help out with sales and trades.”
“Who do we ask for?” Starstone said.
Filli took a moment. “Last time I was here, there was a guy named Cudgel …”
The Vagabond Trader began its descent into Kashyyyk’s aromatic atmosphere, light fading as the ship dropped below the canopy of the planet’s three-hundred-meter-tall wroshyr trees into an area of majestic cliffs crowned with vegetation. Adjusting course, Jambe and Nam guided the transport to a lakeshore landing platform made of wood. Towering majestically over the platform and the aquamarine lake rose the city of Kachirho, which consisted of a cluster of giant, tiered wroshyrs.
In his eagerness to fulfill a ten-year dream, Nam nearly botched the landing, but no one was hurt, despite being tossed about. As soon as everyone had exited the ship, Filli disappeared to find Cudgel.
Starstone gazed at the trees and sheer cliffs in wonderment. Her hopes for finding Yoda notwithstanding, the Wookiee world rendered other planets she had visited prosaic by comparison.
The scene at the exotic landing platform alone was impressive, with ships coming and going, and groups of Wookiees and their liaison crews haggling with beings representing dozens of different species. Outsize logs and slabs of fine-grained hardwoods were heaped about, and the air was rich with the heady smell of tree sap, and loud with the drone of nearby lumber mills. Protocol and labor droids supervised the loading and off-loading of cargo, which was moved by teams of hornless banthas or exquisitely crafted hoversleds. All of the activity shaded and dwarfed by trees that seemed to reach to the very edge of space …
Starstone had to catch her breath. The gargantuan size of everything made her feel like an insect. She was still gaping like a tourist when Filli returned, accompanied by a thickset male human dressed in short trousers and a sleeveless shirt. If he wasn’t quite as hairy as a Wookiee, it was not for want of trying.
“Cudgel,” Filli said, by way of introduction.
Cudgel smiled at everyone in turn, jocular but clearly dubious, and Starstone immediately saw why. While she and her band of fugitive Jedi could dress the part of merchants, even talk the part, they couldn’t stand the part.
Literally.
Straight-backed, silent, hands clasped in front of them, they looked more like a group of vacationing meditators, which was not far from the truth.
“First time to Kashyyyk?” Cudgel said.
“Yes,” Starstone answered for everyone. “Hopefully not our last.”
“Welcome, then.” Forcing a smile, he eyed the transport. “This is an L two hundred, isn’t it?”
“Military surplus,” Filli said quickly.
Cudgel cocked a flaring eyebrow. “Already? I was under the impression there wasn’t any surplus.” Before Filli could respond, he continued: “Can’t be carrying much in the way of trade goods. Are you off a freighter up top?”
“We’re not here to trade, exactly,” Filli said. “More in the way of a fact-finding mission.”
“We’re in the market for an Oevvaor catamaran,” Starstone explained.
Cudgel blinked in surprise. “Then your ship had better be filled with aurodium credits.”
“Our client is prepared to pay a fair price,” Starstone said.
Cudgel stroked his chest-length beard. “Not a question of price. More of availability.”
“How bad were things here?” Forte asked abruptly. “The battle, I mean?”
Cudgel followed the Jedi’s gaze to the tree-city. “Bad enough. The Wookiees are still cleaning up.”
“Many killed?” Nam asked.
“Even one’s too many.”
“Were any Jedi involved?”
Jambe’s question seemed to stop Cudgel cold. “Why do you ask?”
“We just came from Saleucami,” Starstone said, hoping to put Cudgel at ease. “We heard that several Jedi were killed by clone troopers during the battle.”
Cudgel appraised her. “I wouldn’t know about that. I was in Rwookrrorro during most of it.” He pointed. “Other side of the escarpment.”
A short silence fell over everyone.
“Well, let’s see if I can’t find someone who knows catamarans,” Cudgel said at last.
Starstone kept quiet until the hirsute middleman had moved off. “I don’t think that went so well,” she said to Forte and the others.
“Shouldn’t matter,” Iwo Kulka said. “Kashyyyk isn’t Saleucami or Felucia. We’re in Jedi-friendly territory.”
“That’s what you said on Boz Pity—” Starstone started to say when Filli cut her off.
“Cudgel’s back.”
With four rangy Wookiees in tow, Starstone saw.
“These are the folk I told you about,” Cudgel was telling the Wookiees, in Basic.
Before Starstone could open her mouth to speak, the Wookiees bared their fangs and brandished the most bizarre-looking hand blasters she had ever seen.
The Star Destroyer Exactor and its older sibling, Executrix, drifted side by side, bow-to-stern, forming a parallelogram of armor and armament.
Vader’s black shuttle navigated the short distance between them.
