The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  Someone, Isard reported, was attempting remote access of the Jedi beacon databanks.

  In the dimly lighted corridor of a forlorn Separatist facility far across the stars, Shryne stopped to gaze at one of the niched statues that lined both walls.

  Six meters high and exquisitely carved in the round, the statue was equal parts humanoid and winged beast. While it might have been modeled on an actual creature, the deliberate vagueness of its facial features suggested some mythical creature from antiquity. The indistinct visage was partly concealed by a hooded robe that fell to taloned feet. Identical statues stood in identical recesses for as far as Shryne could see in the wan light.

  The complex of ancient, geometric structures the Separatists had converted into a communications facility had certainly stood on Jaguada’s moon for thousands of standard years; perhaps tens of thousands of years. Scanners classified the metal used in the construction as “unidentifiable,” and lightning fissures in the foundations of the largest buildings indicated that the complex had suffered the effect of the small satellite’s every tectonic shift and meteor impact.

  The light of Shryne’s luma revealed details of the statue’s intricately rendered wings. Locally quarried, the worked stone matched the striated rock of the sheer cliffs that walled the complex on two sides, from which had been carved statues thirty meters tall, the gaze of their time-dimpled faces directed not down the narrow valley over which they stood silent guard, but toward the moon’s eastern horizon.

  Based on similarities to holoimages she had seen of statuary on Ziost and Korriban, Starstone believed that the site could date to the time of the ancient Sith, and that the Separatists’ reoccupation of the complex was in keeping with the fact that Count Dooku had become a Sith Lord.

  The moon was arid Jaguada’s sole companion in a desolate system slaved to a dying star, far from major hyperlanes. The fact that remote Jaguada should host a garrison of clone troopers in the desert planet’s modest population center struck Shryne as something of a mystery. But the troopers’ presence could owe to plans to salvage the Separatist war machines that had been left abandoned on the moon, as troopers were known to be doing in numerous Outer Rim systems.

  This wasn’t the first time Jula and her band of smugglers had visited the moon, but the secrecy that had attended the recent arrival had less to do with prior knowledge of the terrain than to the Drunk Dancer’s jamming capabilities. The ship had inserted into stationary orbit on the moon’s far side without being detected by the Imperial troops on Jaguada, leaving Shryne, Starstone, and Jula, along with some of the crew members and Jedi, to ride down the well in the drop ship, slipping into the moon’s thin atmosphere like a sabacc card up a gambler’s sleeve.

  Heaped with windblown sand, the facility’s retrofitted landing platform appeared not to have seen use in several years. Shryne’s estimate was borne out by the fact that the hundreds of deactivated droids that welcomed the drop ship party were early-generation Trade Federation infantry droids, of the sort controlled by centralized computers rather than super battle droids equipped with autonomous droid brains. As if the surfeit of silent war machines didn’t render the place ghostly enough, there were the fanged carvings affixed to each doorway lintel, and the kilometers of parched corridors studded with gruesome statuary.

  Access to the structure that housed the communications center hadn’t been a problem, since whatever remote transmissions deactivated the droids had silenced the facility, as well. The power generators, however, were still functional, and Filli Bitters and Eyl Dix had been able to override the deactivation codes and bring some of the internal illuminators to life, along with the hyperwave transceiver the Jedi were intent on using to slice into the Temple beacon database.

  Shryne had left the slicers, Starstone, and some of the other Jedi to what he regarded as their business, and had been wandering the aged corridors ever since, thinking through his dilemma.

  Even this deep into the complex, the ceramacrete floors were covered with sand and bits of other inorganic debris carried in by the moon’s constant, nerve-racking winds. To Shryne, the combination of wind and gloom couldn’t have been more apropos to puzzling out whether his coming to Jaguada was in accord with the will of the Force, or merely symptomatic of a deep denial of the truth. Yet another attempt to convince himself that his actions had some import.

