Dark Apprentice

by Kevin J. Anderson

  darkness that caused the creatures on Endor to avoid the place

  instinctively.

  Kyp changed course and arrowed to the coordinates, circling once until he

  found an appropriate clearing. The repulsorlifts whined, and his landing

  jets

  kicked up fallen forest debris as he landed the Headhunter in the

  underbrush.

  Afraid and yet eager, Kyp swung out of the cockpit and hopped down,

  landing with a crunch in the twigs and dead leaves. The breeze died, as if

  the

  evening forest were holding its breath around him. Silvery planetshine

  trickled through the dense leaves, lighting the clearing with a wan, milky

  glow.

  Kyp took four steps and stopped before the scorched site of Vader's

  funeral pyre.

  The ground surrounding the old burned area remained dead and brown.

  Though the thick forests of Endor were tenacious and fast-growing, no plants

  dared approach the scar, even after seven years.

  The bonfire had been large and hot, incinerating Vader's uniform. Only a

  few heat-warped bits of body armor had survived, along with tatters of a

  black

  cape tangled in broken rocks and time-packed ashes. A twisted lacing of

  steel

  reinforcement lay like a torn spiderweb covered.

  Kyp swallowed and knelt in the dirt. He reached out tentatively, afraid,

  until he let his fingertips brush the age-crumbled ashes.

  He jerked his hand away, then brought it back. The spot was cold, but the

  coldness seemed to go away as his hands grew numb.

  Kyp used the Force to scatter bits of ash, blowing clear the tiny,

  buckled residue that had survived the fire, an unrecognizable lump of black

  plasteel that might have been Vader's helmet. Growing more desperate, Kyp

  increased his power, scouring away debris and leaving only a sad jumble of

  wires, melted plasteel, and shreds of tough cloth.

  Darth Vader, former Dark Lord of the Sith, had been reduced to only

  pathetic scraps and nightmarish memories.

  Kyp reached out to stroke the remnants. Electric tingles went through his

  hands. He knew he shouldn't be touching these relics, yet he could not turn

  away now. Kyp had to find answers to his questions, even if he had to answer

  them himself.

  "Darth Vader, where did you go wrong?" he asked, staring down at the

  fragments of armor. His voice, unused for more than a day, croaked at him.

  Vader had been a monster, with the blood of billions on his hands.

  According to Exar Kun, Anakin Skywalker had been unprepared for the power he

  had touched, and it had overwhelmed him.

  Kyp recognized that he had begun to walk down a similar path--but he was

  not so naive. Unlike Anakin Skywalker, he understood the dangers. He could

  guard himself. He would not be tricked by the temptations and the

  brutalities

  that had lured Vader deeper and deeper into the dark side.

  Feeling cold and alone in the night, Kyp returned to the ship and took

  out the long cape Han Solo had given him. He wrapped the fabric around his

  dark jumpsuit to keep warm, then went back to sit on the barren ground by

  the

  ashes of Vader's pyre. The peaceful sounds of the forest gradually returned,

  chirping and whistling around him like a lullaby.

  Kyp was in no hurry. He could wait here on Endor. He needed to make sure

  he wasn't kidding himself. He was no fool. He knew the dangerous edge he was

  walking, and it frightened him.

  As he sat in peace, running his fingers along the slick, fine fabric of

  his cloak, Kyp thought of how his friend Han Solo had freed him from the

  spice

  mines... but even that happy thought twisted around to make him realize just

  how much of his life the Empire had stolen from him.

  Kyp rarely recalled the diamond-edged memories of his youth, when he and

  his older brother Zeth had lived on the colony world of Deyer. He thought of

  the raft cities anchored in a complex of terraformed lakes stocked with

  fish.

  Zeth had taken him out many times on a pleasure skimmer to sink

  crustacean nets or just to swim under the ocher-colored skies. His brother

  Zeth had long dark hair, eyes narrowed against the brightness of the sun,

  his

  body wiry and rippling with lean muscles, his skin tanned from long days

  spent

  outside.

  The colonists had tried to build a perfect society on Deyer, fully

  democratic with every person serving a term on the council of raft towns.

  Unanimously, the representatives on Deyer had voted to condemn the

  destruction

  of Alderaan, to request that Emperor Palpatine rescind his New Order. They

  had

  worked through the appropriate political channels, naively believing that

  with

  their votes they could influence the Emperor's decisions.

  Instead Palpatine had crushed the "dissidents" on Deyer, overrunning the

  entire colony, scattering the people to various penal centers, and taking

  Zeth

  away forever....

  Kyp found his hands clenched tight, and he thought again of the powers

  that Exar Kun had shown him, the dark secrets that Master Skywalker refused

  to

  consider. He frowned and took a deep breath. The cool night air bit into his

  lungs, and he let it out slowly.

  He vowed not to let Exar Kun twist him into another Vader. Kyp felt

  confident in his determination, in his own strength of character; he could

  use

  the power of the dark side for the benefit of the New Republic.

