Star Wars: Darksaber Read online

  DESPERATE CHARGE

  Callista stood behind Han, gripping the back of his chair. “The Jedi academy is under attack,” she said. “We have to help. We need to do whatever we can.”

  “All right,” Han said. “Chewie, full forward shields. Punch it. We’re gonna make a straight line.”

  The Millennium Falcon soared beneath the immense Knight Hammer. A flurry of TIE fighters blocked their way, flying in a tight formation as they shot a constant pattern of blasts. Han streaked toward them at full speed. Chewbacca roared in alarm.

  “Oh, but, sir—” Threepio cried.

  “I see ’em,” Han said. “They’ll move.”

  The TIE fighters held their position, still firing. The Falcon’s forward shield began to weaken, but Han plunged onward, right down their throats.…

  DARKSABER

  A Bantam Spectra Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Bantam hardcover edition / November 1995

  Bantam trade paperback edition / November 1996

  SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Random House. Inc.

  ®, TM, and © 1995 by Lucasfilm Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Used under authorization.

  Cover art by Drew Struzan. © 1995 by Lucasfilm Ltd.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-30906.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information address: Bantam Books.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-79641-7

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1745 Broadway, New York, New York, 10019.

  v3.1

  To Lillie E. Mitchell

  who does so much of the invisible work on

  these books, allowing me the freedom and the

  energy to tell my stories as fast as they want

  to come out of my head

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to pass along my very special thanks to Barbara Hambly, for helping me with Callista and for giving me such a perfect springboard for Darksaber.

  I am especially indebted to the imagination and artwork of Ralph McQuarrie. Much of this novel is tied closely to work we developed during the creation of The Illustrated Star Wars Universe, which provided much inspiration.

  Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta just wouldn’t be the same without the work done by Tom Veitch and Cam Kennedy in their Dark Empire graphic novels.

  Kenneth C. Flint helped with the Tatooine portion of the story; Timothy Zahn gave me guidance with Pellaeon; Bill Smith and West End Games provided detailed background material on the Hutts and on Crix Madine. The Usual Suspects—Tom Dupree, Lucy Wilson, Sue Rostoni, Allan Kausch—made this project possible in the first place and assisted along the way.

  And my wife, Rebecca Moesta, helped far more—in ways both obvious and not so obvious—than I could possibly describe on the rest of this page. I love you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  About the Author

  Also by this Author

  Introduction to the Star Wars Expanded Universe

  Excerpt from Star Wars: Planet of Twilight

  Introduction to the Old Republic Era

  Introduction to the Rise of the Empire Era

  Introduction to the Rebellion Era

  Introduction to the New Republic Era

  Introduction to the New Jedi Order Era

  Introduction to the Legacy Era

  Star Wars Novels Timeline

  The time is eight years after the battle of Endor.

  Grand Admiral Thrawn and the resurrected Emperor have been defeated and their forces scattered, leaving only bickering warlords to fight over the scraps of Imperial war machinery deep in the Core Systems, far behind enemy lines. The renegade Admiral Daala is believed dead, but with her lone remaining Star Destroyer she has limped back to the shelter of the tattered Empire, where she hopes one day to return to the fight for lost Imperial territory.…

  On Yavin 4 Luke Skywalker has formed an academy to reestablish the Jedi Knights, former guardians of the Old Republic. He has already taught many students how to use their powers with the Force; more candidates come, while others decide to go forth and help safeguard the fragile alliance of the New Republic.

  In recent months Luke has destroyed the automated Dreadnought, the Eye of Palpatine, and rescued the spirit of the Jedi woman Callista, who was trapped in the Dreadnaught’s computer for decades. Luke has fallen deeply in love with her, even as she inhabits the body of one of his lost students. Though Callista is now alive again and free to love Luke Skywalker, she has inexplicably lost all of her Jedi powers in the ordeal.

  Luke is desperate to find some way for Callista to get her abilities back. No matter where the search may lead him.…

  TATOOINE

  CHAPTER 1

  The banthas plodded in single file, leaving only a narrow trail of scuffed footprints across the dunes.

  Twin suns hammered down on the procession. Waves of heat rippled like cloaking shields, blurring the distance and making an oven of the Dune Sea. Indigenous creatures took shelter in whatever shadow they could find until the firestorm of afternoon trickled away into the cooler dusk.

  The banthas moved with no noise other than the muffled crunching of their footsteps in the sand. Swathed in strips of cloth, the Tusken Raiders astride the shaggy beasts looked from side to side, keeping watch.

