by James Luceno
Luke shook his head. Yoda had never mentioned a Dark Jedi ever being on Dagobah. “No reason,” he murmured.
“Come on, we can discuss history later,” Han put in. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can get this over with.”
“Right,” Leia agreed, latching her lightsaber to her belt and heading for the door. “I’ll get my travel bag and give Winter some instructions. Meet you at the ship.”
Luke watched her leave; turned back to find Han eyeing him. “I don’t like it,” he told the other.
“Don’t worry—she’ll be safe,” Han assured him. “Look, I know how protective you’re feeling toward her these days. But she can’t always have her big brother standing over her.”
“Actually, we’ve never figured out which of us is older,” Luke murmured.
“Whatever,” Han waved the detail away. “The best thing you can do for her right now is what you’re already doing. You make her a Jedi, and she’ll be able to handle anything the Imperials can throw at her.”
Luke’s stomach tightened. “I suppose so.”
“As long as Chewie and me are with her, that is,” Han amended, heading for the door. “See you when we get back.”
“Be careful,” Luke called after him.
Han turned, one of those hurt/innocent expressions on his face. “Hey,” he said. “It’s me.”
He left, and Luke was alone.
For a few moments he wandered around the room, fighting against the heavy weight of responsibility that seemed sometimes on the verge of smothering him. Risking his own life was one thing, but to have Leia’s future in his hands was something else entirely. “I’m not a teacher,” he called aloud into the empty room.
The only response was a flicker of movement from the still-paused remote. On sudden impulse, Luke kicked the device to life again, snatching his lightsaber from his belt as it moved to the attack. A dozen stinger blasts shot out in quick succession as the remote swooped like a crazed insect; effortlessly, Luke blocked each in turn, swinging the lightsaber in a flashing arc that seemed to engulf him, a strange exultation flowing through mind and body. This was something he could fight—not distant and shadowy like his private fears, but something solid and tangible. The remote fired again and again, each shot ricocheting harmlessly from the lightsaber blade—
With a sudden beep the remote stopped. Luke stared at it in confusion, wondering what had happened … and abruptly realized he was breathing heavily. Breathing heavily, and sweating. The remote had a twenty-minute time limit built in, and he’d just come to the end of it.
He closed down the lightsaber and returned it to his belt, feeling a little eerie about what had just happened. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost track of time like that, but always before it had been during quiet meditation. The only times it had happened in anything like a combat situation were back on Dagobah, under Yoda’s supervision.
On Dagobah …
Wiping the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve, he walked over to the comm desk in the corner and punched up the spaceport. “This is Skywalker,” he identified himself. “I’d like my X-wing prepped for launch in one hour.”
“Yes, sir,” the young maintenance officer said briskly. “We’ll need you to send over your astromech unit first.”
“Right.” Luke nodded. He’d refused to let them wipe the X-wing’s computer every few months, as per standard procedure. The inevitable result was that the computer had effectively molded itself around Artoo’s unique personality, so much so that the relationship was almost up to true droid counterpart level. It made for excellent operational speed and efficiency; unfortunately, it also meant that none of the maintenance computers could talk to the X-wing anymore. “I’ll have him there in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Luke keyed off and straightened up, wondering vaguely why he was doing this. Surely Yoda’s presence would no longer be there on Dagobah for him to talk to or ask questions of.
But then, perhaps it would.
C H A P T E R 10
“As you can see,” Wedge said, his voice grimly conversational as he crunched through plastic and ceramic underfoot, “the place is something of a mess.”
“That’s for sure,” Leia agreed, feeling a little sick as she looked around at the flat-bottomed, rubble-strewn crater. A handful of other Republic representatives from her party were wandering around the area, too, holding quiet conversations with their Bpfasshi escorts and occasionally pausing to pick through the pieces of what had once been a major power plant. “How many people died in the attack?” she asked, not at all sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“In this system, a few hundred,” Wedge told her, consulting a data pad. “Not too bad, really.”