  Perhaps if he hadn’t recognized in Starstone and the other Jedi a powerful need to believe—a need to hold on to something in the wake of all that had been snatched from them—he might have tried harder to discourage them. But their need wasn’t enough to keep him from asking himself whether this was the way he wanted to spend the rest of his days, hanging on to a dream that the Jedi order could be reassembled; that a handful of Jedi could mount an insurgency against as formidable an enemy as Emperor Palpatine. He couldn’t escape the feeling that the Force had thrown him a curious curve once again. Just when he thought he was through with Jedi business, and that the Force had deserted him, he was in deeper than ever.

  Roan Shryne, who had lost not one but two learners to the war.

  Jula’s words about reconnecting with family kept replaying themselves. Perhaps he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t actually benefit from attachment, if only as a means of making himself more human. But never to use the Force again … that was the bigger issue. His ability to sense the Force in others was so much a part of his nature that he doubted he would simply be able to set it aside, along with his robes and lightsaber.

  He suspected that he would always feel like a freak among normal humans, and the idea of exiling himself among aliens with similar talents for telepathy held little appeal.

  For the time being he was willing to remain with Starstone, if not mentor her. That was an entirely different problem: Starstone and the others were looking to him for leadership he simply couldn’t provide, in part because leadership had never been his strength, but more because the war had eroded whatever measure of self-confidence he had once possessed. With any luck the attempts at locating surviving Jedi would lead eventually to a Jedi of greater Mastery than Shryne, to whom he could surrender the lead and gracefully bow out.

  Or perhaps there would be no returns from the Temple beacon database.

  Archived HoloNet images he had accessed while aboard the Drunk Dancer had showed smoke pouring from the Jedi Temple in the aftermath of the troopers’ attack. So it was certainly conceivable that the beacon had been damaged or destroyed, or that the databases had been hopelessly corrupted.

  Which would cause an abrupt end to the search.

  And to the dreaming, as well.

  He had begun to move deeper into the corridor when Jula appeared out of the gloom, a luma in hand, and fell into step beside him.

  “Where are the guides when you need them?” she said.

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  She had her jacket folded over her arm, a blaster holstered on her hip. Shryne wondered for a moment what her life might have been like had he remained in her care. Would her marriage to Shryne’s father have endured, or would what seemed an unquenchable thirst for adventure have placed Jula just where she was now? Save with Roan at her side, part of her crew, her partner in crime.

  “How are they doing back there?” he asked, nodding with his chin toward the communications room.

  “Well, Filli’s already sliced into the beacon. No surprises there. Now I suppose it’s a matter of worming into the database itself.” She regarded Shryne while they walked. “You’re not interested in being there when they start downloading the names and possible whereabouts of your scattered confederates?”

  Shryne shook his head. “Starstone and Forte can see to that. My credits aren’t on their succeeding, anyway.”

  Jula laughed. “Then you won’t get any side action from me.” She looked at him askance. “Olee and Filli are two of a kind, don’t you think?”

  “I did for a while. But I figure she’s already found her life
partner.”

  “The Force, you mean.” Jula forced an exhale. “That’s dedication of a scary sort.”

  Shryne stopped walking and turned to her. “Why’d you say yes to taking us here, Jula?”

  She smiled lightly. “I thought I’d made myself clear. I’m still hoping to convince you to join us.” Scanning his face for clues, she asked: “Any movement at all on that front?”

  “I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “But you’ll keep me updated?”

  “Sure I will.”

  Shortly they reached the end of the corridor of winged statues and turned the corner into an intersecting corridor lined with smaller carvings.

  In the bobbing light of the lumas, Shryne said: “How did Filli know about this place?”

  “We made a couple of runs here six or so years back. Communications hardware for the hyperwave transceiver. And before you go all patriotic on me, Roan, we didn’t realize that the facility would eventually be used to eavesdrop on Republic transmissions.”

