But then Skywalker had shown why he carried that reputation. A moment’s distraction, and suddenly Lady Rhea was in four pieces, each drifting in a separate direction, and Vestara was hopelessly outmatched. She had saluted and fled.
Now, having taken a space yacht that had doubtless been old when her great-great-great-grandsires were newborn, but which, to her everlasting gratitude, held in its still-functioning computer the navigational secrets of the mass of black holes that was the Maw, she was free. And the impossible weight of her reality and her responsibility were settling upon her.
Lady Rhea was dead. Vestara was alone, and her pride at Lady Rhea’s accomplishment, at her own near success in the duel with the Jedi, was not enough to wash away the sense of loss.
Then there was the question of what to do next, of where to go. She needed to be able to communicate with her people, to report on the incidents in the Maw. But this creaking, slowly deteriorating SoroSuub StarTracker space yacht did not carry a hypercomm unit. She’d have to put in to some civilized planet to make contact. That meant arriving unseen, or arriving and departing so swiftly that the Jedi could not detect her in time to catch her. It also meant acquiring sufficient credits to fund a secret, no-way-to-trace-it hypercomm message. All of these plans would take time to bring to reality.
Vestara knew, deep in her heart, and within the warning currents of the Force, that Luke Skywalker intended to track her to her homeworld of Kesh. How he planned to do it, she didn’t know, but her sense of paranoia, trained at the hands of Lady Rhea, burned within her as though her blood itself were acid. She had to find some way to outwit a Force user several times her age, renowned for his skills.
She needed to go someplace where Force users were relatively commonplace. Otherwise, any use by her of the Force would stand out like a signal beacon to experienced Jedi in the vicinity. There weren’t many such places. Coruscant was the logical answer. But if her trail began to lead toward the government seat of the Galactic Alliance, Skywalker could warn the Jedi there and Vestara would face a nearly impossible-to-bypass network of Force users between her and her destination.
The current location of the Jedi school was not known. Hapes was ruled by an ex-Jedi and was rumored to harbor more Force sensitives, but it was such a security-conscious civilization that Vestara doubted she could accomplish her mission there in secrecy.
Then the answer came to her, so obvious and so perfect that she laughed out loud.
But the destination she’d thought of wouldn’t be on a galactic map as old as the one in the antique yacht she commanded. She’d have to go somewhere and get a map update. She nodded, her pride, sense of loss, and paranoia all fading as she focused on her new task.
TRANSITORY MISTS
Jedi Knight Leia Organa Solo sat at the Millennium Falcon’s communications console. She frowned, her lips pursed as though she were solving an elaborate mathematical equation, as she read and re-read the text message the Falcon had just received via hypercomm.
The silence that had settled around her eventually drew her husband, Han Solo, to her side; his boyish, often insensitive persona was in part a fabrication, and he well knew and could sense his wife’s moods. The chill and silence of her complete concentration usually meant trouble. He waved a hand between her eyes and the console monitor. “Hey.”
She barely reacted to his presence. “Hm.”
“New message?”
“From Ben.”
“Another letter filled with teenage talk, I assume. Girls, speeders, allowance woes—”
Leia ignored his joking. “Sith,” she said.
“And Sith, of course.” Han sat in the chair next to hers but did not assume his customary slouch; the news kept his spine rigid. “They found a new Sith Lord?”
“Worse, I think.” Finally some animation returned to Leia’s voice. “They’ve found an ancient installation at the Maw and were attacked by a gang of Sith. A whole strike team. With the possibility of more out there.”
“I thought Sith ran in packs of two. Vape both of ’em and their menace is ended for all time, at least for a few years, until two more show up.” Han tried to keep his voice calm, but the last Sith to bring trouble to the galaxy had been Jacen Solo, his and Leia’s eldest son. Though Jacen had been dead for more than two years, the ripples of the evil he had done were still causing damage and heartache throughout the settled galaxy. And both his acts and his death had torn a hole in Han’s heart that felt like it would last forever.
“Yeah, well, no. Apparently not anymore. Ben also says—and we’re not to let Luke know that he did—that Luke is exhausted. Really exhausted, like he’s had the life squeezed out of him. Ben would like us to sort of drift near and lend Luke some support.”
“Of course.” But then Han grimaced. “Back to the Maw. The only place gloomy enough to make its next door neighbor, Kessel, seem like a garden spot.”
Leia shook her head. “They’re tracking a Sith girl who’s on the run. So it probably won’t be the Maw. It may be a planet full of Sith.”
