Star Wars - The New Rebellion (by Kristine Kathryn Rusch)

Star Wars

The New Rebellion

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

ONE

He stood on the highest point on the planet of Almania, the roof of a tower built by the once-powerful

Je'har. The tower was in ruin, the stairs crumbling as his boots touched them, the roof littered with debris

from battles years gone. From here, though, he could see his city, a thousand lights spread before him,

the streets empty except for droids and the ever-present guards.

But he was not interested in looking down. He wanted to see the stars.

An icy wind rippled his black cloak. He clasped his gloved hands behind him. The death's-head mask he

had worn since destroying the Je'har hung on a silver chain around his neck.

Above him the stars winked. Hard to believe worlds existed there. Worlds he would control.

Soon.

He could have waited in his command, stood in the observatory specially constructed for his needs, but

for once, he wanted no protective walls around him. He wantedto feel the moment, not see it.

The power of sight was so pitiful against the strength of the Force.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. No explosion this time. No bright flare of light. Skywalker

had told him of the moment when Alderaan died.

I felt a great disturbance in the Force,the old man had said. At least, that's what Skywalker told him.

This disturbance would not be as great, but Skywalker would feel it. All the young Jedi would feel it too,

and they would know that the balance of power had shifted.

But they wouldn't know that power had shifted to him. To Kueller, Master of Almania, and soon, lord of

all their pitiful worlds.

The stone walls were damp and cold against Brakiss's unprotected hands. His polished black boots

slipped against the crumbling steps, and more than once he had to balance on a precarious ledge. His

silver cloak, perfect for a brisk stroll across the city, did not protect him against the winter wind. If this

experiment worked, he would be able to go back to Telti, where he would at least be warm.

The remote's metal casing was cool against his fingers. He hadn't wanted to give it to Kueller until the

experiment was over. Brakiss hadn't realized, until a few moments ago, that Kueller would wait for the

results here, at the site of his enemies' triumph and their eventual deaths.

Brakiss hated the towers. It felt as if something still rattled in their walls, and once, when he was in the

catacombs below, he had seen a large white ghost.

Tonight, he had climbed more than twenty stories, and had almost run the first flights until it became clear

that some of the steps wouldn't hold his weight. Kueller hadn't summoned him, but Brakiss didn't care.

The sooner he left Almania, the happier he would be.

The stairs twisted and finally he reached the roof—or what he thought was the roof. A stone hut had

been built to protect the steps, but the hut had no windows or doors. Only pillars, which gave a good

view of the gravel inlay surface, and of the star-filled sky. Stones had fallen out of the hut and shattered

onto the rooftop. The remains from bombs and blaster concussions formed little mounds on what had

once been a level plane. Kueller had not repaired the tower or the other Je'har government buildings. He

never would.

Kueller never forgave anyone who crossed him.

Brakiss shuddered and clutched his thin cape tightly around his shoulders. His frozen fingers barely got a

grip on the material.

"I told you to wait below." Kueller's deep voice carried on the wind.

Brakiss swallowed. He couldn't even see Kueller.

The starlight fell across the roof, giving the dark sky a luminescence that Brakiss found eerie. He climbed

the remaining stairs and stepped out of the hut. A gust of wind knocked him against the stone. He braced

himself with his right hand, losing his grip on his cloak. The fastener tugged against his neck as the wind

made the material flutter behind him.

"I had to know if it worked," he said.

"You'll know when it works." Kueller's voice was a live thing. It surrounded Brakiss, resonated within

him, and held him at bay. Brakiss concentrated, not on the voice, but on Kueller himself.

And finally saw him, standing near the edge, overlooking the city below. Stonia, the capital of Almania,

looked small and insignificant from this height. But Kueller looked like a powerful bird of prey, his cape

billowing in the wind, his broad shoulders suggesting great physical strength.

Brakiss took a step forward when suddenly the wind died. The air around him froze and so did he. In

that moment, he heard— felt—saw—a million voices scream in terror.

The terror rose in him, and he saw again that moment when Master Skywalker led Brakiss deep into

Brakiss's own heart, that moment when he saw himself clearly and nearly lost his mind—

A scream formed in his own throat—

And died as the other screams exploded around him, filling him, warming him, melting the ice in the wind.

He felt stronger, larger, more powerful than he ever had before. Instead of fear, his heart felt an odd,

twisted joy.

He looked up. Kueller had raised his arms, his head tilted back, his face uncovered for the first time in

years. He had changed, his skin filled with a knowledge Brakiss wasn't sure he wanted.

And yet...

Yet Kueller glowed, as if the pain of those million voices had fed something within him, had made him

even greater than he had been before.

The wind returned, its frigid gusts knocking Brakiss against the stone. Kueller didn't seem to feel it. He

laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the entire tower.

Brakiss braced himself against the stone. He waited until Kueller's arms fell to his sides before saying, "It

worked."

Kueller slipped the mask over his face. "Well enough."

Such an understatement for such a great moment. Kueller had to remember that Brakiss was strong in

the Force as well.