  “That would have stopped you—knowing that a war against the Republic was brewing?”

  “It might have. But you have to understand, we were hungry, like a lot of other freelancers in the outlying systems. It still amazes me that Coruscant remained in the dark about what was going on out here after Dooku formed the Separatist movement. Weapons buildup, Baktoid Armor Workshop installing foundries on dozens of worlds … Back then, there was a lot to be said for free and unrestricted trade.”

  “I would have figured that would be bad for business.”

  “Yes and no. Free trade invited competition, but it also meant we didn’t have to worry about being chased by local system defense forces or Jedi Knights.”

  “Who hired you to bring in the comm hardware?”

  “Someone named Tyranus, although none of us ever met him face-to-face.”

  “Tyranus,” Shryne repeated, in uncertain recollection.

  “Ring a bell?”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to run it by the librarian—Olee. So when did the Separatists pull up stakes?”

  “Shortly after the Battle of Geonosis—”

  Shryne came to a sudden halt in front of a tall, cloaked statue wearing a goggle-eyed mask.

  “Gruesome,” Jula started; then the corridor’s regularly placed illuminators suddenly flooded the area with light. Squinting, she said, “I thought the idea was to avoid drawing too much attention to ourselves.”

  Distant rumblings overpowered Shryne’s response. In one swift action, he drew and ignited the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

  Jula raised her brows in surprise. “Where’d you come by that?”

  “It belonged to the Master of one of the Padawans.” Spinning on his heel, he began to race back toward the communications control room, Jula right behind him.

  Shryne realized that the rumbling sounds were being made by doors and hatchways opening and closing. He hastened his pace, weaving through stands of deactivated battle droids.

  In the control room Filli, his spiked hair matted to his skull, was doing furious input at a console, while Eyl Dix and Starstone paced behind him, Olee gnawing away at her lower lip. A few meters away Jedi Knights Forte and Iwo Kulka looked as if they were having second thoughts about what they had set in motion.

  “Filli, what’s going on?” Jula shouted.

  The slicer’s right hand pointed to Starstone, while his left continued to fly across the keys of a control pad. “She told me to do it!”

  “Do what?” Shryne said, looking from Starstone to Filli and back again.

  “Boost the transceiver with a burst from the power generator,” Dix answered for Filli.

  “We didn’t have enough juice to download from the database,” Starstone said. “I thought it would be fine.”

  Shryne’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “So what’s the problem?”

  “The generator wants to reactivate the entire facility,” Filli said in a rush of words. “I can’t get it to shut down!”

  Slamming, hissing sounds began to replace the rumble of sliding doors.

  Jula looked sharply at Shryne. “This entire place is sealing up.”

  A series of determined clicks and ready tones punctuated the din raised by descending hatches. All at once every battle droid in the control room powered up.

  Swinging its thin head toward him and raising its blaster rifle, the battle droid standing closest to Shryne said: “Intruders.”

  Behind Armand Isard and the two Internal Security Bureau technicians seated at the Temple beacon control console, Vader stood with his arms folded across his chest, Commander Appo at his right hand.

  “I want to know how the beacon was accessed,” Vader said.

  “By means of a Jedi transceiver, Lord Vader,” the tech closest to Armand said.

  “Cross-check the transceiver code with the identity database,” the ISB chief said, anticipating Vader.

  “The name should be coming up in a moment,” the other tech said, eyes glued to rapidly scrolling text on one of the display screens. “Chatak,” he added a moment later. “Bol Chatak.”

  The sound of Vader’s breathing filled the ensuing silence.

  Shryne and Starstone, he thought. Obviously they had been in possession of Chatak’s beacon transceiver when they had evaded him at Murkhana. Now they were attempting to determine the location of other Jedi when Order 66 had been issued. Certainly they were hoping to establish contact with survivors, hoping to pick up the pieces of their shattered order.

  And … what?

