Star Wars: The New Rebellion

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “Your counterpart?” the receptionist droid asked. “Do you mean the astromech droid that was squealing rudely a few moments ago?”

  “Yes,” Threepio said. “He’s eccentric, but he’s a hero of several battles and is quite well-known.”

  “Well, then you shouldn’t have any trouble finding him,” the receptionist droid said.

  “Finding him?”

  “He left when you came up here.”

  Threepio spun. “Artoo? Artoo!”

  The room had quieted as the petitioners watched the exchange between the receptionist droid and Threepio. There was a gap in the wall near the sculpture where Artoo had been. The Ychthytonian pointed his top left arm toward the door.

  “She’s right,” he said. “Yer little buddy zoomed out while you were arguing. He was heading toward the pilots’ turbolift.”

  “The pilots’ turbolift?” Threepio said. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” He started out, then stopped, and turned to the reception droid. “I expect you to inform Mon Mothma that we were here. If you do not, I will personally make certain that you are demoted to working as a translator for mechanical garbage compactors.”

  Then he hurried out of the room, calling for Artoo. The hallway was full of more petitioners arriving to see Mon Mothma. Apparently the change in leadership meant that opportunists were trying to see if Mon Mothma would help them where Mistress Leia had not. Threepio pushed past several young humans, a Gosfambling, and a Llewebum, and stopped in front of the pilots’ turbolift.

  It was called that because it led directly into the shipyard. The Emperor’s pilots had been on call all the time. Any threat to the Empire had the pilots on the turbolift, going down kilometers to the ships, and taking off to defend Coruscant. The New Republic had deemed the lift useful, and had kept both it and its name.

  The turbolift was just returning to this floor.

  “Artoo,” Threepio said softly, “when I catch up with you, I am going to recommend a restraining bolt.”

  The turbolift doors opened, and Threepio stepped on. He hit Express and braced himself as the car plunged. At the bottom, the doors opened. Threepio peered through them.

  The doors into the pilots’ wing were opened, the panel on the computer-locking system on the ground. Artoo had been in a hurry; normally he replaced such things. Machinery hummed at the far end of the wing.

  Threepio scurried down the hallway. It was empty. He slid into the bay. Dozens of X-wings were in various states of disrepair. Master Luke’s stood near the space doors, as if waiting for him to return.

  Beyond that were other ships in various states of disrepair. And no sign of Artoo.

  “Oh, dear,” Threepio said. “I don’t like this.”

  He stepped over power cables and computer parts. Then a movement flashed in the next room. Threepio hurried toward it. Artoo was standing near a stock light freighter. It appeared newly reassembled. Someone had taken the time to clean the carbon scoring and space dirt off the sides.

  “What are you thinking, Artoo?”

  Artoo whistled.

  “I can’t pilot a freighter. You know droids can’t. We need help, Artoo.”

  Artoo chirruped.

  “They aren’t ignoring you. Artoo, you must see someone in charge!”

  Artoo beeped again. Threepio hurried toward the freighter.

  “Artoo, really. Just because you couldn’t speak to Mon Mothma when you wished doesn’t mean that you can’t wait. It would have been only a moment longer, and I would have gotten you inside.”

  Artoo bleebled.

  “Of course you have time. There’s always time.”

  Artoo moaned.

  “Surely it can’t be as bad as all that, Artoo!”

  Artoo warbled.

  “Let me talk with Mon Mothma,” Threepio said. “I’m sure she’ll send someone—”

  Artoo emitted a long, lengthy raspberry.

  “Artoo, really. What were you planning to do? Wait for the owner to return? You have no idea what sort of person flies this contraption—”

  Artoo beeped indignantly.

  “All right,” Threepio said. “So I don’t know what your plan is. But I believe that if we take the official route—”

  Artoo warbled. The sound was almost happy.

  Footsteps sounded behind them.

  Threepio turned.

