Star Wars
                        
                             Dark Lord
                        
                      The Rise of Darth Vader
                      
                          by James Luceno	
                        


                                              source: IRC 
                                              uploaded: 09.I.2006

     PART I

     THE OUTER RIM SIEGES

     1

     MURKHANA. FINAL HOURS OF THE CLONE WARS

     Dropping into swirling clouds conjured by Murkhana's weather stations,
Roan Shryne was reminded of  meditation  sessions  his  former  Master  had
guided him through. No matter how fixed Shryne had  been  on  touching  the
Force, his mind's eye had offered little more than  an  eddying  whiteness.
Years later, when he  had  become  more  adept  at  silencing  thought  and
immersing himself in the light, visual fragments  would  emerge  from  that
colorless void-pieces to a puzzle that would gradually assemble  themselves
and resolve. Not in any conscious way, though frequently assuring him  that
his actions in the world were in accord with the will of the Force.

     Frequently but not always.

     When he veered from the course on which the Force  had  set  him,  the
familiar white would once again be stirred by powerful currents;  sometimes
shot through with red, as if he were lifting his closed eyes to  the  glare
of a midday sun.

     Red-mottled white was what he saw as he fell  deeper  into  Murkhana's
atmosphere. Scored to reverberating thunder; the rush of the wind; a welter
of muffled voices...

     He was standing closest to the sliding door that normally  sealed  the
troop bay of a Republic gunship, launched moments earlier from the  forward
hold of the Gallant-a Victory-class Star Destroyer, harried by vulture  and
droid tri-fighters and awaiting High Command's word  to  commence  its  own
descent through Murkhana's artificial ceiling.  Beside  and  behind  Shryne
stood a platoon of clone troopers, helmets fitting snugly over their heads,
blasters cradled in their arms, utility belts slung  with  ammo  magazines,
talking among themselves the way seasoned warriors often did before battle.
Alleviating misgivings with inside jokes; references Shryne couldn't  begin
to understand, beyond the fact that they were grim.

     The gunship's inertial compensators allowed them to stand in  the  bay
without being jolted by flaring anti-aircraft explosions or jostled by  the
gunship pilots'  evasive  maneuvering  through  corkscrewing  missiles  and
storms of white-hot shrapnel. Missiles, because the  same  Separatists  who
had manufactured the clouds  had  misted  Murkhana's  air  with  anti-laser
aerosols.

     Acrid odors infiltrated the cramped space, along with the roar of  the
aft engines, the starboard one stuttering somewhat, the gunship as battered
as the troopers and crew it carried into conflict.

     Even at an altitude of only four hundred meters above  sea  level  the
cloud cover remained dense. The fact that Shryne could barely see his  hand
in front of his face didn't surprise him. This was  still  the  war,  after
all, and he had grown accustomed these past three years to not seeing where
he was going.

     Nat-Sem, his former Master, used to tell him  that  the  goal  of  the
meditative exercises was to see clear through the swirling whiteness to the
other side; that what Shryne saw was only the  shadowy  expanse  separating
him from full contact with the Force. Shryne had to  learn  to  ignore  the
clouds, as it were. When he had learned to do that, to look through them to
the radiant expanse beyond, he would be a Master.

     Pessimistic by  nature,  Shryne's  reaction  had  been:  Not  in  this
lifetime.

     Though he had never said as much to Nat-Sem, the Jedi Master had  seen
through him as easily as he saw through the clouds.

     Shryne felt that the clone troopers had a better view of the war  than
he had, and that the view had  little  to  do  with  their  helmet  imaging
systems, the filters that muted the sharp scent of the air,  the  earphones
that dampened the sounds of explosions. Grown for  warfare,  they  probably
thought the Jedi were mad to go into battle as they did, attired in  tunics
and hooded robes, a lightsaber their only weapon. Many of them were  astute
enough to see comparisons between the Force and their  own  white  plastoid
shells; but few of them could discern between armored and  unarmored  Jedi-
those who were allied with the Force, and  those  who  for  one  reason  or
another had slipped from its sustaining embrace.

     Murkhana's lathered clouds finally began to thin,  until  they  merely
veiled the planet's wrinkled landscape and frothing sea. A sudden burst  of
brilliant light drew Shryne's attention to the sky. What  he  took  for  an
exploding gunship might have been a newborn star;  and  for  a  moment  the
world tipped out of balance, then righted itself just as abruptly. A circle
of clarity opened in the clouds, a perforation  in  the  veil,  and  Shryne
gazed on verdant forest so profoundly  green  he  could  almost  taste  it.
Valiant combatants scurried through the underbrush and sleek  ships  soared
through the canopy. In the midst of it all a lone figure stretched out  his
hand, tearing aside a curtain black as night...

     Shryne knew he had  stepped  out  of  time,  into  some  truth  beyond
reckoning.

     A vision of the end of the war, perhaps, or of time itself.

     Whichever, the effect of it comforted him that he was indeed where  he
was supposed to be. That despite the depth to which the war had caused  him
to become fixed on death and destruction, he  was  still  tethered  to  the
Force, and serving it in his own limited way.

     Then, as if intent on foiling him, the thin clouds  quickly  conspired
to conceal what had been revealed, closing the portal an errant current had
opened. And Shryne was back where he started, with gusts of superheated air
tugging at the sleeves and cowl of his brown robe.

     "The Koorivar have done a good job with  their  weather  machines,"  a
speaker-enhanced voice said into his left ear. "Whipped up one brute  of  a
sky. We used the same tactic on Paarin Minor. Drew the Seps into fabricated
clouds and blew them to the back of beyond."

     Shryne  laughed  without  merriment.  "Good  to  see  you  can   still
appreciate the little things, Commander."

     "What else is there, General?"

     Shryne couldn't make out the expression on the face behind the  tinted
T-visor, but he knew that shared face as well as anyone else who fought  in
the war. Commander of the Thirty-second air combat wing, the clone  officer
had somewhere along the line acquired the name Salvo, and the sobriquet fit
him like a gauntlet.

     The high-traction soles of his jump boots gave him just  enough  added
height to stand shoulder-to-shoulder  with  Shryne,  and  where  his  armor
wasn't dinged and scored it was emblazoned with rust-brown markings. On his
hips he wore holstered hand  blasters  and,  for  reasons  Shryne  couldn't
fathom, a version of the capelike command skirt that  had  become  all  the
rage in the war's third year. The left side of his  shrapnel-pitted  helmet
was laser-etched with the motto LIVE TO SERVE!

     Torso markings attested to Salvo's participation in campaigns on  many
worlds, and while he wasn't an ARC-an Advanced  Reconnaissance  Commando-he
had the rough edges of an ARC, and of their  clone  template,  Jango  Fett,
whose headless body Shryne had seen in a  Geonosian  arena  shortly  before
Master Nat-Sem had fallen to enemy fire.

     "Alliance weapons should have us in target lock by now," Salvo said as
the gunship continued to descend.

     Other assault ships were also punching through the cloud  cover,  only
to be greeted by flocks of incoming missiles. Struck by direct  hits,  two,
four, then five craft were  blown  apart,  flaming  fuselages  and  mangled
troopers plummeting into the churning scarlet waves of Murkhana  Bay.  From
the nose of one gunship flew a bang-out capsule that carried the pilot  and
copilot to within meters of the water  before  it  was  ripped  open  by  a
resolute heat seeker.

     In one of the fifty-odd gunships that were racing down the well, three
other Jedi  were  going  into  battle,  Master  Saras  Loorne  among  them.
Stretching out with the Force, Shryne found them, faint  echoes  confirming
that all three were still alive.

     He clamped his right hand on one of the slide door's view slots as the
pilots threw their unwieldy charge into a hard  bank,  narrowly  evading  a
pair of hailfire missiles. Gunners ensconced  in  the  gunship's  armature-
mounted turrets opened up with blasters as flights of Mankvim  Interceptors
swarmed up to engage the Republic force. The anti-laser aerosols  scattered
the blaster beams, but dozens of the Separatist craft succumbed to missiles
spewed from the gunships' top-mounted mass-drive launchers.

     "High Command should have granted our request to bombard from  orbit,"
Salvo said in an amplified voice.

     "The idea is to take the city, Commander,  not  vaporize  it,"  Shryne
said loudly. Murkhana had already been granted weeks to surrender, but  the
Republic ultimatum had expired. "Palpatine's policy for winning the  hearts
and minds of Separatist populations might not make good military sense, but
it makes good political sense."

     Salvo stared at him from behind his visor. "We're  not  interested  in
politics."

     Shryne laughed shortly. "Neither were the Jedi."

     "Why fight if you weren't bred for it?"

     "To serve what remains of the Republic." Shryne's brief  green  vision
of the war's end returned, and he adopted a  rueful  grin.  "Dooku's  dead.
Grievous is being hunted down. If it means anything,  I  suspect  it'll  be
over soon."

     "The war, or our standing shoulder-to-shoulder?"

     "The war, Commander."

     "What becomes of the Jedi then?"

     "We'll do what we have always done: follow the Force."

     "And the Grand Army?"

     Shryne regarded him. "Help us preserve the peace."

     2

     Murkhana City was visible now, climbing into  steep  hills  that  rose
from a long crescent  of  shoreline,  the  sheen  of  overlapping  particle
shields dulled by the gray  underbelly  of  the  clouds.  Shryne  caught  a
fleeting glimpse of the Argente Tower before the  gunship  dropped  to  the
crests of the frothing waves and altered course, pointing  its  blunt  nose
toward the stacked  skyline  and  slaloming  through  warheads  fired  from
weapons emplacements that lined the shore.

     In a class with Mygccto, Muunilinst, and Neimoidia, Murkhana was not a
conquered planet but a host world-home to  former  Senator  and  Separatist
Council member Passel Argente, and headquarters of the Corporate  Alliance.
Murkhana's deal makers and litigators, tended to  by  armies  of  household
droids and private security guards, had fashioned a  hedonistic  domain  of
towering  office  buildings,  luxurious  apartment   complexes,   exclusive
medcenters, and swank shopping malls, casinos,  and  nightclubs.  Only  the
most expensive  speeders  negotiated  a  vertical  cityscape  of  graceful,
spiraling structures that looked as if they had been grown of  ocean  coral
rather than constructed.

     Murkhana also housed the finest communications facility in  that  part
of the Outer Rim, and was a primary source of the "shadowfeeds" that spread
Separatist propaganda among Republic and Confederacy worlds.

     Arranged like the spokes of a wheel, four  ten-kilometer-long  bridges
linked the city to an enormous  offshore  landing  platform.  Hexagonal  in
shape and supported on thick columns anchored in the seabed,  the  platform
was the prize the Republic needed to secure before a full assault could  be
mounted. For that to  happen,  the  Grand  Army  needed  to  penetrate  the
defensive umbrellas and take out the generators that  sustained  them.  But
with nearly  all  rooftop  and  repulsorlift  landing  platforms  shielded,
Murkhana's arc of black-sand beach was the only place  where  the  gunships
could insert their payloads of clone troopers and Jedi.

     Shryne was gazing at the landing platform when he felt  someone  begin
to edge between him and Commander Salvo,  set  on  getting  a  better  look
through the open hatch. Even before he saw the headful of long black curls,
he knew it was Olee Star-stone. Planting his left hand firmly on the top of
her head, he propelled her back into the troop bay

     "If you're determined to make yourself a  target,  Padawan,  at  least
wait until we hit the beach."

     Rubbing her head, the petite, blue-eyed young woman glanced  over  her
shoulder at the tall female Jedi standing behind her. "You see, Master.  He
does care."

     "Despite all evidence to the contrary," the female Jedi said.

     "I only meant that it'll be easier for me to bury you  in  the  sand,"
Shryne said.

     Starstone scowled, folded her arms across her chest,  and  swung  away
from both of them.

     Bol Chatak threw Shryne a look of mild reprimand. The raised  cowl  of
her black robe hid her short vestigial horns. An Iridonian Zabrak, she  was
nothing if not tolerant, and  had  never  taken  Shryne  to  task  for  his
irascible behavior or interfered with his  teasing  relationship  with  her
Padawan, who had joined Chatak in the Murkhana system only a standard  week
earlier, arriving with Master Loorne and two Jedi Knights. The  demands  of
the Outer Rim Sieges had drawn so many Jedi from Coruscant that the  Temple
was practically deserted.

     Until recently, Shryne, too, had had  a  Padawan  learner...  For  the
Jedi's benefit, the gunship pilot announced that they were closing  on  the
jump site.

     "Weapons check!" Salvo said to the platoon. "Gas and packs!"

     As the troop bay filled with the sound of activating weapons,

     Chatak placed her hand on Starstone's quivering  shoulder.  "Use  your
unease to sharpen your senses, Padawan."

     "I will, Master."

     "The Force will be With you."

     "We're all dying," Salvo told the troopers. "Promise yourselves you'll
be the last to go!"

     Access panels opened in  the  ceiling,  dropping  more  than  a  dozen
polyplast cables to within reach of the troopers.

     "Secure to lines!" Salvo said. "Room  for  three  more,  General,"  he
added while armored, body-gloved hands took tight hold of the cables.

     Calculating that the jump wouldn't exceed ten meters, Shryne shook his
head at Salvo. "No need. We'll see you below."

     Unexpectedly,  the  gunship  gained  altitude  as  it  approached  the
shoreline, then pulled up short of  the  beach,  as  if  being  reined  in.
Repulsorlifts engaged, the gunship hovered. At the same time,  hundreds  of
Separatist battle droids marched onto the beach, firing their  blasters  in
unison.

     The intercom squawked, and the pilot said, "Droid buster away!"

     A concussion-feedback weapon,  the  droid  buster  detonated  at  five
meters above ground zero, flattening every droid within a radius  of  fifty
meters. Similar  explosions  underscored  the  ingress  of  a  dozen  other
gunships.

     "Where were these weapons three years ago?" one of the troopers  asked
Salvo.

     "Progress," the commander said. "All of a sudden we're winning the war
in a week."

     The gunship hovered lower, and Shryne leapt into the  air.  Using  the
Force to oversee his fall, he landed in a crouch on the compacted sand,  as
did Chatak and Starstone, if less expertly.

     Salvo and  the  clone  troopers  followed,  descending  one-handed  on
individual cables, triggering their rifles as they slid to the beach.  When
the final trooper was on the ground, the gunship lifted its nose and  began
to veer away from shore. Up and  down  the  beach  the  same  scenario  was
playing out. Several gunships failed to escape artillery fire  and  crashed
in flames before they had turned about.

     Others were blown apart before they had even off-loaded.

     With projectiles and blaster bolts whizzing past their heads, the Jedi
and troopers scurried forward, hunkering down behind a bulkhead that braced
a ribbon of highway coursing between the beach and the near-vertical cliffs
beyond. Salvo's communications  specialist  comlinked  for  aerial  support
against the batteries responsible for the worst of the fire.

     Through an opening in the bulkhead hastened  the  four  members  of  a
commando team, with a captive in tow. Unlike the  troopers,  the  commandos
wore gray  shells  of  Katarn-class  armor  and  carried  heftier  weapons.
Hardened against magnetic pulses, their suits  allowed  them  to  penetrate
defensive shields.

     The enemy combatant they had captured wore a long  robe  and  tasseled
headcloth but lacked the sallow complexion, horizontal facial markings, and
cranial horns characteristic of the Koorivar. Like their fellow Separatists
the Neimoidians, Passel

     Argente's species had no taste for warfare, but  felt  no  compunction
about employing the best mercenaries credits could buy.

     The burly commando squad leader went immediately to Salvo.

     "Ion Team, Commander, attached to the Twenty-second out of Boz  Pity."
Turning slightly in Shryne's direction, the commando  nodded  his  helmeted
head.

     "Welcome to Murkhana, General Shryne."

     Shryne's dark brows beetled. "The voice is familiar...," he began.

     "The face even more so," the commando completed.

     The joke was almost three years old but still in use among  the  clone
troopers, and between them and the Jedi.

     "Climber," the commando said,  providing  his  sobriquet.  "We  fought
together on Deko Neimoidia."

     Shryne clapped the commando on the shoulder. "Good to see  you  again,
Climber-even here."

     "As I told you," Chatak said to Starstone, "Master Shryne has  friends
all over."

     "Perhaps they don't know him as well  as  I  do,  Master,"  Star-stone
grumbled.

     Climber lifted his helmet faceplate to the gray sky. "A good  day  for
fighting, General."

     "I'll take your word for it," Shryne said.

     "Make your report, squad leader," Salvo interrupted.

     Climber turned to the commander. "The  Koorivarr  are  evacuating  the
city, but taking their sweet time about it. They've a  lot  more  faith  in
these energy shields than  they  should  have."  He  beckoned  the  captive
forward and spun him roughly to face  Salvo.  "Meet  Idis-human  under  the
Koorivar trappings. Distinguished member of the Vibroblade Brigade."

     "A mercenary band," Bol Chatak explained to Starstone. "We caught him.
.. with his trousers down," Climber continued, "and persuaded him to  share
what he knows about the shoreline defenses. He was kind enough  to  provide
the location of  the  landing  platform  shield  generator."  The  commando
indicated a tall, tapered edifice farther down the beach.  "Just  north  of
the first bridge, near the marina. The  generator's  installed  two  floors
below ground level. We may have to take out the whole building  to  get  to
it."

     Salvo  signaled  to  his  comlink  specialist.  "Relay  the   building
coordinates to Gallant gunnery-"

     "Wait on that," Shryne said quickly. "Targeting the building poses too
great a risk to the bridges. We need them intact if  we're  going  to  move
vehicles into the city."

     Salvo considered it briefly. "A surgical strike, then."

     Shryne shook his head no. "There's another reason for discretion. That
building is a medcenter. Or at least it was the last time I was here."

     Salvo looked to Climber for confirmation.

     "The general's correct, Commander.  It's  still  a  medcenter."  Salvo
shifted his gaze to Shryne. "An enemy medcenter, General.

     Shryne compressed his lips and nodded. "Even at this point in the war,
patients are considered noncombatants. Remember what I  said  about  hearts
and minds,  Commander."  He  glanced  at  the  mercenary.  "Is  the  shield
generator accessible from street level?"

     "Depends on how skilled you are."

     Shryne looked at Climber.

     "Not a problem," the commando said.

     Salvo made a sound of distaste. "You'd trust the word of a merc?"

     Climber pressed the muzzle of his DC-17 rifle into the  small  of  the
mercenary's back. "Idis is on our side now, aren't you?"

     The mercenary's head bobbed. "Free of charge."

     Shryne looked at Climber again. "Is your team carrying enough  thermal
detonators to do the job?"

     "Yes, sir."

     Salvo still didn't like it. "I strongly recommend that we  leave  this
to the Gallant."

     Shryne regarded him. "What's the matter, Commander, we're not  killing
the Separatists in sufficient numbers?"

     "In sufficient numbers, General. Just not quickly enough."

     "The Gallant is still holding at fifty kilometers," Chatak said  in  a
conciliatory tone. "There's time to recon the building."

     Salvo demonstrated his displeasure with a shrug of indifference. "It's
your funeral if you're wrong."

     "That's neither here nor there," Shryne said. "We'll  rendezvous  with
you at rally point Aurek-Bacta. If we don't turn up by the time the Gallant
arrives, feed them the building's coordinates."

     "You can count on it, sir."

     3

     Murkhana had been a dangerous  world  long  before  it  had  become  a
treacherous one. Magistrate Passel Argente had been content to allow  crime
to flourish, under the  condition  that  the  Corporate  Alliance  and  its
principal subsidiary, Lethe Merchandising, received their fair share of the
action. By the time Argente had joined Count Dooku's secessionist  movement
and drawn Murkhana into the Confederacy of Independent  Systems  there  was
almost no distinguishing the Corporate Alliance's thug tactics  from  those
of Black Sun and similar gangster syndicates, save for the  fact  that  the
Alliance was more interested in  corporate  acquisitions  than  it  was  in
gambling, racketeering, and the trade in illegal spice.

     Where persuasion failed, the Corporate Alliance  relied  on  the  tank
droid to convince company owners of the wisdom of  acceding  to  offers  of
corporate takeover, and scores of those treaded war machines had  taken  up
positions on  the  steep  streets  of  Murkhana  City  to  thwart  Republic
occupation.

     Shryne knew the place  about  as  well  as  anyone,  but  he  let  the
commandos take the point. Dodging blasterfire from battledroids and  roving
bands of mercenaries, and trusting  that  the  captive  fighter  had  known
better than to steer them wrong, the three Jedi followed the  four  special
ops troopers on a circuitous course through the switchbacked streets.  High
overhead, laser and ion bolts splashed against the convex  energy  shields,
along with droid craft and starfighters crippled in the  furious  dogfights
taking place in the clouds.

     Shortly  the  allied  team  reached  the  approach  avenues   of   the
southernmost of the quartet of bridges that joined the city and the landing
platform. Encountering no resistance at the medcenter, they infiltrated the
building's soaring  atrium.  Wan  light  streamed  through  tall  permaplex
windows; dust and debris wafted down to a  mosaic  floor  as  the  building
trembled in concert with the intensifying Republic bombardment.

     The particle-filled air buzzed with current from the shield generator,
raising the hairs on the back of Shryne's neck. The place looked  and  felt
deserted, but Shryne sent Chatak, Starstone, and two of  the  commandos  to
reconnoiter the upper floors, just in case. Still trusting to the captive's
intelligence,  Shryne,  Climber,  and  Ion  Team's  explosives   specialist
negotiated a warren of faintly lighted corridors that led  to  a  turbolift
the captive had promised would drop them into the shield generator room.

     "Sir, I didn't want to say  anything  in  front  of  General  Chatak,"
Climber said as they were descending, "but it's not often you find  a  Jedi
and a commander at odds about tactics."

     Shryne knew that to be true. "Commander Salvo has good instincts. What
he lacks is patience." He turned fully to the helmeted commando. "The war's
changed some of us, Climber. But the Jedi mandate has always been  to  keep
the peace without killing everyone who stands in the way."

     Climber nodded in understanding. "I know of a few commanders who  were
returned to Kamino for remedial training."

     "And I know a few Jedi who could use as much," Shryne  said.  "Because
all of us want this war over and done with." He touched Climber on the  arm
as the turbolift was coming to a halt. "Apologies up front if this  mission
turns out to be a waste of time."

     "Not a problem, sir. We'll consider it leave."

     Outside the antigrav shaft, the deafening hum of the generator made it
almost impossible to communicate without relying on comlinks.  Prizing  his
from a pouch on his utility belt, Shryne set it to  the  frequency  Climber
and his spec-three used to communicate with each other through their helmet
links.

     Warily, the three of them made their way down an unlighted hallway and
ultimately onto a shaky gantry that overlooked the generator room. Most  of
the cavernous space was occupied by the truncated  durasteel  pyramid  that
fed power to the landing platform's veritable forest of dish-shaped  shield
projectors.

     Macrobinoculars lowered over his tinted  visor,  Climber  scanned  the
area.

     "I count twelve sentries," he told Shryne through the corn-link.

     "Add three Koorivar technicians on the far side of the generator," the
spec-three said from his position.

     Even without macrobinoculars, Shryne could sec that  the  majority  of
the guards were mercenaries,  humans  and  humanoids,  armed  with  blaster
rifles and vibroblades, the brigade's  signature  weapon.  Cranial  horns-a
symbol of status, especially among members of  Murkhana's  elite-identified
the  Koorivar  among  the  group.  Three  Trade  Federation  battle  droids
completed the contingent.

     "Generator's too well protected for us to be  covert,"  Climber  said.
"Excuse me for saying so, but maybe Commander Salvo was right about letting
the Gallant handle this."

     "As I said, he has good instincts."

     "Sir, just because the guards aren't here  for  medical  care  doesn't
mean we can't make patients of them."

     "Good thinking," Shryne said. "But we're three against twelve."

     "You're good for at least six of them, aren't you, sir?" Shryne showed
the commando a narrow-eyed grin. "On a good day."

     "In the end you and Salvo both get to be right. Even better, we'll  be
saving the Gallant a couple of laser bolts."

     Shryne snorted a laugh. "Since you put it that way, Climber."

     Climber flashed a series of hand gestures  at  his  munitions  expert;
then the three of them began to work their way down to the greasy floor.

     Surrendering thought and emotion, Shryne settled into  the  Force.  He
trusted that the Force would oversee his actions so  long  as  he  executed
them with determination rather than in anger.

     Taking out the guards was merely something that needed to be done.

     At Climber's signal he and the spec-three dropped four of the sentries
with precisely aimed blaster bolts, then juked into  return  fire  to  deal
with those who were still standing.

     As tenuous as his contact with the Force  sometimes  was,  Shryne  was
still a master with a sword, and almost thirty years of training had  honed
his instincts and turned his body into an instrument  of  tremendous  speed
and power. The Force guided him to areas of greatest threat, the blue blade
of his lightsaber cleaving the thick air, deflecting fire, severing  limbs.
Moments expanded, allowing him to perceive  each  individual  energy  bolt,
each flick of a vibroblade. Unfaltering intention gave him  ample  time  to
see to every danger, and to carry out his task.

     His opponents fell to his clean slashes, even one of the droids, whose
melted circuitry raised an ozone reek. One mercenary whimpered as  he  fell
backward, air rasping through a hole  in  his  chest,  blood  leaking  from
vessels that hadn't been cauterized by the blade's passing.

     Another, Shryne was forced to decapitate.

     He sensed Climber and the spec-three to either side  of  him,  meeting
with similar success, the sibilant sound of their weapons  punctuating  the
shield generator's ceaseless hum.

     A droid burst apart, flinging shrapnel.

     Shryne evaded a whirling storm of hot alloy  that  caught  a  Koorivar
full-on, peppering his sallow face and robed torso.

     Tumbling out of the reach of a tossed vibroblade, he  noticed  two  of
the technicians fleeing for their lives. He was willing to let them go, but
the spec-three saw them, as well, and showed them no quarter, cutting  both
of them down before they had reached  the  safety  of  the  room's  primary
turbolift.

     With that, the fight began to wind down.

     Shryne's breathing and heartbeat were  loud  in  his  ears  but  under
control. Thought, however, intruded on his vigilance, and  he  lowered  his
guard before he should have.

     The shivering blade of a mercenary's knife barely missed him. Spinning
on his heel, he swept his attacker's feet out from under  him,  and  in  so
doing rid the human of his left foot. The mere howled, his eyes going  wide
at the sight, and he lashed out with both hands, inadvertently knocking the
lightsaber from Shryne's grip and sending it skittering across the floor.

     Some distance away, Climber had been set upon by a  battle  droid  and
two mercenaries. The droid had been taken out, but its sparking  shell  had
collapsed on top of Climber, pinning his right hand and blaster rifle,  and
the pair of mercs were preparing to finish him off.

     Climber managed to hold one of his would-be killers at bay with  well-
placed kicks, even while he dodged a blaster bolt that ricocheted from  the
floor and the canted face of the shield generator. Rushing onto the  scene,
the spec-three went hand-to-hand with the mere Climber  had  booted  aside,
but Climber was out of tricks for dealing with his second assailant.

     Vibroblade clasped in two hands, the enemy fighter leapt.

     Shryne moved in a blur-not for Climber, because he knew that he  could
never reach him in time-but for the still-spinning lightsaber  hilt,  which
he toed directly into Climber's gloved and outstretched left hand.  In  the
same instant the mere was leaning over Climber to deliver what  would  have
been a fatal blow, the commando's thumb  hit  the  lightsaber's  activation
stud. A column of blue  energy  surged  from  the  hilt,  and  through  the
Separatist's chest, impaling him.

     Shryne hurried to Climber's  side  while  the  spec-three  was  moving
through the room, making certain no further surprises awaited them.

     Yoda or just about any other Jedi Master would have been able  to  rid
Climber of the battle droid with a Force push, but Shryne needed  Climber's
help to move the sparking carcass aside. Years back,  he  would  have  been
able to manage it alone, but no longer. He wasn't sure if the weakness  was
in him or if, with the death of every Jedi, the war was  leaching  some  of
the Force out the universe.

     Climber rolled the mercenary's body to one side and  sat  up.  "Thanks
for the save, General."

     "Just didn't want you to end up like your template." Climber stared at
him.

     "Headless, I mean."

     Climber nodded. "I thought you meant killed by a Jedi."

     Shryne held out his hand out for the  lightsaber,  which  Climber  was
regarding as if noticing it for the first time. Then, feeling Shryne's gaze
on him, he said, "Sorry, sir," and slapped the hilt into Shryne's hand.

     Shryne hooked the lightsaber to his belt and  yanked  Climber  to  his
feet, his eyes falling on Chatak,  Starstone,  and  Ion  Team's  other  two
commandos, who had rushed into the room with weapons drawn.

     Shryne gestured to them that everything was under control.  "Find  any
patients?" he asked Chatak when she was within earshot.

     "None," she said. "But we hadn't checked out the entire building  when
we heard the blasterfire."

     Shryne turned to Climber. "Set  your  thermal  charges.  Then  contact
Commander Salvo. Tell him  to  alert  airborne  command  that  the  landing
platform energy shield will be dropping, but that someone is still going to
have to take out the shore batteries on the bridge approaches before troops
and artillery can be inserted. General Chatak and I  will  finish  sweeping
the building and catch up with you at the rally point."

     "Affirmative, sir."

     Shryne started off, then stopped in his tracks. "Climber."

     "General?"

     "Tell Commander Salvo for me that we probably could have  done  things
his way."

     "You certain you want me to do that?"

     "Why not?"

     "For one thing, sir, it's only going to encourage him."

     4

     Ras says you made a kill with General Shryne's lightsaber," one of the
commandos who had accompanied Bol Chatak said to  Climber  while  all  four
members  of  Ion  Team  were  slaving  thermal  detonators  to  the  shield
generator's control panels.

     "That's right. And knowing that you'd want to see it, I had my  helmet
cam snap a holo."

     Climber's sarcasm was lost on the small-arms expert,  a  spec-two  who
went by the name Trace.

     "How'd it handle?"

     Climber sat still for a moment. "More like a tool than a weapon."

     "Good tool for opening up mercenaries," Ras said from nearby.

     Climber nodded. "No argument. But give me a seventeen any day."

     "Shryne's all right," Trace said after they had gone back  to  placing
the charges.

     "I'll take him over Salvo in a firefight," Climber said, "but not on a
battlefield. Shryne's too concerned about collateral damage."

     Completing his task, he walked with purpose through the control  room,
assessing everyone's work. Ion Team's comlink specialist hurried over while
Climber was adjusting the placement of one of the detonators.

     "Has Commander Salvo been updated?" Climber asked. "The  commander  is
on the freq now," the spec-one said. "Wants to speak to you personally."

     Climber distanced himself from the rest of the team  and  chinned  the
helmet comlink stud to an encrypted frequency  "Spec-zero  Climber  secure,
Commander."

     "Are the Jedi with you?" Salvo said abruptly.

     "No, sir. They're sweeping  the  rest  of  the  building  in  case  we
overlooked anyone."

     "What's your situation, squad leader?"

     "We're out of here as soon as the rest of the  thermals  are  set.  T-
five, at most."

     "Retain a couple of those thermals. Your team is to rejoin us soonest.
We have a revised priority."

     "Revised, how?"

     "The Jedi are to be killed."

     Climber fell silent for a long moment. "Say again, Commander."

     "We're taking out the Jedi."

     "On whose orders?"

     "Are you questioning my authority?"

     "No, sir. Just doing my job."

     "Your job is to obey your superiors."

     Climber recalled Shryne's actions in the generator room; his speed and
accuracy, his skill with the lightsaber.

     "Yes, sir. I'm just not too keen about going up against three Jedi."

     "None of us is, Climber. That's why we need your team here. I want  to
set up an ambush short of the rally point."

     "Understood, Commander. Will comply. Out."

     Climber rejoined his three teammates, all of whom  were  watching  him
closely.

     "What was all that about?" Trace asked.

     Climber sat on his haunches. "We've been ordered to spring  an  ambush
on the Jedi."

     Ras grunted. "Odd time for a live-fire exercise, isn't it?"

     Climber turned to him. "It's not an exercise."

     Ras didn't move a muscle. "I thought the Jedi were on our side."

     Climber nodded. "So did I."

     "So what'd they do?" Trace asked.

     Climber shook his head. "Salvo didn't say. And  it's  not  a  question
we're supposed to ask, are we clear on that?" The three specs regarded  one
another.

     "How do you want to handle it?" Ras said finally

     "The commander wants  us  to  blow  an  ambush,"  Climber  said  in  a
determined voice. "I say we give him what he wants."

     5

     From the sheer  heights  above  the  medcenter,  Shryne,  Chatak,  and
Starstone watched the towering building tremble  as  the  shield  generator
buried at its base exploded. Clouds of smoke billowed into the chaotic sky,
and the structure swayed precariously. Fortunately it didn't  collapse,  as
Shryne feared it might, so the bridges that spanned  the  bay  suffered  no
damage. Ten kilometers away, the shimmering energy shield  that  umbrellaed
the landing platform winked out and failed, leaving the huge  hexagon  open
to attack.

     Not a moment passed before squadrons of Republic  V-wing  starfighters
and ARC-170 bombers fell from the  scudding  clouds,  cannons  blazing.  In
defense, anti-aircraft batteries on the landing field  and  bridges  opened
up, filling the sky with hyphens of raw energy.

     Far to the south the Gallant  hung  motionless,  five  hundred  meters
above the  turbulent  waters  of  the  bay.  Completing  quick-turn  burns,
Republic gunships were streaking from the Star Destroyer's docking bays and
racing shoreward through storms of intense fire.

     "Now it begins in earnest," Shryne said.

     The three Jedi struck west, moving deeper into the city,  then  south,
angling for the rendezvous point.  They  avoided  engagements  with  battle
droids and mercenaries when they  could,  and  won  their  skirmishes  when
evasion wasn't an option. Shryne was relieved to see that  Chatak's  curly-
haired Padawan demonstrated remarkable courage, and was as deft at handling
a lightsaber as many full-fledged Jedi Knights. He suspected that she had a
stronger connection with the Force than he had had  even  during  his  most
stalwart years as an eager learner.

     When he  wasn't  seeking  ways  to  avoid  confrontation,  Shryne  was
obsessing over his wrong call regarding the medcenter.

     "A surgical strike would have been preferable," he confessed to Chatak
as they were hurrying through a gloomy  alley  Shryne  knew  from  previous
visits to Murkhana.

     "Ease up on yourself, Roan," she told him. "The  generator  was  there
precisely because the Corporate  Alliance  knew  that  we  would  show  the
medcenter mercy. What's more,  Commander  Salvo's  opinion  of  you  hardly
matters in the scheme of things. If  both  of  you  weren't  so  hooked  on
military strategy, you could be off somewhere sharing shots of brandy."

     "If either of us drank."

     "Never too late to start, Roan."

     Starstone loosed a loud sigh. "This is the wisdom you impart  to  your
Padawan-that it's never too late to start drinking?"

     "Did I hear a voice?"  Shryne  said,  glancing  around  in  theatrical
concern.

     "Not an important one," Chatak assured him.

     Starstone was shaking her head  back  and  forth.  "This  is  not  the
apprenticeship I expected."

     Shryne threw her a look. "When we get back to Coruscant, I'll be  sure
to slip a note into the Temple's suggestion box that

     Olee Starstone has expressed disappointment with the way  she's  being
trained."

     Starstone grimaced. "I was at least  under  the  impression  that  the
hazing would stop once I became a Padawan."

     "That's when the hazing begins," Chatak  said,  suppressing  a  smile.
"Wait till you see what you have to endure at the trials."

     "I didn't realize the trials would include psychological torture."

     Chatak glanced at her. "In the end, Padawan,  it  all  comes  down  to
that."

     "The war is trial enough for anyone," Shryne said over  his  shoulder.
"I say that all Padawans automatically be promoted to Jedi Knights."

     "You won't mind if I quote  you  to  Yoda?"  Starstone  said.  "That's
Master Yoda to you, Padawan," Chatak admonished.

     "I apologize, Master."

     "Even if Yoda and the rest of the  High  Council  members  have  their
heads in the clouds," Shryne muttered.

     Starstone bit her lip. "I'll pretend I'm not hearing this."

     "You'd better hear it," Shryne said, turning  to  her.  They  held  to
their southwesterly course.

     The fighting along the shoreline was becoming ferocious.  Starfighters
and droid craft flying well below optimum altitudes  were  disappearing  in
balls of flame. Overwhelmed by ranged ion cannon  fire  from  the  Gallant,
energy shields throughout the city were beginning to fail and a mass exodus
was under way, with panicked crowds of Koorivar  fleeing  shelters,  homes,
and places of business. Mercenary brigades, reinforced by battle droids and
tanks, were fortifying their positions in the hills. Shryne  surmised  that
the fight to occupy Murkhana was going to be long and brutal, perhaps at an
unprecedented cost in lives.

     Two hundred meters shy of the rendezvous, he was shaken  by  a  sudden
restiveness that had nothing to do with the overarching battle. Feeling  as
if he had unwittingly led his fellow Jedi into the sights of enemy snipers,
he motioned Chatak and Star-stone to  a  halt,  then  guided  them  without
explanation to the refuge of a deserted storefront.

     "I thought I was the only one sensing it," Chatak said quietly.

     Shryne wasn't surprised. Like Starstone, the Zabrak Jedi  had  a  deep
and abiding connection to the Force.

     "Can you get to the heart of it?" he asked.

     She shook her head no. "Not with any clarity."

     Starstone cut her eyes from one Jedi to the other.  "What's  wrong?  I
don't sense anything."

     "Exactly," Shryne said.

     "We're close to the rendezvous, Padawan,"  Chatak  said  in  her  best
mentor's voice. "So where is everyone? Why haven't the troopers  set  up  a
perimeter?"

     Starstone mulled it over.  "Maybe  they're  just  waiting  for  us  to
arrive."

     The young woman's offhand remark went to the core of what  Shryne  and
Chatak  were  feeling.  Trading  alert  glances,   they   unclipped   their
lightsabers and activated the blades.

     "Be mindful, Padawan," Chatak  cautioned  as  they  were  leaving  the
shelter of the storefront. "Stretch out with your feelings."

     Farther on, at a confluence  of  twisting  streets,  Shryne  perceived
Commander Salvo and a platoon of troopers dispersed in a tight  semicircle.
Not, however, to provide the Jedi with cover fire in case they  were  being
pursued. Shryne's earlier sense of misgiving blossomed into alarm,  and  he
shouted for Chatak and Starstone to drop to the ground.

     They no sooner did when a series of concussive detonations  shook  the
street. But the blasts had been shaped to blow at Salvo's  position  rather
than at the Jedi.

     Shryne grasped  instantly  that  the  flameless  explosions  had  been
produced by ECDs-electrostatic charge detonators. Used to  disable  droids,
an ECD was a tactical version of the magnetic-pulse weapon the gunships had
released on reaching the beach. Caught in  the  detonators'  indiscriminate
blast radius, Salvo and his troopers yelled in  surprise  as  their  helmet
imaging systems and weapons  responded  to  the  surge  by  going  offline.
Momentarily blinded by light-flare from  heads-up  displays,  the  troopers
struggled to remove their helmets and simultaneously reach for  the  combat
knives strapped to their belts.

     By then, though, Captain Climber and the rest of Ion Team  had  rushed
into the open from where they had been hiding, two of the commandos already
racing toward the temporarily blinded troopers.

     "Gather weapons!" Climber instructed. "No firing!"

     Blaster in hand and helmet under one arm, Climber advanced  slowly  on
the three Jedi. "No mind tricks, General," he warned.

     Shryne wasn't certain that the Jedi technique was even included in his
repertoire any longer, but he kept that to himself.

     "My specs have their white-noise hardware enabled," Climber  went  on.
"If they hear me repeat so much as a phrase of what you  say  to  me,  they
have orders to waste you. Understood?"

     Shryne didn't deactivate his lightsaber, but allowed it to  drop  from
his right shoulder to point at the ground. Chatak and  Star-stone  followed
suit, but remained in defensive stances.

     "What's this about, Climber?"

     "We received orders to kill you."

     Shryne stared at him in disbelief "Who issued the order?"

     Climber gave his jaw a flick, as if to indicate something behind  him.
"You'll have to ask Commander Salvo, sir."

     "Climber, where are you?" Salvo  shouted  as  Climber's  spec-two  was
escorting the commander forward. The commander's helmet was off and he  had
his gloved hands pressed to his eyes. "You blew those ECDs?"

     "We did, sir. To get to the bottom of this."

     Sensing Shryne's approach, Salvo raised his armored fists.  "At  ease,
Commander," Shryne told him.

     Salvo relaxed somewhat. "Are we your prisoners, then?"

     "You gave the order to kill us?"

     "I won't answer that," Salvo said.

     "Commander, if this has anything to do with our earlier head-butting-"

     "Don't flatter yourself, General. This is beyond both of  us."  Shryne
was confused. "Then the order didn't originate with you. Did  you  ask  for
verification?"

     Salvo shook his head no. "That wasn't necessary."

     "Climber?" Shryne said.

     "I don't know any more than  you  know,  General.  And  I  doubt  that
Commander Salvo will be as easily persuaded to part with information as our
captive mere was."

     "General Shryne," the spec-one  interrupted,  tapping  his  forefinger
against  the  side  of  his  helmet.  "Comlink  from  forward   operations.
Additional platoons are on their way to Aurek-Bacta to reinforce."

     Climber looked Shryne in the eye. "Sir, we're not going to be able  to
stop all of them, and if it comes to a fight, we're not going to be able to
help you any more than we have. We don't kill our own."

     "I understand, Climber."

     "This has to be a mistake, sir."

     "I agree."

     "For old times' sake, I'm giving you a chance to  escape.  But  orders
are orders. If we find you, we will engage." Climber  held  Shryne's  gaze.
"Of course, sir, you could kill all of us now, and increase  your  odds  of
surviving."

     Salvo and the spec-two made nervous movements.

     "As you put it," Shryne said, "we don't fire on our own."

     Climber nodded in relief. "Exactly what I would have expected  you  to
say, General. Makes me feel all right about disobeying a direct order,  and
accepting whatever flak flies our way as a result."

     "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Climber."

     "Hope is not something we store in our kit, General."  Shryne  touched
him on the upper arm. "One day you may have to."

     "Yes, sir. Now get a  move  on  before  you're  forced  to  put  those
lightsabers to the test."

     6

     A chorus of ready tones announced that helmet imaging systems,  heads-
up displays, and weapons had recovered from the magnetic-pulse  effects  of
the ECDs and were back online.

     The troopers, also recovered, didn't waste a moment  in  arming  their
rifles and leveling them at the four commandos, who had their DC-17s raised
in anticipation of just such a standoff.

     Arms outstretched, Commander Salvo rushed to position himself  between
the two groups before a blaster bolt could be fired.

     "Stand down, all of you!" he snapped. "That's an  order!"  He  glanced
menacingly at Climber. "You had better comply this time."

     While weapons were being lowered all  around  and  the  first  of  the
reinforcement platoons was arriving-the troopers plainly  confused  by  the
scene unfolding in front of them-Salvo motioned the squad leader off to one
side.

     "Has your programming been wiped?" Salvo asked. "Our orders came  down
from the top of the command chain."

     "I thought the Jedi were the top of the chain."

     "From  the  Commander  in  Chief,  Climber.  Do  you  copy?"  "Supreme
Chancellor Palpatine?"

     Salvo nodded. "Evidently you and your  team  need  reminding  that  we
serve the Chancellor, not the Jedi."

     Climber considered it. "Were you apprised of what the Jedi  have  done
to prompt an order of execution?"

     Salvo's upper lip curled. "That doesn't concern me,  Climber,  and  it
shouldn't concern you."

     "You're right, Commander. I must have  been  misprogrammed.  All  this
time I've accepted that the Grand Army and  the  Jedi  Knights  served  the
Republic. No one said anything to me  about  serving  Palpatine  first  and
foremost."

     "Palpatine is the Republic, Climber."

     "Palpatine issued the orders personally?"

     "His command was to execute an order that  has  been  in  place  since
before the start of the war."

     Climber took  a  moment  to  consider  it.  "Here's  my  take  on  it,
Commander. It all comes down to serving the ones who are fighting alongside
you, watching your back, putting a weapon in your hand  when  you  need  it
most."

     Salvo sharpened his tone. "We're not going to argue this  now.  But  I
promise you this much: if we don't catch them, you'll pay for your treason-
you and your entire team."

     Climber nodded. "We knew that going in."

     Salvo took a breath and gave his head a rueful shake.  "You  shouldn't
be thinking for yourself, brother. It's more dangerous than you know."

     He swung to the members of his platoon and the recent arrivals.

     "Platoon leaders, switch your comlinks to encrypted command  frequency
zero-zero-four. Have your troopers fan out. Grid  search.  Every  building,
every nook and cranny. You know what you're up against, so keep  your  wits
about you."

     "Ever see a Jedi run, Commander?" a platoon leader asked. "My guess is
they're already ten clicks from here."

     Salvo turned to his comlink specialist. "Contact the  Gallant.  Inform
command that we have a situation, and that we're  going  to  need  whatever
seeker droids and BARC detachments can be spared."

     "Commander," the same platoon leader said, "unless the Seps are in  on
this hunt, we're going to have our hands full. Are we here to take Murkhana
or the Jedi?"

     Climber smirked. "Don't make matters worse by trying to  confuse  him,
Lieutenant."

     Gesturing with his forefinger, Salvo said:  "Worse  for  you  if  they
escape."

     Shryne knew Murkhana City by heart.

     "This way... Down here... Up there," he instructed as they made  their
escape, using the speed granted by the  Force  to  put  kilometers  between
themselves and their new enemy.

     The city was wide open to bombardment now.  The  energy  shields  were
down  and  the  anti-laser  aerosols  had  diffused.  Two  additional  Star
Destroyers hung over the bay, but Republic forces were continuing  to  show
restraint. Most of the intense fighting  was  still  occurring  around  the
landing platform,  although  the  hexagonal  field  itself  was  not  being
targeted, as it and the three bridges  that  remained  were  essential  for
moving troopers and materiel into the city. Shryne figured  that  once  the
landing platform was taken, the Separatists would probably blow the rest of
the bridges, if only to slow the  inevitable  occupation,  while  residents
continued to flee for their lives.

     In the streets, firefights were undergoing a  conspicuous  change  now
that the  clone  troopers  had  been  issued  a  new  priority.  Separatist
mercenaries and battle droids  were  making  the  most  of  the  confusion.
Shryne, Chatak, and Starstone had witnessed several instances when platoons
of clones disengaged from fighting, presumably to continue the hunt for the
Jedi.

     When Shryne felt that the three of them had a moment to spare  he  led
them into a deserted building and pulled his comlink from his belt.

     "The troopers have changed frequencies to prevent our eavesdropping on
them," he said.

     "That doesn't affect  our  knowing  their  methods  for  conducting  a
search," Chatak said.

     "We can avoid them for however long it takes to clear this up.  If  it
comes down to worst cases, I have contacts in the city who might be able to
help us escape."

     "Whose lives are we protecting  here,"  Starstone  asked  in  an  edgy
voice, "ours or the troopers'? I mean, aren't we  the  ones  who  had  them
grown?"

     Shryne and Chatak traded secret glances.

     "I'm not going to start killing troopers," Shryne said emphatically.

     Chatak glanced at her Padawan. "That's what battle droids were created
for."

     Starstone gnawed at her lower lip. "What about Master Loorne  and  the
others?"

     Shryne made adjustments to his comlink. "Still no response from any of
them. And not because of signal jamming." Knowing that Chatak was doing the
same, he stretched out with the Force, but no reverberations  attended  his
call. Chatak's shoulders slumped. "They've been killed."  Starstone  sighed
and hung her head.

     "Draw on your training, Padawan," Chatak said quickly.  "They're  with
the Force."

     They're dead, Shryne thought. Starstone looked up at  him.  "Why  have
they turned on us?"

     "Salvo implied that the order came from high up."

     "That can only mean the Office  of  the  Supreme  Chancellor,"  Chatak
said.

     Shryne shook his head. "That doesn't make sense.  Palpatine  owes  his
life to Skywalker and Master Kenobi."

     "Then this has to be a miscommunication," Starstone  chimed  in.  "For
all we know, the Corporate Alliance broke the High Command code and  issued
counterfeit orders to our company commanders."

     "Right about now that would be a best-case scenario," Shryne said. "If
our comlinks were powerful enough to contact the Temple..."

     "But the Temple can contact us," Starstone said.

     "And it might yet," Chatak said.

     "Maybe Passel Argente cut a deal with the Supreme Chancellor to  spare
Murkhana," Starstone said.

     Shryne glanced at her. "How many more theories  are  you  planning  to
offer?" he said, more harshly than he meant to. "I'm sorry, Master."

     "Patience, Padawan," Chatak said in a comforting voice.

     Shryne slipped the comlink back into its  pouch.  "We  need  to  avoid
further engagements with droids or mercenaries. Lightsaber wounds are  easy
to identify. We don't want to leave a trail.

     Exiting the building, they resumed their careful climb into the hills.

     Everywhere they turned, the streets were crowded with clone  troopers,
battle droids, and masses of fleeing Koorivar. Before they had gone even  a
kilometer, Shryne brought them to a halt once more.

     "We're getting nowhere fast. If we ditch  our  robes,  we  might  have
better luck at blending in."

     Chatak regarded him dubiously. "What do you have in mind, Roan?"

     "We find a couple of mercenaries and take their robes and headcloths."
He gazed at Chatak and Starstone in  turn.  "If  the  troopers  can  switch
sides, then so can we."

     7

     Salvo ended his helmet comlink communication with  Murkhana's  theater
commanders and joined Climber at what  had  become  the  troopers'  forward
command base. The other three commandos  were  searching  for  the  escaped
Jedi, but Salvo didn't want the squad leader out of his sight.

     "General Loorne and the two Jedi Knights he arrived with were ambushed
and killed," Salvo shared with Climber. "Apparently no troopers  among  the
Twenty-second staked a claim to the moral high ground."

     Climber let the remark  go.  "Did  you  report  our  actions  to  High
Command?"

     Salvo shook his head. "But don't think I won't. Like I  told  you,  it
depends on whether we're able to kill them. Just  now  I  don't  want  your
actions reflecting negatively on my command."

     "Did you learn anything about what prompted the execution order?"

     Salvo spent a moment arguing with himself about  what  he  should  and
should  not  reveal.  "Theater  command  reports  that  four  Jedi  Masters
attempted to assassinate Supreme Chancellor Palpatine in  his  chambers  on
Coruscant. The reason is unclear, but it appears that the  Jedi  have  been
angling from the start to assume control of the Republic, and that the  war
may have been engineered to help bring that about."

     Climber was stunned. "So Pa1patine's order was put in place because he
anticipated that the Jedi might try something?"

     "It's not unusual to have a contingency plan, Climber. You should know
that better than anyone."

     Climber thought hard about it. "How does it make you feel,  Commander-
about what the Jedi did, I mean?"

     Salvo took a moment to  respond.  "As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  their
treachery just adds more enemies to the list. Other than that, I don't feel
one way or another about it."

     Climber studied Salvo. "You know, word among some of the  troopers  is
that the Jedi had a hand in ordering the creation of the Grand  Army.  Were
they figuring we'd side with them when they grabbed control, or would  they
have turned on us eventually?"

     "No way to know."

     "Except they made their move too soon."

     Salvo nodded. "Even now, troopers and Jedi are battling it out  inside
the Temple on Coruscant. Thousands are believed dead."

     "I've never  been  to  Coruscant,"  Climber  said,  breaking  a  brief
silence. "Closest I ever came was training on one of the  inner  worlds  of
that system. You've been there?"

