Remnant: Force Heretic I

by Sean Williams

  They sank easily into the hide of the craft. Three detonations occurred in quick succession, deep within its belly. A rent appeared in its side, outgassing fire. The tentacles flailed crazily, as if in pain.

  “For this one’s home,” she whispered. “For this one’s people.”

  She banked for a final pass to finish off the ship, her heart racing as she thrilled at the thought of her impending revenge on the enemy. It was a moment she would savor for many years to come, even as she grieved for those she had lost.

  Laser bolts peppered the side of the craft, widening the rent and creating numerous new ones. To Saba’s surprise and disappointment, however, the ship didn’t explode. Instead, the sac burst from top to bottom, stretching like a fruit left too long in the sun. From the tear poured a strange translucent gel, followed by what appeared to be a thousand six-pointed stars.

  Stars? She relaxed her grip on the laser cannon trigger. How could that be? There were thousands of them, tumbling into space, glinting in infrared starlight. They couldn’t be weapons, or the strange ship would have deployed them earlier. They couldn’t be bounty, either, for nothing of value on Barab I matched those peculiar shapes …

  She reduced speed, coming in cautiously for a better look. Her R2 unit plucked one star at random from the jumbled mass and brought it up on her display. A sickening sensation flowered in her gut as she saw just what the points of the “stars” were.

  Two arms, two legs, a head, and a tail.

  Nothing of value …

  The thought rang in her mind as the horror of what had happened sank in. The Yuuzhan Vong didn’t value metals or jewels. Their biological sciences had no use for Barab I’s usual bounty. They did, however, take captives—and they had to transport them somehow.

  My people!

  Saba watched helplessly as the ship continued to spill its contents into the cold vacuum of space. Her entire being shuddered to a grief that burned more intensely than the fires raging on the planet below. Her last thought before tears obscured her vision was a despairing, soul-tearing cry:

  What have I done?

  PART ONE

  INTERSECTION

  Three Months Later

  “I say we fight on!”

  The voice echoed through the vast, domed hall that was serving as a replacement for the Grand Convocation Chamber on Coruscant, where the Senate had previously met. With Coruscant currently in the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong, Mon Calamari had been selected as a temporary capital and now played host to the representatives of the Galactic Alliance—a group much smaller than a full meeting of the Senate had once been, before the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, but still several hundred strong.

  They responded to the call to fight in the fashion preferred by their individual species. There were whistles, grunts, shrieks, and subsonic rumbles. Some waved appendages; others stamped their feet. And others still, Leia Organa Solo among them, remained silent. She stood completely motionless, gently extending herself into the Force to feel it crackle and flare from the conflicting emotions of those gathered around her.

  The speaker, a sour-faced Sullustan by the name of Niuk Niuv, paced the floor with an energy that belied his size. Clearly agitated by the sudden commotion, he lifted one hand to his ear to indicate his discomfort, while the other attempted to motion the crowd to silence. Even with his audio dampeners in place, the level of noise around the hall still hurt his sensitive ears.

  “We have them on the back foot,” he said, his large black eyes roaming the assembly. “They are overextended and ill prepared to defend themselves. They didn’t expect to have to defend themselves so late in the game—which is precisely why we must drive home this advantage! To ignore the opportunity we have been given would be like putting our collective head back on the chopping block!”

  “And who took it off the block in the first place?” The call came from the far side of the chamber. Leia immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Thuv Shinev of the Tion Hegemony.

  Niuk Niuv’s face contorted into a fleshy snarl. “That is irrelevant,” he said irritably.

  “Really?” Shinev bellowed. “I wouldn’t have thought so. Too long have some among us treated the Jedi with contempt and suspicion. If we do have the chance now, finally, to force the Yuuzhan Vong back, then we should at least acknowledge their opinions on the subject!”

  “If you think it necessary, then by all means thank them,” the Sullustan retaliated. “I’m not saying they don’t deserve that. But to do anything less than strike back at the Yuuzhan Vong would be madness, no matter what the Jedi say! We must prove to the Vong that we cannot be subjugated and will not tolerate their oppression! They have done enough. It is time for us to show them who this galaxy really belongs to! We must strike back hard, and we must do it now.”

