The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  “Madame Organa Solo,” she said. “How should I address you? Princess, Senator, Head of State? It must wear you down, carrying around so many titles and honors.”

  Leia smiled, disarmed by the admiral’s informal manner and energy. “Well, all those titles should begin with former. Now I’m just a Jedi Knight and sometimes diplomatic consultant. Call me Leia.”

  “I am Tarla. Except for those rare moments when I must be Admiral. I was informed you were in the Corellian system, keeping lines of communication open with the new Prime Minister. And a good thing it is.” She belatedly released Leia’s hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting? And I must add a certain sadness at seeing you arrive alone, by shuttle; someday you might grace me by introducing me to your husband and his famous transport?”

  “Of course. But Han, at the moment, is out visiting old smuggler haunts, trying to get a sense of black-market traffic and what it means to the current crisis.” That was a blatant lie, but one that anyone from either side would find difficult to disprove—no one knew which contacts Han might or might not be consulting, and never would, as insular and secretive as the informal society of smugglers tended to be. “I’m here just to visit, in whatever minutes would be at your convenience, and perhaps to get a tour of your vessel. I haven’t seen one of the new battle carriers up close.”

  It was another lie. She was here in the hope that by being in the right place at the right time she might, however slightly, be able to improve the chances that her husband would survive the next few hours.

  “I shall be glad to oblige. Allow me to introduce you to my aide. I will volunteer him for the tour, and then you and I can chat …”

  CORONET, CORELLIA

  “Circuit trace routes?” The female voice sounded equally strong in both of Han’s ears, and was pure, true of tone. Han shook his head. It must be nice to own a vehicle where every component was brand new and flawless, like the YT-5100 Shriek-class bomber whose cockpit he occupied.

  On the other hand, something that new and shining lacked spirit. Millennium Falcon had spirit in abundance, memories ground into every surface. By comparison, this Shriek was a … machine.

  “Circuit trace routes?” the voice said again.

  Its persistence jolted Han out of his reverie. He scanned the control boards ahead of him. “Ninety-nine point seven three two,” he said.

  “Energy output?”

  “One hundred two point three percent of class standard, ninety-four point eight percent of record, ninety-nine point nine percent of individual standard.” Checklists. How long had it been since he’d had to do a checklist for a military authority?

  “Droid tactical assist?”

  “Three artificial intelligence nodes functioning optimally, but they’re all speaking Dosh.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Han winced. “Sorry. I thought I was talking to a droid.”

  “I get that a lot. Atmospheric pressure?”

  “Corellia sea-level standard one point zero zero zero three, and zero variance from the pressure reading when we started the checklist.”

  “Complete. You are ready to launch. Reenabling comm lines to Panther One.”

  There was the faintest of clicks, and then Han heard Wedge’s voice: “I hear you’re finally ready to join the operation.”

  “Blasted checklists take forever. In a real vehicle, you can feel what’s right and what’s wrong.”

  “Don’t feel guilty. You gave me time for a nap.”

  “I suspect you needed it.”

  “Ready to launch?”

  “Ready.” In truth, Han didn’t feel entirely ready. He was, at last, beginning to question his role in this operation. Leia had questioned it days ago, become resigned to it, supported Han in his decision ever since. Now her doubts had finally wandered into his brain—was it the best idea for him to join this mission, having to train for it in secrecy?

  On the other hand, when had he ever decided against something just because it was a bad idea? Not in forty years or so, and seldom before then. Doing things even though they were bad ideas had gotten him a decades-long friendship with a noble Wookiee, had landed him a wife no other woman in the galaxy could compare to …

  … had gotten him beat up a lot …

  “Launch,” Wedge said.

  Han kicked the thrusters and put the Shriek into as steep an ascent as possible, going to a true vertical climb within two seconds. Through his forward viewport, the blue skies of Corellia gave way within a startlingly brief time to black space decorated with untwinkling stars.