     "Once. Before the start of the Outer Rim Sieges."

     "Who would you rather be serving, Commander-Palpatine or the Jedi?"

     "That's outside the scope  of  the  part  we  were  created  to  play,
Climber. When this war ends, we'll  be  sitting  pretty.  I  wouldn't  have
thought so even twelve hours ago,  but  now,  with  the  Jedi  out  of  the
picture, I suspect we're in for a promotion."

     Climber glanced at the sky. "Going to be dark soon.  Puts  our  search
teams at high risk of being ambushed by Seps."

     Salvo shrugged. "More than a hundred seeker droids have been deployed.
Shouldn't be hard to find three Jedi."

     Climber blew his breath out in derision. "You know as  well  as  I  do
that they're too smart to be caught."

     "Granted," Salvo said. "By now, they're probably wearing bodysuits and
armor."

     8

     Eat," Shryne said, forcing some of the rations he had taken  from  his
utility belt on a distracted Olee Starstone. "We don't know when we'll have
another chance."

     Several hours had passed since they had  fled  the  ambush  site,  and
they'd traveled clear across the city to an empty warehouse  close  to  the
access ramps of the northernmost of the landing platform  bridges.  It  was
midnight, and they were attired in the garb of three mercenaries  they  had
taken by surprise behind the Argente Tower.

     Shryne continued. "There may come a point when we'll have to  get  rid
of our comlinks, beacon transceivers, and lightsabers. Being taken prisoner
could be our way off Murkhana."

     "Should we use Force influence?" Starstone said.

     "That might work on a couple of troopers at a time," Shryne said, "but
not an entire platoon, much less a full company."

     Chatak eyed her Padawan with clear intent. "It's a matter of surviving
until the Republic is victorious."

     Shryne had  a  ration  pack  lifted  to  his  mouth  when  his  beacon
transceiver began to vibrate. He fished the device from the deep pocket  of
the Koorivar robe and regarded it in silence.

     "Could be troopers, tapping into our frequencies," Chatak said.

     Shryne studied the beacon's small display screen. "It's a coded burst-
transmission from the Temple."

     Chatak hurried to his  side  to  peer  over  his  shoulder.  "Can  you
decipher it?"

     "It's not a simple Nine Thirteen," Shryne said, referring to the  code
the Jedi used to locate one another in emergency  situations.  "Give  me  a
moment." When the burst transmission began to recycle, he turned to  Chatak
in stark incredulity. "The High  Council  is  ordering  all  Jedi  back  to
Coruscant."

     Chatak was dumbfounded.

     "No explanation," Shryne said.

     Chatak stood up and paced away from him. "What could have happened?"

     He thought about it. "A follow-up attack on Coruscant by Grievous?"

     "Perhaps," Chatak said.  "But  that  doesn't  account  for  the  clone
troopers' disloyalty."

     "Maybe there's been a  universal  clone  trooper  revolt,"  Star-stone
suggested. "The Kaminoans could have betrayed us.  All  these  years,  they
could have been in league with Count Dooku. They could have programmed  the
troopers to revolt at a predetermined time."

     Shryne was glancing at Chatak. "Does she ever stop?" "I  haven't  been
able to find the off switch."

     Shryne moved to the nearest window and watched the night sky.

     "Republic starfighters will be setting down on the landing platform by
late morning," he said.

     Chatak joined him at the window. "Then Murkhana is won."

     Shryne turned to face  her.  "We  have  to  reach  the  platform.  The
troopers have their orders, and now  we  have  ours.  If  we  can  seize  a
transport or starfighters, we may yet be able to return to Coruscant."

     Throughout the long night and morning, explosive light strobed through
the warehouse's arched windows as Republic and Separatist forces clashed at
sea and in the air. The battle for the landing platform raged well into the
afternoon. But now the Separatist forces were in  full  retreat,  streaming
across the two intact bridges, leaving the platform's  defense  to  horning
spider droids, hailfire weapons platforms, and tanks.

     By the time the Jedi managed to reach the more northern of the pair of
bridges, the wide avenue was so closely packed with fleeing mercenaries and
other Separatist fighters they could scarcely make any headway against  the
flow. A crossing that should have taken an hour required more  than  three,
and the sun was low on the horizon when they reached the end of the bridge.

     They were just short of the  platform  itself  when  a  succession  of
powerful explosions took out the final hundred meters of the span and split
the massive hexagon  into  thirds,  sending  hundreds  of  clone  troopers,
mercenaries, and Separatist droids plummeting into the churning water.

     Shryne knew that the Separatists were responsible for the  explosions.
Before too  long,  munitions  planted  under  the  final  bridge  would  be
detonated, as well. By  then,  though,  there  would  be  no  stopping  the
Republic onslaught.

     While mercenaries shouldered past him in a frenzy, Shryne surveyed the
forest of bridge pylons left exposed by the explosions,  calculating  their
distance from one another and the odds of  accomplishing  what  he  had  in
mind.

     Finally he said: "Either we frog-leap for the platform or we head back
into the city." He looked at Starstone. "You decide."

     Her blue eyes sparkled and she put on a brave face.  "Not  a  problem,
Master. We leap for it."

     Shryne almost grinned. "Right. One at a time."

     Chatak put her arm around her Padawan's shoulder. "Let's just hope  no
clone troopers are watching."

     Shryne gestured to his pilfered outfit of robe and head-cloth.  "We're
just a bunch of very agile mercs."

     Chatak took the lead, with Starstone right on her heels. Shryne waited
until they were halfway along before following. The first  few  leaps  were
easy, but the closer he got to  the  platform,  the  greater  the  distance
between the pylons, many of which had been left with jagged  tops.  On  his
penultimate jump, he nearly lost his balance, and on his final leap for the
edge of the platform his hands arrived well in front of his feet.

     A last-moment grab from Starstone was all that saved him from a plunge
into the waves.

     "Remind me to mention this to the Council, Padawan," he told her.

     The platform was being hammered, but not past the point of utility. On
one fractured section  gunships  were  beginning  to  land,  along  with  a
vanguard flight of troop transports. Elsewhere, battle  droids  were  being
flattened by magpulse busters, then picked off before they had a chance  to
reactivate by V-wings and ARC-170s performing lightning-fast strafing runs.

     With night falling, the Jedi wove through firefights  and  fountaining
explosions, using their captured blasters rather than their lightsabers  to
defend themselves against teams of clone  troopers  and  commandos,  though
without killing any.

     They came to a halt at a ruined stretch of permacrete, at the far  end
of which a squadron of starfighters was touching down.

     "Can you pilot a ship?" Shryne asked Starstone in a rush.

     "Only an interceptor, Master. But without an astromech droid I doubt I
could fly one to Coruscant. And I've never even seen the cockpit  of  a  V-
wing."

     Shryne considered it. "Then it'll have to be an  ARC-one-seventy."  He
pointed to a bomber that was just landing, probably to refuel. "That's  our
ship. It's our best bet, anyway. Enough chairs for the  three  of  us,  and
hyperspace-capable."

     Chatak watched the crew for a moment. "We may have to stun the copilot
and tail gunner."

     Shryne was on the verge of moving when he felt the beacon  transceiver
vibrate again, and he pawed it from the deep pocket of the robe.

     "What is it, Roan?" Chatak asked while he was staring in  stupefaction
at the device. "What?" she repeated.

     "Another coded burst from the beacon," he said without moving his gaze
from the screen.

     "Same order?"

     "The opposite." Eyes wide, he looked up at Chatak and Star-stone. "All
Jedi are ordered to avoid Coruscant at all costs. We're to abandon whatever
missions we're involved in, and go into hiding."

     Chatak's mouth fell open.

     Shryne made his lips a thin line. "We still need to get off Murkhana."

     They double-checked their blasters and again  were  on  the  verge  of
setting out for the starfighter when every Separatist droid and war machine
on the landing platform abruptly began  to  power  down.  At  first  Shryne
thought that another droid buster had  been  delivered  without  his  being
aware of it. Then he realized his mistake.

     This was something different.

     The droids hadn't simply been dazzled. They had been deactivated, even
the hailfires and tanks. Red photoreceptors lost their  glow,  alloy  limbs
and antennas relaxed, every soldier and war machine stood motionless.

     At once, a full  wing  of  gunships  dropped  out  of  the  noon  sky,
releasing almost a thousand clone troopers, riding polyplast cables to  the
platform's ruined surface.

     Shryne, Chatak, and Starstone watched helplessly as they  were  almost
instantly surrounded.

     "Capture is infinitely preferable  to  execution,"  Shryne  said.  "It
could still be our way out."

     Closest to the ragged edge of the platform, he  allowed  his  blaster,
comlink, beacon transceiver, and lightsaber to slip from his hands into the
dark waters far below.

     PART II

     THE EMPEROR'S EMISSARY

     9

     The  Star  Destroyer  Exactor,  second  in  a  line  of  newly  minted
Imperator-class naval vessels, emerged from hyperspace  and  inserted  into
orbit, its spiked bow aimed at the former Separatist world of Murkhana.  At
sixteen hundred meters in length, the  Exactor,  unlike  its  Venator-class
predecessors, was a product  of  Kuat  Drive  Yards,  and  featured  gaping
ventral launching bays rather than a dorsal flight deck.

     Moved by gravity rather than by their ion  drives,  the  carcasses  of
Banking Clan and  Commerce  Guild  warships  were  grim  reminders  of  the
Republic invasion that had been launched in the  concluding  weeks  of  the
war. Murkhana, however, had fared far better than  some  contested  worlds,
and the Corporate Alliance elite had decamped for  remote  systems  in  the
galaxy's Tingel Arm, taking much of the planet's wealth with it.

     In his quarters  aboard  the  capital  ship  now  under  his  personal
command, Darth Vader, gloved and artificial right hand clamped on the  hilt
of his new lightsaber, knelt before a larger-than-life hologram of  Emperor
Palpatine. Only four standard weeks had elapsed since the war had ended and
Palpatine had proclaimed himself Emperor of the  former  Republic,  to  the
adulation of the leaders of countless worlds that had been drawn  into  the
protracted conflict, and to the sustained  acclaim  of  nearly  the  entire
Senate.

     Palpatine wore a voluminous embroidered robe of rich weave,  the  cowl
of which was raised, concealing in shadow the scars he had suffered at  the
hands of the four treasonous Jedi Masters who had attempted to  arrest  him
in  his  chambers  in  the  Senate  Office  Building,  as  well  as   other
deformations resulting from his fierce  battle  with  Master  Yoda  in  the
Rotunda of the Senate itself.

     "This is an important time for you, Lord Vader," Palpatine was saying.
"You are finally free to make full use of your powers. If not for  us,  the
galaxy would never have been restored to order. Now you  must  embrace  the
sacrifices you made to bring this about, and revel in  the  fact  that  you
have fulfilled your destiny. It can all  be  yours,  my  young  apprentice,
anything you wish. You need only have the  determination  to  take  it,  at
whatever cost to those who stand in your way."

     Palpatine's disfigurements  were  really  nothing  new;  nor  was  his
deliberate, vaguely contemptuous voice. The Emperor had used the same voice
to procure his first apprentice; to ensnare Trade Federation  Viceroy  Nute
Gunray in facilitating his dark designs; to persuade Count Dooku to unleash
a war; and finally to seduce Vader-former Jedi Knight  Anakin  Skywalker-to
the dark side, with the promise that  he  could  keep  Anakin's  wife  from
dying.

     Few among the galaxy's trillions were aware that Palpatine was also  a
Sith Lord, known by the title Darth Sidious, or that he had manipulated the
war in order to bring down the Republic, crush  the  Jedi,  and  place  the
entire galaxy under his full control. Fewer still knew of the crucial  role
Sidious's current apprentice had played  in  those  events,  having  helped
Sidious defend himself against the Jedi who had sought his  arrest;  having
led the assault on the Jedi Temple on  Coruscant;  having  killed  in  cold
blood the half dozen members of the  Separatist  Council  in  their  hidden
fortress on volcanic Mustafar.

     And who there had suffered even more gravely than Palpatine.

     Down on one knee, his black-masked face raised to the hologram,  tall,
fearsome Vader was wearing the bodysuit and armor, helmet, boots, and cloak
that both camouflaged the evidence of his transformation and sustained  his
life.

     Without revealing  his  distress  at  being  unable  to  maintain  the
kneeling posture, Vader said: "What are your orders, Master?"

     And asked himself: Is this poorly  designed  suit  the  source  of  my
distress, or is something else at work?

     "Do you recall what I told you about the  relationship  between  power
and understanding, Lord Vader?"

     "Yes, Master. Where the Jedi gained power through  understanding,  the
Sith gain understanding through power."

     Palpatine smiled faintly. "This will become  clearer  to  you  as  you
continue your training, Lord Vader. And to that end I will provide you with
the means to increase your power, and broaden your  understanding.  In  due
time, power will fill the vacuum created by the  decisions  you  made,  the
acts you carried out. Married to the order of the Sith, you  will  need  no
other companion than the dark side of the Force..."

     The remark stirred something within Vader, but he was unable  to  make
full sense of the feelings that washed through him: a commingling of  anger
and disappointment, of grief and regret...

     The events of Anakin Skywalker's life might have occurred  a  lifetime
ago, or to someone else entirely, and yet some residue of Anakin  continued
to plague Vader, like pain from a phantom limb.

     "Word has reached me," Palpatine was saying, "that a  group  of  clone
troopers on Murkhana may have deliberately refused  to  comply  with  Order
Sixty-Six."

     Vader tightened his hold on the lightsaber. "I had not heard, Master."

     He knew that Order Sixty-Six had not been hardwired into the clones by
the Kaminoans who had grown  them.  Rather,  the  troopers-the  commanders,
especially-had been programmed to  demonstrate  unfailing  loyalty  to  the
Supreme Chancellor, in his role as Commander in Chief of the Grand Army  of
the Republic. And so when the Jedi had revealed their seditious plans, they
had become a threat to Palpatine, and had been sentenced to death.

     On myriad worlds Order 66  had  been  executed  without  misfortune-on
Mygeeto, Saleucami, Felucia, and many others. Taken by surprise,  thousands
of Jedi had been assassinated by troopers who had for three years  answered
almost exclusively to them. A few Jedi were known to have escaped death  by
dint of superior skill or accident.  But  on  Murkhana,  apparently  unique
events had played out; events that were potentially more dangerous  to  the
Empire than the few Jedi who had survived.

     "What was the cause of the troopers' insubordination,  Master?"  Vader
asked.

     "Contagion." Palpatine sneered. "Contagion brought about  by  fighting
alongside the Jedi for so many years. Clone or otherwise, there is only  so
much a being can be programmed to do. Sooner or later even a lowly  trooper
will become the sum of his experiences."

     Light-years distant in his inner sanctum, Palpatine leaned toward  the
holotransceiver's cam.

     "But you will demonstrate to them the peril of  independent  thinking,
Lord Vader, the refusal to obey orders."

     "To obey you, Master."

     "To obey us, my apprentice. Remember that."

     "Yes, my Master." Vader paused with  purpose.  "It's  possible,  then,
that some Jedi may have survived?"

     Palpatine adopted a look of consummate displeasure. "I am not  worried
about your pathetic former friends, Lord Vader. I want those clone troopers
punished, as a reminder  to  all  of  them  that  for  the  rest  of  their
abbreviated lives they would do well to understand whom they truly  serve."
Retracting his face into the hood of his robe, he said in a seething  tone:
"It is time that you were revealed as my authority. I leave it  to  you  to
drive the point home."

     "And the escaped Jedi, Master?"

     Palpatine  fell  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  choosing  his  words
carefully. "The escaped Jedi... yes. You  may  kill  any  you  come  across
during the course of your mission."

     10

     Vader didn't rise until the Emperor's holoimage had derezzed entirely.
Then he stood for a long moment with his  sheathed  arms  dangling  at  his
sides, his head mournfully bowed. Finally he turned and moved for the hatch
that opened onto the Exactor's ready room.

     To the galaxy at large, Jedi Knight Anakin  Sky  walker-posterboy  for
the war effort, the "Hero  with  No  Fear,"  the  Chosen  One-had  died  on
Coruscant during the siege of the Jedi Temple.

     And to some extent that was true.

     Anakin is dead, Vader told himself.

     And yet, if not for events on Mustafar, Anakin would sit  now  on  the
Coruscant throne, his wife by his side, their child in her arms... Instead,
Palpatine's plan could not have been more flawlessly executed. He  had  won
it all: the war, the Republic, the fealty of the one Jedi  Knight  in  whom
the entire Jedi order had placed its hope. The revenge of  the  self-exiled
Sith had been complete, and Darth Vader was merely a minion, an errand boy,
allegedly an apprentice, the public face of the dark side of the Force.

     While he retained his knowledge of the Jedi arts,  he  felt  uncertain
about his place in the Force; and while he had taken his first steps toward
awakening the power of the dark side, he felt uncertain about  his  ability
to sustain that power. How  far  he  might  have  been  now  had  fate  not
intervened to strip him of almost everything he possessed, as  a  means  of
remaking him!

     Or of humbling him, as Darths Maul and Tyranus had been humbled before
him; as indeed the Jedi order itself had been humbled.

     Where Darth Sidious had gained everything, Vader had lost  everything,
including-for the moment, at least-the self-confidence and unbridled  skill
he had demonstrated as Anakin Skywalker.

     Vader turned and moved for the hatch.

     But this is not walking, he thought.

     Long accustomed to building and rebuilding droids,  supercharging  the
engines of landspeeders and starfighters,  upgrading  the  mechanisms  that
controlled the first of his  artificial  limbs,  he  was  dismayed  by  the
incompetence of the medical droids  responsible  for  his  resurrection  in
Sidious's lofty laboratory on Coruscant.

     His alloy lower legs were bulked by strips of armor similar  to  those
that filled and gave form to the long glove Anakin had worn over his right-
arm prosthesis. What remained of his real limbs ended in bulbs  of  grafted
flesh, inserted into machines that triggered movement through  the  use  of
modules that interfaced with his damaged  nerve  endings.  But  instead  of
using durasteel, the medical droids had substituted an inferior alloy,  and
had failed to inspect the strips that protected the electromotive lines. As
a result, the inner lining of  the  pressurized  bodysuit  was  continually
snagging on places where the strips were anchored to knee and ankle joints.

     The tall boots were a poor fit for his artificial  feet,  whose  claw-
like toes  lacked  the  electrostatic  sensitivity  of  his  equally  false
fingertips. Raised in the heel, the cumbersome footgear canted him slightly
forward, forcing him to move with exaggerated caution lest  he  stumble  or
topple over. Worse, they were so heavy that he often  felt  rooted  to  the
ground, or as if he were moving in high gravity.

     What good was motion of this sort, if he was going to have to call  on
the Force even to walk from place to place! He may as  well  have  resigned
himself to using a repulsor chair and abandoned any hope of movement.

     The defects in his prosthetic arms mirrored those of his legs.

     Only the right one felt natural to him-though it, too, was artificial-
and the pneumatic mechanisms that supplied articulation  and  support  were
sometimes slow to respond.  The  weighty  cloak  and  pectoral  plating  so
restricted his movement that he could scarcely lift his arms over his head,
and he had already  been  forced  to  adapt  his  lightsaber  technique  to
compensate.

     He could probably adjust the servodrivers and pistons in his  forearms
to provide his hands with strength enough to crush  the  hilt  of  his  new
lightsaber. With the power of his arms alone, he had the ability to lift an
adult being off the ground. But the Force had always given him the  ability
to do that, especially in moments  of  rage,  as  he  had  demonstrated  on
Tatooine and elsewhere. What's more, the sleeves of the bodysuit didn't hug
the prostheses as they should,  and  the  elbow-length  gloves  sagged  and
bunched at his wrists.

     Gazing at the gloves now, he thought: This is not seeing.

     The pressurized mask was goggle-eyed, fish-mouthed, short-snouted, and
needlessly angular over the cheekbones. Coupled  with  a  flaring  dome  of
helmet, the mask gave him the forbidding appearance of an ancient Sith  war
droid. The dark hemispheres that covered his eyes filtered out  light  that
might have caused further injury to his damaged corneas and retinas, but in
enhanced mode the half globes reddened the light  and  prevented  him  from
being able to see the toes of his boots without inclining his  head  almost
ninety degrees.

     Listening to the servomotors that drove his limbs, he thought: This is
not hearing.

     The med droids rebuilt the  cartilage  of  his  outer  ears,  but  his
eardrums, having melted in Mustafar's heat, had been beyond  repair.  Sound
waves now had to be transmitted directly to implants in his inner ear,  and
sounds registered as if  issuing  from  underwater.  Worse,  the  implanted
sensors lacked sufficient discrimination, so that too many  ambient  sounds
were picked  up,  and  their  distance  and  direction  were  difficult  to
determine. Sometimes the sensors needled him  with  feedback,  or  attached
echo or vibrato effects to even the faintest noise.

     Allowing his  lungs  to  fill  with  air,  he  thought:  This  is  not
breathing.

     Here the med droids had truly failed him.

     From a control box he wore  strapped  to  his  chest,  a  thick  cable
entered his torso, linked to a breathing apparatus and heartbeat regulator.
The ventilator was implanted in his hideously  scarred  chest,  along  with
tubes that ran directly into his damaged lungs, and others that entered his
throat, so that should the chest plate or belt  control  panels  develop  a
glitch, he could breathe unassisted fir a limited time.

     But the monitoring panel beeped frequently and for no reason, and  the
constellation  of  lights  served  only  as   steady   reminders   of   his
vulnerability.

     The incessant rasp of his breathing interfered  with  his  ability  to
rest, let alone sleep. And sleep, in the rare moments it came to him, was a
nightmarish  jumble  of  twisted,  recurrent  memories  that  unfolded   to
excruciating sounds.

     The med droids had at least inserted the redundant breathing tubes low
enough so that, with the aid of an enunciator,  his  scorched  vocal  cords
could still form  sounds  and  words.  But  absent  the  enunciator,  which
imparted a synthetic bass tone, his  own  voice  was  little  more  than  a
whisper.

     He could take food through his mouth, as well, but only  when  he  was
inside a  hyperbaric  chamber,  since  he  had  to  remove  the  triangular
respiratory vent that was the mask's prominent feature. So it was easier to
receive nourishment through liquids, intravenous and otherwise, and to rely
on catheters, collection pouches, and recyclers to  deal  with  liquid  and
solid waste.

     But all those devices made it even more difficult for him to move with
ease, much less with any grace.  The  pectoral  armor  that  protected  the
artificial lung weighed him down, as did the electrode-studded collar  that
supported the outsize helmet, necessary to safeguard the cybernetic devices
that replaced the uppermost of his vertebrae, the delicate systems  of  the
mask, and the ragged scars in his hairless head, which owed as much to what
he had endured on Mustafar as to attempts at emergency trephination  during
the trip back to Coruscant aboard Sidious's shuttle.

     The synthskin that substituted for what  was  seared  from  his  bones
itched incessantly, and his body needed to  be  periodically  cleansed  and
scrubbed of necrotic flesh.

     Already  he  had  experienced  moments  of  claustrophobia-moments  of
desperation to he rid of the suit, to emerge from the shell. He  needed  to
build, or have built, a chamber in which he could feel human again...

     If possible.

     All in all, he thought: This is not living.

     This was solitary confinement. Prison of  the  worst  sort.  Continual
torture. He was nothing more than wreckage. Power without clear purpose..

     A melancholy sigh escaped the mouth grille.

     Collecting himself, he stepped through the hatch.

     Commander Appo was waiting in the ready room, the special ops  officer
who had led the 501st Legion against the Jedi Temple.

     "Your shuttle is prepared, Lord Vader," Appo said.

     For reasons that went  beyond  the  armor  and  helmets,  the  imaging
systems and boots, Vader felt more at home among the troopers than  he  did
around other flesh-and-bloods.

     And Appo and the rest of Vader's cadre of stormtroopers seemed  to  be
at ease with their new superior. To them it was only reasonable that  Vader
wore a bodysuit and armor. Some had  always  wondered  why  the  Jedi  left
themselves exposed, as if they had had something to prove by it.

     Vader looked down at Appo and nodded. "Come with  me,  Commander.  The
Emperor has business for us on Murkhana."

     11

     Shryne squinted against the golden wash of Murkhana's  primary,  which
had just climbed  from  behind  the  thickly  forested  hills  that  walled
Murkhana City to the east. By his reckoning he  had  spent  close  to  four
weeks confined with hundreds of other captives to  a  windowless  warehouse
somewhere in the city. Hours earlier all of them had been  marched  through
the dark to a red-clay landing field that had been notched into one of  the
hills and was currently swarming with Republic troops.

     On its hardstand  sat  a  military  transport  Shryne  surmised  would
deliver everyone to a proper prison on or  in  orbit  around  some  forlorn
Outer Rim world. Thus far, though, none of the prisoners had  been  ordered
to board the transport. Instead, a head count  was  being  conducted.  More
important, the  clone  troopers  were  obviously  waiting  for  someone  or
something to arrive.

     When his eyes had adjusted fully to  the  light,  Shryne  scanned  the
prisoners to all sides of him, relieved to find Bol Chatak and her  Padawan
standing some fifty meters away, among a mixed group of indigenous Koorivar
fighters and an assortment of Separatist mercenaries.  He  called  to  them
through the Force, figuring that Chatak would be first to respond,  but  it
was Starstone who turned slightly in his direction and smiled faintly. Then
Chatak looked his way, offering a quick nod.

     On their capture at the landing platform, the three of them  had  been
separated. The fact that Chatak had managed to retain her headcloth perhaps
explained why her short cranial horns hadn't singled her out as Zabrak  and
raised an alert among her captors.

     Assuming that the conditions of her captivity had been similar to his,
Chatak's being overlooked made perfect sense to  Shryne.  Rounded  up  with
hundreds of enemy fighters following  the  still-puzzling  deactivation  of
Murkhana's battle droids and other war machines, Shryne had been  searched,
roughed up, and marched into the dark building that would become  his  home
for the next four weeks-a special torment reserved for mercenaries. Any who
hadn't willingly surrendered their weapons had been  executed,  and  dozens
more had died in fierce fights that had broken out for the  few  scraps  of
food that had been provided.

     It hadn't taken long for Shryne to grasp that winning the  hearts  and
minds of Separatist fighters was no longer tops on  Chancellor  Palpatine's
list.

     It also hadn't taken long for him to  give  up  worrying  about  being
found out, since he had been placed in the  custody  of  low-ranking  clone
troopers whose armor blazes identified them as members of  companies  other
than Commander Salvo's. The troopers  had  rarely  spoken  to  any  of  the
prisoners, so there had been no news of the war or  of  events  that  might
have prompted the High Council to order the Jedi to go into hiding.  Shryne
knew only that the fighting on Murkhana had stopped, and that the  Republic
had triumphed.

     He was considering the advantage of edging  himself  closer  to  where
Chatak and Starstone stood when a convoy  of  military  speeders  and  big-
wheeled juggernauts arrived on the scene. Commander Salvo and some  of  his
chief officers stepped from one of the landspeeders; from the hatch of  one
of the juggernauts emerged commando squad leader Climber, and the  rest  of
Ion Team.

     Shryne wondered about the timing of the commander's  arrival.  Perhaps
Salvo was determined to have a close look at each and every prisoner before
any were loaded into the transport. That Shryne was farther back  from  the
leading edge of the crowd than Chatak and  Starstone  were  meant  nothing.
Given the amount of time they had  spent  with  Salvo,  he  would  have  no
trouble identifying all of them.

     Oddly, though, the commander  wasn't  paying  much  attention  to  the
prisoners. His T-visor gaze was fixed instead on a  Republic  shuttle  that
was descending toward the landing field.

     "Theta-class," one of the prisoners  said  quietly  to  the  mercenary
standing alongside him.

     "You don't see many of those," the second human said. "Must be one  of
Palpatine's regional governors."

     The first man sniffed. "When they care enough to send the very best...
"

     The shuttle  had  commenced  its  landing  sequence.  With  ion  drive
powering down and repulsorlift engaged, the craft  folded  its  long  wings
upward to provide access to the main  hold,  then  settled  gently  to  the
ground. No sooner had the boarding ramp extended  than  a  squad  of  elite
troopers filed out, the red markings on their  armor  identifying  them  as
Coruscant shock troopers.

     A much taller figure followed, attired head-to-foot in black. "What in
the moons of Bogden-"

     "New breed of trooper?"

     "Only if someone furnished the cloners with a donor a lot taller  than
the original."

     Salvo and his officers hastened over to the figure in black. "Welcome,
Lord Vader."

     "Vader?" the mere closest to Shryne said.

     Lord, Shryne thought.

     "That's no clone," the first human said.

     Shryne didn't know what to make of Vader, although it was evident from
the reaction of Salvo and his officers that they had been  told  to  expect
someone of high rank. With his large helmet and flowing black  cape,  Vader
looked like something borrowed from the Separatists-a grotesque,  Grievous-
like marriage of humanoid and machine.

     "Lord Vader," Shryne repeated under his breath.

     Like Count Dooku?

     Salvo was gesturing to  Climber  and  the  other  commandos,  who  had
remained at the juggernaut. From inside  the  enormous  vehicle  floated  a
large antigrav capsule with a transparent lid, which two of  the  commandos
began to guide toward Vader's shuttle.  As  the  capsule  passed  close  to
Shryne, he caught a glimpse of brown robes, and his  stomach  lurched  into
his throat.

     When the capsule finally reached Salvo, the commander opened an access
panel in its base and removed three gleaming cylinders, which he  proffered
to Vader.

     Lightsabers.

     Vader nodded for the commander of his shock troopers to  accept  them,
then, in a deep, synthesized voice, said to Salvo: "What  were  you  saving
the bodies for, Commander-posterity?"

     Salvo shook his head. "We weren't issued any instructions-"

     Vader's gloved right hand waved him silent. "Dispose of  them  in  any
fashion you see fit."

     Salvo was motioning Climber to remove the antigrav coffin  when  Vader
stopped him.

     "Have you forgotten anyone, Commander?" Vader  asked.  Salvo  regarded
him. "Forgotten, Lord Vader?"

     Vader folded his  arms  across  his  massive  chest.  "Six  Jedi  were
assigned to Murkhana, not three."

     Shryne traded brief glances with Chatak, who was also close enough  to
Vader to hear the remark.

     "I'm sorry to report, Lord Vader, that the other three evaded capture,
" Salvo said.

     Vader nodded. "I already know that,  Commander.  And  I  haven't  come
halfway across the galaxy to chase them down." He drew himself erect with a
haughty air. "I've come to deal with the ones who allowed them to escape."

     Climber immediately stepped forward. "That would be me."

     "And us," the rest of Ion Team announced in unison.

     Vader stared down at the commandos. "You disobeyed a direct order from
High Command."

     "The order made no sense at the time," Climber answered for  everyone.
"We thought it might be a Separatist trick."

     "What you 'thought' has no bearing on this," Vader said,  pointing  at
Climber. "You are expected to follow orders."

     "And we follow any reasonable ones. Killing our own didn't qualify."

     Vader continued to point his  forefinger  at  Climber's  chest.  "They
weren't your allies, squad leader. They were traitors, and you  sided  with
them."

     Climber stood his ground. "Traitors how? Because a few of  them  tried
to arrest Palpatine? I still don't see how that warrants  a  death  penalty
for the lot of them."

     "I'll be sure to notify the Emperor of your concerns," Vader said.

     "You do that."

     Shryne closed his mouth and swallowed hard. Jedi had tried  to  arrest
Palpatine. The Republic now had an Emperor!

     "Unfortunately," Vader was saying, "you won't be alive to learn of his
response."

     In one swift motion he drew aside his cloak and  pulled  a  lightsaber
from his belt. Igniting with a snap-hiss,  the  hilt  projected  a  crimson
blade.

     If Shryne had been confused earlier, he was now overwhelmed.

     A Sith blade?

     The four commandos fell back, raising their weapons.

     "We'll accept execution for our actions," Climber said. "But not  from
some lapdog of the Emperor."

     Quickly Salvo and his officers stepped forward, but Vader only  showed
them the palm of his hand. "No, Commander. Leave this to me."

     With that he moved on the commandos.

     Spreading out, they fired, but not a single bolt made it past  Vader's
blade. Deflected bolts went straight through the helmet visors  of  two  of
the commandos, and in  two  furious  sweeps  Vader  opened  the  pair  from
shoulder to hip, as if they were flimsy ration containers. Climber and  the
third commando took advantage of the moment to break for  the  nearby  tree
line, firing as they fled. A deflection shot from Vader caught  Climber  in
the left leg, but the bolt didn't so much as slow him down.

     Vader tracked them, then motioned to his cadre of  troopers.  "I  want
them alive, Commander Appo."

     "Yes, Lord Vader."

     Appo's shock troopers raced off in pursuit of the commandos.  Not  one
of Salvo's officers had fired a weapon, but now all of them were  regarding
Vader with vigilant uncertainty, their rifles half raised.

     "Don't let my weapon fool you," Vader told them, as if  reading  their
thoughts. "I am not a Jedi."

     From off to Shryne's left, a familiar voice shouted. "But I am!"

     Bol Chatak had unwound her headcloth, revealing her  vestigial  horns,
and had ignited the lightsaber Shryne thought she'd  had  sense  enough  to
ditch when they were captured.

     Vader whirled, watching Chatak as she began to  stalk  him,  prisoners
and troopers alike giving her wide berth.

     "So much the better that one of you survived,"  he  said,  waving  his
lightsaber back and forth in front of him. "The commandos saved your  life,
and now you hope to save theirs, is that it?"

     Chatak held her blue blade at shoulder height. "My only intent  is  to
take you out of the hunt."

     Vader's angled his blade to point toward the ground. "You won't be the
first Jedi I've killed."

     Their blades met with an explosion of light.

     Fearing that the prisoners  would  use  the  distraction  to  scatter,
Salvo's men hurried in to form a  cordon  around  them.  Pressed  in  among
everyone, Shryne lost sight of Chatak and Vader, but he could tell from the
angry clashes  of  their  blades  that  the  duel  was  fast  and  furious.
Momentarily immobilized, he allowed himself to be swept up in the surge  of
the crowd, so that he might be raised up over the heads of those  in  front
of him.

     For a moment he was.

     Just long enough to glimpse Chatak, all grace and speed,  working  her
way into her opponent's space. Her moves were broad and circular,  and  the
lightsaber seemed an extension of her. Vader, by contrast, was clumsy,  and
his strikes were mostly vertical. He was, however, a full head taller  than
Chatak and incredibly powerful. At various times his stances and techniques
mimicked those of Ataro and Soresu, but Vader appeared to lack a  style  of
his own, and executed his moves stiffly.

     With a whirling motion Chatak got far enough inside Vader's long reach
to inflict a forearm wound. But Vader scarcely  reacted  to  the  hit,  and
instead of seeing cauterized flesh

     Shryne saw sparks and smoke fountain through Vader's slashed glove.

     Then he lost sight of them again.

     Wedged into the crowd, he wondered if he could use the Force  to  call
one of the trooper's blaster rifles into his grip.  At  the  same  time  he
hoped that Starstone had abandoned her lightsaber at the landing  platform,
and wouldn't attempt to join her Master against Vader.

     We need to learn what happened to the Jedi, he tried to send  to  her.
Our time for dealing with Vader will come. Be patient.

     He wondered if he was right. Maybe he should attempt to reach  Chatak,
weapon or no. Maybe his life was meant to end here, on Murkhana.

     He looked to the Force for guidance, and the Force restrained him.

     A pained cry cut through the chaos, and the crowd of prisoners  parted
just long enough for Shryne to see Chatak down on her  knees  in  front  of
Vader, her sword arm amputated at the elbow. Vader had  simply  beaten  her
into submission, and  now,  with  a  flick  of  his  bloodshine  blade,  he
decapitated her.

     Sorrow lanced Shryne's heart.

     Unreadable behind his mask, Vader gazed down at Chatak's slack body.

     The clone troopers relaxed the cordon somewhat, allowing the prisoners
to spread out. And the moment they did, Vader began to scan  faces  in  the
crowd.

     There were techniques for concealing one's Force abilities, and Shryne
employed them. He also prepared for the possibility that he could be  found
out. But Vader's black gaze moved right past him. Instead, it  appeared  to
focus on ølee Starstone.

     Vader took a step in her direction.

     Now I have no choice, Shryne thought.

     He was ready to lunge when a shock trooper called to Vader,  reporting
that the commandos had been captured. Vader stopped in his tracks, glancing
in Starstone's direction before turning to Salvo.

     "Commander,  see  to  it  that  the  prisoners  are  loaded  into  the
transport." Again, Vader scanned the crowd. "A less  accommodating  dungeon
awaits them on Agon Nine."

     12

     Vader had no sooner turned his back to the prisoners than  Shryne  was
in motion, edging, elbowing, shouldering  his  way  through  the  crowd  to
Starstone, whose narrow shoulders heaved as she attempted to  suppress  her
grief at her Master's death. Realizing Shryne was at her side,  she  turned
into his comforting but brief embrace.

     "Your Master is with the Force," he told her. "Rejoice for that."

     She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why didn't you help her?"

     "I thought we'd agreed to abandon our lightsabers."

     She nodded. "I abandoned mine. But you could have done something."

     "You're right. Maybe I  should  have  challenged  'Lord  Vader'  to  a
fistfight." Shryne's nostrils flared. "Your Master reacted in anger and  in
vengeance. She would have been more use to us alive."

     Starstone reacted as if she had  been  slapped.  "That's  a  heartless
remark."

     "Don't confuse emotion with truth. Even if  Bol  Chatak  had  defeated
Vader, she would have been killed."

     Starstone gestured vaguely in Vader's  direction.  "But  that  monster
would be dead."

     Shryne held her accusing gaze. "Vengeance isn't becoming  in  a  Jedi,
Padawan. Your Master died for nothing."

     The prisoners were on the move now, troopers herding them  toward  the
boarding ramp of the military transport.

     "Fall back," Shryne said into Starstone's ear.

     The two of them slowed  down,  allowing  other  captives  to  maneuver
around them.

     "Who is Vader?" Starstone asked after a moment.

     Shryne shook his head in ignorance. "That's something we might be able
to learn if we can remain alive."

     Starstone took her lower lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry about  what
I said, Master."

     "Don't worry about that. Tell me how Bol Chatak was able to  keep  the
lightsaber hidden from the guards."

     "Force persuasion," Starstone said quietly. "At first  we  thought  we
might he able to escape, but my Master wanted to wait until she  knew  what
had happened to you. We were locked away in a building and left to fend for
ourselves. Very little food, and troopers everywhere. Even if my Master had
used her lightsaber then, I don't know how far we would have gotten  before
troopers were all over us."

     "Did you use Force persuasion at any time?"

     She nodded. "That's how I was able to hold on to  my  Master's  beacon
transceiver."

     Shryne eyed her in surprise. "You have it with  you?"  "Master  Chatak
told me to keep it."

     "Foolish," he said, then asked: "Were you able to learn anything about
the war?"

     "Nothing." Starstone let her misgiving show. "Did you hear  Vader  say
that he would tell the 'Emperor'?"

     "I heard him."

     "Could the Senate have named Palpatine Emperor?"

     "Seems like something the Senate would do."

     "But Emperor of what Empire?"

     "I've been asking myself that." He glanced at her. "I  think  the  war
has ended."

     She thought about it for a moment. "Then why were the troopers ordered
to kill us?"

     "Jedi on Coruscant may have attempted to arrest  Palpatine  before  he
was promoted-or crowned, I suppose I  should  say."  "That's  why  we  were
ordered into hiding."

     "Good theory-for a change."

     They were closing on the lip of the boarding ramp now, almost  at  the
end of the line. Accepting of the inevitable, most of  the  prisoners  were
demonstrating remarkable discipline, and many of the troopers were drifting
away as a result. Two troopers were stationed at the top of the  ramp,  one
to either side of the rectangular hatch, and three more were moving more or
less alongside the two Jedi.

     "Vader is a Sith, Master," Starstone said.

     Shryne showed her a long-suffering look. "What  do  you  know  of  the
Sith?"

     "Before Master Chatak chose me as her Padawan, I trained under  Master
Jocasta Nu in the Temple archives. For my review, I elected to be tested in
Sith history."

     "Congratulations. Then I don't need to remind you that a crimson blade
doesn't guarantee that the wielder is a Sith, any more  than  every  person
strong in the Force is a Jedi. Asajj Ventress  was  a  mere  apprentice  to
Dooku, not a true Sith. A crimson blade can owe  to  nothing  more  than  a
synthetic power crystal. Then  crimson  is  simply  a  color,  like  Master
Windu's amethyst blade."

     "Yes, but  Jedi  normally  don't  wield  crimson  blades,"  Star-stone
argued, "if only because of their association with the  Sith.  So  even  if
Vader was nothing more than another apprentice of Count Dooku,  why  is  he
now serving Palpatine-Emperor Palpatine-as an executioner?"

     "You're assuming too much," Shryne said. "Even if you're right, why is
that so hard to believe, when Dooku did just the opposite-went from serving
the Jedi order to serving the Sith?"

     Starstone shook her head. "I suppose it shouldn't be hard to  believe,
Master. But it is."

     He looked at her. "Here is what matters: Vader suspects that two  Jedi
are going to be aboard the prison transport. Eventually he'll  identify  us
and we'll be killed, unless we take our chances, here and now."

     "How, Master?"

     "Drop back with me to the end of the line. I'm going to try something,
and I hope the Force is with  me.  If  I  fail,  we  board  as  instructed.
Understood?"

     "Understood."

     The last of the captive mercenaries and Koorivar moved  past  the  two
reluctant Jedi, up the ship's ramp and through the hatch. At the top Shryne
made a passing motion with his hand to one of the troopers.

     "There's no reason to detain us," he said.

     The trooper gazed at him from inside the helmet. "There's no reason to
detain them," he told his comrades.

     "We're free to return to our homes."

     "They're free to return to their homes."

     "Everything's fine. It's time for you to board the ship."

     "Everything's fine. It's time for us to board the ship."

     Shryne and Starstone waited until the final trooper had filed  inside;
then they leapt from the ramp onto the clay field and concealed  themselves
behind one of the landing gear pods.

     When an opportunity presented itself, they hurried  from  beneath  the
ship and escaped into the thick vegetation, heading for  what  remained  of
Murkhana City.

     13

     In his personal quarters aboard the Exactor, Vader examined the damage
the Zabrak lightsaber had done to his left forearm. After assuring  himself
that the pressure suit had self-sealed above the burn, he  had  peeled  off
the long glove and used a  fine-point  laser  cutter  to  remove  flaps  of
armorweave fabric that had been fused to  the  alloy  beneath.  The  Jedi's
lightsaber had sliced through the shielding that bulked the glove  and  had
melted some of the artificial ligaments that allowed the hand  to  pronate.
Permanent repairs would have to wait until he returned to Coruscant. In the
meantime he would have to entrust his arm to the care of one  of  the  Star
Destroyer's med droids.

     His own lightsaber rested within reach, but the longer he gazed at it,
and at the blackened furrow in the alloy, the more disheartened he  became.
Had the hand been flesh and blood it would  be  shaking  now.  Only  Dooku,
Asajj Ventress, and Obi-Wan had been good enough with  a  blade  to  injure
him, so how had an undistinguished Jedi Knight been able to do so?

     With the loss of my limbs, have I also lost strength in the Force?

     Vader recognized the voice of the one who posed the  question  as  the
specter of Anakin. Anakin telling him that he was not  as  powerful  as  he
thought he was. The little slave boy, cowering  because  lie  was  not  the
master of his fate. A mere accessory in the world, owned by another, passed
over.

     And now newly enslaved!

     He lifted his masked face  to  the  cabin's  ceiling  and  growled  in
torment. Sidious's inept med droids  had  done  this  to  him!  Slowed  his
reflexes, burdened him with armor and padding. He relished having destroyed
them.

     Or... had Sidious deliberately engineered this prison? Again,  it  was
Anakin who asked, that small node of fear in Vader's heart.

     Was this punishment for having failed at  Mustafar?  Or  had  Mustafar
merely provided Sidious with an excuse to weaken him? Perhaps all along the
promise of apprenticeship had been nothing more than a ploy, when, in fact,
Sidious merely needed someone to command his army of stormtroopers.

     Another Grievous, while Sidious reaped  the  real  rewards  of  power,
confident that his newest minion posed no threat to his rule.

     Vader dwelled on it, fearing he would drive himself mad, and  at  last
reached an even more disheartening  conclusion.  Grievous  was  duped  into
serving the Sith. But Sidious had sent Anakin to Mustafar  for  one  reason
only: to kill the members of the Separatist Council.

     Padme and Obi-Wan were the ones who had sentenced him  to  his  black-
suit prison.

     Sentenced by his wife and his alleged best friend, their love for  him
warped by what they had perceived as betrayal. Obi-Wan, too brainwashed  by
the Jedi to recognize the power of the dark side; and Padme,  too  enslaved
to the Republic to understand that Palpatine's  machinations  and  Anakin's
defection to the Sith had been essential to bringing peace to  the  galaxy!
Essential to placing power in the hands of those resourceful enough to  use
it properly, in order to save the galaxy's myriad species from  themselves;
to end the incompetence of the Senate; to dissolve  the  bloated,  entitled
Jedi order, whose Masters were blind to the decay they had fostered.

     And yet their Chosen One had seen it; so why hadn't they followed  his
lead by embracing the dark side?

     Because they were too set in their ways; too inflexible to adapt.

     Vader mused.

     Anakin Skywalker had died on Coruscant.

     But the Chosen One had died on Mustafar.

     Blistering rage, as seething as Mustafar's lava flows,  welled  up  in
him, liquefying self-pity. This was what he saw behind  the  mask's  visual
enhancers: bubbling lava, red heat, scorched flesh

     He had only wanted to save them!  Padme,  from  death;  Obi-Wan,  from
ignorance. And in the end they had failed to recognize his power; to simply
accede to him; to accept on faith that he knew what was best for them,  for
everyone!

     Instead Padme was dead and  Obi-Wan  was  running  for  his  life,  as
stripped of everything as Vader was. Without friends, family, purpose...

     Clenching his right hand, he  cursed  the  Force.  What  had  it  ever
provided him but pain? Torturing him with foresight, with  visions  he  was
unable to prevent. Leading him to believe that he had great power  when  he
was little more than its servant.

     But no longer, Vader promised himself. The  power  of  the  dark  side
would render the Force subservient, minion rather than ally.

     Extending his right arm, he took hold of the lightsaber and turned  it
about in his hand. Just three standard weeks old, assembled-as Sidious  had
wished-in the shadow of  the  moonlet-size  terror  weapon  he  was  having
constructed, it had now tasted first blood.

     Sidious had provided the  synthcrystal  responsible  for  the  crimson
blade, along with his own lightsaber to serve as a  model.  Vader,  though,
had no fondness for antiques, and while he could appreciate  the  handiwork
that had gone into fashioning the inlaid, gently curved hilt  of  Sidious's
lightsaber, he prefered a weapon with more ballast.  Determined  to  please
his Master, lie had tried to create  something  novel,  but  had  ended  up
fashioning a black version of the lightsaber he had wielded for more than a
decade, with a thick, ridged  handgrip,  high-output  diatium  power  cell,
dual-phase focusing crystal, and forward-mounted adjustment knobs. Down  to
the beveled emitter shroud, the hilt mimicked Anakin's.

     But there was a problem.

     His new hands were too large to duplicate the loose  grip  Anakin  had
favored, right hand wrapped not on the grip but around the  crystal-housing
cylinder, close to the blade itself. Vader's hands required that  the  grip
be thicker and longer, and the result was an inelegant weapon,  verging  on
ungainly.

     Another cause of the injury to his left arm.

     The Sith grew past the use of lightsabers, Sidious had told  him.  But
we continue to use them, if only to humiliate the Jedi.

     Vader yearned for the time when memories of Anakin  would  fade,  like
light absorbed by a black hole. Until that  happened,  his  life-sustaining
suit would be an ill fit. Even if it was well suited to the darkness in his
invulnerable heart...

     The comlink chimed.

     "What is it, Commander Appo?"

     "Lord Vader, I've been informed  of  a  discrepancy  in  the  prisoner
count. Allowing for the Jedi you killed  on  Murkhana,  two  prisoners  are
unaccounted for."

     "The others who  survived  Order  Sixty-Six,"  Vader  said.  "Shall  I
instruct Commander Salvo to initiate a search?"

     "Not this time, Commander. I will handle it myself."

     14

     Down there?" Starstone said, halting at the head of a creepy  stairway
Shryne was already descending. The stairs led to the basement of a rambling
building that had been left unscathed by the battle,  and  was  typical  of
those that crowned the verdant hills south of Murkhana City. But she had  a
bad feeling about the stairway.

     "Don't worry. This is only Cash's way of keeping out the riffraff."

     "Doesn't appear to be slowing you down any," she said,  following  him
into the stairway's dark well.

     "Glad to see that your sense of humor has returned. You must have been
the life of the dungeon."

     And Shryne meant it, because  he  didn't  want  her  dwelling  on  Bol
Chatak's death. In the long hours it had taken them to get from the landing
field to Cash Garrulan's headquarters Starstone seemed to have  made  peace
with what had happened.

     "How is it you know this person?" she asked over his shoulder.

     "Garrulan's the reason the Council first sent me to Murkhana.  He's  a
former Black Sun vigo. I came here to put  him  out  of  business,  but  he
turned out to be one of our best  sources  of  intelligence  on  Separatist
activities in this quadrant. Years before Geonosis, Garrulan was warning us
about the extent of Dooku's military buildup, but no one on the Council  or
in the Senate seemed to take the threat seriously."

     "And in return for the intelligence you allowed Garrulan to remain  in
business."

     "He's not a Hutt. He deals in, well, wholesale commodities."

     "So not only are we on the run, we're turning to gangsters for help."

     "Maybe you have a better idea?"

     "No, Master, I don't."

     "I didn't think so. And stop calling me 'Master.' Someone will  either
make the Jedi connection or get the impression you're my servant."

     "Force forbid," Starstone muttered.

     "I'm Roan. Plain and simple."

     "I'll try to remember that-Roan." She laughed at the sound of it. "I'm
sorry, it just doesn't ring true."

     "You'll get used to it."

     At the foot of the stairs was an unadorned  door.  Shryne  rapped  his
knuckles on the jamb, and  to  the  droid  eyeball  that  poked  through  a
circular portal in response said something in what Starstone  surmised  was
Koorivar. A moment later the  door  slid  into  its  housing  to  reveal  a
muscular and extensively tattooed human  male,  cradling  a  DC-17  blaster
rifle. Smiling at Shryne, he  ushered  them  into  a  surprisingly  opulent
foyer.

     "Still sneaking up on people, huh, Shryne?"

     "Old habits."

     The man nodded sagely, then gave Shryne and Starstone  the  once-over.
"What's with the getups? You look like you've spent  a  month  in  a  trash
compactor."

     "That would have been a step up," Starstone said.

     Shryne peered into the back room. "Is he here, Jally?"

     "He's here, but not for long. Just packing up what  we  couldn't  move
before the invasion. I'll tell him-"

     "Let's make it a surprise."

     Jally laughed shortly "Oh, he'll be surprised, all right."

     Shryne motioned for Starstone to follow him. On  the  far  side  of  a
beaded-curtain entryway a mixed group of humans, aliens, and  labor  droids
were hauling packing crates into  a  spacious  turbolift.  Even  more  well
appointed  than  the  foyer,  the  room  was  cluttered   with   furniture,
infostorage and communications devices, weapons,  and  more.  The  humanoid
standing in the midst of it and dispensing orders to his underlings  was  a
Twi'lek with fatty lekku and a prominent  paunch.  Sensing  someone  behind
him, he turned and stared openmouthed at Shryne.

