Star Wars: The Jedi Academy Trilogy III: Champions of the Force

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The crèche had been built of smooth plasteel and hard metal fashioned to look like a reef within the towering palace. Some of the round portholes looked out upon the glittering skyline of Imperial City, while others gazed in on an enclosed water tank that circulated around the rooms like a trapped river.

  A loud venting of mist from the humidity generators startled Terpfen out of nervous contemplation. He looked around his quarters wildly, swiveling his circular eyes, but he saw nothing in the shadows, only a jewel-blue light shining through the water windows. He watched as a gray-green glurpfish oozed its way along the channel, filtering microorganisms from the brine. No sound intruded other than the steam generators and bubbling aerators in the wall tanks.

  Terpfen had heard nothing in his mind, felt no compulsion from his Imperial masters on Carida for more than a day, and he didn’t know whether to be frightened … or hopeful. Furgan usually taunted and jabbed him regularly, just to remind him of his constant presence. Now Terpfen felt alone.

  Rumors flew around the Imperial Palace. Distress signals had been detected from Carida, and then all contact had broken off. New Republic scouts had been dispatched to inspect the area. If Carida had somehow been destroyed, then perhaps the Imperial hold on his brain had been severed. Terpfen could finally be free!

  He had been taken prisoner during the vicious Imperial occupation of the water world Calamari. Like many of his people, Terpfen had been dragged to a labor camp and forced to work at the starship-construction facilities.

  But Terpfen had been damned to undergo a special kind of training. Taken off to the Imperial military planet of Carida, he had suffered weeks of torture and conditioning as xenosurgeons removed portions of his brain and replaced them with vat-grown organic circuits that allowed Furgan to use Terpfen as a perfectly disguised puppet.

  The poorly stitched scars on his swollen head had served as badges of his ordeal once he was released. Many Calamarians had also been severely tortured during the occupation, and no one suspected Terpfen of treachery.

  For years he had tried to resist his Imperial masters; but half of his brain was not his own, and the Imperial controllers could manipulate him at will.

  He had sabotaged Admiral Ackbar’s expanded B-wing fighter so that it crashed on Vortex, destroying the precious Cathedral of Winds and disgracing Ackbar. Terpfen had planted a tracer on another B-wing, which had allowed him to obtain the location of the secret planet Anoth, where baby Anakin Solo lived in isolation, protected from prying eyes and minds. Terpfen had passed that crucial information to a greedy Ambassador Furgan—even now the Caridans must be mounting an attack to kidnap the third Jedi child.

  Terpfen stood before the aquarium window in his dim quarters, watching the glurpfish sluggishly go about its business. An aquatic predator swooped toward it, flailing spear-tipped fins and jagged jaws. The predator would fall upon the glurpfish … just as the Imperial forces would fall upon the helpless child and his lone protector, Winter, who had once been Leia’s close companion and confidant.

  “No!” Terpfen smashed his flipper hands against the thick glass. The vibrations startled the fanged predator, and it shot away in search of other prey. The protoplasmic glurpfish, unaware of what had just happened, continued on its way, sifting the water for microscopic food.

  Perhaps his Caridan masters had only been distracted temporarily by other things … but if Terpfen hoped to accomplish anything, he had to make his move now. He swore that it didn’t matter what damage it did to his own brain.

  Ackbar himself remained in self-imposed exile on Calamari, working with his people to repair the floating cities that had been devastated in Admiral Daala’s recent attack. Ackbar claimed to have no further interest in New Republic politics.

  Since an assault was to be launched against young Anakin, Terpfen would go directly to Leia Organa Solo. She could mobilize New Republic forces and thwart the Imperials. But she and Han Solo had just departed for the jungle moon of Yavin.…

  Terpfen would have to go there, commandeer a ship, and meet her face-to-face. He would confess everything and put himself at her mercy. She might execute him on the spot, as would be her right. But even that would be a just punishment for the damage he had already done.

  His mind made up—at least for as long as it remained his mind—Terpfen took a last look around his quarters. Turning from the aquarium windows that reminded him of the homeworld he had left behind, he took a last glance at the faceted skyline with its kilometer-high skyscrapers, winking landing lights, gleaming shuttles rising toward the aurora that blanketed the night.