  He glanced at his sensor board. Wedge’s Shriek was just alongside. It was impossible to say which of them was ahead—at an altitude of four hundred kilometers above the ground, measuring the difference of one meter or less was slightly problematic.

  As gravity became microgravity, Han called up the first leg of his trip and sent that course to his nav computer. Not waiting for Wedge’s confirmation, he ran through the Shriek’s pre-hyperspace checklist and, as soon as he was far enough from Corellia, launched.

  Wedge’s Shriek dropped into hyperspace at the same moment.

  Han twisted his mouth into a disapproving grimace. Wedge was so competitive. This mission was going to be complicated by Wedge’s trying to stay out in front, Wedge trying to be the one to shoot straightest, Wedge trying to plot the most efficient route.

  Well, Han would just have to show him who was best.

  chapter twenty-nine

  STAR SYSTEM MZX32905, NEAR BIMMIEL

  On the viewscreen at maximum magnification, Brisha’s home was a hemispherical, light gray bump, a blemish on an irregular dark gray surface. When Jacen stepped the viewscreen down to a medium magnification, he could see the entirety of the asteroid as a dark shadow in the midst of a sea of stars, and, beyond it, the tiny, dirty-orange glow of this star system’s sun, not far from the Bimmiel system, whose fifth planet was notorious for its slashrat population and for being the site of an early Yuuzhan Vong surveying expedition.

  Nelani, hovering over Jacen’s shoulder, stared at Brisha’s asteroid and said, “Lovely.” She turned back to Brisha, who lounged in the seat behind the copilot’s position; Ben was copilot on this flight. “I can imagine you enjoying day after day here, sitting by the shores of the lake, watching the glorious sunrises and sunsets …”

  Brisha’s face was reflected in the transparisteel of the forward viewport, and Jacen saw her offer Nelani a smile that was just one step short of condescending. “It’s private,” she said. “I like privacy.”

  Jacen ignored them, and ignored the sensor readouts before him. Instead, he concentrated on sensing the Force.

  On that planetoid, there was something active within the Force, something strong and vibrant … but not alive. Jacen had once had a sense of something like that when, in a restful hour on a visit to a dead coral bed, he’d tried to sense it in the Force and had succeeded. The bed had held dim feelings, like faint, blurry memories, of the accretion of lives that had made it. What was before him now was stronger, more complicated, with more personality … and there was a lot of dark side energy in its vigor.

  “It’s a big iron asteroid,” Ben announced. “It’s got a little gravity, but not enough for an atmosphere. We’re going to be floating around a lot.”

  Brisha shook her head. “The habitat has artificial gravity. The generators will start up once your shuttle is docked.”

  “Aww.” Ben’s was a noise of exasperation. Jacen grinned. He imagined that the boy had been looking forward to a low-gravity environment.

  The docking bay was large enough to hold four shuttles, or the Millennium Falcon and one or two smaller craft. Entry to it was at the base of the ten-story-high habitat. Inside, the bay was lofty, the outside wall curved, the inner walls angled, making a near-trapezoid shape. The walls were riveted metal painted a soothing sky blue, and everything was remarkably clean.

  As Jacen’s shuttle settled into place in the b
erth nearest the doors into the habitat proper, the big bay doors slid into place laterally behind them. Jacen felt himself settle deeper into his seat as the habitat’s artificial gravity dialed up. Without being asked, Ben dialed the shuttle’s own gravity down correspondingly, an exercise, and did a fair job of keeping the gravity close to Coruscant standard. Jacen gave him an approving nod.

  But Jacen’s mind was elsewhere, part of him still seeking the source of the Force energy he felt.

  He saw Brisha smile at him in the viewport reflection. “All the answers you’re looking for are inside,” she said.

  Jacen nodded. “Which is not the same as saying everything we want is inside … or that we’re safe inside.”

  “Correct,” Brisha said. She rose.

