by James Luceno
To her horror, Starstone realized she was suddenly alone with Vader, who immediately signaled his stormtroopers to leave her to him, and to devote themselves to slaughtering the few Wookiees who remained on the tier.
“Now you, Padawan,” he said, as he began to circle her.
Calling on the Force, Starstone fell on him in a fury, striking wildly and repeatedly, and with anger. Moments into her attack she understood that Vader was merely allowing her to vent, as the Temple’s swordmaster had often done with students, allowing them to believe that they were driving him back, when in fact he was simply encouraging them to wear themselves out before disarming them in one rapid motion.
So she retreated, altering her strategy and calming herself.
Vader is so tall, so imposing … But perhaps I can get under or inside his guard as Master Chatak did—
“Your thoughts give you away, Padawan,” he said in a flash. “You mustn’t take the time to think. You must act on impulse. Instead of repressing your anger, call on it! Make use of it to defeat me.”
Starstone feigned an attack, then sidestepped and slashed at him.
Shifting to a one-handed hold on his lightsaber, he parried her blade and lunged forward. She snapped aside in the nick of time, but he kept coming at her, answering her increasingly frantic strikes with harsher ones and driving her inexorably toward the rim of the balcony.
He flicked his blade, precisely, economically, forcing her back and back …
She felt as if she were fighting a droid, although a droid programmed to counter all her best stratagems. Ducking out from under a broad sweep of the crimson blade, she somersaulted to safety.
But only for a moment.
“You’re skittish, Padawan.”
Sweat dripped into her eyes. She tried to center herself in the Force. At the same time she was vaguely aware of a new sound in the air, cutting through the chaos of the battle below. And just then a familiar ship slammed down on the tier alongside the crippled shuttle, two equally familiar figures leaping from the hatch even while the ship was still in motion.
At once, and seemingly of its own accord, the blood-smeared hilt of Master Forte’s lightsaber shot from the balcony floor, whizzing past Vader’s masked face to snap into the hand of one of the figures and ignite. A gurgled sound issued from somewhere close to the newly arrived ship and something metallic hit the floor and began to roll forward.
His black cloak unfurling, Vader spun around to find the helmeted head of Commander Appo coming to a rocky rest at his feet.
A few meters away Roan Shryne stood with his legs spread to shoulder width, Forte’s blue blade angled high and to one side. Alongside him, blasters in both six-fingered hands, Archyr was dropping every stormtrooper who approached.
“Get away from him!” Shryne yelled at Starstone.
She gaped at him. “How did you—”
“Filli was keeping us updated. Now move away—hurry!”
Vader made no effort to prevent her from slinking past him. “Very touching, Shryne,” he said after a moment. “Treating her like your personal learner.”
Shryne gestured broadly. “Olee, get the wounded into the drop ship!” Advancing on Vader, he said: “I’m the one you want, Vader. So here’s your chance. Me for them.”
“Shryne, no—” Starstone started.
“Take the wounded!” he cut her off. “Jula’s waiting.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“I’ll catch up with you when I’m done with him.”
Vader looked from Shryne to Starstone. “Listen to your Master, Padawan. He has already lost two learners. I’m certain he doesn’t want to lose a third.”
Coming back to herself, Starstone hurried to help Lambe, Klossi, Nam, and some of the Wookiees get aboard the drop ship. Determined to quiet her fears for Shryne, she forced herself not to look at him, but she could feel him reaching out to her.
He is a Jedi again.
With gunships circling Kachirho like insects spilled from an aggravated nest, Skeck powered the drop ship over the edge of the balcony and dived for the beleaguered landing platform. Airbursts from Imperial artillery crawlers raked and scorched the ship, inside which Starstone sat slumped on her knees with her arm around Klossi Anno, who was going in and out of consciousness, the wound on her back like a blackened trench. Across the cramped passenger bay Lambe and Nam, white-faced with fear, were nursing their amputated limbs and calling on the Force to keep from going into shock.
Wookiees huddled, braying in anger or whimpering in pain. Two of those Starstone and Archyr had helped carry aboard were dead.
