Star Wars: The Jedi Academy Trilogy II: Dark Apprentice

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “We could find a place for you in the New Republic. We don’t punish people for simple mistakes. We could bring you all back,” Leia said again. “Look around you, we could give you your own quarters like these. Many of the buildings in the old Imperial City are abandoned.”

  “We know,” Daykim said, “we live there ourselves sometimes. Thank you for your offer.” He stood up and cast a suspicious glance toward Threepio and Chewbacca. He patted Jacen and Jaina on the head and flashed his gap-toothed smile. “You’re good little children. Your mommy and daddy should be proud of you.”

  Han cleared his throat and extended his hand in thanks. The tattered man grabbed it and shook vigorously as if pleased to give a firm, businesslike handshake.

  “I still don’t understand why you want to stay down in those murky lower levels,” Han said.

  Daykim swung one leg into the ventilation duct and looked around. “It’s very simple,” he said. “Up here I was just a file clerk—down there I am a king!”

  With a last smile for all of them, Daykim vanished into the ventilation ducts. They heard him thumping and scrambling as he disappeared down the access tubes.

  “Well, everything turned out right after all,” Threepio said. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  In answer Han and Leia both glared at him.

  “We want a story!” the twins said in unison.

  27

  Kyp Durron brought his stolen ship into orbit around the small forest moon of Endor, where the second Death Star had been destroyed.

  Ignoring the sensors on board his stolen Z-95 Headhunter, he let his eyes fall closed. He reached out with his sense ability, seeking across the entire landscape for shadows or ripples in the Force. He had to find the last resting place of the only other Dark Lord of the Sith he knew of.

  Darth Vader.

  Exar Kun, who had lived long before Vader, was pleased to know that the Lords of the Sith had continued for millennia. But Kyp still felt driven to find answers to the clamoring questions in his mind.

  Master Skywalker said that Darth Vader, his own father, had returned to the light side in the end. From this Kyp concluded that the powers of the Sith were not permanently connected with evil. That gave him a thread of hope. He recognized full well that the dark spirit of Exar Kun had lied to him, or at least misled him. The risk was terrible, but the reward would benefit the entire galaxy.

  If he succeeded.

  Here on Endor, Kyp felt he could hide from the watchful eyes of Exar Kun. He didn’t know how far Kun’s power extended, but he didn’t think the ancient Sith Lord could leave Yavin 4. Not yet at least.

  Kyp instinctively worked the controls of Mara Jade’s fighter, bringing the Headhunter lower as he scanned the forests. After the Rebel celebration of their victory over the Emperor, Luke Skywalker had built a pyre for his father near the towering trees, not far from the Ewok villages. He had watched the roaring flames consume the remnants of Darth Vader’s mechanical attire.

  But perhaps something had survived.…

  As the Headhunter cruised over the tops of the immense Ewok father trees, Kyp searched with his mind, ironically making use of the exercises Master Skywalker had taught him, how to reach out and touch all life-forms.

  He caught the stirrings of the furry Ewoks in their tree cities. He sensed large predators on the prowl: one humanoid behemoth, a giant Corax, crashed through the trees, black hair swinging from side to side as he searched for Ewok dwellings low enough to grab.

  As he flew onward, Kyp’s mind ranged far and wide across the Endor wilderness. Then he felt a ripple, an echo of something that definitely did not … belong.

  Everything else seemed to have its place, but this did not conform. A stain that seemed to absorb all other senses, casting waves of leftover 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 aboard 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—by himself.

  28

  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 force 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—”

  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 d
ark. 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—” 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 then?”

  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.