Star Wars: The Jedi Academy Trilogy I: Jedi Search

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Doole’s hissing laugh was swallowed by background noise. He reached up to lay a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “We think alike, Mr. Tymmo. Who cares what happens after we’re space dust? I’d rather squeeze Kessel dry while I’ve got it in my fist.”

  “You seem to have such an enormous operation. Why are you still running it solo?” Lando asked.

  Doole flinched at the term “solo,” and Luke knew Lando had chosen his word carefully; both of them caught the Rybet’s reaction. “What do you mean?” Doole asked.

  “Well, when the Imperial confiscation of spice ended, I would have thought you’d open all your markets, get a thousand representatives to spread the product. Jabba the Hutt is dead. Why didn’t you link up with the unified smugglers under Talon Karrde and Mara Jade? That must have hurt your profits.”

  Doole pointed one gummy-ended finger at Lando. “Our profits are growing enormously, now that we get all the glitterstim, rather than just what we can steal from under Imperial noses. And after being so long under the yoke of the Empire, I didn’t want to get into the same position with the New Republic. Everybody knows that Jade and Karrde are just puppets.”

  Seeing Lando’s skepticism, Doole waved his hands. “Oh, but we are considering it, of course. In fact, I’ve already spoken with a minister from the New Republic, opening up a line of communication that may eventually lead to an alliance.”

  “Sounds like good news,” Lando said in a noncommittal voice.

  Doole led them back along the catwalk to the access doorway, where Artoo waited. Shutting the heavy door behind them, Doole paused a moment for their ears to adjust to the sudden silence. “As you can see, a great deal is changing around here. You, my friend, have chosen a good time to join in.”

  “If I decide to invest,” Lando said firmly.

  “Yes, yes, if you decide to invest. The truth is, this could be even more important, Mr. Tymmo. Since the death of Skynxnex, I’ll be needing a new, er, assistant for running the spice mines.”

  Lando fluffed the cape behind him in a self-important gesture. “If I’m investing half a million credits, Doole, I’d expect to be more of a partner than an assistant.”

  Doole practically kowtowed. “Of course. Trivial details can be worked out. I’ll also need a new shift boss. Maybe your companion here would be interested in the work?” He looked at Luke, squinting with his egg-white eye.

  Luke met the Rybet’s mechanical eye and stared into the focus-changing lenses, trying to pry some secrets from Doole’s brain. Luke said, “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Doole ignored him, focusing his attention back on Lando. “Now then, you’ve seen practically everything. Is there anything else I can show you?”

  Lando looked to Luke, who pondered a moment. Thoughts of the jagged moon and its security base kept troubling him. If Han was not on Kessel itself, perhaps he was imprisoned on the moonbase.

  “Aren’t you worried about attack from remnants of the Empire?” Luke asked. “Or consolidation forces from the New Republic?”

  Doole brushed aside the comment. “We have our own defenses. Don’t worry.”

  But Luke persisted, trying to sound like a cautious business associate. “If we’re going to invest, we should see these alleged defenses. We know about the energy shield left by the Imperial Correction Facility. But do you have a fleet of any sort?”

  Doole began to sputter, but Lando took charge. “Moruth, if there’s something you don’t want us to see …”

  “No, no, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll just have to arrange a shuttle up to the moonbase. I don’t want you to think we have anything to hide!”

  Doole bustled off to arrange for the shuttle, leaving Luke and Lando to exchange skeptical glances.

  Lando did not like the idea of leaving the Lady Luck behind on the landing pad of the Imperial Correction Facility, but Doole continued to play the gracious host. Luke silently tried to console him as they lifted off in the short-range shuttle, but Lando kept looking out the small window as if he would never see his ship again.

  Kessel’s moon approached, looking like a hollowed sphere with most of the rock scooped out to house a large internal hangar and the enormous generators and transmitters that created the protective energy shield surrounding the planet.

  After they landed, Moruth Doole strutted out of the shuttle, gesturing them to follow with an impatience that made Luke curious. Doole stood waiting for them as Artoo worked his way down the ramp and into the giant grotto. Behind a transparent atmosphere-containment screen, Luke could see stars and the trailing wisps of gas looping around the black hole cluster.

