The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  “Yes, Mas—Roan.”

  “I have to say,” Garrulan went on, “I never would have guessed that the Jedi would be held accountable.”

  “For attempting to arrest Palpatine, you mean,” Shryne said.

  “No—for the war.” Garrulan stared at Shryne for a long moment. “You really don’t know what’s happened, do you? Maybe you two should have a drink.”

  Garrulan was halfway to his feet when Shryne said: “No drinks. Just tell us.”

  The Twi’lek looked genuinely dismayed. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Roan—especially to you, of all people—but the war has been laid at the feet of the Jedi. You manipulated the whole charade: vat-grown troopers on one side, Master Dooku on the other, all in an attempt to overthrow the Republic and place yourselves in charge. That’s why Palpatine ordered your execution, and why the Jedi Temple was sacked.”

  Shryne and Starstone traded looks of dread.

  Reading their expressions, the crime boss adopted a somber tone. “From what I understand, nearly all of the Jedi were killed—in the Temple, or on one world or another.”

  Shryne put his arm around Starstone’s quaking shoulders. “Steady, kid,” he said, as much to himself as to Olee.

  The second beacon transmission, ordering all Jedi to go to ground, suddenly made sense. The Temple, defenseless in the absence of so many Jedi Knights, had been attacked and plundered; teachers and younglings slaughtered by Coruscant’s shock troopers—stormtroopers, as they were now being called. How many Jedi had returned to the Core, Shryne wondered, only to be killed on arrival?

  The order was finished. Not only was there nothing for Shryne and Starstone on Coruscant, there was nothing for them anywhere.

  “For what it’s worth,” Garrulan said, “I don’t believe a word of it. Palpatine is behind this. He has been from the start.”

  Starstone was shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. “It’s not possible that every Jedi has been killed.” She turned to Shryne. “Some Jedi weren’t even with clone troopers, Master. Other commanders may have refused to obey High Command’s execution orders.”

  “You’re right,” Shryne said, trying to sound comforting.

  “We’ll find other survivors.”

  “Sure we will.”

  “The order will rebuild itself.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Garrulan waited for them to fall silent before saying: “A lot of others have had the carpet yanked out from under them—even those of us at the bottom of the food chain.” He laughed regretfully. “War has always been better for us than peace. At least the Corporate Alliance was willing to tolerate us for a share of the profits. But the regional governors the Emperor installed are out to cast us as the new enemy. And between you and me, I’d sooner deal with the Hutts.”

  Shryne studied him. “Where’s that leave you, Cash?”

  “Not on Murkhana, that much is certain. My Koorivar competitors in crime have my blessings, and my sympathy.” Garrulan returned Shryne’s look. “What about you, Roan? Any ideas?”

  “Not right now,” Shryne said.

  “Perhaps you should consider working for me. I could use people with your special talents, especially now. I owe you a favor, in any case.”

  Starstone glared at him. “We haven’t fallen so low as to—” she started to say when Shryne clamped his hand over her mouth.

  “Maybe I will consider it. But first you’ve got to get us off Murkhana.”

  Garrulan showed Shryne the palms of his hands. “I don’t owe you that much.”

  “Make it happen, and I’ll owe you.”

  Starstone looked from Shryne to Garrulan and back again. “Is this the way you were before the war? Cutting deals with anyone you pleased?”

  “Don’t mind her,” Shryne said. “What about it, Cash?”

  Garrulan sat back in his oversize chair. “Shouldn’t be too hard to equip you with false identities and outwit the local garrison troopers.”

  “Normally, I’d agree,” Shryne cut in. “But someone new has been added to the mix. A Lord Vader.” When Garrulan didn’t react to the name, he continued. “A sort of black-armored version of Grievous, only more dangerous, and apparently in charge of doing Palpatine’s dirty work.”

  “Really,” Garrulan said, clearly interested. “I haven’t heard anything about him.”

  “You will,” Shryne said. “And he could present a problem to our getting off this rock.”