  Terpfen doubted he would ever see Coruscant again.

  He didn’t have time for a ruse.

  Using his own security access codes, Terpfen entered the starfighter servicing bay and walked briskly, confidently. His body odor was laced with tension, but if he moved fast enough, no one would notice until it was too late.

  The large launch doors had been sealed for the night. Two Calamarian starship mechanics stood around one of the B-wing fighters. A group of chattering Ugnaughts worked under the hyperdrive motors of a pair of X-wing fighters that had been jacked together to exchange navicomputer information.

  Terpfen walked toward the B-wing. One of the Calamarians saluted him as he approached. The other lowered herself out of the pilot compartment, slinging down a webbed sack of tools. From his own terminal Terpfen had already checked the status of this fighter, knew it was ready to launch. He didn’t have to ask the question, but it distracted them.

  “Repairs completed as planned?”

  “Yes, sir,” the male Calamarian said. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “Just attending to some personal business,” he said, and reached into a pocket of his flightsuit. He whipped out a blaster pistol set to STUN. He fired in a sweeping arc, catching both Calamarians with blue ripples. The male slumped to the ground without a sound. The female dangled on the rung, unconscious as she thumped against the side of the B-wing; finally her elbow went slack, and she dropped to the hard floor in a tumble.

  Over by the X-wings the Ugnaughts stopped chattering and stood up in amazement; then they began squealing. Three ran to the comm alarm next to the controls of the launch doors.

  Terpfen took aim and squeezed the firing button again, cutting the Ugnaughts down. The others raised their stubby hands in surrender; but Terpfen could not risk taking captives, so he stunned them as well.

  Moving purposefully, he hurried across the slick-plated floor to the controls of the launch door. From the enameled badge on his left breast, he withdrew a disguised slicer chip the Imperials had provided months ago, in case he should need to make a quick escape. Now, though, Terpfen used the Imperial technology for the benefit of the New Republic.

  Terpfen jammed the small wafer into the input slot and punched three buttons in succession. The electronics hummed, scanning the information in the chip. The slicer chip convinced the controls that Terpfen had the appropriate override codes, that he had authorization from both Admiral Ackbar and Mon Mothma.

  With a groan and a thud, the heavy launch doors split apart. The night winds whistled outside the hangar bay, gusting into the chamber and bringing the chill air.

  Terpfen strode to the repaired B-wing, slid his broad hands under the arms of the fallen male Calamarian, and dragged him across the slick floor. He dumped the mechanic beside the slumped bodies of the stunned Ugnaughts.

  When Terpfen moved the female mechanic, she moaned softly. Her arm hung at an awkward angle, broken in the fall. Terpfen hesitated a moment in guilty misery, but the accidental injury couldn’t be helped. A few hours in a bacta tank would patch her up just fine.

  By then Terpfen would be on his way to Yavin 4.

  He clambered into the pilot seat of the B-wing and powered up the controls. All the lights winked green. He sealed the hatch. With the speed of the B-wing’s engines, he could make it to the Yavin system in record time. He had to.

  Terpfen rai
sed the awkward-looking craft on its repulsorlifts and maneuvered toward the open launch doors.

  Screeching alarms penetrated the enclosed cockpit, vibrating from the servicing bay. Terpfen twisted his head to see what had gone wrong—and spotted another Ugnaught, one who had apparently been hiding inside the cockpit of an X-wing. The lone Ugnaught had squirmed out in a panic and scurried over to the alarm panel.

  Terpfen cursed under his breath and knew that he had to hurry. He had hoped not to fight his way out.

  He punched the maneuvering jets and shot out of the wide mouth of the launching bay. His stolen B-wing streaked away from the immense towers of Coruscant and headed out on a high-energy straight-line path to orbit.

  He couldn’t waste time fooling the New Republic security monitors. Terpfen would appear to be an Imperial saboteur stealing a starfighter. If they captured him, they would interrogate him until it was too late to help young Anakin Solo. Terpfen had done many terrible things against his will, but now that he was free from Imperial control, any failure would be his own fault. He could blame no one else.

