of hydraulic pressure. The bitter-oil smell of exhaust hung in the humid
air,
mixing with the peppery and sweet scents of jungle flowers and leaves.
The mechanical smell reminded Luke of the bustling metropolis of Imperial
City, the governmental center of the New Republic. Though he had been at
peace
for months now on Yavin 4, Luke felt a tingle of sweat down his back. He
could
not let his guard slip for one second--he had a mission to do for the New
Republic. This was not a vacation.
The hull of the space barge continued to mutter to itself as it settled.
With a coughing hiss the rear cargo doors slid apart slowly as if two giants
pushed them back one step at a time. Bluish-white light shone down on crates
and boxes wrapped in storage nets or bolted to the walls--food,
communications
equipment, clothing, and amenities.
Moving softly across the packed clearing, Gantoris and Streen came up
beside him. Streen's eyes went wide with a sense of wonder, but Gantoris
wore
a puzzled, sour expression. His skin remained dark, as if in a constant
angry
blush. "Do we need these things, Master Skywalker?"
Luke glanced at the contents. Judging from the material--the unnec
material--included in the shipment, Leia herself must have compiled the
cargo
list. Exotic food synthesizers, comfortable clothes, heaters, humidity-
neutralizers, even a few hollow Ithorian wind chimes.
"We'll make do," he said.
A narrow ramp extended with a groan of pistons and rollers from the
raised pilot compartment. The silhouette of a man appeared on the ramp,
booted
feet, wrinkled and padded flightsuit, rounded helmet. He descended, yanking
his white helmet off as his gloved bands covered the blue scooped-arc symbol
of the New Republic. The pilot shook his head, tossing short dark hair from
side to side.
"Wedge!" Luke grinned and shouted. "Doesn't the New Republic have
anything better for its generals to do? A delivery driver in space!"
Wedge Antilles stuffed his helmet under the padded orange sleeve of his
flightsuit and extended a hand to Luke. Luke embraced Wedge in the greeting
of
two friends who had not seen each other in far too long.
"You've got to admit I'm qualified for the job," Wedge said. "Besides, I
got tired of doing demolition work in the armpit of Imperial City, and
before
that I got tired of cleaning up wrecked spacecraft in orbit around
Coruscant.
I figured a delivery driver was better than a garbageman."
Wedge flicked a glance over Luke's shoulder, and another smile dimpled
his cheeks. Gantoris came forward from the cargo bay and gave Wedge a quick,
almost brutal handshake as he locked eyes with the pilot. "General Antilles,
have you any word from my people? I trust they have all been safely shuttled
to their new home on Dantooine?"
"Yes, Gantoris, they're all settled in and doing fine. We drop-lifted an
entire settlement of self-erecting living modules. We sent them programming
units and agricultural droids so they could establish a viable colony right
away. Dantooine is a very mild planet--plenty of animals to hunt and native
vegetation to eat. Trust me, they'll be much more comfortable than they were
on Eol Sha."
Gantoris nodded solemnly. "That I do not doubt." His glittering eyes
lo oked past Wedge to the treetops. Orange light from the rising gas giant
made
his eyes flicker like the lava pools he had made Luke walk across on Eol
Sha.
"Gantoris, Streen--please start unloading the supplies," Luke said. "I
don't think you'll have trouble lifting the crates with a little nudge from
the Force. Consider it a test. Artoo, please call Kirana Ti and Dorsk 81
from
their quarters to help."
Streen and Gantoris moved to the corrugated ramp from the loading bay.
Artoo-Detoo hummed across the landing grid and disappeared into the shadowy
hangar of the Great Temple in search of the other Jedi candidates.
Luke clapped his friend on the shoulder. "I'm starving for news, Wedge. I
Wedge raised his eyebrows. His narrow chin and soft features made him
look more youthful than Luke. They had been through a lot together Wedge had
flown beside Luke on his triumphant run down the Death Star corridor, had
assisted in the defense of Echo Base on the ice planet Hoth, and had fought
against the second Death Star over Endor.
"Gossip?" Wedge asked, laughing. "That doesn't sound like something that
would interest a Jedi Master."
"You got me there, Wedge. How are Leia and Han? How is Mon Mothma? How
are things on Coruscant? When is Han going to bring Kyp Durron to my
training
center? That boy had enormous potential, and I want to start working with
him.
"
Wedge shook his head at the volley of questions. "Kyp will be here, Luke,
don't worry. He spent most of his life in the spice mines of Kessel, and
he's
only been out a month. Han's trying to show the kid how to live a little
first."
Luke remembered the dark-haired teen Han had rescued from the black spice
mines. When Luke had used a Jedi testing technique to see if Kyp had
potential
to use the Force, the boy's response had knocked Luke across the room. In
his
entire Jedi search, Luke had never encountered such power.
