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

by Kevin J. Anderson

  A colossal lightning bolt blasted through the atmosphere and linked across the warship like a chain of fire. A river of raw power slammed into the Vendetta from both sides, obliterating it in a hurricane of searing electricity, leaving only a burned afterimage on the screen.

  Ackbar gasped audibly and hung his head. Terpfen slumped in his chair, but Leia observed the destruction with only part of her mind. She cast across space—until at last she found the bright point that was her youngest son, Anakin.

  Terpfen stood up as if already bound in thick chains. “Minister Organa Solo, I submit myself to—”

  Leia shook her head. “No punishment, Terpfen. Anakin is still alive. He’s on the planet. But right now he’s in terrible danger. We have to hurry.”

  20

  Winter crouched by the metal hatch outside the landing grotto. She held a blaster pistol in one hand, knowing her white hair and light robes would make her easily visible even in the dimness.

  Four huge mechanical assault transports picked their way over the wreckage of the left blast door and halted with hissing engines in the middle of the grotto. Transparisteel canopies flipped up with a high-pitched whir to disgorge stormtroopers.

  Flicking her eyes from side to side, Winter took a quick inventory. Each of the four Spider Walkers carried two troopers—eight targets. She steadied her blaster and aimed at the nearest white-armored soldier.

  Winter fired off three shots in quick succession. She couldn’t tell how many actually hit the trooper, but he flew backward with his armor blasted to pieces. Other soldiers boiled out of the transports, firing in her direction.

  Winter hunched down, but could not get another shot in. The last Spider Walker opened up to reveal one stormtrooper and a squat man with huge eyebrows and thick lips.

  The other troopers had pinpointed Winter’s position next to the door and hammered repeated blasts at her. She backed toward the open hatch.

  Winter had two choices: she could either run back and stay with Anakin to defend him with her life—or she could lure the seven remaining invaders away from the baby and do her best to dispose of them.

  Winter squeezed the firing button of her blaster without aiming. Bright streaks ricocheted around the grotto. The squat man ducked under the low-slung cockpit of a Spider Walker. “Go get her!” he yelled.

  One of the stormtroopers, still in the cockpit of an MT-AT, brought laser cannons to bear and shot at the wall beside her head, leaving a smoking crater.

  The squat man screamed from his hiding place under the MT-AT, “Don’t kill her. Use stun until you have the child. You”—he gestured to the trooper who had emerged from the Spider Walker with him—“come with me, we’ll … provide reconnaissance. The rest of you—capture that woman!”

  Exactly as Winter had hoped. She fled down the corridor, knowing that most of the assault team would follow her. She sped along the sloping tunnels, ducking low through jagged archways, slamming heavy air-lock doors behind her as she passed into a deeper level of the installation.

  The stormtroopers followed, making short work of the thick hatches by using focused thermal detonators that blasted the metal doors out of their seams.

  Winter led them through the labyrinth of passages, farther and farther away from baby Anakin. The stormtroopers would be completely disoriented by now.

  The troopers fired whenever they got a clear shot, but Winter managed to avoid being blasted to pieces. She heaved a sigh of relief—the only emotional release she allowed herself—when she finally succeeded in leading the troopers into the subterranean generator room and computer core.

  The chamber itself was a dim morass of tangled equipment, cooling ducts, metal pipes, and throbbing life-support systems. The computer core glowed with oblong green lights that flickered in a waterfall pattern. The computers themselves, incorporated into the pumping stations and generator housing, formed a surrealistic cluster of twisted metal and plastic and a confusion of transparisteel diagnostic screens, input/output terminals—more equipment than anyone could possibly fathom a purpose for.

  Winter knew the equipment was just stage dressing to hide the real purpose of the chamber.

  The troopers hesitated at the threshold, as if suspecting a trap within the shadows. Winter pointed her blaster and fired seven rapid shots at them. The stormtroopers dived for cover and then, when Winter did not fire again, charged into the dim room after her.

