For now he had to get away to ponder and sort through the conflicting
thoughts in his mind.
He opened up the satchel to look at the black cape. A pair of small,
lightning-fast rodents dashed out from their nest in his garment and
vanished
like hot liquid through a chink in the stone wall.
Alarmed, Kyp lost control of his anger for an instant and let fly a
searing blast of power that followed the two rodents down their narrow
tunnels
and incinerated them as they ran. Blackened bones tumbled forward with the
momentum, then slumped to dust in the stone tunnel.
Paying no more heed to the distraction, Kyp pulled out the flowing cape,
holding it in front of him. Its embedded reflective threads sparkled as if
with hidden power. Kyp wrapped it around himself and gathered a few of his
other possessions.
He had to go far away. He had to think. He had to be strong.
Later that evening, when Artoo sounded all the alarms, Luke awoke
instantly. He sprinted down the corridors to the outside the landing area.
Mara Jade ran beside him, already alert, as if she had a good idea of what
might be happening.
Luke's eyes adjusted rapidly to the star-strewn sky, which was fuzzy and
pale in the south with skyshine from the gas giant Yavin. Mara and Luke
stood
outside the half-open hangar doors as they watched her Z-95 Headhunter rise
from the landing grid with all its running lights darkened.
"He's stealing my ship!" Mara Jade shouted. The Headhunter's sublight
engines kicked in, burning white-hot behind the craft as it shot into the
sky.
Luke shook his head in disbelief and realized that he had unconsciously
extended one hand, beckoning for Kyp Durron to return.
The small ship became a white streak of light that grew smaller and
smaller as it reached orbit, then set out among the stars.
Luke felt a devastating emptiness, knowing that he had lost another of
his Jedi students forever.
Every flagstone gleamed. Every Imperial column had been scrubbed white.
Every colorful banner representing the Empire's most loyal worlds hung
absolutely straight, displayed without a wrinkle. Everything was in order at
the main citadel of the Imperial Military Academy on Carida.
Ambassador Furgan nodded. Just the way he liked it.
Three hundred crack stormtroopers stood at attention in the echoing hall,
motionless in perfect ranks. Their white armor glistened like polished bone.
They were identical, intensively trained, precise military machines. These
stormtroopers were the best of the best in the academy. Only the top
Imperial
recruits even began stormtrooper training, and these three hundred had
excelled in every way.
Ambassador Furgan moved toward the podium to address them. The smell of
oils and waxes on the synthetic wood seemed potent in the otherwise
sterilized
air. Furgan drew himself up, trying to look larger than his stocky stature
allowed. The white helmets turned in unison to track him with their black
goggles.
"Imperial troops," he said, "you have been chosen to lead the most
important mission since the fall of our beloved Emperor. You have endured
hardship and passed many tests during your training. I have chosen you as
the
elite, the best trainees remaining on Carida."
They did not stir, did not congratulate each other. They remained like
ranks of statues--which itself attested to the thoroughness of their
training.
Since receiving the long-awaited coordinates of the secret planet Anoth,
Furgan had plotted this operation with extreme caution. He had studied the
personnel data of thousands of his best troops. He had analyzed the records
of
their training exercises mock combat in the harsh ice caps of Carida;
prolonged sieges out in the baked and waterless deserts; jungle survival
tours
through dense and uncharted rain forests filled with primitive predators,
carnivorous plants, and poisonous insects.
Furgan had culled the names of those stormtroopers who had shown the most
stamina, the most initiative, the greatest success, coupled with the
strongest
willingness to follow every order.
He was proud of his assault force.
"We have obtained secret information regarding the location of a certain
baby. A child with enormous potential for using the Force." He paused,
expecting to hear them groan, but the stormtroopers made no sound.
"This child is the son of Leia Organa Solo, the New Republic's Minister
of State. If we were to apprehend this child, it would deal an enormous
psychological blow to the Rebellion--but beyond that, this boy is the
grandson
of Darth Vader."
There, finally, he thought he heard a rustle of superstitious fear or
awe.
"This child could be extremely valuable to the rebirth of the Empire. A
child such as this, raised properly and trained properly, could become a
worthy successor to the Emperor Palatine."
Furgan kept talking, faster now as he felt the excitement within him. He
was more than just an ambassador; he planned to go along on this assault
himself. He would not expose himself to any part of the attack, of course,
but
he would be there to snatch the young child named Anakin.
"Your unit leaders will provide you with specific assignments. This
expedition is currently being provisioned. We have secured transports to
take
you to the secret location of this world."