“No.” Involuntarily, Leia glanced up at the deep blue-green sky above them. Not bad, indeed. Especially considering that there had been no fewer than four Star Destroyers raining destruction down on them. “A lot of damage, though.”
“Yeah.” Wedge nodded. “But not nearly as much as there could have been.”
“I wonder why,” Han muttered.
“So does everyone else,” Wedge agreed. “It’s been the second most popular question around here these days.”
“What’s the first?” Leia asked.
“Let me guess,” Han put in before Wedge could answer. “The first is, why did they bother pounding on Bpfassh in the first place.”
“You got it.” Wedge nodded again. “It’s not like they didn’t have any better targets to choose from. You’ve got the Sluis Van1 shipyards about thirty light-years away, for starters—a hundred ships there at any given time, not to mention the docking facilities themselves. Then there’s the Praesitlyn communications station at just under sixty, and four or five major trade centers within a hundred. An extra day of travel each way, tops, at Star Destroyer cruising speeds. So why Bpfassh?”
Leia thought it over. It was a good question. “Sluis Van itself is pretty heavily defended,” she pointed out. “Between our Star Cruisers and the Sluissi’s own permanent battle stations, any Imperial leader with a gram of sense would think twice before tackling it. And those other systems are all a lot deeper into New Republic space than Bpfassh. Maybe they didn’t want to push their luck that far.”
“While they tested their new transmission system under combat conditions?” Han suggested darkly.
“We don’t know that they’ve got a new system,” Wedge cautioned him. “Coordinated simultaneous attacks have been done before.”
“No.” Han shook his head, looking around. “No, they’ve got something new. Some kind of booster that lets them punch subspace transmissions through deflector shields and battle debris.”
“I don’t think it’s a booster,” Leia said, a shiver running up her back. Something was starting to tingle, way back at the edge of her mind. “No one in any of the three systems picked up any transmissions.”
Han frowned down at her. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she murmured, shivering again. “I was just remembering that when—well, when Darth Vader was having us tortured on Bespin, Luke knew it was happening from wherever he was at the time. And there were rumors that the Emperor and Vader could do that, too.”2
“Yeah, but they’re both dead,” Han reminded her. “Luke said so.”
“I know,” she said. The tingling at the edge of her mind was getting stronger … “But what if the Imperials have found another Dark Jedi?”
Wedge had gotten ahead of them, but now he turned back. “You talking about C’baoth?”
“What?” Leia frowned.
“Joruus C’baoth,” Wedge said. “I thought I heard you mention Jedi.”
“I did,” Leia said. “Who’s Joruus C’baoth?”
“He was one of the major Jedi Masters back in pre-Empire days,” Wedge said. “Supposed to have disappeared before the Clone Wars started. I heard a rumor a couple of days ago that he’s surfaced again and set up shop on some
minor world named Jomark.”3
“Right.” Han snorted. “And he was just sitting around doing nothing during the Rebellion?”
Wedge shrugged. “I just report ’em, General. I don’t make ’em up.”
“We can ask Luke,” Leia said. “Maybe he knows something. Are we ready to move on?”
“Sure,” Wedge said. “The airspeeders are over this way—”
And in a sudden rush of sensation, the tingling in Leia’s mind abruptly exploded into certain knowledge. “Han, Wedge—duck!”
—and at the rim of the crater a handful of well-remembered gray-skinned aliens appeared.
“Cover!” Han shouted to the other Republic reps in the crater as the aliens opened up with blasters. Grabbing Leia’s wrist, he dived for the limited protection of a huge but badly twisted plate of shielding metal that had somehow gotten itself dug halfway into the ground. Wedge was right behind them, slamming hard into Leia as he reached cover.
“Sorry,” he panted in apology, yanking out his blaster and turning to throw a cautious look around the edge of their shelter. One look was all he got before a blaster bolt spattered metal near his face and sent him jerking back. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I think we’ve got trouble.”
