enormous space battle.
New Republic warships had appeared unexpectedly, firing and firing upon
the Shadow Academy. But then came the newly arrived fleet of Second
Imperium ships, cobbled-together Star Destroyers, Imperial battle
cruisers assembled from leftover pieces in reclaimed shipyards. The new
fleet used the computer systems, hyperdrives, and turbolaser batteries
that Qorl himself had helped to acquire.
But seeing the Second Imperium's ships filled him with a sense of
dismay. The new fleet lacked the grandeur and impressive presence of the
original Imperial armada.
Qorl had flown on the Death Star, served as part of Grand Moff Tarkin's
Imperial Starfleet.
This new fighting force looked somewhat . . . desperate-as if people
whose dreams stretched far beyond their resources had leaped into the
fray.
Qorl saw the Second Imperium ships pounding the Rebel rescue fleet-but
as he watched, the tide turned and clusters of nondescript ships
attacked the Star Destroyers.
Then the Star Destroyers'defensive shields
^ suddenly and inexplicably went down, as if their own computers had
switched them off.
As if they had agreed to surrender!
Rebel battle cruisers fired into the opening at full strength, ripping
great gashes in the hulls of the new Star Destroyers. M%at was going on?
Why didn't his comrades reestablish their shields?
As Qorl flew toward them, frantic to do something to help with the
fight, fresh TIE fighters streamed out of the Star Destroyers and began
to pound the Rebel ships, though they seemed no more than tiny gnats
against Ackbar's great fleet.
Qorl suddenly saw his chance to redeem himself. He had already been a
traitor to his rescuers and friends and to the Second Impezium. No
matter which choice he made, he would be cursed-he would never be able
to live with either betrayal.
At the moment, though, Qorl could join the fight on the side of the
Second Imperium and cause whatever damage he could . . .
perhaps even die fighting. He was a TIE pilot. He had trained for this.
Long ago, he had flown from the Death Star on a similar mission-and now
he would make everything right again.
Qorl powered up his laser cannons, weapons that had last been fired
against Norys's ship to stop the bully's murderous frenzy.
Qorl could now use the weapons against his assigned targets: the Rebel
Alliance.
His TIE fighter stormed into the fray from out of nowhere, firing on one
of the Corellian gunships, leaving black scorch marks as he strafed
along its side. Other TIE fighters joined him, flying in a barely
recognizable attack pattern. These fleet members were obviously
untrained, having spent very little time even in simulators. But the
chaos served the new pilots well as the ships flew around each other,
blasting and pummeling with no set goal but to cause damage.
The Rebel fleet responded with heavy turbolaser fire, lancing out in all
directions.
With a blinding glare, one of the Star Destroyers blew up, its command
turret in flames.
Another Star Destroyer went reeling, its defenses down; it turned in an
attempt to limp away. The Rebel fleet pursued, all weapons blazing.
The Second Imperium was losing. Losing!
Qorl shot after the fleeing ships. Some of the TIE fighters sped off
into space . . .
though Qorl had no idea where they intended to go. Their flagships were
destroyed and the
^ Shadow Academy was under fire. Did they intend to give up?
"Surrender is betrayal," he muttered to himself-and flew directly into
the Rebel fla ship's line of fire.
insignificant laser cannons and diving down the gullet of the beast. He
would never give up. This would be his final flash of glory.
The Rebels improved their aim-and the cross fire struck him. Qorl closed
his eyes behind his TIE helmet, expecting to vanish in a bright puff of
flame, a candle burning for his Emperor.
But the energy weapons had only managed to clip one of his engines and
damage part of his power array.
Qorl's TIE fighter spun out of control, away from the battle fleet. Even
in his crash restraints, he was thrown from side to side inside his tiny
cockpit. Qorl held on, expecting his ship to explode at any moment . . .
all the while careening farther and farther away from the continuing
space battle.
Still spinning, he saw that gravity had caught him. He was crashing
again, plummeting toward the jungle moon ofyavin. . . .
^ 9 ----------------- BRAKISS RACED HIS high-speed, one person shuttle
away from Yavin 4 and streaked back toward his precious Shadow Academy.
He punched the coded controls that would automatically open the
launch-bay doors and provide him clear passage back into the safety of
the Imperial training station.
The space battle did not concern him. It was just one other event that
had gone wrong today.
His heart still pounded from his lightsaber battle with Skywalker down
at the temple ruins. His thoughts spun, filled with the resonating words
of his former Master.
