Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Fury

by Aaron Allston

  Alema’s face was contorted in shock and pain. Her right arm was gone from just below the elbow. Blood trailed from it, bubbling and evaporating where it left her injury.

  As Jag reached her, he grabbed her neck in his right hand.

  She looked at him. Her expression changed from pain to a plea.

  He shook his head. It’s too late. You refused to surrender. Your last act was an attempted murder. I can’t spare you. He did not speak these words—they would have taken too long, perhaps giving her time to recover.

  He could see that there was fear in her eyes, but not fear of death. Her lips moved, forming a single word. “Remember.”

  Jag knew he was not suddenly sensitive in the Force, that he could not read her thoughts. But there they were, imprinted on his mind. Remember us. Remember us as we used to be, before the universe turned against us. Young, beautiful, strong, brave, admirable, loved, loving…

  He nodded. I will.

  The pain and fear in her expression eased.

  Jag squeezed. He felt the crack of Alema’s vertebrae under his hand as they shattered. Her body went limp. Her eyes became unfocused and distant.

  Static erupted across his comlink. Though there was not enough atmosphere to carry the sound of distant explosions to him, he knew that the high yield of those bombs had to be interfering with comm reception.

  He hit his thrusters and began rising toward the stone aperture above.

  Jaina found Zekk perched atop a section of track, exactly where she had stood when Alema’s mysterious weapon had attacked her and severed the rails. Despite the fact that the air pressure was dropping rapidly, Zekk did not have his mask on.

  “Zekk, get moving.” She fumbled around in his belt pouch, found his foil mask, and slipped it over his head, drawing its cinch tight around his collar.

  He shook his head, not looking at her. “Go on. You need to leave.”

  “We need to leave.” She tugged at his shoulder, bringing him to his knees.

  “It’s in me. The evil of this place. I thought I’d be able to keep it at bay forever. No, it doesn’t work that way.”

  She crouched, getting her arms around his waist, and then straightened, propelling them both up toward the next section of track. “Zekk, are you my friend?”

  “I’m your friend. I love you.” His words emerged almost as a babble, running together and inflectionless.

  “I need—I need you to help me. If I’m going to get out of here alive.” They crossed the gap, and she grabbed the next section of track. “Now climb. Or I’ll carry you, and I’ll be slow, and I’ll die.”

  “All right.” Mechanically, he turned, got his hands on the cross-ties, and began climbing.

  “We’ll get you back to where the Masters are, and they’ll get the evil out of you.”

  “Oh. Maybe.” Zekk frowned, struggling to remember something. “Where’s Jag?”

  “He’s…following.” The lie sounded unconvincing, even pathetic, to Jaina’s ears.

  But Zekk, dazed as he seemed to be, didn’t notice. He nodded, satisfied.

  The track wobbled under their hands. Something had to be shaking it. Jaina glanced down, seeing nothing below, and then up.

  Above them, a giant sphere was rolling down the tracks. It looked like a plant spore—but two meters across instead of microscopic, and made of grayish metal instead of organic material. It did not roll neatly down the track, but adhered to it as if magnetized.

  Jaina assumed it was indeed magnetic, something designed to adhere to ship hulls.

  She pulled Zekk around to the underside of the track and held on, preparing to leap free if the thing’s projections threatened to crush a limb in passing. But the spheroid rolled on past harmlessly, descending into the darkness.

  Zekk stared after it, vaguely curious. “What’s that?”

  “A space mine, I think. Nothing we want to be near when it goes off. C’mon, keep climbing.”

  They reached the surface and found the track intact up to the habitat above. But the track shook under their fingers, and they could both see the stony ground shaking all around them, kicking up clouds of dust in oddly beautiful streamers.

  Jaina saw a distant flash to spinward—sign of another explosion beyond the horizon. She grabbed Zekk and kicked free, leaping toward the hole into the habitat above. Together they floated through. As the artificial gravity of the habitat hit them, they dropped, landing awkwardly on the lip of the hole.

