The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  “Suits me just fine,” Hobbie said, closing his eyes again. “I have this dream I really want to get back to …”

  “Good job, Wedge.” General Lando Calrissian, commander of Special Operations for the New Republic, nodded grave approval toward the flickering bluish holoform of Wedge Antilles that hovered a centimeter above his console. “No casualties?”

  “Nothing serious, General. Hobbie—Lieutenant Klivian—needs another left hand …”

  Lando smiled. “How many does that make, all told?”

  “I’ve lost count. How’s it going on your end?”

  “Good and less than good.” Lando punched up his readout of the tracking report. “Looks like our marauders are based in the Taspan system.”

  Wedge’s brilliant plan had become brilliant entirely by necessity; the usual method of locating a hidden marauder base—subjecting a captured pilot or two to a neural probe—had turned out to be much more difficult than anyone could have anticipated. Shadowspawn seemed very determined to maintain his privacy; through dozens of raids over nearly two months, many deep inside Republic territory and costing thousands of civilian lives, not one of Shadowspawn’s marauders had ever been taken alive.

  This was more than a simple refusal to surrender, though the marauders had shown a distressing tendency, when they found themselves in imminent danger, to shout out words to the effect of For Shadowspawn and the Empire! Forward the Restoration! and blow themselves up. Forensic engineers examining wreckage of destroyed TIE defenders hypothesized that the starfighters were equipped with some unexplained type of deadman interlock, which would destroy the ship—and obliterate the pilot—even if the pilot merely lost consciousness.

  The brilliant part of Wedge’s brilliant plan had been to conceal hundreds of thousands of miniature solid-state transponders among the flechettes inside Rogue Squadron’s custom-made torpedoes, before giving the marauders a fairly decent pasting and letting the rest escape. Unlike ordinary tracking devices, these transponders gave off no signal of their own—thus requiring no power supply, and rendering them effectively undetectable. These transponders were entirely inert until triggered by a very specific subspace signal, which they then echoed in a very specific way. And since the only transponders of this very specific type in the entire galaxy were loaded in Rogue Squadron’s torpedo tubes, drifting at the ambush point in deep space along the Corellian Run, and lodged in various parts of the armored hulls of a certain group of TIE defenders, locating the system to which said defenders had fled was actually not complicated at all.

  Wedge’s holoform took on a vaguely puzzled look. “Taspan. Sounds familiar, but I can’t place it …”

  “The Inner Rim, off the Hydian Way.”

  “That would be the less-than-good part.”

  “Yeah. No straight lanes in or out—and most of the legs run through systems still held by Imperials.”

  “Almost makes you wish for one of Palpatine’s old planet-killers.”

  “Almost.” Lando’s smile had faded, and he didn’t sound like he was joking. “The Empire had a weapons facility on Taspan II—it’s where they tested their various designs of gravity-well projectors—”

  “That’s it!” The image snapped its fingers silently, the sound eliminated by the holoprojector’s noise filter. “The Big Crush!”

  Lando nodded. “The Big Crush.”

  “I heard there was nothing left at Taspan but an asteroid field, like the Graveyard of Alderaan.”

  “There’s an inner planet—Taspan I is a minor resort world called Mindor. Not well known, but really beautiful; my parents had a summer house there when I was a kid.”

  “Any progress on this Shadowspawn character himself?”

  “We’ve only managed to determine that no one by that name was ever registered as an Imperial official. Clearly an assumed identity.”

  “The guy’s got to be some kind of nutjob.”

  “I doubt it. His choice of base is positively inspired; the debris from the Big Crush hasn’t had time to settle into stable orbits.”

  “So it is like the Graveyard of Alderaan.”

  “It’s worse, Wedge. A lot worse.”

  Wedge’s image appeared to be giving a low whistle; the holoprojector’s noise filter screened it out. “Sounds ugly. How are we supposed to get at them?”

  “You’re not.” Lando took a deep breath before continuing. “This is exactly the type of situation for which we developed the Rapid Response Task Force.”

