Jedi Knight

by William C. Dietz

  Each Jedi perceived the Force in his or her own slightly subjective manner. For Yun, it manifested as an eternal hum — a gentle vibration that never went away. But this place was different. The Force felt more intense here, as if it had been amplified, and growled like a ravenous beast. In fact, the activity was so strong it could be perceived by those with little or no talent.

  They had just entered a ravine and started down a flight of water-eroded stairs, when a banshee-like entity screamed by the stormtrooper's head. The soldier flinched, managed to retain his composure, and turned toward Yun. "They're starting early today, sir. Looks like a rough one."

  Given the fact that the Force was more concentrated than usual, Yun found that it was easy to shape a thought and hurl it at the obnoxious spirit. The results were dramatic, to say the least. Angered rather than frightened, the entity summoned even more spirits to the site and sent them howling around the Jedi's head. The trooper, his mind reeling under the assault, broke and ran.

  Yun, relying on his training, stood his ground. A voice spoke within his head. "Pain means nothing to such as these. They have suffered for thousands of years. Imagine their plight, understand the horror of it, and communicate that understanding."

  The personality associated with the voice seemed familiar somehow, and the Jedi struggled to place it. "Who are you?" Yun demanded. "One of them?"

  "No, not really," the voice answered. "I gave you the key . . . try it."

  Knowing that both Jerec and Sariss expected him to succeed, not to mention the troopers in the chamber below, Yun followed the instructions. He thought about the spirits who wailed around him, about the extent to which they had suffered, and his anger melted away. He felt a sense of empathy, of understanding, and extended it to those around him.

  The change was almost instantaneous. The moaning stopped, the entities slipped away, and the Force grew more tranquil.

  Pleased with the results and confident of his ability to deal with similar situations, Yun sent a message of appreciation. "Thank you."

  There was no answer from his invisible benefactor — just a momentary sense of warmth.

  The stormtrooper had yet to reappear, but Yun had no difficulty following the path downward, past a wall inscribed with ancient hieroglyphics and a spot where a deactivated droid stared into a looted alcove. One of the machine's arms had been converted to a directional sign. Yun took a right.

  The side corridor was relatively short and opened into a large chamber. Stand-mounted floods threw light onto the walls, cargo modules stood in untidy piles, and a confrontation was underway.

  Major Vig was a big man, with short red hair and a handlebar mustache. It was nonreg, and a constant source of frustration to his superiors, but ultimately tolerated because of his courage and almost legendary competence. Competence that translated to respect — and explained why the stormtroopers were hesitant to ignore both his orders and the blaster in his hand. The officer's voice boomed through the cavern. "Hold it right there . . . the first man to move dies."

  There was a moment of silence while the troopers absorbed the officer's words and considered the consequences of what they were about to do. That's when a group of three screamers entered the chamber through the rear wall, passed through the middle of a trooper's chest, and dove through the floor.

  It was too much. Eyes bulged in their sockets, heads swiveled in every direction, and the mob moved forward. That's when Yun spoke. "Good morning, gentlemen. I see you're already hard at work! Lord Jerec will be pleased. Sorry about the somewhat unusual working conditions .. . perhaps I can help."

  In spite of the fact that very few of the soldiers had ever seen Jerec, much less met him, they were well aware of who he was and the much exaggerated powers ascribed not only to him, but to the coterie of Jedi who attended him. That being the case, the sudden and unheralded appearance of one such exalted creature took on seemingly mystical qualities. The upshot was that when Yun said he could help, the troopers believed him.

  Sensing the change, and correctly interpreting the embarrassed looks that had appeared on his subordinates' faces, Major Vig holstered his side arm. He started to say something, realized Yun was distracted, and waited for the Jedi to take notice. It didn't take very long. Yun completed his interaction with some unseen spirits and smiled.

  "I think the matter is resolved — for the moment anyway. Inform your men that while such incidents will no doubt continue, I'll be here to deal with them. That means they can return to work. Lord Jerec has a personal interest in this effort — and there's no time to waste."

