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

by Kevin J. Anderson

42

  The Star Destroyer Gorgon limped through open space like a wounded dragon, leaking radiation from a thousand damage points.

  Only one of the Gorgon’s primary sublight engines still functioned. Admiral Daala’s engineers assured her it would be many days before they could attempt to enter hyperspace.

  Life-support systems were down for the lower twelve decks. But Admiral Daala’s soldiers were accustomed to harsh and difficult conditions. Cramped living quarters might encourage them to make repairs faster. Heating systems were low, giving the air a frigid edge, making spoken words emerge from her lips accompanied by a plume of steam.

  Her precious flagship had been grievously wounded, Daala knew; but she realized she did not need to make the Gorgon into a top-flight fighting machine again. Not anymore. This time she merely needed to complete sufficient repairs to crawl back to Imperial-controlled territory, where she could start from scratch.

  Daala’s best advantage was that the Rebel forces must have assumed her ship had been destroyed in the explosion. Their sensors would have been blinded in the eruption of the reactor asteroid.

  Watching Maw Installation vaporize, Daala had ordered full shields and full speed, throwing caution aside as she drove the Gorgon straight to the walls of the Maw, seeking her own way out. Now, crawling away from the energetic outbursts of the black hole cluster, the battered Imperial battle cruiser would not be noticed on any Rebel scopes.

  Half the consoles on her bridge remained dim, unable to function after sustaining so many overloads. Technicians tore open access plates, bundled in heavy uniforms to keep warm, rubbing their numb hands together as they tinkered with electronics. But they did not complain, at least not while Daala was watching.

  A significant percentage of her stormtroopers had been killed in sudden hull breaches or explosions belowdecks. The sick bays were filled with injured personnel. Many of the computer systems were off-line. But they had survived.

  Commander Kratas stepped up to Daala and saluted. His face looked devastated, smudged with grease and smoke from his attempts at hands-on repair work.

  “The news is not good, Admiral,” he said.

  “I want to know our true status,” Daala said, forcing her concern back inside, where it could increase the pressure in her heart, crystallizing a diamond of her own resolve. “Tell me, no matter how bad it is.”

  Kratas nodded, swallowing. “We have only seven functional TIE fighters remaining in the hangar bays. All others were lost.”

  “Seven!” she cried. “Out of—” She gritted her teeth and shook her head so that her hair whirled like an inferno around her face. She drew a short, controlled breath and nodded. “Yes. Continue.”

  “We don’t have sufficient spare parts to repair the damaged external weapons systems,” he said. “Our starboard turbolaser batteries have been wrecked, but we may be able to get two guns functional again.”

  Daala tried to be optimistic. “That might be enough to defend ourselves if we are attacked. But we must hope not to encounter such a situation. We will not initiate any aggressive action at this point. Is that understood?”

  Kratas looked relieved. “Understood, Admiral. We can repair most of the hull breaches and repressurize some of the decks, although …” He hesitated, and his thick eyebrows knitted together like a giant furworm. “But I don’t really see the point in that, Admiral,” he finished. “We don’t need those quarters, and it would only tax our resources at this point. Our repair crews are working around the clock, and I suggest we devote our efforts to completing only the systems critical to life support and those necessary for us to be on our way.”

  Daala nodded slowly. “Again I agree, Commander. It is a difficult decision, but we must be realistic. We have lost this battle—but the war continues. We will make no excuses for ourselves but continue to give our best effort for the good of the Empire.”

  She drew another controlled breath of the frosty air, staring through the bridge viewport at the lush starfield that waited ahead, crossed by a wide swath like a milky river. Looking through the disk of the galaxy toward the dense core, she saw the stars appear to stream like a wide river. The Gorgon headed toward the luminous bulge of the galactic center.

  “Commander”—she lowered her voice—“what is your opinion of the overall morale on the ship?”