  Wedge’s image gave a slow, understanding nod. “Hit ’em with our Big Stick, then. Slap ’em good and run like hell.”

  “It’s the best shot we’ve got.”

  “You’re probably right; you usually are. But it’ll sting, to not be there.”

  “Right enough. But we have other problems—and the RRTF is in very capable hands.”

  “Got that right.” Wedge suddenly grinned. “Speaking of those capable hands, pass along my regards to General Skywalker, will you?”

  “I will do that, Wedge. I will indeed.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The schematized holorepresentation of the Taspan system filled the entire command suite of the Justice with ghostly, translucent clouds of blue that ever so slowly twisted and spun, merged and parted, moving into and through each other. High in the center of the room hung a dark disk, about the size of the last joint of a human man’s thumb: this represented Taspan itself. The planet Mindor was a brilliant pinpoint that hung, at this point in the simulation, about a meter in front of the commanding general’s nose. He barely saw it. Most of his attention was consumed by glum contemplation of the fact that he was the youngest in the room by at least a decade.

  The general in question was the newest, as well as the youngest, general in the Combined Defense Forces of the New Republic, popularly known as the NRDF. He didn’t look much like a general, or even a soldier. The smooth curves of his face made him look even younger than his twenty-four Standard years; his sandy hair, streaked blond by radiation from dozens of different stars, was still shaggier than military-strict, and instead of a general’s battle dress he wore a simple, close-fitting flight suit, like the starfighter pilot he had recently been. Only the rank plaque on his chest marked him as a general, and only the remote, shuttered reserve behind his clear blue eyes showed the price he had paid to earn his rank.

  His unconventional appearance extended even to his sidearm, which was as far from an officer’s blaster pistol as one could possibly imagine; no general had gone armed thus since the end of the Clone Wars.

  He carried a lightsaber.

  Seven of his twelve captains had had their own commands before the Battle of Yavin—three of them had been commanding ships all the way back in the Clone Wars, before he was even born—and Admiral Kalback, the fleet commander, was a distal pod-cousin of Ackbar or somesuch, and was at least sixty-something, not to mention T’Chttrk, who didn’t even know how old she was, because her people, the insectoid T’kkrpks, hadn’t started calculating time in Standard until their Great Reconciliation about a hundred years ago, at which time T’Chttrk had long been an adult, and a hereditary officer in their planet’s defense forces.

  Ordinarily being the youngest around didn’t bother the new general at all. He barely even noticed. What bothered him this time was that all these seasoned veterans, among the best tactical-engagement commanders the New Republic had ever had, were all so deferential to his presumed wisdom that they wouldn’t even argue with him.

  Because he was a Jedi, they all assumed that he actually knew what he was doing.

  If only it were true …

  Right now, all he really knew was that he should never have let Han talk him into this.

  “Luke, Luke,” Han had said, arm draped around Luke’s shoulders, “this general business, there’s nothing to it.” He probably thought Luke couldn’t see that sly half grin of his. “If I could pull it off, you won’t have any problems at all.”

  “If it’s suc
h an easy job, why’d you resign?”

  “Better things to do, buddy.” Han rolled his eyes at Leia. “The Princess’s pretty important, but not so important the New Republic can afford having a full general play chauffeur and bodyguard.”

  “Bodyguard,” Leia sniffed. “If you’re my bodyguard, how come I keep having to rescue you?”

  “It’s how you prove you still love me.” He grinned at her and turned back to Luke. “Seriously, Luke, you can do this. You’re easily … uh, almost as smart as me—and you’re a lot smarter than, say, Lando. All you’ve got to do is keep your mouth shut and listen to your officers. Don’t let them squabble, and always pretend you know what to do next. Simple. Tell him, Chewie.”

  Chewbacca, reclining with hands behind his massive head on the couch by the gaming station, hadn’t even opened his eyes. “Aroowrowr. Regharrr.”

  “Oh, you’re a lot of help. Luke, ignore him anyway—he hates officers.”

  “I’m not exactly sure I like being one myself.”

