Kyle turned, realized the globes were much closer than they had been, and watched them bounce high into the air. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a solution, when the speeder bikes opened fire.
Smaller and therefore faster than the heavily laden skimmer, they split the rock pile between them, turned, and went in opposite directions. One toward the west and one toward the east. The light generated by their energy cannon split the night into geometric shapes and was lost in the distance. The bouncers reacted by turning inward.
"They're clustering together," Grit called out, "so the troopers on the skimmer can slaughter them!"
"Not tonight they won't," Jan said grimly, "not while I'm alive."
The agent took her blast rifle, scrambled up onto an even higher perch, and wrapped the sling around her elbow. Kyle considered trying to stop her and knew it was useless. Jan was going to war in spite of the fact that a fire fight was likely to reveal their presence and threaten an already perilous mission. All for some aliens she hadn't even met. Mon Mothma would never approve. Still, Kyle loved her for it and turned to Grit. "If your people want to even the score, here's their chance. Prisoners are fine . . . but nobody gets away . . . nobody."
Jan wanted to take full advantage of surprise. That meant that each of the first shots had to count. She peered into the scope, led the speeder bike by what she judged to be the right distance, and touched the trigger.
Coherent energy burped outward, the Imperial ran into it, and the bike exploded. Still-flaming debris rained down as the surviving rider fired into the rocks and called for help.
The officer in charge of the patrol, a Lieutenant Aagon, saw the explosion, knew his stormtroopers would be less vulnerable on the ground, and ordered the helmsman to land. The troopers bailed out, Aagon followed, and they ran for the rocks. It was a short sprint and easily done.
The officer knew the Rebs were on the opposite side of the rocks and wanted to keep them there. His helmsman, a sergeant named Forley, and the gunner, a rating named Leeno, were still aboard. Aagon spoke into his comm.
"Take the skimmer around to the other side of the rocks. Pin down the Rebels. We'll attack from behind."
The dead biker had been Forley's best friend. He planned to do more than pin down the Rebs — he planned to kill them. "Sir! Yes, sir!"
Confident of Forley's competence, Aagon led six troopers into the rocky maze. He could have called for reinforcements — but had some good reasons not to.
The first related to the fact that his authorized patrol area lay ten klicks to the south. A nice enough collection of ravines and gullies but not the sort of place the bouncers were likely to go, which meant the hunting was poor.
The second reason had to do with his immediate superior, an ambitious sort who would just as soon take all the credit and let Aagon do all the fighting.
No, the lieutenant decided, we'll kill the Rebels, report the engagement as taking place twelve klicks to the south, and score some points in the next dispatch. Just the thing to fuel his next promotion.
Confident that his plan would work and eager to get on with it, the officer scrambled over a boulder and slipped through a gap. The troopers followed.
The skimmer rounded the rocks and, with support from the remaining bike, opened fire. There were lots of places to hide, so the attack had very little effect. But Forley knew a thing or two and changed his tactics. He ordered Leeno to concentrate his fire on a single boulder. The gunner did so, watched the rock start to glow, and was soon rewarded with an explosion.
Kyle ducked as razor-sharp rock fragments flew in every direction, took one Rebel's arm off, and exploded as they hit the surrounding boulders. The man started to scream then stopped as another piece of shrapnel hit him in the head. Kyle scuttled over to Jan. "Give me a two-minute lead and take them out."
Jan nodded grimly and wasn't the least bit disturbed when Kyle took most of the Rebel force with him. He had led stormtroopers into battle himself, and successfully, too.
A teenage girl had been left to watch Jan's back. The girl's name was Portia. She had dark skin, white teeth, and intelligent eyes. The agent took a potshot at the speeder bike, gestured to the girl, and followed her through the rocks.
Light flashed behind them. The women paused and looked back. Another rock had started to glow, so they ducked behind a ledge. Jan eyed the teenager's weapon. It appeared to be clean and well cared for. The rock exploded, fragments rattled off the surrounding surfaces, and the Rebels ignored them. "So, Portia, are you any good with that thing?"