Who was Vader? she asked herself. What was he?
She looked again at Klossi’s wound, then at the one in her upper arm she hadn’t even felt herself sustain. Vader’s way of marking them with a Sith brand.
Could even Shryne defeat him?
“Hold tight!” Archyr yelled from the drop ship’s copilot’s seat. “This’ll be one to remember!”
Skeck was taking the ship in fast. While the impaired repulsors were managing to keep it airborne, the ship was tipped acutely to one side. As a result, the wing on that side made first contact with the platform, gouging a ragged furrow in the wooden surface and whipping the ship into a spin that sent it crashing into a parked ferry in even sorrier condition.
Starstone’s head slammed against the bulkhead with such force that she saw stars. Setting Klossi down gently, she checked on Lambe and Nam. Then she stumbled through the drop ship hatch, with Archyr trailing while Skeck remained at the controls.
Daylight was fading and the air was filled with the smoke and grit of battle.
The sky wailed with ships and pulsed with strobing explosions. Wookiees and other beings were running every which way across the landing platform. Elsewhere, bands of Wookiees, including some of those the Jedi had met, were carrying the wounded to shelter. Many of the traders’ ships had lifted off, but just as many had been savaged by gunship fire or were buried under debris that had fallen from Kachirho’s uppermost limbs and branches.
Principal fighting had moved east of the platform, closer to the lake. There, several crashed gunships were in flames, and the ground was piled high with the bodies of dead Wookiees and clone troopers. Imperial forces were storming the tree-city from all sides, even from the far shore of the lake, arriving on swamp-speeders and other watercraft. Searing hyphens of blasterfire were streaming from fortified positions high up the trunk, but what with the circling gunships and mobile artillery, the Wookiees were slowly being driven toward the ground.
Her head swimming, Starstone steadied herself against the drop ship’s tipped fin.
Out of billowing smoke came Filli, running in a crouch and leading Deran Nalual by her left hand. Converging on Starstone from another direction appeared Cudgel and a dozen or so Wookiees, Chewbacca among them, some of them limping, some with blood-matted fur.
“Where are the others?” Filli asked her, loud enough to be heard above the maelstrom of smoke and fire.
She motioned to the drop ship. “Skeck, Lambe, Nam, and Klossi are inside.”
“Forte?” Filli said. “Kulka …?”
“Dead.”
Deran Nalual hung her head and clutched on to Filli’s arm.
“Shryne?”
Wide-eyed she gazed up at the balcony, as if just recalling him. “Up there.”
Filli’s eyes remained on her. “The Drunk Dancer’s upside. You ready to leave?”
She stared at him. “Leave?”
He nodded. “Try to, anyway.”
She looked around in naked dread. “We can’t leave them to this! We brought this on!”
Filli firmed his lips. “What happened to your idea of perpetuating the Jedi order?” He reached for her hands, but she backed away. “If you want to die a hero here, then I’ll stay and die with you,” he said flatly. “But only if I’m convinced that you know our deaths aren’t going to affect the outcome.”
“Filli’
s right,” Archyr said from behind her, shouting to be heard. “Punish yourself later, Olee. If we’re gonna survive this, the sooner we’re airborne, the better.”
Starstone swept her eyes over the ruined landing platform. “We take as many as we can with us.”
Overhearing her, Cudgel began gesticulating to the Wookiees with whom he had arrived. “Chewbacca, pack the drop ship and the transport! Get everyone you can inside.”
Others heard her, as well, and it wasn’t long before dozens of Wookiees began to press forward. Shortly the area was crowded with more Wookiees and traders than the two ships could possibly accommodate. But in the midst of the mad crush for space aboard the craft, Imperial gunships abruptly began to break off their attack on Kachirho.
The reason for the sudden withdrawal was soon made clear, as colossal turbolaser beams lanced from the sky, scorching areas of the surrounding forests into which thousands of Wookiees had fled. With great booming sounds, giant limbs broke from the wroshyrs, and hot wind and flames swept over the landing platform, setting fire to nearly everything flammable.