  Jaina breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then the shock wave from the last explosion hit. The ground fifteen meters down rippled as though it were cloth laid atop water. Jaina felt her legs shaking, from external vibrations rather than exhaustion.

  Jag’s X-wing, visible beneath the hole, rose on one wing as if banking, then tumbled out of sight. The vibrations increased.

  The habitat suddenly tilted. The chamber was plunged into darkness—relieved only by the circle of lights around the exit hole—and the two Jedi floated free of the floor.

  Suddenly the view through the hole showed more ground, then distant horizon, then stars…

  The habitat was free of the asteroid, kicked loose by successive explosions, and was tumbling.

  When the two Jedi forced open the door into the hangar, they found everything beyond in a state of chaos. Dim emergency lighting revealed two StealthXs, dozens of durasteel storage barrels, two refueling pumps, and countless hundreds of hand tools circulating through the large open space, ricocheting—in a slow and stately way, in the case of the snubfighters—off the walls and colliding with other free-floating debris. As Jaina watched, one cylindrical metal barrel collided with a strike foil of Zekk’s StealthX and partially crumpled, its lid popping free, the greenish hydraulic fluid it held slowly pouring out into the atmosphere and spreading. In addition to the sounds of clanks, crashes, and other collisions, the R9 astromechs in the two snubfighters were adding screeches and musical tones of dismay to the din.

  The control board for the hangar door and its atmosphere shield was dead.

  Jaina glanced at Zekk and gestured at the metal storm they faced. “No way to manage a safe launch. Get in your cockpit. I’ll get the hangar doors open.”

  Zekk shook his head. “You’ll be sucked right out into the void when you do.” He sounded a bit stronger, as though distance from the pool of dark side energy was restoring his spirits.

  “I’ll use a shadow bomb.”

  Zekk winced. A shadow bomb detonated at that proximity to the StealthXs was certain to damage them. But Jaina knew she was right—opening the hangar doors with a lightsaber and telekinetic nudges from the Force was certain death for the opener. Zekk gave her a pained look and pushed off from the wall, floating on an intercept course toward his StealthX.

  ABOARD THE MILLENNIUM FALCON

  The Falcon’s comm board made a brief crackling noise, then Leia could hear Jaina’s voice across it. “No checklist, no time. Arming.”

  Zekk was next. “Shields up.”

  “Shields up, copy. Repulsorlifts to max, hold yourself in place.”

  Leia felt a weight, something like ten tons, drop away from her shoulders. She keyed her comm board. “Jaina?”

  “Firing.”

  One wall of the distant, tumbling habitat blew out, venting atmosphere and a cloud of particulate matter. A moment later one StealthX emerged, then another, trailing more debris.

  One after the other, they angled toward the Falcon. Jaina’s next words were stronger. “Yes, Mom?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “As well as can be expected.” Jaina’s tone was joyless.

  “What about Alema? And Jag?”

  There was a long pause before Jaina’s response. “Both dead, I think.”

  chapter twenty-eight

  Han and Leia watched their monitor screens as the Falcon’s rear holocams showed them the last few seconds in the existence of the asteroid.

  One moment it was there; the next, it was replaced
by a bright glow and an expanding pulse of energy.

  Glum, Han activated his comm board. “Sensors show an energy yield that says fission bombs to me. I don’t think anyone has used fission bombs since near the start of the Yuuzhan Vong War.”

  Leia shook her head. “Somebody was very serious.”

  No one answered over the comm board, but a noise came from the speakers—labored breathing.

  Leia frowned and activated her microphone. “Zekk, is that you?”

  “Not me.”

  “It’s me.” The voice was Jag’s, pained.

  “Jag!” Four people spoke his name simultaneously, Jaina loudest of all. She added, “How did you get off the asteroid?”

  “Got to the surface. Commed my astromech and it gave me distance and bearing to my X-wing. Fortunately, it was upright, just covered in dust. But it’s damaged, and I’m…I don’t think I can calculate a hyperspace jump right now.”