  The offer of a general’s commission had come as a complete surprise to Luke, and not a very pleasant one. A couple of months after the defeat of the Ssi-ruuk, Luke had gone to Supreme Commander Ackbar and requested to be relieved of his duties as a flight officer. He’d been feeling for some time, he explained, that he might be of greater service to the New Republic as a Jedi than as a wing commander. Ackbar, canny old soldier that he was, had countered with an offer of joint command over the new Rapid Response Task Force that was being formed: a fleet-sized flying squad, able to bring military power against any point in the galaxy within a couple of days. “If you really wish to serve the New Republic, young Skywalker, this is the job for you. I suspect that your Jedi insight will be of more use in directing tactical operations than in meditation on the ways of the Force.”

  Luke had had no answer for this; he could only ask for some time to think it over. Faced with a decision that might very well determine how he would spend the rest of his life, he had retreated to the place that felt the most like home, and talked to the only people in the galaxy in whose company he could still, even now, really just be himself.

  So he was stuck trying to explain how he felt to Leia and Han and Chewbacca as they all sat around the passenger compartment of the Millennium Falcon.

  “It’s not simple,” Luke said. “I’m pretty sure nothing is simple anymore. Do you know they’re producing holothrillers about me? And not, y’know, documentaries about the Death Star assault or anything—they’re just making stuff up!”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen ’em.” Han grinned as he fished a handheld holoplayer out of the dejarik console and tossed it onto the table. “Bought it a couple months ago. Gives me something to do while I’m waiting for Leia to wrap up negotiations somewhere or just, y’know, finish her hair.”

  “No hair jokes, Solo,” Leia said. “I’m not kidding.”

  Luke picked up the player and thumbed the controls over to the title page. Luke Skywalker and the Dragons of Tatooine. “Oh, will you look at this junk?” He shook his head disgustedly and tossed it back to Han, who snagged it neatly from the air. “That’s what I mean. It’s all—just so stupid.”

  “What, there’s no dragons on Tatooine?”

  “Sure,” Luke said. “Krayt dragons. And they’re dangerous enough, especially if they catch you alone—but look at that illustration! Not only have I never fought one with my lightsaber from bantha-back, I can flat-out guarantee that krayt dragons do not breathe fire!”

  “Come on, take it easy, Luke.” Han hefted the reader, smiling fondly. “These’re for kids, y’know? And I gotta tell you, some of ’em are actually pretty good.”

  “Especially the ones about you,” Leia muttered darkly.

  Luke stared. “Are you putting me on?”

  Han shrugged, flushing a little—but just a little; he was constitutionally immune to embarrassment. “You’re not the only hero of the Republic, y’know.”

  “Han—”

  “Ask him how much he gets paid,” Leia said.

  “You get paid?”

  “Hey, I’m not a Jedi.” Han’s hands came up as if he was half expecting Luke to throw something. “I, ah, worked out a licensing deal with a couple holoshow producers. After Yavin. You understand.”

  “I do?”

  “If he does,” Leia said, “maybe he can explain it to me.”

  “It was Lando’s idea.” Han was starting to sound defensive. “All right, look, I got into this deal before I really knew what I was doing. The stuff’s pretty bad, but it’s harmless. Han Solo and the Pirates of Kessel, Han Solo in the Lair of the Space Slugs …”

  “It’s not harmless.” Luke set his jaw. “Have you seen the one they call Luke Skywalker and the Jedi’s Revenge?”

  Han looked dubious. “I thought Jedi don’t get into revenge.”

  “They don’t—I mean, we don’t. I don’t know what I mean. They have me slaughtering my own father—to avenge the death of Palpatine! It’s just—so sick.”

  “Take it easy, Luke. So the writers spice things up a little. What’s the harm? A little wham-bam just makes you look tough, you know?”

  “That’s not how I want to look.”

  “People need heroes—and stories like these are the way heroes become heroes.”

  “I thought heroes became heroes by doing something heroic.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. And that’s part of my whole problem. Everybody’s watching me. It’s like they’re trying to figure out who I’ll turn out to be. And trying to figure out a way to turn a profit on it.”

