Star Wars - Jedi Trial (by David Sherman and Dan Cragg)

Star Wars - Jedi Trial

By

David Sherman & Dan Cragg

Contents

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1

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

EPILOGUE

ISBN 0-345-46115-0

Printed in theUnited States of America

www.starwars.com

Del Rey Books website address:www.delreybooks.com

PROLOGUE

Obi-Wan!“ Anakin Skywalker exclaimed when the hologrammic image of Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi

appeared before him. Anakin had been pacing in his quarters, brooding over why was he consistently

being passed by for his Jedi Trials, the chance to prove he was a full Jedi Knight. The welcome sight of

his teacher lifted Anakin’s mood.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, greeting his Padawan with a smile. “How are you settling in?”

Anakin shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

Obi-Wan’s smile turned wan. They had returned to Coruscant only two standard days earlier, but he

was fully aware of how long two days without action could seem to Anakin. He knew his Padawan

would not be pleased by the news he was about to break. “I just returned to my quarters from a meeting

with the Jedi Council,” he said.

Anakin’s eyes brightened: a meeting with the Jedi Council must mean a new mission.

“I have an assignment—”

“Already?” Anakin interrupted, excited. “We haven’t even been debriefed from the last one yet! Must

be im-portant.” He turned away to begin reassembling his gear and clothing.

“Anakin—”

“I’ve barely begun to unpack—I can meet you at the spaceport in an hour.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan tried again. “Anakin!”

Anakin didn’t turn around. “Where should I meet you?”

“ANAKIN!”

Obi-Wan’s shout finally caught Anakin’s attention and he spun about, taken aback by the unusually

harsh tone. “Master?”

“Sorry I shouted, but you weren’t hearing me.”

“Master? I’m listening.” Anakin used all his self-control to stand still and wait.

“J have a mission, Anakin. Not us. The Jedi Council is sending me alone. It’s an individual assignment, a

quick in-and-out.”

Anakin was clearly trying not to frown, “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he couldn’t help

asking.

“You’ll be debriefed on our last mission, for one thing. I’m trusting that to you.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“When I get back, I’ll suggest to the Council that you’re ready to begin your trials.”

“Don’t you mean suggestagain ?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “First there was no point, and then there was no time. But as soon as I return,

I’llmake the time—and the Council will listen.”

“Why will they listen then, when up until now they haven’t even wanted to hear?”

“Because while I’m gone, you’re going to be the model Jedi Knight. You’ll allow them to debrief you,

and then, if I’m not back yet, you’ll hit the archives, looking for any strategies that can be deployed in

planning our upcoming battles. You’re going to show them that you are skilled in a Knight’s most basic

role, as well as in combat,” Obi-Wan said confidently.

“Study.” Anakin’s voice was flat. “All right, I’ll study.”

“I’ve got confidence in you, Anakin—you know that.”

“Yes.” Anakin’s expression softened. “I know you do, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you.”

Three days later, Anakin Skywalker flipped his data-pad off. He’d spent the time since Obi-Wan had

left in the library studying the campaigns and battles of the Clone Wars—and had discovered a few

possibilities. He headed for the training area. Maybe he could find someone to spar with, to balance his

inactivity.

The war was a severe drain on the Jedi resources, and nearly every physically able Jedi was away from

Coruscant on a mission or campaign. Anakin found only one Jedi in the training area, Nejaa Halcyon,

drilling with his lightsaber.

Anakin had met Halcyon once before and found him to be not only intelligent and witty, but also a

tactically sound Jedi. Obi-Wan had assured him his impression was accurate. And yet Master Halcyon

had been living in a state of semi-disgrace after losing his ship,Plooriod Bodkin , to a rogue ship’s

captain he’d been sent to apprehend. Anakin could only wonder how Halcyon had blundered so badly

that his starship was stolen by the rogue he was supposed to arrest; he hadn’t felt right about asking.

Moving with total focus and concentration, Halcyon was a pleasure to watch. Loath to interrupt him,

Anakin remained on the side, waiting for him to pause.

At last Halcyon thumbed his lightsaber off and stood erect. He glanced over at Anakin and grinned.

“Anakin Skywalker! Looking for a sparring partner?”

Anakin started briefly. “You honor me,” he said with a slight bow.

Halcyon laughed. “Honor you? That means either you’re surprised I remember your name, or you’re

surprised that a Jedi Master is so readily willing to spar with a Padawan he barely knows.”