  Han heaved a sigh of relief. “Don’t worry about it, kid. We’ll run the numbers for you. You just catch up to us.” He activated his transceiver, giving Jag’s X-wing a clear signal to home in on.

  “Will do, sir.”

  “And don’t call me sir. I hate that.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  SANCTUARY MOON OF ENDOR, JEDI OUTPOST

  Luke and Ben, similarly clad in dark Jedi robes, swept into the communications center. At a nod from Luke, the Jedi technician on station there withdrew into the corridor, leaving them alone with the hologram of Han and Leia.

  Han’s hologram offered Luke a lopsided smile. “Hey, old buddy.”

  “It’s good to see you.” Luke’s gesture suggested he would prefer to be able to embrace his sister and brother-in-law. “A live holocomm transmission all the way from Bimmiel? This is an extravagance for you, isn’t it?”

  Leia nodded. “Big news calls for a big show. Luke, Alema Rar is dead.”

  Luke let out a long breath. At last. He looked between them. “She gave you no choice?”

  “None.” Leia’s tone was decisive. “Jag is badly injured. Zekk is a bit…perturbed, but coming out of it. Jaina is unhurt. Also, the asteroid was destroyed.”

  Luke cocked an eyebrow at her. “That seems a little excessive.”

  Han snorted. “Not our doing, Luke. An unmarked frigate attacked while we were doing our support-role thing. They launched shuttles that planted fission bombs all over the asteroid. Then they left. Alema’s weird little Sith ship got away, too, but it was unoccupied.”

  “And there’s no hint as to who blew up the asteroid or why?”

  Han shook his head. “A complete mystery. And you know how I feel about complete mysteries.”

  “You don’t care, as long as they don’t interfere with you getting paid.”

  Han grinned. “Something like that.”

  Leia said, “We’re going to transport Jag to you. Jaina and Zekk will escort us in.”

  Luke nodded. “It’ll be good to see you.” He glanced at the monitor that displayed data about this communication. “Another few seconds and the odds of this contact being traced go up by an order of magnitude.”

  “See you in a couple of days, old buddy.” Han reached off to the side, his hand disappearing as it extended beyond the range of the holocam at his end, and the hologram winked out.

  Luke felt like sitting down, letting gravity just overcome him for a while, but that might worry Ben.

  At least it was over, finally over. Mara’s killer was no longer a threat to him, to his family. He felt a touch of regret—unlike Jacen, Alema Rar had insanity to blame for the evils she perpetrated. If she had been able to accept help, she might have remained a force for calmness and order.

  But that was pointless speculation. Her life had ended. Perhaps Mara could rest easy now.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Luke nodded. “Better. Mara’s murderer has met justice, and we can put that uncertainty behind us.”

  “Yes.”

  Luke turned to face his son. There was something in Ben’s reply…it was not in the tone of his voice, but there had been a little tug in the Force when Ben spoke. Surely Ben didn’t doubt that Alema was truly dead? Leia would not have said she was if there were any doubt.

  Luke pushed the question from his mind. Ben would tell him what was bothering him when he was ready. “Why don’t you go get in some training? I have some thinking to do.”

  Ben nodded, dubious. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Sure, Ben.”

  On the outpost roof, Luke sat cross-legged on the hard surface of the landing pad, his back straight, a meditative posture.

  He could feel the permacrete surface beneath him, feel it as though it were a skin, connected to the outpost’s permacrete and durasteel “bones”—its beams, its support columns extending down into the soil and all the way to bedrock. He could feel the kilometers-thick mantle of stone beneath the bedrock, stretching down to the core of the moon, its massiveness suggesting eternity.

  He opened himself to the Force and could feel the vibrancy of life around him, the energies of all the people in the outpost, the vitality of all the growing things.

  Once, such a contact would have brought him serenity; it would have been peace to his spirit. Now it was merely information.

  And the Force still offered him no guidance, no visions of his enemies, no glimpses of his future.

  He was no longer disturbed by any of this. He needed no reassurances about his future. Perhaps it all meant that there was no future to glimpse. Luke found himelf to be unworried by the thought.