  Winter did not try to hide. She ran to the glowing pillar of the computer core and then into shadows on the other side of the chamber, surrounded by conduits and tubes and flashing lights that served no purpose. The stormtroopers moved toward her, still shooting.

  Winter fired several more times, just to provoke them, and to make sure they remained within the chamber. One of her shots ricocheted off a gleaming surface and flew into the side of a stormtrooper, melting the white armor from his right arm.

  Winter appeared to be cornered at the far side of the room as the troopers advanced toward her—five of them, one hanging back with an injured arm.

  The Imperial soldiers got halfway across the space before the walls begin to writhe and move.

  Jointed pipelines and conduits, bulky control decks, and spherical readout panels shifted, clicking together into specific components. Winter heard pieces locking into place, metal against metal, connections linking up.

  The machine-filled walls suddenly became a squad of burly assassin droids assembled out of disguised components. The droids activated their weapons, forming a shooting gallery whose only purpose was to destroy stormtroopers.

  Winter had no need to issue commands. The assassin droids knew exactly what they were supposed to do. They had been programmed to ignore her and the Jedi children, but they knew their targets well.

  From all sides the assassin droids opened fire on the five pursuers. The cross fire of deadly beams cut down the white-armored Imperials in less than two seconds, leaving only piles of smoldering wreckage, fused and melted armor, and useless weapons in dead hands. None of the stormtroopers had an opportunity to fire a single shot.

  One of the troopers groaned once, hissed in pain, then fell into the silence of death. The shadows cast a blanket over the carnage.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Winter stepped over the bodies, which were still sizzling from the massacre. She looked down at the expressionless black visors of the Imperial enemy. “Never underestimate your opponent,” she said.

  Ambassador Furgan crouched low as the stormtrooper sprinted ahead of him down the lumpy rock corridors.

  Furgan had no combat training and no experience, but he did his best to imitate his companion’s fluid movements. He held his blaster rifle in hand, glancing down repeatedly to make sure the weapon was powered up.

  The tunnels were dim and shadowy, lit by white glowtubes mounted along the ceilings. The stormtrooper pressed his armor back against the wall and held his weapon around a comer to see if he drew any fire; then he jogged down to the next intersection of tunnels.

  They passed door after door, unsealing each room, ready to snatch the helpless child and run back to their MT-ATs. Furgan and the trooper found storage compartments filled with crates of supplies and equipment, the dining room, empty sleeping quarters—but no child.

  Far beneath them Furgan heard the patter and distant echo of blaster fire. He glared back toward the sounds. “I told them not to shoot her down. Why didn’t they listen to me?” He turned to the stormtrooper. “Now we’ll have to find the child all by ourselves.”

  “Yes, sir,” the stormtrooper said, without expression.

  The next metal door was locked and sealed. No one responded when the stormtrooper hammered with his white gauntlet. He withdrew a pack of tools from his utility belt, removed a high-powered cutting laser, and slashed open the door’s control panel. Moving with nimble fingers despite the thick gloves, he rewired the sparking controls.

  The door ground open, exposing the pastel colors of a room filled with toys, a plush
bed … and a four-armed nanny droid backed into a protective position in the corner to shelter a small child.

  “Ah, here we are at last,” Furgan said. He stepped inside looking around for booby traps. The trooper flanked him, maintaining his defensive position, blaster rifle in hand. Furgan saw no other defenses, just the TDL droid.

  “Please leave,” the nanny droid said in a sweet, grandmotherly voice. “You are disturbing the baby.”

  Furgan let loose with a full-throated laugh. “The only defense they managed was one nanny droid?” He chuckled again. “We sent an entire assault team to take a baby away from a nanny droid?”

  The TDL droid stood in front of the baby, who sat very still on the floor. The droid used her lower set of arms to unfold a blaster-proof metal apron from the base of her torso to shield the baby from stray laser fire.

  “You may not have this child,” the droid said. “I must warn you that my programming is to protect him at all costs.”

  “How touching. Well, I’m going to take that child—at all costs,” Furgan said, nodding with a triumphant smile to the stormtrooper. “Go get the baby.”

