by Timothy Zahn
“I don’t know if the Dark Jedi expected to be all alone down there,” Car’das went on. “But if he did, he was quickly disappointed. We’d barely stepped outside the ship when we spotted a funny-looking little creature with big, pointed ears standing at the edge of the clearing where we’d put down.
“He was a Jedi Master named Yoda. I don’t know whether that was his home, or whether he had just flown in specially for the occasion. What I do know is that he was definitely waiting for us.”
An odd shiver ran through Car’das’s thin body. “I won’t try to describe their battle,” he said in a low voice. “Even after forty-five years of thinking about it, I’m not sure I can. For nearly a day and a half the swamp blazed with fire and lightning and things I still don’t understand. At the end of it the Dark Jedi was dead, disintegrating in a final, massive blaze of blue fire.”
He took a shuddering breath. “None of my crew survived that battle. Not that there was much left of what they’d been anyway. I didn’t expect to survive, either. But to my surprise, Yoda took it upon himself to nurse me back to life.”
Karrde nodded. “I’ve seen a little of what Luke Skywalker can do with healing trances,” he said. “Better than bacta in some cases.”
Car’das snorted. “In my case bacta would have been completely useless,” he stated flatly. “As it was, it took Yoda quite a while to return me to health. I still don’t know how long. Afterward I was able to jury-rig the ship well enough to get it spaceworthy and limp home.
“It wasn’t until I was back with the organization that I began to realize that, somewhere in that whole procedure, some part of me had been changed.”
He looked at Karrde. “I’m sure you remember, Talon. I seemed to have gained the ability to outthink my opponents—to guess their strategies and plans, to know when one of them was planning a move against me. Abilities I assumed I’d somehow absorbed from Yoda during the healing process.”
He looked up at the ceiling, a new fire in his eyes and voice. “And suddenly, there were no limits to what I could do. None. I began expanding the organization, swallowing up any group that seemed potentially useful and eliminating everyone that didn’t. Victory after victory after victory—everywhere I went I conquered. I saw the Hutts’ criminal cartels and planned how I would take them down; foresaw the gathering of power around Senator Palpatine and considered where and how I could best insert myself into the coming struggle for my own advantage. There was literally nothing that could stop me, and I and the universe both knew it.”
Abruptly, the fire faded away. “And then,” he said quietly, “without warning, everything suddenly collapsed.”
He took a long drink from his cup. “What happened?” Shada asked into the silence.
Karrde stole a look at her, mildly surprised at the intense concentration in her expression. Despite all her professed distrust of Car’das himself, she clearly found his story riveting.
“My health fell apart,” Car’das said. “Over a period of just a few weeks, all the youth and vigor that Yoda’s healing had woven into my body seemed to evaporate.” He looked at Shada. “Very simply, I was dying.”
Karrde nodded, the last mystery of that beckon call lying abandoned in the Dagobah swamp suddenly falling into place. “And so you went back to Yoda and asked for help.”
“Asked?” Car’das gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Not asked, Talon. Demanded.”
He shook his head at the memory. “It must have looked quite absurd, really. There I stood, towering over him with a blaster in one hand and my beckon call in the other, threatening to bring my ship and all its awesome weaponry to bear on this short, wizened creature leaning on a staff in front of me. Of course, I was the single-handed creator of the greatest smuggling organization of all time, while he was nothing but a simple little Jedi Master.” He shook his head again.
“I’m surprised he didn’t kill you on the spot,” Shada said.
“At the time, I almost wished he had,” Car’das said ruefully. “It would have been far less humiliating. Instead, he simply took the beckon call and blaster away from me and sent them spinning off into the swamp, then held me suspended a few centimeters above the ground and let me scream and flail to my heart’s content.
“And when I finally ran out of strength and breath, he told me I was going to die.”
