Book 0 - The Dark Lord Trilogy

by James Luceno

  Oh, Bail, Breha, what a precious child,” Mon Mothma said while she rocked Leia in her arms. “And such a feisty one!” she added a moment later as Leia worked one arm, then the other, out from under her swaddlings, curled her hands into tiny fists, and let out a wail that echoed in the palace’s great room. “Ah, you want your mom and dad, don’t you, Princess Leia?”

  Queen Breha was already hurrying over to relieve Mon Mothma of a now gesticulating and kicking Leia.

  “That’s her feed-me cry,” Breha said. “If you’ll excuse me, Senator …”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Mon Mothma said, rising to her feet. She watched Breha leave the room, then swung to Bail, who was seated by the room’s gaping fireplace. “I’m so happy for the two of you.”

  “We couldn’t be happier ourselves,” Bail said.

  He wished he could tell Mon Mothma the truth about the child she had just held in her arms, but he couldn’t risk it; not yet, perhaps never. Particularly with “Darth Vader” on the loose.

  Picking up on Bail’s moment of introspection, Mon Mothma returned to her chair and adopted a more serious look.

  “I hope you understand why I couldn’t trust this conversation to the usual means, Bail,” she said. “Are we secure here?”

  “Of course, I understand. And yes, we can speak freely here.”

  Mon Mothma closed her eyes briefly and shook her head in dismay. “Most of the Senate is actually willing to accept that Fang Zar was under suspicion for committing acts of sedition on Coruscant, and that he came to Alderaan only to rally anti-Imperial sentiment.”

  Bail nodded. “I’ve heard the reports. There’s no truth to any of them. He was fleeing for his life.”

  “Has Palpatine remarked on the fact that you granted him refuge?”

  “I honestly didn’t know that he’d been questioned by Internal Security and ordered to remain on Coruscant. When Palpatine’s … agents told me as much, I said I would grant him diplomatic immunity if he asked for it—though I doubt he would have asked, knowing that Alderaan would suffer the repercussions.”

  “Even so, Palpatine’s silence is curious.” She looked hard at Bail. “Perhaps he’s trusting that you won’t reveal the truth about what went on here.”

  Bail nodded in agreement. “Something like that. Although it could work to our long-term advantage to have him believe that I’m willing to support even his lies.”

  Mon Mothma compressed her lips in doubt. “That’s probably true. But I’m concerned about the message your silence sends to our allies in the Senate. Sern Prime is in an uproar over this incident. The president-elect has threatened to recall the entire delegation from Coruscant. This could provide just the impetus we need.”

  Bail stood up and paced away from his chair. “Palpatine wanted to make an example of Fang Zar. He won’t hesitate to make an example of Sern Prime itself, if the president-elect isn’t careful.”

  “How did Zar die?” Mon Mothma said, watching him pace.

  “Vader,” Bail said sharply.

  Mon Mothma shook her head in ignorance. “Who is Vader? One of Armand Isard’s agents?”

  Bail finally sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Worse, far worse. He’s Palpatine’s right hand.”

  Mon Mothma’s expression of uncertainty intensified. “Closer to him than Pestage?”

  Bail nodded. “Closer to Palpatine than any of them.”

  “Out of the blue? I mean, how is it that none of us encountered Vader before now?”

  Bail grasped for words that would reveal enough, without revealing too much. “He … came to prominence during the war. He wields a lightsaber.”

  Mon Mothma’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “No, he’s not a Jedi,” Bail said, before she could ask. “His blade is crimson.”

  “What does the color have to do with anything?”

  “He’s a Sith. A member of the same ancient order to which Dooku swore allegiance.”

  Mon Mothma loosed a fatigued exhalation. “I’ve never understood any of this, about the Siths’ involvement in the war.”

  “You only need to understand that Vader is Palpatine’s executioner. He’s powerful almost beyond belief.” Bail studied his hands. “Fang Zar was not the first person to feel the wrath of Vader’s blade.”