With explosive sounds rumbling, Wookiees ran screaming from the forest, fur singed, blackened, or ablaze.
It took Starstone a moment to realize that she was flat on her back on the landing platform. Picking herself up, hair blowing in a hot, foul-smelling wind, she struggled to her feet in time to hear Cudgel say: “Orbital barrage—”
The rest of his words were subsumed in a thunderous noise that commenced in the upper reaches of Kachirho as dozens of huge limbs fractured and fell, plummeting into the lake and flattening acres of shoreline vegetation.
Suddenly Archyr was tapping her on the shoulder.
“Olee, we’re as full as we can be and still be able to lift off.”
She nodded by rote.
Filli turned and started back toward the transport, only to stop, swing around, and show her an alarmed look. “Wait! Who’s going to fly that thing?”
She gaped at him. “I thought—”
“I’m no pilot! What about Lambe or Nam?”
She shook her head back and forth. “They’re in no shape.” Scanning everyone, her gaze fell on Cudgel. “Can you pilot the transport?”
He gestured to himself in incredulity. “Sure. Providing you don’t care about being shot out of the air as soon as we launch.”
Her dread mounted, the rush of blood pounding in her ears. I can’t leave everyone here! All at once Cudgel was calling to her and motioning Chewbacca forward.
“Chewbacca can pilot the transport!”
She shot the Wookiee a dubious glance, then looked to Cudgel for assurance. “Can he even fit?”
Chewbacca barked and brayed to Cudgel.
“He’ll do the piloting in return for your allowing him to take the transport back down the well to Rwookrrorro,” Cudgel explained. “His home village. He has family there.”
Starstone was already nodding. “Of course he can.”
“Everyone on board,” Archyr yelled. “Seal ’em up!” Swinging to Starstone, he said: “Which one are you going up in?”
She shook her head. “I’m not. I’m waiting here for Shryne.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” he said.
“Archyr, you saw Vader!”
“And so did Roan.”
“But—”
“We’ll try to grab him on the way up.” Archyr gestured to the transport. “Now get aboard, and tell Chewbacca to stick close. Skeck and I will provide cover fire.”
I was rather fond of Commander Appo,” Vader said, toeing the amputated head of the clone officer out of his path as he moved closer to Shryne.
Shryne tightened his grip on the hilt of Forte’s lightsaber and sidestepped cautiously to the left, forcing Vader to adjust his course. “I felt the same about Bol Chatak.”
“Tell me, Shryne, are you the trap the others hoped to spring on me?”
Shryne continued to circle Vader. “I wasn’t even part of their plan. In fact, I tried to talk them out of doing something like this.”
“But in the end you just couldn’t stay away. Even if it meant abandoning what might have been a lucrative career as a smuggler.”
“Losing Senator Fang Zar was a blow to our reputation. I figured I’d better eliminate the competition.”
“Yes,” Vader said, raising his blade somewhat, “I am your worst rival.”
Lightsaber grasped in both hands, Vader took a single forward step and performed a lightning-fast underhand sweep that almost knocked Forte’s lightsaber from Shryne’s grip. Spinning, Shryne regained his balance and raced forward, feinting a diagonal slash from the left, then twisting the blade around to the right and surging forward. The blade might have gotten past Vader’s guard, but instead it glanced off the back of his upraised left hand, smoke curling from the black glove. Shryne countered quickly with an upsweep to Vader’s neck, but Vader spun to the right, his blade held straight out in front of him as he completed a circle, nearly cutting Shryne in half.
Folding himself at the waist, Shryne skittered backward, parrying a rapid series of curt but powerful slashes. Backflipping out of range, he twisted his body to the right, set the blade over his right shoulder, and rushed forward, hammering away. Vader deflected the blows without altering his stance or giving ground, but in the process left his lower trunk and legs unprotected.
In a blink Shryne dropped into a crouch and pivoted through a turn.