Entoo Nee stepped to his side, silently pouring more of the spice drink into his cup. “I thought the first part had been humiliating,” Car’das went on. “The next part was worse. As I sat there panting on a rock, swamp water seeping into my boots, he told me in exquisitely painful detail just how badly I’d squandered the gift of life he’d given back to me a quarter century earlier. How my utterly selfish pursuit of personal power and aggrandizement had left me empty of spirit and vacant of purpose.”
He looked at Karrde. “By the time he finished, I knew I could never go back. That I could never, ever face any of you again.”
Karrde looked down at his cup, suddenly aware he was gripping it tightly. “Then you didn’t … I mean, you weren’t …”
“Angry with you?” Car’das smiled at him. “On the contrary, old friend: you were the single bright spot in the whole painful mess. For the first time since I’d left Dagobah, I found myself thinking about all the people in my organization. People who I’d now abandoned to the viciousness of internecine warfare as my lieutenants, most of them as selfish as I was, fought for their individual slices of the fat bruallki I’d created.”
He shook his head, his old eyes almost misty. “I didn’t hate you for taking over, Talon. Far from it. You held the organization together, treating my people with the dignity and respect they deserved. The dignity and respect I’d never bothered to give them. You transformed my selfish ambition into something to be proud of … and for twenty years I’ve wanted to thank you for that.”
And to Karrde’s surprise, he stood up and crossed the circle. “Thank you,” he said simply, holding out his hand.
Karrde stood up, a terrible weight lifting from his shoulders. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, gripping the extended hand. “I just wish I’d known sooner.”
“I know,” Car’das said, letting go and returning to his seat. “But as I said, for the first few years I was too ashamed to even face you. And then later, when your Mara Jade and Lando Calrissian came sniffing around, I assumed you would soon be showing up yourself.”
“I should have,” Karrde conceded. “But I wasn’t exactly eager to do so.”
“I understand,” Car’das said. “It’s as much my fault as it was yours.” He waved a hand. “Still, as it turned out, your arrival was just what we needed to eliminate the threat from Rei’Kas and his pirates.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “That’s one of the many things I’ve been learning from the Aing-Tii, in fact. Though not all is predetermined, all is somehow still being guided. I still don’t quite understand that, but I’m working on it.”
“Sounds like something a Jedi would say,” Karrde suggested.
“Similar, but not the same,” Car’das agreed. “The Aing-Tii have an understanding of the Force; but it’s a different understanding from that of the Jedi. Or perhaps it’s merely a different aspect of the Force that they relate to. I’m not really sure which.
“Yoda couldn’t heal me, you see. Or rather, didn’t have the time the task would require. He told me he needed to prepare for what he said was possibly the most important instruction he had had for the past hundred years.”
Karrde nodded, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. “Luke Skywalker.”
“Was it him?” Car’das asked. “I’ve always suspected that, but was never able to confirm he actually trained on Dagobah. At any rate, Yoda said my only chance to postpone my death was to seek out the Aing-Tii monks of the Kathol Rift, who might—might—be willing to help me.”
Karrde gestured toward him. “Obviously, they did.”
“Oh, yes, they did,” Car’das said, his mo
uth twisting wryly. “But at what a price.”
Karrde frowned, a shiver running through him. “What kind of price?”
Car’das smiled. “Nothing less than my life, Talon,” he said. “My life, to be spent learning their ways of the Force.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t misunderstand, please. It wasn’t their demand, but my choice. All my life, you see, I’ve relished challenges—the bigger the better. Once I’d gotten a taste of what they had discovered out here …” He waved his hand around the room. “It was the biggest challenge I’d ever faced. How could I pass it up?”
“I thought you needed a certain amount of inborn aptitude to be a Jedi,” Shada pointed out.
“A Jedi, perhaps.” Car’das nodded. “But as I said, the Aing-Tii have a different view of the Force. Not in terms of Jedi and Dark Jedi—of black and white, as it were—but in a way I like to think of as a full-color rainbow. Here, let me show you. Would you move your tray, please, Entoo Nee?”