  Cole Fardreamer stood in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. “I suppose the cryptic message Luke Skywalker left for me on the systems computer actually came from you, Artoo, since Master Skywalker isn’t here to meet me.”

  Artoo cheebled.

  “Artoo,” Threepio said softly, “you aren’t supposed to tamper with the equipment. And using Master Luke’s codes!”

  “I think the chiding can wait. The message sounded urgent,” Cole said.

  Artoo swiveled his head and beeped.

  “Artoo wants to know who owns the stock light freighter,” Threepio said, “although I don’t know why. Frankly, Master Fardreamer, Artoo has acted strangely since he was hit with that blasterfire.”

  “Artoo has good instincts,” Cole said. He came into the room. “The freighter was stolen, and we impounded it. I’ve been fixing it up. No one really owns it. I think we’ll try to sell it.”

  Artoo churbled and rocked.

  “Artoo,” Threepio said. “Really, Master Fardreamer, he’s not himself.”

  Cole smiled. “I think you might want to translate for me.”

  Threepio glanced at Artoo. Artoo wailed. “Oh, all right,” Threepio said. “Artoo believes he knows who bombed the Senate Hall. He says if we don’t go there immediately, there will be another explosion.”

  “To the Senate Hall?”

  “No,” Threepio said, as if Cole were slow. “To the place that the detonators came from.”

  Artoo cheebled urgently.

  “He wants to know, sir, if you can help us.”

  Cole Fardreamer frowned at the stock light freighter. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “But I can certainly try.”

  Thirty-four

  Leia had six military personnel on her small ship. Wedge had insisted that she have them in case of attack, but she suspected they were all on board to guard her. Wedge—and Mon Mothma—weren’t certain what she was going to do, and they wanted to keep her from doing something crazy.

  She had never let anyone stop her before.

  They wouldn’t stop her now.

  Even though the young lieutenant, Tchiery, had insisted on piloting, Leia had rebuffed him. She needed the control. This was her mission, even though she was letting Wedge lead the fleet. She wanted to know the course, and the plan, and not veer from it.

  Unless she wanted to.

  Once she saw Almania, she would know what to do.

  Her new crewmembers were in the galley, arguing over dinner. The cockpit was blessedly silent, allowing her to think. The copilot’s chair still bore the impression from Tchiery’s body. He was a Farnym. Farnyms were creatures noted for their bowling-ball roundness, and the incredible strength behind their unusual shape. They had close-cut fur, small snouts, and large orange eyes. Tchiery was no different. They also had a peculiar odor, like ginger mixed with sandalwood, an odor that remained in the cockpit long after Tchiery was gone.

  The fleet fanned out behind her, thirty strong. How Mon Mothma was going to justify Wedge taking most of the working ships in the arsenal was beyond Leia. Wedge and his commanders rode in three large ships, and were accompanied by squadrons of smaller ships, mostly A- and B-wings. It was amazing how many ships he and Admiral Ackbar had been able to scrape together quickly.

  Admiral Ackbar had opted to remain behind. He would cover their tracks as best he could, but surely Meido and his gang would notice thirty ships leaving Coruscant simultaneously. What they would not notice was the tiny, unmarked Alderaan. Leia counted on that. She didn’t want anyone to know she was part of this mission until it was too late to recall the ships.

  She
leaned back in the pilot’s chair, took a handful of her long hair, and quickly tied it into a ponytail. It was the third time she had made a ponytail. She kept pulling out the twist, a nervous habit from childhood that she thought she had lost. A lot of nervous habits had returned since Kueller had destroyed that second planet. She knew that when she returned she would have to deal with all the feelings those habits hid.

  If she returned.

  She had no idea what sort of weapon Kueller was using. The planets remained, but the people seemed to disappear. That wasn’t a Death Star or a Sun Crusher. No great single weapon to destroy with a bolt. The fleet couldn’t bomb it out of existence because they didn’t know what it was.

  They couldn’t bomb Almania out of existence either. That would make the New Republic no better than the Empire had been.