"And what about Leia?"
Wedge considered, and Luke appreciated that he didn't just answer with a
simple "Of course everything's fine." "She seems to be spending more and
more
time with her duties as Minister of State. Mon Mothma has been handing off a
lot of important responsibilities to Leia while she herself stays in her
private chambers and rules from a distance. It's got a lot of people
disturbed."
That behavior seemed highly unusual for the strong, compassionate ruler
Luke remembered. "And how is Leia handling it?" He longed to know a thousand
things at once, wishing he could be in the thick of it all again... while
another part of him preferred the peace of Yavin 4.
Wedge sat on the edge of the sloping ramp. He propped one leg next to a
support strut, then balanced his helmet on his knee. "Leia's doing a
wonderful
job, but she's trying to do too much, if you ask me. Even with baby Anakin
still in hiding, she does have the twins to watch over now. Threepio helps,
but Jacen and Jaina are still only two and a half years old. It's more than
a
full-time job, and Leia is getting exhausted."
"She could come here for a rest," Luke suggested. "Have her bring the
twins, since I need to get them started on basic Jedi skills."
"I'm sure Leia would love to come here," Wedge said. They turned and
watched as Streen and Gantoris emerged from the barge carrying tall crates.
The two Jedi candidates walked smoothly, carrying loads that seemed
impossible, and Wedge's eyes widened at the impressive
feats of strength. "I
had to have labor droids put those boxes onboard. I couldn't budge one
myself.
"
"Then my students must be showing some progress." Luke nodded. "What
about you, Wedge? You going to be a delivery driver the rest of your
career?"
Wedge smiled; then with a flick of his wrist he tossed the helmet up the
ramp and into the open cockpit. It clacked and thumped across the floor.
"No.
In fact I came here because I have a new assignment, and I won't get a
chance
to see you again for some time. The New Republic Council feels that Dr. Qwi
Xux may be in danger from espionage. Admiral Daala is still out there
somewhere with her fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers, and any time now I
expect her to start blasting planets at random with hit-and-run strikes. She
may try to get Qwi back."
Luke nodded gravely. Qwi Xux had been the top scientist in the Imperial
research facility from which Han Solo had escaped--with Qwi's help. "If
Admiral Daala doesn't want Dr. Xux back, I'm sure someone else will."
"Yeah," Wedge said, "that's why I've been assigned as her personal
bodyguard and escort. In the meantime the Council still hasn't decided what
to
do with the Sun Crusher weapon that Han captured." Wedge sighed. "That's
just
scratching the surface of everything going on back on Coruscant."
Luke stared at Gantoris and Streen as they continued to unload the cargo
bay, marching across the clearing to deposit their crates in the empty, cool
hangar. Artoo-Detoo rattled out of the temple, leading two other students.
"Sounds like you need the new Jedi Knights more than ever," Luke said.
Wedge agreed emphatically. "More than you can know."
Fidgeting from the long voyage in the expanded B-wing fighter, Leia
Organa Solo rode in silence beside Admiral Ackbar. The two of them sat in
the
cramped, metallic-smelling cockpit as the ship plunged through hyperspace.
Being Minister of State kept Leia on the move, shuttling from diplomatic
event to ambassadorial reception to political emergency. Dutifully, she
hopped
across the galaxy, putting out fires and helping Mon Mothma hold together a
fragile alliance in the vacuum left by the fall of the Empire.
Leia had already reviewed the background holos of the planet Vortex
dozens of times, but she could not keep her mind on the upcoming Concert of
the Winds. Diplomatic duties took her away far too often, and she used quiet
moments to think about her husband Han, her twin children Jacen and Jaina.
It
had been too long since she had held her youngest baby, Anakin, who remained
isolated and protected on the secret planet Anoth.
It seemed that whenever Leia tried to spend a week, a day, even an hour
alone with her family, something interrupted. She seethed inside each time,
unable to show her feelings because she had to wear a calm political mask.
In her younger days Leia had devoted her life to the Rebellion; she had
worked behind the scenes as a princess of Alderaan, as Senator Bail Organa's
daughter; she had fought against Darth Vader and the Emperor, and more
recently against Grand Admiral Thrawn. Now, though, she felt torn between
her
duties as Minister of State and her duties as Han Solo's wife and as mother
to
three children. She had allowed the New Republic to come first. This time.
Again.
Beside her in the cockpit Admiral Ackbar moved his amphibious hands
fluidly as he manipulated several control levers. "Dropping out of
hyperspace
now," he said in his gravelly voice.
The salmon-colored alien seemed perfectly comfortable in his white
uniform. Ackbar swiveled his gigantic glassy eyes from side to side, as if
to
take in every detail of his craft. Through the hours of their journey, Leia
had not seen him fidget once.