  Wrapped entirely in bandages, yet still uneasy about the disguise, Han Solo looked out through narrow metal tubes designed to shield the eyes from blowing grit. His mouth
was covered with a corroded metal filter for the sand; the filter contained a small internal moisturizer to make Tatooine’s fiery air more breathable. The other Sand People had tiny ventilators studded around their desert coverings. Only their strongest survived to adulthood, and they prided themselves on it.

  Han rode on his bantha, hoping to remain inconspicuous in the middle of the procession. The hairy beast swayed as it walked, and Han tried not to clutch its scalloped, curving horns more often than the other Tusken Raiders did. The bantha’s sharp back ridges were covered with matted fur, and the disconcertingly thin saddle made the ride excruciatingly uncomfortable.

  Han swallowed, taking another sip of his precious water and biting back a complaint. This had, after all, been his own crazy suggestion. He just hadn’t expected Luke Skywalker would be so eager to agree, and now Han was stuck. The mission was vital to the New Republic, and he had to follow through.

  With a muttered command, the lead Raider urged his bantha to greater speed. The procession trudged through fine sand, winding along the crest of a shifting dune that stood like a towering sentinel in the arid ocean. Han did not grasp the dune’s great size until they had ascended for the better part of an hour without reaching the top.

  The suns grew even hotter, if that were possible. The banthas coughed and snorted, but the Sand People were focused on a mission.

  Han swallowed, trying to ease his parched throat. Finally, he could remain silent no longer and whispered into the short-range transmitter implanted in his breathmask. “Luke, what’s goin’ on?” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about whatever they’re up to.”

  It took Luke Skywalker a moment to respond. Han watched the thin rider two banthas ahead of him sit up straighter; Luke seemed far more comfortable in his disguise than Han felt. Of course, Luke had grown up on Tatooine—but the young man’s voice now sounded bone weary as it came over the voice pickup in Han’s ear.

  “Nothing to do with us, Han,” he said. “A few of the Sand People have vague suspicions, but they haven’t centered on us yet. I’m using the Force to distract anyone who pays too much attention. No, this is something different entirely. A great tragedy … you’ll see.” Luke heaved a long breath through his breathmask. “Can’t talk now. Have to concentrate. Wait until they’re preoccupied, and I’ll explain more.”

  Up ahead, Luke slumped forward in his Tusken disguise. Han knew his friend was expending an incredible amount of energy to lull the Sand People into ignoring their two unwanted guests. Luke was able to use his abilities to muddle the minds of weak individuals, but never before had Han seen his friend manipulate so many minds at once.

  The trick was to keep the Sand People from noticing them; then it was easy for Luke to divert a few stray thoughts. If someone sounded an alarm and all the Sand People focused on the intruders, though, not even a Jedi Master would be able to keep up the charade. Then there would be a fight.

  Tucked under his tattered robes, Han carried his trusty blaster pistol. He didn’t know if he and Luke could take on the entire band of Raiders—but they would make a good accounting of themselves if circumstances ever came to that.

  The lead rider reached the peak of the sand mountain. The bantha’s wide feet trampled the wind-sharpened edge atop the dune. The air was still, as if stunned. The sands glittered like a billion miniature novas.

  Han adjusted the corroded filters over his eyes. The other banthas plodded up, surrounding their leader, who raised his cloth-wrapped arm, brandishing a wicked-looking gaffi stick. Behind the Tusken leader, his single passenger sat slumped and sullen, though it was difficult to understand the body language of these masked and alien people.

  Han sensed somehow that this withdrawn passenger was the center of the ceremony. Was some kind of honor being bestowed, Han wondered, or was this man being exiled from the tribe?

  The passenger slid off the lead bantha, letting himself drop from the shaggy beast. He clung to the woolly fur as if in desperation, but no sounds came from his bandaged face, not even the guttural grunts and snorts the Tuskens used as language. Head down, his eye tubes pointed toward the churned sand where bantha footprints had trampled the pristine dune, the passenger stood dejected in front of the lead rider.

  The leader waited beside his mount, holding the upraised gaffi stick; the other Sand People climbed down from their banthas. They thrashed their own weapons in the air. Han and Luke copied the gestures, trying to blend in.

  In his disguise Luke moved slowly and wearily. This mission was taking a heavy toll on the Jedi Knight, and Han hoped they would reach their destination soon.

  The forlorn passenger hesitated at the edge of the dune, gazing across the sweeping ocean of loose sands that spread to the horizon. The Sand People stood at attention and raised their gaffi sticks high.

  While they concentrated on the intensity of the moment, Luke’s voice buzzed in Han’s ear. “All right, they’re distracted,” he said. “I can explain. The lone Tusken Raider lost his bantha three days ago. A krayt dragon killed it, and unfortunately our friend there got away.”

