By Aaron Allston
Galatea in 2-D
Bard’s Tale series (with Holly Lisle)
Thunder of the Captains
Wrath of the Princes
Car Warrior series
Double Jeopardy
Doc Sidhe series
Doc Sidhe
Sidhe-Devil
Star Wars: X-Wing series
Wraith Squadron
Iron Fist
Solo Command
Starfighters of Adumar
Star Wars: New Jedi Order series
Rebel Dream
Rebel Stand
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force series
Betrayal
Exile
Fury
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi series
Outcast
Backlash
Terminator 3 series
Terminator Dream
Terminator Hunt
To everyone in 2009 who helped me get through a very hard time
Acknowledgments
On March 27, 2009, while on a book tour promoting Outcast (the first book in this series), I suffered a heart attack. Six days later, I underwent quadruple bypass surgery. I’d like to offer thanks to the doctors and nurses of the Baylor Medical Center, Grapevine, Texas, without whom I would not have survived to write Backlash.
Thanks also go to Troy Denning, Christie Golden, Shelly Shapiro of Del Rey, and Sue Rostoni of Lucas Licensing, not only for doing their usual fine job, but also for offering endless patience with me during the trials and tribulations of my recovery;
My agent, Russell Galen;
and all the fans who have embraced this series and offered their support.
Dramatis Personae
Allana Solo; child (human female)
Ben Skywalker; Jedi Knight (human male)
C-3PO; protocol droid
Drikl Lecersen; Moff (human male)
Dyon Stadd; former Jedi candidate (human male)
Han Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (human male)
Haydnat Treen; Senator (Kuati female)
Jagged Fel; Head of State, Galactic Empire (human male)
Jaina Solo; Jedi Knight (human female)
Kaminne Sihn; chief, Raining Leaves Clan (Dathomiri female)
Leia Organa Solo; Jedi Knight (human female)
Luke Skywalker; Jedi Grand Master (human male)
Natasi Daala; Galactic Alliance Chief of State (human female)
R2-D2; astromech droid
Vestara Khai; Sith apprentice (human female)
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….
EMPTY SPACE NEAR KESSEL
IT WAS DARKNESS SURROUNDED BY STARS—ONE OF THEM, THE UNLOVELY sun of Kessel, closer than the rest, but barely close enough to be a ball of illumination rather than a dot—and then it was occupied, suddenly inhabited by a space yacht of flowing, graceful lines and peeling paint. That was how it would have looked, a vessel dropping out of hyperspace, to those in the arrival zone, had there been any witnesses: nothing there, then something, an instantaneous transition.
In the bridge sat the ancient yacht’s sole occupant, a teenage girl wearing a battered combat vac suit. She looked from sensor to sensor, uncertain and slow because of her unfamiliarity with this model of spacecraft. Too, there was something like shock in her eyes.
Finally satisfied that no other ship had dropped out of hyperspace nearby, or was likely to creep up on her in this remote location, she sat back in her pilot’s seat and tried to get her thoughts in order.
Her name was Vestara Khai, and she was a Sith of the Lost Tribe. She was a proud Sith, not one to hide under false identities and concealing robes until some decades-long grandiose plan neared completion, and now she had even more reason than usual to swell with pride. Mere hours before, she and her Sith Master, Lady Rhea, had confronted Jedi Grand Master Luke Skywalker. Lady Rhea and Vestara had fought the galaxy’s most experienced, most famous Jedi to a standstill. Vestara had even cut him, a graze to the cheek and chin that had spattered her with blood—blood she had later tasted, blood she wished she could take a sample of and keep forever as a souvenir.
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-functional computer the navigational secrets of the mass of black holes that was the Maw, she was free. And the impossible weights 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 home-world 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 Force use on her part would stand out like signal beacons 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.
She doubted the destination she’d thought of would 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, while she read and reread 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—”
Lei
a 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 close to three 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.
“Yes, 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.”
“Ah, good.” Han rubbed his hands together as if anticipating a fine meal or a fight. “Why not? After taking off with all those barvy Jedi that Daala wanted to deep-freeze, we probably have an arrest warrant waiting back on Coruscant anyway.”
Finally Leia smiled and looked at Han. “One good thing about the Solos and Skywalkers. We never run out of things to do.”
JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
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, onetime 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. She hung suspended there for several minutes, long enough for one of her occupants to gather from the Force a sense of his own life’s blood that had been in the vicinity; then she 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. The auburn-haired teen was a little shorter than average height, but he was well muscled in a way that his anonymous 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 old, 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 planet-fall. 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—”
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 and determined that the download 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?” Luke asked.
“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 DATHOMIRI 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. It’s the perfect place for a Force-user to hide. And eventually, if she figures out that I’m following my own blood straight to her, she may get rid of it and elude us entirely.” Luke paused to consider. “There are mentions in ancient records that there was a Sith academy here long, long ago. I wonder if she’s looking for it.”
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 off Dathomir when 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 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 surr
ounded the complex, elevated watchtowers dotting its length, and Luke could see the wiring leading to one of the permacrete 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 redheaded 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?”
Fate of the Jedi: Backlash Page 1