     "I heard you'd been killed."

     "Wishful thinking," Shryne said.

     Cash Garrulan moved his head from side to side. "Perhaps." He extended
his fat arms and shook both of Shryne's hands, then  gestured  to  Shryne's
filthy robe. "I love the new look."

     "I got tired of wearing brown."

     His gazed shifted. "Who's your new friend, Roan?"

     "Olee," Shryne said without elaboration. He  aimed  a  glance  at  the
packing crates. "Clearance sale, Cash?"

     "Let's just say that peace has been bad for business."

     "Then it is over?" Shryne asked solemnly.

     Garrulan inclined his large head. "You hadn't heard? It was  all  over
the HoloNet, Roan."

     "Olee and I have been out of touch."

     "Apparently so." The Twi'lek turned to bark instructions at two of his
employees, then motioned Shryne and Starstone into a small and tidy office,
where Garrulan and Shryne sat down.

     "Are you two in the market for blasters?" Garrulan  asked.  "I've  got
BlasTechs, Merr-Sonns, Tenloss DXs, you name it. And I'll let you have them
cheap." When Shryne shook his head no, Garrulan said: "What about comlinks?
Vibroblades? Tatooine handwoven carpets-"

     "Fill us in on how the war ended."

     "How it ended?" Garrulan snapped his fat fingers. "Just like that. One
moment Chancellor Palpatine has been kidnapped  by  General  Grievous;  the
next, Dooku and Grievous are dead, the Jedi are traitors, the battle droids
shut down, and we're one big happy galaxy again, more united than before-an
Empire, no less. No formal surrender  by  the  Confederacy  of  Independent
Systems, no bogged-down  Senate,  no  trade  embargoes.  And  whatever  the
Emperor wants, the Emperor gets."

     "Any comments from the members of the Separatist Council?"

     "Not a peep. Although rumors abound.  The  Emperor  had  them  put  to
death. They're still on the run. They're holed up in the Tinge' Arm, in the
company of Passel Argente's cronies..."

     Shryne extended his arm to prevent Starstone from pacing. "Sit  down,"
he said. "And stop chewing on your lip."

     "Yes, Mas-Roan."

     "I have to say," Garrulan went on, "I never would  have  guessed  that
the Jedi would be held accountable."

     "For attempting to arrest Palpatine, you mean," Shryne said.

     "No-for the war" Garrulan stared at Shryne for  a  long  moment.  "You
really don't know what's happened, do you? Maybe  you  two  should  have  a
drink."

     Garrulan was halfway to his feet when Shryne said:  "No  drinks.  Just
tell us."

     The Twi'lek looked genuinely dismayed. "I hate to be the bearer of bad
news, Roan-especially to you, of all people-but the war has  been  laid  at
the feet of the Jedi. You manipulated the whole charade: vat-grown troopers
on one side, Master Dooku on the other, all in an attempt to overthrow  the
Republic and place yourselves in charge. That's why Palpatine ordered  your
execution, and why the Jedi Temple was sacked."

     Shryne and Starstone traded looks of dread.

     Reading their expressions, the crime boss adopted a somber tone. "From
what I understand, nearly all of the Jedi were killed-in the Temple, or  on
one world or another."

     Shryne put his arm around Starstone's quaking shoulders. "Steady, kid,
" he said, as much to himself as to Olee.

     The second beacon transmission, ordering all Jedi  to  go  to  ground,
suddenly made sense. The Temple, defenseless in the absence of so many Jedi
Knights,  had  been  attacked  and  plundered;  teachers   and   younglings
slaughtered by Coruscant's shock troopers-stormtroopers, as they  were  now
being called. How many Jedi had returned to the Core, Shryne wondered, only
to be killed on arrival?

     The order was finished. Not only was  there  nothing  for  Shryne  and
Starstone on Coruscant, there was nothing for them anywhere.

     "For what it's worth," Garrulan said, "I don't believe a word  of  it.
Palpatine is behind this. He has been from the start."

     Starstone was shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. "It's  not
possible that every Jedi has been killed." She turned to Shryne. "Some Jedi
weren't even with clone troopers, Master. Other commanders may have refused
to obey High Command's execution orders."

     "You're right," Shryne said, trying to sound comforting.  "We'll  find
other survivors."

     "Sure we will."

     "The order will rebuild itself"

     "Absolutely"

     Garrulan waited for them to fall  silent  before  saying:  "A  lot  of
others have had the carpet yanked out from under them-even those of  us  at
the bottom of the food chain." He laughed regretfully. "War has always been
better for us than peace. At least the Corporate Alliance  was  willing  to
tolerate us for a share of the profits.  But  the  regional  governors  the
Emperor installed are out to cast us as the new enemy. And between you  and
me, I'd sooner deal with the Hutts."

     Shryne studied him. "Where's that leave you, Cash?"

     "Not on Murkhana, that much is certain.  My  Koorivar  competitors  in
crime have my blessings, and my sympathy." Garrulan returned Shryne's look.
"What about you, Roan? Any ideas?"

     "Not right now," Shryne said.

     "Perhaps you should consider working for me. I could use  people  with
your special talents, especially now. I owe you a favor, in any case."

     Starstone glared at him. "We haven't fallen so low as to-" she started
to say when Shryne clamped his hand over her mouth.

     "Maybe I will consider  it.  But  first  you've  got  to  get  us  off
Murkhana."

     Garrulan showed Shryne the palms of his hands. "I don't owe  you  that
much."

     "Make it happen, and I'll owe you."

     Starstone looked from Shryne to Garrulan and back again. "Is this  the
way you were before the war? Cutting deals with anyone you pleased?"

     "Don't mind her," Shryne said. "What about it, Cash?"

     Garrulan sat back in his oversize chair. "Shouldn't  be  too  hard  to
equip you with false identities and outwit the local garrison troopers."

     "Normally, I'd agree," Shryne cut in. "But someone new has been  added
to the mix. A Lord Vader." When Garrulan  didn't  react  to  the  name,  he
continued.  "A  sort  of  black-armored  version  of  Grievous,  only  more
dangerous, and apparently in charge of doing Palpatine's dirty work."

     "Really," Garrulan said, clearly interested. "I haven't heard anything
about him."

     "You will," Shryne said. "And  he  could  present  a  problem  to  our
getting off this rock."

     Garrulan stroked his lekku. "Well, then, I  may  have  to  rethink  my
offer-in the interest of avoiding Imperial complications. Or we may  simply
need to take additional precautions."

     15

     Black armorweave and feats of strength weren't the  only  things  that
distinguished. Darth Vader from Anakin  Skywalker.  Where  Anakin  had  had
limited access to the Jedi Temple data room,  Vader-even  light-years  from
Coruscant-could peruse any data  he  wished,  including  archival  records,
ancient texts, and holocrons fashioned by past Masters. Thus was he able to
learn the identities of the six Jedi who had been assigned to  Murkhana  at
the end of the war; the four who had been  killed-Masters  Loorne  and  Bol
Chatak, and two Jedi Knights-and the two who remained at large: Roan Shryne
and Chatak's Padawan, Olee Starstone, now presumably in  the  care  of  the
older and more experienced Shryne.

     A petite young woman with dark  curly  hair  and  an  engaging  smile,
Starstone until recently had seemed destined to become  a  Temple  acolyte,
having been selected by Master Joscasta Nu to serve as  her  apprentice  in
the archives room. Shortly before the start of the war, and in the interest
of broadening her understanding of the rest of the  galaxy,  Starstone  had
asked to be allowed to do fieldwork, and it was during  a  brief  visit  to
Eriadu that she had attracted the attention of Bol Chatak.

     Chatak hadn't accepted her as a  learner,  however,  until  the  war's
second year, and only then at the behest of the High Council. With so  many
Jedi Knights participating in military campaigns on far-flung  worlds,  the
Temple was no place for an able-bodied young Jedi who could be  of  greater
service to the Republic as a warrior than as a librarian.

     By all accounts Starstone had shown great promise. Candid, smart as  a
vibro-whip, and a brilliant researcher, she should probably have never been
allowed to leave the Temple. Although she would have died there,  a  victim
of Darth Vader's blade or the  blaster  bolts  of  Commander  Appo's  shock
troopers.

     Roan Shryne was another matter, and it was Shryne's  holo-image  Vader
was circling, as data about the long-haired rogue Jedi Knight scrolled in a
separate holoprojector field.

     Shryne had originally been encountered  on  the  Outer  Rim  world  of
Weytta, which happened to be in the same galactic neighborhood as Murkhana.
His file contained passing references to an "incident"  that  had  attended
his procurement, but Vader hadn't been able to locate a detailed account of
what had occurred.

     At the Temple he had demonstrated an early talent for  being  able  to
sense the presence of the Force in others, and so had  been  encouraged  to
pursue a course that would have landed  him  in  the  Temple's  Acquisition
Division. When he was old enough to understand what  acquisition  entailed,
however, he had steadfastly  refused  further  tutelage,  for  reasons  the
records also didn't make clear.

     The matter was brought  before  the  High  Council,  which  ultimately
decided that Shryne should be allowed to find his own path rather  than  be
pressed into service. The path Shryne eventually followed was the study  of
weapons of war, both ancient and modern, from which had grown  an  interest
in the role played by crime syndicates in the spread of illegal arms.

     Shryne's condemnation of the  loopholes  in  Republic  laws  that  had
allowed the Trade Federation and similar groups to amass droid  armies  was
what had brought him initially to Murkhana, shortly before the outbreak  of
the war. There he had had dealings with a crime boss of local  repute,  who
had gradually become Shryne's informant on the Separatist military buildup.
As a result, Shryne had made frequent journeys to Murkhana, even during the
war, both as an undercover singleton and with a Padawan learner.

     A couple of years older than Obi-Wan Kenobi, Shryne, like Obi-Wan, had
been a peripheral member of what some Jedi had  referred  to  as  the  "Old
Guard"-a select group that had included  Dooku,  Qui-Gon  Jinn,  Sifo-Dyas,
Mace Windu, and others, many of whom had been or would be named to  sit  on
the High Council. But unlike  Obi-Wan,  Shryne  had  never  been  privy  to
Council discussions or decisions.

     Interestingly, Shryne had been among those Jedi sent  to  Geonosis  on
the rescue mission that had wound up becoming the spark  that  ignited  the
war. During the battle there, his former Master, Nat-Sem, had been  killed,
along with Shryne's first Padawan.

     Then, two and a half years into the war, Shryne lost a second  learner
at the Battle of Manari.

     It was noted in the records that Shryne's fellow Jedi began to  see  a
change in him after Manari, not only with regard to the war, but also  with
regard to the role the Jedi had been  constrained  to  play-manipulated  to
play, Vader now understood-and many Jedi had  expected  him  to  leave  the
order, as several other Jedi Knights had done, either finding their way  to
the Separatist side or simply vanishing from sight.

     Continuing to study the ghostly image of Shryne, Vader  activated  the
cabin comm.

     "What have you learned?" he asked.

     "Still no sign of either  Jedi,  Lord  Vader,"  Appo  said.  "But  the
Twi'lek crime boss has been located."

     "Good work, Commander. He will prove to be all the lead we need."

     Cash Garrulan was trying to figure  out  how  he  could  unload  eight
hundred pairs of knockoff Neuro-Saav  electrobinoculars  in  a  hurry  when
Jally burst into his office to draw his attention to the security monitors.

     In mounting annoyance, Garrulan watched twenty  clone  troopers  climb
from a wheeled transport and take up positions around the  aged,  sprawling
structure that was his headquarters.

     "Stormtroopers,  no  less,"  Garrulan  said.  "Probably  sent  by  the
regional governor to grab whatever they  can  before  we  depart."  Pushing
himself upright, he swept a stack of data cards from his desk into an  open
attach© case. "Give the troopers our  munitions  overstock.  Don't  make  a
stand,  whatever  you  do.  If  things  get  rough,  offer  them   more-the
electrobinoculars, for instance." He grabbed his cloak and  threw  it  over
his shoulders. "I, however, am not about to  suffer  the  indignity  of  an
arrest. I'll take the back stairs and meet you at the docking bay."

     "Good choice. We'll handle the clones."

     Hurrying out of his office and through the stockroom, he  pressed  the
release for the back door, only to  find  a  towering  figure  filling  the
entryway. Dressed in black from outsize  helmet  to  knee-high  boots,  the
masked figure had his gloved fists planted on his hips in a way that spread
his cloak wide.

     "Going somewhere, Vigo?"

     The slightly bass voice was enhanced by a vocoder  of  some  sort  and
underscored by deep,  rhythmical  breathing,  obviously  regulated  by  the
control box strapped to the figure's broad and armored chest.

     Vader; Garrulan told himself The Grievous-like monstrosity Shryne said
had been "added to the mix."

     "May I inquire who wishes to know?"

     "You're free to ask," Vader said, but left it at that.

     Garrulan tried to compose his thoughts. Vader and  his  storm-troopers
hadn't come for handouts. They  were  hot  on  Shryne's  trail.  Still,  he
thought there might be a way to win Vader over.

     "I'm not and never have been a Separatist. I just happen to be  living
on a Sep world."

     "Your former allegiances don't concern me," Vader said.

     Stretching out his right hand, Vader yanked Garrulan off his feet  and
carried him through the foyer and into the office, where he  deposited  him
in a castered chair, which rolled backward and struck the wall.

     "Make yourself comfortable," Vader said.

     Garrulan rubbed the.back of his head. "It's going to be like that,  is
it?"

     "Yes. Like that."

     Garrulan forced a breath. "Well, I'd offer you a chair, as well, but I
don't think I have another one large enough."

     The commander of Vader's troopers entered from the  front  room  while
Vader was taking in the office's lavish appointments. "You've done well for
yourself, Vigo."

     "I get by," Garrulan said.

     Vader stood over him. "I'm  searching  for  two  Jedi  who  escaped  a
transport that was to have delivered them to Agon Nine."

     "Enchanting spot. But what makes you think-"

     "Before you say another word," Vader cut him off, "be advised  that  I
know that you and one of the Jedi go back a long way."

     Garrulan immediately revised his plans.  "You're  talking  about  Roan
Shryne and the girl."

     "Then they did come here."

     Garrulan nodded. "They asked for my help in leaving Murkhana."

     "What arrangements did you make?"

     "Arrangements?" Garrulan gestured broadly to the room. "I didn't  come
by all this by accident. I was surprised even to see Shryne alive.  I  told
them that I don't help traitors. In fact, I reported their visit  to  local
authorities."

     Vader turned to the stormtrooper commander, who nodded  his  head  and
moved into the packing room.

     "You wouldn't lie to me, Vigo." Vader didn't make it a question.

     "Not until I get to know you better."

     The commander returned. "He did contact the local garrison  commander,
Lord Vader."

     It was impossible to determine if Vader was at all satisfied. At last,
Vader said: "Do you know where Shryne was headed from here?"

     Garrulan shook his head. "He didn't say. But he knows  Murkhana  well,
and I'm only one of his local contacts. But, of course,  you  already  know
that."

     "I wanted to hear it from you," Vader said.

     Garrulan smiled to himself.  Vader  had  taken  the  bait.  "Happy  to
oblige... Lord Vader."

     "If you were Shryne, what would be your next move?"

     "Well, now we're speculating,  aren't  we,"  Garrulan  said,  relaxing
somewhat. "I mean, you appear to be asking my professional opinion  on  the
matter."

     "And if I am?"

     "I only thought there might be something in it for me."  "What  is  it
you want, Vigo? You already appear to have more than you need."

     Garrulan adopted a more serious tone. "Material things," he said in  a
dismissive manner. "I need you to put in  a  good  word  for  me  with  the
regional governor."

     Vader nodded. "That can be arranged-providing that  your  professional
opinion amounts to anything."

     Garrulan leaned forward. "There's this Koorivar by the name of  Bioto.
Dabbles in smuggling and other ventures. Owns a very fast ship  called  the
Dead  Ringer."  He  paused  while  the  commander  disappeared  once  more,
undoubtedly to communicate with Space Traffic Control.  "If  I  were  in  a
hurry to get offworld with the least amount of problems,  Bioto's  the  one
I'd turn to."

     "Lord Vader," the commander said suddenly, "STC reports that the  Dead
Ringer recently launched from  Murkhana  Landing.  We  have  the  projected
flight path."

     Vader turned, his cloak swirling.  "Contact  the  Exactor,  Commander.
Order that the ship be moved into a position to intercept." Without further
word he moved into the front room, only to stop  short  after  a  few  long
strides. "You're very clever, Vigo," he said, turning partway to  Garrulan.
"I won't forget this."

     Garrulan inclined his head in a bow of  respect.  "Nor  will  I,  Lord
Vader."

     A moment after Vader exited, Jally returned, blowing out his breath in
relief

     "Not someone I'd feel good about crossing, boss."

     "He does have a way," Garrulan said, getting to his feet. "Forget  the
rest of this junk. Have our  ship  readied  for  launch.  We're  done  with
Murkhana."

     16

     Wings folded above its fuselage  and  running  lights  powering  down,
Vader's shuttle entered the Exactor's main docking bay and alighted on  the
lustrous deck. Nearby, and surrounded  by  clone  troopers,  sat  the  Dead
Ringer, a somewhat boxy cargo  transport,  heavily  armed  with  turbolaser
cannons and outfitted with a state-of-the-art hyperdrive. Also under guard,
the transport's mostly Koorivar  crew  of  seven  stood  with  their  hands
clasped atop their horned heads while troopers completed a  search  of  the
ship. Already off-loaded cargo containers were  stacked  outside  the  Dead
Ringer's starboard docking ring, awaiting scans.

     Vader and Appo descended the shuttle's boarding ramp and  strode  over
to where the crew had been gathered. A trooper indicated the  captain,  and
Vader approached him.

     "What is your cargo, Captain?"

     The Koorivar glowered up at him. "I demand to speak to the officer  in
charge."

     "You are speaking to him."

     The captain blinked in surprise, but managed to hold on to  his  angry
tone. "I don't know who you are, but be forewarned that if my ship suffered
any damage as a result of being targeted by your tractor beam, I will lodge
a formal complaint with the regional governor."

     "Duly noted, Captain," Vader said. "And I'm certain that the  regional
governor will take a keen interest in you  once  he  learns  that  you  are
transporting proscribed weapons." He swung to the officer in charge of  the
troopers. "Escort them to the brig!"

     "Lord Vader," Appo  said  while  the  crew  was  being  whisked  away,
"security reports that two humans have been found in a  secret  compartment
beneath the ship's galley"

     Vader turned in the direction of the  transport.  "Interesting.  Let's
see what security has uncovered."

     By the time Vader and Appo had moved around to  the  transport's  port
side, a detail of troopers was emerging from the ship, with two  humans  in
custody. The man was tall and longhaired, and very protective of the  young
woman by his side. The pair were dressed  alike  in  robes  and  headcloths
typical of the mercenary brigade that had fought  for  the  Separatists  on
Murkhana.

     Their eyes widened on seeing Vader.

     "They are unarmed, Lord Vader," one of the troopers announced.

     "We stowed away without the captain's knowledge," the man said. "We're
only trying to get to Ord Mantell."

     "You're not stowaways," Vader said. "The captain was well paid to take
you aboard his ship, and you have been promised payment, as well."

     The girl began to quake  in  fear.  "We  didn't  know  we  were  doing
anything illegal! We're not smugglers or criminals.  I'm  telling  you  the
truth. We did it only for the credits!"

     Vader appraised her. "I will consider sparing your lives if  you  tell
me who hired you to carry out this deception."

     The man firmed his lips, then swallowed hard and spoke. "Some of  Cash
Garrulan's goons."

     Vader nodded. "Just as I suspected." He  swung  to  Appo.  "Commander,
have the Exactor's scanners detected anything yet?"

     "Nothing yet."

     "They will, soon enough."

     Vader turned to the head of the trooper detail. "Lock these  two  away
with the crew."

     All color drained from the girl's face. "But you said-"

     "That I would consider sparing you," Vader cut her off.

     "Lord  Vader,  our  sensors  may  have  found  something,"  Appo  said
suddenly. "The craft is only a CloakShape that launched from the  outskirts
of Murkhana City. But it is pursuing a course that will take  it  close  to
the Exactor's previous position, and it is attempting to evade our scans."

     "The Jedi are aboard that craft. Can we  interdict  from  our  present
position, Commander?"

     "No. The CloakShape is out of the range of our tractor beam."

     Vader growled in displeasure. "We will need  to  remedy  that.  Is  my
starfighter prepared?"

     "It's waiting in launching bay three."

     "Assign two pilots to serve as my wingmates. Tell them  to  rendezvous
with me in  the  launching  bay."  Vader  shrugged  his  cloak  behind  his
shoulders. "And, Commander, the vigo will be attempting to  flee  Murkhana.
Don't bother capturing him.  Target  his  vessel,  and  make  certain  that
everyone on board is killed."

     The CloakShape, a broad-winged craft  with  a  transverse  maneuvering
fin, had been modified for spaceflight. The cockpit had  been  enlarged  to
accommodate pilot and copilot, and a rearfacing gunner's  chair  had  been
installed in the tail section. Shryne was forward; Starstone, aft;  and  in
the pilot's seat was Brudi Gayn, a freelancer who made occasional runs  for
Cash Garrulan. A rangy, dark-haired human a few years older than Shryne, he
spoke Basic with a strong Outer Rim accent.

     Shryne had already decided that Gayn was the most casual pilot he  had
ever flown with. Any farther from the instrument panel and his chair  would
have been adjacent to Starstone's. His hold on the yoke was negligent.  Yet
he handled the craft masterfully, and didn't miss a trick.

     "Well, they've got a good fix on us," he  told  Shryne  and  Starstone
through their helmet comlinks. "Definitely going to  have  to  upgrade  our
countermeasures at some point."

     Hanging far to starboard, Vader's massive  warship  was  just  visible
through the CloakShape's triangle of transparisteel view-port.

     "I  hate  the  look  of  these   new   mass-produced   Imperator-class
Destroyers," Gayn continued. "None of the artistry that went into  the  old
Acclamators and Venators-even the Victory  Twos."  He  shook  his  head  in
disappointment. "So goes elegance."

     "Wars'll do that," Shryne said into his helmet comm.

     The console issued an alert chime, and Gayn leaned forward  a  bit  to
study one of the display screens.

     "Three bandits closing on our tail. Signatures Ill them as two V-wings
and what might be a modified Jedi Interceptor. This Vader character?"

     "Good bet."

     "Guess the Empire isn't  any  more  choosy  about  commandeering  Jedi
hardware than it is Sep gear."

     "Obviously, we're still serving Palpatine in our own  way."  "Are  you
two aware that three starfighters are chasing us?" Starstone broke in.

     "Thanks for the heads-up, sweetheart, but we're on it," Gayn said.

     "Here's another heads-up for you, flyboy. They're gaining on us. Can't
you coax any more speed out of this junker? It's about as lethargic as  you
arc."

     Gayn laughed shortly. "I suppose I  could  try  jettisoning  the  tail
gunner. That ought to lighten us up."

     "First you might try letting some of the hot  air  out  of  yourself,"
Starstone fired back.

     "Ouch," Gayn said. "Is she always like this, Shryne?"

     "She was a librarian. You know how they can be."

     "A  librarian  with  the  Force...  Very  dangerous  combination."  He
chuckled to himself, then asked: "What happens to the  Force  now?  Without
the Jedi order, I mean?"

     "I don't know," Shryne said. "Maybe it goes into hibernation."

     Gayn rocked his head  from  side  to  side.  "Well,  here's  a  little
something to show you that the Force isn't the only game in town."

     Gazing in the direction indicated by Brudi Gayn's gloved  right  hand,
Shryne saw a swift space skiff approaching the Cloak-Shape on an  intercept
course.

     "Hope it's on our side."

     Gayn laughed again. "It's our ticket out of here."

     All but wedged into the cockpit of his black interceptor, Vader was in
full  command  of  the  situation.  He  had  the   starfighter's   inertial
compensator dialed down, and felt revitalized by  the  experience  of  near
weightlessness. In another life he had flown without helmet or flight suit,
but those necessary  accoutrements  notwithstanding,  he  felt  unburdened,
released from gravity's reign.

     This was not the craft Anakin Skywalker had piloted to  Mustafar,  and
the starfighter's socketed astromech droid had a black dome. Nor  was  this
the craft he would have chosen to fly. But the  interceptor  would  do,  at
least until Sienar Fleet Systems completed the starfighter that  was  being
built to his specifications.

     After all, despite the manifold losses he had endured, he remained the
galaxy's best pilot.

     The CloakShape's lead evaporated as he made adjustments and poured  on
speed. The Jedi's choice of escape  vehicles  was  a  reflection  of  their
desperation, since the CloakShape lacked a  hyperdrive  of  any  sort.  But
Vader saw what they had in mind. They hoped to rendezvous with the Sorosuub
skiff that even now was angling toward them. The plan  would  have  worked,
however, only if Vader had taken the Twi'lek crime boss at  his  word.  And
because he hadn't, the Jedi wouldn't have enough time to  transfer  to  the
larger ship. By then both the CloakShape and the skiff would be  in  proton
torpedo range.

     "Form up on me," he told the clone pilots in the escort V-wings,  "and
fire on my command. There's no need to take them alive."

     "Lord Vader, we have identified  the  Sorosuub,"  one  of  the  pilots
returned. "The registry is Murkhana. The owner is Cash Garrulan."

     "So," Vader said, mostly to himself. "It all ends here."

     "But there is something else, Lord Vader. The CloakShape appears to be
fitted with external booster-ring adapters."

     Glancing at the display screen in which the CloakShape  was  centered,
Vader issued a command to the astromech droid to display  the  skiff  on  a
secondary screen.

     Instantly he understood.

     "All speed," he ordered the clone pilots. "This is not  a  rendezvous.
Fire proton torpedoes the moment our targets are in range."

     It was going to be close, Vader realized.

     He enabled the interceptor's laser cannon. The  CloakShape,  too,  was
traveling flat-out, and was faster than he would have thought possible. The
pilot was skilled and artful. At this distance it  would  be  difficult  to
keep him in laser lock.

     The astromech sent an update to the cockpit data screen,  and  at  the
same time the voice of one of the escort pilots issued through the  console
comlink.

     "Lord Vader, the skiff is positioning  a  hyperdrive  booster  in  the
CloakShape's flight path."

     The vision enhancers built into Vader's mask delivered a  close-up  of
the red-and-white hypermatter ring. Quickly he thumbed the triggers on  the
steering yoke, and a hail of crimson bolts streaked from the  interceptor's
long-barreled laser cannons. But it was unlikely that the bolts would  ever
reach their targets, because the targets would be long gone.

     Still calling  all  power  from  the  ion  drive,  Vader  watched  the
CloakShape slip neatly into the precisely positioned booster ring and  make
the jump to lightspeed. A split second later Cash Garrulan's skiff  engaged
its hyperdrive and disappeared.

     Allowing the interceptor to power down, Vader gazed in defeat  at  the
distant starfield.

     He had much to do to make himself whole once more.

     One of the  V-wing  pilots  hailed  him.  "Escape  vectors  are  being
plotted, Lord Vader."

     "Delete the calculations,  pilot,"  he  said.  "If  the  Jedi  are  so
determined to disappear, then let them."

     PART III

     IMPERIAL CENTER

     17

     You have my full assurance that I will not disband  the  Senate,"  the
Emperor told the small audience  he  had  summoned  to  his  new  chambers.
"Furthermore, I don't want you to think of yourselves as mere  accessories,
ratifying legislation and facilitating the business of  governing.  I  will
seek your counsel in enacting laws that will serve the growth and integrity
of our Empire."

     He fell silent for a moment, then delivered his bombshell.

     "The difference now is that  when  I  have  taken  into  account  your
contributions and those of my advisers, my judgment will  be  final.  There
will be no debates, no citations of constitutional precedent, no  power  of
veto, no  court  proceedings  or  deferrals.  My  decrees  will  be  issued
simultaneously to  our  constituent  worlds,  and  they  will  take  effect
immediately."

     The Emperor leaned forward in  the  high-backed  chair  that  was  his
temporary throne, but not so far  forward  that  his  disfigured  face  was
placed in the light.

     "Understand this: you no  longer  represent  your  homeworlds  solely.
Coruscant, Alderaan, Chandrila... All these and tens of thousands of worlds
far removed from the Core are cells of the Empire, and  what  affects  one,
affects us all. No disturbances will be tolerated. Interplanetary squabbles
or threats of secession will meet with harsh reprisals. I have not  led  us
through three years of galactic warfare to allow a resurgence  of  the  old
ways. The Republic is extinct."

     Bail Organa barely managed to keep from squirming  in  his  chair,  as
some of the Emperor's other invited guests were doing-Senators  Mon  Mothma
and Garm Bel Iblis especially, in what almost amounted to  overt  defiance.
But if the Emperor was taking notes, he was doing so without  most  of  his
guests being aware of it.

     The Emperor's new  chambers-the  throne  room,  for  all  intents  and
purposes-occupied an upper floor of Coruscant's tallest  building  and,  in
design, more closely resembled what had  been  Palpatine's  holding  office
below the Senate Rotunda than his former  quarters  in  the  Senate  Office
Building.

     Divided into two levels by a short but wide staircase,  the  sanitized
room was longer than it was wide, with large permaplas windows  surrounding
the upper tier. Flanking the burnished staircase were a pair of  cup-shaped
duty stations, in each of which stood a Red  Guard-an  Imperial  Guard-with
the Emperor's advisers seated behind them. The center of the gleaming  dais
was occupied by the throne, the back of which arched over Palpatine's head,
placing him in perpetual shadow, as the cowl of his cloak  did  his  sallow
and deeply lined face. Recessed into the wide arms of the chair were modest
control pads into which his slender fingers would enter occasional input.

     The corridors of the Senate were rife with rumors that the Emperor had
a second and more private suite, along with some sort of medical  facility,
in the very crown of the building.

     "Your Majesty, if I may," the human Senator from Commenor  said  in  a
suitably deferential tone. "Perhaps you could shed some light on the matter
of why the Jedi betrayed us. As you  are  undoubtedly  aware,  the  HoloNet
seems reluctant to provide details."

     Well beyond the need to employ diplomacy or deception to  achieve  his
ends, the Emperor made a derisive sound.

     "The Order  deserved  all  that  it  received  for  deluding  us  into
believing that they served me in  serving  you.  The  complexity  of  their
nefarious plan continues to astound me. Why they didn't attempt to kill  me
three years ago is something I will never understand. As if  I  could  have
stood against them. If it were not for the recent actions of my guards  and
our troopers, I would be dead."

     Palpatine's off-color eyes clouded with hatred.

     "In fact, the Jedi believed that they could oversee the galaxy  better
than we could, and they were willing to perpetuate a war simply to leave us
defenseless and susceptible to their treason. Their vaunted  Temple  was  a
fort, their base of operations. They came to me with tales of having killed
General Grievous-a cyborg, no  less-and  sought  to  arrest  me  because  I
refused to take them at their word that the fighting was suddenly over, the
Separatists defeated.

     "When I dispatched a legion of troopers to reason with them, they drew
their lightsabers and the battle was met. We have the Grand Army  to  thank
for our victory. Our noble commanders recognized the truth  of  the  Jedi's
treachery, and they executed my commands with vigor.  The  very  fact  that
they did so, without question, without hesitation, suggests to me that  our
troopers had some inkling all along that the Jedi were manipulating events.

     "After all these weeks, we still lack confirmation that Viceroy Gunray
and his powerful allies are dead. That their battle droids and war machines
stand motionless on hundreds of worlds we can  take  as  a  sign  of  their
surrender. At the same time,  however,  we  must  focus  our  attention  on
solidifying the Empire world by world."

     Palpatine sat back in his chair.

     "The Jedi order is a lesson to us that we cannot permit any agency  to
become powerful enough to pose a threat to our designs, or to the  freedoms
we enjoy. That is why it  is  essential  we  increase  and  centralize  our
military, both to preserve the peace and  to  protect  the  Empire  against
inevitable attempts at insurrection. To that end I have already ordered the
production of new classes of capital ships and starfighters,  suitable  for
command by nonclone officers and crew, who themselves will be  the  product
of Imperial academies, made up  of  candidates  drawn  from  existing  star
system flight schools.

     "No less important, our present army of clone troopers is aging at  an
accelerated rate, and will need to be supplemented, gradually replaced,  by
new batches of clones. I suspect that the Jedi had a  hand  in  creating  a
short-lived army in full  confidence  that  there  would  be  no  need  for
troopers once  they  had  overthrown  the  Republic  and  instituted  their
theocracy based on the Force.

     "But that is no longer a concern.

     "By bringing the known  worlds  of  the  galaxy  under  one  law,  one
language, the enlightened guidance of one  individual,  corruption  of  the
sort that plagued the former Republic will never be able to take root,  and
the regional governors I have installed will prevent the growth of  another
Separatist movement."

     When everyone in the room was satisfied that Palpatine  was  finished,
the Senator from Rodia said: "Then species other than human need  not  fear
discrimination or partiality?"

     Palpatine  spread  his  crooked,  long-nailed  hands  in  a  placating
gesture. "When have I  ever  shown  myself  to  be  intolerant  of  species
differences? Yes, our army is human, I am human, and most  of  my  advisers
and military  officers  are  human.  But  that  is  merely  the  result  of
circumstance."

     "The war continues," Mon Mothma said to Bail.

     Confident that they were beyond the reach of the building's assortment
of eavesdropping devices and  far  enough  from  anyone  who  might  be  an
Internal  Security  Bureau  spy,  Bail  said:  "Palpatine  will   use   his
disfigurement to distance himself further from the Senate. We may never get
that close to him again."

     Mon Mothma lowered her head in sadness as they continued to walk.

     Coruscant was already beginning to adapt to its new title of  Imperial
Center. Red-patched stormtroopers were more present than they had  been  at
the height of the war, and unfamiliar faces and uniformed personnel crowded
the corridors of  the  building.  Military  officers,  regional  governors,
security agents... the Emperor's new minions.

     "When I look at that hideous face or survey the  damage  done  to  the
Rotunda, I can't help thinking, this is what's become of the  Republic  and
the Constitution," Mon Mothma said.

     "He maintains he has no plans for disbanding the Senate  or  punishing
the various hive species that supported the Confederacy-" Bail started.

     "For the moment," Mon Mothma interrupted. "Besides, the homeworlds  of
those species have already been punished. They are disaster areas."

     "He can't afford to move against anyone just now," Bail went on.  "Too
many worlds are still too well armed. Yes, new  clone  troopers  are  being
grown and new capital ships are coming off the line, but  not  fast  enough
for him to risk becoming enmeshed in another war."

     She looked at him skeptically. "You're very confident all of a sudden,
Bail. Or is that circumspection I hear?"

     Bail asked himself the same question.

     In the throne room, he  had  tried  to  puzzle  out  which  among  the
Emperor's cabal of advisers, human or otherwise, were aware that  Palpatine
was a Sith Lord who had manipulated the entire war and eradicated his sworn
enemies, the Jedi, as part of a plan to  assume  absolute  power  over  the
galaxy.

     Certainly Mas Amedda knew, along with Sate Pestage, and  possibly  Sly
Moore. Bail doubted that  Armand  Isard  or  any  of  Palpatine's  military
advisers knew. How would their knowing change things, in any case?  To  the
few beings who knew or cared, the Sith were  nothing  more  than  a  quasi-
religious sect that had disappeared a millennium  ago.  What  mattered  was
that Palpatine was now Emperor Palpatine, and that he enjoyed  the  staunch
support of most of the Senate and the unwavering allegiance  of  the  Grand
Army.

     Only Palpatine  knew  the  full  story  of  the  war  and  its  abrupt
conclusion. But Bail knew a few things that  Palpatine  didn't;  primarily,
that Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala's twin children had not  died  with
her on the asteroid known as Polis  Massa;  and  that  in  the  twins  Jedi
Masters Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda were placing their trust for  the  eventual
defeat of the dark side. Even now infant Luke was on Tatooine, in the  care
of his aunt and uncle, and being watched over by Obi-Wan. And infant  Leia-
Bail grinned just thinking about her-infant Leia was on Alderaan,  probably
in the arms of Bail's wife, Breha.

     During Palpatine's brief  abduction  by  General  Grievous,  Bail  had
promised Padme that should anything untoward happen to her, he would do all
he could to protect those close to her. The fact that  Padme  was  pregnant
had been something of an open  secret,  but  at  the  time  Bail  had  been
referring to Anakin, never realizing that events  would  draw  him  into  a
conspiracy with Obi-Wan and Yoda that would end with his  assuming  custody
of Leia.

     It had taken only days for Bail and Breha to come to love  the  child,
though initially Bail had worried that they may have  been  entrusted  with
too great a challenge. Given their parentage, chances were  high  that  the
Skywalker twins would be powerful in the Force. What if  Leia  should  show
early signs of following in the dark footsteps  of  her  father?  Bail  had
wondered.

     Yoda had eased his mind.

     Anakin hadn't been born to  the  dark  side,  but  had  arrived  there
because of what  he  had  experienced  in  his  short  life,  instances  of
suffering, fear, anger, and hatred. Had Anakin been discovered early enough
by the Jedi,  those  emotional  states  would  never  have  surfaced.  More
important, Yoda appeared to have had a change of heart regarding the Temple
as providing the best crucible for Force-sensitive  beings.  The  steadfast
embrace of a loving family would prove as good, if not better.

     But the adoption of Leia was only one of Bail's concerns.

     For  weeks  following  Palpatine's  decree  that  the  Republic  would
henceforth be an Empire, he had been concerned for his-indeed,  Alderaan's-
safety. His name was prominent on the Petition of the Two  Thousand,  which
had called for Palpatine to abrogate  some  of  the  emergency  powers  the
Senate had granted him. Worse, Bail had been the first  to  arrive  at  the
Jedi Temple after the slaughter there; and he had  rescued  Yoda  from  the
Senate following the Jedi  Master's  fierce  battle  with  Sidious  in  the
Rotunda.

     Holocams at the Temple or in the former Republic  Plaza  might  easily
have captured his speeder, and those images could have found their  way  to
Palpatine or his security advisers. Word might have leaked  that  Bail  was
the person who had arranged for Padme to be  delivered  to  Naboo  for  the
funeral. If Palpatine had been apprised of that fact,  he  might  begin  to
wonder if Obi-Wan, having carried Padme from distant Mustafar, had informed
Bail about Palpatine's secret identity, or about the horrors  committed  on
Coruscant by Anakin, renamed Darth Vader by the Sith Lord, whom Obi-Wan had
left for dead on the volcanic world.

     And then  Palpatine  might  begin  to  wonder  if  Padme's  child,  or
children, had in fact died with her...

     Bail and Mon Mothma hadn't seen each other since Padme's funeral,  and
Mon Mothma knew nothing of the role Bail had played in the  final  days  of
the war. However, she had heard that Bail and  Breha  had  adopted  a  baby
girl, and was eager to meet baby Leia.

     The problem was, Mon Mothma was also  eager  to  continue  efforts  to
undermine Palpatine.

     "There's  talk  in  the  Senate  about  building  a  palace  to  house
Palpatine, his advisers, and the Imperial Guard," she  said  as  they  were
nearing one of the repulsorlift landing  platforms  attached  to  what  had
become Palpatine's building.

     Bail had heard the talk. "And statues," he said.

     "Bail, the fact that Palpatine doesn't have  full  faith  in  his  New
Order makes him all the more dangerous." She came to  a  sudden  halt  when
they reached the walkway to the landing platform and turned to him.  "Every
signatory of the Petition of the Two Thousand is suspect. Do you know  that
Fang Tar has fled Coruscant?"

     "I do," Bail said, just managing to hold Mon Mothma's gaze.

     "Clone army or no, Bail, I'm not going to abandon the fight.  We  have
to act while we still can-while Sern Prime,  Enisca,  Kashyyyk,  and  other
worlds are prepared to join us."

     Bail worked his jaw "It's too soon to act. We have to bide our  time,"
he said, repeating what Padme had told him in the Senate Rotunda on the day
of Palpatine's historical announcement. "We have to place our trust in  the
future, and in the Force."

     Mon Mothma adopted a skeptical look. "Right now there are  members  of
the military who will side with us, who know that the Jedi  never  betrayed
the Republic."

     "What counts is that the clone troopers  believe  that  the  Jedi  did
betray the Republic," Bail said; then he lowered his voice to add: "We risk
everything by placing ourselves in Palpatine's sights just now"

     He kept to himself his concerns for Leia.

     Mon Mothma didn't say another word until they stepped onto the landing
platform, where stormtroopers and a tall, startling figure  in  black  were
striding down the boarding ramp of a Theta-class shuttle that had just  set
down.

     "Some Jedi must have survived the execution order," Mon Mothma said at
last.

     For reasons he couldn't fully understand, Bail's attention was riveted
on the masked figure, who appeared to be in command of the clones, and  who
also appeared to glance with clear purpose in Bail's direction.  The  group
passed close enough to Bail for him to hear one of the  stormtroopers  say:
"The Emperor is waiting for you in the facility, Lord Vader."

     Bail felt as if someone had let the air out of him.

     His legs began to shake and he grabbed hold of  the  platform  railing
for support, somehow managing to keep apprehension from his voice  when  he
said to Mon Mothma: "You're right. Some Jedi did survive."

     18

     In the capable hands of gangly Brudi Gayn, the modified CloakShape and
the booster ring that had allowed it to enter  hyperspace  completed  three
short jumps in as many hours,  emerging  in  a  remote  area  of  the  Tion
Cluster, far from any inhabited  worlds.  Waiting  there,  however,  was  a
twenty-year-old Corellian freighter as large as a  Tantive-class  corvette,
but with a circular command module.

     Shryne counted five gun turrets; he already knew from Brudi  that  the
Drunk Dancer boasted sublights and a hyperdrive better  suited  to  a  ship
twice its size.

     Brudi disengaged from the booster ring  while  they  were  still  some
distance from the freighter, then in  his  own  good  time  maneuvered  the
CloakShape through a magnetic containment  shield  in  the  Drunk  Dancer's
starboard side, and into a spacious docking bay. On their landing disks sat
a small drop ship and a swift, split-winged Incom Relay,  not  much  bigger
than the CloakShape. 	

     Brudi popped the canopy, and Shryne and Starstone climbed down to  the
deck, slipping out of their helmets and flight suits at the bottom  of  the
ladder. The two Jedi were wearing the  simple  spacer  garments  that  Cash
Garrulan had provided. Long accustomed to  executing  undercover  missions,
Shryne didn't feel out of place without a tunic and robe,  even  without  a
lightsaber. He knew better than to convince himself  that,  having  escaped
Murkhana, they were suddenly in the clear. Before and during the war he had
had his share of close calls and times when he had been chased,  but  going
into hiding was entirely new

     Even newer to Olee Starstone, who looked as if the events of the  past
couple of  weeks,  the  past  thirty-six  hours  especially,  were  finally
beginning to catch up to her. He could tell  from  her  uncertain  gestures
that Starstone, who had probably never worn anything but  Temple  robes  or
field outfits, was still adjusting to their new circumstances.

     Shryne resisted the  temptation  to  console  her.  Their  future  was
cloudier than the gunship drop into Murkhana City had been, and the  sooner
Starstone learned to take responsibility for herself, the better.

     Alerted to the CloakShape's arrival,  several  members  of  the  Drunk
Dancer's crew were waiting in the docking bay. Shryne had encountered their
type before, primarily in those outlying  systems  that  had  drifted  into
Count Dooku's embrace before the Separatist movement had been formalized as
the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Just from the look of  them  Shryne
could see that they lacked the discipline of crews belonging to  Black  Sun
or the Hutt syndicates, despite Brudi's disclosure that  the  Drunk  Dancer
accepted occasional contracts from a variety of crime cartels.

     Dressed in bits and pieces of apparel they had obviously  obtained  on
dozens of worlds, they were a ragtag band of freelance  smugglers,  without
star system or  political  affiliation,  or  bones  to  pick  with  anyone.
Determined to maintain their autonomy,  they  had  learned  that  smugglers
didn't get rich by working for others.

     In the docking bay Shryne and Starstone were introduced to  the  Drunk
Dancer's first mate, Skeck Draggle, and  the  freighter's  security  chief,
Archyr Beil. Both were humanoids as long-limbed as Brudi  Gayn,  with  six-
fingered  hands  and  severe   facial   features   that   belied   cheerful
dispositions.

     In the ship's main cabin space the  two  Jedi  met  Filli  Bitters,  a
towheaded human slicer who took an immediate interest in Starstone, and the
Drunk Dancer's communications expert, Eyl Dix, whose  hairless  dark  green
head hosted two pair of curling antennae, in addition to a pair  of  sharp-
tipped ears.

     Before long everyone, including a couple of  inquisitive  droids,  had
gathered in the main cabin to hear Shryne and Star-stone's account of their
narrow escape from Murkhana. The fact that no one mentioned anything  about
the hunt for Jedi made Shryne uneasy, but not uneasy enough to  pursue  the
point-at least not until he had a clearer sense of just where he and  Star-
stone stood in the eyes of the smugglers.

     "Cash asked that we bring you to Mossak," Skeck Draggle said after the
Jedi had entertained everyone with details of the daring flight.  "Mossak's
just the other side of Felucia, and a decent hub for jumps into the  Tingel
Arm or just about anywhere up and  down  the  Perlemian  Trade  Route."  He
looked directly at Shryne. "We, ah, normally don't  offer  free  transport.
But seeing how it was Cash who asked, and, uh, knowing what you  folk  have
had to endure, we'll cover the costs."

     "We appreciate that," Shryne said, sensing  the  sharp-featured  Skeck
had left something unstated.

     "The Twi'lek fix you with new  identichips?"  Archyr  asked,  in  what
seemed to be actual concern.

     Shryne nodded. "Good enough to fool agents at Murkhana STC, anyway."

     "Then they'll pass muster on Mossak,  as  well,"  the  lanky  security
chief said. "You shouldn't have too much trouble finding temporary work, if
that's your plan." Archyr regarded Shryne. "You have any contacts  you  can
trust?"

     Shryne's eyebrows bobbed. "Good question."

     When the assembled crew members fell  into  a  separate  conversation,
Starstone moved close to Shryne. "Just what is our plan, Mas-"

     Shryne's lifted finger stopped her midsentence. "No order; no ranks."

     "You don't know that," she said, echoing his quiet tone.  "You  agreed
that other Jedi probably survived."

     "Listen, kid," he said, gazing at her for emphasis, "the  Climbers  of
this galaxy are few and fir between."

     "Jedi could have survived by other means.  It's  our  duty  to  locate
them."

     "Our duty?"

     "To ourselves. To the Force."

     Shryne took a deep breath. "How do you propose we do that?"

     She gnawed at her lower lip while she considered it,  then  looked  at
him pointedly. "We have Master Chatak's beacon  transceiver.  If  we  could
patch it into the Drunk Dancer's communications suite,  we  could  issue  a
Nine Thirteen code on encrypted frequencies."

     Shryne laughed in spite of himself. "You  know,  that  could  actually
work." He glanced at the crew members. "Still, I wouldn't get my  hopes  up
if I were you."

     She returned the smile. "But you're not me."

     When Shryne turned back to the crew, he found Skeck gazing at him. "So
I guess your scheme failed, huh?"

     "Which scheme would that be, chief?"

     Skeck glanced at his crewmates before answering.  "Knocking  Palpatine
off his perch. Fighting the war the way it probably should have been fought
all along."

     "You've been misinformed," Shryne said flatly.

     Skeck sat back in feigned nonchalance. "Really? We've  all  heard  the
recordings of what went on in Palpatine's chambers."

     The other crew members nodded somberly.

     "Don't get me wrong," the first mate  continued  before  Shryne  could
respond. "I've nothing against any of  you  personally.  But  you  have  to
admit, the way some of  your  people  conducted  themselves  when  Republic
interests were at  stake...  The  prestige  you  enjoyed.  The  wealth  you
amassed."

     "I give the Jedi credit for trying," the slicer, Filli Bitters, chimed
in. "But you should never have left yourselves so shorthanded on Coruscant.
Not with so many troopers garrisoned there."

     Shryne laughed cheerlessly. "We were needed in the Outer  Rim  Sieges,
you see."

     "Don't you get it?" Eyl Dix said. "The Jedi  were  played."  When  she
shrugged her narrow shoulders, her twin antennae bobbed. "That's what  Cash
thinks, anyway."

     Skeck laughed in derision. "From where I sit, getting played is  worse
than losing."

     "You'll be safe from Imperial reach on Mossak," Bitters said  quickly,
in an obvious attempt to be cheerful.

     Sudden silence told Shryne that none of the Drunk  Dancer's  crew  was
buying the slicer's optimism.

     "I realize that we're already in your debt," he  said  at  last,  "but
we've a proposition for you."

     Skeck's green eyes widened in interest. "Lay it out. Let's see how  it
looks."

     Shryne turned to Starstone. "Tell them."

     She gestured to herself. "Me?"

     "It was your idea, kid."

     "Okay," Starstone began uncertainly. "Sure." She  cleared  her  voice.
"We're hoping to make contact with  other  Jedi  who  survived  Palpatine's
execution  orders.  We  have  a  transceiver  capable  of  transmitting  on
encrypted frequencies. Any Jedi who survived will be doing the same  thing,
or listening for special transmissions. The thing is, we'd need to use  the
Drunk Dancer's communications suite."

     "That's a little like whistling in the stellar wind,  isn't  it?"  Dix
said. "From what we hear, the clones got the drop on all of you."

     "Almost all of us," Starstone said.

     Bitters was rocking his head back and forth in uncertainty, but Shryne
could tell that the white-haired computer expert was excited by  the  idea-
and perhaps grateful for a chance to  win  points  with  Olee.  Regardless,
Filli  said:  "Could  be  dangerous.  The  Empire  might  be  on  to  those
frequencies by now."

     "Not if as many of us are dead as all of you seem  to  think,"  Shryne
countered.

     Bitters, Dix, and Archyr waited for Skeck to speak.

     "Well, of course, we'd have to get the captain to agree," he  said  at
last. "Anyway, I'm still waiting to hear the rest  of  the  proposition-the
part that makes it worth our while." Everyone looked at Shryne.

     "The Jedi have means of accessing emergency funds," he  said,  with  a
covert motion of his hand. "You don't have to worry about  being  paid  for
your services."

     Skeck nodded, satisfied. "Then we don't have to worry about being paid
for our services."

     While Starstone was staring at Shryne in appalled  disbelief  and  the
crew members were talking among themselves about how best to slave the Jedi
beacon transceiver to the communications suite, Brudi Gayn and a tall human
woman entered the cabin space from the  direction  of  the  Drunk  Dancer's
bulbous cockpit. The woman's black hair was shot through with gray, and her
age showed there and in her face more than in the way she moved.

     "Captain," Skeck said, coming to his feet, but she  ignored  him,  her
gray eyes fixed on Shryne.

     "Roan Shryne?" she said.

     Shryne looked up at her. "Last time I checked."

     She forced an exhale and shook her head in incredulity "Stars' end, it
really is you." She sat down opposite Shryne, without once taking her  eyes
off him. "You're the image of Jen."

     Baffled, Shryne said: "Do I know you?"

     She nodded and laughed. "On  a  cellular  level,  at  any  rate."  She
touched herself on the chest. "I gave birth to you. I'm your mother, Jedi."

     19

     The Emperor's medical rehabilitation laboratory occupied the crown  of
Coruscant's tallest building. A  room  of  modest  size,  the  laboratory's
antechamber closely resembled his former  chambers  in  the  Senate  Office
Building, and featured a semicircle of padded couch,  three  swivel  chairs
with shell-shaped backs, and a trio of  squat  holoprojectors  shaped  like
truncated cones.