  It surprised and dismayed him how rapidly the Coruscant security forces scrambled to intercept him. Four X-wings soared by at low altitude and vectored in on his single fighter.

  Terpfen’s comm buzzed. One of the pursuing pilots said, “B-wing, you have made an unauthorized departure from the palace. Return immediately, or you will be fired upon.”

  Terpfen merely increased power to the shields surrounding his ship. The B-wing was one of Ackbar’s prize contributions to the Rebellion, and it was far superior to the old-model X-wings. Terpfen could outrun them, and his shields could probably survive several direct hits—but he didn’t know if he could withstand the combined firepower of four X-wings.

  “B-wing fighter, this is your last chance,” the X-wing pilot said, and fired a low-energy bolt that spattered against Terpfen’s shields. The warning shot nudged the B-wing, but caused no damage.

  Terpfen punched the throttle, kicking in the afterburners that launched him toward the aurora and a low planetary orbit that his onboard navigational systems marked with heavy red danger lines.

  A year before, the battle to regain Coruscant and overthrow the warring Imperial factions had been won only at the cost of incredible destruction. Many ruined battleships remained in low orbit, collected there in a great garbage pile. Crews had been dismantling them for months, repairing those that could be salvaged, sending others down to burn up as they made their spectacular descent through the atmosphere. Such work, though, had low priority during the crisis phase of the formation of the New Republic. A large junkyard of debris still orbited in well-marked lanes.

  Terpfen, however, had previously scanned the placement of the twisted hulks and made his own personal orbital chart. He had found a dangerous path through the maze, so narrow he would have to fly with no margin for error—but it seemed his best chance. He was certain the alarm had sounded across Coruscant’s full security systems, and before long squadrons of fighters would come screaming in to converge on him.

  Terpfen didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to cause more death and damage. He wanted to escape as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

  As he left the blanket of atmosphere behind him, the X-wings followed in his wake, firing in earnest now. Terpfen refused to shoot back, although if he crippled one or more of the starfighters, he would have an easier time escaping. But he did not want the death of an innocent pilot on his conscience. He had too many deaths to deal with already.

  In the blackness of space he flitted past glimmering shards of metal, reactor pods, and hull plates from blasted freighters. He skimmed up and over a tangled cluster of girders and a largely intact planar solar array from a destroyed TIE fighter.

  Up ahead the breached hull of a capital ship—a Loronar Strike Cruiser—hung as little more than a framework of structural beams and split plating after its hyperdrive engines had blown up during a direct hit.

  Terpfen streaked toward the hulk, knowing that the blast cavity in its middle was wide enough for a B-wing to pass directly through. He had already studied the path, and he hoped the risk would cause his pursuers to pull back and give him just enough time to launch into hyperspace.

  Without slowing Terpfen shot through a gaping opening in the Strike Cruiser’s hull. Two X-wings peeled off, another managed to follow directly in his wake. The fourth shifted a micron too far and clipped its wings against a ragged strut. The X-wing spun and slammed into the wreckage; its fuel cylinders detonated.

  Terpfen felt claws of dismay sink into his heart. He had never meant for anyone to die.

  The last X-wing hung hotly behind him, firing repeatedly in outrage at the death of his partner.

  Terpfen checked his shields and saw that they had begun to fail under the pummeling. He did not blame the other pilot for his anger, but neither could he surrender now. He studied his control panels. The navicomputer had plotted the best course to the Yavin system.

  Before his shields could buckle, Terpfen took a short course directly out of the orbital debris field. The X-wing came at him again with all weapons blazing. Upon reaching open space Terpfen punched the hyperdrive engines.

  In an instant the B-wing shot forward, impossibly out of the reach of the other fighter. With white starlines that looked like spears to impale him, Terpfen vanished into hyperspace with a silent bang.

  6

  Standing in front of the Millennium Falcon, Han Solo held Leia in a long embrace. The oppressive humidity of the jungle moon clung to them like wet rags against their skin. Han hugged Leia again, smelling her scent. The corners of his lips drifted upward in a wistful smile. He could feel her trembling against him—or perhaps it was his own hands.