  Doole seemed prouder of his defensive fleet than he was of any other aspect of the Kessel operations. “Follow me.”

  He waddled across the rock floor of the hangar bay, leading them along rows and rows of fighter craft arranged in seemingly random order. They passed ships Luke found familiar and others so exotic he could not even identify them. He called on his knowledge as a fighter pilot to assess the fleet: X-wings, Y-wings, powerful Corellian Corvettes, a single B-wing, TIE fighters, TIE interceptors, four TIE bombers, several Skipray blastboats, gamma-class assault shuttles. In space, like prizes around the ragged opening of the moon, hovered larger attack ships—three Carrack cruisers, two big Lancer frigates, a single Loronar strike cruiser.

  “After we drove out the Empire,” Doole said, “I placed the highest priority on a defensive fleet. I bought every fighter I could find, no matter what its condition, and hired experienced mechanics from the Corellian sector of Nar Shaddaa.”

  He grinned with his amphibian lips. “We just got the energy shield operational again two days ago. I can heave a big sigh of relief now. With the shields finally up and our new fleet as a backup, Kessel is safe and independent. We can set glitterstim prices across the galaxy without interference from anybody.”

  “Sure is a lot of ships,” Lando agreed. “I’m impressed.”

  Luke recalled how much trouble the New Republic had obtaining sufficient fighting ships during Admiral Thrawn’s guerrilla campaigns. If Moruth Doole had been pulling all the strings he could to obtain every functional ship in the sector, no wonder supplies had been so limited.

  “We should be able to defend against spice pirates, don’t you think?” Doole said.

  They kept walking along the rows of parked ships. Suddenly Lando froze, and Luke felt a surge of shocked emotion from him. Artoo began chittering wildly. Luke looked around until he saw one modified light freighter of Corellian manufacture—a ship that looked decidedly familiar.

  “What is it?” Doole asked, looking down at the droid.

  Lando took a moment to regain his composure. He rapped his knuckles on Artoo’s top dome. “Stray cosmic ray, I suppose. Occasionally these old astromech units frazzle a circuit.” He swallowed. “Could I speak with my assistant for a moment in private, Moruth?”

  “Oh, uh, of course.” Doole discreetly backed away. “I’ll go make sure the mechanics are prepping the shuttle for our return to Kessel.” He turned to Luke and forced humor into his tone. “Now, don’t go talking your boss out of making an investment here!”

  The moment Doole moved out of earshot, Lando nodded excitedly to the freighter. “That’s the Falcon, Luke! I know her like a krabbex knows its shell!”

  Luke looked at the ship, recognizing it himself but wanting more proof. “You positive?”

  “It’s the Falcon, Luke. I owned her, remember, before Han stole her from me in a sabacc game. If you look, you can see the streaking scar on top where I knocked off the subspace antenna dish trying to zip away from the Death Star.”

  Luke also noticed scorch marks from a recent space combat. “They could have changed the markings, wiped the memory core. Is there any other way we can prove it?”

  “Just get me inside the cockpit. Han’s made some modifications to the ship nobody else would know about.”

  When Doole returned, Lando said, “My assistant wants to be sure you�
��ve been doing thorough maintenance on these ships. If you’re not taking care of them, they don’t make much of a defensive fleet. Let’s take a look inside one at random … say, that Corellian ship over there.”

  Doole seemed taken by surprise, glancing at the Falcon. “That one? Uh, we have plenty of top-notch fighters you can check out. That one is something of a … piece of junk.”

  Lando waggled his finger. “If you choose the ship for us, Moruth, that contradicts the whole point of a random inspection, doesn’t it? Open this one up. Go on.”

  Reluctantly, Doole worked the external controls that dropped the Falcon’s ramp. Lando took the lead, followed by Luke, while Artoo puttered so closely behind Doole that he nearly ran over the Rybet’s heels.