Furgan allowed himself a broad grin with his thick purplish lips. "It is
also my pleasure to announce that this assault will mark the first combat
use
of our new Mountain Terrain Armored Transports on which you have been
training
these past months. That is all. Hail to the Emperor!"
The thunderous response of filtered stormtrooper voices came back at him,
rocking the hall. "Hail to the Emperor!"
Furgan slipped behind the hanging purple curtains into a walkway that led
down empty glow-lit corridors toward his secure office. Inside his chambers
he
closed the blast-proof door and sealed it with a cipher lock. He brushed
aside
models and plans of the deadly new MT-AT attack vehicles. He felt immensely
pleased with himself and eager for the assault to start.
Sitting on Carida during the years of turmoil, Furgan had been upset with
all the squabbling Imperial commanders since the Emperor's death. Many of
the
warlords in the Core Systems were extremely powerful, yet they spent their
time wrestling for dominance among the remnants of the Imperial fleet rather
than fighting against their real enemy, the Rebellion.
Grand Admiral Thrawn had seemed their greatest hope, but he had been
defeated; and a year later even the resurrected Emperor had been defeated.
The
power vacuum of leadership left the Imperial forces with no leadership, no
goal, battling only for their own advancement.
Even this surprise n
ew threat by renegade Admiral Daala disturbed Furgan.
At least Daala was putting her Star Destroyers to an appropriate use,
attacking Rebel worlds and creating as much havoc as possible. But Daala had
no overriding plan, no strategy that would bring her ultimate success. She
was
simply a juggernaut, striking target after target for the satisfaction of
causing pain.
Furgan had discovered to his surprise that Daala herself had been trained
on Carida. Digging through old records, he had uncovered many disciplinary
actions taken against her, reprimands in her file. Even then she had been a
maverick, performing admirably but refusing to learn her place, insisting
that
she deserved promotions instead of others. Furgan had no record of her
advancement to admiral, but Moff Tarkin had transferred her to his personal
staff after one of his brief inspection tours. Furgan had no other
information
about Daala since that time.
It angered him that this admiral continued her attacks on the Rebellion
without even attempting to get in touch with Carida. Perhaps Daala
considered
herself a vigilante, but the Empire needed its soldiers to fight as parts of
an immense whole. The Empire did not need vigilantes.
Furgan had tried to contact some of the other battling Imperial
commanders to get capital ships for his assault on Anoth. The Emperor and
Grand Admiral Thrawn and other depredations had already taken most of the
ships available to Carida. On the military training planet, Furgan had
access
to some of the most sophisticated weaponry and soldiers in the entire
galaxy--
but because of the perpetual squabbles between the Imperial Army and the
spacefaring Imperial Navy, he had no place to go with his troops. This left
Furgan in a position of being on the most heavily armed--but useless--planet
still loyal to the Empire.
Furgan absently played with one of the articulated models of the MT-AT
fighting vehicle. It would be fascinating to see the marvelous new machine
in
operation. Even with the death of the Emperor, his loyalty to the Empire and
the New Order had never been shaken, not even slightly.
Furgan kept doing his best to strike vital blows against the New
Republic, one way or another. He was pleased to watch indirect reports that
gave him evidence of the inexorable progress of Mon Mothma's "mysterious
illness." She would be dead before long.
And as soon as Furgan had the grandson of Darth Vader in his possession,
all those still loyal to the Empire would have to listen to him.
When Wedge Antilles wasn't looking, Qwi Xux stole a glance at the
coordinates displayed on his navigation panel. Sitting in the co-pilot's
seat
of the disguised personal space yacht, Qwi used her nimble fingers to tap
the
coordinates into the navicomputer, requesting a full display.
Wedge looked away from the starfield and caught what she was doing. "Hey!
" he said, then grinned sheepishly as he lowered his gaze. "This was
supposed
to be a surprise."
Qwi laughed, a cascade of short musical tones. "I just wanted to know the
name of the planet." She frowned as the display came up. "Ithor? Never heard
of it."
Wedge chuckled and reached over to squeeze her slender shoulder. She felt
the warmth of his touch linger for several moments after he removed his
hand.
"Qwi, you've never heard of most places in the galaxy. You spent your entire
life cooped up in Maw Installation."
"Is Ithor a nice place?" she asked.
He sighed. "It's beautiful. A pristine natural world covered with forests
and jungles, rivers and waterfalls. We'll be incognito, and you won't have
to
worry about anybody knowing who you are."
Qwi looked around at the metal-edged control panels of the space yacht,
at the synthetic fabric of the seats that felt so smooth and soft. She
smelled
the recirculated air. Qwi had lived for years inside a completely enclosed
environment; she knew nothing about plants and animals and other life-forms.