  Han spread his hands. “That’s what keeps the galaxy spinning, buddy.”

  “Maybe it does,” Luke said. “But I don’t have to be part of it. Maybe that’s what feels so wrong about being a general. It’s like, I don’t know, like I’m pushing myself forward. Like somehow I talked Ackbar into this so I could go on being larger than life.”

  “You are larger than life, Luke. That’s what I keep trying to tell you.”

  “Being a general … sending other people into places where they have to take someone’s life or get killed themselves …” Luke shook his head again. “Playing the hero when you’re in charge just gets a lot of people hurt.”

  “Who’s playing?”

  “Luke, this commission is a wonderful opportunity, and not just for you,” Leia put in. “Force powers aren’t the only kind of power, and there are ways of helping people that are a lot more effective than hitting something with a lightsaber. As a Jedi, you might save the occasional, well, princess in distress or some such, but as a general, you can save thousands of lives. Millions. The Defense Force needs you, Luke.”

  “I can’t beat you in an argument, Leia. I’m no politician, and the ag school in Anchorhead didn’t have a debate team. But—I’m a Jedi. I’m the Jedi. Becoming a general … it just doesn’t feel right.”

  “Well, y’know, I was only a kid at the time,” Han said slowly, “and working for Shrike gave me, y’know, more pressing concerns than following the news, if you get me—but I seem to recall that your friend Kenobi was a general himself, back in the Clone Wars.”

  “I know. But he hardly talked about it.”

  “He was always modest,” Leia said. “Obi-Wan was part of so many of the stories my fath—my, ah, adoptive father used to tell. He was a great hero of the Republic. That’s why I turned to him when my cover was blown.”

  Luke shook his head. “It’s just not the way I’ve always seen myself spending my life.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Han said. “C’mon, Luke—nobody ends up living their lives the way they expect.”

  “No?” Luke said. “I can think of this one guy—got his own ship, resigned his commission, got the military off his back, pretty much does whatever he wants to do, mostly just flying around the galaxy with his copilot rescuing princesses and such, accountable to no one but himself—”

  “Accountable to no one?
Are you kidding me?” Han looked appalled. “Luke, have you ever met your sister? Luke Skywalker of Tatooine, let me introduce Princess Leia Organa of whouf—!”

  “Of the Extremely Sharp Elbow,” Leia finished for him, having delivered the sharp elbow in question rather briskly to his short ribs.

  “Yeah, okay, peace, huh?” Han rubbed his side, a wounded expression on his face. “All kidding aside, Luke, think about it. If you and me both had ended up living the lives we were expecting, we might still have flown at Yavin.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure,” Han said. “As TIE pilots. Working for Vader.”

  Luke looked away.

  “Sometimes, things not going according to plan is a gift,” Han said. “You gotta go with the flow, y’know? I mean, trust in the Force, right? Would the Force have brought you this chance if you weren’t supposed to take it?”

  “I don’t know,” Luke admitted.

  “Why don’t you ask Kenobi himself, the next time he shows up with that Force-ghost thing of his?”

  “He’s not a ghost—”

  “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  Luke shook his head, sighing. “He … doesn’t come around anymore. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him. Like he’s drifting away. Too far away to make contact.”

  “And maybe that means something,” Leia said. Luke gave her a sharp look, and she replied with a shrug, “I know less about being a Jedi than you do about being a politician … but don’t you think that your indecision itself signifies that you’ve been, well … leaning the wrong way? I mean, don’t you usually just sort of … know?”

  “Yeah,” Luke said quietly. “Yeah, usually I do.”

  A saying of Yoda’s came back to him so vividly he could almost hear the Master’s voice: If far from the Force you find yourself, trust you can that it is not the Force which moved.

  “I suppose,” Luke said reluctantly, “it doesn’t have to be a career …”

  A broad grin rolled halfway onto Han’s face. “You’re in?”

  Luke nodded. “I guess I am.”