  Inside, Lando strode to the cockpit, ostensibly to check out the systems. Running his fingers lovingly over the stained, worn surfaces, he flicked a few switches. “Ion-flux stabilizer checks out as optimal, so does the stasis-field generator. Should we go back and check out the power converter? Those things are notorious for breaking down in Corellian freighters.”

  Lando backed down the narrow corridor leading from the cockpit to the central living section of the ship. Turning left toward the entry ramp, he stepped carefully on the main deck plates. From the control panels he had unlatched the hidden locks, and when he stomped on the appropriate plates with his boot heel, they popped up, revealing the seven secret compartments Han had personally installed as spice-smuggling bins beneath the floor.

  “Caught you, Doole, you bastard!” Lando grabbed him by the yellow cravat at his throat. “What have you done with Han and Chewbacca?”

  Doole seemed completely astonished, flailing his splayed hands in the air. “What are you talking about?” he croaked. As Lando glared down into the Rybet’s huge eyes, Doole slipped one of his hands into his waistcoat and yanked free a small “hold-out” blaster pistol. Luke saw it and reacted instantly, shoving with his mind and using the Force to hurl Moruth Doole away from Lando.

  The blaster went off, sending a deadly beam ricocheting around the Falcon’s corridor. Doole fell backward, then scrambled to his feet. He fired at them again, but his mechanical eye had no time to focus, and the beam went wide. Doole dove down the ramp, bellowing for the guards. His mechanical eye fell off, clanging and rolling across the floor. He scrambled after it in a panic, feeling blindly with his hands.

  Luke smacked the door controls, raising the ramp and sealing the hatch, “We should have kept him as a hostage,” he said. “Now it’s going to be a lot more difficult to get out of here.”

  Outside, Doole raised the alarm. Guards scrambled through the parked ships, drawing blasters, fastening their armor.

  “Artoo, get to the computer!” Luke said.

  Lando jumped into the chair behind the controls. “I doubt we can do anything for Han anymore. We need to get back and tell Leia. She can bring a full-scale occupation force to Kessel. We’ll go over this place with a high-res scanner.”

  “If we get out of here alive,” Luke said.

  “Artoo,” Lando called, “jack into the copilot’s computer and tie into the hangar controls.” The astromech droid chittered his willingness to help and rolled toward the navicomp console.

  Outside in the hangar, security horns sounded. People ran around every which direction, not knowing where to go. Luke saw immediately that these mercenaries had far less experience working together than the sloppiest Imperial regiment. But the moment Lando lifted the ship off the landing-pad floor, everyone had an unmistakable target.

  “Artoo, get that door field down!” Lando shouted.

  Using maneuvering thrusters, he edged the ship forward, picking up speed as they rose over the other parked fighters. Pilots scrambled into their ships, ready for a space battle. In orbit around the moon, the capital ships did not yet seem aware of the situation.

  Lando accelerated toward the wide hangar opening to space. They could not see the invisible shield. Artoo bleeped and whistled, but the sounds were not positive. “Get the shield down!” Lando insisted.

  Artoo’s interface jack whirred as he worked with the hangar bay’s computer, trying to skirt the password controls.

  “We need the shield down now, Artoo!” Luke said.

  The Falcon’s rear thrusters kicked in and they lurched forward, gaining speed. “Come on,” Lando said to the ship. “You can do it. Do it one last time for Han.”

  Artoo bleeped in triumph a moment before they shot through the opening. Luke flinched, but the shield dropped just in time.

  Alert lights began to wink on in the big battleships riding in orbit. Weapons systems warmed up, targeting modules locked on to aimpoints.

  The Millennium Falcon soared into open space as, behind them, the Kessel forces scrambled in pursuit.

  23

  Hunched in his dark robes, Tol Sivron came to visit Qwi Xux in her research room. He drew in a long, hissing breath, and his head-tails twitched with uneasiness as he stared at her setup. The Twi’lek administrator gave the impression of never having set foot inside an actual laboratory before—which seemed odd to Qwi, since he was in charge of the entire installation.

  Qwi stopped her musical calculation with an atonal squawk. “Director Sivron! What can I do for you?”