He sat in the passenger hold’s forward row of seats, his cadre of stormtroopers behind him, and his thoughts focused on what awaited him on Kashyyyk, rather than on the imminent meeting, which he suspected was little more than a formality.
His last conversation with Sidious, weeks earlier but as if only yesterday, had made it clear that his Master was manipulating him now as much as he had before he had turned. Before and during the war Sidious’s intention had been to entice him into joining the Sith; since, the goal was to transform him into a Sith. That was, to impress upon Vader that the power of the dark side did not flow from understanding but from appetite, rivalry, avarice, and malice. The very qualities the Jedi considered base and corrupt.
As a means of keeping their plucked pupils from explor
ing the deeper sides of their nature; as a means of reining them, lest they discovered for themselves the real power of the Force.
Anger leads to fear; fear to hatred; hatred to the dark side …
Precisely, Vader thought.
At Sidious’s insistence, he had spent the recent weeks sharpening his ability to summon and make use of his rage, and felt poised at the edge of a significant increase in his abilities.
Deep space was appropriate to such feelings, he told himself as he gazed out the cabin’s viewport. Space was more appropriate for the Sith than for the Jedi. The invisible enslavement to gravity, the contained power of the stars, the utter insignificance of life … Hyperspace, by contrast, was more suitable to the Jedi: nebulous, neither here nor there, incoherent.
When the shuttle had docked in the Executor’s hold, Vader led his contingent of stormtroopers out of the vessel, only to find that his host hadn’t shown him the courtesy of being on hand to greet him. Waiting, instead, was his host’s contingent of gray-uniformed crew members, commanded by a human officer named Darcc.
The games begin, Vader thought, as he allowed Captain Darcc to escort him deeper into the ship.
The cabin to which he was ultimately led was in the uppermost reaches of the Star Destroyer’s conning tower. On entering, Vader found his host sitting behind a gleaming slab of desk, plainly debating whether to remain seated or to stand; whether to place himself on equal footing with Vader, or, by appearance, to continue to suggest superiority. Knowing, in any case, that Vader preferred to remain on his feet, his host was not likely to gesture him to a chair. Knowing, too, that Vader was capable of strangling him from clear across the cabin might also figure into his decision.
What to do? his host must have been thinking.
And then he stood, a slender, sharp-featured man, coming around from behind the desk with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Thank you for detouring from your course,” Wilhuff Tarkin said.
The expression of gratitude was unexpected. But if Tarkin was intent on prolonging the game, then Vader would humor him, since in the end it amounted to nothing more than establishing status.
This was what the Empire would be, he thought. A contest among men intent on clawing their way to the top, to sit at Sidious’s feet.
“The Emperor requested it,” Vader said finally.
Tarkin pursed his thin lips. “I suppose we can attribute that to the Emperor’s astute ability to bring like-minded beings together.”
“Or pit them against one another.”
Tarkin adopted a more sober look. “That, too, Lord Vader.”
With a mind as sharp as his cheekbones, Tarkin had risen quickly through the ranks of Palpatine’s newly formed staff of political and military elite, among whom naked ambition was highly prized. So much so that a new honorific had been created for Tarkin and ambitious men like him: Moff.
Vader had met him once before, aboard a Venator-class Star Destroyer, at the remote location where the Emperor’s secret weapon was under construction. Vader, still new to his suit then; awkward, uncertain, between worlds.
Tarkin perched himself on the edge of his desk and smiled thinly. “Perhaps between the two of us, we can determine the reason the Emperor arranged this rendezvous.”
Vader crossed his gloved hands in front of him. “I suspect that you know more about the purpose of this meeting than I do, Moff Tarkin.”
Tarkin’s smile disappeared, and in its place came a look of sharp attentiveness. “Surely you can guess, my friend.”
“Kashyyyk.”
“Bravo.”
Tarkin activated a holoplate that sat atop his desk. In the cone of blue light that rose from it, a bruised transport of military design could be seen moving through a cordon of Imperial corvettes.
“This was recorded approximately ten hours ago, local, at the Kashyyyk system checkpoint. As you may have already guessed, the transport belongs to the Jedi. It appears to be a civilian model, but it isn’t. It was hijacked on Dellalt some weeks ago, and was the object of a pursuit that ended in the destruction of several Imperial starfighters. We have, however, been successful at tracking its movements ever since.”
“You’ve been tracking them,” Vader said in genuine surprise. “Was the Emperor apprised of this?”
Tarkin smiled again. “Lord Vader, the Emperor is apprised of everything.”
But his apprentice isn’t, Vader thought.
“I ordered our checkpoint personnel to ignore the obvious fact that the transport’s signature has been altered,” Tarkin continued, “and to ignore, as well, the fact that whatever codes the transport furnished were likely to be counterfeit.”
“Why weren’t the Jedi simply taken into custody at the checkpoint?”
