He came down securely on the gray hull in a clear patch between two major construction sites. His lightsaber was instantly in his hand. Glancing upward just once, he failed to make out the Rogue Shadow among all the other mobile stars above. If Juno had any sense, he thought, she was already well away from the battle station and heading for safety.
Be safe, he wished her. Be well.
Then, putting her out of his mind—as much as he was able—he chose between east and west at random and began looking for a way into the station. He could feel Master Kota and the others somewhere in the massive superstructure, but their Force-signatures were obscured by the presence of so much suffering. If the Emperor was there, too, that would further cloud the issue. The apprentice had never met his Master’s Master in person, but the Sith Lord who had single-handedly wiped out nearly every Jedi in the galaxy would cast a shadow deep enough to hide anything.
Relying on luck wasn’t going to get him any closer, either. The equatorial trench alone was over five hundred kilometers long. He needed to find a map of some kind—or, failing that, a guide …
Darting wraith-like from cover to cover, he approached a patrol from behind. Armed with long-range blaster rifles, they strolled almost casually along a ramp halfway up the southern trench wall. Their particular job, it seemed, was to keep an eye on a string of twenty slaves walking in chains from one location to another along the trench floor, and they performed it with the bare minimum of diligence while discussing the possibilities of promotion that would arise when the station was fully operational. Another pair of guards watched the slaves from the far side of the trench; two more pairs stood at either end of the line.
The apprentice hopped from conveyor belt to conveyor belt until he was at the nearest pair’s level. If all the stormtroopers were working at the same level of alertness, he calculated that he would have at least a minute before the alarm was raised.
Raising both hands, he choked the trooper on the right until he dropped unconscious to the railing, then coerced the left into turning around.
“Tell me where the prisoners are housed,” he said without mincing words.
“Uh, each of the twenty-four zones has a worker restraint facility,” said the stormtrooper. “Those hairy beasts down there are always running amok. There are also cell blocks on the Detention Level for traitors and spies.”
The apprentice’s stomach sank. By the time he searched twenty-five such facilities, the Rebels would be dead for certain. “Have any new prisoners arrived?”
“How would I know? I’ve been working this grind for a week now.”
“Does the Emperor or Lord Vader ever come to supervise your operation here?”
“Constantly. It makes the engineers nervous.”
“Do they stay anywhere in particular?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy. I’m not privy to the Emperor’s movements. Try Sergeant Jimayne.”
The apprentice was beginning to realize that he was wasting his time. “See any Jedi around lately?”
“What? Are you kidding? They were all killed years ago. Hey—” The stormtrooper glanced down at the apprentice’s lightsaber as though seeing it for the first time. “Isn’t that a—?”
The apprentice put him to sleep with a single thought and stepped over the stormtrooper’s crumbling body. Before the pair’s opposite numbers on the far side of the trench could notice, he hurried on his way, thinking through the few possibilities open to him.
Those hairy beasts down there are always running amok …
Shackled and restrained, the twenty Wookiees lowed softly to one another. Many showed signs of malnutrition and mistreatment. One stumbled, prompting a warning shot over her head from the guards on the far side of the trench. The tallest Wookiee, an enormous male with a full, graying mane, roared in protest and raised his hands in a fighting stance.
The chains prevented him from doing more than that, however, and a blaster bolt at his feet forced him to back down, growling in frustration.
The apprentice watched the incident, feeling a plan taking shape in his mind. The slaves outnumbered the guards more than two to one, if this small sample was anything to go by. Even a minor revolt would cause a significant distraction. Furthermore, if the guards’ sole responsibility was to watch the slaves, then who better to ask about the station’s layout and specifications than those who were actually building it?
Dropping off the ramp and onto a conveyor belt, he ran to the head of the slave convoy and dropped the lead stormtroopers before they even saw him. He swung his lightsaber twice more, cutting the binders of the lead Wookiee slave to make clear his intent, then reached up with the Force and telekinetically wrenched the far wall’s ramp out of its footings, spilling the guards to the bottom of the trench.
By then the rear guards were reacting, assembling the Wookiees in front of them to form a protective barrier, and calling for reinforcements. The apprentice sliced three more of the slaves free. The four of them took up the arms of the fallen stormtroopers. Within moments a full-scale battle had erupted.
The apprentice cut his way to the big male, who roared openmouthed in gratitude. Snatching one of the blasters from his fellows, he wielded it not at the guards or the weapons emplacements beginning to target the minor insurrection below, but at the chains still binding half his fellow Wookiees. Indicating with a jerk of his head that the apprentice should deal with the remaining guards, he began pushing his people toward the nearest shelter.
The apprentice saw the sense in that plan. He Force-leapt over the heads of the Wookiee shield and landed among the guards. They were quickly dispatched and their blasters handed immediately to the last of the slaves to be freed. Together they ran for shelter through a gap in the trench’s incomplete wall and were soon lost in the station’s densely tangled infrastructure.
The apprentice found it difficult to keep up with the Wookiees, with their long reach and their familiarity with climbing, but when he came abreast of the big male, he tugged on a furry arm and brought him to a halt.