"One of the best," the teenager answered confidently. "That's what they tell me anyway."
"Good," Jan answered tightly, "because we're about to bet my life on it."
Trooper RW957 was where he liked to be, at the tail end of the column, bringing up the rear. A position where he was less likely to be killed in an ambush, sent forward on some suicidal mission, or accidentally shot in the back. Yes, sir, RW957 thought to himself, you've gotta have a plan if you want to survive, and not just one plan, but a whole lotta plans, that's why ..
The only warning was the whisper of fabric. An arm slid around the trooper's neck, a hand pulled off his helmet, and moonlight reflected off the blade. The stormtrooper thought the word "help" but never had an opportunity to actually say it.
Jan climbed up onto a carefully chosen rock, lit the flare, and waved it in the air. The trooper on the speeder bike took the bait, turned toward the target, and fired his braking jets. "A steady platform makes for an accurate shot . . . " That's what the manual said, and the manual was right.
Portia forced herself to wait until the target was square into her sight, squeezed the trigger just the way you were supposed to, and held it down. The first few bolts were deflected by the dull-white armor, but the fourth managed to scorch it, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh drilled on through. The trooper fell out of his saddle, the bike began to drift, and Jan threw the flare as far as she could.
Aagon heard the rock explosions, saw the flare go off, and wondered what the Rebs were up to. The officer felt for a handhold, found what he was looking for, and pulled himself up. The top of the rock was flat and sloped toward the north. Something moved, and he raised his blaster. That's when a finger poked his shoulder. "I wouldn't do that if I were you ... drop it."
The Imperial was in the process of turning, of trying to kill the man behind him, when he heard something "pop." He blinked as a bar of incandescent light appeared, grew momentarily smaller, and flashed down toward his face. There was time for one last thought, something profound would have been nice, but nothing came. The light was the brightest thing Aagon had ever seen.
The skimmer had fired countless bolts of energy and all to no avail. It hovered as Forley struggled to make a decision — not something the Imperial command structure trained sergeants to do. Both bike riders were dead, and he couldn't raise the lieutenant. The whole thing should be over by now. What to do? Stay? Or run? Neither alternative seemed very attractive. The skimmer made a highly visible target, but running entailed problems of its own. What if Aagon and the rest of the squad were alive? And how would he explain where they'd been? The whole thing was a mess.
Leeno interrupted Forley's thoughts. "Sarge! Behind you!"
Forley turned, realized that a large white globe had drifted to within centimeters of his face, and threw up his hands. The bouncer used its tentacles to grab hold of them, pulled itself in, and enveloped the sergeant's head.
Horrified, Leeno swiveled his weapon toward the stern and opened fire. The bouncer died, but so did Forley; which caused the Imperial to panic. He jumped over the side and ran. The gunner was still running when the bouncers drifted down out of the sky; knocked him to his knees, and pinned him down. Grif, along with a couple of Rebels, arrived two minutes later. Leeno, his mind filled with images of the way Forley had died, continued to scream.
The three sisters had fled the sky, the stars were barely visible, and a jagged pink line marked the eastern
horizon. Hours had passed while the Rebels buried the dead, camouflaged the graves, and loaded weapons and other gear onto the Imperial skimmer. "A nice piece of equipment," Grif said, patting a sturdy flank. "We can use it."
"And the speeder bike," Jan put in, "not to mention the other stuff."
"Some of which may still be out there," Kyle said, remembering how difficult it had been to search in the dark. "I hope the wrong people don't find it."
Grif shrugged. "What are the odds? Besides, we've gotta get out of here before the sun comes up and the search begins."
The words made sense. Kyle turned toward the delegation of bouncers. Their skin fluttered as they leaned into the oncoming breeze and used their tentacles as anchors.
One of the band, an individual Grif referred to as "Floater," had agreed to serve as a guide. He moved among his peers and touched each one of them good-bye.
Their leader, an especially leathery specimen who had met Morgan Katarn during his visit to the planet, watched as Kyle scratched words into the hardpan with a combat knife. "You and your people must hide . . . will you be all right?"