“We had our reasons, Lord Vader. Or perhaps I should say that the Emperor had his.”
“They are on Kashyyyk now?”
Tarkin stopped the holoimage and nodded. “We thought they might be refused entry. Apparently, however, someone aboard the ship is familiar with Kashyyyk’s trading protocols.”
Vader considered it for a moment. “You said that you had your reasons for clearing the transport through the checkpoint.”
“Yes, I’m coming to that,” Tarkin said, standing to his full height and beginning to pace in front of the desk. “I realize that you of all people require no assistance in … bringing the fugitive Jedi to justice. But I want to lay out a somewhat broader plan for your consideration. Should you accept the proposition, I’m in a position to provide you with whatever ships, personnel, and matériel you think necessary.”
“What is the proposition, Moff Tarkin?”
Tarkin came to a stop and turned fully to Vader. “Simply this. The Jedi are your priority, as they should be. Certainly the Empire can’t permit potential insurgents to run around loose. But—” He raised a bony forefinger. “—my plan allows for the Empire to profit even more substantially from your undertaking.”
Reactivating the holoprojector, Tarkin turned his attention to an image of the Emperor’s moonlet-size secret project, orbitally anchored at its deep-space retreat. Vader had learned that the Emperor had placed Tarkin in charge of supervising certain aspects of construction.
Clearly, though, Tarkin was angling for more.
“How does my hunt for a few rogue Jedi figure into your scheme regarding the Emperor’s weapon?” Vader asked.
“My ‘scheme,’ ” Tarkin said, with a short laugh. “All right, then. Here’s the truth of it. The project is already far behind schedule. It has been beset with engineering problems, delays in shipments, the unreliability of contractors, and, most important, a shortage of skilled laborers.” He stared at Vader. “You must understand, Lord Vader, I wish nothing more than to please the Emperor.”
This is Sidious’s real power, Vader thought. The ability to make others wish nothing more than to please him.
“I accept that at face value,” he said at last.
Tarkin studied him. “You would be willing to help me achieve this goal?”
“I see a possibility.”
Narrowing his eyes, Tarkin nodded in a way that came close to being a bow of respect. “Then, my friend, our real partnership is just beginning.”
They’re interested in knowing why you’re so interested in knowing whether any Jedi were here during the battle,” Cudgel explained to Starstone and the others while the quartet of armed Wookiees glared down at them.
“Idle curiosity,” Filli said, which only succeeded in eliciting rumbling growls from the four.
“They’re not buying it,” Cudgel said needlessly.
Starstone gazed up into the wide bronzium muzzles of weapons she suspected she would need the Force to heft, let alone fire. Peripherally she was aware that the confrontation had begun to draw the attention of other landing parties. Humans and aliens alike were suddenly interrupting their transactions with liaison staffers and Wookiees, and turning toward the transport.
/> Quickly she made up her mind to risk everything by simply telling the truth.
“We’re Jedi,” she said just loud enough to be heard.
From the way the Wookiees tilted their enormous shaggy heads, she grasped instantly that they had understood her. They kept their exotic weapons enabled and raised, but at the same time their expressions of wariness softened somewhat.
One of them brayed a remark to Cudgel.
Cudgel stroked his long beard. “Now, that’s even harder to swallow than the idle-curiosity explanation, don’t you think? I mean, considering the fact that the Jedi were wiped out.”
The same Wookiee lowed and gobbled, and, again, Cudgel nodded, then centered his gaze on Starstone.
“Maybe if you’d said that you were a Jedi, then all of us on the happy side of these blasters would be convinced. But—” He counted heads. “—you can’t be telling me all eight of you are Jedi. Seven anyway, ’cause I know Filli’s almost as far from being a Jedi as it gets.”
“I meant me,” Starstone said. “I’m a Jedi.”
“So it’s just you, then?”
“She’s lying,” Siadem Forte said before she could respond.
Two of the Wookiees snarled in plain displeasure.
Cudgel looked from Forte to Starstone. “Lying? See, now you have everyone really confused, ’cause we always thought of the Jedi as truth tellers.”
The Wookiees spoke among themselves, then one of them barked an outpouring at Cudgel.
“Guania, here, points out that you arrive in a military transport. You look as though you can handle yourselves. You start asking questions about Jedi … He’s thinking that you might be bounty hunters.”
Starstone shook her head back and forth. “Check the transport. Under the navicomputer console, you’ll find six lightsabers—”
“Means nothing,” Cudgel cut in. “You could have taken them off your quarries, just the way General Grievous did.”
“Then how do we prove it?” Starstone said. “What do you want us to do, perform Force tricks?”
The Wookiees issued a yodeling warning.
Cudgel lowered his voice to say: “In the unlikely event that you are Jedi, that might not be such a good idea out here in the open.”