“I can’t understand your language,” the apprentice said, cutting straight to the point, “but I hope that you can understand me. Some friends of mine have been taken prisoner by the Emperor. I need to find them. Can you help me?”
The Wookiee shook his head, then roared at one of his fellows to come over. The two exchanged howls and grunts accompanied by wild gesticulations; then the second one nodded emphatically.
Both turned to the apprentice with their teeth showing. He took that as a good sign.
“So you don’t know, but you do,” he said, pointing first at the big male then at the other, a gangly Wookiee of indeterminate sex with patchy hair and bloodshot eyes. “Can you show me how to get there?”
Both nodded. The big male held up one finger, then turned and bellowed at the rest of the group. Two more fell back, and the rest kept on going.
“You four are coming with me?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. They had three of the blasters among the four of them, but he hadn’t been planning on leading an army. The big male looked indignant. “All right, all right,” he said to forestall an argument. “Lead the way.”
One big, hairy hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed tightly enough to make the joint creak. Then they were moving as one, four escaped Wookiees and a single human intent on taking on the entire Death Star.
They headed back to the trench, where the incident had sparked a demonstrative response. Walkers of numerous types and squads on foot examined the blaster marks and discarded chains. Several had already mounted expeditions into the superstructure in search of the escaped slaves.
The scrawny Wookiee indicated that they should go west, following a route parallel to the trench. They climbed over cable conduits as thick as wine barrels and squeezed through gaps that would have been tight for a child. Strange rumbling sounds echoed around them, followed by high-pitched scrapes and static discharges. The station seemed almost a living thi
ng, which made them barely insects crawling across its skin. The metaphor pleased the apprentice. Insects carried disease on some planets. The tiniest bug could bring about the downfall of even the largest host. One sting, in exactly the right place, might be all it took to destroy everything the Emperor held dear …
The Wookiee leading the way came to a sudden halt, looking confused. Ahead lay a complex tangle of pipes and hoses that could not be crossed. Judging by the accusations flying back and forth, it was obviously a feature of the evolving station that was new to all the Wookiees. After much gesticulation and howling, it was apparently agreed that they would need to cross the trench and continue their journey on the far side.
They edged as close to open space as they dared and took stock. They were some distance now from the site of the breakout, but the alert had spread. Stormtroopers held their blasters at the ready; walkers turned from side to side, raking the trench with their gunsights. Every thirty seconds a squadron of TIE fighters screamed overhead. Sirens added a constant counterpoint, putting the apprentice’s teeth on edge.
“I don’t suppose there’s an alternative?” he asked his furry companions.
The big male indicated by gestures that the only other way was to backtrack some distance, descend to a lower level of the superstructure, then crawl under the trench to the far side.
Thinking of time passing, the apprentice shook his head. The big male bared his teeth in anticipation.
“All right. I’ll go first. Give me ten seconds before you start firing, then another ten before you stick your woolly heads out. I don’t want any of you getting hurt unnecessarily.”
The big male made a Who me? gesture in mock outrage, then nodded.
“Okay.” A trio of TIE fighters flew by outside. The apprentice waited until one of the patrolling AT-ATs was abreast with their hiding spot, then launched himself out into the open.
Automated weapons emplacements spotted him instantly. Red weapons fire stitched lines of explosions across the station’s patchwork hull as he ducked between the AT-AT’s massive legs. Scooping up components from the nearest construction conveyor belt, he threw a series of high-speed missiles at the turrets, knocking five out of commission. A stream of Sith lightning put the AT-AT itself out of action, and a good, solid shove tipped it over with a crash, providing cover for the Wookiees when the time came to cross.
The quartet had already started firing at stormtroopers converging on the scene. A furious exchange of blasterfire painted the air thick with energy. The apprentice deflected anything headed his way as he hacked into the side of the AT-AT and dropped into its munitions bay. The crew within was no threat, killed by the lightning, but he was careful not to knock any of the charges in case their contents had become unstable. He didn’t want it to blow up just yet.
Rigging a simple mechanical switch, he leapt back out and joined the fight. Another two walkers were approaching. He weakened the hull metal beneath their broad feet, sending them crashing down into the superstructure. The next TIE patrol was coming in fast.
He waved at the Wookiees. “Come on!” Three of them emerged from shelter, leaving one killed in the fire-fight behind. Snarling, they ran pell-mell after him, leaping over gaps in the hull and snapping off occasional shots to keep the stormtroopers in line. The approaching walkers started firing, raising clouds of acrid smoke and shrapnel across their path. A second Wookiee fell, but the others didn’t break step. Within seconds, they had caught up with him and were pulling ahead. Their guide pointed at an access panel gaping invitingly on the far wall of the trench. The apprentice put his head down and sprinted.
Behind him, triggered telekinetically, the downed AT-AT exploded, expending all its stored munitions in one blistering blast. Instead of destroying everything nearby, the blast was channeled along the trench and upward, enclosing the two nearby walkers, the stormtroopers firing from the guardrails, and the approaching TIE fighters. A new series of explosions followed the first, and the apprentice felt the superstructure kick beneath him. Fiery debris rained around them as they finally reached the hatch and threw themselves inside.
