Her pale blue skin flushed darker. Wedge had never seen Qwi exhibit such anger and agitation before. He realized that the sight of her former engineering partner must be gurgling up old memories that had been scaled away during her forced amnesia.
“You deceived me, Lemelisk,” she said, her voice high and sharp. “You lied to me! While we were working in Maw Installation you never told me our weapons would be used for such death and destruction. You claimed they all had legitimate, peaceful purposes.”
Lemelisk blinked at her again and frowned in disbelief. “Qwi, you were always so brilliant—but in other ways you managed to be incredibly dense.”
She looked as if she had just been slapped, and Wedge grew angry. “You were aboard that Hutt superweapon?”
“Aboard the Darksaber?” Lemelisk said. “I helped them build the thing! I designed it. Oh, did they get away after all?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“No, the weapon was destroyed in the asteroid field.”
“Ah,” Lemelisk said. “A pity. Not that I’m surprised, though. I doubted it would work.”
“What about our New Republic commando team?” Wedge asked. “Did you see them?”
Lemelisk nodded. “Ah yes, the Rebel saboteur. We killed one of their team when they tried to sabotage our engine systems. The other—I believe his name was Madine—was brought before Lord Durga and summarily executed. He died bravely, of course.”
Wedge felt anger simmering around him, and he gestured to the armed guards. “Take the prisoner and lock him up. We’ll bring him back to Coruscant and put him on trial.” He lowered his voice in a threat. “But I have no doubt we’ve got sufficient evidence to order your execution as a threat to galactic peace.”
“Ah, well.” Surprisingly, Bevel Lemelisk reacted with resignation instead of fear. “If you’re going to execute me,” he said, “just make sure you do it right this time.”
YAVIN 4
CHAPTER 62
Seventeen Imperial Star Destroyers hovered near the edge of the Yavin system, ordered not to go deeper inside or to engage the overwhelming Rebel forces that had converged to defend the Jedi academy, battleship after battleship. All had been confusion for more than a day, but the Rebels seemed to be reestablishing order.
Shortly after the destruction of the Knight Hammer, most of the Victory-class Star Destroyers had already fled back to their rendezvous in the Core Systems. Pellaeon’s fleet waited, a distant threat, but able to do nothing.
“We’ve detected one more escape pod, Vice Admiral,” the sensor chief said.
Pellaeon tapped his fingers on the command railing and ran his right hand over his mustache. “Very well, lock on the coordinates,” he said. “Let’s pick it up. I believe most of them have been accounted for now.”
“This one’s slightly different, sir,” the sensor chief said. “It’s broadcasting a command frequency. It’s been out there for quite a while.”
Pellaeon felt his heart leap. “A command pod? Haul it into our forward bay. I’m going down to meet it.”
He strode briskly to the turbolift and rode the platform down, feeling very old. The Imperial fleet was in a shambles. The battle on Yavin 4 had been a complete rout. The Knight Hammer had gone down in flames: the most powerful warship in Daala’s newly unified fleet, as well as a symbol of Imperial power—trounced by Rebel blind luck and reckless determination.
He stepped into the forward landing bay just as the space-scarred escape pod penetrated the atmosphere-containment fields. He felt a surge of hope upon seeing it, another module launched from the Knight Hammer, this one with heavier armor and no external identification. A command-level pod, obviously. Frost began to dust the outer layers.
Pellaeon didn’t know what to think, what the Empire should do next, how they could salvage this utter defeat. The loss of morale would be devastating. He stepped forward. Stormtrooper guards along the walls stood with weapons ready, just in case the pod happened to be booby-trapped.
Before Pellaeon could open the hatch, though, it popped open of its own accord, released by an internal access panel. As soon as the stale atmosphere hissed out to mix with the oily, metallic smell of the Firestorm’s enclosed bay, Admiral Daala climbed out.
Soot smeared her face. Her olive-gray uniform, usually neat, was torn and stained. Blood smeared one check, but Pellaeon couldn’t tell if it was Daala’s own blood or someone else’s.
