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

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “Then what do we do?” Ackbar persisted.

  Finally the helplessness and all the pain within Terpfen built until it spilled out of him like a star finally reaching its flash point.

  “We can do nothing!” he shouted. “Even knowing about this poison does not help us, because there is no cure!”

  26

  The battered Star Destroyer Gorgon barely survived its passage through the gravitational whirlpool into the Maw cluster.

  Admiral Daala strapped herself to a command chair on the bridge as the Star Destroyer was buffeted by tidal forces that would rip the ship apart if their trajectory deviated from its charted path. Daala had ordered her crew to stand down and take refuge in protective areas, to buckle themselves into their stations and prepare for a rough ride. Of the very few known paths inside the Maw cluster, she had chosen the shortest, the “back door,” but still her ship was in no shape to withstand the enormous stresses for long.

  Many of the Gorgon’s stabilizers had blown in their narrow escape from the multiple supernova explosion in the Cauldron Nebula. Shields had failed at the end—but they had held long enough. The Gorgon’s once-ivory metallic hull was now streaked and scarred. Outer layers of armor had boiled away, but Daala had taken a gamble.

  She had been lucky fleeing from the exploding suns, while only seconds behind her the Basilisk had vaporized in flame, disintegrated by the outrushing supernova shock wave. But Daala had ordered the Gorgon to plunge blindly into hyperspace mere moments before the explosive front had reached her rear thrusters. The desperate leap knocked them headlong on a reckless course through the hazards of the universe. The Gorgon would have been obliterated if they had stumbled onto an interdimensional path that passed through the core of a star or planet. But through some miracle of fate that had not happened.

  The Gorgon had emerged in an uninhabited void in the Outer Rim. Their shields had failed, life-support systems partly burned out, and the hull had been breached in several areas that let the atmosphere squeal into the vacuum of space until those compartments were sealed off.

  Collectively gasping from their narrow escape, Daala’s crew had set about effecting repairs. It took her navigators a day just to determine their galactic position because they had gone so far afield. Armored spacetroopers in totally contained environment suits walked over the external skeleton of the Gorgon, removing ruined components, patching weak spots in the hull, rigging replacements from their meager inventory of spare parts.

  The Star Destroyer had drifted in the uninhabited space between stars. One of the engines was permanently damaged, and three of the aft turbolaser batteries were dead. But Daala had let none of her crew rest until the Gorgon was functional again. They had a mission to complete. She did not allow herself the luxury of rest, either, tirelessly marching down corridors, inspecting repairs, making personnel assignments, prioritizing maintenance tasks.

  Daala had done well for more than ten years, drilling her stormtroopers and her space navy personnel. They were used to grueling labor, and they performed admirably now that they were faced with a true crisis.

  Grand Moff Tarkin had given her command of four Star Destroyers to protect Maw Installation. But her first ship, the Hydra, had been lost even before she could bring her fleet out of the Maw cluster. The Manticore had been destroyed behind the moon of Calamari, unable to run when some Calamarian tactical genius had second-guessed Daala’s strategy. Her third ship, the Basilisk, already injured in the battle against smuggler forces at Kessel, had not been able to flee the supernova explosions fast enough.

  Daala had been helpless to stop the attrition of her forces. She had planned a fabulous and devastating attack on the Rebel capital world of Coruscant, but before she could strike, Kyp Durron had used the Sun Crusher against her.

  During the long days of repairs Daala had come to terms with her failure. She had misplaced her priorities. Her only reason for existence should have been to protect Maw Installation, not to wage a private war against the Rebellion. Once the Rebels knew of the Installation, they would no doubt attempt to steal its secrets. Her priority now was to fulfill the mission that Tarkin had given her.

  The Gorgon was wounded, unable to proceed at full thrust; but still Daala approached the Maw with all possible speed. She would return to the Installation and protect what remained of it, to the best of her ability. There would be no such thing as surrender. She had a job to do, a duty she had sworn to her superior officer Tarkin.