They paused to catch their breath and to listen for pursuit. None came, not immediately. Covered by the explosions, they had effectively disappeared.
“Well, that seemed to work.” The apprentice wiped soot from his eyes. “I’m sorry about your friends.”
With a single soft sound, the big male managed to convey that these were just the latest of many deaths in recent times—but thanks for the sympathy.
Their guide tugged at them, pointing along an accessway barely big enough for the apprentice to crawl through. Accompanied by the sound of whooping sirens and collapsing superstructure, they hurried on their way.
WITH A WOOKIEE AHEAD AND a Wookiee behind, the apprentice had plenty of time to get used to their smell. Or so he would have thought. Their fur was pungent and knotted; recent stresses had only added to their aroma. He tried not to imagine what it would be like sharing a cockpit with one for any length of time and held his breath as they led him to where he wanted to be.
He was surprised the smell didn’t trigger any flashbacks to his childhood on Kashyyyk, since the few memories he had recovered of his father’s death suggested that they had lived there for some time. He wondered if his father had been working for the resistance on that brutalized world; or perhaps he had been a peacemaker, or a healer, using the Force to assuage the injuries of those struck down by the iron fist of the Empire. That he might never know struck him as the greatest tragedy of all. How could one man’s life simply disappear? How could another man, even Darth Vader, take a child and completely remold him, removing all traces of his former life and keeping the only part he wanted—the ability with the Force that he carefully nurtured and guided toward the dark side, in order that it might one day serve his own design? It didn’t seem possible, and yet it was. He, who had once been Galen, son of a Jedi Knight on Kashyyyk, was proof of that.
He wished he could tell his companions something of his father so that they could carry a piece of him away with them, ensuring his survival in memory, if not in life. But there was nothing at all, and to try would only cheapen the sentiment. So he remained silent and abandoned his last hope that more memories would come.
Finally the accessway widened, joining several others at a junction large enough for the three of them to stand. Their guide, whom the apprentice eventually gathered was some kind of laser technician when he wasn’t welding armor plates to the superstructure, explained with gestures that not far away was an exhaust port that would take him where he wanted to go. The port led into another shaft that was very dangerous, a point conveyed by vigorous flashing hand signals and fingers drawn numerous times across the throat. He couldn’t tell exactly what the threat was, but he assured them both that he would be careful.
From there it seemed he was supposed to keep going upward.
“Thank you,” he said, gripping each of their hands in turn and having his finger bones crushed. “You’ve helped everyone by helping me. I hope one day you’ll know that.”
The big male patted him affectionately on the head.
“What about you two? Will you be okay?”
The Wookiees exchanged a world-weary glance. Shrugging, the smaller made it clear that he wasn’t to worry about them.
The big male grunted and pushed the apprentice bodily toward the correct accessway. There was no point resisting. When he had gone two meters, he turned to look back. They were already gone.
“Right,” he said to himself, less relieved than he had expected to feel now that he was on his own again.
Then it was back to crawling, although this time breathing relatively fresh, metal-tasting air, past complex banks of half-finished equipment that hummed and crackled to themselves. He hoped the Wookiees had given him the right directions, for otherwise he could crawl for months in the belly of the station and never find a way out.
Ahead, growing steadily louder, the
sound of stormtroopers talking suggested that they hadn’t led him astray.
The accessway terminated, as promised, in an exhaust port guarded by a full squadron of alert-looking troopers. Hot air swirled around them, coming in occasional gusts that made them stagger. Two quad laser emplacements with human gunners watched over the port; four walkers clanked about in line of sight.
He sat under cover for a minute, considering his options, then backtracked to the last junction and slithered into a ventilation duct leading upward, to a ledge on which the cannons were mounted. He sneaked his nose out the far end and used telekinesis to create a distraction below. While the guards’ attention was elsewhere, he slithered out and ran to the first of the cannons.
He killed the operator in midstride and kept on running to the second cannon. It had turned ninety degrees to face him by the time he was on it, throwing its operator bodily out of his harness and taking his place. The weapon swiveled smoothly on its mountings as he swung it to bear on the nearest of the walkers. A series of pounding shots penetrated its armor and blew it to smithereens.
His next targets were the guards below, before they could get a bead on him. They scattered in all directions, looking for cover. While they were busy he took out the second walker. This particular section of the trench was dissolving into chaos much like the last incident he had created. Smoke billowed from the fallen walkers; sirens screeched and wailed. Reinforcements flooded in from all directions, firing at every moving object, whether it was friend or pieces of construction material thrown about by their distant foe.
He strafed the guards again, then took out the third walker. Hearing TIE fighters on their way, he judged that confusion had reached its peak and slipped away from the cannon, leaving it rewired to rotate and fire at random. As he dropped down into the exhaust port and hurried inside, several converging waves of blasterfire blew the cannon to pieces, helping to cover his escape.
Star Wars: The Force Unleashed Page 28