Kyp waved his hand dismissively and leaned forward to squint out the front viewport. "They won't suspect anything. This ship has all the right markings. Don't let it get to you," he said, then turned his attention to running a full analysis of forces on the computer.
Over the past few days Kyp and Dorsk 81 had penetrated deeper and deeper into the Core Systems. Kyp had watched with growing horror as he realized just how far along the Empire's plans had already progressed. They had seen weapons depots, giant factories that spewed out TIE fighters by the hundreds, construction yards with skeletal frames of Imperial Star Destroyers in progress. They had witnessed a massive migration of people, soldiers gearing up for a deadly conflict, and dozens of overloaded supply trains hauling resources deeper into the Core.
Kyp had convinced Dorsk 81 to tag along just at the fringe of sensor range behind one of the convoys. When they arrived at the massing point of the new Imperial fleet, though, Dorsk 81 had been terrified.
"I still think we should get out of here," the clone Jedi said. "We need to bring this information back to the New Republic . They don't even know about the Imperial buildup."
Kyp shook his head. "We've got to find out more, see exactly what they're up to. We won't get a second chance like this."
"But if they capture us, then everything--,” Dorsk 81 began. Kyp held up his hand and watched Dorsk 81 stop and swallow hard. In the past, the cloned alien had struggled with a lack of self-confidence, and he had overcome it. Kyp did not see him as a coward--only as someone who did not push his bravery to its limits.
Kyp pointed at him, wearing a serious expression. "You are a Jedi Knight, Dorsk 81," he said. "A Jedi does not take the easiest choice. We will do what we have to." Dorsk 81 slowly nodded in firm acceptance.
The comm system crackled, startling both Kyp and Dorsk 81. "Shuttle pilot," a stern voice snapped, a female voice, which in itself was unusual since most Imperial soldiers were male. The woman said, "You're behind schedule to attend the rally. Hurry up. Follow this vector--and move it! The admiral would be most displeased if late arrivals disturbed the speeches."
Dorsk 81 stared blankly at the speaker, but Kyp instantly responded. "On our way. Apologies for the inconvenience." He snapped off the comm system. "They're going to let us in,” he said. Already his mind was churning, wondering who "the admiral" could be.
Ships large and small clustered around a staggeringly immense grid of landing platforms and docking bays, a huge nexus built of metal and glittering with panes of transparisteel. It hid in the dark void of space between star systems and would not be easy to locate unless one already knew where to look. The complex was studded with antennas and trackers, perimeter defense satellites, and automated droid ships that monitored the dizzying flow of ship activity. The coordinate vectors took them to a central platform where thousands of ships had already gathered.
Dorsk 81 stiffened in his seat. "Easy,” Kyp said. "We have to do this." The alien gave a jerky nod and brought the shuttle in to land among all the other ships.
Figures streamed toward the open mall area of the nexus station, a room large enough for an audience of tens of thousands. Stormtroopers marched about, ushering spectators to acceptable standing places for the rally.
"I can't go out there," Dorsk 81 said. "The Empire doesn't allow nonhuman soldiers."
"They seem to have changed their rules," Kyp answered, indicating some of the uniformed personnel, an array of exotic humanoids and strange flying creatures. "Here." Kyp rummaged in the shuttle's uniform bin. He pulled out two sets of overalls with the insignia of the repair team assigned to the outer depot where Kyp and Dorsk 81 had stolen the shuttle. "We'll wear these, and nobody will know the difference."
Dorsk 81 looked at the outfit dubiously, but adrenaline sang through Kyp, whispering in his ears. "Look," he said in a reassuring voice, "this rally should give us all the information we need. We'll find out what the Empire is up to--and then we can go back and make our report." He grasped the cloned alien's arm. "Just be brave for me a little while longer, Dorsk 81."
They stepped down the landing ramp, and the current of the crowd swept them into the open mall area of the nexus station. The sounds and smells assaulted Kyp, an exotic mélange of the familiar and the fantastic. The main language was proper Imperial Basic, though a few muttered comments came in a variety of languages Kyp did not recognize. Dorsk 81 followed closely, still looking stiff and nervous.