Anger and despair swirled like an uncontrollable storm through his mind,
through his emotions.
Every method he knew failed to bring his thoughts back to the cold,
quiet levels he required to draw on his fullest powers.
^
^ Brakiss even attempted to use some of the hated calming techniques
Skywalker had shown him back in his incognito student days-but nothing
worked.
Everything was crumbling. His grandiose plans, his carefully trained
Dark Jedi, the troops of the Second Imperium-it all faltered here on the
verge of what should have been his greatest triumph, the hammer blow
that would shake the galaxy. The destruction of the Jedi academy should
have been a simple victory.
The Emperor would destroy Brakiss for this failure, but for now he could
think only that the Emperor himself remained their last hope. Their only
hope. Brakiss would accept his punishment later; for now he needed to do
everything in his power to bring about a victory.
He brought his shuttle to dock in the nearly empty bay of the Shadow
Academy, where not long ago rows of TIE fighters and TIE bombers had
prepared for battle.
Tamith Kai had launched her armored battle platform, riding down from
orbit with her stormtroopers and Zekles squad of dark warriors. They had
been proud, confident, sure of crushing the hght-side Jedi. . . .
Brakiss climbed stiffly out of his shuttle, ^ straightening his silvery
robes, trying unsuccessfully to regain his dignity. Not wanting to be
without a Jedi blade, he armed himself from a weapons alcove in the wall
with another of the mass-produced lightsahers.
But how could he defend himself? He had seen Tamith Kai's battle
platform plunge into the river, a flaming hulk of molten slag.
Zekles Dark Jedi had been routed, the TIE fighter squadrons mostly
destroyed-and now Brakiss watched the Second Imperium's powerful new
fleet being trounced by Rebel battleships that had appeared out of
nowhere and had somehow deactivated the Imperial shields!
Brakiss strode out of the docking bay into the near-deserted Shadow
Academy. All capable troops had been sent to the surface.
Only a few command teams remained here to keep the Imperial station
secure.
The sterile corridors should have been hosting a victory celebration,
but instead the place seemed like a tomb, an abandoned derelict. The
Emperor must find some way to save them, Brakiss told himself, to turn
the tide of battle so that the Second Imperium could rule the galaxy
after all.
Palpatine had cheated death not once, but
^ twice. After he had perished the first time aboard the second Death
Star during the battle of Endor, he had managed to resurrect himself,
using hidden clones to prolong his life. And though all those clones had
presumably been destroyed, thirteen years later the Emperor was once
again back from the dead-without an explanation this time.
Any man who accomplished such feats could surely manage to wrest victory
away from a hodgepodge gang of Rebels and criminals, couldn't he?
Holding his head up, trying to summon Imperial pride and hope, Brakiss
marched down the steel-plated corridors toward the isolated section of
the station. He had to see the Emperor, and he would not be turned away.
The fate of the entire war hung on the next few moments!
Outside the sealed doorways stood two of the four scarlet-clad Imperial
guards. They wore sinister, projectile-shaped helmets with only a narrow
black slit through which they could see. The two guards stiffened,
crossing their force pikes to deny him entry. Brakiss strode forward
without hesitating. "Move aside," he said. "I must speak with the
Emperor."
"He has requested not to be disturbed," said one of the guards.
"Disturbed?" Brakiss said, appalled to hear the words. "Our fleet is
going down in defeat; our Dark Jedi are being captured. Our TIE fighters
are being shot down. Tamith Kai is dead. The Emperor should already be
disturbed. Move aside. I must speak with him."
"The Emperor speaks with no one." They moved one step forward, holding
out their weapons.
Brakiss felt fresh anger boiling within. It gave him strength. The power
flowing in his veins tapped directly into the dark side of the Force. He
could see why the Nightsister Tamith Kai had found the experience so
exhilarating that she kept herself in a constant state of pent-up fury.
Brakiss had no patience for these meddling scarlet-clad obstacles. They
were traitors to the Second Imperium-and he responded, letting the Force
flow from deep within him.
His lightsaber dropped out of his billowing sleeve and fell firmly into
his hand. His finger depressed the power button. A long rippling blade
extended out, but Brakiss did not use it as a threat. He had grown tired
of
^ threats, of word games and diversions that prevented progress. He
unleashed his anger.