“I think you’re right,” Han agreed grimly. Leia turned to see him, blaster drawn, returning his comlink to his belt with his free hand. “They’ve learned. This time they’re jamming our communications.”
Leia felt cold all over. Way out here, without comlinks, they were as good as helpless. Totally cut off from any possibility of help …
Her hand, reaching automatically for her stomach, brushed her new lightsaber instead. She pulled it free, a fresh determination pushing past the fear. Jedi or not, experienced or not, she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“Sounds like you’ve run into these guys before,” Wedge said, reaching around the barrier to squeeze off a couple of blind shots in the general direction of their attackers.
“We’ve met,” Han grunted back, trying to get into position for a clear shot. “Haven’t really figured out what they want, though.”
Leia reached for her lightsaber’s control stud, wondering if she had enough skill yet to block blaster fire … and paused. Over the noise of blasters and crackling metal she could hear a new sound. A very familiar sound … “Han!”
“I hear it,” Han said. “Way to go, Chewie.”
“What?” Wedge asked.
“That whine you hear is the Falcon,” Han told him, leaning back to look over their shelter. “Probably discovered they were jamming us and put two and two together. Here he comes.”
With a screaming roar the familiar shape of the Millennium Falcon swooped by overhead. It circled once, ignoring the ineffectual blasts ricocheting from its underside, and dropped to a bumpy landing directly between them and their attackers. Peering cautiously around their barrier, Leia saw the ramp lower toward them.
“Great,” Han said, looking past her shoulder. “Okay. I’ll go first and cover you from the bottom of the ramp. Leia, you’re next; Wedge, you bring up the rear. Stay sharp—they may try to flank us.”
“Got it.” Wedge nodded. “Ready when you are.”
“Okay.” Han got his feet under him—
“Wait a minute,” Leia said suddenly, gripping his arm. “There’s something wrong.”
“Right—we’re getting shot at,” Wedge put in.
“I’m serious,” Leia snapped. “Something here’s not right.”
“Like what?” Han asked, frowning at her. “Come on, Leia, we can’t sit here all day.”
Leia gritted her teeth, trying to chase down the feeling tingling through her. It was still so nebulous … and then suddenly she had it. “It’s Chewie,” she told them. “I can’t feel his presence on the ship.”
“He’s probably just too far away,” Wedge said, a distinct note of impatience in his voice. “Come on—he’s going to get the ship shot out from under him if we don’t get going.”
“Hang on a minute,” Han growled, still frowning at Leia. “He’s okay for now—all they’re using is hand blasters. Anyway, if things get too hot, he can always use the—”
He broke off, a strange look on his face. A second later, Leia got it, too. “The underside swivel blaster,”4 she said. “Why isn’t he using it?”
“Good question,” Han said grimly. He leaned out again, taking a hard look this time … and when he ducked back under cover there was a sardonic half-grin on his face. “Simple answer: that’s not the Falcon.”
“What?” Wedge asked, his jaw dropping a couple of centimeters.
“It’s a fake,” Han told him. “I can’t believe it—these guys actually dug up another working YT-1300 freighter somewhere.”5
Wedge whistled softly. “Boy, they must really want you bad.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that impression myself,” Han said. “Got any good ideas?”
Wedge glanced around the edge of the barrier. “I don’t suppose running for it qualifies.”
“Not with them sitting out there at the edge of the crater waiting to pick us off,” Leia told him.
“Yeah,” Han agreed. “And as soon as they realize we’re not going to just walk into their decoy, it’ll probably get worse.”
“Is there any way we can at least disable that ship?” Leia asked him. “Keep it from taking off and attacking us from above?”
“There are lots of ways,” he grunted. “The problem is you have to be inside for most of them. The outside shielding isn’t great, but it blocks hand blasters just fine.”
“Will it block a lightsaber?”