  The stormtrooper took one step forward. The droid held out all four hands in an imperative gesture to stop. “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow that,” the nanny droid said calmly. “Close your eyes, baby Anakin.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Furgan snapped at the trooper. “It’s only a nanny droid.”

  With a whir and a click all four of the droid’s hands detached and dropped to the floor, exposing the blaster barrels hidden in each of her wrists. “I am an enhanced nanny droid,” she said with prim emphasis, “and you will not harm this child.” She let loose with all four barrels, firing gouts of deadly energy.

  The four beams struck the approaching stormtrooper before he could swing up his blaster rifle. He was hurled back against the wall, shards of white armor flying away from smoking black wounds.

  Furgan yelled in astonishment and terror. He swung up his blaster rifle and depressed the firing button long before he took time to aim. A flurry of incandescent bolts sprayed across the room, reflecting from the pastel walls, bouncing off the corners.

  Furgan ducked, but continued to fire. The nanny droid centered all four blaster arms on him—but Furgan raked his stream of blaster bolts across her rounded head and soft, flesh-encased torso, succeeding more through luck than skill. Sparks flew and molten metal showered in all directions.

  Beneath the blaster-proof apron, the baby began to wail.

  Bruise-colored lips curved upward in a smile, Furgan stepped over the debris of the nanny droid and the dead stormtrooper to retrieve the child. He reached down to grab one of little Anakin’s arms and yanked him into the air by the cloth of his pajamas. Furgan wasn’t quite sure how to hold a baby, especially one that continued to squirm as this one did.

  “Come with me, little one,” he said. “You are about to begin a whole new life of galactic importance.”

  21

  Han Solo longed to get closer to Kyp Durron in the Council chambers on Coruscant, wanting to comfort his young friend—but the armed New Republic guards surrounding Kyp made it impossible for anyone to approach.

  Kyp moved slowly, as if walking barefoot across shattered glass. His eyes were dull. His face was seamed with new lines, as if the dark spirit of Exar Kun had shed his four thousand years of existence onto Kyp’s shoulders.

  The Sun Crusher had once again been impounded by New Republic security, and Mon Mothma had declared the entire area off limits. There would be no further research into the workings of the superweapon. Kyp’s chaotic vengeance had demonstrated how horrible the Sun Crusher truly was.

  Inside the Council chambers the air smelled thick and oppressive from too much tension and too little ventilation. The stone added a musty old smell to the room. The place made Han uneasy and claustrophobic.

  The Council members wore their formal uniforms like armor, frowning like ancient sentinels, passing judgment. Some looked as if they hadn’t had any rest. Han felt deeply troubled to be facing them without Leia. She had departed from Yavin 4 with Terpfen, supposedly to go see Ackbar, but he had not been able to learn what had happened to her. Leia certainly knew how to take care of herself, though, and he did not dare leave Kyp alone with the predators here.

  Mon Mothma, flanked by her ever-present medical droids, seemed only partially aware of what was going on. None of the other Council members had suggested removing her from office while she was still willing to attend meetings, though Mon Mothma contributed little. Han was stunned by how much the Chief of State had worsened in just the last few days.

  One of the functionaries beside the sculpted door arch tapped on a long chime, sending a pure tone into the air to call the attendees to order.

  Han didn’t know much about the protocol of government, but he didn’t plan to stand by and do nothing while Kyp was trounced by bureaucratic bigwigs. Before one of the members could speak, Han stepped forward. “Hey! Could you let me put in a word for my friend, Kyp Durron?”

  Aging General Jan Dodonna hauled himself to his feet. Ancient and weathered, like a piece of gnarled driftwood, the bearded general still seemed filled with energy. His eyes flashed at Han. “The prisoner may speak for himself, General Solo. He has certainly shown no reluctance to act for himself. Let him answer our questions now.”

  Chastised, Han stepped back and looked at the floor, tracing patterns made by cracks in the inset flagstones. Since Dodonna had the lectern, he leaned forward to look down at Kyp. The young man lifted his tousled head and blinked sheepishly at the old tactician.