For an instant it seemed that the blade was going to pass clear through Vader’s knees, but Vader leapt high, half twisting in midair and coming down behind Shryne. Shryne rolled as Vader’s crimson shaft struck the floor at the spot he had just vacated. Scrambling to his feet, Shryne hurled himself forward, catching Vader in the right forearm.
Snarling, Vader took his left hand from the lightsaber hilt to dampen sparking at the site of what should have been a wound.
Astonishment eclipsed Shryne’s follow-up attack.
“I know you don’t have a heart,” he said, taking stalking steps, “but I didn’t realize that you’re all droid.”
Vader may have been about to reply when packets of blinding light speared through the balcony, opening holes ten meters across. The great wroshyr shook as if struck by the full force of a lightning storm, and branches and leaves rained down on what was left of the deck. With a loud splitting sound, a large section of the rim broke away, taking Vader’s shuttle with it.
“There goes your ride home,” Shryne said when he could. “Guess you’re stuck here with me.”
Vader was a good distance away, one hand and one knee pressed to the floor, his blade angled away from him. Slowly he stood to his full height, leaves falling around him, black cloak flapping in the downdrafts. Then, with determined strides, he advanced on Shryne, sweeping his blade from side to side.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Shryne took a quick look around.
With most of the tier behind him blown away, and gaping holes elsewhere, he began to back toward the hollowed trunk of the tree.
“Almost seems like your own people are trying to kill you, Vader,” he said. “Maybe they don’t like the idea of a Sith influencing the Emperor.”
Vader continued his resolute march. “Trust me, Shryne, the Emperor couldn’t be more pleased.”
Shryne cast a quick glance over his shoulder. They were entering an enormous interior space of wooden ramps, walkways, bridges, and concourses. “He doesn’t have enough experience with your kind.”
“And you do?”
“Enough to know that you’ll turn on him eventually.”
Vader loosed what could have been a laugh. “What makes you think the Emperor won’t turn on me first?”
“Like he turned on the Jedi,” Shryne said. “Although I suspect that was mostly your doing.”
Five meters away, Vader stopped short. “Mine?”
“You convinced him that with you by his side, he could get away with just about anything.”
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Again, Vader’s exhalation approximated a laugh. “It’s thinking like that that blinded the Jedi to their fate.” He raised his sword. “Now it’s time for you to join them.”
Vader closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, slashing left and right with potent vertical strokes, narrowly missing Shryne time and again, but destroying everything touched by the blade. No whirling now; no windmilling or deft lunges. He simply used his bulk and size to remain wedded to the floor. It was an old style, the very opposite of what was said to have been Dooku’s style, and Shryne had no defense against it.
If I could see his face, his eyes, Shryne found time to think.
If he could knock that outsize helmet from Vader’s head.
If he could lance his lightsaber through the control panel on Vader’s chest—
That was the key! That was the reason for Vader’s antique style—to protect his center, as Grievous had been forced to do.
If he could only get to that control panel …
The two craft lifted off into smoke and withering night, spiraling up through resuming enemy fire toward Kachirho’s midlevel balconies. In the transport’s cramped cockpit with Cudgel, Filli, and Chewbacca—wedged into his seat, his head grazing the ceiling—Starstone clenched her white-knuckled hands on the shaking arms of the acceleration chair.
She couldn’t bring herself to lift her gaze to the viewports, for fear of what sights might greet her.
As if reading her mind, Cudgel said: “You can’t save an entire planet, kid. And it’s not like you didn’t try.”
Chewbacca reinforced the remark with a gutsy bass rumble, repeatedly slamming his huge hands down on the transport’s control yoke for emphasis.
“The Wookiees knew that their days of freedom were numbered,” Cudgel translated. “Kashyyyk will only be the first nonhuman world to be enslaved.”
Chewbacca threw the weary transport through a sudden evasive turn, nearly spilling everyone from their chairs. Through the viewport, Starstone caught a glimpse of Vader’s black shuttle, tumbling toward the ground. Firewalling the throttle, Chewbacca clawed for altitude, barely escaping the flames of the crashed shuttle’s mushrooming fireball.