  Kratas took a step closer so he could answer in a soft voice. “We have good people, Admiral, as you know. Well trained and well drilled. But they have repeatedly suffered grievous defeats.…”

  “Have they lost faith in me?” Daala asked. Her face was chiseled in stone. She made herself strong and tried not to show that Kratas’s answer could devastate her. She averted her emerald eyes, afraid that he might see something in them.

  “Absolutely not, Admiral!” Kratas answered with a tinge of surprise. “They have the utmost confidence in you.”

  She nodded to cover her long sigh of relief, then raised her voice, turning to the communications lieutenant. “Give me an open-ship channel,” she said. “I want to address all of our troops.”

  Daala gathered her thoughts until the lieutenant nodded to her. She spoke in a loud, firm voice that reverberated through the damaged ship.

  “Attention, all crew members of the Gorgon. I wish to commend you for your efforts against overwhelming odds, against a foe that continues to gain the upper hand through treachery and uncanny luck. We must now prepare for the next phase in this battle, however. We are making our way to the Core Systems, to the last strongholds that still swear loyalty to the Empire.

  “It was not originally my intention to join with one of the Imperial warlords struggling for dominance, but it now appears that we must fight the larger fight. We need to convince them of their real enemy and show those still faithful to the Emperor that we must be united to be strong.”

  She paused before raising her voice. “Yes, the Gorgon has been damaged. Yes, we have suffered severe losses. We have been wounded—but we will never be defeated!

  “Trials such as these only strengthen us. Continue your efforts to make the Gorgon powerful again. Thank you for your service.” She signaled for the communications lieutenant to stop the transmission. She looked out again at the moving stream of stars.

  The Gorgon’s computer banks held all the information Daala had pulled from Maw Installation’s classified computer banks. The weapons designs and new concepts alone would help the Empire win the next phase of the war.

  As she stood on the cold bridge with gloved hands clasped behind her back, she watched the universe unfold in front of her.

  The Star Destroyer Gorgon sailed on toward the Core Systems. Through persistence she could become victorious. One day.

  43

  The Lady Luck cruised low over the jagged surface of Kessel. Bleached sunlight washed across the alkali flats. The sky scintillated with intermittent streaks of light, flaming trails of meteorites—chunks of Kessel’s destroyed moon burning down through the thin atmosphere.

  “You know, this is all kind of beautiful,” Lando said, “in its own way.”

  Beside him in the space yacht’s overly padded passenger seat, Mara Jade frowned skeptically. She looked at him as if she thought he was crazy—not a new thought. “If you say so,” she said.

  “Of course, it’ll take a lot of work,” Lando admitted, lifting one hand off the controls so he could rest it on the arm of her chair. She flinched at his move … but not too much.

  “First order of business will be to get the atmosphere factories up to full capacity again. I’ll have to bring in specially modified droids. I’ve already talked to Nien Nunb, my Sullustan friend, who says he’d love to make his home down in those tunnels. I think he’ll make a great crew boss.”

  Lando raised his eyebrows and flashed her his most dazzling smile. “Defense will be difficult without the moonbase, but I’m sure with the help of the Smugglers’ Alliance we can put together a great system. You and I will make quite a team, Mara. I’m really
going to enjoy working closely with you.”

  Mara sighed, but it was more of a resigned, tolerant noise than actual annoyance. “You just don’t give up, do you, Calrissian?”

  He shook his head, still grinning. “Nope. Giving up is not my style. Not ever.”

  Mara slumped back in her passenger chair and stared out the Lady Luck’s front viewport. “I was afraid of that.”

  Overhead in the white skies of Kessel, shooting stars continued to rain down.

  Two medical droids supported a recovering Mon Mothma. She stood dripping as she emerged from the bacta tank. She wavered a little and held on to the smooth shoulder plates of the droids. Finally she stood on her own again, took a deep breath, and lifted her head to smile.

  Leia stood watching, impressed at the rapid improvement. “I never thought I’d see you stand again, Mon Mothma.”

