The nebula mining scheme had never paid off. The incompetent entrepreneurs had not counted on the true costs of ramjet ships and the unremarkable composition of the Cauldron’s gases. The outpost on Eol Sha had been left to fend for itself. At about that time the Emperor’s New Order had begun, and the Old Republic had crumbled to pieces. The few survivors on Eol Sha had been forgotten in the chaos.
The outpost had been rediscovered two years ago by a New Republic sociologist who had visited them briefly, recorded his insights, and filed a report recommending immediate evacuation of the doomed colony—all of which was promptly forgotten in the already blossoming bureaucracy of the New Republic and the depredations of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
The item that had attracted Luke’s attention, though, was that a woman named Ta’ania—an illegitimate descendant of a Jedi—had been one of the original colonists on Eol Sha. Luke would have suspected the Jedi’s bloodline had ended there, except for one small detail.
According to the sociologist’s report, the leader of the ragtag colonists, a man named Gantoris, was said to be able to sense impending earthquakes, and he had miraculously survived as a child when his playmates were killed in an avalanche. Somehow Gantoris escaped injury while the others, a mere arm’s length away on either side of him, had been crushed.
Luke attributed many of these stories to exaggeration in retelling, for even someone with a great deal of Jedi potential could not control such things without training—as he himself knew. But still the clues and the circumstantial evidence led him to Eol Sha. He had to follow every lead if he was to find enough candidates for his Jedi training center.
Luke took the modified shuttle on a figure-eight trajectory around the looming moon and vectored in on the remnants of the outpost on Eol Sha. After crossing the terminator where the planet’s night fell into day, Luke looked out the viewport at the scabbed and uninviting surface of the planet.
His hands worked the controls automatically. As he swooped low, he could see the decrepit and shored-up habitation modules that had been battered by natural disasters for decades. In the near distance hardened mounds of lava sprawled around a volcanic cone from old eruptions. Curling smoke rose from the heart of the volcano, and glowing orange smudges showed where fresh lava seeped through cracks in its side.
Luke took the shuttle past the battered settlement and beyond a stretch of cratered, jumbled terrain. The shuttle settled onto the rocky hardpan, and Luke exited through flip-up doors behind the passenger seats.
The air of Eol Sha smoldered in his nostrils, filled with acrid sulfurous smoke and chemical vapors. The gigantic moon hulked on the horizon like a platter of beaten brass, casting its own shadows even in daylight. Murky clouds and volcanic ash hovered in the air like a hazy blanket.
When Luke stepped away from the passenger shuttle, he could feel the ground hum beneath his boots. With senses heightened from the Force, he could touch the incredible strain the close moon placed on Eol Sha, squeezing and tearing it with tidal forces that grew worse each passing year as the moon spiraled closer. A hissing white noise permeated the air, as if the innumerable steam vents and fumaroles breathed out gasps of pain from the world.
Pulling the dark cloak about him and securing the lightsaber at his belt, Luke strode across the rough terrain toward the settlement. Around him small craters and deep pits dotted the ground, encircled by white and tan mineral deposits. Sounds of gurgling steam came from deep beneath them.
Halfway to the settlement Luke fell to his knees when a jolt went through the ground. The rocks bounced and the earth rumbled. Luke spread his arms to keep his balance. The tremors rose, then fell, then increased again before stopping abruptly.
Suddenly, the random craters around him crackled, then belched towers of steam and scalding droplets of water. Geysers, all of them—he had walked into a field of geysers, triggered by the earthquake to erupt simultaneously. Steam rolled over the ground like a dense fog.
Luke pulled the hood over his head for protection and took shallow breaths as he trudged forward. The settlement was not far away. On all sides of him the geyser field continued to gasp and howl, gradually lessening as the spumes declined in intensity.
When Luke finally emerged from the steam, he saw two men staring at him from the doorway of a rusted and ancient prefab shelter. The outpost on Eol Sha had been built from modified cargo containers and modular self-erecting shelters. By the looks of the hovels, though, the maintenance subsystems had failed decades before, leaving the forgotten people to eke out a crude existence. The rest of the settlement seemed deserted and quiet.
