Jedi Eclipse

by James Luceno

  “How much trouble are we in?” she asked, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “I’d classify our situation as desperate verging on hopeless. Other than that, we’re in fine shape.”

  “Do we have jump capability?”

  “Navicomputer’s working on coordinates,” the navigator said from her console.

  “Coralskippers in pursuit,” an enlisted-rating added.

  Leia glanced at the target-assessment screen, which displayed twenty or more arrowhead shapes, closing fast on the ship. She turned to look out on Gyndine, and again she thought about the thousands she had been forced to abandon to fate. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Wurth Skidder aboard the shuttle or during her passage through the transport. She was about to page him over the comm when the evac craft’s flight officer stepped onto the bridge. He remembered Skidder, along with Leia’s orders.

  “But when you told me to make sure they got aboard, I thought you were referring to the mother and child, not their rescuer.” He showed Leia a docile look. “I apologize, Ambassador, but he didn’t have the slightest interest in coming aboard. Who is he?”

  “Someone who thinks he can save the galaxy single-handedly,” Leia mumbled.

  On Gyndine, explosions began to blossom along the transitor and deep into the planet’s dark side. A fiery speck in the night, the planet’s orbital shipyard slowly disintegrated. Leia became dizzy at the sight and had to steady herself against a bulkhead. The explosions didn’t so much stir memories as prompt a troubling vision of some event yet to come.

  A tone sounded from the navicomputer. “Hyperspace coordinates received and locked in,” the navigator announced.

  The ship shuddered. Starlight elongated, as if the past were making a desperate bid to forestall the future, and the transport jumped.

  Crouched in the shadows of the smoldering embassy building, Wurth Skidder watched the last of the troop carriers take to the scudded sky. Thousands of Gyndine’s indigenous forces had fallen back to the gated compound on the off chance of being evacuated with New Republic effectives. Few had been taken, however, and many of those who had were officers with political ties to Coruscant or other Core worlds.

  There was still some furious fighting going on in the city, but the majority of ground troops, realizing that their hopes for salvation had left with the last ship out, had tossed aside their repeating blasters and stripped off their uniforms in the belief that the Yuuzhan Vong would go easier on noncombatants.

  Which just went to show how slowly news traveled to remote worlds, Skidder thought ruefully.

  When it came to sacrificing captives to their gods, the enemy drew no such distinctions. In fact, in some cases a uniform—or at least evidence of a fighting spirit—could mean the difference between the mercifully quick death the Yuuzhan Vong offered those who measured up to their warlike ideals and the lingering death they reserved for those taken into captivity. He had heard rumors about captives undergoing dismemberment and vivisection; others about shiploads of captives being launched into the heart of stars to ensure victory for the Yuuzhan Vong.

  As if the invaders needed a helping hand.

  The gasbag, fire-breathing abominations that had torched Gyndine’s forests and turned lakes into boiling cauldrons were gathered on the eastern outskirts of the capital. Flame-carpet warheads couldn’t have done as much damage. Yuuzhan Vong infantry units—reptilian–humanoid Chazrack warriors—had followed the fire breathers in to clean out pockets of resistance and generally mop up. The sky had actually brightened slightly, but what light filtered in through smoke and scudding clouds was blotted out by descending drop ships.

  One of them—a mesh tent pierced by crooked sticks—was hovering over the embassy grounds now. Skidder had just changed positions to get a better vantage on the ship when its tentlike hull suddenly burst open, releasing a dozen or more huge, rod-shaped and bristled bundles that fell straight to the ground. Skidder didn’t understand that they were living creatures until he saw the bioluminescent eyespots, twitching antennae, and the hundred pairs of sucker-equipped legs that sprouted down the length of the segmented bodies.

  He observed the creatures in undisguised awe. They had the capacity not only to ambulate forward and backward, but also to skitter sideways—which they commenced doing at once, creating a living perimeter around the embassy grounds and moving slowly inward, as a means of forcing everyone toward the center.