  “Neither did I,” the former Chief of State admitted with a rueful shrug. “But my body is healing itself with a vengeance. The bacta tanks are working overtime, effective again now that Cilghal removed the nano-destroyers. I’m anxious to move about, to see all the things that happened while I was sick. I have a lot to catch up on. But the medical droids say I have to stay here and rest.”

  Leia laughed. “You have plenty of time, don’t worry. Do you—” She hesitated, not wanting to push Mon Mothma, but anxious to know. “Do you have any idea when you’ll be ready to take back your duties as Chief of State?”

  Assisted again by the droids, Mon Mothma toiled over to one of the padded seats near the bacta tank. She slowly sank into the cushions. Still-damp garments clung to her wasted body. She did not answer for a long time. When Mon Mothma looked up, her expression made Leia’s heart skip a beat.

  “Leia, I am no longer Chief of State. You are,” she said. “I served well for many years, but this wasting illness has made me weak—not only physically, but also in the eyes of the New Republic. The New Republic must not waver in these trying times. Our leadership must be strong and dynamic. We need someone like you, Leia, daughter of the legendary Senator Bail Organa.

  “My decision is firm. I won’t attempt to regain my title. It’s time for me to rest and recover with a great deal of thought on how best to serve the New Republic. Until such time as that changes, our future is in your hands.”

  Leia swallowed and forced a comically stoic expression on her face. “I was afraid you were going to say that,” she said. “But if I can handle a few Imperial renegades, I suppose I can keep the Council members in line. After all, they’re on our side.”

  “You may find that the Imperials surrender a bit more readily than Council members, Leia.”

  Leia groaned. “You’re probably right.”

  The winds sang on the planet Vortex. Leia stared up at the newly rebuilt Cathedral of Winds, which rose like a gesture of defiance against the terrible storms. Beside her Han kept blinking as the breezes stung his eyes, but he seemed awed by the tall structure.

  The new Cathedral was different from what had been destroyed by Ackbar’s crash, more streamlined. The winged Vors had shown no interest in recreating their previous design, following a plan that seemed to flow from their collective alien minds.

  Crystal cylinders glittered in the sunlight, large and small tubes like a towering pipe organ. Notches and windows had been cut into the curved surfaces. The leathery-winged Vors flew about, opening and closing the orifices to shape patterns of music as the winds whistled through. Everything else hunched low to the ground, but the Cathedral of Winds soared, like the spirit of the New Republic.

  The impending storm rippled the thick carpet of purple, vermilion, and tan grasses that covered the plains. Low hummocks, underground Vor dwellings for the vicious storm season, lay in concentric rings around the pinnacles of the new cathedral.

  Leia and Han stood surrounded by a New Republic formal escort on a patch of grass packed down with polished squares of synthetic marble, laid out to form a low viewing stage. The Vors wheeled about in the air, flapping their wings and circling over the audience.

  The winged aliens had allowed no off-worlders to hear the concert of winds since the Emperor Palpatine had established his New Order; but with the success of the Rebellion, the Vors had finally permitted spectators again, not only representatives from the New Republic but also dignitaries from a host of populated worlds. Leia’s first attempt to come here with Ackbar had ended in disaster, but she was certain that this time everything would turn out well.

  Han stood beside her, dressed in the diplomatic finery that he obviously found uncomfortable, but she thought it made him look dashing. That seemed no consolation to her husband as he chafed under the rough and stiff formal dress.

  He must have sensed Leia looking at him, because he glanced down to give her a roguish smile. He snuggled closer, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against him. The wind whipped around them.

  “Feels good to relax,” he said. “And it’s good to be with you, Your Highness.”

  “I’m Chief of State now, General Solo,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Maybe I should order you to stay home more often.”

  He laughed. “Think it would make any difference? You know how good I am at following rules.”

  Leia smiled as the wind stirred her hair. “I suppose the two of us will just have to work out a compromise,” she said. “Why does it seem as if the whole galaxy conspires to keep us away from each other all the time? We used to have adventures together!”

  “Maybe it’s payback for all the lucky breaks I’ve had,” he said.