  A flexible air lock corridor attached itself to their exterior hatch. Inside, the air was cold, but little eddies of warmth moved through it, evidence of the habitat’s heaters beginning their business.

  The hallway, off-white and featureless on the inside, led them to a cross-corridor in the same sky blue as the bay interior. Jacen suspected from the corridor’s curvature that it was a complete circle around the habitat, providing access to the chambers up against the exterior wall.

  Ben looked around, blinking. “It’s really clean. I thought this was a mining station.”

  Brisha shook her head. “No, it was the administration habitat for the mining company. The administrators and their families lived here, as did the families of several of the more important company officers. And when representatives of the owning company came to visit, there were big chambers where they could have lavish dinners and entertainments. This place was more like a hotel than a mining camp.”

  “In terms of design, it’s like an early-model Sienar Mobile Command Post,” Jacen said, “but older. Maybe centuries older.” At Brisha’s slight nod, he continued, “It would have been assembled in space, near where it was to be set up originally. Tugs would have placed it on foundation columns built at its landing zone. But it was a valuable piece of equipment. When the operation was done, its foundation clamps would have released, and it would have been towed off to its next station. Not left here.”

  Brisha gave him an encouraging smile, then turned and led the way along the corridor. “Very true. No, the last administrator here arranged for the habitat to be left behind when the mining operation left this asteroid field. To be left behind—and forgotten.” At the first side corridor, she turned left, toward the habitat’s center, and the others followed. The blue walls continued, interrupted by doors suitable to private chambers or small offices. The doors were curved at the top, an antiquated design element.

  Jacen quickened his pace to catch up to Brisha. “That’s a lot of arranging. This would have been lot of money for a company just to forget about.”

  “Yes, it is.” Brisha looked agreeable. “But the administrator who arranged it was capable of coming up with the bribes and persuading people to look away. He was, after all, a Sith.”

  Brisha brushed off further questions until they’d reached a turbolift near the habitat’s center and ridden it up four floors. It opened onto a circular chamber twenty meters across. The ceiling was fifteen meters above, a curved surface made of a thick layer of transparisteel; scratched so much over the centuries by minor meteorite impacts that it seemed frosted in places, it was still clear enough to show a glorious starfield beyond.

  The chamber itself could have been an extension of Dr. Rotham’s quarters. Its walls were lined with shelving, and there were narrow catwalks along the shelving at three-meter height intervals, with black metal staircases providing access between the catwalks. The shelves were thick with books, rolls of flimsi, flickering holograms, statuettes, kinetic art, and even, Jacen saw, the bottled head of a Rodian, its funnel-like snout pointed straight at the turbolift doors through which they’d entered. There was furniture at floor level, mostly long, dark sofas. They looked hard and uninviting, but Jacen recognized them as a modern brand whose surfaces inflated and deflated according to the movements and postures of those who sat upon them.

  The room fairly reeked of Force energy—dark side energy. But as strong as it was, this was not the source of all the power, all the dark influence Jacen had been detecting since their arrival. That lay below them, a long way down.

  Why does dark side power always seem drawn to the depths? he wondered. Is there something intrinsic that associates it with the deep places, the gorges, the cracks? Even after decades of study, he’d never figured that out.

  As Jacen stood in the turbolift doorway, taking in the sensations of Force power like a hungry man sampling scents in a restaurant, Nelani moved into the room’s center, her hand on the hilt of the lightsaber at her belt. She spoke, her voice artificially, mockingly light: “So you’re some sort of Sith.”

  Brisha shook her head and moved to stretch out on the nearest sofa, her back supported by one end. The sofa puffed up a little under her weight. She leaned back, her posture negligent, and stretched her arms above her head. “No. If you pay attention to what you’re feeling, you can detect the light side here, as well as the dark side. In these relics, and in me.”

  Jacen couldn’t be sure if the last statement was true. Brisha hadn’t manifested any sort of Force energy beyond the energy with which any living being—other than the Yuuzhan Vong—resonated. But he could detect little waves of light-side energy here, intermixed with the dark side.