In the distant center of the open space, a speaking deck had been raised to enclose a stage, tall amplifiers, and a turbolift that could bring guests onto the stage without forcing them to pass through packed crowds. Scarlet-cloaked Imperial Guards stood on all corners of the stage. High-resolution screens towered over the audience like video billboards projecting an image of the speaker at the podium; the effect was to turn the distant figure into a titan looming over those gathered for the rally.
A gaunt, trim old man was speaking in a precise voice that held little charisma. His eyes were pale and narrow, his forehead creased as if with heavy thoughts. A bushy pale mustache covered his lip.
"He looks familiar," Kyp said. "I've seen his image before."
Stormtrooper guards appeared out of nowhere, their white armor clacking, voices snapping gruffly through their helmets. "Silence while Vice Admiral Pellaeon is speaking."
Kyp held back a retort, though excitement kept him on edge, making self-control difficult. With an effort, he nodded meekly, turning back to look at the towering visage of the Imperial commander. Was this the man leading the new troops? Kyp recognized his name. From what he had heard, Pellaeon had had something to do with Grand Admiral Thrawn, though Kyp himself had been deep in the spice mines of Kessel during Thrawn's rampages.
The vice admiral had apparently been speaking for some time. He and Dorsk 81 were indeed late for the rally, and Kyp wondered how much valuable information he had already missed.
"The main phase of our assault,” Pellaeon continued, "will be a decisive attack on the new training facility where the Rebels are attempting to create a commando force of their own Jedi sorcerers. Our fleet will strike their training center and destroy it before the Rebels even know that we are on the march. Without their Jedi Knights, the Rebel Alliance will be a weak assemblage of inept idealists."
The audience cheered, and Kyp felt compelled to applaud as well, so as not to draw further attention to himself. Dorsk 81 looked ill, and Kyp knew what the cloned alien was thinking--that they needed to leave immediately, warn the New Republic, gather defenses around Yavin 4.
But to move now would focus the attention of the entire Imperial fleet on them. They had to wait.
Pellaeon droned on, and Kyp felt himself growing tenser. The audience seemed to be keyed up and enthusiastic. Along the walls holographic images of Emperor Palpatine played, animated murals of how the New Order had supposedly brought a too-brief golden age to the galaxy.
"Our preparations are nearly complete,” Pellaeon said. "Your superior officers will give you full details of troop movements and how you will best serve in this sudden and decisive attack. But first, allow me to present the one person responsible for bringing us all together."
He gestured toward the turbolift as it opened on the stage behind him. The towering videoscreens showed a figure emerging, slim and tall with a mane of hair that looked like copper fire.
"Admiral Daala!" Pellaeon said, and stepped aside.
Kyp felt a bomb with a rapidly burning fuse drop down into his guts, as he stared in disbelief and horror. The Imperial admiral stepped up to speak, her face narrowed and sharpened by failure; its once hard beauty was now even more angular ... more evil.
Daala had captured Han Solo and Kyp after they escaped from the spice mines of Kessel, and because she deemed Kyp a worthless prisoner, she had ordered his execution. Kyp had thought to destroy her in the Cauldron Nebula, using the Sun Crusher to ignite a cluster of hot blue suns. Somehow, she had miraculously escaped to attack the Maw Ins
tallation again--but she had died there. Kyp was sure of it. She could not be here! She could not be in charge of the new Imperial fleet!
All of this passed through his mind in a fraction of a second, and Dorsk 81 sensed through the Force the volcano waiting to erupt within Kyp. The cloned alien placed his olive hands on his shoulder to hold him back--but the sudden grip startled Kyp into losing control.
He shouted, "No!" tearing himself away from Dorsk 81's grasp. "She's dead! Daala has to be dead."
While others in the audience cheered, those nearest to him turned at the disturbance. Kyp brought himself under control, furious at his own lack of restraint.
The stormtroopers appeared again, efficient and fast moving. "Stop this outburst immediately!" they said, blasters already drawn. "This is your second warning. Show me your work assignment and papers."
Two others came up, pointing weapons at Kyp and Dorsk 81.