"I have had enough of this!" He struck wildly from side to side. His
anger narrowed his vision to a tunnel of black static that surrounded
his two targets as they scrambled to use their force pikes against him.
But Brakiss was a powerful Jedi. He knew the ways of the dark side, and
the red Imperial guards had no chance against him.
In less than a second, Brakiss had struck both of them down.
He activated the sealed door mechanism.
The security pass codes argued with him, so he used the Force to blow
out the circuits. With his bare hands he wrenched the stubborn door
aside, then strode into the Emperor's private chambers.
"My Emperor, you must help us," he called.
The light around him was red and dim, hot.
He blinked, finding it difficult to see-but found no one else around.
"Emperor Palpatine!" he shouted. "The battle turns against us. The
Rebels are defeating our troops. You must do something His words echoed
back at him, but he heard nothing else: no response, no movement. He
pushed on into another room, only to find it filled with a black-walled
isolation chamber, its armored door sealed shut, its side panels held in
place with heavy burnished rivets. This was the enclosed compartment the
red guards had removed from the special Imperial shuttle. Bulky worker
droids had lifted the heavy container out of the shuttle's hold and
carried it here.
Brakiss knew the Emperor had secluded himself inside the chamber,
protected from outside influences. Brakiss had feared that the Emperor's
health was failing, that Palpatine needed this special life-support
environment just to survive.
But at the moment, Brakiss didn't care. He was tired of having doors
shut in front of him.
He, the Master of the Shadow Academy, one of the most important members
of the Second Imperium, should not be brushed aside like some civil
servant.
He pounded on the armored door. "My Emperor, I demand that you see me!
You cannot let this defeat continue. You must use your powers to wrest a
victory from the hands of our enemies."
He received no answer. His battering noises quickly faded into the
thick, blood-colored light that filled the chamber. Brakiss's heart
^ froze into a chunk of ice, like a lost comet from the fhnges of a
solar system.
If the Emperor had forsaken them, they were lost already. The battle had
turned against the Second Imperium-and Brakiss had nothing more to lose.
He switched on his lightsaber again, held the thrumming weapon-and
struck. The energy blade sparked and flared as it cut through the thick
armor plating-nothing, not even Mandalorian iron or durasteel blast
shielding, could resist the onslaught of a Jedi hghtsaber.
He sliced through the hinges. Molten metal steamed and ran in silvery
rivulets down the side of the door. He chopped again, hacking out an
entrance, tearing open the wall like a labor droid dismantling a cargo
container. He stepped aside as the thick chunk of armor plate fell to
the deck with a deafening clang.
Brakiss stood waiting, frozen with indecision, as the smoke cleared. He
held his lightsaber up . . . and finally stepped inside.
He stared in disbelief. He saw no Emperor, no plush living quarters, not
even any complicated medical apparatus to keep the old ruler ahve.
Instead, he found a sham.
A third red guard sat in a complex control chair surrounded on three
sides by computer monitors and controls. Brakiss saw a library display
of holographic videoclips taken over the course of the Emperor's career:
the rise of Senator Palpatine, the New Order, early attempts to crush
the Rebellion . . . recorded speeches, memos, practically every word
Palpatine had spoken in public, plus many private messages.
Powerful holographic generators assembled the clips, manufacturing
lifelike threedimensional images.
Brakiss stared in horror as it began to make sense to him
.
The red guard lurched to his feet, scarlet robes flowing around him.
"You may not enter here."
"Where is the Emperor?" Brakiss said, but as he looked around he already
knew the answer. "There is no Emperor, is there?
This has all been a hoax, a pitiful bid for power."
"Yes," the red guard said, "and you have played your part well. The
Emperor did indeed die many years ago when his last clone was destroyed,
but the Second Imperium needed a leader-and we, four of Palpatine's
^ most loyal Imperial guards, decided to create that leader.
"We had all of the brilliant speeches and recordings the Emperor had
made. We had his thoughts, his policies, his records. We knew we could
make the Second Imperium work, but no one would have followed us. We had
to give the people what they wanted, and they wanted their Emperor
back-as you did. You were easy to fool, because you wanted to be
fooled," the red guard said, nodding toward Brakiss.
The Master of the Shadow Academy stepped deeper into the chamber, his
hghtsaher glowing with deadly, cold fire. -You tricked us," he said,
still in the grip of incredulous horror. "You tricked me-me! I was one
of the Emperor's most dedicated servants, but I served a he. There was