  Now Admiral Daala clung to her command chair and kept her eyes open against the blazing swirls from the inferno of trapped gases. The Gorgon plunged through the barrier of black holes and followed a convoluted path. Daala felt her insides tugged as she passed gravity wells so deep they could crush an entire planet to the size of an atom.

  The windowports dimmed, but still Daala did not close her emerald eyes. Presumably only she knew the detailed route, but young Kyp Durron had found his way, and she assumed that other Jedi Knights could perform the same feat.

  Daala heard a system squeal with automatic alarms as some critical component failed. Sparks shot out of one of the sensor stations, and a lieutenant strained against the pull of acceleration to bypass the systems.

  In his seat Commander Kratas spoke through clenched teeth. “Almost there,” he said, his voice barely audible above the racket.

  A series of automatic warning signals echoed through the bridge—and suddenly the colors washed away from the front viewport like a blindfold being ripped from her eyes. The Star Destroyer had stumbled into the shielded calm at the center of the cluster.

  She recognized the isolated clump of interconnected planetoids gathered in a loose configuration. Glittering lights showed that the facility still functioned. In a rapid assessment she saw that the framework of the Death Star prototype was gone—and in its place she saw a Rebel frigate and three Corellian corvettes.

  “Admiral!” Kratas said.

  “I see, Commander,” she answered in a clipped voice.

  She unbuckled her restraints and stood up, automatically smoothing down the olive-gray uniform that clung to her trim body. Sweat prickled like tiny insect stings on her skin as she stepped onto the command platform and walked closer to the viewport as if responding to a summons.

  Her gloved hands gripped the bridge railing as if to strangle something. Black leather squeaked against enameled metal. The Rebels had come, just as she had feared—and Daala had arrived too late to stop the invasion!

  Her lips grew white as she pressed them together. She believed the Gorgon had survived for a purpose. And now, as she returned to Maw Installation, it seemed as if the spirit of Grand Moff Tarkin were looking over her shoulder, guiding her. She knew what she was destined to do. She could not fail a second time.

  “Commander, power up all functional weapons systems,” Daala said. “Shields up. Approach the Installation.”

  She looked back at large-browed, weak-chinned Commander Kratas, who snapped to attention.

  “It appears we have some work to do,” Daala said.

  27

  Kyp Durron ducked under a thorny vine as a flock of scarlet insect-birds thrummed into the air. Acrid stinging thistles brushed against his arm, his face. Overhead, the interlocked branches rustled as arboreal creatures fled from the noise. Sweat dripped from Kyp’s dark hair, and the oppressive air felt like a moist blanket, smothering him.

  He did his best to keep up with Master Skywalker, who flowed through the jungle thickets, finding secret paths that allowed him to pass unhindered. Kyp had once used dark tricks to dodge spiny debris and find the easiest routes through the underbrush; now, though, even the thought of such techniques made him shudder with revulsion.

  Once, when he had gone on a jungle sojourn with Dorsk 81, Kyp had brashly used a Sith technique to generate an unappetizing aura around himself, driving away gnats and bloodsucking pests. Now, though, Kyp tolerated the misery as Master Skywalker led him far from the Great Temple.


  They had left the other Jedi trainees to continue their independent studies. Master Skywalker was proud of them. He said that the trainees were reaching the limits of the techniques he himself could teach them. The new Jedi Knights would grow in their own directions, discover their own greatest strengths.

  But since the time he had come within a razor’s edge of blasting Han Solo with the Sun Crusher, Kyp had been reluctant to use his power, afraid of what it might drive him to do.…

  Master Skywalker took Kyp alone out into the jungles, leaving the great pyramid behind as Artoo-Detoo wobbled and jittered, bleeping with displeasure at being left behind.

  Kyp wasn’t sure what the Jedi teacher wanted from him. Master Skywalker said little as they trudged for hour after hour through the dripping rain forest and the oppressive humidity, the insect-laden air, the claw-thorns of brambles.

