The Crystal Star

by Vonda McIntyre

  The Falcon rose above the battered landing field of Crseih Station, and soared into space after Alderaan.

  Leia headed for the hyperspace point, but her attention was behind her ship, back on Crseih Station and the Millennium Falcon and the tumult of elemental forces that would soon explode. The crystal star raced around the black hole, faster and faster, closer and closer, with more of its surface stripped away into great glowing streamers of burning plasma.

  Leia’s head ached fiercely, as if her brain vibrated in time with the star system’s resonance. Rillao, too, looked pale and ill.

  “Hold on,” Leia said, as much to herself as to Rillao. “Just a little while longer, and we’ll be away from this place.”

  “Yes,” Rillao whispered.

  In the distance, Xaverri’s ship vanished into hyperspace. Leia was curious about her. She wanted to talk to her, to learn more about the times in Han’s life that he usually avoided discussing. Strangely enough, she did not feel jealous of Xaverri.

  I always believed, if I met her, I’d think she wasn’t good enough for Han, Leia thought. But she was. And I’m glad.

  She watched intently for the Millennium Falcon.

  Where are you? she cried in her mind.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, Jaina?”

  “I think … I think you better hurry … Uncle Luke …”

  The burning whirlpool spun furiously, ripping the glowing crystal’s surface to ribbons. The whirlpool blasted out X rays, gamma rays, intense light. Leia closed her eyes, trying to force away the pain.

  “Han!” she cried, but no transmission could penetrate the primordial cacophony.

  Suddenly, against the brilliance of the dying stars, a point of darkness appeared and expanded.

  “It’s the Falcon!” Leia said.

  It streaked toward Alderaan. Leia accelerated, wild joy overcoming the resonating pain. The Millennium Falcon raced Alderaan toward hyperspace.

  In the far distance, the crystal star spiraled inward. Nearer, Crseih Station plunged into motion, its engines shuddering it into flight.

  The face of the crystal star reached the event horizon of the black hole.

  The crystal star shattered. Ripped apart by unimaginable forces, it disintegrated into atoms, into stripped nuclei and electrons, into subatomic particles. As they fell toward the black hole, energy burst from them. The radiation fueled a pressure wave of gas and stripped atoms that exploded outward, to sweep away anything in its path.

  On Alderaan, Leia felt the disruption in the Force before the storm could reach her; she knew she must escape before the light and the X rays and the pressure wave could reach her.

  Hyperspace flared open before her. Her ship blasted toward safety, the Falcon at its side, Crseih Station just behind.

  The disruption of the crystal star lifted from Leia’s shoulders.

  She was free.

  She was going home.

  Leia piloted Alderaan from hyperspace into the normal space of the star system of Munto Codru. Then she waited, anxiously.

  The Millennium Falcon appeared.

  “Han!” Leia said.

  The transmissions became clear once more. Han replied from Millennium Falcon.

  “We made it,” he said.

  “Are you all right? Is Anakin?”

  “He’s okay. I was worried there at the last—but he’s okay now.”

  As Han spoke, Crseih Station dropped into existence a few light-seconds away. It slipped into orbit around Munto Codru’s sun. Following Artoo-Detoo’s instructions, its engines turned themselves off. The outlaw station, and all its inhabitants, were stranded.

  Hethrir’s worldcraft spun serenely, surrounded by every ship in the Munto Codru system, as Leia’s advisers and the Munto Codru officials rescued the lost children and began the work of returning them to their homes.

  Leia unstrapped herself from Alderaan’s pilot’s couch and hurried back to the twins. They were excited, exhausted, as bright-eyed as if they had a fever. She hugged them and kissed them.

  “You’re so brave,” she said. “So smart, and so brave. I’m so proud of you.”

  She took Luke’s hand. It was cold and slack.

  “Luke—”

  “Uncle Luke!” Jaina said. “Wake up!” said Jacen.

  Rillao joined them. “Let me help,” she said.

  She sat on her heels beside Luke. He did not stir.

  “Do not leave us now,” she said. “You were in the influence of the crystal star, but you survived. You were in the influence of Waru, but you survived.”

  She stroked his forehead.

  “Come back to us, Jedi.”

  Luke’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Are you going to let a little thing like a rip through space-time slow you down?” Rillao asked.

  Luke opened his eyes. He looked at her, and smiled.

  On the other side of the cabin, in silence, Tigris watched his mother.

  Lusa clattered down the companionway and skidded around the corner.

  “Are we home yet?” she asked.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  VONDA N. MCINTYRE’S novels include the Hugo and Nebula Award-winning Dreamsnake, The Exile Waiting, Superluminal, and the Starfarers series: Starfarers, Transition, Metaphase, and Nautilus. She has also written one children’s book, Barbary, and several New York Times bestselling Star Trek novels. Her books and short stories have been translated into more than a dozen languages. She lives in Seattle, Washington.

  STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe

  You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …

  In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?

  Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?

  Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?

  Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?

  All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!

  Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.

  Prologue

  Eight months after the Battle of Endor

  The Empire’s orbiting repair yard at N’zoth, code-named Black 15, was of standard Imperial design, with nine great shipways arrayed in a square. On the morning of the retreat from N’zoth, all nine slips were occupied by Imperial warships.

  Under most circumstances, nine Star Destroyers together would have been an intimidating sight to any who might come under their guns.

  But on the morning of the retreat from N’zoth, only one of the nine was ready for space.

  That was the sorry assessment of Jian Paret, commander of the Imperial garrison at N’zoth, as he looked out on the yards from his command center. The orders he had received hours ago were still playing before his eyes:

  You are ordered to evacuate the planetary garrison to the last man, at best possible speed, using any and all ships that are spaceworthy. Destroy the repair yard and any and all remaining assets befor
e withdrawing from the system.

  Paret’s assessment was shared by Nil Spaar, master of the Yevethan underground, as he rode the work shuttle up from the surface with the first commando team. The orders he had given hours ago were still ringing in his ears:

  “Notify all teams that an Imperial evacuation has been ordered. Execute the primary plan without delay. It is our day for retribution. Our blood is in those vessels, and they will be ours. May each of us honor the name of the Yevetha today.”

  Nine ships.

  Nine prizes.

  The most badly damaged, Redoubtable, had taken terrible punishment in the retreat from Endor. The others ranged from old medium cruisers being upgraded and recommissioned, to the EX-F, a weapons and propulsion test bed built on a Dreadnaught hull.

  The key to them all was the massive Star Destroyer Intimidator, moored at one of the open slips. Spaceworthy but completely unblooded, it had been sent to Black 15 from the Core for finish work, to free up a Super-class shipway at the command’s home shipbuilding yard.

  There was more than enough room aboard it for the garrison, and more than enough firepower aboard to destroy the yard and the hulls within. Paret transferred his command to the bridge of the Intimidator within an hour of receiving his orders.

  But Intimidator could not leave the yard as quickly as Paret would have liked. He had only one-third of a standard crew aboard, a single watch—too few hands to quickly ready a ship of that size to fly free.

  Moreover, nine of every ten workers on Black 15 were Yevetha. Paret despised the gaudy-faced skeletons. He would have liked to seal the ship in the interest of security, or to draft additional work details in the interest of speed. But either act would prematurely alert the Yevetha that the occupation force was leaving N’zoth, threatening the withdrawal from the surface.

  All Paret would do was call a surprise departure drill and wait out its lengthy checks and countdowns, letting the normal work details continue until the troop transports and the governor’s shuttle had lifted off and were en route. Then, and only then, could his crew close the hatches, cut the moorings, and turn its back on N’zoth.

  Nil Spaar knew of Commander Paret’s dilemma. He knew all that Paret knew, and much more. For more than five years he had worked to position allies of the underground throughout the conscript workforce. Nothing of importance happened without Nil Spaar’s swiftly hearing of it. And he had taken the information he had collected and woven it into an elegant scheme.

  He had put an end to the rash of minor “mistakes” and “accidents,” demanding that those who worked for the Empire show diligence and strive for excellence—while learning everything they could about the ships and their operation. He had seen to it that the Yevetha made themselves indispensable to the Black Fleet’s yard bosses and earned the trust of its commanders.

  It was that trust which had allowed the work slowdown in the months since the Battle of Endor to go on unquestioned. It was that trust which had given his Yevetha the run of both the yard and the ships moored in the slips.

  And it was the patient and calculating exploitation of that trust which had brought Nil Spaar and those who followed him to this moment.

  He knew that he no longer need fear the Harridan, the Victory-class Star Destroyer that had been protecting the yard and patrolling the system. The Harridan had been ordered to the front three weeks ago, joining the Imperial force fighting a losing rear-guard action at Notak.

  He knew that Paret could not seal the Intimidator against his men, even by ordering a battle-stations lockdown. More than a dozen external hatches in Sections 17 and 21 had been rigged by Yevetha technicians to report that they were secured when they were not, and to report that they were closed when they were not.

  He knew that even if Intimidator got free of the slip in which it was moored, it would not have a chance to escape or turn its guns on the abandoned vessels. The packages of explosives concealed inside Intimidator’s hull would break it open like an egg the moment its shields went up and blocked the signal that was safing the bombs.

  As the work shuttle neared the receiving dock, Nil Spaar felt no fear, no apprehension. Everything that could be done had been done, and there was a joyful inevitability about the fighting to come. He had no doubt what the outcome would be.

  Nil Spaar and the first commando team entered Intimidator through the hatches in Section 17, while his second, Dar Bille, and the backup team entered through Section 21.

  There was no talking. None was necessary. Every member of both teams knew the layout of the ship as well as any Imperial crewman. They moved through it like ghosts, down corridors closed or cleared by friends on work details, through crawlways and up access ladders that appeared on no construction blueprint. In minutes they had reached the bridge—without ever being challenged, or drawing a weapon, or firing a shot.