The little man picked up the tray, leaving the pillar table empty, as Car’das set his cup down on the floor in front of him. “Now watch,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see if I can do this.” He settled his shoulders and gazed hard at the pillar table …
And abruptly, with a sharp pop of displaced air, a small crystalline decanter appeared.
Karrde jerked violently, his drink sloshing up the side of his cup and over the edge onto his fingers. Never in any of his dealings with Skywalker or Mara had he seen anything like that.
“It’s all right,” Car’das said hastily. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You created that?” Shada asked, her voice sounding stunned.
“No, no, of course not,” Car’das assured her. “I merely moved it in here from the cooking area. One of the little tricks the Aing-Tii taught me. The idea is to see the room, and then envision it with the decanter already here—”
He broke off, retrieving his cup and getting to his feet. “I’m sorry. I could go on all day about the Aing-Tii and the Force; but you’re both tired, and I’m neglecting my duties as host. Let me show you to your rooms and let you relax for a while while I see about a meal.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Karrde said, standing up and shaking the drops of spice drink off his fingers. “But I’m afraid we have to leave. If you can’t provide us with the Caamas Document, we need to start back to New Republic space right away.”
“I understand your commitments and obligations, Talon,” Car’das said. “But you can certainly afford to take one night just to relax.”
“I wish we could,” Karrde said, trying not to sound too impatient. “I really do. But—”
“Besides, if you leave now, it’ll actually take you much longer to get home,” Car’das added. “I’ve spoken to the Aing-Tii, and they’ve agreed to send a ship tomorrow to carry the Wild Karrde anywhere you want to go.”
“And how does that gain us anything?” Shada asked.
“It gains you because their star drive is considerably different from ours,” Car’das told her. “As you may have noticed from the battle. Instead of using the usual hyperspace travel, their ships are able to make an instantaneous jump to whatever point they wish to go to.”
Karrde looked at Shada. “You were on the spotter scopes,” he said. “Was that what they were doing?”
She shrugged. “It’s as good an explanation as any,” she conceded. “I know H’sishi scrubbed the data and she couldn’t figure out what had happened, either.” She looked suspiciously at Car’das. “So why can’t they do this for us now?”
“Because I told them you wouldn’t need the ship until morning,” Car’das said with a smile. “Come now, indulge an old man’s desire for company, won’t you? I’m sure your crew could use a good night’s rest, too, after all they’ve been through on this trip.”
Karrde shook his head in defeat. “Still a master manipulator, aren’t you, Jorj?”
The smile widened. “A man can change only so much,” he said genially. “And while they’re freshening up,” he added, shifting his eyes to Threepio, “you can come help me cook while we have our talk.”
“Certainly, sir,” Threepio said brightly. “Do you know, I have become quite a fair chef during my service to Princess Leia and her family.”
“Wonderful,” Car’das said. “Perhaps you can teach me some of your culinary expertise. Why don’t you call your ship, Talon, and tell them to settle down until morning. And then I’ll show you and the lady to your rooms.”
CHAPTER
32
The starlines collapsed down into stars; and gazing out the Falcon’s viewport, Leia inhaled sharply.
“Councilor?” Elegos asked, frowning at her from the copilot’s seat.
Leia pointed out at the planet Bothawui directly ahead. The planet, and the vast armada of warships swarming around it. “It’s worse than I thought it would be,” she said in a low voice. “Look at them all.”
“Yes,” Elegos said softly. “Ironic, isn’t it? All those mighty ships of war, preparing to fight and kill and die. Widespread carnage arising from their deep respect for the Caamasi Remnant.”
Leia looked across the cockpit at him. There was a profound sadness in his face as he stared out at the ships, a sadness tinged with an almost bitter acceptance of the inevitable. “You’ve tried to talk to them,” she reminded him. “You and the other Trustants. I’m afraid they’re beyond listening to reason.”