"Yes, yes--sure," Kyp said, patting his pocket. His mind whirled. Dorsk 81 looked as if he were about to faint, though the alien stood up straight, tense, ready to fight if necessary. Kyp knew they had no other choice. He slid a hand into the pocket of his overalls, ostensibly to remove his work assignment card--and wrapped his fingers around his lightsaber handle. The stormtroopers were more annoyed than uneasy. Kyp would take them totally by surprise.
Admiral Daala's voice boomed out from the amplification systems like a horrible echo from Kyp's past. "You can all be proud of what you are about to do," she said.
Yes, Kyp thought in a flash, yes I am. He snatched out the lightsaber, and with a snap-hiss the energy blade sprang out. In a single sweeping arc he slashed off the stormtrooper's armored hand at the wrist, taking the blaster pistol with it, then followed through to strike down the second trooper in line. Dorsk 81 moved like a flicked whip. His own lightsaber came out ablaze as he struck down a third stormtrooper.
The audience around them recoiled in surprise and confusion. The lightsabers were unmistakable weapons of the hated Jedi Knights. The uproar spread like the shockwave from an exploding star. Spies had appeared in the rally, and the mob of dedicated Imperial defenders would demand blood.
"We've got to get out of here," Kyp shouted, hacking right and left with his lightsaber. People and alien workers spread apart like ripe grain in a strong wind, though more fled in panic than were actually cut down by the blazing lightsabers.
Kyp and Dorsk 81 fought shoulder to shoulder.
"Jedi Knights!" Admiral Daala shouted from the podium. Even from her distance she could recognize the unmistakable glare of lightsabers--and now her face, dozens of meters tall and reflected over and over again on the immense videoscreens, seemed like an outraged deity demanding justice. "Kill the Jedi Knights!"
Stormtroopers clustered around them, firing blaster rifles. Dorsk 81's lightsaber deflected the first bolt high into the ceiling of the mall, while the second shot burned through the back of a fleeing Imperial lieutenant.
"Don't fight unless you have to," Kyp said. "It'll only slow us down. Run." He knew now that his partner had been right in wanting to leave earlier. They needed to get their information back to the New Republic , and if they let the Empire capture them, billions would die unwarned.
The size of the crowd worked in their favor, and as ripples of mob panic ricocheted from the walls, mass confusion swallowed all details of where and what exactly the disturbance was.
Kyp and Dorsk 81 sprinted back to where they had landed their stolen shuttle. Blaster bolts followed them down the corridors of the nexus station, spanging off wallplates, but the shots were poorly aimed.
When Kyp and Dorsk 81 reached their ship, they rocketed off the landing pad with repulsorlifts and sublight engines at full power in a pinwheeling escape. As Dorsk 81 worked the stabilizers to straighten them, their tumbling course aided in their escape because the droid perimeter ships, attempting to lock onto them, shot repeatedly but missed.
"Launch into hyperspace fast," Kyp said.
Dorsk 81's long fingers scrambled over the navicomputer board. "There's no time to calculate a long path," he said.
"Then make a short jump! Just get us out of here."
"The coordinates for Khomm are programmed," Dorsk 81 said briskly, punching up a readout. "I, uh, did that earlier. That's just beyond the outer core. We can send an alarm from my homeworld."
"Fine! Fine!" Kyp said.
Just then, one of the droid ships struck, singeing their sublight engines. They nearly stalled, coasting along with only their considerable momentum.
"The damage is bad," Kyp reported as Dorsk 81 flared up the main lightspeed engines, coaxing them to readiness, "but it's only the sublight engines, not our hyperdrive. We need to go."
Behind them on the nexus station hundreds of ships had already begun lifting off.
"Engaging hyperdrive," Dorsk 81 finally said.
Droid perimeter defenses closed in on their drifting ship. More crippling turbolaser bolts spat past them, barely missing. An ion cannon blast rippled by, brushing against their shields and causing minimal damage.
"If an ion blast hits us, we're dead in space," Kyp said. "We have to go now."
"Got it!" Dorsk 81 said. "Hang on."
They vanished into starlines as the Empire scrambled after them.
HOTH ASTEROID BELT
CHAPTER 37
Three acceleration-enhanced A-wing fighters streaked off, separating from the cluster of ships around Admiral Ackbar's Galactic Voyager and vanishing into hyperspace with a silent bang of light.