The tentacle felt dry and warm where it touched the agent's hand, slid downward, and took control of the knife. The syntax was strange but understandable. "Blowing wind steady. All right will be."
Kyle accepted the knife and carved a reply. "I am sorry about the death of your friend-mate. Thank you for allowing Floater to help us."
"Sorry are we at the death of your race-person," the bouncer replied. "Floater goes where he must — though death it may bring."
Kyle thought about Jerec, about those who served him, and felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach. He took the knife. "You know what we came to do . . . will we succeed?"
The bouncer blinked. The blade grated on tiny bits of rock as it carved words into the soil. "Everyone knows that a knight shall come, that a battle will be fought, and the prisoners will go free. If not now .. . then someday."
The answer was far from satisfying — and the words echoed long after the wind had erased them.
Chapter 4
Yun had kicked the covers off his bunk. They lay bunched on the deck. His limbs twitched in reaction to the horror of what he was about to do. The rain splashed onto the already saturated ground. A layer of what looked like mist or ectoplasm hovered over the well-churned mud. Twenty men and women knelt before an open grave. They were guilty of something — he couldn't remember what.
A few prisoners had tears streaming down their cheeks, others snarled their defiance, but most bore no expressions at all. They simply stared into the trench and awaited their fates.
Yun hefted the lightsaber over his head, felt it grow heavier, and realized it had been transformed into an old-fashioned sword. The curved blade had a razor-sharp edge. That's when the Jedi remembered that he had dreamed this dream many times before. He struggled to wake himself, was unable to do so, and knew what would happen.
For perhaps the thousandth time, the face of Nij Por Ral, a somewhat portly professor of linguistics looked up at him and begged for mercy. "Please! I beg of you, spare us!"
One aspect of Yun's personality felt no particular animosity toward the man and wanted to grant his request, but another part, the shadow that dwelt within, hungered for status and recognition. Status and recognition that could and would be granted by Jerec and Sariss if he lived up to their expectations.
Gleaming steel began its downward course. Yun regretted the blow even as it fell. Not because of the injury it would cause, but because it was flawed, and everyone would know it. He winced as the blade sank into Por- Ral's shoulder. Metal grated on bone as the linguist bellowed in pain and Yun struggled to pull his weapon free. Finally, having wiggled the sword back and forth, the sword came loose. Sick with shame, the Jedi put an end to the prisoner's anguished screams.
But the horror wasn't over — not by a long shot. Yun moved down the row. His mother, father, and sister knelt before him. They beseeched him with their eyes, but to no avail. He had already cut them down, if not with steel, then with words. But no matter how many times he killed them, they always came back.
The blade rose and fell. Heads rolled, tumbled into the ditch, and were followed by the bodies to which they belonged. The rain, combined with the blood of his victims, had soaked through the Jedi's clothes. He shivered, struggled to raise the sword, and was surprised by its weight. It was heavy; too heavy, as if each life had somehow added to its mass . . .
Light flooded the compartment, and Yun jerked in response. The Jedi rolled off the bed, activated his lightsaber, and rose ready to fight. Boc, who stood in the hatch, laughed mockingly. "What's the matter, boy? A little nervous, are we? Well, pull yourself together. It seems Jerec has need of your scrawny presence."
Yun took a step forward, lightsaber in hand, but the other Jedi laughed. "Save your energy, boy . . . it's my guess you're going to need it."
The already spartan cabin looked even more bare as Jerec placed the last of his meager belongings into the case. While the Jedi had no interest in quanti, he was choosy about the possessions he had and didn't like others to touch them.
There was a knock at the door. The way each person interacted with the Force was unique, and this disturbance was typical of Yun. A promising student — but filled with self-doubt. Ah well, Jerec thought to himself, a bit of seasoning will fix that. "Enter."
Yun entered cautiously, wondered what the older Jedi had in store for him, and hoped the Master was in a good mood. Jerec nodded to acknowledge Yun's presence. "Thank you for coming . . . I need your assistance."