He and the other inhabitants of the watery world Calamari had suffered
much under the Empire's iron grip. They had learned how to be quiet, yet
listen to every detail, how to make their own decisions, and how to act upon
them. Working as a loyal member of the Rebellion, Ackbar himself had been
instrumental in developing the B-wing class of starfighters that had taken
such a huge toll on the Imperial TIE fighters.
As Leia watched him pilot the stretched-out, cumbersome-looking fighter,
Ackbar seemed an integral part of the gangly craft that appeared to be all
wings and turbolaser turrets mounted around a dual cockpit. Ackbar's crew of
fishlike Calamarians, led by his chief starship mechanic, Terpfen, had
expanded the former one-man craft into Ackbar's personal diplomatic shuttle,
adding a single passenger seat.
Through the curved dome of the cockpit windows, Leia watched as
multicolored knots of hyperspace evaporated into a star-strewn panorama. The
sublight engines kicked in, and the B-wing streaked toward the planet
Vortex.
Leia's dress uniform felt damp and clingy, and she tried to adjust the
folds of slick fabric to make herself more comfortable. As Ackbar
concentrated
on the approach to Vortex, Leia pulled out her pocket holopad, laying the
flat
silvery plate on her lap.
"Beautiful," she said, peering out the viewport to the planet beneath
them. The blue and metallic-gray ball hung alone in space, moonless. Its
atmosphere showed complex embroideries of cloudbanks and storm systems,
racing
spirals of clouds that swirled in horrendous gales.
Leia remembered her astronomical briefings about Vortex. The sharp tilt
of the planet's axis produced severe seasonal changes. At the onset of
winter,
a vast polar cap formed rapidly from gases that froze out of the atmosphere.
The sudden drop in pressure caused immense air currents, like a great flood
going down a drain; clouds and vapor streamed southward in a battering ram
to
fill the empty zone where the atmosphere had solidified.
The Vors, hollow-boned humanoids with a rack of lacy wings on their
backs, went to ground during storm season, taking shelter in half-buried
hummock dwellings. To celebrate the winds, though, the Vors had established
a
cultur al festival renowned throughout the galaxy....
Deciding to review the details one more time before they landed and the
diplomatic reception began, Leia touched the icons etched into the synthetic
marble frame of her datapad. It would not do for the New Republic's Minister
of State to make a political faux pas.
A translucent image shimmered and grew out of the silvery screen in a
miniaturized projection of the Cathedral of Winds. Defying the hurricane
gales
that thrashed through their atmosphere, the Vors had built a tall ethereal
structure that had resisted the fierce storm winds for centuries. Delicate
and
incredibly intricate, the Cathedral of Winds rose like a castle made of
eggshell-thin crystal. Thousands of passageways wound through hollow
chambers
and turrets and spires. Sunlight glittered on the structure, reflecting the
rippling fields of windblown grasses that sprawled across the surrounding
plains.
At the beginning of storm season, gusts of wind blew through thousands of
different-sized openings in the honey combed walls, whipping up a
reverberating, mournful music through pipes of various diameters.
The wind music was never the same twice, and the Vors allowed their
cathedral to play only once each year. During the concert thousands of Vors
flew into or climbed through the spires and windpipes, opening and closing
air
passages to mold the music into a sculpture, a work of art created by the
weather systems of the storm planet and the Vor people.
On the holopad Leia skimmed to the next files. The music of the winds had
not been heard for decades, not since Senator Palpatine had announced his
New
Order and declared himself Emperor. Objecting to the excesses of the Empire,
the Vors had sealed the holes in their cathedral and refused to let the
music
play for anyone.
But this season the Vors had invited representatives from the New
Republic to come and listen.
Ackbar opened a comm channel and pushed his fishlike face closer to the
voice pickup. Leia watched the bristly feelers around his mouth jiggle as he
spoke. "Vortex Cathedral landing pad, this is Admiral Ackbar. We are in
orbit
and approaching your position."
A Vor voice like two dry twigs rattling together crackled back over the
speaker. "New Republic shuttle, we are transmitting landing coordinates that
take into account wind shear and storm systems along your descent. Our
atmospheric turbulence is quite unpredictable and dangerous. Please follow
precisely."
"Understood." Ackbar settled back into his seat, rubbing broad shoulder
blades against the ridged back of the chair. He pulled several black
restraint
strands across his chest. "You'd better strap in, Leia," Ackbar said. "It's
going to be a bumpy ride."
Leia switched off her holopad and tucked it beside her seat. She secured
herself, feeling confined by the webbing, and took a deep breath of the
stale
recycled air. The faintest fishy undertone suggested Calamarian anxiety.
Staring ahead, Ackbar took his B-wing into the swirling atmosphere of
Vortex, straight toward the storm systems.