“Perhaps both?” Anakin grinned back at the older man.

“Of course I remember your name. There are so few Jedi here these days, it’s easy to remember

everyone. And of course I’m happy to spar with you. You’re freshly out of combat, your reactions are

sharp. I’ve been sitting idle for quite a while—I need the test.” He gestured an invitation, and Anakin

entered the sparring circle.

They faced each other and saluted, then took position and thumbed their lightsabers to life.

Anakin made the first move, a thrust that started high before plunging downward to dip under an

anticipated high parry. The blades of the lightsabers sizzled as Halcyon easily deflected the thrust,

laughing when he danced aside.

“You surprise me,” Halcyon said mock-seriously.

“That’s such a basic move. I’d have thought you’d have some new ones from being in combat.” He

launched a flurry of thrusts and slices of his own; Anakin easily parried or deflected all of them.

“Master Halcyon,” Anakin said when they stepped back, “in a fight, one seldom has time to invent new

maneuvers. The tried-and-true movements are usually the most effective.” He reached out with his

lightsaber to touch Halcyon’s, then spun the tip of the blade in an unorthodox backhand that would have

cut through Halcyon’s left shoulder had he not stopped short—and had Halcyon failed to fall back out of

the way in time.

“Very good, Padawan.” Halcyon nodded with approval. “That was so close I’m not sure whether or not

it counts as a touch.”

Anakin grinned. “You don’t have time to invent in a fight—but sometimes you have to improvise.”

Then they settled into serious sparring.

The two Jedis’ lightsabers flashed and sizzled when the blades struck in thrust and parry. When first one,

then the other found his way through the other’s defense, the shimmering light stopped just short of

striking. The two Jedis’ voices rang with pleasure at each skillful move.

After an hour of sparring, they stopped by unspoken mutual agreement. Both gleamed with sweat. Both

were laughing.

“Ah, yes,” Halcyon said happily, “a sparring partner makes the workouts much, much better.” He eyed

Anakin. “You’re very skillful for someone so young.”

Anakin’s eyes sparkled. “Master Halcyon, I must compliment you onyour skill, which is remarkable for

such an old man who has been sitting idle for so long.”

“Ungrateful pup!” Halcyon snarled, and immediately laughed. “Shall we do it again tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.”

“Same time, same place.”

“With pleasure.”

Jedi Master and Padawan saluted each other before heading their separate ways to bathe the sweat and

salts from their tired bodies.

Chapter 1

There was no word from General Khamar.

Ice-cold prickles of fear shot up the back of Reija Momen’s arms to her scalp and then down her spine.

She shivered, then shifted uncomfortably.This is no time to panic , she thought.

Everyone else was looking to her to remain calm. So she’d come out into the garden early, to relax, to

gather her thoughts and compose herself before meeting with her staff. But it wasn’t working. The

carefully tended little garden nestled peacefully in a courtyard protected from the elements by the

surrounding buildings and a solar dome that could be opened in good weather. Today the dome was

open, letting in fresh air that should have been invigorating, but her nerves were strung too tight. Her staff

were afraid; they thought no news from the south boded ill.

Eyes closed, Reija tried thinking of home. In five more years, her contract would be up, and she would

head back to Alderaan. Maybe. A breeze wafted in through the dome. It carried with it the aroma of the

native grasses that grew in such profusion on the mesa where the Intergalactic Communications Center

was located. During the first months of her contract she had thought she was allergic to the sagebrush,

coughing and sneezing profusely whenever she emerged from the control complex to inspect the outlying

facilities, but gradually she had become accustomed to the pervasive scent. Now she found it pleasant.

Physically, at least, she’d never felt better. It had become a pet theory of hers, not yet verified by medical

science, that prolonged exposure to the grasses of Praesitlyn was good for human physiology.

Reija Momen had accepted the job as chief administrator of the Intergalactic Communications Center on

Praesitlyn because she liked the work—the handsome salary counted only as a nice bonus. Someone

else in her position would likely have been thinking of the end of her contract, comfortable retirement

back on Alderaan, perhaps even starting a family. Though middle-aged, she was still young enough to

think about settling down someday, and she was attractive enough in a handsome, matronly way. But she

was content in her job. With her warm heart, good sense, and solid managerial skills, she had quickly

established a fine rapport with her mixed staff of human and Sluissi technicians. She was the type of

administrator, rare in any gender or species, who exercised her authority as a matter of responsibility, not

out of any sense of pleasure. She worked hard and well because she enjoyed work as an end in itself,

and she treated the people under her more as partners in a joint enterprise than as subordinates. And

unlike so many busy bureaucrats, consumed by their sense of self-importance, she knew when and how

to relax.