“Reason and calm are always the first casualties of such confrontations.” Elegos gestured toward the gathered warships. “All that’s left is the thirst for vengeance and the righting of perceived wrongs. Whether those wrongs exist at all, or whether the object of the vengeance is responsible for them.”
He craned his neck. “Tell me, can we see the comet from here?”
“Comet?” Leia asked, glancing down at her midrange display. There was a comet there, all right, below and to portside, blocked by the Falcon’s main hull. Rolling the ship a few degrees, she brought it up around and into view.
“Yes—there it is,” Elegos said. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Leia agreed. It wasn’t as big as some comets she’d seen, nor was its tail much more than average. But its proximity to the planet more than made up for its modest size. Still on its way inward toward its loop around the sun, it had apparently just passed through Bothawui’s orbit.
“We rarely saw comets from Caamas,” Elegos said, his voice sounding distant. “There were few in our system, and none that came nearly so close to our world as these planet-skimmers do. There are, what, twenty of them in this group?”
“Something like that,” Leia said. “I remember hearing once that whole branches of Bothan folklore had grown up around them.”
“Most identifying them as omens of momentous or terrifying occurrences, no doubt,” Elegos said.
“Having something like that blaze past overhead barely half a million kilometers away would tend to make you worry,” Leia agreed. “Especially with them coming by once or twice a year.” She grimaced. “Of course, with Bothan back-stab politics the way they are, momentous and terrifying events probably had a hard time keeping up with the comets.”
“I imagine so,” Elegos said. “I pity them, Councilor. I really do. For all the strength and mental agility they claim their political techniques provide to their species, I see them as an essentially unhappy people. Their whole outlook on life breeds mistrust; and without trust, there can be no genuine peace. Neither in politics, nor in the quiet individuality of the heart and spirit.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it quite that way before,” Leia said, rotating the Falcon back to its original attitude and putting the comet again out of sight. “Did your people try to enlighten them to all that?”
“I’m sure some of us did,” Elegos said. “But I don’t think Bothan resentment toward us was the reason they sabotaged our shields, if that’s what you w
ere wondering.”
Leia felt her face flush. “You sure you don’t have any Force sensitivity?”
He smiled. “None at all,” he assured her. “But the Caamasi Remnant has thought long and hard about this puzzle ever since our world’s destruction.”
He gave a full-body shrug. “My own belief is that while the saboteurs were probably threatened or blackmailed into their action by Palpatine or his agents, there was something more personal involved. Some dark secret those particular Bothans held that they feared the Caamasi knew and might someday reveal.”
“But you don’t know what that secret might be?”
Elegos shook his head. “I don’t. Others of the Remnant might have learned that memory, but if so are probably unaware of its significance.”
Leia frowned. “Learned the memory?”
“There are certain unique qualities to Caamasi memories,” he told her. “Someday, perhaps, I’ll tell you about them.”
“Councilor?” Sakhisakh’s voice cut in sharply over the intercom. “Trouble ahead: twelve degrees by four.”
Leia looked out that direction. An Ishori war cruiser on the near edge of the swarm of ships seemed to be drifting toward a pair of much smaller Sif’krie skiffs. “Looks like he’s trying to get into a lower orbit,” she said.
“Unfortunately, that particular space is already occupied,” Elegos pointed out.
“Yes,” Leia agreed, frowning. Odd; despite the hopeless mismatch in size and firepower, the skiffs were nevertheless holding their ground …
And suddenly she saw why. Coming up fast on the skiffs’ far side were a pair of Diamalan blockade carriers.
Elegos saw them, too. “I believe,” he said, “someone has decided to force the issue.”
Leia glanced across the rest of the gathered ships. Others were starting to react to the imminent confrontation, starting to drift out of their confining orbital slots or opening fighter bay doors or rotating so as to better target the nearest of the opposition.