  Garrulan stroked his lekku. “Well, then, I may have to rethink my offer—in the interest of avoiding Imperial complications. Or we may simply need to take additional precautions.”

  Black armorweave and feats of strength weren’t the only things that distinguished Darth Vader from Anakin Skywalker. Where Anakin had had limited access to the Jedi Temple data room, Vader—even light-years from Coruscant—could peruse any data he wished, including archival records, ancient texts, and holocrons fashioned by past Masters. Thus was he able to learn the identities of the six Jedi who had been assigned to Murkhana at the end of the war; the four who had been killed—Masters Loorne and Bol Chatak, and two Jedi Knights—and the two who remained at large: Roan Shryne and Chatak’s Padawan, Olee Starstone, now presumably in the care of the older and more experienced Shryne.

  A petite young woman with dark curly hair and an engaging smile, Starstone until recently had seemed destined to become a Temple acolyte, having been selected by Master Joscasta Nu to serve as her apprentice in the archives room. Shortly before the start of the war, and in the interest of broadening her understanding of the rest of the galaxy, Starstone had asked to be allowed to do fieldwork, and it was during a brief visit to Eriadu that she had attracted the attention of Bol Chatak.

  Chatak hadn’t accepted her as a learner, however, until the war’s second year, and only then at the behest of the High Council. With so many Jedi Knights participating in military campaigns on far-flung worlds, the Temple was no place for an able-bodied young Jedi who could be of greater service to the Republic as a warrior than as a librarian.

  By all accounts Starstone had shown great promise. Candid, smart as a vibro-whip, and a brilliant researcher, she should probably have never been allowed to leave the Temple. Although she would have died there, a victim of Darth Vader’s blade or the blaster bolts of Commander Appo’s shock troopers.

  Roan Shryne was another matter, and it was Shryne’s holoimage Vader was circling, as data about the long-haired rogue Jedi Knight scrolled in a separate holoprojector field.

  Shryne had originally been encountered on the Outer Rim world of Weytta, which happened to be in the same galactic neighborhood as Murkhana. His file contained passing references to an “incident” that had attended his procurement, but Vader hadn’t been able to locate a detailed account of what had occurred.

  At the Temple he had demonstrated an early talent for being able to sense the presence of the Force in others, and so had been encouraged to pursue a course that would have landed him in the Temple’s Acquisition Division. When he was old enough to understand what acquisition entailed, however, he had steadfastly refused further tutelage, for reasons the records also didn’t make clear.

  The matter was brought before the High Council, which ultimately decided that Shryne should be allowed to find his own path rather than be pressed into service. The path Shryne eventually followed was the study of weapons of war, both ancient and modern, from which had grown an interest in the role played by crime syndicates in the spread of illegal arms.

  Shryne’s condemnation of the loopholes in Republic laws that had allowed the Trade Federation and similar groups to amass droid armies was what had brought him initially to Murkhana, shortly before the outbreak of the war. There he had had dealings with a crime boss of local repute, who had gradually become Shryne’s informant on the Separatist military buildup. As a result, Shryne had made frequent journeys to Murkhana, even during the war, both as an undercover singleton and with a Padawan learner.

>   A couple of years older than Obi-Wan Kenobi, Shryne, like Obi-Wan, had been a peripheral member of what some Jedi had referred to as the “Old Guard”—a select group that had included Dooku, Qui-Gon Jinn, Sifo-Dyas, Mace Windu, and others, many of whom had been or would be named to sit on the High Council. But unlike Obi-Wan, Shryne had never been privy to Council discussions or decisions.

  Interestingly, Shryne had been among those Jedi sent to Geonosis on the rescue mission that had wound up becoming the spark that ignited the war. During the battle there, his former Master, Nat-Sem, had been killed, along with Shryne’s first Padawan.

  Then, two and a half years into the war, Shryne lost a second learner at the Battle of Manari.

  It was noted in the records that Shryne’s fellow Jedi began to see a change in him after Manari, not only with regard to the war, but also with regard to the role the Jedi had been constrained to play—manipulated to play, Vader now understood—and many Jedi had expected him to leave the order, as several other Jedi Knights had done, either finding their way to the Separatist side or simply vanishing from sight.