He threw a suspicious frown at her. “You’re not suggesting …?”
“I don’t think we’ve got any choice,” she told him. “Do we?”
“I suppose not,” he grimaced. “All right—but I’ll go.”
Leia shook her head. “We all go,” she said. “We know they want at least one of us alive—otherwise, they’d just have flown by overhead and blasted us. If we all go together, they won’t be able to fire. We’ll head straight in as if we’re going aboard, then split off to the sides at the last second and take cover behind the ramp. Wedge and I can fire up and inside to keep them busy while you take the lightsaber and disable them.”
“I don’t know,” Han muttered. “I think just Wedge and me should go.”
“No, it has to be all of us,” Leia insisted. “That’s the only way to guarantee they won’t shoot.”
Han looked at Wedge. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s the best chance we’re going to get,” the other said. “But if we do it, we’d better do it fast.”
“Yeah.” Han took a deep breath and handed Leia his blaster. “All right. Give me the lightsaber. Okay; ready … go.”
He ducked out from cover and charged for the ship, crouching down as he ran to avoid the blaster fire crisscrossing the crater—the other Republic reps, Leia noted as she and Wedge followed, doing a good job of keeping the rim attackers busy. Inside the ship she could see a hint of movement, and she gripped Han’s blaster a little tighter. A half second in the lead, Han reached the ramp; and swerving suddenly to the side ducked under the hull.
The aliens must have realized instantly that their trap had failed. Even as Leia and Wedge skidded to a halt at opposite sides of the ramp, they were greeted by a burst of blaster fire from the open hatch. Dropping to the ground, Leia squirmed as far back as she could under the ramp, firing blindly into the hatch to discourage those inside from coming down after them. Across the ramp, Wedge was also firing; somewhere behind her, she could hear a faint scrabbling across the ground as Han got into position for whatever sabotage he was planning. A shot blazed past from above, narrowly missing her left shoulder, and she tried to back a little farther into the ramp’s shadow. Behind her, clearly audible through the blaster fire, she heard a snap-hiss as Han ignited her lightsaber. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself, not knowin
g quite why—
And with a blast and shock wave that knocked her flat against the ground, the whole ship bounced a meter in the air and then slammed back down again.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard someone give a war whoop. The firing from the hatch had abruptly stopped, and in the silence she could hear a strange hissing roar coming from above her. Cautiously, she eased away from the ramp and crawled a little ways out of concealment.
She’d been prepared to see the freighter leaking something as a result of Han’s sabotage. She wasn’t prepared for the huge white gaseous plume that was shooting skyward like the venting of a ruptured volcano.
“You like it?” Han asked, easing over beside her and glancing up to admire his handiwork.
“That probably depends on whether the ship’s about to blow up,” Leia countered. “What did you do?”
“Cut through the coolant lines to the main drive,” he told her, retrieving his blaster and handing back her lightsaber. “That’s all their pressurized korfaise gas floating away.”
“I thought coolant gases were dangerous to breathe,” Leia said, looking warily at the billowing cloud.
“They are,” Han agreed. “But korfaise is lighter than air, so we won’t have any trouble down here. Inside the ship is another matter. I hope.”
Abruptly, Leia became aware of the silence around them. “They’ve stopped shooting,” she said.
Han listened. “You’re right. Not just the ones inside the ship, either.”
“I wonder what they’re up to,” Leia murmured, tightening her grip on the lightsaber.
A second later she got her answer. A violent thunderclap came from above them, flattening her to the ground with the shock wave. For a horrifying second she thought the aliens had set the ship to self-destruct; but the sound faded away, and the ramp beside her was still intact. “What was that?”
“That, sweetheart,” Han said, pulling himself to his feet, “was the sound of an escape pod being jettisoned.” He eased cautiously away from the relative protection of the ramp, scanning the sky. “Probably modified for atmospheric maneuvering. Never realized before how loud those things were.”