  Master Skywalker was wrong. The New Republic stood on the moral high

  ground and was justified in using any weapon, any force, to eradicate the

  last

  stains of the evil Empire.

  Kyp stood up and wrapped the black cape around his chest. He could make

  amends. He alone could show how well those powers could be used.

  Exar Kun was long dead, and Darth Vader lay in ashes on Endor. "Now I am

  the Lord of the Sith," Kyp said. With that admission he felt a cold strength

  creep up his backbone, as if his spine had turned into a column of ice.

  He clambered back abo ard his small spacecraft. The determination felt

  like flames in his feet, making him move, making his heart pound, focusing

  his

  resolution into a laser-bright beam.

  Now he, and he alone, had the opportunity to solve all of the New

  Republic's problems - com"hmf.

  Reflected glows from the Cauldron Nebula made slow dancing patterns on

  the polished surface of the Gorgon's war-room table. Admiral Daala sat alone

  at the far end, separated from Commander Kratas, Imperial Army General

  Odosk,

  and Captain Mullinore of the Basilisk.

  Daala stared at her own drawn and distorted reflection in the liquid

  sheen of the table. She kept her emerald eyes fixedly ahead as she squeezed

  her fist, feeling the supple black leather of her gloves. Her head pounded

  with a dull ache, like the imagined echoes of screaming troopers on the

  exploding Manticore. Hot blood roared through her veins as she thought of

  how

  she had also lost the Star Destroyer Hydra. Half of her forc
e obliterated!

  What would Tarkin think of her? In her nightmares she pictured his

  spectre drawing back his open hand to strike her across the face for her

  miserable failure. Failure! She had to make up for it.

  Commander Kratas drew his bushy eyebrows together in an expression of

  concern. His Imperial cap rested against his short dark hair. He turned away

  from Daala's stare, then looked toward the general and the captain of the

  other Star Destroyer. No one spoke. They waited for Daala, and she tried to

  summon the courage to speak.

  "Gentlemen," she finally said. The words felt like rusty nails catching

  in her throat; but her voice was strong, startling the three commanders into

  attention. She eyed each one in turn, then swiveled her chair so she could

  gaze out at the seething Cauldron gases. A knot of bright blue-giant stars

  at

  the heart of the nebula poured out intense energy that illuminated the cloud

  of gas.

  "I have reassessed our mission." Daala swallowed. The words already

  sounded like defeat to her, but she would not give in to it. "We must

  somehow

  differentiate between conflicting priorities. Our original command from

  Grand

  Moff Tarkin was to protect the Maw Installation at all costs. That is why we

  were given four Star Destroyers. Tarkin considered the scientists there a

  priceless resource for the ultimate victory of the Empire."

  She clenched her teeth and hesitated again. Her body betrayed her and

  started to tremble, but she gripped the edge of the polished table with her

  glove, gripped it hard until the cramped muscles in her fingers steadied her

  again.

  "But we allowed the Sun Crusher, the most powerful weapon ever designed,

  to be stolen from our grasp, and we lost one fourth of our fleet in a failed

  attempt to recapture it. Upon learning of the changed situation with the

  Rebellion, I decided that it was more important to fight the enemies of the

  Empire. We left Maw Installation undefended as we harried Rebel worlds. Now,

  after the disaster at Calamari, I see we have failed in that too."

  Commander Kratas rose partway to his feet as if he felt compelled to

  defend her actions. His skin flushed darker, and Daala noticed a disgraceful

  hint of stubble on his jaw. If these had been normal disciplinary conditions

  inside Maw Installation, she would have reprimanded him seriously.

  "Admiral," he said, "I agree that we've suffered severe losses, but we

  have also struck crushing blows against the Rebel traitors. The assault on

  Dantooine--was

  Daala's hand swung up to silence him with the finality of a vibroaxe.

  Kratas clamped his thin lips shut and slithered back into his chair.

  "I am fully aware of the battle statistics, Commander. I see the numbers

  in my sleep. I have studied the datapads over and over." Her voice rose and

  became molten with anger. "No matter how much damage we have done to the

  Rebellion, their losses have been insignificant compared to ours."

  Then her voice dropped to such a sudden quiet coldness that she saw

  General Odosk's watery eyes widen in fear. "And so I intend to use my last

  resources in one final assault. If successful, it will fulfill both of our

  missions."

  Her gloved fingers worked the controls at the end of the table. From a

  holoprojector in the center of the black slab rose the computer-generated

  image she had worked up that afternoon in her private quarters while the

  image

  of Grand Moff Tarkin droned on with his prerecorded lectures.

  "I mean to stab at the heart of the Rebellion," she said. "Coruscant

  itself."

  A high-resolution mapping of the last-known surface topography of the

  Emperor's planet focused on a world-sized metropolis with frozen polar caps

  and sparkling chains of city lights on the night side of the planet. She saw

  spacedocks, curved solar mirrors that warmed the upper and lower latitudes

  of

  the planet, communications satellites, large freighters, streams of orbital

  traffic.