  “Then Vader is all the more reason for us to act while there’s still time,” Mon Mothma said in a forceful voice. “Palpatine’s plan to kill a few to instill fear in the rest is already working. Half the signatories of the Petition of the Two Thousand are all but recanting the demands we issued. I understand that you want to honor Padmé Amidala’s advice to you about biding our time. But what did she know, really? She supported Palpatine almost to the very end.

  “Bail, he’s assembling a vast navy. Half the budget is going to the production of these enormous new Star Destroyers. He’s having new stormtroopers grown. And that’s not the worst of it. The Finance Committee can’t even account for some of the spending. Rumor has it that Palpatine has some secret project in the works.”

  She fell silent, then continued in a quieter tone. “Think back to what happened three years ago. If it wasn’t for the secret army the Jedi created, the Republic wouldn’t have had a hope of defending itself against Dooku’s Confederacy. Granted, Palpatine took advantage of the situation to crown himself Emperor. But consider what’s happening now. We don’t have an army of insurgents waiting in the wings, and we’ll never have one if we don’t begin to marshal support. Palpatine’s military will rule by the sword. He’ll do as he wishes, whatever he wishes, in the name of keeping the Empire intact. Don’t you see?”

  The question hung in the air, but only for a moment.

  Raymus Antilles appeared in the wide doorway to say: “Senators, there’s something the two of you need to see.”

  Antilles hastened to the HoloNet receiver and switched it on.

  “… At this moment, details remain sketchy,” a celebrated commentator was saying, “but reliable sources have stated that the Wookiees were allowing a band of rogue Jedi to use Kashyyyk as a base for rebel strikes against the Empire. The police action is believed to have begun with a demand that the Jedi be surrendered. Instead, the Wookiees resisted, and the result was a battle that left tens of thousands dead, including the Jedi insurgents, and perhaps hundreds of thousands imprisoned.”

  Bail and Mon Mothma traded looks of astonishment.

  “On Coruscant,” the commentator continued, “Kashyyyk Senator Yarua and the members of his delegation were placed under house arrest before any statements could be issued. But on the minds of many just now is the identity of this person, captured by holocam on a landing platform normally reserved for the Emperor himself.”

  “Vader,” Bail said, on seeing the tall figure in black, leading a cadre of stormtroopers into the Emperor’s building.

  “HoloNet News has learned that he is known in the highest circles as Lord Vader,” the commentator said. “Beyond that, almost nothing is known, save for the fact that he led the action on Kashyyyk.

  “Is he human? Clone? The Emperor’s own General Grievous? No one seems to know, but everyone wants to—”

  “Switch it off,” Bail said to Antilles.

  “Kashyyyk,” Mon Mothma said in incredulity. She ran her hands down her face and stared at Bail. “We’re too late. A dark time has begun.”

  Bail didn’t respond immediately. Into the silence stepped Breha, holding Leia against her shoulder, and into Bail’s rattled mind came thoughts of Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Leia’s twin brother, Luke.

  “All the more reason to keep hope hidden,” he said softly.

  The Drunk Dancer was home, parked in the cold gloom, light-years from any inhabited systems. This far from the Core, HoloNet broadcasts were standard days, sometimes weeks, behind and always degraded, but clear enough just now for Starstone, Jula, and everyone else—Jedi and crew members alike—to identify the bodies of Iwo Kulka and Siadem Forte.

  “… Al
l the Jedi who took part in the battle were killed,” a correspondent was saying when Starstone asked Filli to mute the recorded feed. Everyone had already seen the original reports, which had since been embellished with exaggerations and outright lies.

  Gazing around the cabin space at Jambe, Nam, Deran Nalual, and Klossi Anno, Starstone couldn’t help but think that the five of them made up what could be thought of as the final Jedi Council. With herself having called for the meeting, as master of ceremonies, without ever having passed the trials, let alone been dubbed a teacher.

  But she could remember Shryne saying on Murkhana that the war was trial enough for anyone.

  “What I’m about to say was already said by Master Shryne,” she began at last. “He warned us that by gathering together we would make ourselves a larger target for the Empire, and that we would end up drawing others into our predicament. We can’t risk fomenting another Kashyyyk. The Empire will have to come up with justifications that don’t rely on the presence of Jedi.

