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

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Outside, in the midst of the space battle, Admiral Daala gritted her teeth. Her face wore a perpetual look of disdain as she stared at the dizzying firefight.

  The attack was not going well. Her forces were being gradually worn away. She hadn’t had many TIE fighters to start with; most of them had been left behind in the Cauldron Nebula when she had wheeled the Gorgon about to escape the exploding stars. She had only her reserves, and most of those squadrons had been wiped out by Rebel starfighters.

  When the Death Star prototype reappeared among the gases overhead, Daala felt a thrill of awe. She rejoiced at the enormous destructive potential suddenly available to her. The tide of the battle had turned—now they could wipe out the Rebel infestation.

  But when she determined that the prototype was piloted by the incompetent fool Tol Sivron, her hopes dwindled. “Why doesn’t he fire?” she said. “One blast and he could take out all three corvettes and the frigate. Why doesn’t he fire?”

  Commander Kratas stood by her side. “I can’t say, Admiral.”

  She glared to make it clear she hadn’t expected an answer. “Tol Sivron has never had any initiative in his entire life,” she said. “I should have known I couldn’t expect him to do his duty now. Redouble our efforts against the Installation. Let us show Tol Sivron how it must be done.”

  She narrowed her brilliant eyes to look around the bridge. “Enough practice,” she said. “It’s time to destroy Maw Installation once and for all. Open fire!”

  37

  In the Maw Installation operations room, one of the technicians pounded her fist on a control deck. “Shields are failing, General Antilles!” she announced.

  Another engineer ran in from the outside corridor, florid-faced and puffing. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his blue eyes were glassy with panic. “All this pounding has knocked out the temporary cooling systems we installed on the reactor asteroid! It was never meant to withstand such punishment. The reactor’s going to explode—no chance of patching it this time.”

  Wedge gritted his teeth and looked to Qwi. He squeezed her hand. “Looks like we’re about to save Daala the trouble,” he said. “Time to evacuate.”

  Beside him Luke whirled around. “Hey! Where’s Kyp?”

  But the young man was gone.

  “I don’t know,” Wedge answered, “but we don’t have time to look for him now.”

  • • •

  Kyp Durron’s heart hammered, but he used a Jedi calming routine, forcing himself to relax. He required his bodily systems to operate efficiently, providing strength where he needed it, allowing neither fear nor exhaustion to hinder him.

  The tumult of alarms and the external attack rattled the Installation. New Republic soldiers ran across corridors, grabbing equipment and rushing back to their transports.

  No one stopped to look at Kyp; if anyone had bothered to question him, he would have used a simple Jedi trick to distract them, blur their memories, making them believe they had never seen him.

  Kyp was pleased that Master Skywalker had not noticed his departure. With the sudden appearance of the Death Star prototype and the continued pounding from the Gorgon, Kyp had known what he must do.

  He also knew Master Skywalker would try to stop him, and Kyp had no time for that.

  He had used his own powers—light-side powers, he fervently hoped—to distract everyone while he slipped out into the corridor. He had blanked his thoughts, his keyed-up emotions; unless Master Skywalker made a directed effort to pinpoint him, Kyp would go unnoticed in the chaos.

  As he ran, the tempo of the battle outside increased, and he knew that the installation would not last much longer. If the Death Star prototype managed even one shot, they would be annihilated in an instant. That was the primary threat at the moment.

  As he sprinted down the rocky tunnels to the maintenance bay where he had landed the Sun Crusher, he recalled when he and Han had fled through the spice mines of Kessel. The memory of Han brought a deep pang.

  The Death Star had reappeared in the center of the Maw, but Kyp had seen no sign of the Millennium Falcon. Did that mean Han was dead, destroyed in his sabotage attempt?

  Kyp had been cursed with impulsiveness, making his decisions and acting on them without thinking of the consequences. Right now, though, that was a strength. He had to fight against the New Republic’s mortal enemies, and he could not ponder and debate the ultimate results of his actions.