Jerec needed his help! The younger Jedi felt his heart swell to at least twice its normal size. He couldn't wait to tell Sariss. "Yes, my lord, how can I help?"
"Phase two of the survey is now complete. The tower is in the final stages of construction. That being the case, the real work can begin. I leave for the surface in an hour."
Yun nodded. "Yes, my lord."
"Have you studied the survey results?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And the key findings were?"
"A large valley; filled with thousands of Jedi graves, and invested with their power."
"And?"
Yun shrugged. "And satellite caves, some empty, some filled with potentially valuable artifacts."
"Potentially valuable artifacts," Jerec emphasized, closing the valise. "Just the thing to help defray the cost of this fleet — and keep the Imperial nitpickers off my back. Blast, but they're stupid! The entire universe spread before them and they see none of it. Still, they are what they are, and we must accept that. Loot, that's what they want, and loot they shall have. Thanks to you."
Yun felt his heart sink. Loot? Junk was more like it — interesting junk but junk nevertheless. Especially when compared to the main chamber and the unimaginable power available there. But thinking such thoughts and expressing them were two different things. Yun swallowed his disappointment. "Yes, my lord. How should I proceed?"
Jerec turned his empty sockets in Yun's direction. "Accompany me to the surface, locate an officer named Vig, and assume command. The work proceeds slowly — too slowly — and I want you to correct that."
Yun sensed a trap, gathered his courage, and asked the obvious question. "I've met Major Vig. He seems capable enough . . . so what's the problem?"
Jerec smiled. "More than a thousand Jedi spirits are trapped within the Valley's walls — and our efforts stirred them up. Some of the prisoners have taken to howling through corridors, scaring stormtroopers, and creating havoc. The major is beside himself."
Yun cursed his luck. Babysitting spirits and stormtroopers . . . a low-level assignment. Why not Maw? Or Boc? Because Maw was unpredictable — and Boc too cunning. And Sariss? No, Jerec had other more important duties for his second in command to carry out. Yun sighed. "Yes, my lord. I'll pack and join you in the launch hay."
Jerec waited for the hatch to close, felt the younger Jedi's energy start to fade, and sm
iled. Even the best of blades should be tested.
Yun packed quickly and headed toward the launch bay. He rarely had the chance to spend time with the Master, and he tried to make the most of every opportunity, no matter how brief.
The two men ran into each other in the main corridor — and walked shoulder to shoulder toward the launch bay. Stormtroopers jumped to get out of the way, officers came to attention, while Yun basked in the reflected glory. It was at moments like this that his doubts disappeared and the price seemed worth paying.
The shuttle was waiting, the bay door opened, and a pair of TIE fighters escorted them down. The trip to the surface was uneventful, for which Yun was thankful. Jerec had many unpleasant qualities, but there were exceptions — he could be very charming when he chose to be. The Master regaled Yun with amusing stories, the younger Jedi laughed in all the right places, and the trip was soon over. Jerec made a point of saying good-bye — and the resulting sense of significance followed Yun all the way to his quarters.
The alarm buzzed and wouldn't stop. Yun reached for the bedside console and discovered that the room's recently installed heating module was on the blink. The Jedi was still in bed when a droid entered the room, announced itself in loud, cheery tones, and placed a tray on the table. "Good morning, sir. Here's your breakfast . . . Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yeah, pump some heat in here," Yun growled as he rolled out of bed. "It's freezing."
"Of course, sir, right away; sir," the droid said, making for the door. "I'll send a maintenance droid."
Yun slipped into the fresher and treated himself to a hot, steamy shower. After that, it was a simple matter to slip into some fresh clothes, consume his lukewarm breakfast, and head for work. A stormtrooper had been assigned to guide him and stood at the tower's base. "Good morning, sir. Major Vig sent me . . . I'll lead the way."
The stormtrooper set off, and Yun followed. The ground in front of the tower was crisscrossed with tread marks, supplies sat piled on floater pallets, and security was tight. Even more noticeable, to him at least, was the way the place felt.
Jedi Knight Page 7