Pellaeon’s knees grew watery with relief upon seeing her. Daala would know what to do. She could give orders to straighten out the Imperial fleet.
She stood up slowly, locked her gaze with his, and brushed off her uniform. “Vice Admiral Pellaeon,” she said in a dull, lifeless voice, as if forcing the words through her teeth. “In light of this disaster, I—I hereby resign my rank … and hand over command of all Imperial forces to you.”
The instant of silence sounded like an avalanche. She continued, “I will be happy to follow your orders and assist with rebuilding the Empire in any way possible, but I feel that I am no longer capable of commanding so many worthy soldiers. They cannot be asked to lay their lives on the line, to swear allegiance to someone who has been beaten so many times.”
With a precise motion, she coldly and stiffly saluted him, never letting her emerald gaze waver. The stormtroopers stood at attention, drinking in the details.
“But Admiral, I can’t accept this. We need you to rebuild—”
“Nonsense, Vice Admiral,” she said. “You must be strong. Follow your own convictions. We need an opportunity to recover from such a debacle. We need your strength.”
Daala stood next to him looking long and hard into his eyes. “You are in command of the Empire now, Pellaeon,” she said.
She waited rigidly at attention, motionless, until Pellaeon gradually returned her salute.
CORUSCANT
CHAPTER 63
The skies of Coruscant glowed with brilliant signal fires. X-wing fighters dumped clouds of plasma in a diffuse banner high in the twilight. The ionized gases shone with bright colors, spreading out and serving a dual purpose: to celebrate another victory against the Empire, and also to honor those who had died in the recent battles.
For Crix Madine’s memorial service, Luke Skywalker waited beside Leia and Han Solo—but his mind was far, far away. He felt empty and cold. The group waited atop the Imperial palace next to a dazzling signal beacon that stabbed up into the atmosphere. The sharp, thin air whipped around them, but he didn’t feel it.
Overhead, the X-wing fighters continued to soar, splashing their spectacle across the darkening sky.
See-Threepio, newly polished and gleaming gold under the bright lights, stood proudly beside his counterpart Artoo-Detoo. “Oh Artoo,” he said. “It’s been the greatest pleasure serving with you again. I wish you didn’t have to return to Yavin 4 and assist Master Luke at his Jedi academy.”
Artoo whistled and twittered, but Threepio straightened in sudden alarm. “What—me? Accompany you to that dense and treacherous jungle? I think not! Here on Coruscant I have many important duties and … besides it’s so much more civilized.”
Artoo gave a low blat of scorn. Chewbacca, standing beside them with his fur neatly combed and washed, groaned something at Threepio. Indignant, the gold protocol droid said, “That will be enough from you, Chewbacca. For your information, I am doing a fine job assisting Mistress Leia in her duties as Chief of State.”
Leia looked up, her dark eyes sparkling with unshed tears. An honor guard stood around the upper platform of the immense Imperial palace that looked out upon the towering skylines of the planetwide city. Han remained next to her, troubled but trying to hide it. He placed a comforting arm around Leia’s shoulders.
Young Anakin and the twins, Jacen and Jaina, were dressed in stiff and uncomfortable finery, but they behaved themselves, seeming to sense the somber occasion.
As Luke looked at Leia’s family, it struck home like a dull knife blade in the heart. He wasn’t jealous
of Leia and her marriage—he and his sister had very different lives—but he had longed for a similar future with Callista. Only Callista …
As two powerful Jedi Knights, they should have been a perfect pair. They could have been deliriously happy, precisely matched—and they would have been, if circumstances hadn’t repeatedly conspired against them. Luke’s face remained stony, a tired mask that hid his emotions … but his inner pain at the loss of Callista was so strong even Leia could sense it. She flinched, looking at him with concern—but she had her own overwhelming duties as Chief of State now. Luke nodded briefly to reassure her.
He felt as if he had been continually denied a facet of his humanity. Had becoming a Jedi forced an unknown choice upon him, that he would forever be blocked from the normal joys and loves other humans encountered? He hadn’t realized the cost would be so high.