  Major Vig spoke to his officers, who soon had the troops back at work. Most of his peers would have pressed charges on the theory that a few highly visible executions were a boon to discipline, but Vig didn't blame the troops for being frightened and decided to ignore what they had done. A strategy Yun found interesting.

  Sariss, like her mentor, had taught Yun that the sort of leadership Vig demonstrated was a sign of weakness and that respect flows from fear. Fear born of power, which was the point of the entire exercise on Ruusan. The major interrupted his thoughts. "Thank you, sir. The screamers have been a constant problem."

  Yun shrugged. "Glad I could help. In fact, it looks as if you're stuck with me."

  Vig's mustache twitched over what might have been a smile. He knew Yun would be in command but saw that as a plus. The Jedi was welcome to the screamers and Jerec, as far as the officer was concerned. "Welcome aboard, sir. Would you like a tour?"

  Yun indicated that he would and followed the officer across the main chamber and into one of the many storerooms that branched off from it. The narration had a canned quality suggesting that Vig had given the tour before. "The main chamber is a natural phenomenon, formed by an ancient river, but the storerooms, while still very old, are a good deal more recent. They were carved from solid rock." The officer paused and pointed at a wall. "Look, you can still see the tool marks."

  Yun looked, confirmed Vig's observation, and followed the officer into a half-empty room. A droid was hard at work stripping goo off a wall. "Looks weird, doesn't it?" the officer inquired. "Still, the ancients knew what they were doing. They brought down supplies, stacked them along the walls, and sprayed preservative on them. Interestingly enough, the scaler is so much better than what we use for the same purpose that it might be worth duplicating. Here, look at this . . . " Vig sidestepped the droid, took one of the recently freed packages, and placed it in the Jedi's hands.

  Yun accepted the object, peeled the last bits of malleable gel off the bottom of the box, and turned it over. It was made of plastic or something very similar. The top featured a single cluster of hieroglyphics and a slightly raised panel. "What is it?"

  "Press the panel three times," the officer said mischievously. "Place it on the floor and watch."

  Yun did as instructed and stepped back. Ten seconds passed before anything happened. Then, just as the Jedi was about to lose interest, the lid popped open, steam billowed into the room, and a yeasty odor filled the air.

  "Lunch!" Vig said delightedly, "or breakfast or dinner as the case may be. Look inside."

  The Jedi looked. The box contained fifteen or twenty grub-like things. They wiggled and squirmed with such vigor that the thick, brown sauce lapped the edges of the container.

  "We aren't sure which species these meals were prepared for," the officer continued, "and it doesn't really matter. Self-heating rations have been around for a long time — but not ones in which the seemingly inert contents are somehow brought back to life. And what about the heat source? The heat mods in our field rations have a shelf life of about twenty years. These have been sitting around for a thousand or more."

  Yun saw the value and understood the means by which Jerec had secured a small fleet with which to pursue his personal ambitions. It was wonderful or horrible, depending on how you chose to view it.

  "And that's not all," Vig continued. "Come on . . . wait till you see the rest!"
>
  The Jedi followed the officer into a succession of storerooms where even more treasures were revealed. There was a tractor beam projector no bigger than a wand, healing machines only slightly less effective than bacta tanks, and a fusion reactor so small it could be carried in a backpack. All of which would endear Jerec to his corporate sponsors. A political dynamic that Yun had never considered before.

  It was a relatively pleasant morning, interrupted by no more than three screamers, none of whom presented much of a problem.

  Yun had lunch with Major Vig, a captain, and two lieutenants in a recently cleared storeroom. They sat at a table complete with white linen, regimental silver, and a freshly prepared meal. A droid served as waiter. Everything went well until the plates were cleared and the atmosphere inexplicably changed.

  The first sign that something was wrong was when Lieutenant Hab said something unintelligible, grabbed his throat, and toppled over backward.