  Continuing to study the ghostly image of Shryne, Vader activated the cabin comm.

  “What have you learned?” he asked.

  “Still no sign of either Jedi, Lord Vader,” Appo said. “But the Twi’lek crime boss has been located.”

  “Good work, Commander. He will prove to be all the lead we need.”

  Cash Garrulan was trying to figure out how he could unload eight hundred pairs of knockoff Neuro-Saav electrobinoculars in a hurry when Jally burst into his office to draw his attention to the security monitors.

  In mounting annoyance, Garrulan watched twenty clone troopers climb from a wheeled transport and take up positions around the aged, sprawling structure that was his headquarters.

  “Stormtroopers, no less,” Garrulan said. “Probably sent by the regional governor to grab whatever they can before we depart.” Pushing himself upright, he swept a stack of data cards from his desk into an open attaché case. “Give the troopers our munitions overstock. Don’t make a stand, whatever you do. If things get rough, offer them more—the electrobinoculars, for instance.” He grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders. “I, however, am not about to suffer the indignity of an arrest. I’ll take the back stairs and meet you at the docking bay.”

  “Good choice. We’ll handle the clones.”

  Hurrying out of his office and through the stockroom, he pressed the release for the back door, only to find a towering figure filling the entryway. Dressed in black from outsize helmet to knee-high boots, the masked figure had his gloved fists planted on his hips in a way that spread his cloak wide.

  “Going somewhere, Vigo?”

  The slightly bass voice was enhanced by a vocoder of some sort and underscored by deep, rhythmical breathing, obviously regulated by the control box strapped to the figure’s broad and armored chest.

  Vader, Garrulan told himself. The Grievous-like monstrosity Shryne said had been “added to the mix.”

  “May I inquire who wishes to know?”

  “You’re free to ask,” Vader said, but left it at that.

  Garrulan tried to compose his thoughts. Vader and his stormtroopers hadn’t come for handouts. They were hot on Shryne’s trail. Still, he thought there might be a way to win Vader over.

  “I’m not and never have been a Separatist. I just happen to be living on a Sep world.”

  “Your former allegiances don’t concern me,” Vader said.

  Stretching out his right hand, Vader yanked Garrulan off his feet and carried him through the foyer and into the office, where he deposited him in a castered chair, which rolled backward and struck the wall.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Vader said.

  Garrulan rubbed the back of his head. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”

  “Yes. Like that.”

  Garrulan forced a breath. “Well, I’d offer you a chair, as well, but I don’t think I have another one large enough.”

  The commander of Vader’s troopers entered from the front room while Vader was taking in the office’s lavish appointments.

  “You’ve done well for yourself, Vigo.”

  “I get by,” Garrulan said.

  Vader stood over him. “I’m searching for two Jedi who escaped a transport that was to have delivered them to Agon Nine.”

  “Enchanting spot. But what makes you think—”

  “Before you say another word,” Vader cut him off, “be advised that I know that you and one of the Jedi go back a long way.”

  Garrulan immediately revised his plans. “You’re talking about Roan Shryne and the girl.”

  “Then they did come here.”

  Garrulan nodded. “They asked for my help in leaving Murkhana.”

  “What arrangements did you make?”

  “Arrangements?” Garrulan gestured broadly to the room. “I didn’t come by all this by accident. I was surprised even to see Shryne alive. I told them that I don’t help traitors. In fact, I reported their visit to local authorities.”

  Vader turned to the stormtrooper commander, who nodded his head and moved into the packing room.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, Vigo.” Vader didn’t make it a question.

  “Not until I get to know you better.”

  The commander returned. “He did contact the local garrison commander, Lord Vader.”

  It was impossible to determine if Vader was at all satisfied. At last, Vader said: “Do you know where Shryne was headed from here?”