  The sight of the creatures was enough to strike fear in the heart of the most valiant, but Skidder had the Force on his side and was undaunted. Large as the creatures were, he was not without his own grab bag of abilities, and he could easily vault his way to freedom if he wished. After that it would be a simple matter to conceal himself from the Yuuzhan Vong. He could set off into the countryside, away from the devastation, and live off the land, as many of Gyndine’s residents had opted to do when word of the imminent attack had spread. But Wurth Skidder wasn’t a forager, and he certainly wasn’t a deserter.

  The fact that so few had lived to speak of their experiences as captives made it imperative that someone elect to be taken—someone with more interest in winning the war than in understanding the enemy, as Caamasi Senator Elegos A’Kla had attempted to do, and been butchered for his efforts.

  Danni Quee, an ExGal scientist who had been captured shortly after the Yuuzhan Vong’s arrival at the ice world Helska 4, had told Skidder of the final days of another captive, Skidder’s fellow Jedi and close friend Miko Reglia. Quee had recounted the psychological tortures the Yuuzhan Vong and their tentacled yammosk—their so-called war coordinator—had inflicted on quiet and unassuming Miko in an attempt to break him, and of Miko’s death during his and Quee’s escape.

  Vengeance went against the Jedi Code—as the code was taught by Master Skywalker, at any rate. Vengeance, according to Skywalker, was a path to the dark side. But there were other Jedi Knights, as powerful as Skywalker in Skidder’s estimation, who took issue with some of the Master’s teachings. Jedi Master Kyp Durron, for one. It was whispered, even on Yavin 4 in the wake of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, that there were times when darkness had to be fought with darkness. And the Yuuzhan Vong were nothing if not the blackest evil since Emperor Palpatine.

  Skidder was astute enough to recognize that he was motivated in part by a desire to show Skywalker and the rest that he was not some brash kid but a Jedi Knight of old, willing to put his life on the line—to sacrifice himself, if necessary—for a greater cause.

  He rose from the shadows.

  The outsize, insectile creatures loosed from the drop ship had succeeded in herding everyone to the center. Some of the creatures were beginning to curl themselves into rings, corralling their captives and employing their numerous sucker-equipped legs to prevent anyone from making over-the-top escapes.

  Skidder tossed aside the lightsaber he had fashioned to replace the one he’d lost at Ithor, along with everything else that might identify him as a Jedi Knight. Then he chose his moment. As one of the creatures approached, pushing a score of beings in front of it, Skidder rushed forward, infiltrating the fleeing group before the creature had made a complete circle of itself—and much to the bafflement of a group of Ryn in whose midst he landed.

  As the bioengineered creature joined its head to its tail parts, Skidder found himself pressed face-to-face with a Ryn female, whose oblique eyes mirrored her terror. He reached down and took her long-fingered hand.

  “Take heart,” he said in Basic, “help has arrived.”

  THREE

  “Handles just as well as she always did,” Han announced confidently, as the newly matte-black Millennium Falcon left behind a lush little world of green and purple forest.

  “A simple coat of paint and you’re feeling invulnerable,” Droma said, frowning. “Who would have guessed?”

  Han made adjustments to the Falcon’s drives. “Next stop, Sriluur. Somebody once described it as the source of every foul wind that blows through the g
alaxy, but—”

  “You figure they were just being kind,” Droma completed.

  Han glanced at the Ryn, absurdly small in the oversize chair that had been Chewbacca’s. “Haven’t I warned you about doing that? Anyway, quit your worrying. I’ve been to Sriluur more times than I can count. And let me tell you, dodging Imperial bulk cruisers was a lot harder than dodging Yuuzhan Vong battleships.”

  “Han Solo has been to Sriluur,” Droma pointed out, growing more agitated. “Unless you plan on revealing your true identity, you’re just another scruffy spacer with a freshly painted ship and a death wish.”

  Han scowled, stroking the mostly gray growth on his chin as he tried to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the closest of the cockpit’s transparisteel panes.