  Kyp knew he had a great deal to atone for. He had listened to the dark teachings of Exar Kun. He had struck down his teacher and Jedi Master. He had wiped clean the memories of Qwi Xux. He had stolen the Sun Crusher and obliterated entire star systems … he had caused the death of his brother Zeth.

  Now he would do all he could to rescue his friends—not only to salve his conscience, but because they deserved to live and continue the fight for freedom in the galaxy.

  Kyp stared at the oily metallic texture of the Sun Crusher’s faceted sides. The quantum armor reflected light in strange directions, distorting it, making the superweapon appear to have been polished with slow light.

  With trembling hands he gripped the rungs of the ladder and ascended. Han Solo and Chewbacca had climbed these same rungs to get into the Sun Crusher during their escape from the Installation. Kyp’s brother had attempted to pull himself aboard before Carida’s star exploded—but Zeth had not succeeded.

  Kyp swung shut the hatch as if he were sealing himself off from the rest of the galaxy for all time. He didn’t know if he would ever see the outside again, if he would ever return to Coruscant, or if he would ever speak to Han Solo or Master Skywalker again.

  He slumped into the pilot’s seat and stilled those thoughts with a Jedi technique. Only a few hours earlier he and Luke had been riding in the Sun Crusher, peaceful companions talking about their lives and their hopes. Now Kyp could not think beyond working the simple controls of the Sun Crusher.

  He raised the spike-shaped craft on its repulsorlifts and guided himself through the long launching tunnel into open space where the battle raged.

  He approached the giant framework sphere of the Death Star. Kyp had seen the effectiveness of the Sun Crusher’s ultrastrong armor when Han Solo had flown at full speed through the bridge tower of the Hydra—but even the quantum armor could not possibly withstand a blast from the Death Star’s superlaser.

  Kyp had two remaining resonance torpedoes that could trigger a supernova. He doubted he could get a critical mass in the prototype’s skeletal structure, but a direct hit would still cause a substantial chain reaction.

  He accelerated forward, a mere pinprick on the vast canvas of garish-colored gases around the Maw’s black holes.

  Then, without warning, a bright flower of orange and white erupted from the power core at the center of the Death Star, a small explosion. An instant later, flying in the opposite direction, the Millennium Falcon blasted out of the superstructure, gaining speed.

  With a warm melting sensation of relief and triumph, he knew that Han Solo had survived! Now Kyp could strike the crippled Death Star with no second thoughts. And then he would go after Daala.

  He powered up his targeting and weapons systems. With Jedi senses Kyp could feel the power surging beneath him in the toroidal torpedo generator—energy sufficient to crack open stars.

  For one last time, he had to use it.

  The explosion in the power core sent the entire Death Star reeling off its axis. The lone spacetrooper attempting to disarm the detonators was hurled backward, already torn to shreds of plasteel armor and incinerated bone.

  The detonator had ripped open a gash in the cylindrical core, splitting the armored plating wide and spraying a jet of radioactive fire.

  Tol Sivron’s head-tails stretched out straight with outrage. “I ordered those two spacetroopers to stop the sabotage!” He whirled to the Devaronian Division Leader. “Yemm, record their service numbers and make a special disciplinary notation in their files!”

&
nbsp; He tapped his claws on the chair arm and finally remembered to say, “Oh, and give me a damage assessment.”

  Doxin ran to the status console and pulled up a visual. “From what I know of the blueprints, Director, there appears to be a relatively insignificant breach in the power core. We can repair it before radiation levels get too high. It’s a good thing no more than one of those detonators blew, though. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to contain it.”

  The stormtrooper captain was on his feet, chattering orders into his radio helmet. “I’ve already sent a full squadron of troopers down to suit up, sir. I have instructed them that their personal safety is forfeit.”

  “Good, good,” Tol Sivron said absently. “How soon will I be able to shoot again?”

  The stormtrooper studied his panels. The white plasteel helmet masked any hint of expression. “The spacetroopers are suited up and on their way. They are descending the catwalks now.” He pointed his featureless black goggles at Sivron. “If the repair work goes as planned, you could fire within twenty minutes.”