  Garrulan shook his head. “He didn’t say. But he knows Murkhana well, and I’m only one of his local contacts. But, of course, you already know that.”

  “I wanted to hear it from you,” Vader said.

  Garrulan smiled to himself. Vader had taken the bait. “Happy to oblige … Lord Vader.”

  “If you were Shryne, what would be your next move?”

  “Well, now we’re speculating, aren’t we,” Garrulan said, relaxing somewhat. “I mean, you appear to be asking my professional opinion on the matter.”

  “And if I am?”

  “I only thought there might be something in it for me.”

  “What is it you want, Vigo? You already appear to have more than you need.”

  Garrulan adopted a more serious tone. “Material things,” he said in a dismissive manner. “I need you to put in a good word for me with the regional governor.”

  Vader nodded. “That can be arranged—providing that your professional opinion amounts to anything.”

  Garrulan leaned forward. “There’s this Koorivar by the name of Bioto. Dabbles in smuggling and other ventures. Owns a very fast ship called the Dead Ringer.” He paused while the commander disappeared once more, undoubtedly to communicate with Space Traffic Control. “If I were in a hurry to get offworld with the least amount of problems, Bioto’s the one I’d turn to.”

  “Lord Vader,” the commander said suddenly, “STC reports that the Dead Ringer recently launched from Murkhana Landing. We have the projected flight path.”

  Vader turned, his cloak swirling. “Contact the Exactor, Commander. Order that the ship be moved into a position to intercept.” Without further word he moved into the front room, only to stop short after a few long strides. “You’re very clever, Vigo,” he said, turning partway to Garrulan. “I won’t forget this.”

  Garrulan inclined his head in a bow of respect. “Nor will I, Lord Vader.”

  A moment after Vader exited, Jally returned, blowing out his breath in relief.

  “Not someone I’d feel good about crossing, boss.”

  “He does have a way,” Garrulan said, getting to his feet. “Forget the rest of this junk. Have our ship readied for launch. We’re done with Murkhana.”

  Wings folded above its fuselage and running lights powering down, Vader’s shuttle entered the Exactor’s main docking bay and alighted on the lustrous deck. Nearby, and surrounded by clone troopers, sat the
Dead Ringer, a somewhat boxy cargo transport, heavily armed with turbolaser cannons and outfitted with a state-of-the-art hyperdrive. Also under guard, the transport’s mostly Koorivar crew of seven stood with their hands clasped atop their horned heads while troopers completed a search of the ship. Already off-loaded cargo containers were stacked outside the Dead Ringer’s starboard docking ring, awaiting scans.

  Vader and Appo descended the shuttle’s boarding ramp and strode over to where the crew had been gathered. A trooper indicated the captain, and Vader approached him.

  “What is your cargo, Captain?”

  The Koorivar glowered up at him. “I demand to speak to the officer in charge.”

  “You are speaking to him.”

  The captain blinked in surprise, but managed to hold on to his angry tone. “I don’t know who you are, but be forewarned that if my ship suffered any damage as a result of being targeted by your tractor beam, I will lodge a formal complaint with the regional governor.”

  “Duly noted, Captain,” Vader said. “And I’m certain that the regional governor will take a keen interest in you once he learns that you are transporting proscribed weapons.” He swung to the officer in charge of the troopers. “Escort them to the brig!”

  “Lord Vader,” Appo said while the crew was being whisked away, “security reports that two humans have been found in a secret compartment beneath the ship’s galley.”

  Vader turned in the direction of the transport. “Interesting. Let’s see what security has uncovered.”

  By the time Vader and Appo had moved around to the transport’s port side, a detail of troopers was emerging from the ship, with two humans in custody. The man was tall and long-haired, and very protective of the young woman by his side. The pair were dressed alike in robes and headcloths typical of the mercenary brigade that had fought for the Separatists on Murkhana.

  Their eyes widened on seeing Vader.

  “They are unarmed, Lord Vader,” one of the troopers announced.

  “We stowed away without the captain’s knowledge,” the man said. “We’re only trying to get to Ord Mantell.”