  “Quit your worrying,” Droma mimicked him, “the beard looks fine. But it’s not going to keep us from arousing suspicion when we start asking questions about Yuuzhan Vong prisoner ships.”

  “Maybe not, but Sriluur’s worth the risk. The Weequays might not be the most attractive folks in the galaxy, but they’re real good at keeping an ear to the ground. And if anyone can tell us where to start looking for Roa or your clanmates, it’ll be them.”

  Droma tugged nervously at his mustache. “Let’s just hope your pheromone levels are up to it.”

  Han waved a hand in dismissal. “They only communicate like that among their own kind. I always managed to get by with Basic.” He smirked. “I’d like to see you second-guess what a Weequay’s about to say.”

  “Scent.”

  “Huh?”

  “What a Weequay is about to scent.”

  Han put his tongue in his cheek, nodded slowly, and threw switches on the navicomputer. “Maybe we’ll get lucky at Sriluur and have to put down in a sandstorm,” he said in a casual way.

  “Extra concealment for the ship?”

  Han snarled at him. “No, so I can see how much sand it takes to plug that perpetual motion machine you call a mouth.”

  Droma grimaced, then sighed with purpose. “I guess I just don’t like the idea of venturing so close to Hutt space—with or without Yuuzhan Vong in the area. There’s no love lost between Hutts and Ryn. Many of us were enslaved by them to provide entertainment in one court or another. Some of my ancestors were required to prognosticate for a Desilijic Hutt. When predicted events didn’t come to pass, the Hutt would have a Ryn killed by his henchmen or fed to a court beast.”

  “True to form,” Han said. “But you’ve got my word, no Hutt’ll stop us from locating your clanmates. We’ll have your family back together soon enough.”

  “Then we can make a start on yours,” Droma mumbled.

  Han threw him an angry glance. “You want to explain that?”

  Droma turned to him. “You and Leia to begin with. If it weren’t for me, you’d be with her now. I only hope she can find it in her heart to forgive me.”

  Han compressed his lips. “You’ve got nothing to do with what’s come between us. Heck, it’s not even between me and Leia. It’s between me and”—he flicked his hand at the starfield beyond the viewpoint—“this.”

  Droma didn’t speak for a moment, then said, “Even friends can’t be protected from fate, Han.”

  “Don’t talk to me about fate,” Han snapped. “Nothing’s fixed—not these stars and definitely not what happens to us in life.” He clenched his hands. “These are what determine my fate.”

  “And yet even you end up in situations that are not of your making.”

  “Like my being with you, for instance.”

  Droma frowned. “I’ve lost friends and loved ones to tragedy, and I’ve tried to do exactly what you’re doing.”

  Han looked up at him. “What I’m doing?”

  “Trying to beat tragedy by outracing it. Filling your life to the brim, even when it puts you in danger. Burying your heartache under as much anger as you can muster, without realizing that you’ve shoveled love and compassion into the same grave. We live for love, Han. Without it we might as well jettison everything.”

  Despite himself, Han thought about Leia on Gyndine, Jaina flying with Rogue Squadron, Anakin and Jacen off to who knew where with the Jedi. When he considered, even for a split second, where he might be without them, the angry words and recriminations that had spewed from him since Chewie’s death pierced him like rapid fire. If something should happen to them, he started to think, only to feel a great black maw opening beneath him, undermining everything he believed in. Protectively, he tugged himself from dark imaginings.

  “I got along just fine without love for a lot of years, Droma. Love is what starts things rolling downhill. It’s like being sucked into a gravity well or being caught by a tractor beam. You get too close, there’s no escape.”

  Droma nodded, as if in understanding. “So your mistake was in befriending Chewbacca to begin with. You would have been better off keeping your distance. Then you wouldn’t be grieving now.”

  “Befriending him wasn’t a mistake,” Han said.

  “But if you’d kept your guard raised all those years, you would never have grown as close to him as you did.”

  “Okay, that was a risk I took. But that was then.”

  “Let me suggest an alternative error. You didn’t see his death coming and you’re angry that you let your guard down.”

  “You’re right about that. I should’ve been more vigilant.”