  “Because there are no more Jedi.

  “That much is clear to me now, and I’ll never forgive myself for not having had sense enough to recognize it sooner. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to think of what happened at Kashyyyk as further diminishing the legacy of the Jedi among those who never doubted that Palpatine betrayed us. But if we can’t be Jedi, we can at least continue to honor that legacy in our own way.”

  Starstone looked at Chewbacca. “Just before we jumped from Kashyyyk, Chewbacca said that he believed he could be of greater help to his people from afar. I feel the same, and I know that some of you do, as well.”

  She took a breath before continuing. “I’ve decided to remain aboard the Drunk Dancer with Jula, Filli, Archyr, and the rest of this mad crew.” She smiled weakly. “Chewbacca and Cudgel are also going to remain aboard for a time. Our priority will be to learn where so many of Chewbacca’s people were taken, and to help liberate them, if at all possible. I’m hoping that by finding them, we’ll also be able to learn why the Empire was so intent on invading Kashyyyk to begin with.

  “Along the way …” Starstone shrugged. “Along the way we’re going to keep our eyes open for any Jedi survivors who surface on their own, or are forced into the open by Imperial spies. Not to repeat the mistakes we made at Kashyyyk, but to get them to safety. Gradually, other smugglers will spread word of what we’re doing, and of the safe routes we’ll establish, and maybe some Jedi will actually come looking for us.

  “Beyond that, we’ll undermine the Empire at every opportunity, any way that we can.”

  “We’re going to keep my son’s memory alive,” Jula said.

  The cabin fell silent for a moment.

  “I know this may sound like I’ve gone over to the enemy,” Jambe Lu said, “but I plan to sign up with a flight school somewhere, and try to finagle my way into one of the Imperial academies. Once inside, I’m going to foster whatever dissent I can.”

  “We have something similar in mind,” Nam said, speaking for himself, Klossi Anno, and Deran Nalual. “But by getting ourselves attached to Imperial agricultural or construction projects, and engineering what flaws we can into the Empire’s designs.”

  Starstone’s eyes brightened.

  “I trust that all of you understand there can be no contact among us—ever again. That’s going to be the hardest part for me.” She sighed deeply. “I guess I’ve grown attached to all of you. But I’m certain of this much: Palpatine’s Empire will rot from the inside out, and eventually someone will cast him from his throne. I only hope that all of us are alive to witness that day.”

  She drew her lightsaber from her belt. “We need to say good-bye to these, as well.” She ignited the blade briefly, then summoned it back into the hilt and placed it at her feet on the deck.

  Regarding everyone, she said: “May the Force be with all of us.”

  Lord Vader,” the gunnery officer said, nodding his head in salute as Vader passed by his station.

  “Lord Vader,” the communications officer said, saluting in similar fashion.

  “Lord Vader,” the Exactor’s captain said, in crisp acknowledgment.

  Vader continued on to the end of bridge walkway, thinking: This is how I will be greeted from now on, wherever I set foot.

  Standing at the forward viewports, he scanned the stars with his reconstructed eyes.

  He had guardianship of all this, or at least joint custody of it. The Jedi no longer mattered; they were no different from others who would interfere with his and Sidious’s realm. Their mission was to maintain order, so that the dark side could continue to reign supreme.

  Anakin was gone; a memory so deeply buried he might have dreamed rather than lived it. The Force as Anakin knew it was interred with him, and inseparable from him.

  Just as Sidious promised, he was now married to the order of the Sith, and needed no other companion than the dark side of the Force. He embraced all that he had done to bring balance to the Force, by dismantling the corrupt Republic and toppling the Jedi, and he reveled in his power. It could all be his, anything he wished. He needed only the determination to take it, at whatever cost to those who stood in his way.

  But …

  He was also married to Sidious, who doled out precious bits of Sith technique as if merely lending them—just enough to increase his apprentice’s power, without making him supremely powerful.

  There would come a day, however, when they would be equals.

  He scanned the stars, looking forward to a time when he could find an apprentice of his own and, together with that one, topple Darth Sidious from his throne.

  It gave him something to live for.