  “I really do have to go, Leia,” he said. “I’ve got to find Kyp. Maybe I can stop him from blowing up more star systems and killing more people.”

  “I know,” she said. “I just wish we could arrange to have our adventures together a little more often!”

  Han tried unsuccessfully to give her his famous no-care grin. “I’ll work on it,” he said; then he kissed her long and hard. “Next time we’ll manage.”

  He bent down to gather the twins in his arms. Jacen and Jaina clearly wanted to go back inside and play in the temples.

  The children had found a small group of furry woolamanders nesting in an unused wing of the Great Temple, and Jacen claimed in his broken sentences that he knew how to talk to the creatures. Han wondered just what the hairy and noisy arboreal animals were saying back to the boy.

  He backed toward the boarding ramp. “You know I need you to stay here in safety with the kids,” he said to Leia. “And with Luke.”

  She nodded. They had been through this all before. “I can take care of myself. Now, get going. If you can do anything to stop Kyp, you shouldn’t be wasting time here.”

  He kissed her again, waved goodbye to the twins, and vanished into the ship.

  In a rotating cocktail lounge high up in Imperial City, Lando Calrissian yanked the fruit stick out of his drink before it could take root at the bottom of the glass. He sipped the fizzy concoction and smiled across the table at Mara Jade.

  “Sure I can’t get you another drink?” he asked. She looked absolutely beautiful with her exotic hair, high cheekbones, generous lips, and eyes the color of expensive gemstones. She hadn’t touched her first drink yet, but he made certain he still shone with confidence.

  “No thanks, Calrissian. We’ve got business to discuss.”

  The windows of the observation lounge showed the glittering former Imperial Palace and crystallike spires and skyscrapers that extended to the fringes of the atmosphere. Hover barges drifted above the buildings, flashing announcements in numerous languages, ferrying tourists out to watch the sunset and the brightening aurora. A pair of mismatched moons hung in the sky, shining down on the bustling city.

  Musical notes drifted into the air from a complex multilayered bank of key
boards in the middle of which sat a purplish-black, tentacled creature. With a flurry of cilia, the creature played a staggering number of keys at a time. Instead of eyes on its lumpy head, it was studded with tympanic membranes of varying sizes so it could hear music over an incredible range. Its tentacles flailed, striking upper keys, drawing out lower resonances, playing tunes both too high and too low for the human ear.

  Lando took another sip and leaned back in his chair with a sigh and a soft smile. He had draped his slick burgundy cape over the back of his chair. Mara Jade wore only a tight-fitting jumpsuit; her curves looked like hazardous paths through a complicated planetary system.

  Lando looked across at her. “So you think the Smugglers’ Alliance would be interested in an arrangement for distribution of glitterstim spice from Kessel?”

  Mara nodded. “I think I can guarantee that. Moruth Doole let the spice mines fall into a shambles. Black-market smuggling from the Imperial Correction Facility has made the entire planet a pain in the soft parts for any self-respecting runner trying to earn a living. It took powerful crime lords like Jabba with enough strong-arm just to make it worthwhile.”

  “I’ll make it worthwhile,” Lando said, folding his hands together on the tabletop. “I received a million-credit reward from the Duchess of Dargul, and I can invest it to bring the systems up to a more sophisticated level.”

  “What exactly are your plans?” Mara asked, leaning closer to him.

  Lando responded by leaning over the table himself, bringing his large brown eyes close to hers. His pulse raced. She frowned and sat up straight again, still waiting for him to answer.

  Rebuffed, Lando looked for words. “Uh, I don’t have any great fondness for the prison where Doole centered his operations, but I think I can use that as a starting point. Dismantle most of the old correction facility, but use the buildings for a new base.

  “And I don’t plan to use slave labor, either. I figure we can get worker droids. On Nkllon I got familiar with some sophisticated mining systems, and if I use supercooled devices, the infrared signatures won’t attract those energy spiders that caused so much trouble before.”