  A split second passed while the Jedi wondered if Hab had choked on a piece of meat — followed by the realization that the problem was even more serious. Yun struggled to remain calm, fought the temptation to meet force with force, and attempted to reach out.

  The entity sensed the movement and released Hab in order to refocus its energies. The spirit seized the tendril of being that linked Yun to his physical body. The Jedi felt a tug — followed by sustained pressure. The entity was trying to pull him out!

  The Jedi attempted to withdraw and discovered that he wasn't able to do so. The other entity's hold was too strong. Fear clutched his belly, his mouth opened, and nothing emerged. It was at the very height of his fear that the voice spoke within. "Don't surrender to doubt, my son. Use the same technique you learned earlier. He's stronger, that's all. Even Jedi Masters can lose their sanity after a thousand years of confinement. Anchor your mind, reach out, and understand. The Force will protect you."

  Yun swallowed, was glad to discover that he had that much control, and took the risk. Rather than continue his efforts to withdraw, he pushed outward. The entity sensed victory and rushed in. Yun welcomed the spirit, not into his body, but into the warmth of his understanding and the hope of freedom. The ancient was too far gone to be healed, not by a mind so junior, but allowed itself to be soothed.

  "Good," the voice said. "You did all anyone could do. He returns to his tomb."

  "Who are you?" Yun demanded. "Should I know you?"

  "Yes," the voice replied calmly. "You should. For you participated in my murder, and I inhabit your dreams."

  "Nij Por Ral?"

  "No, though my death followed his."

  "Rahn!"

  Yun remembered him well. A Jedi who had heard of the Valley and dedicated his life to finding it. Rahn and a group of his associates had been intercepted before they could locate the Valley, and it was Yun's participation in the murders that followed, mixed with other aspects of his life, that still haunted his dreams. The voice was matter-of-fact. "So, you remember."

  "Yes."

  "Good."

  "Why? Why help me?"

  "The light within you flickers," the voice answered calmly, "but it continues to burn. The fate of billions upon billions of beings rests on what will happen here. You will play a part."

  "A part?" Yun asked, "What kind of part?"

  "That," Rahn responded, "is entirely up to you."

  Yun felt the connection break, opened his eves to a room filled with staring faces, and felt very much alone.

  Yun wandered the subterranean passageways for the next couple of days, dealt with the occasional screamer, and wished something interesting would happen. It wasn't long before his wish came true.

  The Jedi had just left the main corridor, sidestepped a train of heavily laden gray pallets, and was about to enter the third chamber when everything started to shake. Little bits of rock rained down on his head, the dust made him cough, and the floor shook as something heavy hit it. The screams started just as the shaking stopped.

  The Jedi could have headed for the, surface and knew it was the smart thing to do, but he discovered that his feet had minds of their own. They carried Yun into the chamber and a scene of mass pandemonium.

  A large, pancake-shaped section of the ceiling had collapsed, trapping a man beneath. His name was Jaru, and he was known for three things: the size of his nose, the fact that he could spit farther than anyone else in his unit, and his skill with a grenade launcher. Jaru was alive because he had been bending over at the moment when the roof caved in and a nearby cargo module had absorbed the initial impact. Though half-crushed, it still served to hold the slab aloft. The trooper's hoots extended out into the chamber and beat a tattoo on the floor.

  Orders were shouted, bodies moved through the dusty murk, and troopers grabbed hold. Two droids, both designed for heavy-duty construction work, followed the humans into position. An officer counted to three, muscles strained, eyes bulged, and hydraulics whined, but nothing happened. That's when the next set of tremors hit.

  Large chunks of rock fell, a helmet shattered, and a trooper fell. He was dead before he hit the ground. Jaru moaned and continued to kick his legs. "Grab his ankles," Yun ordered, "and get ready to pull."

  If Imperial troops had been taught to understand anything, it was blind obedience. The officer gave a quick series of orders, and men leaped to obey and took Jaru by the ankles.