  Kyp was intimidated to be alone with the man he had defeated through Exar Kun’s evil powers. Master Skywalker had insisted that Kyp arm himself—that he wear the lightsaber built by Gantoris. Did Luke intend to challenge Kyp to a duel—a duel to the death this time?

  If so, then Kyp vowed not to fight. He had allowed his anger to cause too much destruction already. It was only by a miracle that Master Skywalker had survived the onslaught of Sith treachery.

  Kyp had recognized the dark side when Exar Kun whispered in his ear, but he had been too overconfident, thinking he could resist where even Anakin Skywalker failed. But the dark side had swallowed him whole—and now Kyp questioned all of his abilities and wished he could just be free of his Jedi talent so he need not fear what he might do with it.

  At the edge of a clearing, with tall grasses stroking against each other, Master Skywalker came to a halt. Kyp stopped beside him to see two ferocious-looking predators, iridescent in scales of pale purple and mottled green for camouflage in the thick vegetation. They looked like hunting cats crossbred with large reptiles: their shoulders were square, their forearms as powerful as heavy pistons. They had three eyes across their boxy faces, yellow and slitted, unblinking as they stared at the intruders.

  Master Skywalker gazed back at them in silence. The breeze stopped. The predators growled, opening their mouths to expose scimitar fangs, and let out a purring howl before they melted back into the jungle.

  “Let’s continue,” Master Skywalker said, and walked across the clearing.

  “But where are we going?” Kyp asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Unable to bear his feelings of isolation and loneliness, Kyp tried to keep the Jedi teacher talking. “Master Skywalker, what if I fail to distinguish between the dark side and the light side? I’m afraid that any power I use now might also lead me down the path of destruction.”

  A feathery-winged moth flitted in front of them, seeking nectar from the bright flowers that blossomed among the creeping vines. Kyp watched the moth’s flight until suddenly, from four different directions, sapphire-winged piranha beetles zoomed in to strike, ripping the moth’s wings to shreds. The moth fluttered and struggled, but the piranha beetles devoured it before it could even fall to the ground. The beetles buzzed so close to Kyp’s face that he could see their saw-toothed mandibles ready to tear flesh to shreds; but the beetles ratcheted away to seek other prey.

  “The dark side is easier, faster, more seductive,” Luke said. “But you can identify it by your own emotions. If you use it for enlightenment to help others, it may be from the light side. But if you use it for your own advancement, out of anger or revenge, then the power is tainted. Don’t use it. You will know when you are calm, passive.”

  Kyp listened and knew that he had done everything wrong. Exar Kun had given him false information. The Jedi Master turned to him; his face looked haggard with the weight on his shoulders. “Do you understand?” Master Skywalker asked.

  “Yes,” Kyp answered.

  “Good.” Master Skywalker parted the branches on the other side of the clearing to expose a sight that made Kyp stop cold in his tracks. They had come from a different direction, but Kyp could never forget the site itself. Fragments of burning ice trickled down his spine.

  “I feel cold,” he said. “I don’t want to go back there.”

  They stepped out to where the vegetation dropped off at the edge of a glassy-smooth lake, a circular reflecting pond where the water looked clear and colorless and reflected the cloudless skies above like a pool of quicksilver.

  In the center of the pond sat an island of volcanic rock on which perched a sharply angled split pyramid made of obsidian. Two halves of the steep pyramid had been spread apart to bracket the polished black statue, a towering colossus of a man with flowing hair, bulky uniform, and a long black cape. Kyp knew the image all too well.

  Exar Kun in life.

  Inside that temple Kyp had received his initiation into the Sith teachings, while Dorsk 81 had lain in an unnatural coma against the wall. The spirit of Exar Kun had meant to destroy the cloned Jedi student on a whim, as a gesture of power, but Kyp had stopped him, insisting instead that the Sith Lord teach him everything. He had seen things that still left yammering nightmares in the depths of his mind.

  “The dark side is strong in that place,” Kyp said. “I can’t go in there.”

  Master Skywalker said, “In your fear lies caution, and in that caution lies wisdom and strength.” He squatted on a comfortable rock at the edge of the crystalline lake. He shaded his eyes against the light reflecting from the surface of the pool.