     Palpatine sat in the center chair, his hands on his knees, the  lights
of Coruscant blazing behind him through a long arc of  fixed  windows.  The
cowl of his heavy robe was lowered, and the blinking telltales of an  array
of devices and control panels lit his deeply creased face, the face he kept
concealed from his advisers and Senatorial guests.

     For here he was not simply Emperor Palpatine, he  was  Darth  Sidious,
Dark Lord of the Sith.

     On the far side of thick panels of transparisteel that  separated  the
antechamber from a rib-walled operating theater, Vader sat on the  edge  of
the surgical table on which he had been recalled to life  and  transformed.
His flaring black helmet had been lifted  from  his  head  by  servos  that
extended from the laboratory's ceiling, revealing the pasty  complexion  of
his synthflesh face and the raised wounds on  his  head  that  might  never
fully heal.

     The medical droids responsible for  repairing  what  had  remained  of
Vader's amputated limbs and incinerated body, some of  which  had  observed
and participated in  the  cyborg  transformation  of  General  Grievous  on
Geonosis a decade earlier, had been reduced to scrap by a scream  that  had
torn from Vader's scorched throat on his learning of his wife's death.  Now
a 2-1B droid responding to Vader's voiced instruction  was  tending  to  an
injury to Vader's left-arm prosthesis, the cause of which  he  had  yet  to
explain.

     "The last time you were in this facility, you were in no condition  to
supervise your own convalescence, Lord  Vader,"  Sidious  said,  his  words
transmitted to the pressurized laboratory by  the  antechamber's  sensitive
enunciators.

     "And I will remain ward of myself from this point forward," Vader said
through the intercom system.

     "Ward of yourself," Sidious repeated in an exacting tone.

     "When it comes to overseeing modifications of this... shell,  Master,"
Vader clarified.

     "Ah. As it should be."

     The humaniform 2-1B was in the midst of executing Vader's instructions
when sparks geysered from Vader's left forearm, and blue electricity  began
to gambol across his chest. With an  infuriated  growl,  Vader  lifted  the
injured arm, hurling the med droid halfway across the laboratory.

     "Useless machine!" he shouted. "Useless! Useless!"

     Sidious watched his apprentice with rising concern.

     "What is troubling you, my son? I'm aware of the  suit's  limitations,
and of the exasperation you must be experiencing. But anger  is  wasted  on
the droid. You must reserve your rage for times when you  can  profit  from
it." He appraised Vader again. "I think I begin to understand the cause  of
your frustration...

     Your rage owes little to the suit or the droid's ineptitude. Something
disturbing occurred on Murkhana. Some occurrence you have elected  to  keep
from me. For your good or mine? I wonder."

     Vader took a long moment to reply. "Master, I found the three Jedi who
escaped Order Sixty-Six."

     "What of it?"

     "The damage to my arm was done by one of them, though she is now dead,
by my blade."

     "And the other two?"

     "They eluded me." Vader lifted his scarred  face  to  regard  Sidious.
"But they wouldn't have if this suit didn't restrict me  to  the  point  of
immobility! If the Star Destroyer you placed at  my  command  was  properly
equipped! If Sienar had completed work on the starfighter I designed!"

     Sidious waited until Vader was finished, then stood up and  walked  to
within a meter of the room's transparent panels. "So, my young  apprentice,
two Jedi slip through your grasp and you  scatter  the  blame  like  leaves
blown about by a storm."

     "Master, if you had been there-"

     "Keep still," Sidious interrupted, "before you damage yourself all the
more." He gave Vader a moment to compose himself. "First, let me  reiterate
that the Jedi mean nothing to us. In  having  survived,  Yoda  and  Obi-Wan
aren't exceptions to the rule. I'm certain that dozens of Jedi escaped with
their lives, and in due time you will have the pleasure of killing many  of
them. But of greater import is the fact that their order has been  crushed.
Finished, Lord Vader. Do I make myself clear?"

     "Yes, Master," Vader muttered.

     "In burying their heads in the sands and snows of remote  worlds,  the
surviving Jedi humble themselves before the Sith. So  let  them:  let  them
atone for one thousand years of arrogance and self-absorption."

     Sidious watched Vader, displeased.

     "Once more your thoughts betray you. I see that you are not yet  fully
convinced."

     Glancing at him, Vader gestured to his face  and  black-cloaked  body,
then gestured in similar fashion to Sidious. "Look at  us.  Are  these  the
faces of victory?"

     Sidious was careful to keep himself from becoming too  angry,  or  too
sickened by his pupil's self-pity

     "We are not this crude stuff, Lord Vader.  Have  you  not  heard  that
before?"

     "Yes," Vader said. "Yes, I've heard it before. Too often."

     "But from me you will learn the truth of it."

     Vader lifted his face. "In the same way you told me  the  truth  about
being able to save Padme?"

     Sidious was not taken aback. For the past month he had been  expecting
to hear just such an accusation from Vader. "I had nothing to do with Padme
Amidala's death. She died as a result of your anger  at  her  betrayal,  my
young apprentice."

     Vader looked at the floor. "You're right, Master. I brought about  the
very thing I feared for her. I'm to blame."

     Sidious adopted a more compassionate tone. "Sometimes  the  Force  has
other plans for us, my son. Fortunately I arrived at Mustafar  in  time  to
save you."

     "Save me," Vader said without emotion. "Yes, yes, of course  you  did,
Master. And I suppose I should be grateful." He got up from the  table  and
walked to the panel to place himself opposite Sidious. "But  what  good  is
power without reward? What good is power without joy?"

     Sidious didn't move. "Eventually you will come to see  that  power  is
joy. The path to the dark side is not without terrible risk, but it is  the
only path worth following. It matters not how we appear, in  any  case,  or
who is sacrificed along the way. We have won, and the galaxy is ours."

     Vader's eyes searched Sidious's face. "Did  you  promise  as  much  to
Count Dooku?"

     Sidious bared his teeth, but only briefly. "Darth Tyranus knew what he
risked, Lord Vader. If he had been stronger in the dark side, you would  be
dead, and he would be my right hand."

     "And if you should encounter someone stronger than I am?"

     Sidious almost smiled. "There is none, my son, even though  your  body
has been crippled. This is your destiny. We have seen to that. Together  we
are unconquerable."

     "I wasn't strong enough to defeat Obi-Wan," Vader  said.  Sidious  had
had enough.

     "No, you weren't," he said. "So just imagine what Yoda might have done
to you." He flung his words with brutal honesty. "Obi-Wan triumphed because
he went to Mustafar with a single intention in mind: to kill  Darth  Vader.
If the jedi order had showed such resolute intention, if  it  had  remained
focused on what needed to be done rather than on fears of the dark side, it
might have proved more difficult to topple and eradicate. You and  I  might
have lost everything. Do you understand?"

     Vader looked at him, breathing deeply. "Then I  suppose  I  should  be
grateful for what little I have been able to hold on to."

     "Yes," Sidious said curtly. "You should."

     20

     The crew of the Drunk Dancer was  every  bit  as  surprised  by  their
captain's revelations  as  Shryne  was.  For  most  of  them,  though,  the
disclosure only explained why they had come  to  place  so  much  trust  in
Jula's judgment and intuition.

     Shryne and the woman who claimed to be his mother were  sitting  in  a
dark alcove off the main cabin, untouched  meals  between  them  and  blue-
tinted holoimages to one side,  allegedly  showing  a  nine-month-old  Roan
taking his first steps outside the modest dwelling that had been  his  home
for just over three years.  He  had  never  enjoyed  seeing  likenesses  of
himself, and the images merely served to increase  his  embarrassment  over
the entire situation.

     Master Nat-Sem had once told him that vanity was  the  cause  of  such
uneasiness, and had ordered Shryne to spend a full week staring at his  own
reflection in a mirror, in an effort to teach Shryne that what he  saw  was
no more who he was than a map of a place could be considered the  territory
itself.

     Clear across the cabin, Eyl Dix, Filli  Bitters,  and  Starstone  were
huddled around the  ship's  communications  suite,  into  which  Filli  had
managed to patch Bol Chatak's beacon transceiver, and the Drunk Dancer  was
now transmitting on frequencies Jedi would scan in case of trouble,  or  if
attempting to establish contact with other Jedi. The talented young slicer,
whose face was nearly as colorless as his  short  spiked  hair,  was  still
trying his best to engage Starstone's interest, but she was either ignoring
his attempts or simply too focused on awaiting a return signal to be  aware
of them.

     With her dark complexion and  black  curls,  and  Bitters's  towheaded
brilliance,  they  made  for  an  interesting-looking  couple,  and  Shryne
wondered if perhaps Starstone hadn't unwittingly stumbled on a new path  to
follow.

     Elsewhere in the main cabin, Brudi, Archyr,  and  Skeck  were  playing
cards at a circular table, labor droids  whirring  in  to  clean  up  their
dropped snacks and spilled drinks. All in all  it  was  a  pleasant  setup,
Shryne decided. Almost like a family living room,  with  the  kids  playing
games, the adults watching competition sports on the HoloNet, and the hired
help in the kitchen preparing a big lunch for everyone.

     As a Jedi, he had scant familiarity with any of  it.  The  Temple  had
been more like a huge dormitory, and one was constantly aware of  being  in
service to a cause greater than one's family or oneself.  Frequently  there
were classes or briefings to attend, chores that needed completing as  part
of one's training, and long meditative or lightsaber combat  sessions  with
Masters or peers, except for those rare days when one was allowed to wander
about Coruscant, sampling bits of a different reality.

     In some ways the Jedi had led a life of royalty.

     The order had been wealthy, privileged, entitled.

     And that was why we didn't see it coming, Shryne thought.

     Why so many of the Jedi had turned a blind eye to the  trap  Palpatine
had been setting. Because they had refused to accept that such  entitlement
could ever come to an end-could all come crashing down around them. And yet
even those who hadn't denied the possibility would never have believed that
thousands of Jedi could be killed in one fell  swoop,  or  that  the  order
could be ended with one bold stroke, as if pierced through the heart.

     We were played, he told himself.

     And Skeck was right: knowing that you had been played was  worse  than
losing.

     But Roan Shryne-by a quirk of fate,  circumstance,  the  will  of  the
Force-had survived, been brought face-to-face with his mother, and was  now
at a loss as to what to make of it.

     He had seen his share of mothers interacting with their children,  and
he understood what a child was supposed to feel, how he or she was supposed
to behave. But all he felt toward the woman opposite him was an  unspecific
connection in the Force.

     Shryne wasn't the first Jedi to have inadvertently encountered a blood
relative. Over the years he had heard stories about Padawans, Jedi Knights,
even Masters running into parents, siblings, cousins...

     Unfortunately, he had never heard how any of the stories ended.

     "I never wanted you to be found," Jula said when she  had  deactivated
the holoprojector. "To this day I don't understand how  your  father  could
hand you over to the Jedi. When I learned he had contacted the Temple,  and
that Jedi agents were coming for you, I tried  to  talk  your  father  into
hiding you."

     "That rarely happens," Shryne said. "Most Force-sensitive infants were
voluntarily surrendered to the Temple."

     "Really? Well, it happened to me."

     Shryne regarded her with his eyes, and through the Force. "Who do  you
think you inherited your abilities from?" Jula asked.

     "Awareness does not always run in families." He smiled lightly. "But I
sensed the Force in you the moment you entered the cabin."

     "And I knew you did."

     Shryne exhaled and sat back in the chair. "So your own  parents  chose
to keep you from joining the order."

     She nodded. "And I'm grateful they did. I would never have  been  able
to abide by the rules. And I never wanted you to have  to  abide  by  them,
Roan." She considered something. "I have a confession to make: all my  life
I've known that I would meet you somewhere along the way.  I  think  that's
partly the reason I took up piloting after your father and I separated.  In
the hope of, well, bumping into you. It's because of our  Force  connection
that I brought the Dancer to this sector. I sensed you, Roan."

     For many Jedi, luck and coincidence didn't exist,  but  Shryne  wasn't
one of them. "What  happened  between  you  and  your  husband?"  he  asked
finally.

     Jula laughed shortly. "You, really. Jen, your  father,  simply  didn't
agree with me about the need to protect you-to hide you, I mean. We  argued
bitterly about it, but he was a true believer. He felt that I should  never
have been  hidden;  that  I'd  basically  turned  my  back  on  what  would
ultimately have been a more fulfilling life. And, of course, that you would
profit from being raised in the Temple.

     "Jen had the strength-I guess you could  call  it  strength-to  forget
about you after he handed you over to the Jedi. No, that's  too  harsh.  He
had confidence enough in his decision to believe that he had made the right
choice, and that you were doing well." Jula shook her head. "I could  never
get there. I missed you. It broke my heart to see you leave, and know  that
I might never see you again. That's what eventually ruined us."

     Shryne mulled it over. "Jen sounds like he was Jedi without the title.
"

     "How so?"

     "Because he understood that you have to accept what  destiny  sets  in
front of you. That you have to pick and choose your battles."

     Her gray eyes searched his face. "What does that make me, Roan?"

     "A victim of attachment."

     She smiled weakly. "You know what? I can live with that."

     Shryne glanced away, catching  Starstone's  look  before  she  quickly
turned back to the communications console. She was eavesdropping  on  their
conversation, worrying that the efforts she had made to keep Shryne on  the
proper path were suddenly being undermined. Shryne could feel  her  wanting
to tear herself away from the communications suite before it was too  late,
and Shryne was lost to the cause.

     He looked at Jula once more. "I'll provide a  confession  in  exchange
for yours: I refused an assignment in the  Temple's  Acquisition  Division.
I'm still not sure why, except that I'd persuaded myself on some level that
I didn't like the idea of kids being separated  from  their  families."  He
paused briefly. "But that was a long time ago."

     She took his meaning. "Long ago in years, maybe. But I'm guessing  you
still feel like you missed out."

     "On what?"

     "Life, Roan. Desire, romance, love, laughter,  for  a-all  the  things
you've been denied. And children. How about that? A  Force-sensitive  child
you could nurture and learn from."

     He made his eyes dull. "I'm not sure how Force-sensitive  a  child  of
mine would be."

     "Why is that?"

     He gave his head a sharp shake. "Nothing."

     Jula was willing to let the point drop, but she had more to say.

     "Roan, just hear me out. From everything I've heard,  the  Jedi  order
has been vanquished. Probably ninety-nine percent of the Jedi are dead.  So
it's not like you have a choice. Like it or not, you're in the real  world.
Which means you could get to meet and know your  father,  your  uncles  and
aunts. All of them still talk about you. Having a Jedi in the family  is  a
pretty big deal in some places. Or at  least  it  was."  She  fell  briefly
silent. "When I heard what happened, I thought for a moment..." She laughed
to push some memory aside. "I don't want to get into all that. Someday  you
can tell me the truth about what happened on Coruscant, and  why  Palpatine
betrayed you."

     Shryne narrowed his eyes. "If we ever learn the truth."

     From the comm suite came a cheer of excitement,  and  a  moment  later
Starstone was hurrying across the cabin toward them.

     "Roan, we got a hit! From a group of Jedi on the run." She  turned  to
Jula. "Captain, with your permission we'd like to arrange a rendezvous with
their ship."

     Filli appeared at Starstone's side to elaborate. "We'd have to  divert
from our course to Mossak. But the rendezvous wouldn't take us too far  out
of the way."

     Shryne felt Jula's eyes on him. "I won't  try  to  convince  you,"  he
said. "It's your ship, and I'm sure you have important business elsewhere."

     Jula took a long moment to respond. "I'll tell you why I'm going to do
it: just to have more time with you. With luck, enough time to persuade you
to get to know us, and ultimately to stay with us." She  cut  her  eyes  to
Starstone. "There's room for you, too, Olee."

     Starstone blinked in indignation. "Room  for  me?  I'm  not  about  to
abandon my Jedi oath to go gallivanting around the galaxy with  a  band  of
smugglers. Especially now that I know that other Jedi survived." She looked
hard at Shryne. "We have contact, Roan.  You  can't  be  taking  her  offer
seriously?"

     Shryne laughed out loud. "Normally Padawans don't talk  like  this  to
Masters," he said to Jula. "You can see how fast things have changed."

     Starstone folded her arms across her chest. "You said I shouldn't call
you 'Master.' "

     "That doesn't mean you shouldn't respect your elders."

     "I do respect you," she said. "It's your decisions I don't respect.

     "Many Jedi have left the Temple to lead regular lives,"  Jula  thought
to point out. "Some have gotten married and had children."

     "No,"  Starstone  said,  shaking  her  head  back  and  forth.  "Maybe
apprentices, but not Jedi Knights."

     "That can't be true," Jula said.

     "It is true," Starstone said firmly, before Shryne could say  a  word.
"Only twenty Jedi have ever left the order."

     "Don't try to argue with her," Shryne advised Jula.  "She  spent  half
her life in the Temple library polishing the busts of those Lost Twenty."

     Starstone shot him a gimlet look. "Don't even think about being number
twenty-one."

     Shryne let his sudden seriousness show. "Despite your claims  for  me,
I'm not a Master, and there is no order. How many times are  you  going  to
have to hear it before you accept the truth?"

     She compressed her lips. "That has no bearing on being a Jedi. And you
can't be a Jedi and serve the Force if your  attention  is  divided  or  if
you're  emotionally  involved  with  others.  Love  leads  to   attachment;
attachment to greed."

     So much for Olee and Filli Bitters, Shryne thought.

     At the same time, Jula was regarding Starstone as if  the  young  Jedi
had lost her mind. "They certainly did a bang-up job on you, didn't  they."
She held Starstone's gaze. "Olee, love is about all we have left."

     Instead of reacting to the remark, Starstone said: "Are you  going  to
help us or not?"

     "I already said I would." Standing up, Jula gave Shryne a  look.  "But
just so we understand each other, Roan? You and I both know that you  don't
have access to any 'secret funds.' You make one more attempt at using Force
persuasion on any members of my crew,  and  I  may  forget  that  I'm  your
mother."

     21

     Darth Sidious had had most of his beloved  Sith  statues  and  ancient
bas-reliefs removed from his ruined chambers in the Senate Office Building,
where four Jedi had lost their lives and one had been converted to the dark
side. Relocated to the throne room, the statues  had  been  placed  on  the
dais, the sculptures mounted on the long walls.

     Swiveling his throne, Sidious gazed at them now.

     As some Jedi had feared from the  start,  Anakin  had  been  ripe  for
conversion when Qui-Gon Jinn had first brought him to the Temple,  and  for
well over a decade all of Sidious's plans for the boy had unfolded  without
incident. But even Sidious  hadn't  foreseen  Anakin's  defeat  by  Obi-Wan
Kenobi on  Mustafar.  Anakin  had  still  been  between  worlds  then,  and
vulnerable. The failure to defeat his former Master had worked  to  prolong
that vulnerability.

     Sidious recalled the desperate  return  trip  to  Coruscant;  recalled
using all his powers, and all the potions  and  devices  contained  in  his
medkit, to minister to Anakin's hopelessly  blistered  body  and  truncated
limbs.

     He recalled thinking: What if Anakin should die?

     How many years would he have had to search for an apprentice even half
as powerful in the Force, let alone one created  by  the  Force  itself  to
restore balance, by allowing the  dark  side  to  percolate  fully  to  the
surface after a millennium of being stifled?

     None would he found.

     Sidious would have had to discover a way to compel midichlorians to do
his bidding, and bring into being one as powerful as  Anakin.  As  it  was,
Sidious and a host of medical droids had merely restored  Anakin  to  life,
which-while no small feat-was a far cry from returning someone from  death.
For thousands of years, the ability to survive death had  been  pursued  by
Sith and Jedi alike, and no one had  been  successful  at  discovering  the
secret. Beings had been saved from dying, but no one had cheated death. The
most powerful of the ancient Sith Lords had known the secret,  but  it  had
been lost or, rather, misplaced. Now that the galaxy was his to rule, there
was nothing to prevent Sidious, too, from unlocking that mystery.

     Then he and his crippled apprentice might hold sway  over  the  galaxy
for ten thousand years, and live eternally.

     If they didn't kill each other first.

     In large part because Padme Amidala had died.

     Sidious had deliberately brought her and Anakin together  three  years
earlier, both to rid the Senate of her vote against the  Military  Creation
Act and to put  temptation  in  Anakin's  path.  Following  the  murder  of
Anakin's mother, Anakin had secretly married Padme. When he had learned  of
the  marriage,  Sidious  knew  for  certain  that   Anakin's   pathological
attachment to her would eventually supply  the  means  for  completing  his
conversion to the dark side.

     Anakin's fears for her, in actuality  and  in  visions-and  especially
after Padme had become pregnant-had been heightened by keeping him far from
her. Then it simply had been  a  matter  of  unmasking  the  Jedi  for  the
hypocrites  that  they  were,  sacrificing  Dooku  to  Anakin's  rage,  and
promising Anakin that Padme could be saved from death...

     The latter, an exaggeration necessary for Anakin's turn from what  the
Jedi called right thinking; for opening his eyes to his true  calling.  But
such was the way of the Force. It provided opportunities,  and  one  needed
only to be ready to seize them.

     Not for the first time Sidious wondered what might have  happened  had
Anakin not killed Padme on Mustafar. For all she loved him, she never would
have understood or forgiven Anakin's action at the Jedi  Temple.  In  fact,
that was one of the reasons Sidious had  sent  him  there.  Clone  troopers
could have dealt with the instructors and younglings, but Anakin's presence
was essential in order to cement his allegiance  to  the  Sith,  and,  more
important, to seal Padme's fate. Even if she had survived  Mustafar,  their
love would have died-Padme might even have lost the will to live-and  their
child would have become Sidious's and Vader's to raise.

     Might that child have been the first member of a  new  Sith  order  of
thousands or millions? Hardly. The idea of a Sith order was a corruption of
the  intent  of  the  ancient  Dark  Lords.  Fortunately,  Darth  Bane  had
understood that, and had insisted that only in rare instances should  there
exist more than two lords, Master and apprentice, at any given time.

     But two were necessary for the perpetuation of the Sith order.

     And so it fell to Sidious to complete Vader's convalescence.

     As Emperor Palpatine, he had no need to reveal his Sith  training  and
mastery to anyone, and for the moment Vader was his crimson blade. Let  the
galaxy think what it would of Vader: fallen Jedi, surfaced Sith,  political
enforcer... It scarcely mattered, since fear  would  ultimately  bring  and
keep everyone in line.

     Yes, Vader was not precisely what he had bargained for.  Vader's  legs
and arms were artificial, and he would never be able to summon lightning or
leap about like the Jedi had been fond of doing. His dark side training was
just beginning. But Sith power resided not in the flesh but  in  the  will.
Self-restraint was praised by the Jedi only because they  didn't  know  the
power of the dark side. Vader's real weaknesses were  psychological  rather
than physical, and for Vader to overcome them he would need  to  be  driven
deeper into himself, to confront all his choices and his disappointments.

     Powered by treachery,  the  Sith  Master-apprentice  relationship  was
always a dangerous game. Trust was encouraged even while  being  sabotaged;
loyalty  was  demanded  even  while  betrayal  was  prized;  suspicion  was
nourished even while honesty was praised.

     In some sense, it was survival of the fittest.

     Fundamental to Vader's growth was the desire to overthrow his Master.

     Had Vader killed Obi-Wan on Mustafar, he might have attempted to  kill
Sidious, as well. In fact, Sidious would  have  been  surprised  if  Anakin
hadn't made an attempt. Now, however, incapable of so much as breathing  on
his own, Vader could not rise to the challenge, and Sidious understood that
he would need to do everything in his power  to  shake  Vader  out  of  his
despair, and reawaken the incredible power within him.

     Even at Sidious's own peril...

     Alert to a mild disturbance in the Force, he swung toward  the  throne
room holoprojector a moment before a half-life-size  image  of  Mas  Amedda
resolved from thin air.

     "My lord, I apologize for intruding on your meditation," the  Chagrian
said, "but an encrypted Jedi code transmission has been picked  up  and  is
being monitored in the Tian Cluster."

     "More survivors of Order Sixty-Six," Sidious said.

     "Apparently so, my Lord. Shall I summon Lord Vader?"

     Sidious considered it. Would additional Jedi deaths be enough to  heal
Vader's wounds? Perhaps, perhaps not. But not yet, in any case.

     "No," he said finally. "I have need of Lord Vader on Coruscant."

     22

     Right... now," Shryne overheard Filli tell Starstone.

     The communications suite chimed and  Filli,  Starstone,  and  Eyl  Dix
leaned in to study a  display  screen.  "The  Jedi  ship  has  reverted  to
realspace," Dix said, almost in awe, antennae twitching.

     Filli stood to his full height, stretching his arms over his  head  in
theatrical nonchalance and beaming. "I love it when I'm right."

     Starstone glanced up at him. "I can tell that about you." His  frowned
dramatically. "No put-downs in the main cabin."

     "It's not a criticism," Starstone was quick to explain. "What  I  mean
is that I was the same way at the Jedi Temple library. Someone  would  come
in looking for data, and I would almost always be able to direct them right
to the files they needed. I just had a  sense  for  it."  Her  voice  broke
momentarily; then she continued in a confident tone. "I think you should be
proud of doing what you do best, instead of hiding behind  false  humility,
or"-she gave Shryne a furtive glance-"letting disillusion convince you that
you need a new life."

     Shryne got out of his seat. "I'll take that as my cue to leave."

     A droid directed him to the corridor that led to  the  Drunk  Dancer's
ample cockpit, where Jula and Brudi Gayn sat in adjacent  chairs  behind  a
shimmering sweep of instrument console. A crescent of red  planet  hung  in
the forward viewport, and local space was strewn with battle debris.

     Shryne rapped his knuckles  against  the  cockpit's  retracted  hatch.
"Permission to enter, Captain?"

     Jula glanced at him over her shoulder. "Only if  you  promise  not  to
tell me how to pilot."

     "I'll keep my mouth shut."

     She patted the cushion of the acceleration chair  behind  hers.  "Then
take a load off."

     Brudi gestured to a point of reflected  light  far  to  port.  "That's
them. On schedule."

     Shryne studied the console's friend-or-foe display screen, in which  a
schematic of a sharp-nosed, broad-winged ship was  rotating.  "Republic  SX
troop transport," he said. "Wonder how they got a hold of that."

     "I'm sure there's a story," Brudi said.

     Shryne lifted his eyes to the viewports, and to the  wreckage  beyond.
"What happened here?"

     "Seps used this system as a staging  area  for  reinforcing  Felucia,"
Jula said. "Republic caught them napping and dusted them." She gestured  to
what  Shryne  had  initially  taken  for  marker  buoys.  "Mines.  Command-
detonated, but still a potential hazard. Better warn the transport to steer
clear of them, Brudi."

     He swiveled his chair to the comm unit. "I'm on it."

     Shryne continued to gaze at the debris. "That's a  docking  arm  of  a
TradeFed Lucrehulk. What's left of it, anyway."

     When Jula finally spoke, she said: "Something's not right."

     Brudi turned slightly in her direction. "Transport's  registering  the
signature they transmitted before rendezvous."

     She shook her head in uncertainty. "I know, but..."

     "There are Jedi aboard the transport," Shryne said.

     She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  "Even  I  know  that
much. No, it's something else-"

     A tone from the threat board cut her off, and Brudi swiveled again.

     "Count six, make that eight bandits emerging from hyperspace," he said
tersely. "Dead on the transport's vector."

     Shryne watched the IFF transponder. "ARC-one-seventies."

     "Affirmative," Brudi said. "Aggressive Reconnaissance starfighters."

     Visual scanners caught  the  craft  as  their  transverse  wings  were
unfolding, splaying for battle and increased thermal stability. Jula's left
hand made adjustments to the instruments while her right held tight to  the
yoke.

     "Is the transport aware of them?"

     "I'd say so," Shryne said. "It's going evasive."

     Brudi pressed his headset tighter to his ear. "The transport's warning
us away."

     "Makes me like them  already,"  Jula  said.  "Scramble  our  signature
before the ARCs can get a lock on us."

     "You may not be able to jam them," Shryne said. "They're not  like  V-
wings. And they punch harder, too."

     "Try anyway, Brudi," Jula said. "Last  thing  I  want  is  the  Empire
chasing us all over the galaxy. And I am not about to get a new ship."  She
flipped an intercom switch. "Skeck, Archyr, are you there?"

     Skeck's  voice  issued  through  the  cockpit  speaker.  "Weapons  are
powering up, Captain. Just say when."

     Jula looked at Shryne. "Any ideas, Jedi?"

     Shryne swept  his  eyes  over  the  display  screens.  "The  ARCS  are
maintaining a wedge formation. They'll wait  until  they're  within  firing
range of the  transport,  then  they'll  break  formation  and  attempt  to
outflank it."

     "Skeck," Jula said toward the audio pickup, "do you copy?"

     "Loud and clear."

     "Are the ARCs within range of your turbolasers?" Shryne asked.

     "Almost," Skeck said.

     "Anticipate the formation break. Lead them, and open up."

     Brudi ran a fast  calculation  on  the  rate  at  which  the  Imperial
starfighters were gaining on the transport. "You're good to go," he said.

     "Firing!" Skeck announced.

     Dense packets of scarlet light tore from the  Drunk  Dancer's  forward
batteries, converging on their distant targets. A quartet of fiery blossoms
lighted local space.

     Archyr whooped. "Pursuit squadron reduced by half!"

     "Nice," Jula said, grinning at Shryne. "What other tricks do you  have
up your sleeve?"

     Shryne didn't answer her. On Murkhana, and despite everything that had
happened, he had tried to avoid killing any clone  troopers.  Now  here  he
was, lining them up to be blown to pieces.

     "Roan," Jula said sharply.

     "The remaining ARCs will  regroup,  forming  up  behind  the  squadron
leader," he said  at  last.  Tapping  Brudi  on  the  shoulder,  he  added:
"Instruct the transport to nose up over the ecliptic. When the ARCs  follow
suit, Skeck and Archyr should have a clear shot at their bellies."

     "Copy that," Brudi said.

     Jula was studying one of the display screens.  "Transport  is  outward
bound. ARCs are up and away."

     "Firing!" Skeck reported.

     A fifth explosion blossomed over the red planet's  north  pole.  Other
laser beams went wide of their marks.

     "They've figured us out," Shryne said. "They'll scatter now."

     "Transport is angling for the mines," Brudi updated.

     "Just what I'd do," Jula said.

     The threat board loosed another alert tone.

     Brudi tapped his finger on the  long-distance  scanner  array  screen.
"Six more starfighters have emerged from hyperspace."

     Jula forced a short exhale. "Tell whoever's piloting the transport  to
go to full throttle. He may not even be aware of the new players."

     "He won't miss this," Brudi said somberly.

     Shryne eased out of his seat to peer over Brudi's shoulder. "What?"

     "Republic light cruiser," Jula said. "But don't worry, we  can  outrun
it."

     On the console's central screen, the scanners assembled a facsimile of
the hourglass-shaped warship, highlighting its dozens of turbolaser and ion
cannons.

     "You won't outrun those guns," Shryne said.

     Jula considered it. "Brudi, divert power to  the  forward  deflectors.
I'm going to try to take us behind that Lucrehulk arm." She took  a  moment
to glance at Shryne. "Guess the Jedi are more important than I thought,  if
the Empire's sending cruisers after you."

     "Cruiser's turbos arc firing," Skeck  said  over  the  speaker.  "Hold
tight," Jula warned.

     Blinding light splashed  against  the  viewports.  Jolted,  the  Drunk
Dancer lost power momentarily, then returned to life.

     "We're okay," Brudi confirmed, "but the transport's in trouble."

     "Instruct them to raise their  aft  shields  and  rendezvous  with  us
behind the Lucrehulk arm," Jula said. "Tell them we'll hold off the cruiser
and ARCs while they make a run for it."

     Brudi relayed the instructions and waited  for  a  response.  "They'll
try. But the transport's shields are heavily damaged. One more hit from the
cruiser and they're dead in space."

     Jula muttered a curse. The Drunk Dancer was just dropping  behind  the
curved fragment of docking arm when she said: "I'm going to bring  us  back
in the open. Rig for ion cannon fire. Let's see if we can surprise them."

     The smugglers' ship sustained two powerful strikes as it was  emerging
from cover, but not enough to incapacitate it.

     "Ion surprise," Archyr said.

     "Laser chaser," Skeck chimed in.

     White light flared in the distance, and blue current  coruscated  over
the cruiser's dark hull.

     Brudi bent to one of the screens.  "Solid  hit.  And  they  definitely
didn't see it coming. Their shields are dazed."

     "Taking us back into cover," Jula said. "Where's the transport?"

     Brudi spoke to it. "Weaving through the last of the mines."

     "Archyr, get those ARCs off the transport's tail!"

     "Will do, Captain."

     Pulsed light streaked from the ship  once  more,  and  Shryne  watched
another starfighter come apart. But the remaining ARCs were gaining rapidly
on the transport.

     "Projected rendezvous in five-point-five," Brudi  said.  "Cruiser  has
come to, and is returning fire."

     Jula firmed her lips. "We're not deep enough into cover. This is going
to be a bad one."

     Shryne hung on to the arms of the  chair.  Taking  the  brunt  of  the
capital ship's enfilade, the docking arm  vaporized.  Tossed  back  by  the
blast, the Drunk Dancer lived up to its name. Klaxons  blared  deep  within
the ship, and the instrument console howled in alarm.

     "Shuttle is still closing," Brudi said when he could.

     Jula slammed her hand down on the intercom stud.  "Prep  the  bay  for
emergency docking!" She swiveled to face Brudi. "Tell the  transport  we're
done swapping punches with that cruiser. Either they make their  move  now,
or we're bowing out." To  Skeck,  she  said:  "All  power  to  the  forward
batteries. Fire at will. "

     The ship rumbled as coherent light raced from the cannon turrets.

     "Transport is lined up for its approach," Brudi said.

     Jula's right hand entered data into the navicomputer. "Calculating the
jump to lightspeed."

     Explosive light  flashed  outside  the  viewports,  the  Drunk  Dancer
quaking as enemy fire ranged closer.

     Brudi sighed in  disappointment.  "The  transport  fumbled  its  first
approach. They're reorienting for another try."

     "Coordinates  for  the  jump  are  in,"  Jula  told  him.   "Countdown
commencing." She swung around to face Shryne. "I'm sorry, Roan."

     He nodded in understanding. "You did what you could." The  ship  shook
again.

     "Transport is aboard," Brudi said suddenly.

     Jula clamped her hands on the yoke. "Divert power  to  the  sublights.
Give us all the distance you can."

     "We're going to get our stern burned," Brudi warned. "Small  price  to
pay."

     "Hyperspace engines engaged."

     Jula reached for the control stick. "Now!"

     And the distant stars became streaks of light.

     23

     Brudi hadn't said that the transport was  safely  aboard,  and  Shryne
knew why the moment he and Starstone reached the docking  bay.  The  wedge-
shaped ship had skidded in on its port side, gouging the  deck,  destroying
arrays of landing lights, reducing two labor droids  to  spare  parts,  and
ultimately flattening its pointed bow against an interior bulkhead.

     No one inside was injured in the crash, however.

     Any more than they were already injured.

     The six bedraggled Jedi who literally staggered down  the  transport's
crumpled boarding ramp were a mix of alien, human,  and  humanoid.  Neither
Shryne nor Starstone knew any of them by sight, name, or  reputation.  Face
and arms burned by blaster-fire, Siadem Forte  was  a  short,  thick-bodied
human, older than Shryne but still  a  Knight.  His  Padawan  was  a  young
Togruta named Derail Nalual, who had been blinded during the same firefight
in which Forte had been wounded. Klossi  Anno,  a  Chalactan,  was  also  a
learner, her Master having died saving her life; where exactly the opposite
had happened to Iwo Kulka, a bruised and limping  Ho'Din  Knight.  Unranked
human Jedi Jambe Luand Nam Poorf were agricultural specialists who had been
returning to Coruscant from a mission on Bonadan.

     On board was a seventh Jedi,  who  had  died  during  the  transport's
hyperspace jump to the rendezvous.

     Med droids tended to the wounds of new arrivals. Then, after the  Jedi
had rested and been fed, everyone gathered in the main cabin, where Shryne,
Starstone, and a few of  the  smugglers  listened  to  accounts  of  savage
engagements and close escapes on half a dozen worlds.

     As Shryne had guessed, no other clone  troopers  were  known  to  have
refused to obey the Jedi execution order Palpatine  was  believed  to  have
issued. Two of the Jedi had managed to kill the troopers who had turned  on
them. Another had escaped and survived by donning clone armor. The pair  of
Jedi from the Agricultural Corps hadn't been in the  company  of  troopers,
but had been fired on and pursued when  a  shuttle  they  were  aboard  had
arrived at a Republic orbital facility.

     Originally ten in number, they had gathered on Dellalt after receiving
a 913 code transmitted by Forte, the eldest among them. It was  on  Dellalt
that they had commandeered the transport, during a battle in which  two  of
the Jedi had been killed and many of the others wounded-and seemingly  from
Dellalt that the light cruiser and ARC-170s had pursued them.

     By the time all the stories had been told and endlessly discussed, the
Drunk Dancer had emerged from hyperspace  in  a  remote  system  of  barren
planets that had long served Jula and her  crew  as  a  hideout  of  sorts.
Relieved of her pilot duties, she entered the main cabin and sat down  next
to Shryne just as talk was turning to HoloNet accounts of what had occurred
on Coruscant following Palpatine's decree that  the  Grand  Army  had  been
victorious, and that the Republic was now an Empire.

     "Some of the information released has to be false or exaggerated," the
agronomist Jambe Lu said. "Holoimages we've seen thus  far  show  that  the
Temple was certainly attacked. But I refuse to  accept  that  everyone  was
killed. Surely Palpatine would have  ordered  the  troopers  to  spare  the
younglings. Perhaps some instructors and administrators, as well."

     "I agree," Lu's partner, Nam Poorf, said. "If  Emperor  Palpatine  had
wanted for some reason to exterminate the entire Jedi order, he could  have
done so at the start of the war."

     Forte ridiculed the idea. "And who would  have  led  the  Grand  Army-
Senators? What's more, even if you're correct about the Temple, the best we
can hope is that an untold number of Jedi are imprisoned somewhere. What we
know to be true is that Masters Windu, Tiin, Fisto, and Kolar died  in  the
attempt to arrest Palpatine; and that Ki-Adi-Mundi,  Plo  Koon,  and  other
High Council members are reported to have been assassinated  on  Separatist
worlds."

     "Any word on Yoda or Obi-Wan?" Shryne asked Forte. "Nothing more  than
HoloNet speculation."

     "About Skywalker, as well," Nam Poorf said. "Although we heard  rumors
on Dellalt that he died on Coruscant."

     The Ho'Din Jedi Knight glanced meaningfully at Shryne.  "If  Skywalker
is dead, does that mean that the prophecy died with him?"

     "What prophecy?" Forte's sightless Togruta Padawan asked.  Again,  Iwo
Kulka looked at Shryne. "I see no reason for secrecy now, Roan Shryne."

     "An ancient prophecy," Shryne explained for  the  benefit  of  Nalual,
Klossi Anno, and the two agronomists, "that a Chosen One would be  born  in
the dark times to restore balance to the Force."

     "And Anakin Skywalker was thought to have been this  Chosen  One?"  Lu
said in astonishment.

     "Some members of the High Council believed there was justification for
thinking so." Shryne looked at Iwo Kulka. "So in answer to your question, I
don't know where the prophecy fits into all  that's  happened.  Foretelling
was never my area of expertise."

     It came out  more  bluntly  than  Shryne  had  intended.  But  he  was
exasperated by the fact that everyone was talking around the  real  issues:
that the Jedi were suddenly homeless and  rudderless,  and  that  important
decisions had to made.

     "What matters," he said into the silence that  followed  his  sarcasm,
"is that we-that all Jedi-are prey. Palpatine's initial actions  might  not
have been premeditated. We'll leave that for the historians  to  determine.
But he's intent on eliminating us now, and we're probably placing ourselves
at greater risk by grouping together."

     "But that's exactly what we have to do," Starstone argued. "Everything
that has just been said is reason enough to  remain  together.  Jedi  being
held prisoner. The younglings.  The  unknown  fates  of  Masters  Yoda  and
Kenobi.

     "To what end, Padawan?" Forte said.

     "If nothing else, to prevent the Jedi flame from being  extinguished."
Starstone glanced around,  in  search  of  a  sympathetic  face.  That  she
couldn't find one didn't prevent her from continuing. "This isn't the first
time the Jedi order has been brought  to  the  brink  of  extinction.  Five
thousand years ago the Sith thought that they could destroy the  Jedi,  but
all their attempts failed, and the Sith Lords only ended up destroying  one
another. Palpatine might not be a Sith, but, in time, his  greed  and  lust
for power will be his undoing."

     "That's a very hopeful attitude to take," Forte said. "But I don't see
how it helps us now."

     "Your best chance of surviving  is  in  the  Tingel  Arm,"  Jula  said
suddenly, "while Palpatine's full control is still  limited  to  the  inner
systems."

     "Suppose we do go there," Starstone said  while  separate  discussions
were breaking out. "Sure, we can assume  new  identities  and  find  remote
worlds to hide on. We can mask our Force abilities from others,  even  from
other Forceful individuals. But is that what you want to do? Is  that  what
the Force wants for us?"

     While the Jedi were considering it, Shryne  said:  "Have  any  of  you
heard the name Lord Vader?"

     "Who is Vader?" Lu asked for all of them.

     "The Sith who killed my Master on  Murkhana,"  Starstone  said  before
Shryne could speak.

     Iwo Kulka looked hard at Shryne. "A Sith?"

     Shryne lifted his eyes to the ceiling, then looked  at  Starstone.  "I
thought we agreed-"

     "Vader fought with a crimson lightsaber," she interrupted.

     Shryne took a calming breath  and  began  again.  "Vader  assured  the
troopers on Murkhana that he wasn't a Jedi. And I'm not sure  what  he  is.
Possibly humanoid, but not fully organic."

     "Like Grievous," Forte assumed.

     "Again-possible. The black suit he wears appears to  keep  him  alive.
Beyond that, I don't know how much of Vader is cyborg."

     Poorf was shaking his head in confusion. "I don't understand. Is  this
Vader an Imperial commander?"

     "He's superior to the commanders. The troopers showed him the sort  of
respect they'd reserve for someone of very high rank or status. My guess is
that he answers directly to Palpatine." Shryne felt exasperation  surfacing
once more. "What I'm getting at is that Vader is the one we need  to  worry
about. He will track us down."

     "What if we get to him first?" Forte said.

     Shryne gestured broadly. "We're eight against someone who may be Sith,
and one of the largest armies ever amassed. What does that tell you?"

     "We wouldn't  go  after  him  immediately,"  Starstone  said,  quickly
picking up on Forte's question. "Palpatine isn't embraced by everyone." She
looked at Jula. "You yourself said that his reach is limited to  the  inner
systems. Which means we could work covertly to persuade Outer Rim  Senators
and military leaders to join our cause."

     "You're neglecting the fact that most species are now  convinced  that
we had a hand in starting and perpetuating the war," Shryne said  strongly.
"Even those who aren't convinced would risk too much by helping us, even by
providing sanctuary."

     Starstone was not deterred. "We were two yesterday,  and  we're  eight
today. Tomorrow we could be twenty or even fifty. We can keep transmitting-
"

     "I can't allow that," Jula cut her off. "Not from  my  ship,  anyway."
She looked at Forte and the others. "You say you were tracked from Dellalt.
But just suppose the Empire is also monitoring Jedi  frequencies  for  Nine
Thirteen transmissions? All Palpatine would have to do is  wait  until  you
were all in one place, then send in the clones. Or this Vader character."

     Starstone's silence lasted only a moment. "There's another way. If  we
could learn which worlds Jedi were assigned to, we  could  actively  search
for survivors."

     Lu thought about it for a moment. "The only way to learn that would be
by accessing the Temple's data banks."

     "Not from the Drunk Dancer, you won't," Jula said.

     "Couldn't happen anyway, Captain," Eyl Dix said. "Accessing  the  data
banks would require a much more powerful  hyper-wave  transceiver  than  we
have, and one that would be very hard to come by."

     Dix glanced at Filli for corroboration.

     "Eyl's right," Filli said. Then, around a forming grin, he added: "But
I know just where we can find one."

     24

     Rain was rare on weather-controlled  Coruscant,  but  every  so  often
microclimatic storms would build in the bustling sky and sweep  across  the
technoscape. Today's had blown in from The Works and moved east with  great
speed, lashing the abandoned Jedi Temple with unprecedented force.

     Vader's enhanced hearing could pick up the sound of  fat,  wind-driven
raindrops spattering against the Temple's elegant spires and flat roof,  an
eerie counterpoint to the sound of his boot heels striking  the  adamantine
floor and echoing in the darkened, deserted corridors. Sidious had sent him
here on a mission, ostensibly to  search  the  archives  for  certain  Sith
holocrons long rumored  to  have  been  brought  to  the  Temple  centuries
earlier.

     But Vader knew the truth.

     Sidious wants to rub my masked face in the aftermath of the  slaughter
I spearheaded.

     Though the corpses had been removed by stormtroopers and droids,  most
of the spilled blood washed away, scorch marks on  the  walls  and  ceiling
attested to the surprise attack. Columns lay toppled,  heritage  tapestries
hung in shreds, rooms reeked of carnage.

     But evidence of a less tangible sort also existed.

     The Temple teemed with ghosts.

     What might have been the wind wending into holed hallways never before
penetrated sounded like the funereal  keening  of  spirits  waiting  to  be
avenged. What might have been the resonance of the footfalls  of  Commander
Appo's stormtroopers sounded like the beat of distant war drums. What might
have been smoke from fires that should have gone out weeks  earlier  seemed
more like wraiths writhing in torment.

     Emperor Palpatine had yet to announce his plans for that sad shell  of
a place. Whether it was to be razed, converted into his palace,  deeded  to
Vader as some sort of cruel joke, or perhaps left as a mausoleum for all of
Coruscant to gaze on, a reminder of what would  befall  those  who  kindled
Palpatine's disfavor.

     Most of Vader's Anakin memories grew  fainter  by  the  day,  but  not
Anakin's memories of what had happened here. They were  as  fresh  as  this
morning's sunrise, glimpsed from the rooftop chamber in which Vader rested.
True sleep continued to lie just out of reach, an object pursued in vain in
an unsettling dream. He no longer had visions, either. That  ability,  that
double-edged ability, seemingly had been burned out of him on Mustafar.

     But Vader remembered.

     Remembered being in thrall of what he had done in Palpatine's  office.
Watching the old man plead for his life; listening to the old man promising
that only he had the power to save Padme;  rushing  to  his  defense.  Sith
lightning hurling an astonished Mace Windu through what had been a window..
.

     Anakin kneeling before Sidious and being dubbed Vader.

     Go to the Jedi Temple, Sidious  had  said.  We  will  catch  them  off
balance. Do what must be done, Lord Vader Do not hesitate. Show  no  mercy.
Only then will you be strong enough with the dark side to save Padme.

     And so he had gone to the Temple.

     Instrument of the same resolute intent that  had  carried  Obi-Wan  to
Mustafar with one goal in mind: death to the enemy.

     In his mind's eye Vader saw his and the 501st's march  to  the  Temple
gates, their wrathful attack, the mad moments of bloodlust, the  dark  side
unleashed in all its crimson fury. Some moments he remembered more  clearly
than others: pitting his blade against that  of  swordmaster  Cin  Drallig,
beheading some of the very Masters who had instructed him in  the  ways  of
the Force, and, of course, his cold extermination of  the  younglings,  and
with them the future of the Jedi order.

     He had wondered beforehand: could he do it?  Still  new  to  the  dark
side, would he be able  to  call  on  its  power  to  guide  his  hand  and
lightsaber? In answer, the dark side had whispered: They are orphans.  They
are without family or friends. There is nothing that can be done with them.
They are better off dead.

     But this recalling, weeks later, curdled his blood.

     This place should never have been built!

     In fact, he hadn't killed the Jedi to serve  Sidious,  though  Sidious
was meant to believe just that. In his arrogance Sidious was  unaware  that
Anakin had seen through him. Had the Sith  Lord  thought  he  would  simply
shrug off the fact that, from the  start,  Sidious  had  been  manipulating
Anakin and the war?

     No, he hadn't killed the Jedi in service  to  Sidious,  or,  for  that
matter, to demonstrate his allegiance to the order of the Sith.

     He had executed Sidious's command because the Jedi  would  never  have
understood Anakin's decision to sacrifice Mace and the rest in  order  that
Padme might survive the tragic death she suffered in Anakin's visions. More
important, the Jedi would have  attempted  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the
decisions he and Padme would have needed to make regarding the fate of  the
galaxy.

     Beginning with the assassination of Sidious.

     Oh, but on Mustafar she had worked herself into a state over  what  he
had done at the Temple, so much so that she hadn't  heard  a  word  he  was
saying. Instead she had made up her mind that he  had  come  to  care  more
about power than he cared for her.

     As if one matters without the other!

     And then cursed Obi-Wan had shown himself, interrupting before  Anakin
could explain fully that everything he had done, in Palpatine's office  and
at the Temple, had all been for her sake, and for the sake of their  unborn
child. Had Obi-Wan not arrived he would have persuaded her to understand-he
would have made her understand-and, together, they would have moved against
the Sith Lord...

     The rasp of Vader's breathing became more audible.

     Flexing his artificial hands did nothing to waylay  his  rage,  so  he
hunched his broad shoulders under  the  armor  pectoral  and  heavy  cloak,
shuddering.

     Why didn't she listen to me? Why didn't any of them listen to me?

     His anger continued to build as he neared the Temple's archives  room,
where he parted company with Commander Appo and his stormtroopers, as  well
as with the members of the Internal Security Bureau who, Vader was given to
understand, had their separate mission to perform.

     He paused at the entrance to the  library's  vast  and  towering  main
hall, shaken not by memory but by  memory's  effect  on  his  still-healing
heart and lungs. The mask's optical hemispheres imparted a murkiness to the
normally well-lighted hall, which had once boasted row after row of  neatly
arranged and cataloged holobooks and storage disks.

     Blood left here still showed  in  maroon  constellations  that  marred
large areas of the floor  and  speckled  some  of  the  few  still-standing
sculpture-topped plinths that lined both sides of the long hallway.

     Even if he had killed Sidious, even if he  had  won  the  war  single-
handedly for the Republic, the Jedi would have fought  him  to  the  bitter
end. They might even have insisted on taking custody  of  his  and  Padme's
child, for their offspring would have been powerful in  the  Force  indeed.
Perhaps beyond measure! If only the High Council Masters hadn't been so set
in their ways, so deceived by their own pride, they would have grasped that
the Jedi needed to be brought down. Like the Republic itself,  their  order
had grown stale, self-serving, corrupt.

     And yet, if the High Council had seen fit to recognize his power,  had
granted him the status of  Master,  perhaps  he  could  have  abided  their
continued existence. But to call him the Chosen One only to hold him  back;
to lie to him and expect him to lie for them... What had they imagined  the
outcome would be?

     Old fools.

     He understood now why they had  discouraged  use  of  the  dark  side.
Because they had feared losing the power base  they  enjoyed,  even  though
enslavement to attachment was what had helped pull down the Sith! The  Jedi
had been conspirators in their own downfall, complicit in  the  reemergence
of the dark side, and as important to its victory as Sidious had been.

     Sidious-their ally.