  Leia wasn’t certain Wedge had thought all those details through. She would send his military personnel back with a message to his ship, the Yavin, when they reached Almanian space. No overall bombing until the target was sighted. If the target was obvious, then of course she wouldn’t even send the message. But if it wasn’t, the crew would go back to Wedge, and she would disappear into Almania’s atmosphere.

  To find Kueller herself.

  Because she still wasn’t certain if he was after the New Republic or if he was after her family. He was strong in the Force, which made him a powerful enemy. For the thousandth time, she wished she had listened to Luke and completed her Jedi training. She wouldn’t be able to outnegotiate Kueller, at least not for the long term. But she might be able to outfight him, with Luke’s help.

  She pulled the twist out of her hair, and the strands cascaded down her back. The stars looked no different. Even in hyperdrive, the distance to Almania was incredible. It was amazing that Kueller had even considered his planet part of the New Republic. Planets this far out usually liked to retain their independence. Almania had maintained its independence from the Empire. It should have continued such behavior under the New Republic.

  Yet another detail that didn’t make sense.

  So many details about Almania didn’t make sense, partly because the information about the planet was sketchy. She suspected that the Je’har had aligned themselves with the Rebellion for form’s sake and to protect their government, not because of any real allegiance or caring about the fight against the Empire. So far as she could tell, no Almanian joined the military on either side.

  But someone had mentioned that Almanians had sent a distress message to her government years ago that never got a response. Perhaps that was why Kueller had come after the New Republic.

  Perhaps it had nothing to do with her family at all.

  All the nagging worries. She had a thousand of them. She hadn’t been able to find Artoo before she left, and she had counted on him. It would have been nice to have the little droid beside her in Alderaan. Threepio might have been helpful, too, at least as a distraction. But they were both missing. Artoo had left the maintenance facility shortly after he checked in, and Threepio had gone with him. No one had seen them since.

  Just as no one had heard from Han. He hadn’t answered any of her messages. She finally had to leave him one saying that she would be out of touch for a while, but she would find him. It was essential that the fleet have communications silence, but it worried her. Han’s mission to Smuggler’s Run had taken way too long, and with that cryptic message trying to frame Han, Leia wondered if the delay was bad news.

  She hadn’t reached Lando, either. Lando, who had put his life in jeopardy for Han’s. She could only hope that Lando had found Han and they were both all right, tracking down the person or persons who had gone after Han.

  And then there was Luke. She had been reaching for him ever since she had seen that holocording from Kueller. Except for that plaintive, pain-filled call, she hadn’t heard from Luke. The silence was unnerving.

  Every once in a while, though, she would get strange aches and pains. Her left ankle gave out on her as she finished the final check in the cockpit, sending severe pain up her leg. But when she checked it, she discovered nothing wrong. Shortly after takeoff, she had relaxed in her pilot’s chair, and cried out as a thousand needles poked into her back. Again, the sensation was gone in a moment, and there was no visible sign of injury (or of needles embedded in her chair). Both times she had gotten a sense of Luke before the pain faded.

  He was alive. She knew that much. But she also knew he was badly injured, and alone.

  She had to reach him soon. Even though they were straining the Alderaan’s engines, they weren’t going fast enough for her.

  She had to reach her brother before he died—or worse.

  Luke awoke to a barely lit room. He was on his stomach, his back aching fiercely. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted fuzzy. The shot shouldn’t have worked, but it did, mostly due to his own weakened state. He hadn’t had enough energy to fight Dolph/Kueller and to maintain consciousness against the power of the medication.

  And now they had him here.

  Wherever here was.

  He blinked. Even his eyes felt grimy. He was still dehydrated. He could feel it in each movement, in each throb of his head. But the rest had given him some strength back. He could get beyond this weakness. He would be able to defend himself now.

  The pallet was only a few inches above the floor. The floor was covered with dirt, and beneath it, the surface was made of wood. How unusual.

  The light that filtered in, giving the room its grayish-brown color, came from grates above. He suspected the grates opened into another room or the light would have been brighter.