  There was a hum, the distinctive noise of the roof access lift. Luke could feel the Force presence of his son arrive, could hear him approach.

  Ben hesitated, then moved into view, settling to the permacrete directly opposite Luke, assuming the same meditative pose.

  The boy did not speak, but neither did he relax into proper meditation. Luke could read Ben’s emotions as clearly as though they were on the screen of a datapad: restlessness, concern…and an unusual degree of mental focus.

  Luke let the boy wait. Eventually Ben’s restlessness would get the better of him and he would speak his mind. That was the way of the young, of apprentices.

  But Ben still did not speak, and Luke could feel him become calmer, more settled…although his focus did not waver. Luke waited while breezes carrying the scents of the Endor forest stirred his hair.

  “Your feelings betray you, Ben.” It was almost a ritual phrase now—the truth, cloaked in and perhaps even disguised by cliché.

  Ben studied him, no emotion on his face. “Betray me? Do they stab me in the back, or do they just give me a swift kick in the butt?”

  Despite himself, Luke grinned. “It’s true, under many circumstances being betrayed by your emotions will do you no harm. But it’s still best to remain aware of the fact that you are expressing them so clearly. Transmitting them for anyone sufficiently sensitive to feel.”

  “All right.”

  Luke paused. Clearly the boy was not willing to be drawn out. “You think something is wrong. Wrong with me.”

  “Wrong is one of those kind of relative things. If I think something is wrong and you think it’s right, which one of us is correct?”

  Luke nodded. It was a good response. “I suspect I would be. It’s the whole Master–apprentice, father–son, wise old man–foolish young man thing.”

  “Right. It’s nice that to be older is to be always right. I can’t wait to be older.”

  “So?”

  Ben took a moment to compose himself and his thoughts. “I’m trying to figure out why you don’t have any energy.”

  “I have energy. It’s waiting, in reserve.”

  “Yeah…maybe. Except your energy used to empower other people, too. Get them moving. Make them enthusiastic. Not anymore. Ever since Mom was killed, you’ve been like someone with a landspeeder resting on his back.
Crushed flat, hardly able to move because of the pain. I mean, me too. But for me, over time, that landspeeder has slipped off, mostly. I kind of expected that when we learned that the one who’d killed her was captured or dead, the landspeeder would be gone from your back, too. That you’d be able to move again.”

  Luke frowned, puzzled. “I can move.”

  “I’m not so sure. And I’m trying to figure out why.”

  “Let’s do some lightsaber training. You’ll see more of me moving than you want to.”

  Ben shook his head. “You’re still not you. People are asking questions. Things like, When is Luke Skywalker going to find his center and make things better again? Nobody knows what to tell them.”

  “Make things better?” Luke tried not to let his surprise show, but it crept into his voice. “You mean snap my fingers, end this war, and cause flower petals to rain down on all civilized worlds?”

  “Yeah, just like that.” Ben grinned, then sobered. “No, I think they just mean, when are you going to really take charge again? Of the Jedi, our role in the war? Lead, not just direct? Because that will make a difference.”

  Luke felt his spirits sag even lower. “Oh, Ben. They’re asking that sort of question out of a misguided sense of what I can accomplish. They’ve based their impressions of what I can do on things that happened when I was a younger man with blind luck and boundless energy…and when you could count all the known Force-users in the galaxy on the fingers of one hand. Other Jedi can do what I do.”

  “No, they can’t. They can’t be Luke Skywalker.”

  Luke studied the landing pad’s surface for a moment. It could still serve its primary purpose, but it was scuffed, weathered, more frail than it had been when first installed. It seemed a perfect metaphor for his situation. “You can’t turn back time. It’s not a landspeeder resting on my back, it’s the weight of years and events. I can’t cast them off, and even if I could, I’d undo everything I’ve learned from them. Today I’m more useful as a teacher, a distributor of resources. That’s my role. I really ought to be thinking about grooming a viable candidate to become the next Grand Master.”

  Ben didn’t speak for long moments, and Luke felt a growing swell of confusion and concern radiate from the boy.