The two men stopped their work shoring up a collapsed entranceway, but they didn’t seem to know how to react to the presence of a stranger. Luke was probably the first new person they had seen since the sociologist had visited them two years earlier.
“I have come to speak with Gantoris,” Luke said. They looked at him with bleak expressions. Their clothes appeared worn and patched, sewn together from pieces of other garments. Luke’s gaze held one of the two men. The other shied back into the shadows. “Are you Gantoris?” Luke asked softly.
“No. My name is Warton.” He fumbled for words; then they came out in a rush. “Everyone is gone. There’s been a rock slide in one of the crevasses. It buried two of our youngest, who went out to spear bugdillos. Gantoris and the others are there, trying to dig them out.”
Luke felt a stab of urgency and grasped Warton’s arm. “Take me there. Maybe I can help.”
Warton allowed himself to be nudged into motion, and he took Luke along a winding path through jagged rocks. The second man remained behind among the collapsing shelters. Luke and Warton descended through switchbacks down the steep wall of a crack in the ground, a split wrenched apart by tidal forces. Down here the air seemed thicker, smellier, more claustrophobic.
Warton knew exactly where to find the other survivors in the maze of side channels and partial landslides. Luke saw them shoulder to shoulder in an elbow of the crevasse, scrambling over newly fallen rock, working to haul boulders aside. Every one of the thirty people there wore the same implacable expression, as if their optimism had burned away but they could not allow themselves to give up their duties. Two of the women bent over the rubble, calling into the cracks.
One man worked with twice the effort of the others. His long black hair hung in a braid on the left side of his face. His eyebrows and eyelashes had been plucked away, leaving his broad face smooth and angular and flushed with his exertion. He shoved rocks aside, which the other people hauled away. They had already managed to clear some of the debris, but they had not yet uncovered the two victims. The dark-haired man paused to glance at Luke, failed to recognize him or understand his presence, then returned to his efforts. By the way Warton and the others looked to him, Luke guessed the man must be Gantoris himself.
Before Warton had taken him to the base of the rockfall, Luke stopped and, with a quick glance, took in the positioning of the boulders. He let his arms fall to his sides, rolled his eyes back in concentration, and reached out through the Force, using the strength he found there to feel the boulders, to move them, and to keep other rocks from doing further damage. When Yoda had trained him to lift large stones, it had been merely a game, a training exercise; now two lives depended on it.
He paid no attention to the astonished sounds as the colonists stepped back, ducking out of the way as Luke mentally hurled boulder after boulder from the top of the rock pile, tossing them into other parts of the crevasse. He could feel life down in the shadowy depths, somewhere.
When the rocks began to show splashes of blood, and he exposed a pale arm, part of a shoulder hunched in the secret shadows of the avalanche, several people rushed forward. Luke made an extra effort to keep the unstable pile of rocks steady enough for the rescue operations. He continued to remove fallen boulders.
“She’s alive!” someone shouted, and several helpers rushed into the debris, brushing away stones and hauling fre
e a young girl. Her face and legs were battered and bloody, one arm was obviously broken; she began weeping with pain and relief as the rescuers pulled her out. Luke knew she would be all right.
Near the girl, however, the young boy had not been so lucky. The avalanche had crushed him instantly. The boy had been dead long before Luke arrived.
Luke continued to work grimly, until they had excavated the body. Amid sobs of grief, he released himself from his semitrance and opened his eyes.
Gantoris stood directly in front of him. Barely suppressed anger seethed beneath his controlled expression.
“Why are you here?” Gantoris asked. “Who are you?”
Warton stepped up beside Luke. “I saw him walk out of the geyser field. All the geysers went off at once, and he just strode out of the steam.” Warton blinked in awe as he looked at Luke. “He says he has come for you, Gantoris.”
“Yes—I know,” Gantoris muttered to himself.