As Leia stepped to the makeshift podium, the New Republic honor guard snapped to attention, eyes locked forward. Luke glanced at the heavily decorated heroes of the recent Imperial onslaught. His old friend Wedge Antilles stood with new medals pinned to his chest, and beside him the ethereal scientist Qwi Xux blinked her indigo eyes, as if once again amazed to be the center of attention. Admiral Ackbar wore his bright white uniform, riding high as commander of the New Republic fleet.
The X-wings overhead finished their run and streaked off to battle stations in orbit. The glowing displays in the air faded out, sparkling with bright points of fire that gradually dimmed.
Leia began to speak, and dozens of image-recording devices, newsdroids, and Galactic Information Service representatives transmitted her speech to all the worlds in the New Republic.
“We are here to celebrate another victory,” Leia said, “and to acknowledge its cost. Once again the Empire has attempted to overthrow the rightful government of the galaxy, and once again they have failed. We will always defeat them, because we have the light on our side.”
She looked over at Luke who stared stonily ahead. “This victory has not been without pain, however. Many brave fighters on several wrecked ships have died in their service to the New Republic.
“Two Jedi Knights have fallen, as well. Dorsk 81 sacrificed himself in order to drive back a fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers. His action alone saved the lives of the other Jedi Knights on Yavin 4, who continued to fight until Admiral Ackbar and his reinforcements could arrive.
“Perhaps it is fortunate that Dorsk 81 did not live long enough to learn that his homeworld Khomm was one of the first targets in Admiral Daala’s renewed attack. That planet has been devastated, and even now the New Republic is sending aid and reparations in honor of the great sacrifice their kinsman made.
“We also acknowledge the loss of Callista, the Jedi Knight who, though she had lost her powers, still managed to bring about the destruction of the Super Star Destroyer, sending it into the planet Yavin, where we believe she and our nemesis Admiral Daala both perished.” Leia paused a moment in somber recollection.
“On another front,” she said, turning toward Wedge, “we are happy to report that the Hutts have been prevented from obtaining their own version of the Death Star superlaser, which they would have used to cause untold havoc upon peaceful systems. General Antilles successfully led the attack that scuttled the Darksaber weapon.
“However, this mission, too, has cost us dearly.” Leia’s voice dropped. “Because he kept a low profile, General Crix Madine was not well known to many of you. He was our Supreme Allied Commander for Intelligence. By working behind the scenes, he claimed more victories than most of us can imagine: accomplishing goals that were not politically possible to pursue in the open. Madine and his crew of commandos sought out the Hutts’ hidden weapon and led General Antilles to its site, though Madine’s efforts cost him his own life and the lives of his team.”
She paused and took a deep breath, shuddering. Luke looked over at her, able to feel the weight of responsibility crashing around his sister. But Leia was strong, and she held up. When she spoke, it seemed as if she were talking to every citizen individually and specifically.
“The New Republic is safe once again, thanks to the selfless efforts of our defenders. We must all continue to add our strength.” She swallowed. “And may the Force be with you.”
* * *
Luke returned to Yavin 4, intending to throw himself entirely into his duties as a Jedi Master—instructing trainees and bringing forth more defenders of the New Republic.
That was his main task now, the remaining purpose of his life.
Out of nostalgia, he and Artoo returned to the jungle moon in a decommissioned X-wing fighter, the type of ship Luke had flown long ago during his initial battles for the Rebel Alliance. When he landed in front of the Great Temple, he saw with a glimmer of warmth in his heart that his Jedi students were busily at work repairing the damage done to the ancient stone structure from the Imperial attack.
Luke clambered out of his X-wing and then used the Force to yank Artoo out of the navigational socket and lower him gently onto the landing grid. The astromech droid had been used as a test object so many times by the Jedi trainees, he was accustomed to being jostled about by invisible hands.
Kyp Durron hurried over to Luke, his dark eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. “Welcome back, Master Skywalker. We knew you’d come soon.”