  “So how do you define yourself?” he asked. He moved forward, torn between curiosity—part of him wanted to race among the shelves, looking at each item in turn—and caution.

  “A student,” Brisha said. “A student of the Force in all its aspects. And yes, I’ve concentrated on knowledge of the Sith … on utilizing their techniques without greed, without self-interest, to make things better, the same way the best Jedi use the light-side techniques.”

  “Then you’ve been corrupted,” Nelani said.

  Brisha gave her a pitying look. “You’re so young. Nelani, wielders of the Force all face possible corruption, and many of them give in. It’s just the form that the corruption takes from dark side to light side that differs. The corrupt light-siders become hidebound, so governed by regulation and custom that they can no longer think, no longer feel, no longer adapt—it’s what destroyed the Jedi at the end of the Old Republic.”

  “There’s something to that,” Jacen admitted. “You’re not the first person I’ve heard suggest a sort of light-side ossification. But that doesn’t prove that prolonged use of the dark side doesn’t inevitably lead to corruption.”

  Brisha sighed, exasperated, and crossed her arms before her. “What is corruption, Jacen? A hard-line light-sider will say that any use of the Force for personal gain is ‘corrupt.’ But someone who mixes altruism with self-interest in very human measures, across a span of decades, isn’t corrupt; he or she is just behaving according to the nature of the species.”

  Now she, rather than the items on the shelves, had Jacen’s attention. He moved over to stand before her. “Explain that.”

  “I’d love to. But first, some context.”

  Jacen heard Ben sigh. Jacen grinned, and Brisha’s smile matched his. Ben was as well behaved as anyone could expect, but his impatience with adult concerns such as providing context for a complicated issue matched that of any adolescent.

  “This planetoid,” Brisha said, “was populated long before the miners came. A species of creature settled here. Desiccated bodies I’ve found in the deep places, and signs I’ve seen through the Force, indicate that they were akin to mynocks—silicon-based, invertebrate, subsisting on stellar radiation and silicate materials. The ones here evolved or mutated into a sapient species, over how many millennia I can’t speculate, and developed a society involving cultural hierarchies, stratification as we see in human cultures.”

  Jacen nodded. “And the remnant Force energies I’m feeling originated with them?”

  “Yes. Their records—
for they invented a form of record keeping, a sort of information-imbued sculpture, some forms of which I’ve learned to translate—”

  “One of the tassels?”

  “Yes, one your expert probably couldn’t read. These creatures’ records indicate that at one point a ruling class exiled a whole subsociety, sealing them within caves and caverns of this asteroid, cutting them off from the stellar energies that sustained them. They lived there, slowly dying of starvation, sustaining themselves poorly off the mineral content of the stones within the asteroid. And it was there that one of their number learned to detect, and then manipulate, the Force. That one eventually became leader of the other exiles, then led them to break out of the asteroid interior and conquer the others.”

  “So why aren’t all mynocks now Force-wielding star travelers ruling the galaxy?” Nelani asked.

  Brisha shrugged. “I can only guess. In their writing, there’s a reference for the Home, this asteroid, plus mentions of the Return, suggesting that they could not spawn—or divide, as the mynocks do—anywhere but here. If that’s true, then they couldn’t spread too far through the galaxy, and a fatal contagion or similar disaster here could wipe out the entire species within a matter of years. The point, though, is that for quite a while they were a species led by a caste of Force-users, who eventually became a caste of dark side Force-users. They learned techniques related to their mynock natures, such as the ability to leach energy from living beings, including their own kind, at great distances, and associated skills with communicating instantaneously at those distances, a phenomenon the Jedi sometimes experience. They wielded tremendous amounts of dark side energy, and a lot of that energy was eventually radiated into the cavern system that had been their home during the exile, and which had subsequently become a sacred place to them.