  A scattered cheer rose up among the Senators. It was loud, but not as deafening as Leia had feared it might be. After so many crushing defeats, most of the representatives remained uncertain that the Yuuzhan Vong could be rolled back as easily as Niuk Niuv stated. But the willingness to try was undeniable.

  As Leia’s gaze swept the crowd, she caught the tall, long-faced figure of Kenth Hamner on the far side of the chamber. From the scowl on the Jedi Master’s face, Leia felt sure he was about to speak out against Niuk Niuv. But it was another who voiced their concerns.

  “What if you’re right?” Leia identified Releqy A’Kla, daughter of Camaasi Senator Elegos A’Kla, who had been ritually murdered by the Yuuzhan Vong’s Commander Shedao Shai in the early days of the war. Since she had already served in his stead during his absence, her people had voted her into her father’s position for the duration of the crisis. “What if we can beat them?”

  “Then we win!” Niuk Niuv’s big, round eyes were bright with anticipated glory.

  “But at what cost?” A’Kla’s fine, golden down shivered with intense emotion. “The Yuuzhan Vong fight to the death, Senator. Admiral Ackbar used this very fact against them at Ebaq Nine. I don’t think you truly realize what this means.”

  “I realize,” the Sullustan said. “And I realize that it is not our responsibility. If the positions were reversed, they would undoubtedly do the same to us.”

  “I’m sorry, but my people cannot support such extermination under any circumstances,” she said. She brought her long, three-fingered hands up to her chest. “We are pacifists, Senator. We do not wish such horrors on our consciences.”

  “And I respect your people’s ethics,” Niuk Niuv replied. Turning from her to address the entire chamber, he continued: “If there was an alternative, then I would consider it. But in the absence of any such alternative, I am not prepared to sit back with my neck out waiting for the Yuuzhan Vong to bring an amphistaff down upon it!”

  Another cheer rippled around the room.

  “It’s all very good for the pacifists to argue about compassion and restraint, but it is they who will benefit from the ultimate peace that we will bring about with our actions!” Niuv faced Releqy A’Kla once again. “What good is pacifism if you are dead, Senator?”

  Releqy A’Kla sank back into her chair, blinking in dismay.

  “We will crush the Yuuzhan Vong,” Niuk Niuv concluded to the Galactic Alliance representatives gathered, punching a fist into the air. “And we will send their remains back where they came from!”

  The cheer was louder this time. Leia’s fellow Alderaanian, Chief of State Cal Omas, said nothing. It would have been pointless at this stage, with the majority now so evidently behind Niuk Niuv’s sentiments.

  Across from her, Leia saw Hamner’s scowl deepen as he shook his head and slipped silently from the huge hall.

  “Finally, we are vindicated.”

  In a room not far from the domed hall in which the Senators met, a gathering of Jedi Knights and Masters looked similarly reduced in numbers but was no less passionate. Jedi Master Luke Skywalker had called the meeting to discuss strategies for the coming stages of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong. Wa
xarn Kel, the current speaker, paced in front of the gathering like a caged howlrunner. His face and hairless scalp were pink with fresh scars, indicating just how close he had come to being another victim of the Yuuzhan Vong anti-Jedi vendetta.

  “Explain,” Luke said. He sat on the stage at the front of the chamber, one knee raised to support the elbow of his right arm, and that hand supporting his chin. The unnatural coolness of the hand’s artificial skin against his jaw helped keep his head clear.

  Kel looked up at him with a frown. “Do I really need to?” he asked with a mix of irritation and surprise. Then, to the rest of the Jedi, he said, “We’ve been slandered, hunted, and butchered from one side of the galaxy to the other. We became the scapegoat for everything the New Republic brought upon itself because of its complacency and inability to act. We told them things they didn’t want to hear, and what was our reward? We were damned for it, that’s what. But now we have been vindicated. The trap on Ebaq Nine and the defeat of the Yuuzhan Vong have shown that we are a force to be reckoned with. Vergere’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”

  “I hadn’t realized that our fight was with the survivors of the New Republic,” said Kyp Durron, leaning in flight uniform against one of the chamber’s fluted walls, arms folded across his chest. “I thought our battle was with the Yuuzhan Vong.”