  Daala gestured, and two fully rendered images of her Star Destroyers

  appeared traveling side by side at high speed toward Coruscant.

  "I intend to take all ships and all personnel onto the Gorgon, leaving

  only a skeleton crew--of volunteers, of course--on board the Basilisk. Our

  Star Destroyers will come out of hyperspace just beyond the moons of

  Coruscant. We will drive in at full sublight speed, without hesitation,

  straight toward our target.

  "We will give no warning, and we will fire every turbolaser battery we

  have, clearing a corridor to head directly for Imperial City. Any ship that

  stands in our way will become a cloud of ionized metal."

  As she spoke, the computer animation demonstrated her tactics. The two

  Star Destroyers arrowed toward the capital city of the New Republic.

  "The Calamarian commander who defeated the Manticore gave me an idea with

  his suicide run, and we shall turn the tables on them." Daala watched the

  stony face of General Odosk, the appalled look of disbelief on Captain

  Mullinore, and the stern support of Commander Kratas.

  "This will be our deadliest hit-and-run," Daala said. "It will cause

  enough damage for our names to live forever in the annals of Imperial

  history.

  We shall deal a death blow to the Rebel government.

  "As we approach in-system, the Basilisk's small volunteer crew will begin

  a self-destruct countdown. The Gorgon will run interference until we reach

  our

  target, at which time we will turn aside. At full speed the Basilisk will

  plunge into the atmosphere of Coruscant. It will be unstoppable."

  On the simulated image one Star Destroyer split away before touching the

  skin of air, curving in a tight orbit around Coruscant and then streaking

  off

  into space as the first ship plummeted flaming into the atmosphere toward

  the

  most heavily populated center on the planet.

  "When the Basilisk detonates..." Daala said. She paused as the planetary

  image flashed with a brilliant ring of fire that sent ripples igniting

  through

  the atmosphere. All the lights on the night side of the planet went dark.

  Cracks of fire appeared across the land masses.

  "The explosion will be sufficient to level the buildings on half a

  continent. The shock wave traveling through the planetary core could topple

  cities on the other side of the world. The underground reservoirs will break

  open. Tidal waves will cause damage along the coasts. For the price of one

  Star Destroyer, we can lay waste to Coruscant."

  Odosk looked grimly admiring at the simulation. "A good plan, Admiral."

  "But my ship--was Captain Mullinore said.

  "It will be a glorious sacrifice," Commander Kratas said. He steepled his

  fingers and leaned across the polished table. "I agree."

  The simulated death of Coruscant continued, showing spreading fires

  across the cities, seismic disturbances and destruction that continued long

  after the Gorgon vanished into an incandescent spot of light in hyperspace.

  "But what of us?" Kratas said. "What will we do th
en?"

  Daala folded her arms across her chest. "We will accomplish both of our

  missions, as I said. When the Basilisk has destroyed Coruscant, the Gorgon

  and

  all of our personnel shall return to Maw Installation, where we will defend

  it

  to the death with every resource available. The Rebels know it is

  there--they

  will be sure to come sniffing around."

  Daala's need for vengeance forged her heart into a white-hot brand that

  threatened to burst its way steaming and pulsing out of her chest. "Grand

  Moff

  Tarkin once said that setbacks are merely an opportunity for us to do twice

  as

  much damage the second time around."

  Captain Mullinore looked even paler than usual; pinpricks of blood

  vessels speckled his milky-white skin. His blond hair had been cropped

  severely close to his head, making him seem bald in a certain light.

  "Admiral," he said, "let me volunteer to remain onboard the Basilisk for

  this mission. I will be proud to captain my ship until the end."

  Daala looked at him and tried to determine if he sought some sort of

  compassion from her. She decided he wanted none. "I accept, Captain," she

  said.

  Mullinore sat down and gave a tight nod that jerked his chin toward his

  throat.

  Daala rose to her feet. The muscles in her thighs and back felt like

  tightly bundled wires. Her entire body had been a clenched fist since the

  debacle on Calamari, and she knew the only way to release the crushing

  tension

  would be to strike a devastating blow against the Rebellion.

  "Begin the transfer of personnel and equipm ent," she said. "We must

  strike Coruscant at once."

  Daala glanced once more at the seething nebula that hid her ship, and

  then she left the war room. She headed to her quarters, where she would

  review

  Tarkin's tactical tapes, searching for lost and secret wisdom that would

  guarantee her victory.

  29

  The Calamarian female emerged from her teardrop-shaped transport pod and

  swiveled her head as she took in the thick jungles of Yavin 4, the tall

  ancient temples. She waited.

  Luke hurried out of the hangar bay and tried to maintain a careful pace

  across the cleared landing area. Artoo accompanied him across the packed

  ground.

  He noted that the Calamarian female had a smaller stature than Admiral