General Crix Madine stared down at his cockpit controls through the smooth curve of his helmet faceplate. Powerful engines roared around him, making the A-wing throb. Madine had flown many ships before: fast ships and cargo haulers, interceptors and scouts. He had participated in raids for the Rebel Alliance, and earlier for the Imperials. But since the battle of Endor, he had spent most of his effort behind the scenes, setting up covert missions that younger recruits carried out.
But not this time.
The eerie flickering glow of hyperspace roared around him as the A-wings tunneled through the walls of space-time, crossing the galaxy faster than the speed of light. Before launch, Madine's team had sent no message to Ackbar, no comm signal whatsoever. The Hutts must not know of their departure.
Their navicomputer had plotted the shortest path to the coordinates provided by the tracer on Durga's personal craft. On either side of Madine flew Korenn and Trandia, in communications silence, intent on their mission. He smiled grimly, acknowledging the caliber of his companions. The Rebels had always been astute at getting top-flight volunteers.
In the muffled boredom of hyperspace, during the programmed hours of their journey, Madine let his thoughts wander. He had been one of those Rebel recruits, too, convinced to defect from the Empire by a few of his companions, friends from early days before the New Order had broken the backbone of the Old Republic--friends such as Carlist Rieekan, who had risen to the rank of general in the Rebel Alliance and had commanded Echo Base on Hoth.
Shortly after joining the Rebellion, Madine had begun working closely with Mon Mothma, who had taken him in as a trusted adviser even while others were not so certain about this new defector.
Ackbar himself had been a good friend, after his own rescue from the Empire. Gruff and courageous, the Calamarian knew how to administer the Rebel fleet.
But Crix Madine had always been different in his priorities and the lengths to which he was willing to go to accomplish his objectives. Mon Mothma valued his opinions because he gave a fresh perspective. Madine himself had fought against the Rebels on the side of the Empire. He knew the tactics that were effective and those that had failed utterly.
Madine also knew his place: he was necessary, though covert tactics weren't always pretty. Before the battle of Endor, while planning strategy and deciphering the precious data that trickled in from a fragile network of Bothan spies, Mon Mothma's original plan had been simply to destroy the second Deat
h Star while it was still under construction. When the Rebels learned, however, that Emperor Palpatine himself would inspect the battle station, Crix Madine had rejoiced at the opportunity.
Mon Mothma, though, appeared sickened. "The assassination of political leaders is not the sort of tactic the Rebel Alliance will condone," she said in a closed-room session with Madine and Ackbar. "Even if they are our enemies."
"Then we will lose," Madine said. "The Empire has no such reluctance. Do you think they would hesitate to assassinate you in an instant, Mon Mothma, if they were given the chance?"
Mon Mothma stood, her face flushed, her voice rising uncharacteristically and hammered her fists on the tabletop. "I will not allow my government to become as warped and as evil as the Empire."
"Mon Mothma," Ackbar said, "we have risked too much to put this operation together. Our fleet is ready to depart for Endor. Our decoy mission has already begun at Sullust. We cannot scrap our plans just because the Emperor will be on the Death Star."
"We will save millions of innocent lives," Madine said. "There is a cost to ourselves, but the payback is potentially much greater. If we allow that Death Star to be completed, Alderaan will be only the first in a long chain of planets turned to rubble at the Emperor's whim."
And so Mon Mothma had eventually agreed that the Emperor was to be a target as well. Once the decision was made, she gave it her full enthusiasm, issuing orders with firm determination. Thus the Death Star had been destroyed, the Empire overthrown, and the New Republic established ... though peace and harmony had not come about as quickly as they might have hoped.
Now, Madine found himself streaking through hyperspace in an A-wing scout vessel toward another superweapon being built by another tyrant hoping to rule the galaxy. Sometimes he felt it would never end.
The A-wings emerged from hyperspace on the fringes of the asteroid belt, and suddenly it seemed that a giant invisible fist had hurled a handful of crushed rocks at him. The tracker on Durga's ship had given them the exact location deep in the heart of the rubble-strewn danger zone, but it offered no safe path to follow.
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