  “I hope your luck comes back soon, then.” She snuggled against him.

  “Never quote me the odds.” Han ran his fingers up and down her back, making her skin tingle. “I feel lucky enough right now.”

  The wind picked up and the hollow music lifted higher.

  Chewbacca’s matted fur blew in all directions, making him look as if he had toweled off after a steam bath and forgotten to comb his body hair. He bellowed over the winds and the music of the cathedral.

  Threepio’s tinny voice rang out. “Anakin. Jacen and Jaina! Children, where are you? Oh, please do come back here. We’re growing very worried.”

  Chewbacca and Threepio waded through the thick grasses in search of the twins and their little brother. Anakin had crawled off to hide during the cathedral’s opening ceremony. Distracted by the ethereal harmonies, none of the spectators had noticed the baby disappearing into the grasses, including Chewbacca and Threepio.

  Upon seeing their little brother missing, Jacen and Jaina had both dashed out into the expansive fields, claiming they would help find baby Anakin—and of course now all three children were lost. Chewbacca and Threepio tried not to cause too much of a distraction as they searched.

  “Jacen and Jaina!” Threepio said. “Oh, dear, what are we to do, Chewbacca? This is most embarrassing.”

  They stumbled through thick rustling grass that rose to Chewbacca’s chest. Threepio spread his golden arms to clear a path for himself. “This is scratching up my plating,” he said. “I was never meant for duty like this.”

  Chewbacca cocked his head to listen, ignoring Threepio’s complaints. He heard children giggling somewhere among the whispering grass blades. The Wookiee plunged through the thickets, swiping with his hairy paws to knock the blades out of his way. He found no one—only a trampled path from where he had heard the sounds. He would find them sooner or later.

  From behind him, swallowed up in the dense grass, he heard another thin voice. “Oh, Chewbacca! Where have you gone? Now I’m lost!”

  Standing on the polished mosaic platform of synthetic marble squares, Admiral Ackbar held himself rigidly at attention beside white-robed Winter as the cathedral played its music. They sat among other off-world dignitaries and lavishly clad representatives from various planets.

  He had been reluctant to come for the christening ceremony, since he had accidentally destroyed the old Cathedral of Winds. He ha
d feared the Vors might hold a grudge against him—but the Vors were a flat, emotionless race who seemed unaffected by individual events. They simply pushed on, recovering and striving to complete their plans. They had not censured the New Republic, had demanded no retribution; they had simply fallen to work reconstructing the Cathedral of Winds.

  The wind whistled cold around his exposed skin. The music sounded beautiful.

  Nearby, a lovely woman decked in jewels and bright primary colors clung to a haggard, weary-looking young man, who slumped in his chair. Ackbar glanced at them, then bent close to Winter, lowering his voice. “Could you tell me who those people are? I do not recognize them.”

  Winter studied the pair, and her face took on a distant look as if she were sifting through various files in her mind. “I believe that is the Duchess Mistal from Dargul and her consort.”

  “I wonder why he appears to be so miserable,” Ackbar said.

  “Perhaps he is not a music lover,” Winter suggested, then settled into an awkward silence. Finally she spoke again. “I am glad you decided to return to the service of the New Republic, Ackbar. You have much to give to the future of our government.”

  Ackbar nodded solemnly, looking at the human woman who had served so many years as Leia’s close personal aid.

  “I am pleased that you yourself have been freed from exile on Anoth,” he said. “I was concerned for you. Your personal talents and perceptiveness are greatly needed, and I have always valued your input.”

  Ackbar could see that Winter masked her expression carefully, allowing just a glimmer of a smile to show that she was holding back as much as he was.

  “Good, then,” Winter said. “We shall be seeing a great deal more of each other in times to come.”

  Ackbar nodded to her. “I would enjoy that.”

  • • •

  Qwi Xux listened longingly to the music of the winds. The notes rose higher, dipped lower, wove around themselves to form a complex, never-to-be-repeated melody, since the Vors forbade any recording of their storm concerts, and no two were ever alike.