She hoped it would be fascinating.
"Are you sure we'll be safe?" she asked, swallowing hard. Her greatest
nightmare was that some Imperial spy might recapture her and haul her back
to
the black-hole research lab where they would tear the weapons knowledge out
of
her head, no matter how much she resisted.
"Yes," Wedge said after a long pause. "Ithor is an isolated paradise.
It's a world where many young couples"--he paused, then swallowed as if
embarrassed by the word he had just spoken--"uh, tourists go for vacations.
Many people come and go, and the Ithorians welcome everyone.
"The Empire blockaded this world during the Rebellion, causing some
damage as a show of force. But after one of the Ithorians gave the Empire
access to the agricultural and cloning information they wanted, Ithor was
basically left alone."
Wedge looked out at the starfield where the brilliant sun of the Ithorian
system gleamed a whitish blue. He increased the thrust from the sublight
engines and vectored them toward a bright green planet veined with blue and
swathed with white clouds.
"Just pretend we're on vacation," Wedge said. "We'll be tourists, and
I'll show you what you've been missing. I can't think of a better place to
start."
"I really look forward to it." Qwi smiled warmly at him.
simple task of entering a low orbit.
Qwi placed her pale-blue fingers against the side viewport as she stared
at the lush vistas below. She had never seen such exotic scenery before, so
different from the sterile white-walled rooms in Maw Installation.
Below her, between the treetops of a tropical paradise, broad rivers
furled with white rapids as the current flowed over broken rocks. The space
yacht soared above broad meadows splattered with brilliant colors, blooming
flowers in red and yellow, blue and purple. The sheer vibrancy of the
growing
things dazzled her eyes.
They passed over a chain of oval lakes that glittered and reflected the
sunlight, like the string of jewels on the necklace Wedge had given her as a
gift a few days earlier. Overhead the sky was a muted lavender.
"Beautiful," she said.
"Told you so," Wedge agreed, giving her a half smile. "You can trust me."
She looked at him, then blinked her indigo eyes. "Yes, Wedge, I trust
you."
He cleared his throat and turned away quickly, pointing out the front
viewport. "The Ithorians allow no damage to their environment," he said as
if
reading a data summary. "In fact, they consider it sacrilege even to set
foot
on the ground of their mother jungle."
"Then how do they live?" Qwi asked.
"Look," Wedge said.
As they soared above the treetops, Qwi made out a strange shape coming
over the horizon, rapidly growing larger as they approa
ched. "Is that a
city?"
she said.
"More than just a city," Wedge said, "an entire enclosed environment. The
Ithorians call it the Tafanda Bay."
The enormous disk-shaped construction swelled to fill their front
viewport, looking larger and larger--and larger, like a fat coin greater in
diameter than the entire Maw Installation. Though the city appeared to be
made
of plasteel, it also seemed at least partially alive.
A chaos of platforms, flight decks, transmission antennas, and roving
machinery studded the hull of the Ithorian floating city--but the exposed
surfaces were covered with hanging moss; large trees grew out of special
pockets on the side walls, rising to the sky and looking thicker and greener
than the metallic towers.
On the top flat surface of the disk, greenhouse domes sparkled like a
thousand eyes in the sun. Qwi could see through the transparent domes to
dense
botanical gardens in carefully manicured rows. Small ships flitted like
gnats
about the landing ports and shipping bays.
Underneath the Tafanda Bay, banks of diffused repulsorlift engines kept
the entire city hovering over the treetops, casting an elliptical shadow
over
the leafy surface. The Ithorian city slowly drifted along a wandering course
with no destination in particular, without touching the sacred ground.
Wedge keyed in his request for landing coordinates and was answered by an
odd echoing voice that Qwi thought sounded like someone speaking through a
long, empty tube. After a moment the comm system crackled again with the
voice--or was it another one? - - changing the coordinates.
"Excuse us for the oversight, sir. A special representative will meet you
at the landing bay. We hope you enjoy your stay here on our homeworld."
Wedge looked suspiciously at the comm unit. "Why would they be giving us
special treatment?" he said to Qwi. "Nobody is supposed to know who we
really
are."
Qwi looked around, and suddenly the cockpit of the space yacht seemed
smaller. "Do you think we're in danger? Should we turn around and find some
other place to go?"
Wedge looked as if that was indeed what he wanted to do. "No, it's all
right," he said bravely. "I can protect you. Don't worry."
They landed on the pad indicated, and Wedge extended the passenger ramp.
He climbed down the gangway first and reached up to take Qwi by the hand,