  But they entered the bridge with weapons drawn, knowing exactly which stations would be occupied, where the guard station was, who could sound a shipwide alarm. Nil Spaar shouted out no warnings, made no theatrical announcement, demanded no surrenden He simply walked briskly across the deck toward the executive officer, raised his blaster, and burned the officer’s face away.

  As he did, the rest of the team fanned out behind him, each to his own assigned target. Six of Intimidator’s bridge crew were struck down in the first seconds, sitting at their stations, because of the power that rested at their fingertips. The others, including Commander Paret, quickly ended up facedown on the floor, hands bound behind them.

  Taking the ship was not difficult. Timing the raid to avoid retribution had always been the challenge.

  “Signal from the governor’s shuttle,” called out a Yevetha commando, slipping into the seat at the communications station. “The transports are leaving the surface. No trouble reported.”

  Nil Spaar nodded approvingly. “Acknowledge the signal. Advise the crew that we’re moving out to pick up the garrison. Notify the yard that Intimidator is leaving.”

  Like a cluster of insects returning to the hive, the fleet of Imperial transports rose from N’zoth toward the great dagger-shaped Star Destroyer. More than twenty thousand citizens of the Empire were crammed into the insect fleet—soldiers and bureaucrats, technicians and families.

  “Open all hangars,” said Nil Spaar.

  Their destination in sight, the transports slowed and began to align themselves on approach vectors.

  “Activate all autotargeting batteries,” said Nil Spaar.

  There was a collective gasp from the prisoners on the bridge, who were watching the same display screens as the Yevetha commandos who now occupied their stations.

  “You’re all cowards,” Commander Paret called out to the invaders, his voice bitter with contempt and anger. “A real soldier would never do this. There’s no honor in killing the defenseless.”

  Nil Spaar ignored him. “Lock on targets.”

  “You vicious, pathetic fool. You’ve already won. How can you justify this?”

  “Fire,” said Nil Spaar.

  The deck plates barely vibrated as the gun batteries erupted and the approaching transports disappeared in balls of fire and fragments. It did not take long. None escaped. Moments later the communications station began to scream with shocked and panicked inquiries from all over the ship. There had been many witnesses to the carnage.

  Nil Spaar turned away from the tracking display and crossed the bridge to where Commander Paret lay on the decking. Grabbing the Imperial officer by the hair, he dragged Paret out of line and rolled him over roughly with his booted foot. Seizing the front of Paret’s tunic with one hand, Nil Spaar lifted him half off the deck. For a long moment he loomed over the officer, looking like a tall, vengeful demon with his cold, black, widely set eyes, the white slash down his nasal ridge, and the deep scarlet-splashed ridges that furrowed his cheeks and chin.

  Then, hissing, the Yevetha made a fist with his free hand and cocked it back. A sharp, curving dew-claw emerged fro
m the swelling at his wrist.

  “You are vermin,” Nil Spaar said coldly, and slashed the claw across the Imperial captain’s throat.

  Nil Spaar held on through the commander’s death throes, then dropped the body carelessly to the floor. Turning, he looked down into the pit at the commando who had taken over the communications station.

  “Tell the crew that they are the prisoners of the Yevetha Protectorate and His Glory the viceroy,” said Nil Spaar, wiping his claw on the trouser leg of his victim. “Tell them that beginning today, their lives depend on their being useful to us. And then I wish to speak to the viceroy, and tell him of our triumph.”

  Chapter 1

  Twelve years later

  In the pristine silence of space, the Fifth Battle Group of the New Republic Defense Fleet blossomed over the planet Bessimir like a beautiful, deadly flower.

  The formation of capital ships sprang into view with startling suddenness, trailing fire-white wakes of twisted space and bristling with weapons. Angular Star Destroyers guarded fat-hulled fleet carriers, while the assault cruisers, their mirror finishes gleaming, took the point.

  A halo of smaller ships appeared at the same time. The fighters among them quickly deployed in a spherical defensive screen. As the Star Destroyers firmed up their formation, their flight decks quickly spawned scores of additional fighters.

  At the same time, the carriers and cruisers began to disgorge the bombers, transports, and gunboats they had ferried to the battle. There was no reason to risk the loss of one fully loaded—a lesson the Republic had learned in pain. At Orinda, the commander of the fleet carrier Endurance had kept his pilots waiting in the launch bays, to protect the smaller craft from Imperial fire as long as possible. They were still there when Endurance took the brunt of a Super Star Destroyer attack and vanished in a ball of metal fire.

  Before long more than two hundred warships, large and small, were bearing down on Bessimir and its twin moons. But the terrible, restless power of the armada could be heard and felt only by the ships’ crews. The silence of the approach was broken only on the fleet comm channels, which had crackled to life in the first moments with encoded bursts of noise and cryptic ship-to-ship chatter.