  “Kyp Durron,” Dodonna said, “you stole the Sun Crusher. You attacked and temporarily incapacitated the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. You blew up the Cauldron Nebula and obliterated two other inhabited star systems. I will not debate the tactical significance of your actions—but we cannot tolerate juggernauts who make up their own orders and cause wholesale destruction on a whim!”

  The other Council members agreed. General Rieekan’s deep, thick voice reverberated through the chamber. “This Council had already decided that the Sun Crusher would never be used. We disposed of it in a safe and protected place, but you knowingly thwarted our wishes.”

  The other members fell quiet after Rieekan’s words. They seemed eager to add their own condemnations, but realized there would be little point in it.

  After a moment of silence Kyp spoke. His voice sounded impossibly thin and small, reminding Han and everyone else there just how young this boy was. “I have no excuse for my actions. I’ll accept the consequences.”

  “Even if your actions demand the death penalty?” the obese Senator Hrekin Thorm asked. “Such destruction as you have caused can warrant nothing less than execution.”

  “Wait a minute!” Han said. The Council members glared at him, but he ignored their silent rebukes. “I know, I know—but listen to me for a minute. Kyp wasn’t himself. He was possessed by the evil spirit of a Sith Lord who has since been defeated. And he did do some good. He destroyed Daala’s fleet. How many lives did he save by doing that? We are at war, after all.”

  Mon Mothma’s words wheezed from her cracked lips. Her voice came out in a ragged whisper. The rest of the chamber fell into a deep hush as she began to talk. “Kyp Durron,” she said, “you have the blood of millions, perhaps billions, on your hands. We are a governing body here, not a judicial council. We have no right to decide your fate. You—” She gasped as if using most of her energy just to fill her lungs. “You must be judged by the Jedi Master. We are not qualified to judge your crimes.”

  She raised one of her hands to gesture toward Han. “Take him to Yavin. Let Master Skywalker decide his fate.”

  22

  Leia, Ackbar, and Terpfen joined the rescue party from the Galactic Voyager, swooping through the violet skies of Anoth. Ackbar took the lead in his own B-wing. His weapons systems were powered up and ready to attack any ground assault team the Dreadnaught had de
ployed.

  The starfighters soared over the fanged landscape toward the stone turret that Ackbar and Luke had chosen for the base. Leia saw signs of damage that made her blood run cold, smoke and debris from an attack. “We’re too late,” she whispered.

  Part of the spire had been blasted away, and soot splattered the eroded surface. Below, she saw the still-smoldering remains of several horrific mechanical spiders.

  Ackbar’s voice came over the ship-to-ship intercom. “Winter must be putting up a good fight. Our emplaced defensive systems are functioning as planned.”

  Leia swallowed to clear her dry throat. “Let’s just hope that’s good enough, Admiral.”

  The fighters targeted in on where the blast doors had been melted aside. One of the heavy metal shields still hung in place in its tracks. The rescue ships maneuvered around the four Walkers that cluttered the floor of the landing bay. Ackbar, Leia, and Terpfen sprang out of their cockpits as other Calamarian fighters joined them.

  “Terpfen, go with Minister Leia and half the fighters directly to the nursery. See if the baby is still there. I will take the other troops down into the lower levels to find Winter. I think I know what her strategy would have been.”

  Leia, not bothering to argue, yanked out her own blaster pistol. With a hardened expression she took the lead, running to see that her child was safe.

  The team swarmed down the maze of convoluted tunnels toward the nursery. Leia glanced around her as she jogged but saw no signs of blaster fire on the walls. Weapons rattled against body armor as the Calamarians ran to keep pace with her.

  As they rounded the last corner toward Anakin’s room, Leia swerved to keep from tripping over the slow-moving power droid who plodded along on its rounds, unconcerned with the turmoil. Leia paid the walking battery no further heed when she saw the door to the nursery yawning open.

  “Oh, no,” she said, lurching to a cautious stop just as Ambassador Furgan backed out, clutching a squalling Anakin to his broad chest.