  Devise their revenge? Unlikely, since that would entail calling on the dark side. Formulate a plan to kill the Emperor? Perhaps. Although, ignorant of the fact that Palpatine was a Sith, they would not plot an assassination. So perhaps they were contemplating an attack on the Emperor’s enforcer?

  Vader considered reaching out to Shryne through the Force, but rejected the idea.

  “What is the source of the transmission?” he asked finally.

  “The Jaguada system, Lord Vader,” the first technician said. “More precisely, the moon of the system’s only inhabited world.”

  A large holomap of the galaxy emerged from the console’s holoprojector. Linked to myriad databases throughout the Temple, the map made use of a palette of colors to indicate trouble spots. Just now, in preservation of the moment Order 66 had been executed, more than two hundred worlds glowed blood red.

  Perhaps this explained why Sidious hadn’t had the Temple dismantled, Vader thought. So he could regard it from his lofty new throne room and gloat.

  The holomap began to close tighter and tighter on a remote area of the Outer Rim. When, finally, the Jaguada system hung in midair, Vader strode into its midst.

  “This moon,” he said, gesturing with the forefinger of his black-gloved hand.

  “Yes, Lord Vader,” the tech said.

  Vader glanced at Appo, who had already comlinked Central Operations on Coruscant.

  “The moon is the site of an abandoned Separatist communications facility,” Appo said. “Whoever is in possession of the Jedi transceiver must have brought the facility’s hyperspace communications network online.”

  “Do we have any vessels in that sector, Commander?”

  “No vessels, Lord Vader,” Appo said. “But there is a small Imperial garrison on Jaguada.”

  “Instruct the garrison commander to scramble his troopers immediately.”

  “Capture or kill, Lord Vader?”

  “Either would please me.”

  “I understand.”

  Vader cupped the holoimage of the tiny moon in his hand. “I have you now,” he said quietly, and made a fist.

  The lightsaber Klossi Anno had given Shryne felt foreign in his hand, but it was finely wrought, and its dense blue blade was perfect for deflecting the hail of blaster bolts the battle droids had unleashed. Beside him Jula was firing steadily and with impressive accuracy, dropping those droids Shryne’s parried bolts didn’t. C
rouched behind the control console, Filli and Dyx were somehow managing to continue entering commands on the keyboards while the flashing lightsabers of Starstone, Forte, and Kulka provided cover.

  In the control room and elsewhere in the facility, alert sirens were warbling, lights were flashing, and hatchways were sealing.

  “Whatever you did, undo it!” Shryne said to Filli without missing a blaster bolt. “Deactivate the droids!”

  A glance at display screens that had been sleeping moments earlier showed that scores of infantry droids and droidekas were hurrying toward the control center from all areas of the complex.

  “Filli, hurry!” Jula added for emphasis. “More are headed this way!”

  Shryne took a moment to look around the control room. The doorway through which he and Jula had entered was one of three, positioned 120 degrees from one another.

  “Filli, can you seal us in here?” he shouted.

  “Probably,” the slicer yelled back. “But we may have bigger troubles.”

  “We can handle the droidekas,” Forte assured him.

  Filli raised his head above the console and shook it negatively. “Someone at the Temple knows that we’ve sliced in!”

  Starstone whirled on him. “How do you—”

  “We’re getting an echo from the beacon,” Eyl Dix explained.

  Redirecting a flurry of bolts, Shryne reduced six droids to shrapnel. “How long before the Temple ascertains our location?”

  “Depends on who’s at the other end,” Filli said.

  “Then cancel the link!” Jula said.

  “We’re still downloading,” Starstone said. “We need all the data we can get.”

  Shryne glowered at her. “What good is all the data in the Temple if we’re not around to put it to use?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I knew you’d say that. Do it, Filli,” she said over her shoulder. “Zero the link.” Glancing apologetically at Forte and Kulka, she added: “We’ll make the best of what we have.”

  “Done,” Filli announced.