  Tol Sivron demanded regular written reports, feasibility studies, and progress summaries; he hosted a weekly meeting among the scientists to share their ideas and their work in a frank and stimulating exchange.

  But Tol Sivron did not make a habit of visiting.

  He shuffled around the room, poking at things, kneading his knuckles, and looking at the standard equipment as if deeply interested. He brushed his clawed fingertips over the calibration gauge of a weld-stress analyzer, muttering, “Mmm hmmm, good work!” as if Qwi herself had invented the common instrument.

  “I just came to commend you for your consistently fine efforts, Dr. Xux.” Sivron stroked one of the vermiform head-tails draped around his neck; then his voice grew stern. “But I hope you are about finished with your endless iterations on the Sun Crusher project. We’re past Grand Moff Tarkin’s target date, you know, and we must move soon. I insist you write your final report and get all the documentation in order. Submit it to my office as soon as possible.”

  Qwi blinked at him in annoyance. She had submitted five separate “final” reports already, but each time Sivron had asked her to rerun a particular simulation or to retest the structural welds in the Sun Crusher’s quantum armor. He never gave any reasons, and Qwi got the impression that he never read the reports anyway. If it had been up to her, the Sun Crusher would have been ready for deployment two years ago. She was getting bored with it, wanting to move on to a new design she could start from scratch and get back to the enjoyable, imaginative work again.

  “You’ll have the report by this evening, Director Sivron!” She would just send a repeat of the last one.

  “Good, good,” Sivron said, stroking his head-tail again. “I just wanted to make sure everything is in order.”

  For what? Qwi thought. We’re not going anywhere. She hated it when the administrators and the military types kept sticking their noses in her work. Without another word Tol Sivron left.

  Qwi stared after him, then activated the rarely used privacy lock on her door. Returning to her imaging terminal, she continued trying to crack the wall of passwords in front of her. She did like challenges, after all.

  Qwi could not stop thinking about what Han Solo had told her. At first it was a new puzzle to solve, but then she finally began paying attention. To her all the prototypes she developed were abstract concepts turned into reality through mathematical music and brilliant intuitions. She kept telling herself that she did not know, or care, what her inventions were used for. She could certainly guess, but she tried not to. She didn’t want to know! She blocked those thoughts before they could surface. But Qwi Xux wasn’t stupid.

  The Death Star was supposed to be used to break apart depleted, d
ead planets to provide access to raw materials deep in the core. Right! Had she thought up that excuse afterward? The World Devastators were supposed to be immense wandering factories taking useless rubble and fabricating scores of valuable industrial components. Right! Tarkin had been with her during the immense pressure of her original training. She knew what the man was capable of.

  And the new Sun Crusher was—“What?” Han had said, raising his voice so that it hurt her fragile ears. “What in all the galaxy could the Sun Crusher be used for other than to completely wipe out all life in systems the Imperials don’t like? You don’t even have a bogus excuse like rubble mining. The Sun Crusher has one purpose only: to bring death to countless innocent people. Nothing more.”

  But Qwi could not possibly have the responsibility for lives on her hands. That wasn’t part of her job. She just drew up blueprints, toyed with designs, solved equations. It exhilarated her to discover something previously considered impossible.

  On the other hand, she was perfectly aware of what she was doing … though feigned naïveté provided such a nice excuse, such a perfect shield against her own conscience.

  In the Maw databanks Qwi had discovered the complete “debriefing” of Han Solo—protected by a password she had easily broken—full video instead of just a transcription. Sivron and Daala had indeed kept much of it from her—but why?

  As Qwi watched the entire torture session, she could not believe her eyes. She had never suspected the information had been taken from him in that manner! The words on paper seemed so cool and cooperative.

  But on a deeper, professional level she was outraged at Admiral Daala. Access to data was supposedly open to all Maw scientists. She had never been denied a single information request in twelve years inside the black hole cluster! But this was even worse. She hadn’t just been denied access to the full report—she had been deceived into thinking Han’s debriefing held no more data.

  But information is meant to be shared! Qwi thought. How can I do my work if I don’t have the pertinent data?