  Once the stormtroopers were in position, Yun closed his eyes, called upon the Force, and "saw" the slab rise into the air. It was a truly desperate measure, since he had never moved anything even a quarter of that size during his apprenticeship or in the years since. But he couldn't leave Jaru lying there, couldn't leave him to die, couldn't . .

  Beads of perspiration dotted the Jedi's forehead, fingernails bit into the palms of his hands, and his lips formed a grimace. Light flared beyond his eyelids, energy crackled, and something moved.

  The stormtroopers cheered. Yun opened his eyes, caught a glimpse of the slab floating a meter off the ground, and suddenly lost his concentration. The rock hit the floor with an enormous thump, cracked down the center, and split into pieces.

  Yun, certain that Jaru had been killed, felt a horrible sense of despair That's when the officer slapped him on the back, Jaru materialized between a couple of troopers, and the whole thing was over.

  They loaded Jaru onto a makeshift stretcher and carried him toward the surface. The rest of the work party followed. The tremors were gone now, and it was then, while he followed the officer up some well-worn steps, that Yun realized what he'd done.

  "Yes," Rahn confirmed. "When the chips were down, you forgot about the dark side — yet the power you needed was there. Think about it."

  Yun did think about it. Long into the night. There were dreams, but none focused on death, and a smile found his lips.

  The administrative deck was only a few levels above the surface. That made it easier for the ground troops to come and go. The office was rather Spartan and likely to remain that way. Unpacked boxes were stacked against an unfinished wall, an unfinished cable run dangled through an access panel, and the air smelled of scaler.

  Sariss regarded Yun across the top of her somewhat cluttered desk. He looked the same but felt different, although the nature of the change escaped her. She had heard about the rock-raising incident, everyone had, and read the officer's report. Even Yun admitted that the whole thing had been an anomaly, a near miracle that he wouldn't be able to replicate. The episode still pointed to an extremely strong talent, however, one that might prove superior to her own one day, a possibility that had never crossed her mind before. Perhaps that was it — perhaps Yun had gained additional confidence and was starting to show it. A not-altogether-pleasant possibility within a highly competitive meritocracy. Sariss summoned a smile and forced it onto her lips. "You've done well . . . even Jerec agrees."

  Yun looked pleased. "Thank you."

  Sariss chuckled. "Better wait till you hear what I'm about to say — you could change yo
ur mind."

  Yun raised an eyebrow. "A new assignment? Something worse than herding screamers around? It hardly seems possible."

  "Oh, but it is," Sariss assured him cheerfully. "It seems that a patrol," she glanced at her data pad, "Zulu, Able, Mary 341 to he exact, is forty-two hours overdue."

  "Comm contact?"

  "None."

  "Aerial search?"

  "Four aircraft, low altitude, standard pattern. No luck."

  "Probe droids?"

  "Dispatched . . . but nothing so far."

  Yun was silent for a moment. "Why me?"

  Sariss shrugged. "Why not? The sun will do you good. Besides, this requires some brains. An entire patrol disappeared without a trace. Why? Jerec wants to know."

  "What about the screamers?"

  "I'll put Boc on it."

  Yun smiled. "Count me in."

  Sariss grinned. "I thought you'd like that."

  Yun could have requested a skimmer, crawler, or even an assault shuttle but had opted for an AT-ST and an AT-AT instead. Partly because the machines made excellent platforms from which to observe the surrounding countryside, partly because they had enough firepower to level anything he was likely to encounter, and partly because he liked the lumbering machines. Not just the way they looked, like slab-sided monsters, but the sense of power they conveyed. He rode in the two-man, seven-meter-tall Scout — while the larger and more heavily loaded machine brought up the rear.

  The AT-ST's pilot was a second lieutenant by the name of Momo. He preferred "Mad Dog Momo" but had been unable to plant the nickname among the troops. Perhaps because of his choirboy face, a rather engaging grin, and the fact that he had never fired a shot in anger. Momo brought the walker up out of the ravine and onto the hard-packed plain. He looked at the control panel and over to the Jedi. "This is it, sir — the eastern boundary of their patrol area."