  “What do you mean, unfortunately?” Han mumbled, hoping his voice wouldn’t carry over the restless sounds of the Sand People.

  “The Tusken Raiders have a very close relationship with their banthas,” Luke said. “It is a mental bonding, a symbiosis, almost like a marriage. They become part of each other, bantha and Tusken. When one member of the pair is killed, the other is incomplete—like an amputee.” Unconsciously, Luke flexed his cyborg hand. “He has no place in Tusken society, though he is more an object of pity than of hatred. Many believe he should have died beside his bantha, no matter what the circumstances.”

  “So, are they just going to kill him?” Han asked.

  “Yes and no,” Luke said. “They believe the spirit of the dead bantha must decide. If the spirit wishes for him to bond with another mount, our friend will find a free wild bantha in the desert, join with it, and return in triumph to the tribe, where he will be fully accepted—even highly revered. However, if the bantha’s spirit wants his rider to join him in death, then the outcast will wander hopelessly in the desert until he dies.”

  Han barely shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like his chances are too hot.”

  Luke said, “Probably not—but that is their way.”

  The Sand People waited for the exile to make the first move. Finally, with a single anguished cry that might have been triumph or challenge, he plunged down the steep and shifting slope of the dune. The Sand People tilted their heads toward the burning sky and let out a loud ululating cry that made Han shudder.

  The Tusken Raiders thrashed their gaffi sticks to wish their companion well. The banthas raised up their squarish, shaggy heads and bellowed in unison, a rumbling, growling cry that shook the Dune Sea.

  The lone Raider waded down the steep slope. Dusty golden sand flew up around him as his feet and legs sank in. His robes flapped behind him as he plodded on. He tripped and tumbled, flailing his arms, and finally jabbed his gaffi stick deep into the uncertain surface, one arm thrust out to gain balance, leaving a swath of disturbed sand behind him.

  The exiled Raider heaved himself to his feet again. Sand trickled from his flowing cloaks, but still he marched ahead, not looking back. A few of the banthas bellowed again. The sound was swallowed up in the empty vastness. The outcast’s drab garments soon made him fade into the landscape.

  The lead Raider turned and, with a single energetic leap, mounted his bantha. The other Sand People climbed into their saddles. The banthas snorted and stomped on the loose sand.

  Han got back to his seat. Luke was the last to balance himself again, and by that time the lead Raider had already turned the hairy beast to the side and began to plunge down the shallower slope at the back of the dune. The other Sand People followed, marching closely in line to mask their tracks.

  Han risked a glance behind him. He could just make out the single exiled Raider dwindling in the distance, moving with slo
w determination as ripples of heat blurred his tiny figure. Soon he was swallowed completely by the unforgiving jaws of the Dune Sea.

  The heat of the day seemed to last forever, and Han rode in a fugue state, barely aware of his surroundings, self-hypnotized by a litany of rocking footfalls. Ahead, Luke continued to sit upright on the bantha saddle, though he wavered from time to time. Han wondered what sort of energy the Jedi Knight was tapping into.

  The group camped in a thick maze of rocky badlands punctuated by pockmarked stone needles rising out of the windblown sand. Darkness fell quickly with the double sunset, and the temperature plummeted. For a while the rocks continued to throb with stored heat, but they quickly cooled.

  Grunting and chuffing to each other in their baffling language, the Sand People pitched camp. Each knew his or her own duties—Han could not tell whether the individual Tuskens were male or female. Luke had said that only assigned mates were able to see each other with faces unwrapped.

  Two of the younger people encircled a flat area with smaller rocks, and piled bricks of what Han realized must be dried bantha dung, the only fuel source available out in the barrens.

  Han and Luke moved about, trying to appear busy. The banthas, not corralled or tied in any way, were simply led to a side canyon where they could rest for the night. Other Raiders broke out packages of stringy dried meat. Han and Luke took their share and squatted on boulders.

  Carefully, Han lifted his metal breathmask and jammed a piece of the meat into his mouth. He chewed and wasted several drinks of water as he tried to make the jerky palatable enough to swallow. “What is this stuff?” he muttered into the voice pickup.

  Luke answered without looking at him. “Dried and salted dewback flank, I believe.”

  “Tastes like leather,” Han muttered.

  “It’s more nutritious than leather … I think,” Luke said. He turned his metal eyetubes toward Han, who could detect no expression on the wrapped-up face. Han became disoriented if he swiveled his head too fast while looking through the small holes in the eyetubes.

  As the Sand People finished their meal, they gathered around the blaze as a tall Raider hunched near the brighter part of the fire. From the careful way he moved, the slow placement of limbs—not to mention the silent reverence the other Tuskens granted him—Han got the impression that this was a very old person.