  “It is.” Kel regarded Kyp with some annoyance. “The Yuuzhan Vong are our enemy—not just of every peaceful citizen of the galaxy, but of the Jedi in particular. That’s been the frustrating thing about this war. The New Republic has thwarted our every attempt to defend ourselves. If it wasn’t the Peace Brigade actually trapping us and selling us over, it was idiots like Borsk Fey’lya holding us back. Well, now we’re free to act, and we can show them just what we are capable of doing!”

  “I presume you have something in mind.” Kyp’s expression was neutral, but Luke sensed a cautious interest lurking behind it—like that of someone poking at a bug’s nest with a stick to see what might emerge.

  “Of course,” Kel said. “We strike, and we strike hard.”

  “The Yuuzhan Vong?”

  “Of course the Yuuzhan Vong!” Kel’s eyes flashed anger. “We must act to ensure that public opinion doesn’t turn against us once again.”

  “How might it do that, Waxarn?” Luke asked.

  Kel glanced back up at Luke. The Master could feel the scarred young Jedi Knight consciously bringing his emotions into line.

  “I fear it could happen all to easily, Master,” he said, bowing slightly. “Unless we act decisively to reaffirm our usefulness and goodwill, to prove beyond the slightest doubt that the war can only be won with our assistance, then we risk looking weak. Or worse, looking as if our loyalty to the Galactic Alliance is weak.”

  Luke smiled sagely. “Surely our loyalty is to peace.”

  “First and foremost, yes, Master,” Kel put in quickly. “But you have to be strong to protect peace from those who would destroy it. Sometimes it is necessary to fight in order to bring an end to fighting. Isn’t that the way of the Jedi?”

  Is it? Luke asked himself as he pondered the words of the young man before him. Luke himself had acted more than once on the philosophy espoused by Waxarn Kel and those like him. The cry had been taken up several times throughout the war with the Yuuzhan Vong by those tempted to take the seemingly easy route through the dark side rather than brave the ambiguities of the Force.

  Luke didn’t think Kel had fallen to the dark side, though. There was none of the anger and hatred in the young man that Luke could sense in a handful of others presently around him. They remained quiet, allowing Kel to speak their words for them. But it wasn’t difficult for Luke to read their feelings. So many had been hurt by the Yuuzhan Vong and the Peace Brigaders that desiring retribution was, perhaps, only natural. Natural wasn’t necessarily right, though, and part of Luke’s job was to ensure that those in his charge weren’t led astray.

  None of the Jedi in the room had yet fallen to the dark side, and for that he was thankful. Some of them had taken a wrong turning here and there, just as some were being tempted to do now. But Luke had faith in all of them—even those who disagreed vehemently with his own opinions. He was sure that the collective wisdom of the Jedi, their strong belief in the healing, sustaining energies of the Force, would gradually assuage the grief they all felt for loved ones who had died in the war—as well as for themselves.

  Luke straightened and dropped down onto the floor of the room to face Waxarn Kel. Once considered handsome, he was now scarred almost beyond recognition. And it was from this that Luke felt the man’s emotions stemmed. Every time Kel looked in the mirror, he would be reminded of what the war had done to him and those he loved, and his anger and hatred would grow.

  The dark side can beckon to us from so many quarters, Luke thought.

  “If we strike now,” Kel said, undeterred by being eye to eye with the great Jedi Master, “we can do the most damage. But if we wait too long, our enemies will have time to recover and—”

  “Do you believe that this is why we have survived as long as we have?” Luke interrupted calmly. “Because our enemies are weak? Did those of us who have fallen in battle do so because they were weak?”

  Kel blinked as a look of uncertainty passed over his face. “Master, I would never think that—”

  “Of course not,” Luke continued smoothly. “The Yuuzhan Vong are a powerful species, and they have used our weaknesses against us just as we are learning to use theirs. No species is perfect, and no war is won purely by strength. There are many other factors that must be considered.”