     Attachment to power was the  downfall  of  all  orders,  because  most
beings were incapable of controlling power, and power ended up  controlling
them. That, too, had been the cause of the galaxy's tip into disorder;  the
reason for Sidious's effortless rise to the top.

     Vader's heart pounded in his chest, and the respirator fed his heart's
needs with rapid breaths. For his own health and sanity, he  realized  that
he would have to avoid places that whipped his anger into such a frenzy.

     The recognition that he would probably never be able to  set  foot  on
Naboo or Tatooine tore an anguished moan from him that toppled the rest  of
the plinths as if they were dominoes, leaving their crowning bronzium busts
sliding and spinning across the polished, blood-flecked floor.

     Hollowed by the mournful outpouring, he supported  himself  against  a
broken column for what seemed an eternity.

     The chirping of the comlink on his belt returned him to  the  present,
and after a long moment he activated it.

     From the device's  small  speaker  issued  the  urgent  voice  of  the
Internal Security  Bureau  chief,  Armand  Isard,  communicating  from  the
Temple's data room.

     Someone, Isard reported, was attempting  remote  access  of  the  Jedi
beacon databanks.

     25

     In the dimly lighted corridor of a  forlorn  Separatist  facility  far
across the stars, Shryne stopped to gaze at one of the niched statues  that
lined both walls.

     Six meters high and exquisitely carved in the round,  the  statue  was
equal parts humanoid and winged beast. While it might have been modeled  on
an actual  creature,  the  deliberate  vagueness  of  its  facial  features
suggested some mythical creature from antiquity. The indistinct visage  was
partly concealed by a hooded robe that  fell  to  taloned  feet.  Identical
statues stood in identical recesses for as far as Shryne could see  in  the
wan light.

     The complex of  ancient,  geometric  structures  the  Separatists  had
converted into a communications facility had certainly stood  on  Jaguada's
moon for thousands of standard years; perhaps tens of thousands  of  years.
Scanners classified the metal used in the construction as "unidentifiable,"
and  lightning  fissures  in  the  foundations  of  the  largest  buildings
indicated that the complex had suffered the effect of the small satellite's
every tectonic shift and meteor impact.

     The  light  of  Shryne's  luma  revealed  details  of   the   statue's
intricately rendered wings. Locally quarried, the worked stone matched  the
striated rock of the sheer cliffs that walled the  complex  on  two  sides,
from which had been carved statues thirty meters tall, the  gaze  of  their
time-dimpled faces directed not down the  narrow  valley  over  which  they
stood silent guard, but toward the moon's eastern horizon.

     Based on similarities to holoimages she had seen of statuary on  Ziost
and Korriban, Starstone believed that the site could date to  the  time  of
the ancient Sith, and that the Separatists' reoccupation of the complex was
in keeping with the fact that Count Dooku had become a Sith Lord.

     The moon was arid Jaguada's sole companion in a desolate system slaved
to a dying star, far from major hyperlanes. The fact  that  remote  Jaguada
should host a garrison of clone troopers  in  the  desert  planet's  modest
population center  struck  Shryne  as  something  of  a  mystery.  But  the
troopers' presence could  owe  to  plans  to  salvage  the  Separatist  war
machines that had been left abandoned on the moon, as troopers  were  known
to be doing in numerous Outer Rim systems.

     This wasn't the first time Jula and her band of smugglers had  visited
the moon, but the secrecy that had attended the recent arrival had less  to
do with prior knowledge of the terrain than to the Drunk  Dancer's  jamming
capabilities. The ship had inserted into stationary orbit on the moon's far
side without being detected by the  Imperial  troops  on  Jaguada,  leaving
Shryne, Star-stone, and Jula, along with some of the crew members and Jedi,
to ride down the well in the drop  ship,  slipping  into  the  moon's  thin
atmosphere like a sabacc card up a gambler's sleeve.

     Heaped  with  windblown  sand,  the  facility's  retrofitted   landing
platform appeared not to have seen use in several years. Shryne's  estimate
was borne out by the fact that the  hundreds  of  deactivated  droids  that
welcomed  the  drop  ship  party  were  early-generation  Trade  Federation
infantry droids, of the sort controlled  by  centralized  computers  rather
than super battle droids equipped with autonomous droid brains. As  if  the
surfeit of silent war machines didn't  render  the  place  ghostly  enough,
there were the fanged carvings affixed to  each  doorway  lintel,  and  the
kilometers of parched corridors studded with gruesome statuary.

     Access to the structure that housed the communications  center  hadn't
been a problem, since whatever remote transmissions deactivated the  droids
had silenced the facility, as well. The  power  generators,  however,  were
still functional, and Filli Bitters and Eyl Dix had been able  to  override
the deactivation codes and bring some of the internal illuminators to life,
along with the hyperwave transceiver the Jedi were intent on using to slice
into the Temple beacon database.

     Shryne had left the slicers, Starstone, and some of the other Jedi  to
what he regarded as  their  business,  and  had  been  wandering  the  aged
corridors ever since, thinking through his dilemma.

     Even this deep into the complex, the ceramacrete floors  were  covered
with sand and bits of other inorganic  debris  carried  in  by  the  moon's
constant, nerve-racking winds. 	To Shryne,  the  combination  of  wind  and
gloom couldn't have been more apropos to puzzling out whether his coming to
Jaguada was in accord with the will of the Force, or merely symptomatic  of
a deep denial of the truth. Yet another attempt to  convince  himself  that
his actions had some import.

     Perhaps if he hadn't recognized in Starstone  and  the  other  Jedi  a
powerful need to believe-a need to hold on to something in the wake of  all
that had been snatched from them-he might have tried harder  to  discourage
them. But their need wasn't enough to keep him from asking himself  whether
this was the way he wanted to spend the rest of his days, hanging on  to  a
dream that the Jedi order could be reassembled;  that  a  handful  of  Jedi
could mount an  insurgency  against  as  formidable  an  enemy  as  Emperor
Palpatine. He couldn't escape the feeling that the Force had thrown  him  a
curious curve once again. Just when he thought he  was  through  with  Jedi
business, and that the Force had deserted him, he was in deeper than ever.

     Roan Shryne, who had lost not one but two learners to the war.

     Jula's words about reconnecting with family kept replaying themselves.
Perhaps he wasn't so far  gone  that  he  couldn't  actually  benefit  from
attachment, if only as a means of making himself more human. But  never  to
use the Force again... that was the bigger issue. His ability to sense  the
Force in others was so much a part of his nature that he doubted  he  would
simply be able to set it aside, along with his robes and lightsaber.

     He suspected that he would always  feel  like  a  freak  among  normal
humans, and the idea of exiling himself among aliens with  similar  talents
for telepathy held little appeal.

     For the time being he, was willing to remain with  Starstone,  if  not
mentor her. That was an entirely  different  problem:  Star-stone  and  the
others were looking to him for leadership he simply  couldn't  provide,  in
part because leadership had never been his strength, but more  because  the
war had eroded whatever measure of self-confidence he had  once  possessed.
With any luck the attempts at locating surviving Jedi would lead eventually
to a Jedi of greater Mastery than Shryne, to whom he  could  surrender  the
lead and gracefully bow out.

     Or perhaps there would be no returns from the Temple beacon database.

     Archived HoloNet images he had accessed while aboard the Drunk  Dancer
had showed smoke pouring from the Jedi  Temple  in  the  aftermath  of  the
troopers' attack. So it was certainly conceivable that the beacon had  been
damaged or destroyed, or that the databases had been hopelessly corrupted.

     Which would cause an abrupt end to the search.

     And to the dreaming, as well.

     He had begun to move deeper into the corridor when Jula  appeared  out
of the gloom, a luma in hand, and fell into step beside him.

     "Where are the guides when you need them?" she said. "Just what I  was
thinking."

     She had her jacket folded over her arm, a  blaster  holstered  on  her
hip. Shryne wondered for a moment what her life might have been like had he
remained in her care. Would her marriage to Shryne's father  have  endured,
or would what seemed an unquenchable thirst for adventure have placed  Jula
just where she was now? Save with Roan at her side, part of her  crew,  her
partner in crime.

     "How are they doing back there?"  he  asked,  nodding  with  his  chin
toward the communications room.

     "Well, Filli's already sliced into the beacon. No surprises there. Now
I suppose it's a matter of worming into the database itself." She  regarded
Shryne while they walked. 	"You're not interested in being there when  they
start downloading the names and  possible  whereabouts  of  your  scattered
confederates?"

     Shryne shook his head. "Starstone  and  Forte  can  see  to  that.  My
credits aren't on their succeeding, anyway."

     Jula laughed. "Then you won't get any side action from me." She looked
at him askance. "Olee and Filli are two of a kind, don't you think?"

     "I did for a while. But I figure she's already found her life partner.
"

     "The Force, you mean." Jula forced an exhale. "That's dedication of  a
scary sort."

     Shryne stopped walking and turned to her. "Why'd you say yes to taking
us here, Jula?"

     She smiled lightly. "I thought I'd made myself clear. I'm still hoping
to convince you to join us." Scanning his face for clues, she  asked:  "Any
movement at all on that front?"

     "I don't know what I'm thinking."

     "But you'll keep me updated?"

     "Sure I will."

     Shortly they reached the end of the corridor  of  winged  statues  and
turned  the  corner  into  an  intersecting  corridor  lined  with  smaller
carvings.

     In the bobbing light of the lumas, Shryne said: "How  did  Filli  know
about this place?"

     "We made a couple of runs here six or so  years  back.  Communications
hardware for the hyperwave transceiver. And before you go all patriotic  on
me, Roan, we didn't realize that the facility would eventually be  used  to
eavesdrop on Republic transmissions."

     "That would have stopped you-knowing that a war against  the  Republic
was brewing?"

     "It might have. But you have to understand, we were hungry, like a lot
of other freelancers in the outlying  systems.  It  still  amazes  me  that
Coruscant remained in the dark about what was going on out here after Dooku
formed the Separatist movement. Weapons  buildup,  Baktoid  Armor  Workshop
installing foundries on dozens of worlds... Back then, there was a  lot  to
be said for free and unrestricted trade."

     "I would have figured that would be bad for business."

     "Yes and no. Free trade invited competition,  but  it  also  meant  we
didn't have to worry about being chased by local system defense  forces  or
jedi Knights."

     "Who hired you to bring in the comet hardware?"

     "Someone named Tyranus, although none of us ever met him face-to-face.
"

     "Tyranus," Shryne repeated, in uncertain recollection.

     "Ring a bell?"

     "Maybe. I'll have to run it by the librarian-Olee.  So  when  did  the
Separatists pull up stakes?"

     "Shortly after the Battle of Geonosis-"

     Shryne came to a sudden halt  in  front  of  a  tall,  cloaked  statue
wearing a goggle-eyed mask.

     "Gruesome,"  Jula  started;  then  the  corridor's  regularly   placed
illuminators suddenly flooded the area with light. Squinting, she said,  "I
thought the idea was to avoid drawing too much attention to ourselves."

     Distant rumblings overpowered Shryne's response. In one swift  action,
he drew and ignited the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

     Jula raised her brows in surprise. "Where'd you come by that?"

     "It belonged to the Master of one of the Padawans."  Spinning  on  his
heel, he began to race back toward the communications  control  room,  Jula
right behind him.

     Shryne realized that the rumbling sounds were being made by doors  and
hatchways opening and closing. He hastened his pace, weaving through stands
of deactivated battle droids.

     In the control room Filli, his spiked hair matted to  his  skull,  was
doing furious input at a console, while Eyl Dix and Starstone paced  behind
him, Olee gnawing away at her lower lip. A few  meters  away  Jedi  Knights
Forte and Iwo Kulka looked as if they were  having  second  thoughts  about
what they had set in motion.

     "Filli, what's going on?" Tula shouted.

     The slicer's right hand pointed to Starstone, while his left continued
to fly across the keys of a control pad. "She told me to do it!"

     "Do what?" Shryne said, looking  from  Starstone  to  Filli  and  back
again.

     "Boost the transceiver with a burst from  the  power  generator,"  Dix
answered for Filli.

     "We didn't have enough juice to download from the database," Starstone
said. "I thought it would be fine."

     Shryne's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "So what's the problem?"

     "The generator wants to reactivate the entire facility," Filli said in
a rush of words. "I can't get it to shut down!"

     Slamming, hissing sounds began to replace the rumble of sliding doors.

     Jula looked sharply at Shryne. "This entire place is sealing up."

     A series of determined clicks  and  ready  tones  punctuated  the  din
raised by descending hatches. All at once every battle droid in the control
room powered up.

     Swinging its thin head toward him and raising its blaster  rifle,  the
battle droid standing closest to Shryne said: "Intruders."

     26

     Behind Armand Isard and the two Internal Security  Bureau  technicians
seated at the Temple beacon control console,  Vader  stood  with  his  arms
folded across his chest, Commander Appo at his right hand.

     "I want to know how the beacon was accessed," Vader said.

     "By means of a Jedi transceiver, Lord  Vader,"  the  tech  closest  to
Armand said.

     "Cross-check the transceiver code with the identity database," the ISB
chief said, anticipating Vader.

     "The name should be coming up in a moment," the other tech said,  eyes
glued to rapidly scrolling text on one of the display screens. "Chatak," he
added a moment later. "Bol Chatak."

     The sound of Vader's breathing filled the ensuing silence.

     Shryne  and  Starstone,  he  thought.  Obviously  they  had  been   in
possession of Chatak's beacon transceiver  when  they  had  evaded  him  at
Murkhana. Now they were attempting to determine the location of other  Jedi
when Order Sixty-Six  had  been  issued.  Certainly  they  were  hoping  to
establish contact with survivors, hoping to pick up  the  pieces  of  their
shattered order.

     And... what?

     Devise their revenge? Unlikely, since that would entail calling on the
dark side. Formulate  a  plan  to  kill  the  Emperor?  Perhaps.  Although,
ignorant of the fact that Palpatine was a Sith,  they  would  not  plot  an
assassination.  So  perhaps  they  were  contemplating  an  attack  on  the
Emperor's enforcer?

     Vader considered  reaching  out  to  Shryne  through  the  Force,  but
rejected the idea.

     "What is the source of the transmission?" he asked finally.

     "The Jaguada system, Lord Vader," the  first  technician  said.  "More
precisely, the moon of the system's only inhabited world."

     A  large  holomap  of  the   galaxy   emerged   from   the   console's
holoprojector. Linked to myriad databases throughout the  Temple,  the  map
made use of a palette of colors to indicate trouble  spots.  Just  now,  in
preservation of the moment Order Sixty-Six had been executed, more than two
hundred worlds glowed blood red.

     Perhaps this explained why Sidious hadn't had the  Temple  dismantled,
Vader thought. So he could regard it from his lofty  new  throne  room  and
gloat.

     The holomap began to close tighter and tighter on a remote area of the
Outer Rim. When, finally, the Jaguada system hung in midair,  Vader  strode
into its midst.

     "This moon," he said, gesturing with  the  forefinger  of  his  black-
gloved hand.

     "Yes, Lord Vader," the tech said.

     Vader glanced at Appo, who had already comlinked Central Operations on
Coruscant.

     "The moon is  the  site  of  an  abandoned  Separatist  communications
facility," Appo said. "Whoever is in possession  of  the  Jedi  transceiver
must have brought the facility's hyperspace communications network online."

     "Do we have any vessels in that sector, Commander?"

     "No vessels, Lord Vader," Appo said. "But there is  a  small  Imperial
garrison on Jaguada."

     "Instruct the garrison commander to scramble his troopers immediately.
"

     "Capture or kill, Lord Vader?"

     "Either would please me."

     "I understand."

     Vader cupped the holoimage of the tiny moon in his hand. "I  have  you
now," he said quietly, and made a fist.

     The lightsaber Klossi Anno had given Shryne felt foreign in his  hand,
but it was finely wrought,  and  its  dense  blue  blade  was  perfect  for
deflecting the hail of blaster  bolts  the  battle  droids  had  unleashed.
Beside him Jula was firing steadily and with impressive accuracy,  dropping
those droids Shryne's parried bolts didn't.  Crouched  behind  the  control
console, Filli and Dyx were somehow managing to continue entering  commands
on the keyboards while the flashing lightsabers of  Starstone,  Forte,  and
Kulka provided cover.

     In the control room and elsewhere in the facility, alert  sirens  were
warbling, lights were flashing, and hatchways were sealing.

     "Whatever you did, undo it!" Shryne said to Filli  without  missing  a
blaster bolt. "Deactivate the droids!"

     A glance at display screens that had  been  sleeping  moments  earlier
showed that scores of infantry droids and droidekas  were  hurrying  toward
the control center from all areas of the complex.

     "Filli, hurry!" Jula added for emphasis. "More are headed this way!"

     Shryne took a moment to look around  the  control  room.  The  doorway
through which he and Jula had entered was  one  of  three,  positioned  120
degrees from one another.

     "Filli, can you seal us in here?" he shouted.

     "Probably," the slicer yelled back. "But we may have bigger troubles."

     "We can handle the droidekas," Forte assured him.

     Filli raised his head above  the  console  and  shook  it  negatively.
"Someone at the Temple knows that we've sliced in!"  Starstone  whirled  on
him. "How do you-"

     "We're getting an echo from the beacon," Eyl Dix explained.

     Redirecting a flurry of bolts, Shryne reduced six droids to  shrapnel.
"How long before the Temple ascertains our location?"

     "Depends on who's at the other end," Filli said.

     "Then cancel the link!" Jula said.

     "We're still downloading," Starstone said. "We need all  the  data  we
can get."

     Shryne glowered at her. "What good is all the data in  the  Temple  if
we're not around to put it to use?"

     She narrowed her eyes. "I knew you'd say that. Do it, Filli," she said
over her shoulder. "Zero the link." Glancing apologetically  at  Forte  and
Kulka, she added: "We'll make the best of what we have."

     "Done," Filli announced.

     Shryne's deflection shot dismantled another droid. "Now shut the power
down before we're shot to death or entombed in here!"

     A moment later the droids returned to  their  inert  status,  and  the
control room was plunged into darkness. Five  lumas  provided  just  enough
light to see by.

     "I trust that someone knows the way out of here," Forte said.

     "I do," Dix said, her antennae standing straight up. "Then let's  hope
the exit's still open," Shryne said.

     Filli nodded. "It is. I got a look at the security  screen  before  we
cut the power."

     "Good job," Shryne started  to  say,  when  blasterfire  erupted  from
somewhere outside the control room.

     "You said you zeroed it, Filli," Jula snapped.

     He spread his hands in confusion. "I did!"

     Shryne listened closely to the distant discharges. "Those aren't droid
blasters," he said after a moment. "Those are DC-fifteens."

     Starstone stared at him. "Stormtroopers? Here?"

     Jula's comlink chimed and she grabbed for it. "Archyr," she  said  for
everyone's benefit.

     "Captain,  we've  got  company,"  Archyr  said  from  the  drop  ship.
"Troopers from the Jaguada garrison."

     Shryne traded looks with Starstone.

     "Whoever's at the Temple didn't waste  any  time,"  she  said.  Shryne
nodded. "They must have been monitoring us from the start."

     "How many troopers?" Jula was asking Archyr.

     "A couple of squads," he said. "Skeck and I are  pinned  down  on  the
landing platform. But most of the troopers have headed inside."

     "I can try to seal the entrances..." Filli said.

     "No, don't," Shryne cut him off. "You think you can you rig a delay to
the power generator?"

     His luma grasped in his teeth, Filli began to riffle through his  tool
kit. "I'm sure I can cobble something together," he said.

     Shryne turned to Jula. "How long will it take us to  reach  the  front
entrance, closest to the cliffs?"

     She threw him a questioning look. "That'll dump us  way  down  valley,
Roan. A good kilometer from the drop ship."

     He nodded. "But we avoid engaging troopers on the way out.

     Her brow continued to furrow. "Then why do you  want  Filli  to-"  She
grinned in sudden revelation and turned to Filli. "Set it to power up in  a
standard quarter, Filli."

     "That's cutting things pretty close, Captain."

     "The closer, the better," she said.

     By the time a holotransmission  from  the  commander  of  the  Jaguada
garrison reached the Temple beacon room, Vader already knew that  something
had gone wrong.

     "I'm sorry, Lord Vader," the helmeted stormtrooper  was  saying,  "but
we're trapped inside the facility with several hundred reactivated infantry
and destroyer droids." The commander dodged blaster bolts and returned fire
at something distant from the holocam's transmission  grid.  "All  accesses
sealed when the facility powered up."

     "Where are the Jedi?" Vader asked.

     "They left before the facility went  online.  We're  trapped  in  here
until we find a way to blow one of the doors."

     "Did you destroy the ship the Jedi arrived in?"

     "Negative," the commander said as bolts lanced  the  air  around  him.
"The smugglers detonated a magpulse while the second squad  was  advancing.
My troopers were expecting it, but in the time  it  took  our  hardware  to
reboot, the Jedi got their ship airborne."

     Off cam a trooper said: "Fallback positions two and  three  have  been
overrun, Commander. We'll have to make a stand here."

     "There's just too many of them!" the commander said as diagonal  lines
of noise began to interfere with the transmission.  Abruptly,  it  derezzed
completely.

     Armand Isard and the ISB technicians busied themselves at  the  beacon
controls, if only to avoid having to look at Vader.

     "Lord Vader," Appo said, "Jaguada base reports that  jump  points  are
limited in that system, and that they are scanning for  vagrant  traces  of
the Jedi ship. They may be able to calculate possible escape vectors."

     Vader nodded.

     Infuriated, he turned and stormed from the beacon room, wishing he had
the power to simply reach out and pluck the Jedi from the sky.

     Conclude their extermination.

     Sidious was wrong, he told himself as he  hurried  through  the  empty
hallways.

     They are a threat.

     27

     The Drunk Dancer tore through  mottled  hyperspace,  leaving  desolate
Jaguada light-years behind. Skeck had sustained a nasty blaster burn to his
right arm during the troopers' attempt to disable the drop ship, but no one
else had been hurt. Emerging from the facility moments before Filli's  time
delay initiated the power  generator,  Shryne  and  the  others  had  raced
upvalley to the landing platform and had arrived in time to catch  a  squad
of Imperials in a crossfire.

     Sealed inside the facility, the remaining squads were up to  their  T-
visors in reactivated battle droids.

     After Skeck's wound had been  bandaged,  Shryne  had  retired  to  the
dormitory cabin space Jula had provided for the Jedi. He had always  had  a
fondness for hyperspace travel-more, the sense of  being  outside  time-and
was kneeling in meditation when he sensed Starstone approaching the  cabin.
Simultaneous with her excited entry he rose to his feet, eyes on the  sheaf
of flimsiplast printouts she was holding.

     "We have data on hundreds of Jedi," she said, rattling the  printouts.
"We know where more than seventy Masters were at the end  of  the  war-when
the clone commanders received their orders."

     Accepting the proffered flimsies, Shryne thumbed  through  them,  then
glanced at Starstone. "How many  of  these  hundreds  do  you  think  might
actually have survived the attacks?"

     She gave her head a quick shake. "I'm not even going to try to  guess.
We can begin our search with systems closest to Mossak, and  fan  out  from
there toward Mygeeto, Saleucami, and Kashyyyk."

     Shryne shook the flimsies. "Has it occurred to you  that  if  we  have
this  information,  then  so  does  the  Empire?  What  do  you  think  our
adversaries were doing in the Temple beacon room, playing hide-and-seek?"

     Starstone winced at the harshness of his tone, but only  briefly  "Has
it occurred to you that our adversaries,  as  you  call  them,  were  there
precisely because a good many Jedi survived? It's  crucial  that  we  reach
those survivors before they're hunted down. Or are you  proposing  that  we
leave them to the Empire-to Vader and his stormtroopers?"

     Shryne made a start at replying, then bit back his words and  motioned
to the edge of the nearest cot. "Sit down, and try for  a  moment  to  stop
thinking like a HoloNet hero."

     When Starstone ultimately lowered  herself  to  the  cot,  Shryne  sat
opposite her.

     "Don't misunderstand me," he began. "Your goal couldn't be more noble.
And for all I know there are five hundred Jedi scattered throughout the Rim
in need of rescue. My, point is, I don't want to see your name added to the
casualty list. What happened at Jaguada is only a foretaste  of  what's  in
store for us if we continue to band together."

     Shryne stopped her before she could go  on.  "Think  about  the  final
beacon message we received at Murkhana.  The  message  didn't  tell  us  to
gather together and coordinate a strike on Coruscant, or on  Palpatine,  or
even on the troopers. It instructed us, each of  us  who  received  it,  to
hide. Yoda or whoever ordered the transmission knew that the Jedi were in a
fight we couldn't win. The message was a way of saying just  that-that  the
order is over and done with. That the Jedi are finished."

     He hid his ruefulness. "Does that mean that you have to stop  honoring
the Force? Of course not. All of us will live out our  lives  honoring  the
Force. But not with lightsabers in hand, Olee. With right action, and right
thinking."

     "I'd rather die honoring the Force with my lightsaber," she said.

     He had expected as much. "How is dying honoring the  Force,  when  you
could be out doing good works, passing on to others all that you've learned
about the Force?"

     "Is that what you plan to do-devote yourself to good works?"

     Shryne smiled. "Right now I only know what I'm not going  to  do,  and
that's help rush you into a grave on some remote world." He held her  gaze.
"I'm sorry. But I've already lost two Padawans to this rotten  war,  and  I
don't want to lose you to it."

     "Even though I'm not your learner?"

     He nodded. "Even though."

     She sighed with purpose. "I appreciate your concern for me, Master-and
I will call you that because right now you're the only Master we have.  But
the Force tells me that we can make a difference, and I can't turn my  back
on that. Master Chatak instilled in me every day that I should  follow  the
Force's lead, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

     She adopted an even more serious look. "Jula  believes  that  you  can
turn your back. The Force is with her, but she's not a  Jedi,  Master.  You
can't unlearn overnight the teachings and practices of decades. Even if you
should succeed, you'll regret it."

     Shryne firmed his lips and nodded again.  "Then  you  and  I  will  be
parting ways at Mossak."

     Sadness pulled down the corners of her mouth. "I wish it  didn't  have
to be this way, Master."

     "That doesn't begin to say how I feel about it."

     They stood, and he hugged her tenderly.

     "You'll tell the others?" he said  while  she  was  gathering  up  the
flimsies.

     "They already know."

     Shryne didn't watch her leave. But no sooner did she  exit  the  cabin
than Jula entered.

     "Jedi business?"

     Shryne looked at her. "You can probably figure it out."

     Jula averted her gaze. "Olee's a fine young woman-they're  all  decent
beings. But they're deluded, Roan. It's over. They have to realize that and
get on with their lives. You told me that attachment is the root of many of
our problems. Well, that includes being so attached to the Jedi order  that
you can't leave it behind. If being a Jedi means being able to accept  what
has happened and move on, then they honor the order best by letting go."

     She looked at him now. "For some of them it's all about  the  loss  of
prestige, and the power to decide what's right or wrong.  To  believe  that
everything you do is motivated by the Force, and that you always  have  the
Force on your side. But that's not always the way it works.  I've  no  love
for the order, you know that. Sometimes the Jedi caused as many problems as
they solved. Now, for whatever reason, whether it's Palpatine or  the  fact
that the Jedi couldn't accept the  idea  of  taking  second  place  to  the
Republic-the Force isn't necessarily your best ally."

     She reached for his hands. "They took you from me once, Roan. I  won't
let you go a second time without a fight." She laughed lightly. "And  that,
ladies and gentlemen, concludes my little speech." Gazing at him, she said:
"Join us."

     "In crime, you mean."

     A fire came into her eves. "We're not criminals. All right, we've done
some questionable things, but so have you, and that was in the past. If you
come aboard, I promise we'll stick to taking contracts that will allow  you
to keep on doing good deeds, if that's what it's going to take."

     "Such as?" Shryne said.

     "Well, we already happen to have a good deed on deck.  A  contract  to
transport a former Senator from the Core to his home system."

     Shryne allowed his skepticism to show "Why would a former Senator have
to be smuggled to his home system?"

     "I don't have all the details. But my guess? The Senator doesn't share
the ideals of the new regime."

     "Is this a Cash Garrulan contract?"

     Jula nodded. "And maybe that's another reason for you to  say  yes  to
accepting the offer. Because you owe him for arranging for your escape from
Murkhana."

     Shryne pretended scorn. "I don't owe Cash any favors."

     "Okay. Then you'll do it to honor his memory."

     Shryne stared at her.

     "Imperial troopers caught up with him  soon  after  all  of  you  left
Murkhana. Cash is dead."

     28

     From the high-backed chair that was his seat of power, Sidious watched
Darth Vader  turn  and  march  from  the  throne  room,  long  black  cloak
whooshing, black helmet burnished by the lights, anger palpable.

     Atop a pedestal alongside the chair  sat  the  holocrons  Sidious  had
asked his apprentice to search out and  retrieve  from  the  Jedi  archives
room. Pyramidal in shape, as opposed to  the  geodesic  Jedi  version,  the
holocrons were repositories of recorded knowledge, accessible only to those
who were highly evolved in the use of the Force. Arcane  writing  inscribed
on the holocrons Vader had fetched told Sidious that they had been recorded
by Sith during the era of Darth Bane,  some  one  thousand  standard  years
earlier. Sidious didn't have to imagine the content of the devices, because
his own Master, Darth Plagueis, had once allowed him access to  the  actual
holocrons. The ones stored in the Temple archives room  were  nothing  more
than clever forgeries-Sith disinformation of a sort.

     Vader didn't realize that they were forgeries, of course, although  he
was certainly smart enough to have puzzled  out  that  the  holocrons  were
hardly the reason Sidious had ordered him to  return  to  the  Temple.  But
Vader's obvious  anger  hinted  that  something  unexpected  had  occurred.
Instead of helping Vader come to  terms  with  his  choices,  the  specious
mission had muddled his emotions, and perhaps made matters worse.

     What is to be done with him? Sidious thought.

     Perhaps I will have to send him back to Mustafar, as well.

     He mused on a strategy for a moment; then, depressing a button on  the
control panel set into the arm of the chair, he summoned  Mas  Amedda  into
the room.

     The tall-horned Chagrian, now  the  Emperor's  interface  with  sundry
utterly  dispensable  Senatorial  groups,  moved  cautiously  between   the
Imperial Guards who flanked the door,  inclining  his  head  in  a  bow  of
respect as he approached Sidious.

     Through the open door to the waiting room, Sidious glimpsed a familiar
face. "Is that Isard outside?"

     "Yes, my lord."

     "Why is he here?"

     "He asked that I inform you of an incident that occurred while he  and
Lord Vader were in the Temple."

     "Indeed?"

     "I'm  given  to  understand  that  unknown  parties  accessed  certain
databases, by means of the beacon."

     "Jedi," Sidious said, drawing out the word.

     "None other, my lord."

     "And Lord Vader was on hand to witness this remote infiltration?"

     "He was, my lord. Once the source of  the  transmission  was  located,
Lord Vader ordered a local garrison of troopers  to  descend  on  the  Jedi
responsible."

     "The troopers failed," Sidious said, leaning forward in interest.

     Mas Amedda nodded gravely.

     More of his fugitive Jedi, Sidious thought. He has not allowed himself
to be done with them.

     "No matter," he said at last. "What business  originally  brought  you
here?"

     "Senator Fang Zar, my lord."

     Sidious interlocked the fingers of his fat hands and sat back  in  the
chair. "One of the more vocal of the illustrious two thousand who wished to
see me removed from office. Has he had a sudden change of heart?"

     "Of a sort. You will recall, my lord, that following your announcement
that the war had been won, Fang Zar and several other  signatories  of  the
Petition of the Two Thousand  were  briefly  detained  for  questioning  by
Internal Security Bureau officers."

     "Come to the point," Sidious snapped.

     "Fang Zar was instructed not to  leave  Coruscant,  and  yet  he  did,
managing to reach Alderaan, where he has been in residence  at  the  Aldera
Palace ever since. Now, however, the conflict that engulfed his home system
has come to an end, and Fang Zar is apparently determined to return to Sern
Prime without attracting the notice of the ISB or anyone else."

     Sidious considered it. "Continue."

     Mas Amedda spread his huge blue hands. "Our only concern is  that  his
sudden return to Sem Prime might  prompt  dissension  in  certain  outlying
systems."

     Sidious smiled tolerantly.  "Some  dissension  should  be  encouraged.
Better they rant and rave in the open than plot behind my  back.  But  tell
me, does Senator Organa  know  that  Zar  was  questioned  before  he  fled
Coruscant?"

     "Perhaps he does now, though it is unlikely he knew  when  he  granted
refugee status to Fang Zar."

     Sidious grew interested once more. "How is Zar planning to  reach  Sem
Prime without, as you say, attracting attention?"

     "We know that he made contact with a crime lord on Murkhana-"

     "Murkhana?"

     "Yes, my lord. Perhaps he wishes to avoid involving Senator Organa  in
his predicament."

     Sidious fell silent for a long moment, attuned to the currents of  the
Force. Currents linking Vader and Murkhana, and now Zar and  Murkhana.  And
perhaps fugitive Jedi and Murkhana..

     Into his thoughts came the words of Darth Plagueis.

     Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know  how
best to undermine you; tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know  which
I must force you to face,. tell me what you cherish most, so  I  will  know
what to take from you; and tell me what you crave, so  that  I  might  deny
you...

     "Perhaps it would be more prudent for Fang Zar to remain  on  Alderaan
awhile longer," he said finally.

     Mas Amedda bowed his head. "Shall I  inform  Senator  Organa  of  your
wish?"

     "No. Lord Vader should deal with the situation."

     "To deflect his hunger for the Jedi," the Chagrian risked saying.

     Sidious shot him a look. "To sharpen it."

     29

     Perhaps it was because Alderaan presented such a pleasant picture from
deep space that it had enjoyed such a long history  of  peace,  prosperity,
and tolerance.

     Even deeper into its intoxicating atmosphere, closer to its montage of
alabaster  clouds,  blue  seas,  and  green  plains,  the   picture   held.
Coruscant's neighbor in the Core was a gem of a world.

     The pacific impression didn't begin  to  diminish  until  one  reached
street level on the island-city of Aldera, and only then as a result of the
day's activities, which demonstrated that for tolerance  to  endure,  voice
had to be  granted  to  all,  even  when  free  expression  challenged  the
perpetuation of peace.

     Bail Organa understood this, as had his predecessors in  the  Galactic
Senate. But Bail's compassion for those who had taken  to  Aldera's  narrow
streets was not a case of noblesse oblige, for he shared  the  concerns  of
the demonstrators and had deep sympathy for their cause. As  many  said  of
Bail, were it not for genetics, he might have been a Jedi. And  indeed  for
most of his adult life he had been a valued friend of the order.

     He stood in plain sight of the crowds,  on  a  balcony  of  the  Royal
Palace, in the heart of Aldera, which itself lay in the  embrace  of  green
mountains, their gentle summits sparkling with freshly fallen  snow.  Below
him marched hundreds of thousands  of  demonstrators-refugees  representing
scores of species displaced by the war, bundled  up  in  colorful  clothing
against the mountains' frigid downdrafts. Many of the refugees had been  on
Alderaan since the earliest days of  the  Separatist  movement,  living  in
housing Alderaan had provided; many more were recently arrived onplanet, to
show their support. Now that the war had ended, almost  all  of  them  were
eager to return to  their  home  systems,  pick  up  the  pieces  of  their
shattered lives,  and  reunite  with  members  of  their  widely  dispersed
families.

     But the Empire was attempting to thwart them.

     Placards flashed and holoimages sprang from hand - and flipper  -  and
tentacle-held devices as the throng moved past Bail's lofty  perch  in  the
north tower,  behind  the  palace's  high  white  walls  and  the  arcs  of
reflecting pools that had long ago served as defensive moats.

     PALPATINE'S PUPPET! one of the holoslogans read.

     REPEAL THE TAX! read another.

     RESIST IMPERIALIZATION! a third.

     The first was a reference to the regional governor  Emperor  Palpatine
had installed in that part of the Core, who had decreed that  all  refugees
of former Confederacy worlds were required to submit to  rigorous  identity
checks before being issued documents of transit.

     The "tax" referred to the toll that had been levied on anyone  seeking
travel to outlying systems.

     Already a catchphrase, the third slogan was aimed at  any  who  feared
the Emperor's  attempts  to  bind  all  planetary  systems,  autonomous  or
otherwise, to Coruscant's rule.

     While  little  of  the  angry  chanting  was  directed  at  Alderaan's
government or Queen Breha-Bail's wife-many in the  crowd  were  looking  to
Bail to intercede with Palpatine on their behalf. Alderaan was merely their
gathering place, after the demonstration's organizers had  decided  against
holding the march on Coruscant, under the watchful gaze  of  stormtroopers,
and with the memory of what had  happened  at  the  Jedi  Temple  fresh  in
everyone's mind.

     Demonstrations were nothing new, in any case. Alderaanians were  known
throughout the galaxy for their missions  of  mercy  and  their  unstinting
support of oppressed groups. More important, Alderaan had been a hotbed  of
political dissent throughout the war, with Aldera University's Students  of
Collus-named for a celebrated Alderaanian philosopher-leading the movement.

     With his homeworld thoroughly politicized, Bail  had  been  forced  to
play a careful game in the galactic  capital,  where  he  was  at  once  an
advocate for refugee populations and a principal  member  of  the  Loyalist
Committee; that is, loyal to the Constitution,  and  to  the  Republic  for
which it stood.

     A reasonable man, one of a 'landfill  of  rankled  delegates  who  had
found  themselves  caught  between  support  for  Palpatine  and   outright
contention, Bail had understood that political wrangling was the  only  way
to introduce change. As a result, he and Palpatine had engaged in  numerous
disputes, openly in the Rotunda as well as in private, on  issues  relating
to Palpatine's rapid rise to incontestable power, and the  subsequent  slow
but steady erosion of personal liberties.

     Only with  the  war's  sudden  and  shocking  end  had  Bail  come  to
understand that what had seemed political maneuvering on  Palpatine's  part
had  been  nothing  less  than  inspired  machination-the  unfolding  of  a
diabolical scheme to prolong the war, and to so  frustrate  the  Jedi  that
when they finally sought to hold him accountable for refusing  to  proclaim
the war concluded with the deaths of  Count  Dooku  and  General  Grievous,
Palpatine could not only declare them traitors to the  Republic,  but  also
pronounce them guilty of having fomented the war to serve their  own  ends,
and therefore deserving of execution.

     Ever since, Bail had been forced to play an even more treacherous game
on Coruscant-Imperial Center-for  he  now  knew  Palpatine  to  be  a  more
dangerous opponent than anyone suspected; indeed a more dangerous foe  than
most could even begin to guess. While Senators such as Mon Mothma and  Garm
Bel Iblis were expecting Bail to join in their attempts to mount  a  secret
rebellion, circumstance compelled him to maintain a  low  profile,  and  to
demonstrate greater allegiance to Palpatine than he ever had.

     That circumstance was Leia. And Bail's fears for her safety  had  only
increased since his close encounter with Darth Vader on Coruscant.

     He had spoken of the encounter only to Raymus Antilles, captain of the
consular ship Tantive IV. Antilles  had  been  given  custody  of  Anakin's
protocol and astromech droids, C-3P0 and R2-D2. The former had undergone  a
memory wipe to safeguard the truth for as long as necessary, and to  assure
the continued protection of the Skywalker twins.

     Could Vader actually be Anakin Skywalker? the two men wondered.

     Based on Obi-Wan's account of what had occurred on Mustafar,  Anakin's
survival didn't seem  possible.  But  perhaps  Obi-Wan  had  underestimated
Anakin. Perhaps Anakin's peerless strength in the Force had allowed him  to
survive.

     Was Bail, then, raising the child of a man who was still alive?

     What alternative was there? That  Palpatine-that  Sidious  had  dubbed
some other apprentice Darth Vader? That the black monstrosity Bail had seen
on the landing platform was merely a droid version of  Anakin,  as  General
Grievous had been a cyborg version of his former self?

     If that was true, would stormtroopers like Appo allow themselves to be
commanded by a such a being, even if ordered to by Sidious?

     The questions had gnawed at Bail without answer, and  events  such  as
the refugee march only served to place him at greater risk on Coruscant and
heighten his concerns for Leia.

     Unaided, Palpatine was capable of crushing any who  opposed  him.  And
yet he continued to allow others to do his  dirty  work,  to  preserve  his
image as a benevolent dictator. Palpatine used his  regional  governors  to
issue the harshest of his decrees, and his stormtroopers to enforce them.

     The march's organizers had promised Bail that it would be  a  peaceful
demonstration, but Bail suspected that Palpatine had infiltrated spies  and
professional agitators into the crowds. Riots could be used as an excuse by
the regional governor to arrest dissidents and perceived troublemakers, and
to announce new edicts that would  make  travel  even  more  difficult  and
expensive for the refugees.

     With so many ships arriving from nearby worlds, it had been impossible
to screen for Imperial agents or saboteurs. Even if there had been some way
to identify them, Bail would only have played  into  Palpatine's  hands  by
issuing restrictions, thus alienating refugees and their ardent  supporters
alike, who viewed Alderaan as one of the last bastions of freedom.

     Thus far, Alderaanian law enforcement units were doing a good  job  of
confining the marchers to their preassigned circuit of  the  Royal  Palace.
Contingents of Royal Guards surrounded the palace, and the sky  was  filled
with police skimmers and surveillance craft to ensure  that  the  situation
remained under control. On Bail's orders, active  measures  could  only  be
used as a last resort.

     Standing at the edge of the balcony, the object  of  shouts,  appeals,
chants, and flurries of raised fists, Bail ran his  hand  over  his  mouth,
hoping that the Force was with him.

     "Senator!" someone called from behind him.

     Bail turned and saw Captain Antilles  hurrying  toward  him  from  the
direction of the palace's Grand Reception Room. Accompanying Antilles  were
two of Bail's aides, Sheltray Retrac and Celana Aldrete.

     Antilles directed Bail's attention to a nearby holoprojector.  "You're
not going to be pleased," the starship captain said by way of warning.

     The holoimage of an enormous warship resolved in the projector's  blue
field.

     Bail's brow wrinkled in confoundment.

     "Imperator-class Star Destroyer," Antilles  explained.  "Hot  off  the
line. And now parked in stationary orbit above Aldera."

     "This is outrageous," Celana Aldrete said. "Even Palpatine wouldn't be
so bold as to interfere in our affairs."

     "Don't fool yourself," Bail said. "He would and he has." He  swung  to
Antilles. "Comm the vessel,"  he  ordered  as  Aldera's  vizier  and  other
advisers  were  hastening  onto  the  balcony  to  gawk  at  the  projected
holoimage.

     Before Antilles could activate his comlink,  the  holoprojector  image
faded and was replaced by the pinched,  clean-shaven  face  of  Palpatine's
chief henchman, Sate Pestage.

     "Senator Organa," Pestage said. "I trust you are receiving me."

     Of all of Palpatine's advisers, Pestage came closest to  being  Bail's
archnemesis. A thug, with no  understanding  of  the  legislative  process,
Pestage had no business being in a position of authority. But he  had  been
one of Palpatine's chief advisers since Palpatine's  arrival  on  Coruscant
from Naboo, as that world's Senator.

     Bail positioned himself  on  the  projector's  transmission  grid  and
signaled for Antilles to open a link to Pestage.

     "There you  are,"  Pestage  said  after  a  moment.  "Will  you  grant
permission for our shuttle to land, Senator?"

     "How unlike you to extend us the courtesy of  a  warning,  Sate.  What
brings you to this part of the Core, in a Star Destroyer, no less?"

     Pestage smiled without showing his  teeth.  "I'm  merely  a  passenger
aboard the Exactor, Senator. As to our business here... Well,  let  me  say
first how much I've enjoyed watching HoloNet  feeds  of  your...  political
rally."

     "It's a peaceful gathering, Sate," Bail fired back. "And  it's  likely
to remain so unless your agitators succeed in doing what they do best."

     Pestage adopted a surprised look. "My agitators? You can't be serious.
"

     "I'm very serious. But suppose you get back to telling me why you  are
here."

     Pestage tugged at his lower lip. "Now that I think about it,  Senator,
it might be more prudent for me to leave the explanation to  the  Emperor's
emissary."

     Bail stood akimbo. "That has always been your position, Sate."

     "No longer, Senator," Pestage said. "I now answer to a superior."

     "Who are you talking about?"

     "Someone you've not yet had the pleasure of meeting. Darth Vader."

     Bail froze, but only on the inside. He managed to keep  from  glancing
at Antilles, and his voice belied none of his sudden dread  when  he  said:
"Darth Vader? What sort of name is that?"

     Pestage smiled again. "Well, actually it's something of a title and  a
name." The smile collapsed. "But  make  no  mistake,  Senator,  Lord  Vader
speaks for the Emperor. You would do well to bear that in mind."

     "And this Darth Vader is coming here?" Bail said in a composed  voice.
"Our shuttle should be setting down momentarily, assuming, of course,  that
we have your permission to land."

     Bail nodded for the holocam. "I'll see to it that you receive approach
and landing coordinates."

     Pestage's holoimage had no sooner deresolved than  Bail  snatched  his
comlink from his belt and tapped a code into  the  keypad.  To  the  female
voice that answered, he said, "Where are Breha and Leia?"

     "I believe they're already on their way to join you, sir," the Queen's
attendant said.

     "Do you know if Breha has her comlink with her?"

     "I don't believe she does, sir."

     "Thank you." Bail silenced the comlink and turned to his aides.  "Find
the Queen. She must be somewhere in the main residence. Tell her  that  she
is not to leave the residence under any circumstances, and that she  is  to
contact me as soon as possible. Is that understood?"

     Retrac and Aldrete nodded, spun on their heels, and hurried off.

     Bail swung to Antilles, eyes bulging in concern. "Are  the  droids  on
the Tantive IV or downside?"

     "Here," Antilles said, exhaling. "Somewhere in the palace  or  on  the
grounds."

     Bail tightened his lips. "They have to be  located  and  kept  out  of
sight."

     30

     Never was one for crowds, myself,"  Skeck  said  as  he,  Archyr,  and
Shryne were negotiating Aldera's throng of demonstrators.

     "Is that what first took you to the Outer Rim?" Shryne asked.

     Skeck mocked the idea with a motion of dismissal. "I just  hang  there
for the food."

     In addition to keeping out the cold, their long coats, hats, and  high
boots supplied hiding places for blasters and other tools of the  smuggling
trade. Jula, Brudi, and Eyl Dix had remained with the drop ship, which  was
docked in a circular bay a couple of kilometers west of the palace.

     It was Shryne's first visit to Alderaan. From what little he had seen,
the planet lived up to its reputation as both  a  beautiful  world  and  an
arena for political dissent, notwithstanding Alderaan's allegedly  pacifist
views. The mood of the enormous crowd, made up of war  refugees  and  those
who had arrived from countless  worlds  to  demonstrate  their  solidarity,
seemed to be in keeping with those views. But Shryne had already zeroed  in
on scores of beings who clearly hoped to provoke the marchers to  violence,
perhaps as a means of being assured extensive HoloNet  coverage,  and  thus
making their point with Palpatine.

     Or maybe, just maybe, Alderaan had the Emperor himself  to  thank  for
the rabble-rousers.

     Judging by the way in which Aldera's police units were deployed,  they
had no interest in confrontation, and perhaps had been ordered to  exercise
restraint at all costs. The mere fact that the marchers were being  allowed
to voice their  protests  and  display  their  holoslogans  in  such  close
proximity to the Royal Palace, and that Senator Bail Organa  himself  would
occasionally plant himself in full view  of  the  crowd,  showed  that  the
restraint was genuine.

     Alderaan really did care about the little guy.

     For Shryne, the presence of such a  huge  crowd  also  suggested  that
Senator Fang Zar was more than a clever politician. While spiriting him off
Alderaan would never have posed an insurmountable  challenge,  the  milling
crowds combined with Alderaan's  deliberately  lax  policy  toward  orbital
insertions and exits was going to make the pickup  as  easy  as  one,  two,
three.

     Not bad for Shryne's first mission.

     There might even be a small amount of good attached to it-particularly
if the rumors he had heard about Zar over the years were true.

     Now it boiled down to keeping the appointment with him.

     Shryne, Skeck, and  Archyr  had  already  circled  the  palace  twice,
primarily to scope out potential problems at the south gate entrance, where
the  prearranged  meet  was  supposed  to  take  place.  Shryne  found   it
interesting that Zar's ostensible reason for making a low-key departure was
to keep from involving Organa in his problems, but Shryne wasn't  clear  on
just what those problems were. Both  Zar  and  Organa  had  been  outspoken
members of the Loyalist Committee, so what could Zar  have  done  to  cause
problems for himself that didn't already involve Organa?

     Was he in a fix with Palpatine?

     Shryne tried to convince himself that Zar's troubles were none of  his
business; that the sooner he accustomed himself to simply executing a  job,
the better-for him and for Jula. This, as opposed to thinking like a  Jedi,
which involved looking  to  the  Force  as  a  means  of  gauging  possible
repercussions and ramifications of his actions.

     In that sense, the Alderaan mission was the first day of the  rest  of
his life.

     Olee Starstone was the only other issue he had to clear from his mind.
His feelings for her didn't spring from attachment of the sort she would be
the first to ridicule. In plain fact, he was worried about her to the point
of distraction.

     In response to Shryne's decision to follow his own path, she was about
as angry as a Jedi was allowed to be, though some of  the  other  Jedi  had
said that they understood.

     All seven had taken the battered  transport  and  gone  in  search  of
surviving Jedi. Shryne feared that it would just be a matter of time before
they got themselves in serious trouble, but he wasn't  about  to  serve  as
their watchdog. More to the point, they had seen the risks they were taking
as flowing from the will of the Force.

     Well, who knew for sure?

     Shryne wasn't omniscient. Maybe they would succeed against  all  odds.
Maybe the  Jedi,  in  league  with  political  protestors  and  sympathetic
military commanders, could bring Palpatine to justice for what he had done.

     Unlikely. But a possibility, nevertheless.

     Jula had been generous enough to loan Filli to the Jedi, outwardly  to
help them sort through  the  data  they  had  downloaded  from  the  beacon
databases. Shryne suspected,  however,  that  Jula's  real  intent  was  to
disable Starstone's reckless determination. The closer Starstone and  Filli
grew, the more the young Jedi would be forced to take a hard  look  at  her
choices. With time, Filli might even  be  able  to  lure  her  out  of  her
attachment to the perished Jedi order, just as Jula had Shryne.

     But then, Shryne had been halfway along before  his  mother  had  even
entered the picture.

     His mother

     He was still getting used to that development: that he was the son  of
this particular woman. Perhaps the way some of  the  troopers  had  had  to
adjust to the fact that they were all clones of one man.

     Through his comlink's wireless earpiece, Shryne heard Jula's voice.

     "I just heard from our bundle," she said. "He's in motion."

     "We're working our way around to him now," Shryne said into the  audio
pickup fastened to the synthfur collar of his coat.

     "You  sure  you're  going  to  be  able  to  recognize  him  from  the
holoimages?"

     "Recognizing him won't be a problem. But finding  him  in  this  crowd
could be."

     "I'm guessing he didn't expect this big a turnout."

     "I'm guessing no one did."

     "Does that say something for the Emperor's days being numbered?"

     "Someone's days, anyway."  Shryne  paused,  then  said:  "Hold  for  a
moment."