“Ah, good.” Han rubbed his hands together as if anticipating a fine meal or a fight. “Well, why not. We can’t go back to Coruscant until we’re ready to mount a legal defense. Daala’s bound to be angry that we stole all the Jedi she wanted to deep-freeze.”
Finally Leia smiled and looked at Han. “One good thing about the Solos and Skywalkers. We never run out of things to do.”
CORUSCANT
Jedi Temple
Master Cilghal, Mon Calamari and most proficient medical doctor among the current generation of Jedi, paused before hitting the console button that would erase the message she had just spent some time decrypting. It had been a video transmission from Ben Skywalker, a message carefully rerouted through several hypercomm nodes and carefully staged so as not to mention that it was for Cilghal’s tympanic membranes or, in fact, for anyone on Coruscant.
But its main content was meant for the Jedi, and Cilghal repeated it as a one-word summation, making the word sound like a vicious curse: “Sith.”
The message had to be communicated throughout the Jedi Order. And on review, there was nothing in it that suggested she couldn’t preserve the recording, couldn’t claim that it had been forwarded to her by a civilian friend of the Skywalkers. Luke Skywalker was not supposed to be in contact with the Jedi Temple, but this recording was manifestly free of any proof that the exiled Grand Master exerted any influence over the Order. She could distribute it.
And she would do so, right now.
DEEP SPACE NEAR KESSEL
Jade Shadow, one-time vehicle of Mara Jade Skywalker, now full-time transport and home to her widower and son, dropped from hyperspace into the empty blackness well outside the Kessel system. It hung suspended there for several minutes, long enough for one of its occupants to gather from the Force a sense of his own life’s blood that had been in the vicinity, then it turned on a course toward Kessel and vanished again into hyperspace.
JADE SHADOW
In Orbit Above Kessel
Ben Skywalker shouldered his way through the narrow hatch that gave access to his father’s cabin. A redheaded teen of less than average height, he was well muscled in a way that his anonymous black tunic and pants could not conceal.
On the cabin’s bed, under a brown blanket, lay Luke Skywalker. Similar in build to his son, he wore the evidence of many more years of hard living, including ancient, faded scars on his face and the exposed portions of his arms. Not obvious was the fact that his right hand, so ordinary in appearance, was a prosthetic.
Luke’s eyes were closed but he stirred. “What did you find out?”
“I reached Nien Nunb.” Nunb, the Sullustan co-owner and manager of one of Kessel’s most prominent mineworks, had been a friend of the Solos and Skywalkers for decades. “That yacht did make landfall. The pilot gave her name as Captain Khai. She somehow scammed a port worker into thinking she’d paid for a complete refueling when she hadn’t—”
&
nbsp; Luke smiled. “The Force can have a—”
“Yeah, so can a good-looking girl. Anyway, what’s interesting is that she got a galactic map update. Nunb looked at the transmission time on that to determine that it was pretty comprehensive. In other words, she didn’t concentrate on any one specific area or route. No help there.”
“But it suggests that she did need some of the newer information. New hyperspace routes or planetary listings.”
“Right.”
“And she’s gone?”
“Headed out as soon as her yacht was refueled. By the way, its name is She’s a Chancer.”
“Somehow appropriate.” Finally Luke did open his eyes, and Ben was once again struck by how tired his father looked, tired to the bone and to the spirit. “I can still feel her path. I’ll be up in a minute to lay in a course.”
“Right. Don’t push yourself.” Ben backed out of the cabin and its door slid shut.
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
Jade Shadow, In High Dathomir Orbit
Luke stared at the mottled, multicolored world of Dathomir through the forward viewport. He nodded, feeling slightly abashed. Of course it was Dathomir.
Ben, seated to Luke’s left in the pilot’s seat, peered at him. “What is it, Dad?”
“I’m just feeling a little stupid. There’s no world better suited to be the home of this new Sith order than Dathomir. I should have realized it long before we were on our final leg here.”
“How so?”
“There are a lot of Force-sensitives in the population, most of whom are trained in the so-called witchcraft of Dathomir. There’s not a lot of government oversight to detect a growing order within the population. There are lots of individual, secretive tribes.” Luke paused to consider. “Jacen was here for a while on his five-year travels. I wonder what he learned and whether it relates to the Maw … And there are mentions in ancient records that there was a Sith academy here long, long ago.”
Ben nodded. “Well, I’ll prep Mom’s Headhunter and get down there. I’ll be your eyes and ears on the ground.”
Luke gave his son a confused look. “I’m not going down with you? I’m feeling much better. Much more rested.”