Start a family? Well, for all practical purposes, her staff on Praesitlyn had been her family for the past

seven years; they loved her and they called her “Momma Momen.”

Go home? She was already home!I’ll renew my contract , she thought.If I live that long .

A labor droid, modified to tend the trees and shrubs in the garden, rooted among rumsy bushes nestled

under the stunted kaha trees imported from Talasea years earlier by a previous chief administrator.

Ordinarily the sound of the droid’s rustling about in the foliage would have been comforting, but not

today. Reija shifted her position again. She opened her eyes and sighed. Relaxation was out of the

question. Members of her staff were already filtering into the garden and finding places to sit—not to

enjoy the informal midday luncheon that had become a tradition in the years she had been chief

administrator, but to get the news, to get their orders. Reija felt a brief flash of anger that their routine was

being interrupted. Not that their luncheons were anything special—just friends and colleagues enjoying

each other’s company and engaging in easy conversation over their food—but they were as enjoyable to

the staff as their regular off-duty trips to Sluis Van.

Today everyone spoke in worried whispers, all ears for any news from the south. What could she tell

them? Not knowing what was going on there was worse than bad news. Several standard hours earlier

an invasion fleet had landed approximately 150 kilometers to the southwest of the center.

“Mistress,” General Khamar had said in his last re-port, “two of our starfighters on a routine patrol over

the ocean just off the coast have engaged a large number of hostile craft. The airborne control ship that

was monitoring the patrol has been shot down, but before we lost contact with it, the crew reported a

large droid army landing. The invaders don’t appear to be as numerous as my own command, but they

may be just an advance party preparing a foothold for a larger force. Either way, we have to destroy

them without delay. I’m taking my main force overland to attack them.”

“How big is their fleet?” she had asked.

“Several transports and capital ships, nothing we can’t handle. Should we need reinforcements, which I

doubt, Sluis Van will supply them.”

“Wouldn’t it be prudent to call for them now, just in case?”

Khamar grunted. “We shall if we need to, but it wouldn’t be good tactics to call for reinforcements

before we know the extent of the enemy threat. I’ll leave a detachment here under Commander Llanmore

to provide security for the center.” A gruff Corellian, Khamar was a professional soldier, and Reija

trusted his judgment. The young Commander Llanmore she especially liked; she couldn’t help smiling at

the air of military punctiliousness he adopted when in her presence. She saw right through him, of course.

To her he was one of the many sons she had never had.

But for the past hour she had received no word from General Khamar. If this was an all-out attempt by

the Separatists to seize the communications center, her comfortable little world on Praesitlyn was coming

to an end.

The solar dome that roofed the garden slammed shut without warning. There was a bright flash and a

deafening roar. Heart in her throat, Reija jumped to her feet and ran back inside the main control room.

Slith Skael, the Sluissi chief of the communications staff, sidled up beside her. She had never seen the

methodical creature move so quickly or look so worried.

“Is Khamar returning?” Reija asked hesitantly. She glanced about the control room. Normally it was a

place of quiet confidence, technicians working intently at their stations, droids quietly going about their

tasks. But not now.

“No, Mistress,” Slith answered. “It is strangers.” He swayed nervously. “I believe it is another invasion

force. I ordered the dome closed when the first ship landed. I beg your forgiveness if you were startled.

What are your orders?”

Reija had grown very fond of Slith over the years they’d been together on Praesitlyn. Under his calm,

unruffled exterior lived a devoted and compassionate being. And she knew she could count on him now.

The control room was in chaos. Technicians babbled among themselves, working their instruments

frantically. A deep-throated roar rumbled through the facility. She could feel the vibrations in the floor

panels.

“A large number of ships are landing below the mesa,” a technician said with an edge to his voice that

told Reija he was on the verge of panic.

“Quiet, everybody! Listen to me,” she called loudly and firmly. It was time to make order out of this

confusion. “Everyone take your places and listen.” Her calm, controlled demeanor had the desired effect.