  “Well, tell them to hurry,” Sivron said. “If Daala destroys Maw Installation before I do, I’ll be very annoyed.”

  “Yes, Director,” the captain said.

  Tol Sivron watched with simmering frustration as the Millennium Falcon disappeared toward the other fighting ships inside the Maw. He noticed the New Republic battleships that had overrun his facility; he noticed the large conglomeration of planetoids where he had spent so many years of his career. And then he looked at Admiral Daala’s Star Destroyer. Daala, whom he loathed, who had deserted him and her duty at the time of greatest need.

  Tol Sivron muttered to himself as he fidgeted in the command chair. “So many targets,” he said, “and so little time.”

  38

  The battle-sacarred Star Destroyer cruised so low over the Maw Installation’s weakening defensive shields that Luke’s instinct was to duck. The complex clutter of the Gorgon’s hull flowed like an unending river past the skylights, showing just how immense the battleship was.

  “Shields just failed completely,” one of the technicians said. “We won’t survive another pass, and the reactor asteroid is going critical!”

  Wedge punched the facilitywide intercom and shouted orders. His voice echoed through the labyrinth of tunnels in the clustered asteroids of the Installation. “Last call for evacuation. Everyone to the transport ships. Now! We’ve only got a few minutes to get out of here.”

  The alarms somehow grew even louder. Luke turned to follow the troops running toward the doors. Wedge grabbed the thin blue arm of Qwi Xux, but she resisted, staring in horror at the computer screens. “Look!” she said. “What is she doing? She can’t!”

  Wedge stopped to glance at the streams of data flying across the screens at high speed. He blinked and saw rapid-fire images of blueprints, weapons designs, test data.

  “Admiral Daala must have known Director Sivron’s password,” Qwi cried. “She’s dumping the data backups we couldn’t crack. She’s downloading all the weapons information!”

  Wedge grabbed Qwi by the waist and yanked her away from the terminal, rushing her toward the door. “We can’t do anything about that now. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  They ran down the corridors with the assault troops in the lead. Qwi’s feathery hair streamed behind her, glinting in the harsh white light from the glowpanels.

  Wedge felt overwhelmed, his tension rising, as if his internal chronometer were ticking down the seconds until the explosion of the fragile reactor asteroid, until Admiral Daala’s next attack, until the whole Installation bloomed into a white-hot cloud of rubble.

  Wedge had never wanted to be a general anyway. He was a good wing man, a fighter pilot. He had flown beside Luke down the trench of the first Death Star, and next to Lando Calrissian to destroy the second one.

  By far the best assignment had been to escort the lovely Qwi Xux. Even frightened and dismayed, Qwi looked exotic and beautiful. He wanted to hold her and comfort her—but he could do that on the transport back to the Yavaris. If they didn’t get out of here immediately, they would all die.

  As the refugees scrambled across the takeoff area, one of the transports declared itself fully loaded. Wedge grabbed his comm link. “Go, go! Don’t wait for us!”

  They charged up the ramp of another waiting shuttle. The remaining troops scattered to their seats. Wedge took a second to make sure Qwi had a safe place to strap herself in. Luke bolted for the cockpit and threw himself into the copilot’s chair, powering up the sublight engines.

  Wedge took one last glance back at the personnel compartment to verify that everyone was at least close to being seated. “Secure the door!” he cried.

  One of the lieutenants slammed a palm against the hatch controls. With an impatient hiss the ramp drew in like a retracting serpent’s tongue. The doors clamped shut.

  Wedge wasted no time securing himself into his seat before raising the transport off the landing pad. With a scream of acceleration the troop ship launched itself away from the dying Maw Installation.

  The bootsteps of Commander Kratas sounded like hammers on sheet metal as he ran up to the bridge observation platform. Admiral Daala turned, anxiously awaiting a favorable report.

  Kratas tried to regain his composure but did not succeed in wiping the idiotic grin from his lips. “Transfer successful, Admiral. Complete core dump of all the Maw’s backup computer files.” He lowered his voice. “You were correct. Director Sivron never bothered to change his password. He was still using the same one you obtained ten years ago.”