“Yeah, but there’s a Jedi school down there. The terms of your exile say that you can’t—”
Luke grinned and held up a hand, cutting off his son’s words. “You’re a little bit behind the times, Ben. Maybe you need your own galactic map updated. More than two years ago, when the Jedi turned against Jacen at Kuat—”
“Yeah, and we set up shop on Endor for a while. What about it?”
“We pulled everyone out of the Dathomir school at the time. Jacen’s government shut the school down. The Jedi have yet to reopen it.”
Comprehension dawned on Ben’s face. “So there’s no school, and it’s legal for you to visit.”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of getting by on a technicality, isn’t it?”
“All law is technicality, Ben. Get authorization for landing.”
DATHOMIR
Half an hour later, Luke had to admit that he was wrong. Most of law was technicality. The rest was special cases, and he, apparently, was a special case.
He stood on the parking field of the Dathomiri spaceport. Perhaps “spaceport” was too generous a term. It was a broad, sunny field, grassy in some spots, muddy in others, with thruster scorch marks here and there. Dull gray permacrete domes, most of them clearly prefabricated, dotted the field; the largest was some sort of administrative building, the smaller ones hangars for vehicles no larger than shuttles and starfighters. A tall mesh durasteel fence surrounded the complex, elevated watchtowers dotting its length, and Luke could see the wiring leading to one of the perma-crete domes that marked it as electrified. The spaceport facilities offered little shade, so the Skywalkers stood in the darkness cast by Jade Shadow, but even without the heat of direct sunlight, the moist, windless air was still as oppressive as a blanket.
Luke poured thoughts of helpfulness and reasonability into the Force, but it was no use. The man before him, nearly two skinny meters of red-headed obstructiveness, would not yield a centimeter.
The man, who had given his name as Tarth Vames, again waved his datapad beneath Luke’s nose. “It’s simple. That vehicle—” His wave indicated Jade Shadow. “Neither it, nor anything with an enclosed or enclosable interior, can be inland under your control or your kid’s.” He turned his attention to Ben, who stood, arms folded across his chest, beside his father. Ben glared but did not reply.
Luke sighed. “Is any other visitor to Dathomir operating under that restriction?”
“Don’t think so, no.”
“Then why us?”
Vames thumbed the datapad keyboard so that the message scrolled downward several screens. “Here, right here. An enclosed vehicle, according to these precedents—there’s about eight screens of legal precedents—can be interpreted as a mobile school, especially if you’re in it, especially if its presence constitutes a continuation of a school that’s been here in the past.”
“This is harassment.” Ben’s words were quiet, but loud enough for Vames to hear.
The tall man glowered at Ben. “Of course it’s not harassment. The order came specifically from Chief of State Daala’s office. Public officials at that level don’t harass.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Ben.” Luke added a chiding tone to his voice. “No point in arguing. Vames, are you also prohibited from answering a few questions?”
“Always happy to help. So long as it’s within latitudes permitted by the regulations.”
“Within the last couple of days, have you seen any sign of a dilapidated yacht called She’s a Chancer?” Luke knew the yacht had to be here; he had run his blood trail to ground on Dathomir, and the girl had not departed this world. But anything this man could add to his meager store of knowledge might help.
Vames entered the ship name in his datapad, then shook his head. “No vehicle under that name made legal landfall.”
“Ah.”
“Dilapidated, you say? A yacht?”
“That’s right.”
Vames keyed in some more information. “Last night, shortly after dusk, local time, a vehicle with the operational characteristics of a SoroSuub yacht made a sudden descent from orbit, overflew the spaceport here, and headed north. There was some comm chatter from the pilot about engines on runaway, that she couldn’t cut them or bring her repulsors online for landing.”
Ben frowned at that. “Last night? And you didn’t send out a rescue party?”
“Of course we did. As per regulation. Couldn’t find the crash site. No further communication from the vehicle. We still have searchers up there. But no luck.”
“Actually, that is helpful.” Luke turned to his son. “Ben, no enclosed vehicles.”
“Yeah?”
“Rent us a couple of speeder bikes, would you?”
Ben grinned. “Yes, sir.”
Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith #3: Paragon is a work of fiction.
Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
2010 Del Rey eBook Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization.
Excerpt from Star Wars®: Fate of the Jedi: Backlash copyright © 2010 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization.
Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
DEL REY is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Star Wars®: Fate of the Jedi: Backlash by Aaron Allston. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Read on for an excerpt fromStar Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Backlashby Aaron AllstonPublished by Del Rey
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