  “I will wait here,” Master Skywalker said, “but you must go inside.”

  Kyp swallowed, terror and revulsion rising within him. This black temple symbolized everything that had rotted his core, everything that had led him astray, all the mistakes he had made. The dark lies and goading of Exar Kun had caused Kyp to kill his own brother, to threaten the life of his friend Han Solo, to strike down his Jedi teacher.

  Another shiver passed through him. Perhaps this was his punishment.

  “What will I find in there?” Kyp asked.

  “Ask no more questions,” Master Skywalker said. “I can give you no answers. You must choose whether to carry your weapon with you.” He nodded toward the lightsaber handle clipped to Kyp’s waist. “You will have only what you bring with you.”

  Kyp touched the ridged handle of the lightsaber, afraid to turn it on. Did Master Skywalker want him to leave it behind or take it? Kyp hesitated. Better to have the weapon and not use it, he decided, than to need it and be without.

  Trembling, Kyp went to the water’s edge. He looked down and observed the tall columns of stone that stopped just beneath the surface of the water, providing submerged stepping stones.

  Tentatively, he set one foot on the first stone. The water rippled around his foot. He drew a deep breath, raised his head high, and fought back the echoing voices in his head. He had to face this, whatever it was. He did not look back at Master Skywalker.

  He crossed the water and climbed onto the lichen-encrusted lava rocks of the island, walking the narrow path that led to the triangular entrance of the temple.

  Beneath the towering statue of Exar Kun, the black opening glittered with implanted Corusca gems. Incised runes and hieroglyphics broke the polished brightness of the obsidian. Kyp stared at the writings, finding that he could summon some of their meaning back to him; but he shook his head to clear the words from his thoughts.

  The temple seemed to breathe a cool air current that seeped in and out of the enclosed space. Kyp did not know what he would find inside. His body stiffened with anticipation. He looked around, refusing to call out. Kyp took one step into the doorway and looked up at the dour chiseled face of the long-dead Sith Lord. Then he entered the temple chamber.

  The walls glittered with an inner light that had been trapped within the volcanic glass. Tracings of frost spiraled in a frozen dance up and down the walls. In the far corner a cistern dripped, filled with chilled water.

  He waited.

  Suddenl
y Kyp’s stomach wrenched. His skin crawled. He blinked as his vision blurred. The air around him grew grainy as if the light itself had splintered inside the temple.

  He tried to turn, but found himself moving sluggishly as if the air resisted him, solidifying around him. Everything flickered.

  Kyp staggered deeper into the temple, trying to move quickly, but his body would not respond with its customary speed.

  A shadow rose from the black wall, an ominous form, human-shaped. It gained power, growing as Kyp fed it with his fear. The figure rose higher, oozing out of the cracks, out of a blackness from beyond time, a featureless silhouette that nevertheless seemed familiar to Kyp.

  “You’re dead,” Kyp said, attempting to sound angry and defiant, but his voice was uncertain.

  “Yes,” the oddly familiar voice spoke from within the shadows. “But still I live within you. Only you, Kyp, can make my memory strong.”

  “No, I’ll destroy you,” Kyp said. In his hand he felt the black power crackling, the ebony lightning he had used to strike Master Skywalker: the power of fanged serpents, the dark teachings of the Sith. How ironic it would be to use Exar Kun’s own power against him! The energy grew stronger, begging to be unleashed, demanding that he give himself over to it so he could eradicate the black shadow for all time.

  But Kyp forced himself to stop. He felt his heart pounding, his blood singing in his ears, his anger taking control—and he knew that was wrong. He took deep breaths. He calmed himself. This was not the way.

  The black Sith power faded from his fingertips. The shadow waited; but still Kyp forced his power back, smothered his anger. Anger was exactly what Exar Kun would want. Kyp could not give in to it now.

  Instead he reached for the lightsaber at his hip, pulled it free, and flicked on the power button. The violet-white blade shone in an arc of cleansing electricity, purest light.