  He forced himself to sit up slowly, the very movement pulling on his back, reminding him of the source of his pain. His X-wing was gone. It had exploded over Pydyr, and when he was there, he hadn’t been able to figure out what happened.

  But as he had slept, the realization struck him.

  Someone must have tampered with the X-wing on Telti. Brakiss couldn’t have done it. He had been with Luke during most of that time. But one of the droids could have, under Brakiss’s orders.

  And if the X-wing had exploded on Almania, as planned, Brakiss would have taken care of both of the men he feared: Luke Skywalker and Kueller.

  Luke brushed his face, and hit something prickly. He brought his hand down. Straw. He looked down. The pallet was covered in straw.

  How odd.

  And his hands weren’t bound.

  Neither were his feet.

  But his lightsaber was gone.

  So. Kueller believed there was no escape from this place, but he also believed that Luke might have had use for the lightsaber.

  Which meant that Luke would not be alone for long.

  He got up slowly, moving with caution so that the throbbing he felt wouldn’t turn into dizziness. The splint enabled him to put some weight on his ankle. Slowly he crept forward.

  The room was more like a series of rooms. The ceilings were high enough that he didn’t want to try to jump them with his injured ankle, and the walls were smooth. Yet fresh air flowed in, along with the scent of raw meat.

  The thought of such food made his stomach churn, but he knew that food would have value for him, not so much for its nutritional content, but for its moisture. He followed the scent, and discovered more straw on the far side of the room he had awakened in.

  Mixed in with the straw were long white hairs, and the faint smell of animals.

  The next room was dark. The scent of meat was stronger here. It mixed with the animal odor. Luke wasn’t sure he would like what he was going to find. He squinted, forcing his eyes to adjust.

  Nothing.

  The room was emptier than the first, with only one pile of straw, and no pallet at all. The raw-meat smell came from a corner filled with large, empty bowls, but no meat rested there. Obviously the meat had been eaten. Only the smell lingered.

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He was alone, but it didn’t feel as if he were alo
ne.

  He didn’t like the feeling.

  He limped back to his pallet and sat down. There was no way to tell how long he had been out. Or exactly where he was. His only hope was to engage one of the guards and to escape by stealing one of Dolph/Kueller’s ships.

  But before he did that, he would want to find the source of Kueller’s disturbing power. It had to be near Kueller somewhere. He wouldn’t let it too far out of his sight, whatever it was.

  A faint snuffling echoed from the far room. Luke looked up. A large white creature sat in the doorway, nearly filling it. If the creature stretched on its hind legs, it might be able to reach the grates. It obviously had no desire to.

  The snuffling continued. Then Luke realized that it was sniffing the air.

  It was smelling him.

  He sat very still. His lack of restraints made him nervous. This, then, was the thing Kueller had planned for him.

  It rose on all fours, standing twice his size. Chewbacca would be tiny next to this thing. It had a smallish face (compared to its body), short ears, and slitted blue eyes. Its shoulders were broad, and its back flat. Its hair was white and flaked off with each movement. It had a long thin tail that Luke suspected carried a lot of power.

  Maybe if he didn’t move, it wouldn’t harm him. Most creatures, when faced with a monster like this one, Shrieked and ran. The first best gamble was always to wait it out.

  The creature came closer. Drool dripped off its mouth, landing in giant puddles near its feet. It continued snuffling, following the path that Luke had made to the door and then to the straw.

  Luke worked to control his own breathing, keeping it shallow. He willed himself invisible, but he didn’t know how to send that vision to the thing in front of him. He couldn’t yet tell if it had any real intelligence.

  It followed his scent from the straw to the pallet, and it stopped in front of him, sniffing the air. Drool landed on his feet, soaking them in warm, slimy liquid. He didn’t move.

  The creature kept sniffing. Its size was amazing. If he stood, he might be able to reach its barrel chest. Fortunately its mouth was small, or he would be eaten in one chomp.