     The palace's south gate entrance was within sight now, but in the time
it had taken Shryne, Skeck, and Archyr to complete their third  circuit,  a
mob had formed. Three human speakers standing atop  repulsorlift  platforms
were urging everyone to press through the tall gates and  onto  the  palace
grounds. Anticipating trouble, a group of forty or so royal troops  dressed
in ceremonial armor and slack hats  had  deployed  themselves  outside  the
gates, armed with an array of non-lethal crowd control  devices,  including
sonic devices, shock batons, and stun nets.

     "Roan, what's going on?" Jula asked.

     "Things are getting rowdy. Everyone's being warned away from the south
gate entrance."

     The crowd surged, and Shryne felt himself lifted  from  his  feet  and
carried toward the palace. The cordon of troops  issued  a  final  warning.
When the crowd surged again, two front-line guards sporting  backpack  rigs
began to coat the cobblestone plaza with a thick layer of  repellent  foam.
The crowd surged back in response, but dozens of demonstrators  closest  to
the front failed to step back in time and were immediately  immobilized  in
the rapidly  spreading  goo.  A  few  of  them  were  able  to  retreat  by
surrendering their footgear, but the rest were  stuck  fast.  The  trio  of
hovering agitators took advantage of  the  situation,  accusing  Alderaan's
Queen and vizier of attempting to  hinder  the  marchers'  rights  to  free
assembly, and of kowtowing to the Emperor.

     The surges grew more  powerful,  with  demonstrators  trapped  in  the
center of the crowd taking the brunt of all the pushing and shoving. Shryne
began to edge toward the perimeter, with Skeck and Archyr to either side of
him. When he could, he enabled his comlink.

     "Jula, we're not going to be able to get to the gate."

     "Which also means that our bundle won't be able to  exit  the  grounds
that way."

     "Do we have a substitute rendezvous?"

     "Roan, I've lost voice contact with him."

     "Probably temporary. When you hear from him, just  tell  him  to  stay
put, wherever he is."

     "Where will you be?"

     Shryne studied the palace's curved south  wall.  "Don't  worry,  we'll
find a way in."

     31

     Those poor beings, trapped in that terrible foam," C-3P0  said  as  he
and R2-D2 hastened for a narrow access door in the palace's south wall.

     Close to the palace's underground  droid-maintenance  facility,  where
both droids had enjoyed an oil bath, the door was the  same  one  they  had
used to exit the palace grounds earlier that day, when the protestors  were
just beginning their march.

     "I think we'll be much better off inside the palace."

     R2-D2 chittered a response.

     C-3P0 tilted his head in bafflement. "What  do  you  mean  we've  been
ordered inside anyway?"

     The astromech chirped and fluted.

     "Ordered to conceal ourselves?" C-3P0 said. "By whom?" He  waited  for
an answer. "Captain Antilles? How thoughtful of him to show concern for our
well-being in the midst of this confusion!"

     R2-D2 zithered, then buzzed.

     "Something else?" C-3P0 waited for R2-D2 to finish. "Don't tell me you
can't say. It's simply that you refuse to say. I've every  right  to  know,
you secretive little machinist."

     C-3P0 fell briefly silent as the shadow of a low-flying  craft  passed
over them.

     His single photoreceptor  tracking  the  flight  of  a  midnight-black
Imperial shuttle, R2-D2 began to whistle and hoot in obvious alarm.

     "What is it now?"

     The astromech loosed a chorus of warbles and shrill peeps. C-3P0 fixed
his photoreceptors on him in incredulity.

     "Find Queen Breha? What are you going on about? A moment ago you  said
that Captain Antilles had ordered us into  hiding!"  Arms  crooked,  almost
akimbo, C-3P0 couldn't believe what he was hearing.

     "You changed your mind.  Since  when  do  you  get  to  decide  what's
important and what isn't? Oh, you're intent on getting  us  in  trouble.  I
know it!"

     By then they had reached the access door in the wall. R2-D2 extended a
slender  interface  arm  from  one  of  the  compartments  in  his   squat,
cylindrical torso and was in the process of inserting it  into  a  computer
control terminal alongside the doorway when the voice of a  flesh-and-blood
said: "Misplace your starfighter, droid?"

     Turning completely about, C-3P0 found himself looking at a  human  and
two six-fingered humanoids wearing long coats and tall boots.  The  human's
left hand was patting R2-D2's dome of a head.

     "Oh! Who are you?"

     "Never mind that," one of the humanoids said.  Parting  his  coat,  he
revealed a blaster wedged into the wide belt that cinched  his  pants.  "Do
you know what this is?"

     R2-D2 mewled in distress.

     C-3PO's photoreceptors refocused. "Why, yes, it's  a  DL-Thirteen  ion
blaster."

     The humanoid smiled nastily. "You're very learned."

     "Sir, it is my fondest wish that my master recognize as much.  Working
with other droids has become so tiresome-"

     "Ever see what an ionizer on full  power  can  do  to  a  droid?"  the
humanoid interrupted.

     "No, but I can well imagine."

     "Good," the human said. "Then here's  the  way  it's  going  to  work:
you're going to lead us into the palace like we're all the best of friends.
"

     While C-3P0 was trying to make sense of it, the man added: "Of course,
if you have a problem with that, my friend here"-he gestured to  the  other
humanoid-"who happens to be very knowledgeable about droids, will just  tap
into this one's memory and retrieve the entry code. And then  both  of  you
will get to enjoy the effects of an ionizer firsthand."

     C-3P0 was too stunned to respond, but R2-D2 made  up  for  the  sudden
silence by filling it with beeps and zithers.

     "My counterpart  says,"  C-3PO  started  to  interpret,  then  stopped
himself. "You certainly will not do as he says, you  coward!  These  beings
are not our masters! You should be willing to be disassembled  rather  than
offer them the slightest help!"

     But C-3PO's admonitions fell  on  deaf  auditory  sensors.  R2-D2  was
already unlocking the door.

     "This is most unbecoming," C-3P0 said sadly. "Most unbecoming."

     "Good droid." The long-haired human patted the astromech's dome again,
then threw C-3P0 a narrow-eyed gaze.  "Any  attempts  to  communicate  with
anyone and you'll wish you'd never been built."

     "Sir, you don't know how many times  I've  already  wished  that  very
thing," C-3PO said as he  followed  R2-D2  and  the  three  armed  organics
through the door and onto the palace grounds.

     Vader stood at the foot of the shuttle's boarding ramp, gazing at  the
white  spires  of  the  Royal  Palace.  Commander  Appo  and  six  of   his
stormtroopers spread out to flank him as Bail  Organa  and  several  others
emerged from the ornate building. For a moment neither  group  moved;  then
Organa's contingent walked onto the landing  platform  and  approached  the
shuttle.

     "You are Lord Vader?" Organa asked.

     "Senator," Vader said, inclining his head slightly

     "I demand to know why you've come to Alderaan."

     "Senator, you are in no position to demand anything."

     The vocoder built into his mask added menace to the  remark.  But,  in
fact, for perhaps the first time  Vader  felt  as  if  he  were  wearing  a
disguise-a macabre costume, as opposed to a suit of life-sustaining devices
and durasteel armor.

     As Anakin, Vader hadn't known Bail Organa well,  even  though  he  had
been in his  company  on  numerous  occasions,  in  the  Jedi  Temple,  the
corridors of the Senate, and in Palpatine's former office. Padme had spoken
of him highly and often, and Vader suspected that it was Organa, along with
Mon Mothma, Fang Zar, and a few others, who had persuaded Padme to withdraw
her support of Palpatine prior to the war's finish. That,  however,  didn't
trouble Vader as much as the fact that Organa, according  to  stormtroopers
of the 501st, had been  the  first  outsider  to  turn  up  at  the  Temple
following the massacre, and was lucky to have escaped with his life.

     Vader wondered  if  Organa  had  had  a  hand  in  helping  Yoda,  and
presumably Obi-Wan, recalibrate the Temple beacon  to  cancel  the  message
Vader had transmitted, which should  have  called  all  the  Jedi  back  to
Coruscant.

     Aristocratic Organa was Anakin's height, dark-haired and handsome, and
always meticulously dressed in the style of  the  Republic's  Classic  era,
like the Naboo, rather than in the ostentatious fashion of  Coruscant.  But
where Padme had earned her status by being elected Queen, Organa  had  been
born into wealth and privilege, on picture-perfect Alderaan.

     Mercy missions or no, Vader wondered whether Organa had any real sense
of what it meant to live in the outlying systems, on worlds like sand-swept
Tatooine, plagued by Tusken Raiders and lorded over by Hutts.

     He felt a sudden urge to put Organa in his place. Pinch off his breath
with a narrowing of his thumb and forefinger; crush him in his fist...  But
the situation didn't  call  for  that-yet.  Besides,  Vader  could  see  in
Organa's nervous gestures that he understood who was in charge.

     Power.

     He had power over Organa, and over all like him.

     And it was Skywalker, not Vader, who had lived  on  Tatooine.  Vader's
life was just beginning.

     Organa introduced him to his aides and advisers, as well as to Captain
Antilles, who commanded Alderaan's Corellian-made consular  ship,  and  who
tried but failed to conceal an  expression  of  profound  hostility  toward
Vader.

     If Antilles only knew who he was dealing with...

     From beyond the palace's walls came the  sound  of  angry  voices  and
chanting. Vader surmised that at least some of the turbulence owed  to  the
presence of an Imperial shuttle on Alderaan. The thought entertained him.

     Like the Jedi, the demonstrators were another group of deluded,  self-
important beings convinced that their petty lives had actual meaning;  that
their protests, their dreams, their accomplishments amounted  to  anything.
They were ignorant of the  fact  that  the  universe  was  changed  not  by
individuals or by mobs, but by what occurred in the Force. In reality,  all
else was unimportant. Unless one was in communication with the Force,  life
was only existence in the world of illusion, born as a consequence  of  the
eternal struggle between light and dark.

     Vader listened to the sounds of the crowd  for  a  moment  more,  then
turned to regard Organa.

     "Why do you permit this?" he asked.

     Organa's restless eyes searched for something, perhaps a peek  at  the
man behind the mask.  "Are  such  demonstrations  no  longer  permitted  on
Coruscant?"

     "Harmony is the ideal of the New Order, Senator, not dissension."

     "When harmony becomes the standard for all, then protests will  cease.
What's more, by allowing voices to be heard here, Alderaan saves  Coruscant
any unmerited embarrassment."

     "There may be some truth to that.  But  in  due  time,  protests  will
cease, one way or another."

     Vader recognized that  Organa  was  in  a  quandary  about  something.
Clearly he resented being challenged on his own  world,  but  his  tone  of
voice was almost conversational.

     "I trust that the Emperor knows better than to end them by  fear,"  he
was saying.

     Vader had no patience for verbal fencing, and  having  to  match  wits
with judicious men like Organa only  reinforced  his  growing  distaste  at
being the Emperor's errand boy. When would his actual Sith training finally
commence? Try as he might to convince himself, his was not real power,  but
merely the execution of power. He wasn't the swordmaster  so  much  as  the
weapon; and weapons were easily replaceable.

     "The Emperor would not be pleased by your lack of faith, Senator,"  he
said carefully. "Or by your willingness to allow others  to  display  their
distrust. But I haven't come to discuss your little march."

     Organa fingered his short beard. "What does bring you here?"

     "Former Senator Fang Zar."

     Organa seemed genuinely surprised. "What of him?"

     "Then you don't deny that he's here?"

     "Of course not. He has been a guest of the palace for several weeks."

     "Are you aware that he fled Coruscant?"

     Organa frowned in uncertainty "It sounds as if you're suggesting  that
he wasn't permitted to leave of his own free will. Was he under arrest?"

     "Not arrest, Senator. Internal Security had questions for him, some of
which were left unanswered. ISB requested that he remain in Imperial Center
until matters were resolved."

     Organa shook his head once. "I knew nothing of this."

     "No one is questioning your decision to  house  him,  Senator,"  Vader
said, gazing down at him. "I simply want  your  assurance  that  you  won't
interfere with my escorting him back to Coruscant."

     "Back to-" Organa left the rest of it unfinished and began  again.  "I
won't interfere. Except in one instance."

     Vader waited.

     "If Senator Zar requests diplomatic immunity, Alderaan will grant it."

     Vader folded  his  arms  across  his  chest.  "I'm  not  certain  that
privilege still exists. Even if it does, you may  find  that  refusing  the
Emperor's request is hardly in your best interest."

     Again, Organa's confliction was obvious. What is he hiding? "Is that a
threat, Lord Vader?" he said finally.

     "Only a fact. For too long  the  Senate  encouraged  political  chaos.
Those days are ended, and the Emperor will not permit them to resurface."

     Organa showed him a skeptical look. "You speak of him as if he is all-
powerful, Lord Vader."

     "He is more powerful than you know."

     "Is that why you've agreed to serve him?"

     Vader took a moment to respond. "My decisions  are  my  own.  The  old
system is dead, Senator. You would be wise to subscribe to the new one."

     Organa exhaled with purpose. "I'll take my  chances  that  freedom  is
still alive." He fell silent for a moment, deliberating. "I don't  mean  to
impugn your authority, Lord Vader, but I wish to consult with  the  Emperor
personally on this matter."

     Vader  could  scarcely  believe  what  he  was  hearing.  Was   Organa
deliberately attempting to obstruct him; to make him appear  inept  in  the
eyes of Sidious? Anger welled up in  him.  Why  was  he  wasting  his  time
chasing fugitive Senators when it was the Jedi who posed a risk to the  New
Order?

     To the balance of the Force.

     A nearby holoprojector chimed, and from it emerged the holoimage of  a
dark-haired woman with an infant in her arms.

     "Bail, I'm sorry I've been delayed," the woman said. "I just wanted to
let you know that I'll be there shortly"

     Organa looked from Vader to the holoimage and back again. As the image
faded he said: "Perhaps it's better  if  you  spoke  with  Senator  Zar  in
person." He gulped and found his voice. "I'll  have  him  escorted  to  the
conference room as soon as possible."

     Vader turned and waved a signal to Commander Appo, who nodded. "Who is
the woman?" Vader asked Organa.

     "My wife," Organa said nervously. "The Queen."

     Vader regarded Organa,  trying  to  read  him  more  clearly.  "Inform
Senator Zar that I'm waiting," he said at last. "In the meantime,  I  would
enjoy meeting the Queen."

     32

     More  than  seven  centuries  old,  the  palace  was  a  rambling  and
multistoried affair of ramparts and turrets, bedrooms and  ballrooms,  with
as many grand stairways as it had turbolifts. Without a map, its kilometers
of winding corridors were nearly impossible to follow. And so where walking
from the droid-maintenance room to the hallway that accessed the south gate
had seemed a simple matter, it was in fact akin to negotiating a maze.

     "The droid's more clever than it looks," Archyr said when  it  finally
dawned on them that the two machine intelligences had been walking them  in
circles for the past quarter hour. "I think  it's  leading  us  on  a  wild
gundark chase."

     "Oh, he would never do that," C-3P0 said. "Would you, Artoo?" When the
astromech didn't answer, C-3P0 slammed  his  hand  down  on  R2-D2's  dome.
"Don't you even think about giving me the silent treatment!"

     Skeck tugged the ion weapon from his belt and brandished it. "Maybe it
forgot about this."

     "No need to threaten us further," C-3P0 said. "I'm certain that  Artoo
isn't attempting to mislead you. We don't know the palace  very  well.  You
see, we've only been with our present master  for  two  local  months,  and
we're not very well acquainted with the layout."

     "Where were you before two months ago?" Skeck asked. C-3P0 fell silent
for a long moment. "Artoo, just where were we before that?"

     The astromech honked and razzed.

     "None of my business? Oh, here we go again. This little droid  can  be
very stubborn sometimes. In any case, as to where  we  were...  I  think  I
recall acting as an interface with a group of binary loadlifters."

     "Loadlifters?" Archyr  said.  "But  you're  programmed  for  protocol,
aren't you?"

     C-3P0 looked as distressed  as  a  droid  could  look.  "That's  true!
However, I can't imagine that I'm mistaken! I know I have  been  programmed
for-"

     "Get a hold of yourself, droid," Skeck said.

     Shryne brought the five of them to an abrupt halt. "This isn't the way
to the south entrance. Where are we?"

     C-3P0 gazed around. "I believe that we have somehow ended  up  in  the
royal residence wing."

     Archyr's pointed jaw dropped. "What the frizz are we doing here? We're
a hundred and eighty degrees from where we want to be!"

     Skeck aimed the ionizer at the  astromech's  photoreceptor.  "You  can
navigate a starfighter through hyperspace and you can't get us to the south
gate? Any more tricks and we're going to fry you."

     Shryne stepped away from everyone and activated his corn-link.  "Jula,
any word from-"

     "Where in the galaxy have you three been? I've been  trying  to  reach
you for-"

     "We got turned around," Shryne said. "We'll fix it. Any word from  our
bundle?"

     "That's what I wanted to tell you. He moved."

     "Where to?"

     "The east gate."

     Shryne blew out his breath. "All right, we'll  get  there.  Just  make
sure you tell him to  remain  where  he  is."  Silencing  the  comlink,  he
rejoined the others.

     "East gate?" Skeck said when Shryne relayed the bad  news.  He  turned
himself through a circle and pointed. "That way, I think."

     The astromech began to chitter. Shryne and the others looked to  C-3P0
for a translation.

     "He says, sirs, that the quickest route to the east gate will  involve
our ascending one more level-"

     "We're supposed to be going down!" Archyr said in exasperation.

     "That's true," C-320  continued.  "But  my  counterpart  advises  that
unless we go up first, we will be forced to detour around the upper reaches
of the Grand Ballroom atrium."

     "Enough," Shryne said, ending further argument. "Let's just  get  this
over with."

     With the astromech leading, rolling along on  its  three  treads,  the
five of them filed into a turbolift and rode it up one floor. No sooner had
they arrived than R2-D2 made a sudden left into the  stately  corridor  and
hurried off.

     "What, all of a sudden it's in a rush?" Archyr said.

     "Artoo, slow down!" C-3P0 called, struggling to keep up. The astromech
disappeared around a bend in the corridor. Skeck muttered a curse and  drew
the ionizer again.

     "I think it's trying to get away!"

     The three of them began to race after their quarry, dashing around the
same corner only to narrowly avoid colliding with a regally  dressed  woman
cradling a sleeping baby in her arms.

     Stopping suddenly, the astromech loosed an  ear-piercing  screech  and
extended half a dozen  of  its  interface  arms,  waving  them  about  like
weapons.

     Confronted with the sight, the woman pulled the  baby  closer  to  her
with one hand while the other reached out to slap a security alarm stud set
into the wall. Rudely awakened by the astromech's screech and the blare  of
alarms, the baby took a quick look at the droid and began  wailing  at  the
top of its lungs.

     Exchanging the briefest of panicked looks, Shryne, Archyr,  and  Skeck
about-faced and ran.

     Bail's assured posture in one of the reception room's  elegant  chairs
belied his sense of raw desperation.

     A few meters away, standing at one of the tall  windows,  Darth  Vader
gazed out on crowds of demonstrators who were becoming more turbulent  with
every passing moment.

     The cadence of his deep breathing filled the room.

     This is Leia's father, Bail told himself, certain of it now.

     Anakin Skywalker. Rescued somehow on Mustafar, and returned  to  life,
though now confined to a suit that made manifest what Skywalker had  become
at the end of  the  war:  betrayer,  butcher  of  children,  apprentice  of
Sidious, follower of the dark side of the Force. And soon Leia would be  in
his presence...

     When Breha had comlinked him unexpectedly,  Bail  had  come  close  to
telling her to flee, fully prepared to suffer whatever  consequences  would
descend on him. To  ensure  Leia's  safety,  he  had  even  been  ready  to
sacrifice Fang Zar.

     Would Vader recognize Leia through the Force as his child? What  would
happen if he did? Would he compel Bail to reveal where Obi-Wan  was;  where
Luke was?

     No, Bail would die first.

     "What's taking Senator Zar so long?" Vader asked.

     Bail had his mouth open to reply that the palace's guest wing was some
distance  away  when  Sheltray  Retrac  entered  the  reception  room,  her
expression alone making it clear  that  something  was  wrong.  Approaching
Bail, she leaned low to say in a quiet voice,  "Fang  Zar  is  not  in  the
residence. We don't know where he is."

     Before Bail could reply Vader swung to  the  two  of  them.  "Was  Zar
alerted of my coming?"

     Bail came to his feet quickly. "No one was apprised beforehand of  the
reason for your visit."

     Vader glanced at Commander Appo. "Find him, Commander, and  bring  him
to me."

     The words had scarcely left the black grille  that  concealed  Vader's
mouth than security alarms began to sound throughout  the  palace.  Captain
Antilles immediately moved into the transmission  field  of  the  reception
room's holoprojector, where a half-life-size image of  a  security  officer
was already resolving.

     "Sir, three unidentified beings have  gained  access  to  the  palace.
Their motive is unknown, but they are armed  and  were  last  seen  in  the
residential wing, in the company of two droids."

     Two droids! Bail thought, rushing across the room in an effort to beat
Vader to the holoprojector.

     "Do we have images of the intruders?" Retrac asked before  Bail  could
silence her.

     Bail's heart skipped a beat. If it was C-3P0  and  R2-D2"Only  of  the
intruders," the security officer said.

     "Show them," Antilles ordered.

     The  security  cam  image  showed  three  males,  one  human  and  two
humanoids, dashing down one of the corridors.

     "Freeze the image!" Vader  said  from  alongside  the  hobo-projector.
"Close in on the human."

     Bail was as confused as everyone else. Did Vader know  the  intruders?
Were they agitators dispatched by Coruscant to work the protestors  into  a
frenzy?

     "Jedi," Vader said, mostly to himself.

     Bail wasn't sure he had heard Vader correctly.

     "Jedi? That can't be possible-"

     Vader whirled on him. "They've come for Fang Zar." He stared  at  Bail
from inside  the  mask.  "Zar  is  attempting  to  return  to  Sern  Prime.
Apparently he hoped to keep from implicating you in his flight."

     The reception room fell silent,  but  only  for  a  moment.  From  the
holoprojector appeared an image of Breha, holding a distraught Leia in  her
arms.

     "Bail, I won't be joining you, after all," she said, loud enough to be
heard over the infant's crying. "We had a disturbing encounter  with  three
trespassers and a couple of droids,  who  nearly  frightened  the  baby  to
death. She's in no condition to be introduced to  company.  I'm  trying  to
calm her-"

     "That's probably best," Bail said in a rush. "I'll check back with you
in a moment." Deactivating the holoprojector, he turned  slowly  to  Vader,
arranging his features to suggest a  mix  of  mild  disappointment  at  his
wife's message, and deep concern for just about everything  else  that  had
occurred.

     "I'm certain there'll be another time, Lord Vader."

     "I look forward to it," Vader said.

     With that, he turned and marched away.

     Bail nearly collapsed. Exhaling in guarded  relief,  he  dropped  back
into his chair.

     "Jedi?" Antilles said, in obvious bewilderment.

     Bail shook his head from side to side. "I  don't  understand,  either.
But that is Skywalker." Abruptly, he stood up. "We have to find Zar  before
he does."

     33

     If I ever run into that astromech again...," Skeck said as he, Archyr,
and Shryne were racing for the palace's east entrance.

     Archyr nodded in agreement. "Never a good feeling when you're  tricked
by an appliance."

     His comlink enabled, Shryne was speaking with Jula.

     "We're almost there. But that's no guarantee we can  make  it  outside
without being arrested."

     "Roan, I'm going to reposition  the  ship.  Close  to  our  rendezvous
there's a landing platform reserved for HoloNet correspondents."

     "What makes you think you'll be allowed to set down?"

     "No one's going be happy about it. But the good thing  about  Alderaan
is that no one's going to blast us out of the sky, either."

     "Parking ticket, huh?"

     "Maybe not even."

     "Then we'll see you there," Shryne said. "Out."

     With the ornate east entrance in sight, the three of them slowed  down
to survey the situation. A  pair  of  enormous  doors  opened  on  a  broad
staircase; from the last step, a paved footpath led  to  an  arched  bridge
that spanned a crescent of reflecting pool. On the far side  of  the  pool,
the path led directly to a gated access in  the  high  rampart.  Perhaps  a
hundred meters beyond the wall was the  media  landing  platform  Jula  had
mentioned.

     Shryne scanned the beings assembled on the narrow bridge and the green
lawn between it and the rampart. Ultimately his gaze found a  short,  dark-
complectioned man with a shock of long, white beard.

     "That's Zar," he said, pointing out the Senator to Skeck and Archyr.

     "And here comes trouble," Skeck said, indicating four Royal Guards who
were hurrying for the gate, rifles slung over their shoulders.

     "We need to make our move," Archyr said. "Before any more of them show
up."

     Skeck parted his long coat, reached around to the small of  his  back,
and drew a blaster. "So much for pulling this off without a hitch."

     Shryne placed his right hand on the weapon while  Skeck  was  checking
the power level. "You might not have to use it. Those long  rifles  are  no
match for even a hand blaster,  and  the  guards  know  it.  Besides,  they
probably haven't fired a round since the last royal funeral."

     "Yeah, but can I quote you on that?" Skeck said.

     Shryne took a step toward the doors, froze, then  retreated,  pressing
himself to the wall.

     Archyr regarded him in bafflement. "What-"

     "Vader," Shryne managed.

     Archyr's eyes widened. "The black stormtrooper? Let me see-"

     Shryne restrained him from moving. "He's no stormtrooper."

     Skeck was staring at Shryne, openmouthed. "Why's he here? For you?"

     Shryne shook his head to clear it. "I don't know. He answers  directly
to the Emperor." He looked at Skeck. "He could be here for Zar."

     "Doesn't really matter, does it,"  Archyr  said.  "Point  being,  he's
here."

     Shryne reached under his coat for his blaster. "If he is here for Zar,
he's going to forget all about him when he sees me."

     Skeck planted his hands on Shryne's shoulders. "You want to think this
through?"

     Shryne vouchsafed a thin smile. "I just did."

     Vader hunted the hallways of the palace, the suit's array  of  sensors
enhancing every sound and smell, every  stray  movement,  his  heavy  cloak
hooked around the hilt of his lightsaber.

     The Emperor foresaw that this would happen, he told  himself  That  is
why he sent me. Despite what he says, he is concerned about the Jedi.

     Outside the palace, marchers continued to chant and circulate; inside,
guards and others scurried about, stopping only to stare and  move  out  of
his path. Half of them were certainly in search of Fang  Zar,  and  all  of
them were off course. But then, they lacked Vader's sympathy for those  who
were pushed and pulled and otherwise manipulated by the Force.

     There was also the fact that Vader knew how Jedi  thought.  Sensing  a
subtle presence, he stopped. At the same time, someone behind him shouted:

     "Vader!"

     Igniting his lightsaber, Vader turned completely around. Hands by  his
sides, Shryne stood at the intersection of two corridors, one of which  led
to the palace's east portal, the other to the ballroom.  Clearly,  Zar  had
been found, was perhaps being moved out of the palace even then, or  Shryne
would not have shown himself

     "So you're the bait," Vader said after a moment. "It's  an  old  ploy,
Shryne. A ploy I've used. And it won't work this time."

     "I have a backup plan."

     Shryne flourished the blaster.

     Vader focused on  the  weapon.  "I  see  that  you've  abandoned  your
lightsaber."

     "But not my commitment to justice." Shryne took  a  moment  to  glance
down the hallway that led out of the palace. "You know how  it  is,  Vader.
Once a good guy, always a good guy. Then again,  you  probably  don't  know
anything about that."

     Vader advanced on him. "Don't be too sure of yourself."

     "We're just trying to help Zar get home," Shryne said, retreating into
the corridor. "Suppose we leave it at that."

     "The Emperor has his reasons for recalling Zar to Coruscant."

     "And you do whatever the Emperor tells you to do?"

     In the intersection now, Vader could discern that  Shryne  was  merely
waiting for a chance to bolt through the doors. Well behind Shryne, on  the
far side of a footbridge that crossed a gentle curve  of  reflecting  pool,
one of Shryne's armed accomplices was holding  four  Royal  Guards  at  bay
while the other was all but dragging Fang Zar toward a gated breach in  the
palace's defensive wall, beyond which the conspirators surely had a getaway
craft waiting.

     Shryne fired a quick burst, then sprinted for the doorway. Behind him,
his humanoid accomplices were  also  in  motion,  stunning  the  guards  to
unconsciousness and racing for the open gate.

     Angling his blade, Vader deflected  the  bolts  with  intent,  but  by
jinking and jagging Shryne managed to evade each parry.

     Vader leapt, his powerful prosthetic legs carrying him to the top of a
broad but short flight of steps in time to see  Shryne  sprint  across  the
bridge at Jedi speed, motioning to his accomplices to move Zar through  the
gate.

     Vader leapt again, this time to the bridge, and to within only  a  few
meters of  Shryne,  who  spun  about,  dropping  to  one  knee  and  firing
repeatedly. This time Vader decided to show  Shryne  whom  he  was  dealing
with. Holding his lightsaber to one side, he raised his right hand to  turn
the blaster bolts.

     Clearly astonished, Shryne remained on one knee, but only briefly.  In
an instant he had passed through the  gate  and  was  shouldering  his  way
through the crowd outside the wall.

     Vader's final leap landed him just short  of  the  rampart.  Over  the
heads of the milling beings, at the forward edge of a landing  platform,  a
woman with gray-laced black hair was gesturing frantically  to  Shryne  and
his cohorts, who were already hauling Fang Zar up the platform steps.

     All too easy, Vader told himself.

     Time to end it.

     34

     Bail and his two aides stood by  the  reception  room  holo-projector,
awaiting some word of Fang Zar's whereabouts. From  the  direction  of  the
residence wing came Antilles and the droids.

     "Go ahead, Threepio, tell him," Antilles said when the three  of  them
were within earshot of Bail.

     "Master Organa, I hardly know where to begin," C-3P0 said.  "You  see,
sir, my counterpart and I were about to enter the palace grounds-"

     "Threepio," Antilles said sharply. "Save the long  story  for  another
occasion."

     R2-D2 communicated something in bleating tones.

     C-3P0 turned to the astromech. "Verbose? Tiresome? Just you mind  your
enunciator, you-"

     "See-Threepio!" Antilles repeated.

     The protocol droid fell silent. "I'm  very  sorry,  sirs.  I'm  simply
unaccustomed to so much excitement."

     "That's all right, See-Threepio," Bail said. "Take your time."

     "Thank you, Master Organa. I only wanted  to  report  that  the  three
intruders who held us captive were apparently  intent  on  collecting  some
sort of `bundle'-that was the word they used-at the palace's east gate."

     "Quickly!" Bail said to his aides.

     Aldrete bent to adjust the holoprojector's controls. An instant  later
an east gate security cam captured a holoimage of Fang Zar, seized  in  the
grip of two humanoids who were running him toward a landing  platform  that
had been designated for HoloNet personnel.

     A second cam found Vader, crimson-bladed lightsaber in  hand,  fending
off blasterfire from a long-haired human male who was also racing  for  the
east gate.

     "Sir," Sheltray Retrac said suddenly.

     Following Asta's worried gaze, Bail saw Sate Pestage striding into the
reception room.

     "Senator, I have just learned that Senator Zar is at this moment being
conducted from the palace," Pestage said, in what Bail  sensed  was  almost
theatrical spleen. "If this is your way of providing immunity-"

     "We've only just  discovered  his  whereabouts,"  Bail  cut  him  off,
motioning to the holoimages. "In any case, it looks  as  if  the  Emperor's
'emissary' has the situation well in hand."

     Pestage dismissed Bail's anger with a superfluous wave  of  his  hand.
"Through no help of yours, Senator. I demand that  you  secure  the  palace
before it's too late!"

     Bail glanced at the holoimages of Vader,  the  long-haired  man,  Fang
Zar...

     "Seal it, I tell you!"

     Bail took a final glance at the images, then complied.

     Firing on the run, Shryne made a mad dash for the rampart gate. If his
retreat struck Skeck, or Archyr, or even Fang Zar, as cowardly, then so  be
it. For it was clear that Vader wasn't  going  to  be  stopped  by  blaster
bolts, and Shryne was a long way from the nearest lightsaber.

     Shryne wasn't surprised that Vader knew him by name; that he did  only
reinforced the fact that Vader and the Emperor had full access to the  Jedi
Temple databases. For all Shryne knew, Vader had been at  the  Temple  when
Filli Bitters had sliced into the beacon.

     Outside the gate now, he began to zigzag through  the  densely  packed
crowd. Catching sight of his weapon, many of the marchers hastened to  open
a path for him-an obvious berserker in their midst.  Through  gaps  in  the
throng, Shryne could see Skeck,  Archyr,  Jula,  and  Zar  on  the  landing
platform,  surrounded  by  what   Shryne   took   to   be   irate   HoloNet
correspondents, yelling at them and gesticulating to the drop ship that had
set down without permission.

     Judging by her gestures, Jula was attempting to placate  everyone,  or
at least assure them that the ship would soon be on its  way-assuming  that
Vader didn't scuttle their plans with a single leap.

     Midway up the stairway that led to the landing platform,  Shryne  came
to a halt, to take what he hoped would be a last look  at  Vader,  who  was
still on the palace grounds, a couple of meters shy of the rampart gate. Of
greater interest to Shryne, however, was the fact that  an  alloy  curtain,
thick as a blast shield, was descending rapidly from the head jamb  of  the
arched entrance.

     The palace was being sealed shut, and Vader was in risk of not  making
it through the gate in time!

     Understanding as much, the Emperor's  executioner  was  moving  faster
now. A jump carried him to the rampart, just short of the lowering  shield,
where he did something so unexpected that it took Shryne a moment  to  make
sense of what was happening.

     Vader hurled his ignited lightsaber through the air.

     For a split second Shryne thought that he had done so in anger.  Then,
in awe, he grasped that Vader had aimed.

     Spinning out from under the lowering security grate, the crimson blade
sailed high over the crowd, following a trajectory that took  it  north  of
the landing platform; then, on reaching the distal end of its arc, it began
to boomerang back.

     Shryne flew for the top of the stairway, his gaze  frilly  engaged  on
the twirling blade, his heart hammering in his chest. Calling on the Force,
he tried to influence the course of the lightsaber, but  either  the  Force
wasn't with him or Vader's Force abilities were overpowering his.

     The blade was whipping toward the landing platform now,  close  enough
for Shryne to hear it whine through the air, and  spinning  so  swiftly  it
might have been a blood-red disk.

     Passing within a meter of Shryne's outstretched hands, the  lightsaber
struck Fang Zar first, ripping a deep gouge  across  his  upper  chest  and
nearly decapitating him; then, continuing on,  it  struck  an  unsuspecting
Jula across the back before completing its  swift  and  lethal  circle  and
slamming into the upper reaches of the fully lowered rampart gate, where it
switched off and plummeted to the paving stones with a metallic clangor.

     On the landing platform, Skeck was bent low  over  Fang  Zar;  Archyr,
over Jula.

     Rooted in place Shryne could sense Vader on the far side of the  gate,
a black hole of rage.

     Shryne commenced a stiff-legged descent of the stairway, deaf  to  all
sound, blind to color, scarcely in possession of his self

     He didn't come to his senses until he reached the foot of the  stairs,
where he turned and ran to help get his mother  and  Zar  aboard  the  drop
ship.

     35

     One by one Palpatine's military advisers appeared before him, standing
in postures of obeisance below the throne room's dais, their eyes  narrowed
against the orange blaze  of  Coruscant's  setting  sun,  delivering  their
reports and appraisals, their  expert  assessments  of  the  state  of  his
Empire.

     Royal Guards stood to both sides of the high-backed chair; behind them
sat Mas Amedda, Sly Moore, and other members of Palpatine's inner circle.

     He listened to everyone without comment.

     In some outlying systems, arsenals  of  Separatist  weapons,  in  some
cases entire flotillas of droid-piloted warships, had been commandeered  by
rogue paramilitary groups before Imperial forces could reach them.

     In Hutt space, smugglers, pirates, and other  scoundrels  were  taking
advantage of the Emperor's need to consolidate power by blazing new  routes
for the movement of spice and other proscribed goods.

     On many former CIS worlds, bounty hunters were  tracking  down  former
Separatist colluders.

     In the Mid Rim, Imperial academies were filling with recruits obtained
from flight schools throughout the galaxy.

     In the Outer Rim, three new batches of stormtroopers were being grown.

     Closer to the Core, capital ships were being  turned  out  by  Sienar,
Kuat Drive, and other yards.

     And yet at  present  there  were  simply  too  few  battle  groups  or
stormtroopers to deploy at every potential trouble spot.

     Massive protests had been held on Alderaan, Corellia, and Commenor.

     Progress was lagging  on  several  of  the  Emperor's  most  cherished
projects, owing to a lack of construction workers...

     When the last of his advisers had come and gone,  Palpatine  dismissed
everyone, including the members of his inner circle, and  sat  gazing  over
the western cityscape as it came to brilliant light in the deepening dusk.

     Under the rule of the ancient Sith, the future of the galaxy had  been
in  the  able  hands  of  many  dark  sovereigns.  Now  responsibility  for
maintaining order rested only with Darth Sidious.

     For the moment it was enough that his advisers and  minions  respected
him-for reestablishing peace, for eliminating the group that had posed  the
greatest threat to continued stability-but eventually those  same  advisers
would need to fear him. To understand the great power he wielded,  as  both
Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith. And to that end, Sidious needed Vader.

     For if someone as potent as Vader answered to the  Emperor,  then  how
powerful must the Emperor be!

     After he had spent several hours drifting on the currents of  possible
futures, Palpatine summoned Sate Pestage. Swiveling his chair from the view
of Coruscant when the most trusted of his advisers entered the throne room,
Palpatine ordered Pestage to take a seat and appraised him.

     "Events unfolded  as  you  assured  they  would,"  Pestage  said  when
Palpatine nodded for  him  to  speak.  "Organa  was  very  predictable.  My
intervention was minimal."

     "Senator Organa was willing to allow Fang Zar to escape, you mean."

     "It certainly seemed that way."

     Palpatine considered it. "He may bear watching in the future.  But  at
present we won't make an issue of it. And Senator Zar?"

     Pestage sighed with meaning. "Gravely wounded. Perhaps dead."

     "Pity. Does Organa know?"

     "Yes. He was very troubled by the outcome."

     "And Lord Vader?"

     "Even more troubled by the outcome."

     Palpatine allowed a grin of satisfaction. "Even better."

     Returned to its astral sanctuary, the Drunk Dancer drifted in space.

     From the hatch to medbay, a 2-1B droid hovered out to report  that  it
had been able to save Jula, but that Fang Zar had  died  on  the  operating
table.

     "Damage sustained by major vessels  that  supply  the  heart  was  too
extensive to repair, sir," the droid told Shryne. "Everything that could be
done, was done."

     Shryne looked in on Jula, who was  heavily  sedated.  "I  dragged  you
right back into it," she said weakly.

     He pushed her hair off her forehead.  "There  might  have  been  other
forces at work."

     "Don't say that, Roan. We just need to get farther  away."  He  smiled
with effort.

     "I'll ask Archyr about  outfitting  the  ship  with  an  intergalactic
drive."

     He let her drift into sleep and went to his bunk. Whenever he shut his
eyes, he would see the trajectory of Vader's blade; would  see  it  slicing
through Zar, through Jula... He didn't need to shut his eyes to recall  how
it had felt to be overwhelmed by Vader's ability to use the Force.

     To use the power of the dark side.

     A Sith.

     Shryne was certain now.

     A Sith in service to Emperor Palpatine.

     That was the revelation he couldn't banish.

     Count Dooku might as well have won the war, save for the fact that  in
place of independent systems, free trade, and the rest, the galaxy answered
to the exclusive rule of Palpatine.

     But how? Shryne asked himself. How had it happened?

     Had Palpatine's alliance with Vader been brought about by the death of
the Chosen One? Had  Vader-Darth  Vader-killed  Anakin  Skywalker?  Had  he
struck a deal with  Palpatine  beforehand,  promising  Palpatine  unlimited
power in exchange for sanctioning Vader's murder of the Chosen One and  the
elimination of the Jedi, thus tipping the galaxy fully to the dark side?

     Was it any wonder, then, that beings were fleeing  for  the  far-flung
reaches of known space?

     And was it any wonder that Shryne had lacked the strength to alter the
course of Vader's lightsaber? He had thought of his diminished abilities as
a personal failure-owing to the fact that he had lost his faith in the Jedi
order, allowed his two Padawans to die, grown thought-bound-when, in  fact,
it was the Force as the Jedi had known it that had been defeated.

     The flame extinguished.

     On the one hand, it meant that Shryne's transition into  regular  life
could probably proceed more smoothly than he had thought; by contrast, that
regular life meant existing in a world where evil had triumphed and ruled.

     In the antechamber of his private retreat, Sidious, dressed in a  dark
blue cowled robe, paced in front of the curved  window  wall.  Vader  stood
rigidly at the center of the room, his gloved hands  crossed  in  front  of
him.

     "It appears you attended to  our  little  problem  on  Alderaan,  Lord
Vader," Sidious said.

     "Yes, Master. Fang Zar need no longer concern you."

     "I know I should feel some sense of  relief.  But  in  fact,  I'm  not
entirely pleased with the outcome. Zar's death could arouse sympathy in the
Senate."

     Vader stirred. "He left me no recourse."

     Sidious came to a halt and turned  toward  Vader.  "No  recourse?  Why
didn't you simply apprehend him, as I asked?"

     "He made the mistake of attempting to flee."

     "But you against someone like Fang Zar? It hardly seems  an  equitable
match, Lord Vader."

     "Zar was not alone," Vader said with venom. "What's more, if you don't
like the way..."

     Suddenly intrigued, Sidious moved closer. "Ah, what's  this?  Allowing
your words to trail off-as if I can't see their destination." Anger  showed
in his yellow eyes. "As if I can't see the thought behind them!"

     Vader said nothing.

     "Perhaps you're not enjoying your new station in  life,  is  that  it?
Perhaps you tire already of executing my commands." Sidious stared at  him.
"Perhaps you think you're better suited to occupy the throne than I am.  Is
that it, Lord Vader? If so, then admit as much!"

     Breathing deeply, Vader remained silent for a moment more. "I  am  but
an apprentice. You are the Master."

     "Interesting that you refrain from calling me your Master."

     Vader inclined his head to Sidious. "I meant nothing by it, my Master.
"

     Sidious sneered. "Perhaps you wish you could strike me down,  is  that
it?"

     "No, Master."

     "What stops you from doing so? Obi-Wan was once your Master,  and  you
were certainly prepared to kill him. Even if you failed."

     Vader clenched his right hand. "Obi-Wan did not understand  the  power
of the dark side."

     "And you do?"

     "No, Master. Not yet. Not fully."

     "And that's why you don't try to strike me  down?  Because  I  possess
powers you lack?" Sidious lifted his arms, hands deployed like claws, as if
to summon and hurl Sith lightning. "Because you know that  I  could  easily
overwhelm the delicate electrical systems of your suit."

     Vader stood his ground. "I don't fear death, Master."

     Sidious  grinned  maliciously.  "Then  why  go  on  living,  my  young
apprentice?"

     Vader looked down at him. "To learn to become more powerful."

     Sidious lowered his hands. "Then I ask you one final time, Lord Vader.
Why not strike me down?"

     "Because you are my path to power, Master,"  Vader  said.  "Because  I
need you."

     Sidious narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Just like I needed  my  Master-
for a time."

     "Yes, Master," Vader said finally. "For a time."

     "Good. Very good." Sidious smiled in satisfaction. "And  now  you  are
ready to release your anger."

     Vader evinced confusion.

     "Your fugitive Jedi, my apprentice," Sidious said. "They are traveling
to Kashyyyk." He tipped his head to one side. "Perhaps,  Lord  Vader,  they
hope to lay a trap for you."

     Vader clenched his hands. "That would be  my  most  fervent  wish,  my
Master."

     Sidious clamped his hands on Vader's upper arms.  "Then  go  to  them,
Lord Vader. Make them sorry they didn't hide while they had the chance!"

     PART IV

     KASHYYYK

     36

     Inside the battered transport that had once belonged  to  an  Imperial
garrison on Dellalt, Olee Starstone and the six Jedi  who  had  joined  her
crusade waited to be granted clearance to continue on  to  Kashyyyk  space.
The commanders of the half  dozen  Imperial  corvettes  that  made  up  the
inspection-point picket answered  not  to  distant  Coruscant  but  to  the
regional governor, headquartered on Bimmisaari.

     The Jedi had done all they could to make the ship look the part  of  a
military-surplus transport. Thanks mostly to Jula's crew,  the  drives  had
been tweaked to produce a  new  signature,  the  ship's  profile  had  been
altered, the defensive  shields  and  countermeasures  suite  repaired.  To
ensure that what remained conformed to  Imperial  standards,  many  of  the
advanced sensors and scanners had been eliminated, along with most  of  the
laser cannons. The Drunk Dancer's maintenance droids had given the  ship  a
quick paint job and had helped remove  some  of  the  seats  amidships,  to
create a common cabin space.

     To Starstone, the vessel's fresh look matched the false identities the
Jedi had adopted, as well as the clothes that made them look like a  motley
crew of struggling space merchants.

     The transport's cockpit was spacious enough to  accommodate  Starstone
and Filli Bitters, in addition to Jambe Lu  and  Nam  Poorf,  late  of  the
Temple's Agricultural Corps,  who  were  doing  the  piloting,  and  still-
sightless Derail Nalual, who was tucked  into  the  cramped  communications
duty station.

     No one had said  a  word  since  Nalual  had  transmitted  the  ship's
authorization key to  the  picket  array's  cardinal  corvette.  Filli  was
confident that the transport's altered drive signature would  pass  muster,
but-new  to  forging  Imperial  code-he  was   less   certain   about   the
authorization key.

     Starstone placed her hand on Jambe's shoulder, as a way of saying:  Be
ready to make a run for it.

     Jambe was centering himself behind the steering yoke when an officious
voice issued from the cockpit speakers.

     "Vagabond Trader, you are cleared for approach to  Kashyyyk.  Commerce
Control will provide you with vector coordinates for atmospheric entry  and
landing."

     "Understood," Deran said into the mouthpiece of her headset.

     Engaging the transport's sublight drive, Jambe and Nam began  to  edge
the transport through the cordon.

     Starstone heard Filli's eased exhalation and turned to him.  "You  all
right?"

     "I am now," he said. "I was flying blind with that code."

     "I guess we're both that good," Deran said from behind him.

     Starstone touched Deran on the arm and  smiled  at  Filli.  He  smiled
back. "Glad to help."

     Starstone  was  still  getting  used  to  Filli's  frequently  awkward
attempts at flirtation. But then, she wasn't even ranked  a  beginner.  The
idea that the towheaded slicer was on temporary loan from the Drunk  Dancer
was absurd. Shryne was merely using Filli as a means of keeping tabs on the
Jedi, but she refused to let that bother her.  If  Filli's  slicing  skills
could help locate fugitive Jedi, so much the better, even if she  did  have
to  pretend  to  be  flattered  by  his  attention,  as  opposed  to  being
embarrassed by it. She liked him more and more, but she had her  priorities
straight, and involvement wasn't among them.

     She wasn't Shryne.

     Initially she had been angry at him and at his ever-persuasive mother,
but in the end  she  had  realized  that  her  anger  was  rooted  more  in
attachment than anything else. Shryne had his own path  to  follow  in  the
Force, despite his beliefs to the contrary, and despite the fact  that  she
missed him.

     The worst part about it was that she had somehow assumed the mantle of
leader. Notwithstanding that both Siadem Forte and the Ho'Din,  Iwo  Kulka,
were Jedi Knights, they had relinquished their due as  higher-ranking  Jedi
without the issue ever being raised. For that matter, even  Jambe  and  Nam
outranked her. But because' the search had  been  her  idea,  everyone  had
essentially granted her tacit approval to do most of the thinking.

     Clear evidence of everyone's sense of dispossession, she thought.

     On a mission that wasn't a Jedi mission, but was  all  about  being  a
Jedi.

     And thus far the crusade had come to nothing.

     On every world they had visited between Felucia and Saleucami  it  had
been the same: the Jedi had been revealed as traitors to the  Republic  and
had been killed  by  the  clone  troopers  they  had  commanded.  None  had
survived, Starstone and the others had been told.  And  pity  any  who  had
survived, for anti-Jedi sentiment was widespread, especially in  the  Outer
Rim, among populations that had  been  drawn  into  the  war  and  now  saw
themselves as having been mere performers in  a  game  the  Jedi  had  been
playing to assume control of the Republic.

     Justification for Shryne to say I told you so when they next met.

     Even in the few standard weeks since the war's end, a dramatic  change
had taken place. With the rapid diffusion of the  symbols  of  the  Empire,
fear was radiating from the Core. On worlds where peace should have brought
relief, distrust and  suspicion  prevailed.  The  war  was  over,  and  yet
brigades of  stormtroopers  remained  garrisoned  on  hundreds  of  worlds,
formerly Separatist and Republic alike. The war was over, and yet  Imperial
inspection points dotted the major hyperlanes and sector jump  points.  The
war was over, and yet the call  was  out  for  recruits  to  serve  in  the
Imperial armed forces.

     The war was over, and yet the HoloNet addressed little else.

     Starstone believed she understood why: because in the  depths  of  his
black heart, the Emperor knew that the next war wouldn't be fought from the
outside in, but rather from the inside out. That  not  a  generation  would
pass, much less the ten thousand years Palpatine had predicted  the  Empire
to endure, before the disease that had now taken root  on  Coruscant  would
infect every system in the galaxy.

     Even so, as desperate as the quest seemed, she was still  counting  on
the Wookiees to provide the Jedi with the hope they  needed  to  carry  on.
From information gleaned from the Temple beacon database,  they  knew  that
three Jedi had been dispatched to Kashyyyk: Quinlan Vos,  Luminara  Unduli,
and Master Yoda himself, who, according to Forte and Kulka, had  enjoyed  a
longstanding relationship with the Wookiees.

     If there was a planet  where  Jedi  could  have  survived  Palpatine's
execution order, Kashyyyk would be it.

     "Wookiee World," Nam said as he dropped the bow of the transport.

     The planet rose into view,  whitecapped,  otherwise  green  and  blue.
Dozens of huge vessels hung in orbit, including  the  perforated  hulks  of
several Separatist warships. Ferries and drop ships could be seen  emerging
from and disappearing into Kashyyyk's high-stacked clouds.

     Jambe indicated a Separatist ship, tipped over on its starboard  side,
its underbelly heavily punctured by turbolaser  bolts.  Umbilicaled  to  it
were a pair of craft  that  looked  more  like  musical  horns  than  space
vessels.

     "Wookiee  ships,"  Jambe   said.   "They're   probably   cannibalizing
whatever's useful."

     Filli leaned toward the  viewports  for  a  better  look.  "They  take
immigrant technology and make it all their own. For  enough  credits,  they
could probably build us a wooden starship."

     Starstone had heard as  much.  Inventive  handiwork  was  the  primary
reason  Wookiees  frequently  fell  prey  to  slave   traders,   especially
Trandoshans, their reptilian planetary neighbors.  Skill,  however,  hadn't
brought the Separatists to Kashyyyk, or the Trade Federation  before  them.
The system was not only close to several  major  hyperlanes,  but  also  an
entry  point  for  an  entire  quadrant  of  space.  A  Wookiee  guild   of
cartographers known as the Claatuvac were said to have mapped  star  routes
that didn't even appear on Republic or Separatist charts.

     The communications console chimed a repeating series of tones.

     "Vector routing from Commerce Control," Deran said.  "Make  sure  they
understand we want to set down near Kachirho," Starstone said.

     Deran nodded. "Transmitting our request. Relaying  course  coordinates
to navigation."