  “So let’s suppose you did everything you could and still failed. Would you be grieving now, or would doing everything have satisfied you enough so that you wouldn’t miss him?”

  “Of course I’d still miss him.”

  “Then who are you angry at—yourself for the things you didn’t do, or fate for having snuck up on you?”

  Han swallowed hard. “All I know is I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll be ready for anything fate dishes out.”

  “And if you fail again?”

  Han glared at him. “I won’t.”

  Deep in one of the fathomless canyons formed by Coruscant’s soaring superstructures, Sullustan Admiral Sien Sovv switched off his private comlink and relayed the tragic news to the twelve officers seated in the recently readied New Republic Defense Force war room.

  “Gyndine is lost.”

  The uncomfortable silence that greeted the announcement came as no surprise. The planet’s fall had been a foregone conclusion from the moment it had been identified as a target. Filling the silence, machines whirred and hummed as they received and processed intelligence updates from all sectors of New Republic space. In projected light, virtual battle groups of starships moved lazily among virtual worlds.

  “For allowing this to happen, we are all diminished,” Brigadier General Etahn A’baht remarked at last, voicing what many in the room were thinking. And yet the silence lingered.

  “While I number myself among those who in the end voted against dispatching a force of suitable might to safeguard Gyndine,” the aubergine-skinned Dornean went on, “I wish to reiterate the remarks I made during the arguments preceding that regrettable decision. By all but surrendering worlds like Gyndine, we reinforce widespread conviction that the New Republic is interested only in protecting the Core, and in doing so we play into the enemy’s hand by weakening ourselves from within.”

  A scornful muttering rose from across the oblong table, and all heads turned to Commodore Brand. “Perhaps it would have been wiser to send an entire fleet to Gyndine and thus deprive Kuat or Fondor of any defense.”

  A’baht stood his ground, meeting the dour human’s gaze. “Will that be your justification for allowing the Yuuzhan Vong to occupy the entire Inner Rim? Is the Inner Rim the price we’re willing to pay to protect the Core?” He paused for effect. “A wise action, Commodore, would be to cease this exercise in selective defense and begin sending forces where needed.”

  A’baht glanced around the table. “Doesn’t it disturb any of you that threatened worlds have begun to surrender without a fight? That former al
lies have refused to allow us to use their systems as staging areas out of fear of reprisals by the Yuuzhan Vong?”

  He continued before anyone could respond. “Even a cursory look at the situation reveals that those populations who, at our urging, mounted a resistance have seen their worlds poisoned or devastated, while those like the Hutts, who have struck deals with the Yuuzhan Vong, have escaped bloodshed entirely.”

  “You disgrace all of us by bringing the Hutts into this,” Brand said angrily. “Was their capitulation ever in doubt?”

  A’baht made a placating gesture. “I offer them only as an example, Commodore. But the fact remains that Nal Hutta has been spared the ruination visited on Dantooine, Ithor, Obroa-skai, and countless other worlds. My point is that populations throughout the Mid Rim and the Expansion Region are fast losing faith in our ability to put an end to this war—and I use the word intentionally, since few of you seem to realize, even at this late stage, the great peril we face. Events are reaching a point where it’s every system for itself.”

  A’baht gestured broadly to the holoprojectors and screens. “Even this space reflects our denial to embrace the depths of our peril. Instead of meeting openly for all of Coruscant to see, we wind up down here, as if in hiding from the truth.”

  “No one is hiding,” Brand objected. “Thanks to the ineptitude of the Intelligence division, we came close to escorting two saboteurs into our midst—or doesn’t it matter to you that our security has been compromised?”

  “The saboteurs were after the Jedi, not us,” Director of Fleet Intelligence Addar Nylykerka interjected.

  A’baht swung to him. “And why? Because, until Ithor, the Jedi were the ones who were leading the campaign. Now either we assume that role, or we allow the New Republic to splinter beyond repair. We must demonstrate our commitment to stopping the Yuuzhan Vong, and we must do so before additional worlds fall.”