Luke nodded. “I’ve got to help pick up the pieces here. The search for Jedi Knights continues, no matter what else happens around us.”
Kyp nodded soberly. “We made a fine grave for Dorsk 81 out in the jungle,” he said uncertainly. “I originally thought we should take him back to Khomm to be buried—”
Luke interrupted, shaking his head, “They have enough of their own dead.”
Kyp agreed. “Yes—and I knew him well enough to understand how he felt. Dorsk 81 was a Jedi Knight. He would rather rest here in the place of the Jedi, than be sent back to the homeworld he spent so much time trying to escape. He never fit in there.”
Luke looked up into the baleful orange eye of Yavin that filled much of the mist-covered sky. Its storm systems seemed so peaceful, so soft. And yet he knew that the gravity of this giant world had swallowed Callista and Daala and the Knight Hammer whole. A shiver ran down his spine, and he hoped for a moment he would hear Callista’s voice, see a vision of her face across the planet’s surface, a message she sent from beyond.
But it was only his imagination, and no words from Callista were forthcoming.
Tionne came up, her mother-of-pearl eyes shining. She tossed her silvery hair. “The supply ship came while you were gone, Master Skywalker,” she said. “Everything is running smoothly again, and we’re all working together—but we would achieve better progress under your direction.”
Luke forced a smile and looked at the Jedi scholar and loremaster. “You do a fine job yourself, Tionne.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, evading the compliment. “The supply shuttle brought a sealed message for you. We put it in your quarters.”
Luke frowned. “Who is it from?” he said, expecting more trouble.
Tionne shook her head. “We didn’t play it. It’s a private message.”
“All right,” Luke said. “Come on, Artoo. Let’s get inside.” He gestured in greeting to the other Jedi Knights who continued their training, putting test exercises to work completing reparations to the stone edifice of the temple.
Inside the cool, shadowy corridors of the Massassi pyramid, Luke found the way to his quarters as Artoo rolled along behind him, making occasional whistles and hoots to show his pleasure at being home again.
Luke found a sealed message cylinder on his sleeping pallet. He rolled it on his palm and tried to guess who it might be from, but he could think of no one. He frowned suspiciously, not sure he wanted to know … perhaps it was someone expressing unwanted sympathy—and that would only make his loss hurt deeper.
He shucked out of his comfortable flightsuit and wrapped himself in one of his Jedi robes, feeling
the familiarity and the associative power of the Force. Then finally, in his guise of Jedi Master again, he opened the message cylinder, pulled out the data shaft, and inserted the components together so that they played. An image formed in front of him, and Luke gasped.
“Callista!”
Her face looked off into the distance, not seeing him. He couldn’t tell how long ago this had been recorded. She seemed weak and haggard, but with a new kind of inner strength.
“Hello, Luke. The first thing you need to know, I suppose, is that I’m not dead. Sorry if I frightened you. There was no way for me to get back. I barely got out of the Super Star Destroyer in one of the last escape pods before the entire ship crashed into Yavin.”
She paused, as if contemplating her words, then continued, “After I got away, I drifted. Daala’s command-level escape pods had extra propulsion systems. But once I was out of danger, once I escaped, I realized that I could not come back to you—not yet. I’m sorry, Luke.
“The Jedi powers are closer to me now, but they are not yet within my grasp. The wall of the dark side blocks me from them. I’m afraid I’ll be tempted again if I work too closely with you, because when I’m with you, Luke, I want so much to have my powers back that I’m willing to do anything … almost anything. I can’t risk that.”
“No, Callista,” he whispered to her image. “Please.”
“I have to go on my own odyssey,” she said. “I’m confident that someday I will rediscover my powers. That way I can come back to you on my own terms. I need time, Luke. Just some time. I promise I’ll be back—if ever I can prove myself worthy of the great Jedi Master I love.”
She swallowed. Her image moved away as if she meant to switch off the recorder, but then she turned back. Her gray eyes were wide and bright and strong. “We will be together in time, Luke.” She took a long breath. “And there is a lot of time in the universe.”
Star Wars: Darksaber Page 38