Peo-ple stopped babbling and took their seats. “Now,” she said, turning to Slith, “send an alert to

Coruscant and—”

“I already have,” the Sluissi answered. “The transmission was blocked.”

“That’s not possible!” she said, startled.

“Evidently it is,” Slith answered matter-of-factly. He was just reporting the fact, not debating it. “What

are your orders, please?” he repeated.

Reija was silent for a moment. “Commander Llanmore?”

“I am here, Mistress.” Llanmore, wearing his body armor and fully armed, stepped up and drew himself

to attention beside her.

“What is happening out there?” The control room had gone completely silent, all eyes staring intently at

the two.

“A large droid force has landed below the mesa,” Llanmore answered in precise, clipped tones. “We

cannot hope to hold out against them without immediate reinforcement, and—” He hesitated. “—that will

not happen.”

“Any word from General Khamar?”

“No, Mistress, and—” Llanmore’s voice caught. “We must assume that he is—he has been defeated.”

Reija considered for a moment. “Very well then. Somehow the invaders are blocking our transmissions.

General Khamar cannot help us. We cannot resist. Listen to me, everyone! We cannot let this complex

fall into the invaders’ hands.” She paused for a moment to gather herself before announcing an order

she’d never dreamed she’d have to give. “Destroy your equipment.”

Quickly she began instructing individual technicians, directing them to disable specific pieces of

equipment first. But it would take time; they had never prepared for such an emergency, nor did they

have the means to ensure the rapid and total destruction the situation now dictated. “Commander.”

“Yes, Mistress?”

The only sign that Reija was at all nervous was a small rill of perspiration slowly escaping from under her

hair by the side of her right eyebrow. “Can you delay the invaders? All we need is a few minutes.”

“I can try.” Llanmore was also perspiring faintly, but he turned sharply on his heel and left the control

room. The last she saw of him was his ramrod-straight back as he marched steadfastly back to his

command. She was afraid she’d just sent the young man off to his death.

“Get busy!” she ordered the technicians, many of whom had stopped to listen to her conversation with

Llanmore. Why, she thought, had no one ever made any emergency destruction plans for a contingency

like this? The Intergalactic Communications Center was vital to the Republic, and its facilities could not

be allowed to fall into enemy hands.

From outside on the mesa came the crashing roar of weaponry. Llanmore was engaging the invaders.

Reija felt a rising sense of despair. Her comfortable world was at an end.

Chapter 2

Count Dooku wishes a status report, Tonith.“

The Muun commander of the invasion force, Admiral Pors Tonith, quietly sipped his dianogan tea and

smiled, ostensibly ignoring the disrespect clear in the way Commander Asajj Ventress addressed him.

“He has the complete battle plan, Ventress,” he replied easily, showing her the exact same level of

disrespect. He set his cup on a nearby sideboard. “I gave it to him before I left. He knows that once I

have developed a plan I carry it out. That is why he chose me to lead this campaign.” He smiled amiably,

purple-stained lips parting to reveal matching purple teeth and black gums—an effect of the tea. The

temporary stain was an indignity Tonith was willing to suffer in order to savor the exquisite aroma, flavor,

and mildly narcotic effect of the tea brewed from a chemical substance found in the spleens of the

dianoga. Besides, he was commander of a vast invasion fleet: no sentient being would dare laugh at him,

and droids had no sense of the ridiculous.

Ventress’s expression didn’t change, but her dark eyes flashed through the HoloNet transceiver like two

burn-ing coals. “A plan is not a status report,” she replied, her voice even. She was not used to being

talked down to, especially not by this bloodless financier suddenly turned military commander.

Tonith sighed dramatically. He considered the assassin an interloper in strategic affairs that were beyond

her primitive grasp of the real art of military command and planning. But she was Dooku’s protegee, and

he had to tread carefully. “Really, I cannot command this expedition if I am to be interfered with

by—by…” He shrugged and reached for his teacup.

“The report?” she insisted.

“I am extremely busy just now.”

“Make your report. To me. Now.” Her voice cut through the vast distances like the lightsabers she was

reputed to wield so expertly.

Tonith sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap. Actually, he found this Ventress woman rather

attractive. He felt they had something in common: she, a ruthless warrior; he, a ruthless planner and

schemer. When Tonith thought of women, which was not often, he preferred them with a head of hair,

but Ventress’s baldness was not totally unattractive. She radiated power and confidence, even via the

transceiver. He respected that. “We would make a good team,” he said. “I could use your help.”