     Nam threw an excited look over his shoulder.  "I've  wanted  to  visit
Kashyyyk for ten years."

     "Half the Core would like to visit Kashyyyk,"  Filli  said.  "But  the
Wookiees don't cater to tourists."

     "What, no luxury accommodations?" Jambe said.

     Filli shook his head. "They might be willing to provide a tent."

     "How many times have you been here?" Starstone asked him.

     He thought about it, then shrugged. "Ten, twelve. In  between  regular
jobs, we'd sometimes run scrap technology here."

     "Can you speak the language?" Nam asked.

     Filli laughed. "I once met a human who could bark a couple  of  useful
phrases, but the best I could ever manage  was  a  'thank  you,'  and  that
worked only one out of ten times."

     Starstone frowned. "Do we have a translator  droid  or  some  sort  of
emulator?"

     "We won't need one," Filli said. "The Wookiees employ a  mixed-species
staff of go-betweens to help out with sales and trades."

     "Who do we ask for?" Starstone said.

     Filli took a moment. "Last time I was here,  there  was  a  guy  named
Cudgel..."

     The  Vagabond  Trader  began  its  descent  into  Kashyyyk's  aromatic
atmosphere, light fading as the  ship  dropped  below  the  canopy  of  the
planet's three-hundred-meter-tall wroshyr trees into an  area  of  majestic
cliffs crowned with vegetation. Adjusting course, Jambe and Nam guided  the
transport  to  a  lakeshore  landing  platform  made  of   wood.   Towering
majestically over the platform and the aquamarine lake  rose  the  city  of
Kachirho, which consisted of a cluster of giant, tiered wroshyrs.

     In his eagerness to fulfill a ten-year dream, Nam nearly  botched  the
landing, but no one was hurt,  despite  being  tossed  about.  As  soon  as
everyone had exited the ship, Filli disappeared to find Cudgel.

     Starstone gazed at the trees and sheer cliffs in wonderment. Her hopes
for finding Yoda notwithstanding, the Wookiee world rendered other  planets
she had visited prosaic by comparison.

     The scene at the exotic landing platform alone  was  impressive,  with
ships coming and going, and groups of  Wookiees  and  their  liaison  crews
haggling with beings representing dozens of different species. Outsize logs
and slabs of fine-grained hardwoods were heaped about, and the air was rich
with the heady smell of tree sap, and loud with the drone of nearby  lumber
mills. Protocol and labor droids supervised the loading and  offloading  of
cargo, which was moved by teams of hornless banthas or exquisitely  crafted
hoversleds. All of the activity shaded and dwarfed by trees that seemed  to
reach to the very edge of space...

     Starstone had to catch her breath. The gargantuan size  of  everything
made her feel like an insect. She was still  gaping  like  a  tourist  when
Filli returned, accompanied by a  thickset  male  human  dressed  in  short
trousers and a sleeveless shirt. If he wasn't quite as hairy as a  Wookiee,
it was not for want of trying.

     "Cudgel," Filli said, by way of introduction.

     Cudgel smiled at everyone in turn, jocular but  clearly  dubious,  and
Starstone immediately saw why. While she and  her  band  of  fugitive  Jedi
could dress the part of merchants, even talk the part, they couldn't  stand
the part.

     Literally.

     Straight-backed, silent, hands clasped in front of them,  they  looked
more like a group of vacationing meditators, which was  not  far  from  the
truth.

     "First time to Kashyyyk?" Cudgel said.

     "Yes," Starstone answered for everyone. "Hopefully not our last."

     "Welcome, then." Forcing a smile, he eyed the transport. "This is an L
two hundred, isn't it?"

     "Military surplus," Filli said quickly.

     Cudgel cocked a flaring eyebrow "Already? I was under  the  impression
there wasn't any surplus." Before Filli could respond, he continued: "Can't
be carrying much in the way of trade goods. Are you off a freighter up top?
"

     "We're not here to trade, exactly," Filli said. "More in the way of  a
fact-finding mission."

     "We're in the market for an Oevvaor catamaran," Starstone explained.

     Cudgel blinked in surprise. "Then your ship had better be filled  with
aurodium credits."

     "Our client is prepared to pay a fair price," Starstone  said.  Cudgel
stroked  his  chest-length  beard.  "Not  a  question  of  price.  More  of
availability."

     "How bad were things here?" Forte asked abruptly. "The battle, I mean?
"

     Cudgel followed the Jedi's gaze to the  tree-city.  "Bad  enough.  The
Wookiees are still cleaning up."

     "Many killed?" Nam asked.

     "Even one's too many."

     "Were any Jedi involved?"

     Jambe's question seemed to stop Cudgel cold. "Why do you ask?"

     "We just came from Saleucami," Starstone said, hoping to put Cudgel at
ease. "We heard that several Jedi were killed by clone troopers during  the
battle."

     Cudgel  appraised  her.  "I  wouldn't  know  about  that.  I  was   in
Rwookrrorro during most of it." He pointed. "Other side of the escarpment."

     A short silence fell over everyone.

     "Well, let's see if I can't find someone who knows catamarans," Cudgel
said at last.

     Starstone kept quiet until the hirsute middleman  had  moved  off.  "I
don't think that went so well," she said to Forte and the others.

     "Shouldn't matter," Iwo  Kulka  said.  "Kashyyyk  isn't  Saleucami  or
Felucia. We're in Jedi-friendly territory."

     "That's what you said on Boz Pity-"  Starstone  started  to  say  when
Filli cut her off.

     "Cudgel's back."

     With four rangy Wookiees in tow, Starstone saw.

     "These are the  folk  I  told  you  about,"  Cudgel  was  telling  the
Wookiees, in Basic.

     Before Starstone could open her mouth to  speak,  the  Wookiees  bared
their fangs and brandished the most bizarre-looking hand blasters  she  had
ever seen.

     37

     The Star Destroyer Exactor and its older sibling,  Executrix,  drifted
side by side, bow-to-stern, forming a parallelogram of armor and armament.

     Vader's black shuttle navigated the short distance between them.

     He sat in the passenger hold's forward row  of  seats,  his  cadre  of
stormtroopers behind him, and his thoughts focused on what awaited  him  on
Kashyyyk, rather than on the  imminent  meeting,  which  he  suspected  was
little more than a formality.

     His last conversation with Sidious,  weeks  earlier  but  as  if  only
yesterday, had made it clear that his Master was manipulating  him  now  as
much as he had before he had turned. Before and during  the  war  Sidious's
intention had been to entice him into joining the Sith; since, the goal was
to transform him into a Sith. That was, to  impress  upon  Vader  that  the
power of the dark side did not flow from understanding but  from  appetite,
rivalry, avarice, and malice. The very qualities the Jedi  considered  base
and corrupt.

     As a means of keeping their plucked pupils from exploring  the  deeper
sides of their nature; as a means of reining them, lest they discovered for
themselves the real power of the Force.

     Anger leads to fear; fear  to  hatred;  hatred  to  the  dark  side...
Precisely, Vader thought.

     At Sidious's insistence, he had spent the recent weeks sharpening  his
ability to summon and make use of his rage, and felt poised at the edge  of
a significant increase in his abilities.

     Deep space was appropriate to such feelings, he  told  himself  as  he
gazed out the cabin's viewport. Space was more  appropriate  for  the  Sith
than for the Jedi. The invisible  enslavement  to  gravity,  the  contained
power of the stars, the utter  insignificance  of  life...  Hyperspace,  by
contrast, was more suitable to the Jedi: nebulous, neither here nor  there,
incoherent.

     When the shuttle had docked in the  Executor's  hold,  Vader  led  his
contingent of stormtroopers out of the vessel, only to find that  his  host
hadn't shown him the courtesy of being  on  hand  to  greet  him.  Waiting,
instead,  was  his  host's  contingent  of  gray-uniformed  crew   members,
commanded by a human officer named Darcc.

     The games begin, Vader thought, as he allowed Captain Darcc to  escort
him deeper into the ship.

     The cabin to which he was ultimately led was in the uppermost  reaches
of the Star Destroyer's conning tower. On entering, Vader  found  his  host
sitting behind a gleaming slab of desk, plainly debating whether to  remain
seated or to stand; whether to place himself on equal footing  with  Vader,
or, by appearance, to continue to  suggest  superiority.  Knowing,  in  any
case, that Vader preferred to remain on his feet, his host was  not  likely
to gesture him to  a  chair.  Knowing,  too,  that  Vader  was  capable  of
strangling him from clear across the  cabin  might  also  figure  into  his
decision.

     What to do? his host must have been thinking.

     And then he stood, a slender, sharp-featured man, coming  around  from
behind the desk with his hands clasped behind his back.

     "Thank you for detouring from your course," Wilhuff Tarkin said.

     The expression of gratitude was unexpected. But if Tarkin  was  intent
on prolonging the game, then Vader would humor him, since  in  the  end  it
amounted to nothing more than establishing status.

     This was what the Empire would be, he thought.  A  contest  among  men
intent on clawing their way to the top, to sit at Sidious's feet.

     "The Emperor requested it," Vader said finally.

     Tarkin pursed his thin lips. "I suppose we can attribute that  to  the
Emperor's astute ability to bring like-minded beings together."

     "Or pit them against one another."

     Tarkin adopted a more sober look. "That, too, Lord Vader."

     With a mind as sharp as  his  cheekbones,  Tarkin  had  risen  quickly
through the ranks of  Palpatine's  newly  formed  staff  of  political  and
military elite, among whom naked ambition was highly  prized.  So  much  so
that a new honorific had been created for Tarkin  and  ambitious  men  like
him: Moff.

     Vader had met him once before, aboard a Venator-class Star  Destroyer,
at the  remote  location  where  the  Emperor's  secret  weapon  was  under
construction. Vader, still  new  to  his  suit  then;  awkward,  uncertain,
between worlds.

     Tarkin perched himself on the edge of  his  desk  and  smiled  thinly.
"Perhaps between the two of us, we can determine  the  reason  the  Emperor
arranged this rendezvous."

     Vader crossed his gloved hands in front of him. "I  suspect  that  you
know more about the purpose of this meeting than I do, Moff Tarkin."

     Tarkin's smile disappeared, and in its place  came  a  look  of  sharp
attentiveness. "Surely you can guess, my friend."

     "Kashyyyk."

     "Bravo."

     Tarkin activated a holoplate that sat atop his desk. In  the  cone  of
blue light that rose from it, a bruised transport of military design  could
be seen moving through a cordon of Imperial corvettes.

     "This was recorded approximately ten hours ago, local, at the Kashyyyk
system checkpoint. As you may have already guessed, the  transport  belongs
to the Jedi. It appears to be a  civilian  model,  but  it  isn't.  It  was
hijacked on Dellalt some weeks ago, and was the object of  a  pursuit  that
ended in  the  destruction  of  several  Imperial  starfighters.  We  have,
however, been successful at tracking its movements ever since."

     "You've been tracking them," Vader said in genuine surprise. "Was  the
Emperor apprised of this?"

     Tarkin  smiled  again.  "Lord  Vader,  the  Emperor  is  apprised   of
everything."

     But his apprentice isn't, Vader thought.

     "I ordered our checkpoint personnel to ignore the  obvious  fact  that
the transport's signature has been  altered,"  Tarkin  continued,  "and  to
ignore, as well, the fact that whatever codes the transport furnished  were
likely to be counterfeit."

     "Why weren't the Jedi simply taken into custody at the checkpoint?"

     "We had our reasons, Lord Vader. Or perhaps  I  should  say  that  the
Emperor had his."

     "They are on Kashyyyk now?"

     Tarkin stopped the holoimage and nodded. "We  thought  they  might  be
refused entry. Apparently, however, someone aboard  the  ship  is  familiar
with Kashyyyk's trading protocols."

     Vader considered it for a moment. "You said that you had your  reasons
for clearing the transport through the checkpoint."

     "Yes, I'm coming to that," Tarkin said, standing to  his  full  height
and beginning to pace in front of the desk. "I  realize  that  you  of  all
people require no assistance in... bringing the fugitive Jedi  to  justice.
But I want to lay out a  somewhat  broader  plan  for  your  consideration.
Should you accept the proposition, I'm in a position to  provide  you  with
whatever ships, personnel, and materiel you think necessary."

     "What is the proposition, Moff Tarkin?"

     Tarkin came to a stop and turned fully to  Vader.  "Simply  this.  The
Jedi are your priority, as they  should  be.  Certainly  the  Empire  can't
permit potential insurgents to run around loose. But-"  He  raised  a  bony
forefinger.  "-my  plan  allows  for  the  Empire  to  profit   even   more
substantially from your undertaking."

     Reactivating the holoprojector, Tarkin  turned  his  attention  to  an
image of the Emperor's moonlet-size secret project, orbitally  anchored  at
its deep-space retreat. Vader had  learned  that  the  Emperor  had  placed
Tarkin in charge of supervising certain aspects of construction.

     Clearly, though, Tarkin was angling for more.

     "How does my hunt for  a  few  rogue  Jedi  figure  into  your  scheme
regarding the Emperor's weapon?" Vader asked.

     "My 'scheme,' " Tarkin said, with a short  laugh.  "All  right,  then.
Here's the truth of it. The project is already far behind schedule. It  has
been  beset  with  engineering   problems,   delays   in   shipments,   the
unreliability of contractors, and, most important, a  shortage  of  skilled
laborers." He stared at Vader. "You must understand,  Lord  Vader,  I  wish
nothing more than to please the Emperor."

     This is Sidious's real power,  Vader  thought.  The  ability  to  make
others wish nothing more than to please him.

     "I accept that at face value," he said at last.

     Tarkin studied him. "You would be willing  to  help  me  achieve  this
goal?"

     "I see a possibility."

     Narrowing his eyes, Tarkin nodded in a way that came close to being  a
bow of respect. "Then, my friend, our real partnership is just beginning."

     38

     They're interested in knowing why  you're  so  interested  in  knowing
whether any  Jedi  were  here  during  the  battle,"  Cudgel  explained  to
Starstone and the others while the quartet of armed Wookiees glared down at
them.

     "Idle curiosity,"  Filli  said,  which  only  succeeded  in  eliciting
rumbling growls from the four.

     "They're not buying it," Cudgel said needlessly.

     Starstone gazed up into the  wide  bronzium  muzzles  of  weapons  she
suspected she would need the Force to heft, let  alone  fire.  Peripherally
she was aware that the confrontation had begun to  draw  the  attention  of
other landing parties. Humans and aliens alike were  suddenly  interrupting
their transactions with liaison staffers and Wookiees, and  turning  toward
the transport.

     Quickly she made up her mind to risk everything by simply telling  the
truth.

     "We're Jedi," she said just loud enough to be heard.

     From the way the Wookiees tilted  their  enormous  shaggy  heads,  she
grasped instantly that they had understood  her.  They  kept  their  exotic
weapons enabled and raised, but at  the  same  time  their  expressions  of
wariness softened somewhat. One of them brayed a remark to Cudgel.

     Cudgel stroked his long beard. "Now, that's  even  harder  to  swallow
than the idle-curiosity explanation, don't you think? I  mean,  considering
the fact that the Jedi were wiped out."

     The same Wookiee lowed and gobbled, and, again,  Cudgel  nodded,  then
centered his gaze on Starstone.

     "Maybe if you'd said that you were a Jedi, then all of us on the happy
side of these blasters would be convinced. But-" He  counted  heads.  "-you
can't be telling me all eight of you are Jedi. Seven anyway, 'cause I  know
almost as far from being a Jedi as it gets."

     "I meant me," Starstone said. "I'm a Jedi."

     "So it's just you, then?"

     "She's lying," Siadem Forte said before she could respond. Two of  the
Wookiees snarled in plain displeasure.

     Cudgel looked from Forte to  Starstone.  "Lying?  See,  now  you  have
everyone really confused, 'cause we always thought of  the  Jedi  as  truth
tellers."

     The Wookiees spoke among  themselves,  then  one  of  them  barked  an
outpouring at Cudgel.

     "Guania, here, points out that you arrive in a military transport. You
look as though you can handle yourselves. You start asking questions  about
Jedi... He's thinking that you might be bounty hunters."

     Starstone shook her head back and forth. "Check the  transport.  Under
the navicomputer console, you'll find six lightsabers-"

     "Means nothing," Cudgel cut in. "You could have taken  them  off  your
quarries, just the way General Grievous did."

     "Then how do we prove it?" Starstone said. "What do you want us to do,
perform Force tricks?"

     The Wookiees issued a yodeling warning.

     Cudgel lowered his voice to say: "In the unlikely event that  you  are
Jedi, that might not be such a good idea out here in the open."

     Starstone forced an exhale, and looked up at the  Wookiees.  "We  know
that Masters Yoda, Luminara Unduli, and Quinlan Vos were here with brigades
of troopers." When she saw in their deep brown eyes that she had their full
attention, she continued. "We've risked a lot to come  here.  But  we  know
that Master Yoda had good relations with you, and we're hoping  that  still
counts for something."

     The Wookiees didn't actually lower their weapons, but they did disable
them. One of them  lowed  to  Cudgel,  who  said:  "Lachichuk  suggests  we
continue this conversation in Kachirho."

     Starstone asked Filli and Deran to remain with  the  ship;  then  she,
Forte, Kulka, and the others began to follow Cudgel and the Wookiees toward
the gargantuan wroshyr that stood at the center of Kachirho  tree-city.  No
sooner had they left the landing platform than Cudgel's attitude changed.

     "I heard that none of you survived," he  said  to  Starstone  as  they
walked.

     "It's beginning to look like we're the only  ones,"  she  said  sadly.
Putting the edge of her hand  to  her  brow,  she  gazed  up  at  the  huge
balconies that tiered the tree, some of which  showed  evidence  of  recent
damage.

     "Do you know if any Jedi died here?"

     Cudgel shook his head. "The Wookiees haven't told me anything.  For  a
while it looked like Kashyyyk was going to have its own garrison  of  clone
troopers, but after the Sep droids and war machines shut down, the troopers
decamped. Ever since, the Wookiees have been making good use of  everything
that was left behind."

     "For weapons?"

     "You bet, for weapons. Seps or no, they've still  got  enemies-species
that want to exploit them."

     Cudgel led everyone into the hollowed base of the tree, and finally to
a turbolift that accessed Kachirho's upper levels.

     Similar to everything she had seen since leaving the landing platform,
the turbolift was an ingenious blend of wood and alloy, the technology that
drove it artfully concealed.  And  at  each  tier,  her  astonishment  only
increased. In addition to the exterior platforms that grew like burls  from
the bole, the tree contained vast interior rooms, with  shimmering  parquet
floors and curved walls inset with wooden and alloy mosaics.  There  didn't
seem to be a straight line anywhere, and everywhere Star-stone  looked  she
saw Wookiees engaged in building, carving, sanding... as devoted  to  their
work as Jedi had been in fashioning the Temple. Except the Wookiees  hadn't
enslaved themselves to  symmetry  or  order;  rather,  they  allowed  their
creations to emerge naturally from the wood. In fact, they seemed to invite
a certain kind of imperfection-some detail to which the eye would be drawn,
setting off an entire wall panel, or an expanse of floor.

     Covered walkways and bridges crisscrossed the tree's  interior  shaft,
and irregular openings brought verdant  Kashyyyk  inside.  At  every  turn,
every staircase spiral or turbolift stop, exterior views of the  lake,  the
forest, and the sheer cliffs were framed by  finely  worked  apertures  and
clefts. What Kachirho lacked in color, it made up for in  luster  and  deep
patina.

     Fifty or so meters above the lake, the Jedi were ushered into  a  kind
of central control room, which looked out over the glinting water  and  was
perhaps the purest example yet of the Wookiees' ability to combine  organic
and high-tech elements. Console display screens and  holoprojectors  showed
views of the landing platform, as well as loading operations in orbit.

     There, their escorts exchanged muted growls  and  snorts,  snuffs  and
rumbles, with two others, one of whom was  certainly  the  tallest  Wookiee
Starstone had seen.

     "This is Chewbacca," Cudgel said, introducing the shorter of the pair,
"and this is one of Kachirho's war chiefs, Tarfful."

     Starstone introduced herself and the rest of the  Jedi,  then  lowered
herself onto a  beautifully  carved  stool  built  for  human-size  beings.
Similar stools were rushed into the room, along with soft seat cushions and
plates of food.

     While all this was going on, Tarfful and Chewbacca were being  briefed
by Lachichuk. Bronzium bands gathered the chieftain's long hair into  rope-
thick tassels that fell to his belted waist. The  shoulder  straps  of  his
baldric joined at an  ornate  pectoral.  Chewbacca,  whose  black  fur  was
cinnamon-tipped and nowhere near  as  long  as  Tarfful's,  wore  a  simple
baldric Starstone thought might double as an ammunition bandolier.

     When everyone was seated and the  Wookiees  had  finished  conversing,
Cudgel said: "Chieftain Tarfful understands and applauds the courage you've
shown in coming to Kashyyyk, but it grieves  him  to  report  that  he  has
nothing but sad tidings for you."

     "They're... dead?" Starstone asked.

     "Master  Vos  was  presumed  killed  by  fire  from  a  tank,"  Cudgel
explained, "Master Unduli by blasterfire."

     "And Master Yoda?" she asked quietly.

     Tarfful and Chewbacca fell into a long conversation-almost  a  debate-
before expressing themselves to Cudgel, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

     "Apparently, Yoda escaped Kashyyyk in an  evacuation  pod.  Chewbacca,
here, says he carried Yoda on his shoulders to the pod."

     Starstone came to her feet, nearly tipping over  a  platter  of  food.
"He's alive?"

     "He could be," Cudgel said after a moment.  "After  the  last  of  the
clone troopers left, the Wookiees searched local space for the pod, but  no
distress-beacon transmissions were picked up."

     "Was the pod hyperspace-capable?"

     Cudgel shook his head.

     "But it could have been retrieved by a  passing  ship."  The  Wookiees
conversed.

     Cudgel listened attentively. "There's a chance it was."

     Starstone looked at Tarfful. "What makes you think so?"

     Cudgel ran his hand over his mouth. "Wookiee  Senator  Yarua  reported
that rumors circulating in the Senate claim Yoda led an attack  on  Emperor
Palpatine in the Senate Rotunda itself."

     "And?"

     "Same rumor has it he was killed."

     "Master Yoda doesn't lose," Siadem Forte said from his stool.

     Cudgel returned a sympathetic nod. "Lots of us used to say that  about
the Jedi."

     Starstone broke the silence that descended on the  control  room.  "If
Master Yoda is alive, then there's hope for all of us. He'll find us before
we find him."

     She felt renewed; hopeful once more.

     "Tarfful asks what you plan to do now," Cudgel said.

     "I suppose we'll continue our search," Starstone said. "Master  Kenobi
was on Utapau, and has yet to be heard from."

     Tarfful issued what sounded like a sustained groan.

     "He is honored to offer you safe haven on Kashyyyk, if you  wish.  The
Wookiees can make it appear that you are valued customers."

     "You would do that for us?" Starstone asked Tarfful.

     His response was plaintive.

     "The Wookiees owe the Jedi a  great  debt,"  Cudgel  translated.  "And
debts are always honored."

     A signal sounded from one of the consoles, and Cudgel and the Wookiees
gathered around an inset screen. The human's expression was grave  when  he
swung to the Jedi.

     "An Imperial troop carrier is descending to the Kachirho platform."

     Starstone's face lost color. "We shouldn't have come here,"  she  said
suddenly. "We've endangered all of you!"

     39

     By the time Cudgel returned to the landing platform the situation  was
already veering out of control. Blaster rifles raised and  faced  off  with
more than one hundred very indignant Wookiees, two squads of  stormtroopers
were deployed around the carrier  that  had  delivered  them  to  Kachirho,
perhaps half a kilometer from where the Jedi transport was parked.

     "Or are you going to tell us that your weapons are all the  permission
you need?" a human liaison staffer was saying to the troopers' commander as
Cudgel hurried in.

     The officer's armor was  marked  with  green,  and  he  wore  a  short
campaign skirt. His sidearm was still holstered, but his enhanced voice was
filled with menace. "Authorization was granted by Sector Three Command  and
Control. If you have  any  complaints,  take  them  up  with  the  regional
governor."

     "Commander," Cudgel said in a deferential  tone,  "how  may  I  be  of
service?"

     The officer gestured broadly to the gathered Wookiees.  "Only  if  you
can get these beasts to  answer  my  questions."  High-decibel  snarls  and
furious roars rose from the crowd.

     "You might want to find a more politic  way  to  refer  to  Kashyyyk's
indigenes, Commander."

     From behind the T-visored helmet, the trooper said: "I'm not  here  to
be diplomatic. Let them howl all they want." He gazed at Cudgel.  "Identify
yourself."

     "I'm known as Cudgel, far and wide."

     "What are your duties here?"

     "I assist with commerce. I  can  probably  set  you  up  with  a  nice
selection of product, if you're interested."

     "What would we want with wood?"

     "What, you don't have campfires?"

     The crowd woofed with laughter.

     The commander put his gloved right hand on his blaster.  "There'll  be
fires soon enough-Cudgel. Right where you can see them."

     "I'm not sure I take your meaning, Commander."

     The  officer  adjusted  his  stance,  readying  himself  for   action.
"Kashyyyk is harboring enemies of the Empire."

     Cudgel shook his head. "If there are enemies of the Empire  here,  the
Wookiees are unaware of them."

     "There are Jedi here."

     "You mean you actually missed a few?"

     The commander raised his left hand and poked Cudgel hard in the chest.
"Either they are surrendered to us  immediately,  or  we  take  this  place
apart, beginning with you." At  the  commander's  wave,  the  stormtroopers
began to spread out. "Search the landing area and the tree-city!  All  non-
indigenes are to be seized and brought here!"

     The Wookiees loosed a chorus of earsplitting yowls.

     Cudgel backed out of range of  the  commander's  armored  fist.  "They
don't like it when people track dirt in."

     Drawing his sidearm, the commander said: "I'm done with you."

     But the words had scarcely left the officer's helmet enunciator when a
Wookiee raced forward, knocking the blaster from his hand and  hurling  him
into the troop carrier with such force that  the  commander's  forearm  and
elbow armor remained in the Wookiee's grip.

     At the same time, several Wookiee clarions roared in the distance.

     The troopers turned, covering one another as the gathered crowd  began
to advance on them.

     A ratcheting noise filled the western sky. Two gunships  dropped  from
the treetops to reinforce the advance squads, stormtroopers descending from
the open bay on rappel ribbons.

     Rushing onto the landing platform, the new arrivals stopped  short  on
hearing the familiar snap-hiss of igniting lightsabers.

     Central to half a dozen blade-wielding Jedi stood a young raven-haired
woman, with her weapon poised over her right shoulder.

     "We hear you're looking for us," she said.

     Standing on the bridge of the Exactor, Vader regarded distant Kashyyyk
through the forward viewports. Commander Appo approached from  one  of  the
duty stations.

     "Lord Vader, the conflict has begun.  Theater  commanders  await  your
orders."

     "Raise them, Commander, and join me in the situation room."

     Leaving the bridge, Vader entered an  adjacent  cabin  space  just  as
holoimages were resolving above a ring  of  several  holo-projectors.  Appo
came through the hatch behind him, waiting at the perimeter of the ring.

     Members of the Emperor's new admiralty,  the  commanders  were  human,
attired in formfitting jackets and trousers. Certainly  each  of  them  had
been informed that Vader was to be  treated  with  the  same  respect  they
showed the Emperor, but Vader could see in their ghostly  faces  that  they
had yet to make up their minds about him. Was he man, machine, something in
between? Was he clone, apostate Jedi, Sith?

     Kashyyyk would tell them all they needed to know, Vader thought.

     I am something to be feared.

     "Commanders, I want you to position your  task  forces  to  cover  all
major population centers." A holomap eddied from  a  holoprojector  outside
the ring, detailing Kashyyyk and the tree-cites of  Kachirho,  Rwookrrorro,
Kepitenochan, Okikuti,  Chenachochan,  and  others.  "Furthermore,  I  want
Interdictor  cruisers  deployed  to  prevent  any  ships  from  jumping  to
hyperspace."

     "Admiral Vader," one of the men said. "The  Wookiees  have  no  ranged
weapons or planetary defense shields. Orbital  bombardment  would  simplify
matters greatly."

     Vader decided not  to  make  an  issue  of  the  misplaced  honorific.
"Perhaps, Commander," he said, "if this were an exercise  in  obliteration.
But since it isn't, we'll adhere to my plan."

     "I've had some experience with  the  Wookiees,"  another  said.  "They
won't be taken into captivity without a fight."

     "I fully expect a fight, Commander," Vader said. "But I want  as  many
as possible taken alive-males, females, and younglings. Order  your  troops
to drive them from their tree-cities into open spaces.  Then  use  whatever
means are at our disposal to disarm and subdue them."

     "Kashyyyk hosts many merchants," a third said, leadingly.

     "Casualties of war, Commander."

     "Do you intend to occupy the planet?" the same asked.

     "That is not my intention."

     "Excuse me, sir, but what, then, are we supposed to do  with  tens  of
thousands of Wookiee captives?"

     Vader  faced  the  one  who  had  challenged  him.  "Herd  them   into
containment and keep them contained until they have accepted their  defeat.
You will then receive further orders."

     "From whom?" the challenger said.

     "From me, Commander."

     The officer folded his arms in mild defiance. "From you."

     "You seem to have a problem with that. Perhaps you wish to speak  with
the Emperor?"

     The officer was quick to adopt a more military pose.  "No,  of  course
not... Lord Vader."

     Better and better, Vader thought.

     "Where will you be, Lord Vader?" the first asked.

     Vader looked at all of them before answering. "My task needn't concern
you. You have your orders. Now carry them out."

     Try as she might to convince herself that her actions were  justified,
that the clone army had become the enemy not only of the Jedi but  also  of
democracy and  freedom,  Starstone  couldn't  surrender  herself  fully  to
combat. Brought into being to serve the Republic, the  troopers,  like  the
Jedi, had fallen victim to Palpatine's treachery. And now they  were  dying
at the hands of those who had helped create them.

     This is wrong, all wrong, she told herself.

     And yet, clearly, the notion of tragic irony hadn't been  incorporated
into the clones' programming. The troopers were out to kill her.  Only  the
flashing blue blade of her lightsaber stood between her and certain death.

     The stormtroopers who had been the first to land  were  already  dead,
from blaster rounds, bowcaster quarrels, lightsaber slashes, blows from war
clubs and the occasional giant, shaggy fist. But  more  and  more  Imperial
craft were dropping from the wan sky-gunships, troop  carriers,  scores  of
two-person  infantry  support  platforms.  Worse,  word  had  it  that  the
incursion wasn't confined to Kachirho, but was being repeated in tree-cites
worldwide.

     If the hearsay was true, then  the  Jedi  weren't  the  priority.  The
Empire was merely using their presence to justify  a  full-scale  invasion.
And the fact that Imperial forces were refraining  from  launching  orbital
bombardments told Starstone that the ultimate goal was something other than
speciecide.

     The troopers had been ordered not to amass high body  counts,  but  to
return with prisoners.

     Starstone  held  herself  accountable.  Inevitable  or  not,  she  had
furnished the Empire with grounds to invade. Forte and Kulka were wrong  to
have deferred to her lead. She was not a Master. She should  have  listened
to Shryne.

     The surround of towering cliffs and trees made it difficult for  large
vessels to hover or land outside the perimeter of the landing platform. The
lake that fronted Kachirho was expansive enough to accommodate  a  Victory-
class Star Destroyer, but a subsequent offensive would entail storming  the
shoreline, as the Separatists had attempted to do, and Kachirho, at  almost
four hundred meters in height, presented a formidable battlement.

     Natural fortresses, wroshyr trees not only deflected ordinary  blaster
bolts but also provided hundreds of defensive  platforms.  More  important,
trees that had endured for thousands of years were not easily  burned,  let
alone uprooted or  felled.  Without  employing  turbolasers  and  resigning
themselves to massive death tolls, Imperial forces faced a grueling battle.

     Judging by the manner in which they  had  deployed  the  gunships  and
troop carriers, Kashyyyk's theater commanders were relying on the fact that
the Wookiees had no ranged weapons and little in the way  of  anti-aircraft
defense. But the Imperials had failed to take into account the thousands of
war machines that had been abandoned  by  Separatist  and  Republic  forces
alike following the  fierce  engagement  on  the  Wawaatt  Archipelago-tank
droids, missile platforms, spider and crab droids, All Terrain Walkers  and
juggernauts. And just now the Wookiees  were  putting  all  that  they  had
salvaged to good use.

     Imperial gunships were unable to descend below treetop  level  without
the risk of being blown from the sky by  commandeered  artillery  that  had
been moved to Kachirho's loftiest platforms, or by fluttercraft retrofitted
with laser cannons. Closer to the ground, those gunships that succeeded  in
evading the  fire  and  flak  found  themselves  set  upon  by  flights  of
catamarans mounted with rocket launchers and repeating blasters.

     Troopers attempting to rappel from incapacitated ships were picked off
by hails of bowcaster quarrels, blaster bolts fired from rifles taller than
Starstone, sometimes bands of Wookiees  swinging  out  from  the  tree-city
platforms on braided vines. The few  troopers  who  survived  the  airborne
barrages and reached the ground faced focused fire from blaster nests  high
in the trees, volleys of grenades, and showers of red-hot  debris  sizzling
down through the leafy canopy.

     Fighting  alongside  Tarfful,  Chewbacca,  and  hundreds  of   Wookiee
warriors, Starstone and the other Jedi were still involved in  the  chaotic
fray on the  landing  platform.  Employing  carved  shields  and  eccentric
blasters, Wookiee females fought as ferociously as the males, and  many  of
the offworld merchants were pitching in, recognizing that the Empire had no
intention of sparing them. Weapons cleverly concealed  in  drop  ships  and
transports were targeting anything the Wookiees missed,  and  many  ferries
were racing up the well, intent on  carrying  entire  Wookiee  families  to
safety.

     In areas where there were lulls in the fighting, many Wookiee  females
and younglings were  falling  back  toward  the  tree-city,  or  evacuating
Kachirho's lower levels for the refuge of the high forest.

     Starstone wondered just how much the Empire was  willing  to  risk  at
Kashyyyk. Had Palpatine's minions considered that,  faced  with  captivity,
the Wookiees might flee their arboreal cities and become a rebel force  the
likes of which the Grand Army had yet to confront?

     The thought provided her with a moment of solace.

     Then she glimpsed something that sent her heart racing.

     Sensing her sudden distraction, Forte and Kulka followed her  gaze  to
midlevel Kachirho, where a black Imperial shuttle was  drifting  in  for  a
landing on one of the tree-city's enormous balconies.

     "It's Vader," Starstone said when the two Jedi Knights asked. "Are you
certain?" Forte said.

     At Starstone's nod, Kulka gestured broadly to the ongoing fight. "This
is more about us than the Wookiees even know."

     Starstone shut her eyes briefly and forced  a  determined  exhalation.
"Then it's up to us to make this about Vader

     40

     Leading an exodus of  women  and  younglings  from  Kachirho's  lowest
levels, Chewbacca thought about his  own  family  in  distant  Rwookrrorro,
which apparently was also under siege. Rwookrrorro was days away  on  foot,
but only minutes by ship. He would get there one way or another.

     Off to his left, the six Jedi who had been fighting alongside him  for
the better part of a local hour were suddenly racing back toward Kachirho's
central wroshyr. Lifting his eyes, Chewbacca  saw  no  significant  threat,
save for a Theta-class shuttle that was taking heavy fire as  it  attempted
to fold its wings and settle on one of the tree-city balconies.

     Higher up, the sky was crisscrossed by laserfire  and  contrails,  and
still filling with gunships, eerily reminiscent of what had  happened  only
weeks earlier, when the Separatists had launched  their  invasion.  Wookiee
fluttercraft and an  assortment  of  traders'  vessels  were  engaging  the
Imperial ships, but the outcome was clear.

     The sheer number of descending gunships gave  evidence  of  a  sizable
flotilla of capital ships in  orbit.  For  all  the  Wookiees'  success  in
repelling the first wave, it was surely only a matter of  time  before  the
Star Destroyers would open fire. And then  only  a  matter  of  time  until
Kashyyyk fell.

     Anyone who thought that the Jedi were responsible for  having  brought
the Empire down on Kashyyyk had no understanding of the  nature  of  power.
From the moment the troopers of Commander  Gree's  brigade  had  turned  on
Yoda, Unduli, and Vos, Chewbacca, Tarfful, and the elders of  Kachirho  had
grasped the truth: that despite  all  the  rhetoric  about  taxation,  free
trade, and decentralization, there  was  no  real  difference  between  the
Confederacy and the Republic. The war was  nothing  more  than  a  struggle
between two evils, with the jedi caught in the middle, all because of their
misplaced loyalty to a government they should  have  abandoned,  and  to  a
pledge that had superseded their oath to serve the Force above all.

     If there was any difference between the Separatists and the newly born
Imperialists, it was that the latter needed to  legitimize  their  invasion
and occupation, lest other threatened species  rebel  while  they  stood  a
fighting chance.

     But a planet could fall without its species being defeated;  a  planet
could be occupied without its  species  being  imprisoned.  That  was  what
separated Kashyyyk from the rest.

     Back - and hip-packs bulging with survival food and rations,  Wookiees
were streaming down the city staircases, racing across the footbridges, and
disappearing into the thick vegetation that surrounded the lake. Blazed  as
a defense against sneak attacks by Trandoshan slavers,  hundreds  of  well-
maintained evacuation routes cached with arms and  supplies  radiated  from
Kachirho and wove through the isolated rock outcroppings to the high forest
beyond.

     More to the point, Wookiees even as young as twelve, fresh from  their
coming-of-age hrrtayyk ceremonies, knew  how  to  construct  shelters  from
saplings, how to fashion implements from the stalks of  giant  leaves,  and
how to make rope. They knew which  plants  and  insects  were  edible;  the
location of freshwater springs;  the  areas  where  dangerous  reptiles  or
predatory felines lurked.

     Despite all the elements of high technology they had incorporated into
their lives, Wookiees never considered themselves separate from  Kashyyyk's
grand forest, which on its own could provide them everything they needed to
survive, for as long as necessary.

     Targeted by unexpected anti-aircraft fire, Vader's shuttle jinked  for
the largest of the Kachirho's arboreal balconies,  its  powerful  defensive
shields raised and its quad lasers spewing unrelenting fire at  a  pair  of
hailfire droids the Wookiees had hoisted into their massive  tree-fortress.
Bolts from the shuttle's forward weapons reduced the missile  platforms  to
slagged heaps and chewed into  the  balcony's  wooden  columns  and  beams,
filling the air with splinters hard as  nails.  The  explosions  flung  the
bodies of Kachirho's furry defenders far and wide.  Hurled  clear  off  the
tier, some plummeted to the ground a hundred meters below.

     In the cabin space of the shaken shuttle, Vader was being addressed by
the holoimage of one of the task force commanders.

     "Our circumspect attacks are being repulsed planetwide, Lord Vader. As
I thought I made clear, Wookiees do not  take  lightly  to  the  threat  of
captivity. Already they're abandoning the tree-cities for the high forests.
If they penetrate deeply enough, we will need months, perhaps years to find
and root them out. Even then, the cost to us will be  great,  in  terms  of
materiel and lives."

     Vader muted the holoprojector's audio pickup and  glanced  across  the
aisle to Commander Appo. "Do you concur, Commander?"

     "As  it  is  we're  losing  too  many  troopers,"  Appo  said  without
hesitation. "Grant permission to the naval commanders to initiate  surgical
bombardment from orbit."

     Vader mulled it over for a moment. He didn't like  being  wrong,  much
less admitting that he had been wrong, but he saw  no  way  out.  "You  may
commence bombardment, Commander, but make certain  you  save  Kachirho  for
last. I have business to finish up here."

     As the holoimage faded, Vader turned to the  cabin's  small  porthole,
meditating on the whereabouts of his Jedi quarries, and what nature of trap
they had  set  for  him.  The  thought  of  confronting  them  stirred  his
impatience and his anger.

     Wings uplifted, the shuttle made a rough landing on  the  tier,  bolts
from Wookiee blasters careening from the fuselage. When the  boarding  ramp
had extended, Appo and  his  stormtroopers  hurried  outside,  Vader  right
behind him, his ignited blade deflecting fire from all sides.

     Three troopers fell before they made it two meters from the ramp.

     The Wookiees were dug in, shooting from  behind  makeshift  barricades
and from  crossbeams  high  above  the  balcony.  Raising  the  shuttle  on
repulsorlift power, the clone pilot took the  craft  through  a  180-degree
sweep, drenching the area with laserfire. At the same  time,  two  Wookiees
with satchel charges slung over  their  shoulders  rushed  from  cover  and
managed to  hurl  the  explosives  through  the  shuttle's  open  hatch.  A
deafening explosion blew off one of the wings and sent the  craft  spinning
and skidding to the very rim of the tier.

     Counterattacking, Vader strode through fountaining flames to take  the
fight to the Wookiees. Crimson blade slashing left and  right,  he  parried
blaster bolts and amputated limbs  and  heads.  Caterwauling  and  howling,
showing their fangs and waving their long arms about, the Wookiees tried to
hold their positions, but they had never faced anything like him,  even  in
the darkest depths of Kashyyyk's primeval forest.

     As tall as some of them,  Vader  waded  in,  his  lightsaber  cleaving
intricately carved war shields, sending blasters  and  bow-casters  flying,
setting fire to shaggy coats, leaving more than a score of  bodies  in  his
wake.

     He was waving Appo and the other  troopers  forward  when  flashes  of
refulgent blue light caught his eye, and he swung to the source.

     Emerging from a covered bridge anchored distally to the  bole  of  the
giant tree rushed six Jedi, deflecting blaster bolts from the stormtroopers
as they attacked, doing to Appo's cadre just what Vader  had  done  to  the
Wookiees.

     Forging through the offensive, three Jedi raced in to square off  with
Vader.

     He recognized the petite, black-haired female among them,  and  tipped
his blade in salute.

     "You've saved me the trouble of looking for  you,  Padawan  Starstone.
These others must be the ones you gathered by accessing the Temple beacon."

     Starstone's dark eyes bored into  him.  "You  defiled  the  Temple  by
setting foot in it."

     "More than you know," he told her.

     "Then you'll pay for that, as well."

     He angled the  lightsaber  in  front  of  him,  tip  pointed  slightly
downward. "You're very much mistaken, Padawan. It is you who will pay."

     41

     Before Starstone could make a move, Siadem Forte and Iwo Kulka stepped
in front of her and attacked Vader.

     As was the case with many Jedi Knights, the  two  were  familiar  with
accounts of what had happened on Geonosis when Obi-Wan  Kenobi  and  Anakin
Skywalker had gone after the Sith Lord, Count Dooku. And so Forte and Kulka
went in as a team, each of them employing a radically different  lightsaber
style, determined to off-balance Vader.

     But Vader merely stood like a statue,  his  blade  angled  toward  the
ground until the very instant the two Jedi unleashed their assault.

     Then, as the three blades joined in scatterings of dazzling light  and
grating static sounds, he moved.

     Forte and Kulka were skilled duelists, but Vader was not  only  faster
than Starstone remembered him being on Murkhana against Master Chatak,  but
also more agile. He employed his awesome power to put a quick  end  to  the
fancy twirling of his opponents, who fell back against the hammering  blows
of Vader's bloodshine blade.

     Time and again the two Jedi Knights attempted to  alter  their  style,
but Vader had an answer for every lunge,  parry,  and  riposte.  His  style
borrowed elements from all techniques of combat,  even  from  the  highest,
most dangerous levels, and his  moves  were  crisp  and  unpredictable.  In
addition, his remarkable foresight allowed him to  anticipate  Forte's  and
Kulka's strategies and maneuvers,  his  blade  always  one  step  ahead  of
theirs, notwithstanding the two-handed grip he employed.

     Toying with the Jedi, he grazed Forte on the left  shoulder,  then  on
the right thigh; Kulka, he pierced lightly in the abdomen, then shaved away
the flesh on the right side of the Ho'Din's face.

     Seeing the two Jedi Knights drop to  their  knees,  wincing  in  pain,
Padawan Klossi Anno broke from where she was helping Jambe and  Nam  engage
the stormtroopers and got to Vader one step ahead of Starstone.

     Sidestepping, Vader slashed her across the back, sending her sprawling
across the balcony; then he whirled on Forte and Kulka just  as  they  were
clambering to their feet and decapitated them. From behind Vader came Jambe
and Nam, neither of whom was an experienced fighter and both of whom  Vader
immediately eliminated from the fight, amputating Jambe's  right  arm,  and
Nam's right leg.

     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 aver. 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.

     42

     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  Star-stone  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."

     43

     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 frill 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."

     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...

     44

     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.

     Archyr's voice issued through the cockpit enunciators as the drop ship
appeared in the starboard panel of the viewport. "Close call!"

     Growling irritably, Chewbacca ran a fast systems check.

     "Tail singed," Cudgel told Archyr through the comlink. "But everything
else is intact."

     The drop ship remained in view to starboard.

     "Half the balcony fell with the  shuttle,"  Archyr  continued.  "There
isn't much room to put down, even if you're still fool enough to  risk  it.
Whatever Olee has in mind, she'd better be quick about it."

     Cudgel swiveled to her. "You got that?"

     She nodded as the ravaged balcony came into view, in worse shape  than
she had feared. Most of the rim was gone, and  the  few  areas  that  still
clung to the trunk of the wroshyr had been holed and crisped by  turbolaser
bolts. The bodies of Wookiees and stormtroopers sprawled in  the  spreading
flames.

     "I don't see any sign of  Shryne  or  Vader,"  Archyr  said  over  the
comlink.

     "Turbos could have killed them-" Cudgel started when Starstone cut him
off.

     "No. I would know."

     Chewbacca directed a yodeling bray at her.

     "He believes you," Cudgel translated.

     Starstone leaned toward Chewbacca. "You think you can set us down?"

     Chewbacca lowed dubiously, then nodded.  Feathering  the  repulsorlift
lever, he began to cheat the transport closer to the wroshyr. The craft was
meters from landing when, without warning, what remained of the wooden tier
sheared away from the massive trunk, taking several lower tiers with it  as
it disintegrated and fell.

     Starstone sucked in her breath as Chewbacca pulled  the  ship  sharply
away from the bole. Half out of her chair, she  focused  her  gaze  on  the
cave-like opening to the tree's dimly lighted interior  and  stretched  out
with the Force.

     "They're inside! I can feel them."

     Filli pulled her back into her chair. "There's nothing we can do."

     Archyr's voiced barked through the enunciator. "Gunships approaching."

     Cudgel forced her to look at him. "What would Shryne want you to do?"

     She didn't have to think about it. Blowing out her breath,  she  said:
"Chewbacca, get us out of this."

     Relieved sighs came from Filli and Cudgel, a  melancholy  rumble  from
the Wookiee, who lifted the transport's nose and accelerated.

     "Steer clear of the lake," Archyr warned. Again  the  drop  ship  came
alongside, warding off strikes from  inrushing  Imperial  gunships.  "We've
only got a narrow escape vector, north-northwest."

     Dodging fire, the two ships  raced  into  a  burnt-orange  sunset  and
climbed for the stars, mingling with scores of escaping ferries  and  cargo
haulers. Turbolaser bolts rained down from ships in orbit, and  across  the
darkening curve of the planet, fires raged.

     Lowing in anguish and pounding one giant fist on the instrument panel,
Chewbacca pointed to a bright burning in the canopy.

     "Rwookrrorro," Cudgel said. "Chewbacca's tree-village."

     The stars were just losing their shimmer when the communications suite
toned. Filli routed the transmission through the cockpit speakers.

     "Glad to see you've come to your senses," Jula  said.  "Is  Roan  with
either of you?"

     "Negative, Jula," Filli said sadly.

     Save for bursts of static, the enunciator remained silent for  a  long
moment; then Jula's voice returned. "After Alderaan, there  was  nothing  I
could say..." Her words trailed off, but she wasn't finished. "None  of  us
is out of this yet, anyway. Vader or whoever's in  charge  has  Interdictor
cruisers parked in orbit. No ships have been able to jump to hyperspace."

     "Does the Drunk Dancer have enough firepower to take on the  cruiser?"
Cudgel asked.

     "Filli," Jula said, "inform whoever asked that question that  I'm  not
about to go to guns with a Detainer CC-twenty-two hundred."

     As the transport reached the edge of  Kashyyyk's  envelope,  magnified
views of local space showed hundreds of ships  trapped  in  the  artificial
gravity  well  generated  by   the   Interdictor's   powerful   projectors.
Interspersed among the ensnared vessels  drifted  the  blackened  husks  of
Separatist warships that had been there since the end of the war.

     "Too bad we can't start  up  one  of  those  Sep  destroyers,"  Cudgel
lamented. "They have guns enough to deal with that cruiser."

     Starstone and Filli looked at each other.

     "We might know a way," he said.

     45

     0n Kashyyyk, rapacious fires held night at bay. The shadows of running
figures crisscrossed the ground. Spilled blood shone glossy black, as black
as the charred bark of the wroshyr trees.

     Safe inside their plastoid shells an occupying force of storm-troopers
rappelled into the burning forests, flushing fleeing Wookiees back into the
open, out onto the debris-strewn landing platform, the shore of  the  lake,
the public spaces between the tree clusters that made up Kachirho.

     Imperial war machines closed in from all  sides;  speeders  and  swift
boats roaring up onto the sandy  banks,  gunships  coiling  down  from  the
treetops, Victory-class Destroyers descending from the stars, their  wedge-
shaped armored hulls outlined by bright running lights.

     Driven from  tree-city  and  forest,  the  Wookiees  found  themselves
surrounded by companies of troopers. Male and  female  alike,  the  largest
were stunned into submission or killed. And yet the Wookiees  continued  to
fight, even the youngest among them, and often with only  tooth  and  nail,
tearing scores of troopers limb from limb before succumbing to blasterfire.

     Not all of Kachirho's tens of thousands were rounded up, but more than
enough to satisfy the Empire's current needs. Should more  be  needed,  the
troopers would know where to look for them.

     Herded to the center of the landing platform  with  countless  others,
Tarfful raised his  long  arms  above  his  head  and  loosed  a  mournful,
stentorian roar at the heavens.

     Kashyyyk had fallen.

     46

     Shryne's slashing strike to Vader's lower left leg, owing as  much  to
luck as to skill, released another shower of sparks.

     Vader's enraged response was  Shryne's  only  assurance  that  he  was
fighting a living being. Whatever had happened to  Vader,  by  accident  or
volition, he had to be more flesh-and-blood than  cyborg,  or  he  wouldn't
have raged or been able to call on the Force with such intensity.

     High up in the smoke-filled latticelike room, they stood  facing  each
other on a suspension bridge that linked two fully enclosed  walkways,  the
gloom cut by shafts of  explosive  light  from  the  continuing  attack  on
Kachirho.

     Shryne's determination to thrust his lightsaber into the  control  box
Vader wore on his chest had forced the Sith to adopt a more defensive style
that had left his limbs vulnerable. Throughout the  fight  that  had  taken
them up the room's wooden ramps, Vader had kept his crimson blade  straight
out in front of him,  manipulating  it  deftly  with  wrists  only,  elbows
pressed tightly to his sides. Only when Shryne left him no  choice  did  he
shuffle his feet or leap.

     "Artificial limbs and body armor seem a curious choice  for  a  Sith,"
Shryne said, poised for Vader's riposte to his lucky strike. "Belittling to
the dark side."

     Vader adjusted his grip on the  sword  and  advanced.  "No  more  than
throwing in with smugglers denigrates the Force, Shryne."