Luke met the other man’s eyes. “I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Knight. The Empire has fallen, and a New Republic has taken its place.” He drew a deep breath. “If you are Gantoris and if you have the ability, I have come to teach you how to use the Force.”
Several of the others walked up, bearing the broken, rag-doll body of the dead boy. The man carrying the boy let his stony expression flicker for just an instant.
The look on Gantoris’s face seemed a frightening mixture of horror and eagerness. “I have dreamed of you. A dark man who offers me incredible secrets, then destroys me. I am lost if I go with you.” Gantoris straightened. “You are a demon.”
Surprised, especially after his efforts to save the two children, Luke tried to placate him. “No, that isn’t it.”
Other colonists gathered around the confrontation, finding a focus for their anger and suspicion. They looked at Luke, at this stranger who had arrived in time to usher in the death of one of their dwindling number.
Luke glanced at the people around him and decided to gamble. He stared directly into Gantoris’s eyes. “What can I do to prove my intentions to you? I am your guest, or your prisoner. What I want is your cooperation. Please listen to what I have to say.”
Gantoris reached out to take the body of the boy in his own arms. The man who had been carrying him looked forlorn and lost as he stared at the bloodstains on his sleeves. Gantoris nodded back to Luke. “Take the dark man.”
Several people reached forward to grasp Luke’s arms. He did not struggle.
Bearing the dead boy, Gantoris led a slow procession out of the chasm. He turned once briefly to glare at Luke. “We will learn why you are here.”
6
Leia stood in the private communications chamber, heaving a sigh as she glanced again at the chronometer. The Caridan ambassador was late. He was probably doing it just to spite her.
Out of deference to the ambassador, she had reset her clock to Caridan local time. Though Ambassador Furgan had suggested the transmission time himself, it seemed he couldn’t be bothered to abide by it.
Two-way mirrors displayed empty corridors outside the communications chamber. At this late hour most sensible people were deeply asleep in their own quarters—but no one had ever promised Leia Organa Solo that diplomatic duties kept regular hours.
When such obligations crept into her schedule, Han usually grumbled at being awakened in the depths of the night, complaining that even pirates and smugglers kept their activities to more civilized time slots. But this evening Leia’s alarm had awakened her to empty and silent rooms. Han still had not called.
A cleaning droid puttered along the corridor, polishing the walls and scouring the two-way mirrors; Leia watched its lamprey like scrubbers do their work.
With a burst of static from poorly tuned holonet transmitters, the image of Ambassador Furgan of Carida formed in the center of the receiving dais. Maybe the poor transmission quality was deliberate—yet another rude reaction. The chronometer told Leia that the ambassador had made his transmission a full six minutes past the time he himself had insisted on. Furgan made no attempt to apologize for his tardiness, and Leia studiously avoided calling attention to it.
Furgan was a barrel-chested humanoid with spindly arms and legs. The eyebrows on his squarish face flared upward like birds’ wings. Despite the Emperor’s known prejudice against nonhuman species, apparently the Caridans had been acceptable enough to secure the Emperor’s business, since Palpatine had built his most important Imperial military training center on Carida.
“Princess Leia,” Furgan said, “you needed to discuss certain planning details with me? Please be brief.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest in clearly hostile body language.
Leia tried not to let her exasperation show. “As a matter of protocol I would prefer if you could address me as minister rather than princess. The planet on which I was a princess no longer exists.” Leia worked hard to keep the scowl off her face.
Furgan waved her comment aside as if it were of no consequence. “Very well then, Minister, what did you wish to discuss?”
Leia took a deep breath, quelling the hot temper rising behind her cool expression. “I wanted to inform you that Mon Mothma and the other Cabinet members of the New Republic will be hosting a formal reception in your honor when you reach Coruscant.”
Furgan bristled. “A frivolous reception? Am I supposed to give a warm and glowing speech? Make no mistake, I am coming to Coruscant on a pilgrimage to visit the home of the late Emperor Palpatine—not to be pampered by an upstart, illegitimate band of terrorists. Our loyalty remains with the Empire.”