She sneered. “Little one, if I were to come out there it wouldn’t be to help you, it would be to replace

you as commander. But the Count has more important business for me just now. Stop wasting my time

and make that report.”

Tonith shrugged languidly and bowed to the in-evitable. “As we speak, a fleet of one hundred twenty-six

ships,” he said, “seventy-five of them capital ships, is investing Sluis Van to block any reinforcements

from that sector. I am at this very moment landing a force of fifty thousand battle droids on Praesitlyn in a

feint to divert the garrison from the Intergalactic Communications Center. When that operation is fully

under way, I will land the main force, composed of, give or take, a million battle droids, crush the

defenders in a containment maneuver, and capture the center intact. I have two hundred ships in my

invasion fleet. This operation cannot possibly fail. I guarantee you that within twenty-four standard hours

of the commencement of Operation Case White, Praesitlyn will be ours. We will sit firmly astride the

communications link that connects the worlds of the Republic. Our forces will be poised at this strategic

crossroads to strike without warning at any of the Republic’s allies. Most important, our control of

Praesitlyn will be a vibroblade thrust directly at Coruscant itself.” He stabbed his arm forward as he

spoke. “This is the move that will win the war for us,” he concluded, a confident smirk on his

purple-stained lips. “They’ll never know what hit them, those technicians down there and their security

forces. They’ll soon all be dead—or be assets belonging to us.” He sat back and sipped at his tea.

Ventress did not seem impressed. “The electronic countermeasures suite?”

“Fully operational. The center tried to dispatch a pan-galactic distress signal a brief while ago, but it was

successfully blocked.” He smiled, showing his purple teeth and black gums.

“The stealth suite? Your fleet is undetected? You have achieved tactical surprise?”

“Yes. Not just tactical surprise, but strategic surprise, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“Very well. Count Dooku will require regular updates as your campaign progresses. You will make them

to me, so get used to it now.”

“Yes,” Tonith answered, his voice tinged with false resignation, making clear that he thought he was

succumbing to a nuisance he could do without. He had never met Ventress in person, but he had heard

she was a deadly opponent in individual combat. That didn’t worry him in the least. Only stupid people

lost fights. He was not stupid. Where a warrior like Ventress could cut down an opponent with lightning

speed, Tonith cut down his enemies by outsmarting them. That was why Count Dooku had given him this

command. He wouldn’t waste his time in individual combat or expose himself to possible harm—that was

what droids were for. He would command and he would win.

“By the way, I’m impressed by your interesting dental work,” Ventress said.

Caught completely off guard, Tonith didn’t immediately know how to reply. Was she fooling with him or

was she serious? He might have to reevaluate his estimation of her level of intelligence. “I thank you,” he

said at last, bowing at the hologram. “And I compliment you on your unusual choice of hairstyle.”

Ventress nodded, and her image vanished.

* * *

Pors Tonith was one of the most successful products of one of the InterGalactic Banking Clan’s most

ruthless families. For him, life was constant struggle and competition. He approached business as if it

were war. For generations it had been his family’s practice to consummate hostile takeovers of

companies, whole worlds if need be, by the use of force. Tonith had reduced these unpleasant maneuvers

to an art—a military art.

Tonith did not present a very warlike figure. His height—he was over two meters tall—and his painfully

thin physique and sallow complexion gave him a corpselike appearance; his long, equine face and blazing

black eyes set in a skull-like head heightened this cadaverous aspect so that meeting him suddenly in a

darkened companionway aboard theCorpulentus , his flagship, often gave his crew quite a start.

Count Dooku had picked Tonith to lead the force against Praesitlyn because of his proven ability as a

planner. Commanding an army of droids was more like playing a game than engaging in actual combat.

Living soldiers bled and died, had to be fed, experienced morale problems, knew fear and all the other

emotions common to beings who could think. And though some might feel that using a droid army to

inflict pain and death on a force composed of sentient beings was another matter, Tonith not only looked

upon a battlefield dry-eyed, but found sustenance, meaning, and sublime purpose in the destruction of his

enemies.

Pors Tonith not only looked like a corpse, but deep down inside him, where other beings had

consciences, he was dead.

Chapter 3

Star Wars - Jedi Trial (by David Sherman and Dan Cragg)

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