  Another glass, stranger?” the cantina owner asked Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  “What will it cost me?”

  “Ten credits for refills.”

  “That’s as much as a shot of one of your imported brandies.”

  “The price of staying hydrated on Tatooine, my friend. Yes or no?”

  Obi-Wan nodded. “Fill it.”

  Gathered by the cantina’s single moisture vaporator, the water was somewhat cloudy and had a metallic taste, but it was of a higher quality than that gathered by Obi-Wan’s own vaporator. If he was to survive in the hovel he had found, he would need to have the vaporator repaired, or somehow obtain a newer one from the Jawa traders who occasionally passed through the region he now called home.

  If it hadn’t been for the kindness of the maroon-cloaked creatures, he would still be walking to Anchorhead rather than sitting in the scant shade of the cantina’s veranda, sipping water. A wind-scoured settlement close to Tatooine’s Western Dune Sea, Anchorhead was little more than a trading post frequented by the moisture farmers who made up the Great Chott salt flat community, or by merchants traveling between Mos Eisley and Wayfar, in the south. Anchorhead had a small resident population, a dozen or so pourstone stores, and two small cantinas. But it was known mainly for the power generator located at the edge of town.

  Named for its owner, Tosche Station supplied energy to the moisture farms and served as a recharge depot for the farmers’ landspeeders and other repulsorlift vehicles. The station also boasted a hyperwave repeater, which—when it functioned—received HoloNet feeds relayed from Naboo, Rodia, and, occasionally, Nal Hutta, in Hutt space.

  Tosche was working today, and The Weary Traveler’s handful of afternoon customers were catching up on news and the outcome of sports events that had taken place standard weeks earlier. Obi-Wan—known locally as Ben—had taken possession of an abandoned home on a bluff in the Jundland Wastes. He glanced at the HoloNet display from time to time, but the focus of his interest was a provisions store across the street from the cantina.

  In the months since he had arrived on Tatooine his hair and beard had grown quickly, and his face and hands had turned nut brown. In his soft boots and long robe, its cowl raised over his head, no one would have taken him for a former Jedi, let alone a Master who had sat on the High Council. In any case
, Tatooine wasn’t a world where questions were asked. Residents wondered, and they gossiped and theorized, but they rarely inquired about the reasons that brought strangers to remote Tatooine. Coupled with the fact that the world was still largely under the sway of the Hutts, the prevailing frontier etiquette had made Tatooine a refuge for criminals, smugglers, and outlaws from star systems galaxywide.

  Many of the locals were just learning that the former Republic was now an Empire, and most of them didn’t care one way or another. Tatooine was on the fringe, and fringe worlds might as well have been invisible to distant Coruscant.

  Months earlier, when he and Anakin had been in pursuit of clues they had hoped would lead them to Darth Sidious, Obi-Wan had told Anakin that he could think of far worse places to live than Tatooine, and he still felt that way. He took in stride the ubiquitous sand that had so rankled Anakin. Tatooine’s double-sunset skies were always a marvel to behold.

  And the isolation suited him.

  All the more because Anakin had been subverted by Palpatine and, for a brief time, had served this new Emperor.

  Given everything that had happened since, the one image Obi-Wan knew he would never be able to erase from his memory was that of Anakin—Darth Vader, as Sidious had dubbed him—kneeling in allegiance to the Dark Lord, after having gone on a murderous spree in the Jedi Temple. If there was a second image, it was of Anakin burning on the shore of one of Mustafar’s lava flows, cursing him.

  Had he been wrong to let Anakin die there? Could he have been redeemed, as Padmé had believed to the last? These were questions that plagued him, and pained him more deeply than he would ever have thought possible.

  And now, all these months later, here he was on Tatooine, Anakin’s homeworld, watching over Anakin’s infant son, Luke.

  Obi-Wan’s reason for living.

  Watching from afar, at any rate. Today was as close as he had come to the child in weeks. Just across the street, Luke sat in a front carrier worn by Beru while she purchased sugar and blue milk; neither she nor her husband, Owen, was aware of Obi-Wan’s presence on the cantina veranda, his vigilant though covert gaze.