“Ambassador Furgan, there is no centralized Empire.” It took all her effort not to rise to the bait. Her dark eyes burned with obsidian fires, but she smiled instead at the ambassador. “Nevertheless, we will extend to you every courtesy in the confidence that your planet will find a way to adapt to political reality in the galaxy.”
The Caridan’s holographic image shimmered. “Political realities change,” he said. “It remains to be seen just how long your rebellion will last.”
Furgan’s image fizzled into static as he cut the transmission. Leia sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the headache lurking behind her eyes. She left the communications chamber discouraged.
What a way to end the day.
Deep underground in the Imperial Information Center, all hours looked the same, but See-Threepio’s internal chronometer told him it was the middle of Coruscant’s night. A pair of repair droids worked at dismantling one of the great air-exchange systems that had burned out. The repair droids dropped tools and discarded pieces of metal shielding with reckless abandon, making the echoing chamber sound like a war zone. Threepio much preferred the humming loneliness of the previous day.
Buried in their own universe of data networks, the hunched slicer droids worked undisturbed. Artoo-Detoo slavishly continued his days-long search without pause.
With a loud clatter the repair droids dropped an entire three-bladed fan assembly. “I’m going to give those droids a piece of my mind!” Threepio said.
Before Threepio could march off, Artoo jacked out of the data port and began chittering and whistling. In his excitement the little astromech droid rocked back and forth, bleeping.
“Oh!” Threepio said. “You’d better let me check that, Artoo. It’s probably another one of your false alarms.”
When data scrolled up on the screen, Threepio could see nothing that would have captured Artoo’s interest—until the other droid recompiled the information to emphasize his point. A name popped up beside every entry—TYMMO.
“Oh, my! It does appear suspicious when you look at it that way. This Tymmo person seems a likely candidate indeed.” Threepio straightened, suddenly at a loss. “But Master Luke isn’t here, and he gave us no further instructions. Whom can we tell?”
Artoo bleeped, then whistled a question. Threepio turned to him with offended dignity. “I will not wake Mistress Leia in the middle of the night! I am a p
rotocol droid, and there is a proper way to go about these things.” He nodded in affirmation of his decision. “We will inform her first thing in the morning.”
The levitating breakfast tray brought itself to Leia’s table on the park balcony high in the Imperial towers. The sun gleamed on the city that stretched across the entire landmass of Coruscant. High in the air flying creatures rode the morning thermals.
Leia scowled down at the food the breakfast tray presented to her. None of it looked appetizing, but she knew she had to eat. She selected a small plate of assorted pastries and sent the breakfast tray on its way. Before it departed, the tray told her to have a pleasant day.
She sighed and picked at her breakfast. She felt exhausted mentally as well as physically. She hated to feel so dependent, even on her own husband, but she never slept well while he was away. Han should have arrived on Kessel three days ago, and he was due back in two days. She didn’t want to cling, but it disappointed her that he had not yet transmitted so much as a greeting. With diplomatic duties that kept her busy at all hours, they saw too little of each other even when they were both on the same planet.
Well, the twins would be coming home in another six days. Han and Chewbacca would be back by then, and their entire lifestyle would change. A pair of two-year-olds running around the palace would force Han and Leia to look differently at many of the things they took for granted.
But why hadn’t Han gotten in touch? It shouldn’t have been so difficult to send a holonet communiqué from the Falcon’s cockpit. She wasn’t quite ready yet to admit she was worried about him.
With a greeting signal from the archway of the park balcony, an older-model protocol droid marched into view. “Excuse me, Minister Organa Solo. Someone wishes to see you. Are you accepting visitors?”
Leia set down her breakfast pastry. “Why not?” It was probably some lobbyist wanting to complain to her in private, or a panicked minor functionary who needed her to make a decision on some uninteresting detail, or one of the other senators trying to hand off some of his own duties.
Star Wars: The Jedi Academy Trilogy I: Jedi Search Page 7