     "Ah, but I saw the light. Maybe it's time you did."

     "You have it backward."

     Shryne was steeling himself for a lunging attack when, abruptly, Vader
halted and withdrew the blade into the lightsaber's hilt.

     Before Shryne could begin to make sense of it,  he  heard  a  creaking
sound from below, and something flew at him from one of the ramps.  Only  a
last-instant turn of his sword kept the object from  striking  him  in  the
head.

     It was a plank-ripped from a ramp they had taken to the bridge.

     Shryne gazed in awe at unreadable Vader, then  began  to  race  toward
him, blade held high over his right shoulder.

     He didn't make half the distance when a storm of  similar  planks  and
lengths of handrail came whirling at him. Vader was  using  his  dark  side
abilities to dismantle the ramps!

     Surrendering to the guidance of the Force, Shryne swung his lightsaber
in a flurry  of  deflecting  maneuvers-side-to-side,  overhead,  low  down,
behind his back-but the  floorboards  were  coming  in  larger  and  larger
pieces, from all directions, and faster than he could parry them.

     The butt end of a board struck him on the outer left thigh.  The  face
of a wide plank slammed him across the shoulders. Wooden pegs flew  at  his
face; other speared into his arms.  Then  a  short  support  post  hit  him
squarely in the forehead, knocking the wind out of him and dropping him  to
his knees. Blood running into his eyes,  he  fought  to  remain  conscious,
extending the lightsaber in one shaking hand while clamping  the  other  on
the bridge's handrail. Five meters away Vader stood, his hands  crossed  in
front of him, lightsaber hanging on his belt.

     Shryne tried to keep him in focus.

     Another board, whirling end-over-end, came out of nowhere, hitting him
in the kidneys.

     Reflexively the hand that was grasping the railing went to  the  small
of his back, and he lost balance. Trying but failing to catch  himself,  he
fell through space.

     Give in the wooden floor saved his life, but at the expense of all the
bones in his left arm and shoulder.

     Above him Vader jumped from the bridge, dropping to the floor  with  a
grace he hadn't displayed before and alighting just meters away.

     Ignoring the pain in  his  shattered  limb,  Shryne  began  to  propel
himself in a backward crawl toward the opening through which he  and  Vader
had entered the wroshyr's trunk, a hot wind howling at  him,  whipping  his
long hair about.

     The balcony was gone. Fallen.

     There was nothing between Shryne and the ground but gritty air  filled
with burning leaves. Far below, Wookiees were being herded onto the landing
platform. The forests were in flames

     Vader approached, drawing and igniting his Sith blade.

     Shryne blinked blood from his eyes; lifted his lightsaber hand only to
realize that he had lost the sword  during  his  fall.  Slumping  back,  he
loosed a ragged, resigned exhalation.

     "I owe you a debt," he told Vader. "It took you to bring  me  back  to
the Force."

     "And you to firm my faith in  the  power  of  the  dark  side,  Master
Shryne."

     Shryne swallowed hard. "Then tell me. Were you trained  by  Dooku?  By
Sidious?"

     Vader came to a halt. "Not by Dooku. Not yet by Sidious."

     "Not yet," Shryne said, as if to himself "Then you're his apprentice?"
His eyes darted right and left, searching for some  means  of  escape.  "Is
Sidious also in league with Emperor Palpatine?"

     Vader fell silent for a moment, making up his  mind  about  something.
"Lord Sidious is the Emperor."

     Shryne gaped at Vader, trying to make sense of what he had said.  "The
order to kill the Jedi-"

     "Order Sixty-Six," Vader said.

     "Sidious issued it." Pieces to the puzzle Shryne  had  been  grappling
with for weeks assembled themselves. "The military buildup, the war itself.
.. It was all part of a plan to eliminate the Jedi order."

     Vader nodded. "All about this." He gestured to Shryne. "About you  and
me, you could say"

     Shryne's stomach convulsed, and he coughed blood. The fall hadn't only
broken his bones, but ruptured a vital organ. He was dying. Backing farther
out the opening, he gazed into the night sky, then at Vader.

     "Did Sidious turn you into the monstrosity you've become?"

     "No, Shryne," Vader said in a flat voice. "I did this  to  myself-with
some help from Obi-Wan Kenobi."

     Shryne stared. "You knew Obi-Wan?"

     Vader regarded him. "Haven't you guessed by now? I was a  Jedi  for  a
time."

     Shryne let his bafflement show. "You're one of the Lost  Twenty.  Like
Dooku."

     "I am the twenty-first, Master Shryne. Surely you've heard  of  Anakin
Skywalker. The Chosen One."

     47

     The Commerce Guild  ship  Starstone  and  the  others  had  chosen  to
infiltrate grew larger in the transport's cockpit viewports.  Just  over  a
thousand  meters  in  length  and  bristling  with  electromagnetic  sensor
antennas  and  point-defense  laser  cannons,  the  Recusant-class  support
destroyer had taken a turbolaser bruising during the  Battle  of  Kashyyyk,
but its principal cannons and trio of aft thrust  nozzles  appeared  to  be
undamaged.

     Elsewhere local space was  dotted  with  Imperial  landers  and  troop
transports, along with hundreds of freighters that had fled the surface  of
the tormented planet. Central to the latter craft, and a good distance from
the support destroyer, floated the Interdictor cruiser that was  preventing
the traders' ships from jumping to hyperspace.

     Those trapped ships are the reason I was spared, Starstone thought.

     The reason she had been rescued by Shryne...

     "Any response from the droid brain?" she asked over Filli's shoulder.

     "Well, we're chatting," the slicer said from the cockpit's comm suite.
"It recognized the code we used to activate the facility at Jaguada, but it
refuses to accept any remote commands. My guess is that it was rudely  shut
down during the battle, and wants to run a systems  check  before  bringing
the destroyer fully online."

     "Be best if we can keep from announcing ourselves," Cudgel  said  from
the copilot's chair. "You think you can keep the brain from lighting up the
entire ship?"

     Chewbacca woofed in agreement.

     "Not  initially,"  Filli  said.  "The  brain  will  probably   restore
universal power gradually as part of its diagnostic analysis.  Once  that's
over and done with, I can task it to kill all the  running  lights,  except
for those around the forward docking bay."

     A sudden growl from Chewbacca  called  Starstone's  attention  to  the
forward viewports.

     Fore-to-aft, the pod-like warship was coming to life.

     Cudgel muttered a curse. "The Interdictor's scanners are bound to pick
that up."

     "Just a couple of moments more," Filli said.

     Everyone waited.

     "Done!" Filli announced.

     In reverse order the destroyer's running lights began  to  blink  out,
save for an array of illuminators that defined the rectangular entrance  to
the docking bay.

     Filli flashed Starstone a grin. "The brain's being  very  cooperative.
We're good to dock."

     Chewbacca brayed an interrogative.

     "Any atmosphere?" Cudgel translated.

     Filli did rapid input at the keyboard.

     "The ship originally carried several squadrons of  vulture  and  droid
tri-fighters," he said. "But unless the Gossams converted it fully to droid
operation I'd expect there be atmosphere and  artificial  gravity  in  some
areas..." His eyes darted to the display screen. "Looks like a bit of both:
Gossam and droid crew."

     "Battle droids?" Starstone said.

     Filli nodded. " 'Fraid so."

     "You can't shut them down?"

     "Not without shutting down the command bridge."

     Starstone frowned and turned to Cudgel. "Gather up as many blasters as
we've got aboard. And while you're at it, you'll find some  rebreathers  in
the main cabin-just in case there's no atmosphere."

     "You want a blaster," he asked as he stood up, "or  are  you  sticking
with a lightsaber?"

     "This is an occasion that calls for both," she said.

     "Archyr, Skeck, are you copying all this?" Filli said toward the audio
pickup.

     "Affirmative," Archyr responded from the drop ship. "But we'll precede
you into the docking bay. We're better armed  and  better  shielded.  After
that there's nothing to do but fight our way to the command bridge."

     Filli displayed a schematic of the destroyer on  one  of  the  suite's
monitor screens. "Most of  the  habitable  areas  are  amidships,  but  the
command bridge is in the outrigger superstructure above the bow."

     "Lucky break for us," Archyr said. "It's closer to the bay."

     Starstone was studying the destroyer when the drop ship came alongside
the transport. Without having to be told, Chewbacca decelerated and fell in
behind the smaller craft.

     Starstone slipped into the vacant copilot's chair to  watch  the  drop
ship glide into the bay. Almost immediately blaster bolts crisscrossed  the
darkness. By the time the  transport  nosed  through  the  opening,  battle
droids were dropping like targets in a shooting gallery, and the  deck  was
strewn with spindly body parts.

     Rebreathers  strapped  to  their  faces,  lumas  to  their  foreheads,
Starstone, Cudgel, and Filli were standing at the boarding ramp hatch  when
Chewbacca set the transport down. Shortly the Wookiee  joined  them  there,
the bowcaster he carried over his shoulder assembled  and  gripped  in  his
hands.

     As the transport's outer hatch  slid  open,  the  harsh  sibilance  of
blasterfire infiltrated the ship. Starstone and the others hurried out into
the thick of the fighting, their headlamps casting long  shadows  all  over
the bay. Archyr and several well-armed  Wookiees  were  off  to  one  side,
clearing a path through battle droids toward a hatch in the  bay's  forward
bulkhead.

     Firing on  the  run  and  hurtling  pieces  of  disintegrated  droids,
Starstone, Filli, Cudgel, and Chewbacca  made  a  desperate  dash  for  the
hatch. The corridor beyond was crowded with battle droids  marching  in  to
reinforce those in the docking bay.

     Explosive  quarrels   from   Chewbacca's   bowcaster   combined   with
blasterfire and deflections from Starstone's  lightsaber  dropped  a  dozen
droids at a time. But for every dozen destroyed,  another  dozen  appeared.
Archyr and some of the Wookiees brought up the  rear,  ultimately  allowing
Starstone's contingent to shoot their way into a  turbolift  that  accessed
the destroyer's outrigger arm.

     Prepared for the worst, the  four  of  them  burst  onto  the  command
bridge, only to find a group  of  befuddled  humaniform  technical  droids,
outfitted with power studs at the backs of the heads that allowed  them  to
be quickly and methodically shut down.

     Realizing  that  the  bridge  had  oxygen,  everyone   removed   their
rebreathers. Chewbacca  dogged  the  hatch  to  the  corridor  while  Filli
centered himself at the ship's control console and activated  the  bridge's
emergency lights.

     "Gossams have longer fingers than I have," he said in the scarlet glow
of the illuminators. "This could take some time."

     "We're running short as it  is,"  Cudgel  said.  "Just  get  the  main
cannons enabled."

     Battle droids on the far side of the sealed hatch were already  trying
to pound their way onto the bridge.

     Filli went back to work, but a moment later said:  "Uh-oh."  Chewbacca
loosed a trolling roar at him.

     "Uh-oh, what?" Starstone asked.

     Abruptly  the  destroyer  lurched  and  began  to  nose  about  toward
Kashyyyk's crescent of bright side.

     "The brain wants to complete the task it was in the middle of when the
ship was shut down," Filli said.

     Starstone turned to him. "What was the task?"

     "It thinks that the Separatists are losing Kachirho.  It's  converting
itself into a giant bomb!"

     "Can't you retask it?"

     "I'm trying. It won't listen!"

     Cudgel muttered to himself, and Chewbacca  issued  a  sound  that  was
somewhere between a growl and a groan.

     "Filli!" Starstone said sharply. "Let the brain think what  it  wants.
Just assign it a new target."

     His blank stare yielded slowly to a grin of comprehension. "Can do."

     Starstone returned the smile, then glanced at  Cudgel.  "Com-link  the
Drunk Dancer to prepare to receive guests."

     48

     As soon as Jula received word that the drop  ship  and  transport  had
exited the Commerce Guild warship, she left the Drunk Dancer in the capable
hands of Brudi Gayn and Eyl  Dix  and  headed  for  the  docking  bay.  Her
eagerness sabotaged by the lightsaber gash she had  suffered  on  Alderaan,
she moved slowly and  carefully,  arriving  just  as  the  two  craft  were
drifting through the hatch. Forewarned that both were carrying injured, she
had ordered the ship's med droids to rendezvous with her there.

     Forewarned.

     But not thoroughly enough to prepare her for  the  number  of  wounded
evacuees who hobbled from the ships, Wookiees  squeezing  out  like  circus
performers from an absurdly cramped vehicle, and  many  of  them  in  grave
condition.

     As for the jedi, only five of the original  seven  had  survived,  and
just barely, from the look of them. Jambe Lu, Nam Poorf,  and  Klossi  Anno
especially were in a lot worse shape than when they had first  come  aboard
the Drunk Dancer, weeks earlier.

     Even  the  ship's  med  droids  were   dismayed.   "This   may   prove
overwhelming, Captain," one of them said from behind Jula.

     "Do all you can," she told the droid.

     It was an unnerving sight, however, and she felt a bit  panicked.  But
the tears she had been holding back  since  learning  of  Roan's  sacrifice
didn't gush forth until she set eyes on Filli  and  Starstone.  Seeing  her
standing distraught, crying into the palms of her hands, Starstone  hurried
over to wrap her in a comforting embrace.

     Jula allowed herself to be held  for  a  long  moment.  But  when  she
finally stepped out of the embrace, she saw that  Starstone's  checks  were
slick with tears, and that only got her crying again.  Gently  she  stroked
the young woman's face.

     "What happened to avoiding attachment?" Jula said, sniffling.

     Starstone backhanded tears from her checks. "I've lost the  skill.  It
doesn't seem to fit well with the Emperor's New Order,  anyway."  She  held
Jula's searching gaze. "Your son saved our lives. We tried to go  back  for
him, but..."

     Jula averted her eyes. "Someone had to try to stop Vader."

     "I don't know that Vader can be stopped," Starstone said.

     Jula nodded. "Maybe if I'd raised Roan, he wouldn't have turned out to
be so stubborn." She frowned in distress. "Some people can't be talked  out
of being a hero."

     "Or a jedi."

     Jula nodded. "That's what I meant."

     Starstone smiled sadly, then turned to regard a Wookiee and a  bearded
human who were standing at the  foot  of  the  transport's  boarding  ramp,
speaking with Filli, Archyr, and Skeck. Taking Jula by the hand,  Starstone
led her over to the unlikely pair, whom she  introduced  as  Chewbacca  and
Cudgel.

     Clearly in distress, the Wookiee was leaning against the ship, resting
his head on his folded arms, and slamming his paws against the hull.

     "We saw Chewbacca's tree-city in flames," Cudgel  explained.  "There's
no way to know whether his family escaped in time."

     "I promised him the transport," Starstone told Jula.

     Jula looked at Cudgel. "We'll get it refueled as quickly-"

     "No need," Cudgel cut her off. "Chewie knows that it's  too  late.  He
figures he can do more for his people as a fugitive  than  he  could  as  a
captive."

     The Wookiee affirmed it with a melancholy roar.

     "You're speaking for all of us, Chewbacca," Starstone said.

     "So," Cudgel continued, "we're wondering, Chewie and I,  if  we  could
ride out of this with you."

     Jula's comlink toned while she was nodding yes.

     "Captain, we're T-ten for the jump to hyperspace," Brudi said from the
bridge, almost casually. "Assuming everything goes according to plan."

     "Have you been able to notify the other ships?" Jula asked. "As best I
could. And I'm trusting that that Interdictor isn't eavesdropping on  every
comlink frequency."

     "See what jump options the navicomputer provides,"  Jula  said.  "I'll
join you in a moment."

     She moved away from Starstone and the others  to  gaze  at  Kashyyyk's
waning crescent of bright side. Tears streaming down her face, she said  in
a quiet voice: "I love you, Roan. I thank the Force that I got to know  you
for a time. But I'll miss you more now than I ever did."

     In command  of  the  Detainer  parked  above  Kachirho,  Captain  Ugan
normally refused to allow himself to  be  disturbed  when  he  was  on  the
bridge. But Ensign Nullip was so insistent about seeing him that he finally
granted permission for the young technician to be escorted onto the command
deck.

     A swarthy man with blunt features, Ugan remained seated in his  chair,
his dark gaze shifting between projected  holoimages  of  the  invasion  on
Kashyyyk and the viewport panorama of the planet itself.

     "Be quick about it," he warned Nullip.

     "Yes,  sir,"  the  ensign  promised.  "It's  simply  that  we've  been
monitoring some unusual readings from one of the Separatist ships that  was
left in orbit  after  the  battle  here.  Specifically,  a  Commerce  Guild
Recusant-class support destroyer. I've tried repeatedly to convince someone
in tactical to bring this to your attention, sir, but-"

     Ugan cut him off. "What makes these readings 'unusual,' Ensign?"

     "They are initiation readings, sir."  In  response  to  the  captain's
dubious look, Nullip continued: "I know, sir. I was  puzzled,  too.  That's
why I took it upon myself to check  the  scanner  recordings.  Much  to  my
surprise, sir, I learned that the destroyer's central control computer  had
been remotely enabled to run a diagnostic, and then to bring several of the
ship's systems online."

     When Ugan's expression of  perplexity  deepened,  Nullip  activated  a
small holoplate he had placed on the palm  of  his  right  hand.  A  grainy
recording shone from the device.

     "You can see two craft entering  the  destroyer,  just  here,  at  the
forward  most  docking  bays."  Nullip's  forefinger   fast-forwarded   the
recording. "Here, you can see the craft  leaving.  We're  still  trying  to
determine their destination."

     Ugan glanced from the recording to Nullip. "Salvagers?"

     "That was my first thought, sir. But, in fact, when the craft  exited,
the destroyer itself was in motion."

     Ugan stared at him. "In motion? What's its heading?"

     "That's just it, sir. It's heading toward us." Turning to the  forward
viewports, Nullip  indicated  a  dark  shape  moving  through  the  greater
darkness. "Just there, you see?"

     Ugan  swiveled  to  an  officer  at  the  tactical  duty  station.  "A
Separatist ship is approaching our port side. Scan it, immediately!" Rising
from his chair, he walked to the viewport, Nullip a step behind him.

     "Captain," the tactical officer  said,  "the  ship  is  a  Confederacy
droid-piloted support destroyer-"

     "I already know that!" Ugan said, whirling around. "Does it  pose  any
risk to us?"

     "Checking, sir."

     The officer spent a  moment  studying  the  duty  station's  array  of
display screens, then turned toward Ugan, ashen-faced.

     "Captain, the destroyer's main reactor is  in  critical  failure.  The
ship is effectively a massive bomb!"

     49

     Shryne sprawled in the wroshyr's cavernous opening, the  wind  tugging
at his clothing, blood trickling from the corners  of  his  mouth,  clearly
struggling with the revelation he had been granted.

     Vader stood over him, his right  hand  resting  on  the  hilt  of  the
lightsaber, though he had no intention of drawing it from his  belt  again.
One strong gust could topple Shryne to his final resting place.

     It is enough to let him die knowing that the order was betrayed by one
of its own.

     More important, Vader's bloodlust had been appeased; replaced by self-
possession of a sort he had never before experienced. It was as if  he  had
crossed some invisible threshold to a new world. He could feel the power of
the dark side surging through him like an icy torrent. He felt invulnerable
in a way that had nothing to do with his durasteel prostheses, his suit  of
armor and gadgets, which now seemed little more than an outfit. And it  had
taken a Jedi-yet another Jedi-to usher him over that threshold.

     He gazed down at Shryne, emblematic of the  defeated  Jedi  order,  as
Obi-Wan should have been. He recalled the way Dooku had gazed down  at  him
on Geonosis, and the way Anakin had gazed down at Dooku  in  the  General's
quarters aboard the Invisible Hand.

     Someday he would gaze down at Sidious in the same way. After  he  took
an apprentice, perhaps. Someone with the same rebellious spirit that Shryne
demonstrated.

     Shryne coughed weakly. "What are you waiting for, Skywalker? Strike me
down. You're only killing a Jedi."

     Vader planted his fists on his hips. "Then you do accept the truth."

     "I accept that you and Palpatine are a perfect match-"  Shryne  began,
when without warning an immense explosion turned  a  small  region  of  the
western sky bright  as  day.  Eclipsing  stars,  a  roiling  ball  of  fire
blossomed high over Kashyyyk, expanding and expanding until the  vacuum  of
space suffocated it.

     When Vader looked at Shryne again, the Jedi appeared to be grinning.

     "Would that be one of your ships? Your Interdictor cruiser, maybe?" He
coughed blood and a laugh. "They've escaped you again, haven't they "

     "If so, they will be found, and killed."

     Shryne's expression suddenly changed, from smug to almost rapturous.

     "I've seen this," he uttered, mostly to himself. "I envisioned this...
"

     Vader pressed closer to hear him. "Your death, you mean."

     "An explosion bright  as  a  star,"  Shryne  said.  "A  forest  world,
intrepid defenders, escaping ships, and... you, I  think,  somehow  at  the
center of it all." His bloodstained lips formed themselves into  a  sublime
smile, and a tear ran from his right eye. "Skywalker, it  won't  matter  if
you find them. It won't matter if you find and kill every Jedi who survived
Order Sixty-Six. I understand now... the Force will never die."

     Vader was still gazing  down  at  Shryne's  inert  body  when  several
stormtroopers emerged from one of the Wookiees'  ingenious  turbolifts  and
hurried over to him.

     "Lord Vader," the officer among them said. "The Interdictor positioned
over Kachirho has been destroyed. As a result, hundreds of evacuation ships
succeeded in jumping to hyperspace."

     Vader nodded. "Inform the group commanders that they are  to  continue
their orbital bombardment," he said angrily. "I want every Wookiee  flushed
out of hiding, even if that means burning these forests to the ground!"

     EPILOGUE

     TWO THERE SHOULD BE; NO MORE NO LESS.

     ONE TO EMBODY POWER, THE OTHER TO CRAVE IT.

     - DARTH BANE

     50

     A half-life-size holoimage of Wilhuff Tarkin shone  from  one  of  the
cone-shaped holoprojectors that studded the lustrous floor  of  the  throne
room.

     "The planet suffered more damage that I might have  anticipated,"  the
Moff was saying, "especially given the military resources I placed at  Lord
Vader's disposal. Although I  suppose  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  by  the
Wookiees' intractability."

     The Emperor gestured negligently. "What is one world,  more  or  less,
when the galaxy is being reordered?"

     Tarkin took a moment to reply. "I will bear that in mind, my lord."

     "What of the Wookiees themselves?"

     "Some two hundred thousand were rounded up and placed  in  containment
camps on the Wawaatt Archipelago."

     "Can you accommodate that many?"

     "We could accommodate twice that number."

     "I see," the Emperor said. "Then you have my permission  to  transport
the slaves to the weapon."

     "Thank you, my lord."

     "Be certain to inform the regional governor of  your  activities,  but
make no mention of the Wookiees' final destination. Oh, and see to it, Moff
Tarkin, that you cover your tracks well. Questions are already being asked.
" The Emperor paused, then  leaned  forward  to  add:  "I  don't  want  any
problems."

     Tarkin inclined his head in a bow. "I appreciate the need  for  utmost
secrecy, my lord."

     "Good." The Emperor sat back. "And, tell me, what is your  opinion  of
Lord Vader's handling of the occupation of Kashyyyk?"

     "He proved very capable, my lord. No one  involved  in  the  operation
will soon forget his... sense of commitment, shall we say?"

     "Do the fleet commanders concur with your assessment?" Tarkin  stroked
his high-cheekboned face. "May I speak candidly?"

     "I suggest you make it a practice, Moff Tarkin."

     "The commanders are not pleased. They don't know  who  Lord  Vader  is
under his mask and armor. They have no inkling of the true  extent  of  his
power, or how he came to be your liaison with the  regional  governors  and
the fledgling Imperial Navy. There are rumors, my lord."

     "Continue to speak freely."

     "Some are convinced that Lord Vader is a former Jedi who assisted  you
in your counterstrike against the order. Others  believe  that  he  was  an
apprentice of the late Count Dooku."

     "Who is spreading these rumors?"

     "From what I have been able to ascertain, the rumors began  among  the
special ops legions that attacked and secured the Jedi Temple. If you wish,
my lord, I could pursue the matter further."

     "No, Tarkin," the Emperor said. "Let the rumors persist. And  let  the
regional governors and naval officers think what they will of  Lord  Vader.
His identity shouldn't concern them. I am interested only in their  obeying
his commands, as they would mine."

     "If nothing else, my lord, they understand that  much.  Word  of  what
happened at Kashyyyk is spreading quickly through the ranks."

     "As I knew it would."

     "Tarkin nodded. "My lord, I wonder if I might call on Lord  Vader's...
expertise from time to time, if only  in  the  interest  of  enhancing  his
reputation among the fleet commanders."

     "You may, indeed. Both you and Lord Vader  will  profit  from  such  a
partnership. When the battle station is  completed,  your  responsibilities
will be manifold. Lord Vader will relieve you of the need to oversee  every
matter personally."

     "I look forward to that day, my lord." Tarkin bowed once more, and the
holoimage disappeared.

     Sidious was pleased. Vader had done well. He had sensed the change  in
him, even in the brief conversation they had had following  the  events  on
Kashyyyk. Now that Vader had begun to tap deeply into the power of the dark
side, his true apprenticeship could begin. The Jedi were incidental to him.
He was covetous of the power Sidious wielded, and  believed  that  one  day
they would be equals.

     You must begin by gaining power over yourself; then  another;  then  a
group, an order, a world, a species, a group  of  species...  finally,  the
galaxy itself.

     Sidious could still hear Darth Plagueis lecturing him.

     Envy, hatred, betrayal... They were essential to  mastering  the  dark
side, but only as a means of distancing oneself from all common notions  of
morality in the interest of a higher goal. Only when Sidious had understood
this fully had he acted on it, killing his Master while he slept.

     Unlike Plagueis, Sidious knew better than to sleep.

     More important, by the time Vader was capable of becoming  a  risk  to
his Mastery, Sidious would be fully conversant with  the  secrets  Plagueis
had spent a lifetime seeking-the power of life over death. There  would  be
no need to fear Vader. No real reason to  have  an  apprentice,  except  to
honor the tradition Darth Bane had resurrected a millennium earlier.

     The ancient Sith had been utter fools to believe that power  could  be
shared by thousands.

     The power of the dark side should be shared only by two; one to embody
it, the other to crave it.

     Vader's transformation meant that Sidious, too, was able to focus once
more on important matters. With Vader  in  his  place,  Sidious  could  now
devote himself to intensifying  his  authority  over  the  Senate  and  the
outlying star systems, and to rooting out and vanquishing any who  posed  a
threat to the Empire.

     He had brought peace to the galaxy. Now he meant to rule it as he  saw
fit-with a hand as  strong  and  durable  as  one  of  Vader's  prostheses.
Crushing any opponents who rose up. Instilling fear in any who  thought  to
obstruct or thwart him.

     Vader would prove to be a powerful apprentice, at least until  a  more
suitable one was found.

     And a powerful weapon, as well, at least until a more  power-fill  one
was readied...

     For some time, Sidious sat, musing on the future; then he  called  for
Sate Pestage to join him in the throne room.

     The time had come to give the rest of  the  galaxy  a  look  at  Darth
Vader.

     51

     Oh, Bail, Breha, what a precious child," Mon  Mothma  said  while  she
rocked Leia in her arms. "And such a feisty one!" she added a moment  later
as Leia worked one arm, then the other,  out  from  under  her  swaddlings,
curled her hands into tiny fists, and let out a wail  that  echoed  in  the
palace's great room. "Ah, you want your mom and dad,  don't  you,  Princess
Leia?"

     Queen Breha was already hurrying over to relieve Mon Mothma of  a  now
gesticulating and kicking Leia.

     "That's her feed-me cry," Breha said. "If you'll excuse me, Senator...
"

     "Of course, Your Majesty," Mon Mothma said, rising to  her  feet.  She
watched Breha leave the room, then swung to Bail, who  was  seated  by  the
room's gaping fireplace. "I'm so happy for the two of you."

     "We couldn't be happier ourselves," Bail said.

     He wished he could tell Mon Mothma the truth about the child  she  had
just held in her arms, but he couldn't risk it;  not  yet,  perhaps  never.
Particularly with "Darth Vader" on the loose.

     Picking up on Bail's moment of introspection, Mon Mothma  returned  to
her chair and adopted a more serious look.

     "I hope you understand why I couldn't trust this conversation  to  the
usual means, Bail," she said. "Are we secure here?"

     "Of course, I understand. And yes, we can speak freely here."

     Mon Mothma closed her eyes briefly and shook her head in dismay. "Most
of the Senate is actually  willing  to  accept  that  Fang  Zar  was  under
suspicion for committing acts of sedition on Coruscant, and that he came to
Alderaan only to rally anti-Imperial sentiment."

     Bail nodded. "I've heard the reports. There's no truth to any of them.
He was fleeing for his life."

     "Has Palpatine remarked on the fact that you granted him refuge?"

     "I honestly didn't know that he'd been questioned by Internal Security
and ordered to remain on Coruscant. When Palpatine's... agents told  me  as
much, I said I would grant him diplomatic immunity  if  he  asked  for  it-
though I doubt he would have asked, knowing that Alderaan would suffer  the
repercussions."

     "Even so, Palpatine's silence is curious." She looked  hard  at  Bail.
"Perhaps he's trusting that you won't reveal the truth about what  went  on
here."

     Bail nodded in agreement. "Something like that. Although it could work
to our long-term advantage to have him believe that I'm willing to  support
even his lies."

     Mon Mothma compressed her lips in doubt. "That's  probably  true.  But
I'm concerned about the message your silence sends to  our  allies  in  the
Senate. Sern Prime is in an uproar over this incident. The  president-elect
has threatened to recall the entire delegation from Coruscant.  This  could
provide just the impetus we need."

     Bail stood up and paced away from his chair. "Palpatine wanted to make
an example of Fang Zar. He won't hesitate to make an example of  Sem  Prime
itself, if the president-elect isn't careful."

     "How did Zar die?" Mon Mothma said, watching him pace.

     "Vader," Bail said sharply.

     Mon Mothma shook her head in ignorance. "Who is Vader? One  of  Armand
Isard's agents?"

     Bail finally sat down, resting his elbows on his  knees.  "Worse,  far
worse. He's Palpatine's right hand."

     Mon Mothma's expression of uncertainty  intensified.  "Closer  to  him
than Pestage?"

     Bail nodded. "Closer to Palpatine than any of them."

     "Out of the blue? I mean, how is it that none of us encountered  Vader
before now?"

     Bail grasped for words that would reveal enough, without revealing too
much. "He... came to prominence during the war. He wields a lightsaber."

     Mon Mothma's eyes widened in surprise.

     "No, he's not a Jedi," Bail said, before she could ask. "His blade  is
crimson."

     "What does the color have to do with anything?"

     "He's a Sith. A member of the same ancient order to which Dooku  swore
allegiance."

     Mon Mothma loosed a fatigued exhalation. "I've never understood any of
this, about the Siths' involvement in the war."

     "You only need to understand that Vader  is  Palpatine's  executioner.
He's powerful almost beyond belief." Bail studied his hands. "Fang Zar  was
not the first person to feel the wrath of Vader's blade."

     "Then Vader is all the more reason for us to act while  there's  still
time," Mon Mothma said in a forceful voice. "Palpatine's plan to kill a few
to instill fear in the rest is already working. Half the signatories of the
Petition of the Two Thousand are all but recanting the demands we issued. I
understand that you want to honor  Padme  Amidala's  advice  to  you  about
biding our time. But what did she know,  really?  She  supported  Palpatine
almost to the very end.

     "Bail, he's assembling a vast navy. Half the budget is  going  to  the
production  of  these  enormous  new  Star  Destroyers.  He's  having   new
stormtroopers grown. And that's not the worst of it. The Finance  Committee
can't even account for some of the spending. Rumor has  it  that  Palpatine
has some secret project in the works."

     She fell silent, then continued in a quieter tone. "Think hack to what
happened three years ago. If  it  wasn't  for  the  secret  army  the  Jedi
created, the Republic wouldn't have had a hope of defending itself  against
Dooku's Confederacy. Granted, Palpatine took advantage of the situation  to
crown himself Emperor. But consider what's happening now. We don't have  an
army of insurgents waiting in the wings, and we'll never  have  one  if  we
don't begin to marshal support.  Palpatine's  military  will  rule  by  the
sword. He'll do as he wishes, whatever he wishes, in the  name  of  keeping
the Empire intact. Don't you see?"

     The question hung in the air, but only for a moment.

     Raymus Antilles appeared  in  the  wide  doorway  to  say:  "Senators,
there's something the two of you need to see."

     Antilles hastened to the HoloNet receiver and switched it on.

     ... At this moment, details remain sketchy," a celebrated  commentator
was saying, "but reliable  sources  have  stated  that  the  Wookiees  were
allowing a band of rogue Jedi to use Kashyyyk as a base for  rebel  strikes
against the Empire. The police action is believed  to  have  begun  with  a
demand that the Jedi be surrendered. Instead, the  Wookiees  resisted,  and
the result was a battle that left tens of  thousands  dead,  including  the
Jedi insurgents, and perhaps hundreds of thousands imprisoned."

     Bail and Mon Mothma traded looks of astonishment.

     "On Coruscant," the commentator continued, "Kashyyyk Senator Yarua and
the members of his delegation were placed under  house  arrest  before  any
statements could be issued. But on the  minds  of  many  just  now  is  the
identity of this person, captured by holocam on a landing platform normally
reserved for the Emperor himself."

     "Vader," Bail said, on seeing the tall  figure  in  black,  leading  a
cadre of stormtroopers into the Emperor's building.

     "HoloNet News has learned that he is known in the highest  circles  as
Lord Vader," the commentator said. "Beyond that, almost nothing  is  known,
save for the fact that he led the action on Kashyyyk.

     "Is he human? Clone? The Emperor's own General Grievous? No one  seems
to know, but everyone wants to-"

     "Switch it off," Bail said to Antilles.

     "Kashyyyk," Mon Mothma said in incredulity. She ran her hands down her
face and stared at Bail. "We're too late. A dark time has begun."

     Bail didn't respond  immediately.  Into  the  silence  stepped  Breha,
holding Leia against her  shoulder,  and  into  Bail's  rattled  mind  came
thoughts of Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Leia's twin brother, Luke.

     "All the more reason to keep hope hidden," he said softly.

     52

     The Drunk Dancer was home, parked in the cold gloom, light-years  from
any inhabited systems. This far from  the  Core,  HoloNet  broadcasts  were
standard days, sometimes weeks,  behind  and  always  degraded,  but  clear
enough just now for  Starstone,  Jula,  and  everyone  else-Jedi  and  crew
members alike-to identify the bodies of Iwo Kulka and Siadem Forte.

     ... All the  Jedi  who  took  part  in  the  battle  were  killed,"  a
correspondent was saying when Starstone asked Filli to  mute  the  recorded
feed. Everyone had already seen the original reports, which had since  been
embellished with exaggerations and outright lies.

     Gazing around the cabin space at Jambe, Nam, Derail Nalual, and Klossi
Anno, Starstone couldn't help but think that the five of them made up  what
could be thought of as the final Jedi Council. With herself  having  called
for the meeting, as master of ceremonies, without ever  having  passed  the
trials, let alone been dubbed a teacher.

     But she could remember Shryne saying on  Murkhana  that  the  war  was
trial enough for anyone.

     "What I'm about to say was already said by Master Shryne,"  she  began
at last. "He warned us that by gathering together we would make ourselves a
larger target for the Empire, and that we would end up drawing others  into
our predicament. We can't risk fomenting another Kashyyyk. The Empire  will
have to come up with justifications that don't  rely  on  the  presence  of
Jedi.

     "Because there are no more Jedi.

     "That much is clear to me now, and I'll never forgive myself  for  not
having had sense enough to recognize it sooner. Maybe then I wouldn't  have
to think of what happened at Kashyyyk as further diminishing the legacy  of
the Jedi among those who never doubted that Palpatine betrayed us.  But  if
we can't be Jedi, we can at least continue to honor that legacy in our  own
way."

     Starstone looked at Chewbacca. "Just before we jumped  from  Kashyyyk,
Chewbacca said that he believed he could be of greater help to  his  people
from afar. I feel the same, and I know that some of you do, as well."

     She took a breath before continuing. "I've decided  to  remain  aboard
the Drunk Dancer with Jula, Archyr, and the rest of  this  mad  crew."  She
smiled weakly. "Chewbacca and Cudgel are also going to remain aboard for  a
time. Our priority will be to learn where so  many  of  Chewbacca's  people
were taken, and to help liberate them, if at all possible. I'm hoping  that
by finding them, we'll also be able to learn why the Empire was  so  intent
on invading Kashyyyk to begin with.

     "Along the way..." Starstone shrugged. "Along the way we're  going  to
keep our eyes open for any Jedi survivors who surface on their own, or  are
forced into the open by Imperial spies. Not to repeat the mistakes we  made
at Kashyyyk, but to get them to safety.  Gradually,  other  smugglers  will
spread word of what we're doing, and of the safe  routes  we'll  establish,
and maybe some Jedi will actually come looking for us.

     "Beyond that, we'll undermine the Empire at every opportunity, any way
that we can."

     "We're going to keep my son's memory alive," Jula said.

     The cabin fell silent for a moment.

     "I know this may sound like I've gone over to  the  enemy,"  Jambe  Lu
said, "but I plan to sign up with a flight school  somewhere,  and  try  to
finagle my way into one of the Imperial academies. Once inside,  I'm  going
to foster whatever dissent I can."

     "We have something similar in mind," Nam said, speaking  for  himself,
Klossi Anno, and Deran  Nalual.  "But  by  getting  ourselves  attached  to
Imperial agricultural or construction projects, and engineering what  flaws
we can into the Empire's designs."

     Starstone's eyes brightened.

     "I trust that all of you understand there can be no contact among  us-
ever again. That's going to be the hardest part for me." She sighed deeply.
"I guess I've grown attached to all of you. But I'm certain of  this  much:
Palpatine's Empire will rot from the inside  out,  and  eventually  someone
will cast him from his throne. I only hope that all  of  us  are  alive  to
witness that day."

     She drew her lightsaber from her belt. "We need  to  say  good-bye  to
these, as well." She ignited the blade briefly, then summoned it back  into
the hilt and placed it at her feet on the deck.

     Regarding everyone, she said: "May the Force be with all of us."

     53

     Lord Vader," the gunnery officer said, nodding his head in  salute  as
Vader passed by his station.

     "Lord Vader," the communications officer  said,  saluting  in  similar
fashion.

     "Lord Vader," the Exactor's captain said, in crisp acknowledgment.

     Vader continued on to the end of bridge walkway, thinking: This is how
I will be greeted from now on, wherever I set foot.

     Standing at the forward viewports,  he  scanned  the  stars  with  his
reconstructed eyes.

     He had guardianship of all this, or at least joint custody of it.  The
Jedi no longer mattered; they were  no  different  from  others  who  would
interfere with his and Sidious's  realm.  Their  mission  was  to  maintain
order, so that the dark side could continue to reign supreme.

     Anakin was gone; a memory so  deeply  buried  he  might  have  dreamed
rather than lived it. The Force as Anakin knew it was  interred  with  him,
and inseparable from him.

     Just as Sidious promised, he was now married to the order of the Sith,
and needed no other companion than the dark side of the Force. He  embraced
all that he had done to bring balance to  the  Force,  by  dismantling  the
corrupt Republic and toppling the Jedi, and he reveled  in  his  power.  It
could all be his, anything he wished. He needed only the  determination  to
take it, at whatever cost to those who stood in his way.

     But...

     He was also married to Sidious, who doled out precious  bits  of  Sith
technique  as  if  merely  lending  them-just  enough   to   increase   his
apprentice's power, without making him supremely powerful.

     There would come a day, however, when they would be equals.

     He scanned the stars, looking forward to a time when he could find  an
apprentice of his own and, together with that  one,  topple  Darth  Sidious
from his throne.

     It gave him something to live for.

     54

     Another glass, stranger?" the cantina owner asked Obi-Wan Kenobi.

     "What will it cost me?"

     "Ten credits for refills."

     "That's as much as a shot of one of your imported brandies."

     "The price of staying hydrated on Tatooine, my friend. Yes or no?"

     Obi-Wan nodded. "Fill it."

     Gathered by the cantina's single moisture  vaporator,  the  water  was
somewhat cloudy and had a metallic taste, but it was of  a  higher  quality
than that gathered by Obi-Wan's own vaporator. If he was to survive in  the
hovel he had found, he would  need  to  have  the  vaporator  repaired,  or
somehow obtain a newer one from the Jawa traders  who  occasionally  passed
through the region he now called home.

     If it hadn't been for the kindness of the maroon-cloaked creatures, he
would still be walking to Anchorhead rather than sitting in the scant shade
of the cantina's veranda, sipping water. A wind-scoured settlement close to
Tatooine's Western Dune Sea, Anchorhead was little more than a trading post
frequented by the moisture farmers who made up the Great  Chott  salt  flat
community, or by merchants traveling between Mos Eisley and Wayfar, in  the
south. Anchorhead had a small resident population, a dozen or so  pourstone
stores, and two small cantinas. But it  was  known  mainly  for  the  power
generator located at the edge of town.

     Named for its owner, Tosche Station supplied energy  to  the  moisture
farms and served as a recharge depot  for  the  farmers'  landspeeders  and
other repulsorlift vehicles. The station also boasted a hyperwave repeater,
which-when it functioned-received HoloNet feeds relayed from Naboo,  Rodia,
and, occasionally, Nal Hutta, in Hutt space.

     Tosche  was  working  today,  and  The  Weary  Traveler's  handful  of
afternoon customers were catching up on news  and  the  outcome  of  sports
events that had taken place standard weeks earlier.  Obi-Wan-known  locally
as Ben-had taken possession of an abandoned home on a bluff in the Jundland
Wastes. He glanced at the HoloNet display from time to time, but the  focus
of his interest was a provisions store across the street from the cantina.

     In the months since he had arrived on Tatooine his hair and beard  had
grown quickly, and his face and hands had turned nut  brown.  In  his  soft
boots and long robe, its cowl raised over his head, no one would have taken
him for a former Jedi, let alone a Master who had sat on the High  Council.
In any case, Tatooine wasn't a world where questions were asked.  Residents
wondered, and they gossiped and theorized, but they rarely  inquired  about
the reasons that brought strangers to remote  Tatooine.  Coupled  with  the
fact that the world was still largely under the  sway  of  the  Hutts,  the
prevailing frontier etiquette had made Tatooine  a  refuge  for  criminals,
smugglers, and outlaws from star systems galaxywide.

     Many of the locals were just learning that the former Republic was now
an Empire, and most of them didn't care one way or another. Tatooine was on
the fringe, and fringe worlds might as well have been invisible to  distant
Coruscant.

     Months earlier, when he and Anakin had been in pursuit of  clues  they
had hoped would lead them to Darth Sidious, Obi-Wan had told Anakin that he
could think of far worse places to live than Tatooine, and  he  still  felt
that way. He took in stride the ubiquitous sand that had so rankled Anakin.
Tatooine's double-sunset skies were always a marvel to behold.

     And the isolation suited him.

     All the more because Anakin had been subverted by Palpatine and, for a
brief time, had served this new Emperor.

     Given everything that had happened since, the one image  Obi-Wan  knew
he would never be able to erase from his memory was  that  of  Anakin-Darth
Vader, as Sidious had dubbed him-kneeling in allegiance to the  Dark  Lord,
after having gone on a murderous spree in the Jedi Temple. If there  was  a
second image, it was of Anakin burning on the shore of  one  of  Mustafar's
lava flows, cursing him.

     Had he been wrong  to  let  Anakin  die  there?  Could  he  have  been
redeemed, as Padme had believed to the  last?  These  were  questions  that
plagued him, and pained him more deeply than he  would  ever  have  thought
possible.

     And now, all these months later, here he  was  on  Tatooine,  Anakin's
homeworld, watching over Anakin's infant son, Luke.  Obi-Wan's  reason  for
living.

     Watching from afar, at any rate. Today was as close as he had come  to
the child in weeks. Just across the street, Luke sat  in  a  front  carrier
worn by Beru while she purchased sugar and blue milk; neither she  nor  her
husband, Owen, was aware of Obi-Wan's presence on the cantina veranda,  his
vigilant though covert gaze.

     As Obi-Wan brought the water glass to his mouth and sipped, a  HoloNet
news report  caught  his  ear  and  he  swung  to  the  cantina's  display,
simultaneous with a torrent of static that interrupted the feed.

     "What was she saying?" Obi-Wan asked a human seated two tables away.

     "Band of Jedi were killed on Kashyyyk," the man said.  Close  to  Obi-
Wan's age, he wore utilities of the sort affected by docking bay workers in
Mos Eisley spaceport.

     Had the HoloNet reporter been  referring  to  Jedi  who  had  been  on
Kashyyyk with Yoda

     No, Obi-Wan realized when the feed suddenly returned. The reporter was
talking about more recent events! About Jedi  who  had  obviously  survived
Order Sixty-Six and been discovered on Kashyyyk!

     He continued to listen, growing colder and colder inside.

     The Empire had accused Kashyyyk of plotting rebellion... Thousands  of
Wookiees had died; hundreds of thousands more had been imprisoned...

     Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. He and Yoda had recalibrated
the Temple beacon to warn surviving Jedi away from  Coruscant.  What  could
the ones discovered on Kashyyyk have been thinking, banding  together  like
that, drawing attention to themselves instead of going to  ground  as  they
had been ordered to do? Did they think they could gather enough strength to
go after Palpatine?

     Of course they did, Obi-Wan realized.

     They hadn't realized that Palpatine had manipulated the  war;  that  a
Sith occupied the throne; that like everyone else, the Jedi had  failed  to
grasp a truth that should have been evident years earlier: the Republic had
never been worth fighting for.

     The ideals of democracy hadn't been stamped out by Palpatine. The Jedi
had carried out missions  of  dubious  merit  for  any  number  of  Supreme
Chancellors, but always in the name of safeguarding peace and justice. What
they had failed to understand was that  the  Senate,  the  Coruscanti,  the
citizens of countless world and  star  systems,  grown  weary  of  the  old
system, had allowed democracy to die. And in a galaxy where  the  goal  was
single-minded control from the top,  and  wherein  the  end  justified  the
means, the Jedi had no place.

     That had been the final revenge of the Sith.

     When Obi-Wan lifted his gaze, the intermittently garbled  HoloNet  was
displaying an image of someone outfitted in what almost seemed a costume of
head-to-toe black. Human or humanoid-the being's species wasn't  mentioned-
the masked Imperial had apparently played  a  role  in  tracking  down  and
executing  the  "insurrectionist"  Jedi,  and   enslaving   their   Wookiee
confederates.

     The burst of static that accompanied the  reporter's  mention  of  the
figure's identity might have surged from Obi-Wan's brain. Still chilled  by
the earlier announcement about the Jedi, he was  now  paralyzed  by  sudden
dread.

     He couldn't have heard what he thought he heard!

     He whirled to the spaceport worker. "What did she say? Who is that?"

     "Lord Vader," the man said, all but into his glass of brandy.

     Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, that's not possible!"

     "You didn't ask if I thought it was possible, sand man. You  asked  me
what she said."

     Obi-Wan stood up in a daze, knocking over his  table.  "Hey,  take  it
easy, friend," the man said, rising.

     "Vader," Obi-Wan muttered. "Vader's alive."

     The cantina's other customers turned to regard him.

     "Get a hold of yourself," the man told Obi-Wan under  his  breath.  He
called for the cantina owner. "Pour him a drink-a real one. And put  it  on
my tab." Righting the table, he urged

     Obi-Wan back into his chair and lowered himself onto an adjoining one.

     The cantina owner brought the drink and set it down in front  of  Obi-
Wan. "Is he all right?"

     "He's fine," the man from Mos Eisley said. "Aren't you, friend?"

     Obi-Wan nodded. "Heatstroke."

     The cantina owner seemed satisfied. "I'll bring you some more water."

     Obi-Wan's new friend waited until they were alone to say, "You  really
all right?"

     Obi-Wan nodded again. "Really."

     The man adopted a conspiratorial voice. "You want to remain all right,
you'll keep your voice down  about  Vader,  understand?  You'll  keep  from
asking questions about him, too. Even in this Force-forsaken place."

     Obi-Wan studied him. "What do you know about him?"

     "Just this: I have a  friend,  a  trader  in  hardwoods,  who  was  on
Kashyyyk when the  Imperials  launched  their  attack  on  a  place  called
Kachirho. I guess he was lucky to get his ship raised and  jumped.  But  he
claims he got a glimpse of this guy Vader, ripping into Wookiees like  they
were stuffed toys, and going to lightsabers with the Jedi who were onworld.
" The spaceport worker glanced furtively around the cantina.  "This  Vader,
he toasted Kashyyyk, friend. From what  my  friend  says,  it'll  be  years
before a piece of wroshyr goes up the well."

     "And the Wookiees?" Obi-Wan said.

     The stranger shrugged  forlornly.  "Anyone's  guess."  Placing  a  few
credits on the table, he stood up. "Take care  of  yourself.  These  desert
wastes aren't as remote as you may think they are."

     When the water arrived, Obi-Wan downed it in a  gulp,  shouldered  his
rucksack, and left the cool shade of the veranda for  the  harsh  light  of
Anchorhead's principal street. He moved in a daze that  had  little  to  do
with the glare or the heat.

     As impossible as it seemed,  Anakin  had  survived  Mustafar  and  had
resumed the Sith title of Darth Vader.  How  could  Obi-Wan  have  been  so
foolish as to bring Luke here, of all worlds? Anakin's homeworld, the grave
of his mother, the home of his only family members...

     Obi-Wan gripped the lightsaber he  carried  under  his  robe.  Had  he
driven Anakin deeper into the dark side by abandoning him on Mustafar?

     Could he face Anakin again?

     Could he kill him this time?

     From the far side of the street, he shadowed Owen  and  Beru  as  they
moved from store to store, stocking up on  staples.  Should  he  warn  them
about Vader? Should he take Luke away from them and hide  him  on  an  even
more remote world in the Outer Rim?

     His fear began to mount. His and Yoda's hopes for the future,  dashed,
just as the Chosen One had dashed the Jedi's hopes of bringing  balance  to
the Force...

     Obi-Wan.

     He came to an abrupt halt. It was a voice he hadn't  heard  in  years,
speaking to him not through his ears, but directly into his thoughts.

     "Qui-Gon!" he said. "Master!" Realizing that the locals  were  quickly
going to brand him a madman if they heard him talking to himself, he ducked
into the narrow alley between two stores. "Master, is Darth Vader  Anakin?"
he asked after a moment.

     Yes. Although the Anakin you and I knew  is  imprisoned  by  the  dark
side.

     "I was wrong to leave him on Mustafar. I should have made sure he  was
dead."

     The Force will determine Anakin's future. Obi-Wan: Luke  must  not  be
told that Vader is his father until the  time  is  right.  "Should  I  take
further steps to hide Luke?"

     The core of Anakin that resides in Vader grasps that Tatooine  is  the
source of nearly everything that causes him pain. Vader will never set foot
on Tatooine, if only out of fear of reawakening Anakin.

     Obi-Wan exhaled in relief. "Then my obligation is unchanged. But  from
what Yoda told me, I know that I have much to learn, Master."

     You were always that way, Obi-Wan.

     Qui-Gon's  voice  faded,  and  Obi-Wan's  fears  began  to  dissipate,
replaced by renewed expectation.

     Returning to the dazzling light of Tatooine's twin suns, he caught  up
with Owen, Beru, and Luke,  and  kept  silent  watch  over  them  for  what
remained of the day.