  Kel nodded, lowering his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

  Luke inwardly cringed. Kel was addressing him as a droid would its owner.

  “Under my leadership,” Luke said, “we have seen special combat units trained and led by the Jedi making a decisive difference in battle—yet at the same time I refuse to allow a Jedi to stand for political office. So do you think me weak?”

  The young Jedi was shocked at the suggestion. “Master, that’s not what—”

  Luke tried again. “I have formed a new Jedi council and placed non-Jedi upon it,” he said. “Is that the action of a weak individual?”

  “No, Master.”

  Before Luke could speak again, he was interrupted by a low chuckle from Kyp Durron. He faced him, lacing his hands together behind his back.

  “Yes, Kyp?” he said.

  “Master, I know you are weak.” Durron bowed formally at the waist—but with respect, not sarcasm. “As am I.” His hand lightly swept around to indicate the room. “As is everyone here. But I am proud of my weakness, for it makes me who I am. Forgetting one’s weakness is a sure recipe for disaster.”

  The door to the chamber opened, and Luke turned to see Kenth Hamner step into the room. Luke nodded acknowledgment, hiding his disappointment that it wasn’t Jaina. His niece was running late for the meeting, and he couldn’t help but feel worried. The loss of Anakin, Jaina’s younger brother, struck deep into the part of him that was all too human: the part that had turned away from Master Yoda’s teaching to rescue his friends; the part that loved his wife, Mara, and his son, Ben, more deeply than anything else in the galaxy; the part that could fully understand the need to strike back at those who had hurt the ones he loved. He wouldn’t blame himself for loving, or call it a weakness, but he would blame himself for not meeting his duty of care. Aside from Jaina, too many of the Jedi were missing from this meeting: Tam Azur-Jamin, Octa Ramis, Kyle Katarn, Tenel Ka, Tahiri Veila … If they were dead, he would feel as though he had failed each and every one of them.

  Waxarn Kel had turned a faint crimson under his scars. Luke couldn’t tell if Kyp Durron’s point—the one Luke himself had been trying to make—had finally hit home, or if the young man was simply embarrassed for looking something of a fool in front of his colleagues. And some of those were becoming restless again; the tension in the air was palpable. Despite the recent turnaround in the
fortunes of the Jedi, there were clearly still some who thought his leadership flawed.

  “Thank you, Kyp,” Luke said, reciprocating the bow. “There is more to winning this war than military might allows. Remember that, all of you, and we may yet win it in a way that saves us from ourselves, too.”

  He swung back up into his sitting position on the stage and caught Jacen’s eye in the process. His nephew, standing apart from the others at the back of the hall, nodded slightly, then turned his attention forward as Waxarn Kel sat down and the next person stepped up to speak his mind.

  “Same meat, different bantha.”

  Cal Omas snorted at Kenth Hamner’s words. Although the Jedi physically towered over him and he found the man’s dour expression impenetrable, the Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance had developed quite a liking for Hamner in recent weeks. Unlike most politicians, Omas had an appreciation for straight talking.

  “We didn’t have bantha on Alderaan.” He was standing by the immense convex viewport of his office, staring out at the view. Beneath him, the terraced walls of the floating city swept away, merging into the mist thrown up by the mountainous waves far below. Beyond the mist there was only the tumultuous sea, stretching out to the horizon. He’d spent a lot of time at this view, hoping for a glimpse of the planet’s legendary krakana coming to the surface. More often than not, though, he was too deep in thought to even notice if one had.

  He glanced over his shoulder to Kenth Hamner and said, “But I do know what you mean.”

  A murmur of assent rolled through the small group of people seated before him.

  Two hours had passed since the meetings of the Senate and the Jedi. Omas had called a select group of people together to discuss the outcomes of both meetings: apart from Hamner, both Skywalkers were there, along with Leia Organa Solo, Releqy A’Kla, and Sien Sovv, the Sullustan Supreme Commander of the slowly re-forming Galactic Alliance military. In other words, people he could trust—and people he could use, in the best possible sense of the word.