  Daala snorted. “Sivron has been incompetent in everything else. Why should he change now?”

  Most of her TIE fighters had been wiped out. None of her starboard turbolasers were functional. Engines operated at only 40 percent efficiency, and many systems were severely overheating.

  She had never anticipated the battle would take this long. She had meant to obliterate the Rebel forces and then finish mop-up operations at her leisure. She didn’t understand why Sivron and his Death Star didn’t do anything. But finally something had gone right; she had retrieved the precious data from the Maw Installation computers.

  Daala watched as troop transports fled the cluster of rocks below, but she deemed them insignificant targets.

  “Installation shields are completely down,” the tactical lieutenant said.

  “Good,” she snapped. “Wheel about. We’ll make a final attack run.”

  “Excuse me, Admiral,” Kratas interrupted. “We’re getting anomalous readings from the reactor asteroid. It appears to have suffered severe damage and is highly unstable.”

  Daala brightened. “Ah, excellent. We’ll target that. Perhaps the reactor can do most of the destructive work for us.”

  She looked out the bridge tower and saw the ocean of screaming gases around the infinitely black pinpoints. The Gorgon turned about and headed toward Maw Installation.

  “Full ahead,” Daala said, standing rigid at her station, gloved hands clasped behind her back. Her coppery hair flowed behind her like spraying lava. “Fire repeatedly, until the Installation is destroyed—or until our turbolaser banks are drained dry.”

  The lumbering ship picked up momentum as the Gorgon accelerated forward on its final run.

  Wedge flicked on the open communications unit to contact the New Republic fleet. He didn’t care about encryption at the moment—if the Imperial forces could decode his transmissions, they wouldn’t have time to take action anyway.

  “All fighters, regroup and return to the Yavaris. Prepare to retreat. We are leaving the Maw. We have everything we came for.”

  The huge frigate hung like a jagged weapon waiting to receive the fighter squadrons. X-wings and Y-wings looped around, disengaging from space dogfights and heading back to their primary ships. Wedge accelerated toward the Yavaris. The squarish opening of the frigate’s lower bays glowed with an atmosphere-containment field, like a welcoming open door.
>
  Without warning four square-winged TIE fighters shot up from Wedge’s blind spot, mercilessly battering the front of the transport shuttle with laser bolts.

  Before Wedge could react, an assault shuttle bearing Imperial markings flew in from the left, firing multiple beams from its forward heavy blaster cannons. The attack took the TIE pilots by surprise. They scrambled and scattered. Two careened into each other to get out of the way. Two others succumbed to the focused blasts, exploding into molten debris.

  Wedge heard a loud Wookiee roar of triumph over the open comm channel, echoed by growls and shouts from the assault shuttle’s passenger compartment. The clipped metallic voice of See-Threepio interrupted, “Chewbacca, please do stop showing off! We need to get back to the Yavaris.”

  Luke toggled the communications panel. “Thanks, guys.”

  “Master Luke!” Threepio cried. “What are you doing here? We need to get away!”

  “It’s a long story, Threepio. We’re doing our best to do just that.”

  On the opposite side of the Maw, the Gorgon spun about and accelerated toward the unprotected Installation like a wild bantha, its rear engines blazing with star fire. A flurry of green turbolaser bolts blurred out from the Star Destroyer’s fore section, angling down to strike the Installation’s clustered asteroids. With the facility’s shields down, ionized rock dust sprayed into space.

  Daala fired and fired again, picking up speed in what appeared to be a suicide run. Her strafing beams pummelled the Installation, striking asteroid after asteroid. Metal bridges vaporized, transparisteel shattered and blew outward.

  The Gorgon came on, unstoppable until—just as she soared over at closest approach—the attack breached the containment housing the unstable power reactor.

  Sitting in the cockpit of the personnel transport, Wedge and Luke both flinched as the entire Maw Installation suddenly became a blaze of light, like a miniature exploding star. The center of the Maw was filled with an incandescent purifying fire.