Kueller turned, his cape swirling around him. He almost appeared to fly. The skull-like mask that

adhered to his face shone with its own internal light. "I suppose you want to return to your paltry job."

"It's warm on Telti."

"It could be warm here," Kueller said.

Brakiss shook his head almost involuntarily. He hated Almania.

"Your problem is that you do not understand the power of hate," Kueller said, his voice soft.

"I thought you said my problem is that I serve two masters."

Kueller smiled, the thin lips on his mask moving with his mouth. "Is it only two?"

The words hung between them. Brakiss's entire body felt as if it were made of ice. "It worked," he said

again.

"I suppose you expect to be rewarded."

"You promised."

"I never promise," Kueller said. "I imply."

Brakiss crossed his arms over his chest. He would not get angry. Kueller wanted him to be angry. "You

implied great wealth."

"So I did," Kueller said. "Do you deserve great wealth, Brakiss?"

Brakiss said nothing. Kueller had put him together after Yavin 4, after the disastrous debriefing that had

nearly cost Brakiss the rest of his sanity. But Brakiss had long since repaid his debt. He only stayed

because he had nowhere else to go.

He pushed off the wall and started down the stairs. "I'm going back to Telti," he said, feeling defiant.

"Good," Kueller said. "But you will give me the remote first."

Brakiss stopped and looked at Kueller over his shoulder. Kueller had grown taller in the last hour. Taller

and broader.

Or perhaps that was a trick of the darkness.

If Brakiss had faced any other mortal, he would have asked how Kueller knew about the remote. But

Kueller was not any other mortal.

Brakiss held out the remote. "It's slower than the controls I built you."

"Fine."

"You have to set the security codes. You have to instruct it which serial numbers to follow."

"I'm sure I can do that."

"You have to link it to you."

"Brakiss, I can operate remotes."

"All right," Brakiss said. He braced himself as he moved inside the stone hut. It was warmer in there, out

of the wind.

He didn't believe Kueller was letting him leave so easily.

"What do you want from me, when I return to Telti?" Brakiss asked.

"Skywalker," Kueller said, his voice thrumming with the depth of his hatred. "The great Jedi Master,

Luke the invincible Skywalker."

The chill had reached Brakiss's heart. "What do you plan to do with him?"

"Destroy him," Kueller said. "Just as he tried to destroy us."

TWO

Luke Skywalker was balanced on one hand, his fingers deep in the moist jungle earth. Sweat dripped

down his naked back, onto his face, and off his nose and chin. His feet were bare, but he wore an old

pair of tight pants that clung to his damp skin. R2-D2 floated in the air above him, along with several

boulders and a half-rotted tree. Some of Luke's students were gathered around him, half a dozen

members of his youngest and most powerful class.

He had been in this position since the huge orange sphere of the gas planet Yavin had risen on the

horizon of its fourth moon. Yavin was now directly overhead, and although Luke was sweating, he didn't

feel tired or thirsty. The Force flowed through him like cool water, holding R2, the boulders, and the tree

aloft.

The students were shifting, probably wondering how long they would have to continue watching.

Perhaps he would lift them one by one, and then withdraw, leaving them to find the ground delicately or

with difficulty, as their talents allowed.

Luke suppressed a smile. As much as he enjoyed teaching, he didn't always show that enjoyment.

Sometimes the students believed he was laughing at their expense, which was not conducive to a good

student-teacher relationship. Still, he had moments of pure pleasure, especially at times like this. R2 didn't

appreciate this aspect of the training, but it made Luke feel like a boy again.

Instead of lifting one of his students, he eased another boulder into the air. It hovered near the others,

bobbing a bit before it found its place. The students watched, suddenly still. Luke scanned their feet,

hoping for some sign of annoyance. The first one to look restless would be the first one into the air.

He had learned this method over the years as a way of teaching his students patience, and also as a way

of showing them the powers of the Force. Like so many of the methods he used, it worked for some

students and didn't work for others. Often he got an insight into a student's mind by the student's reaction

to various aspects of training. These class members were still new enough to mimic each others'

reactions. He hoped that mimicry would be gone by the end of the day.

Then a wave of emotion slammed into him—cold, hard, and filled with terror. The pain was worse than

anything he had ever felt, worse than the near loss of his leg on theEye ofPalpatine, worse than the

Emperor's electric blast on the Death Star, worse than the destruction of his face on Hoth. Mixed with

the terror and pain was the shock of betrayal, a shock multiplied by the millions of minds who felt it.

Luke wobbled on his hand, struggling to keep the boulders and tree aloft, to keep them from falling on

his unsuspecting students. R2 screamed as he shot across the sky, the sound mingling with the screams in

Luke's mind. R2 landed with a metallic bang against the jungle floor, Luke's students scattered, and the

rest of Luke's control fled.

His arm collapsed beneath him, and he tumbled to the ground, his breath gone from his body. He lay on

his back, sinking in the soft dirt, the screams still echoing in his mind.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the voices were gone.

"Are you all right?" one of his students asked. The voice was overlaid with his own, filled with the same

trembly fear seventeen years ago. "What's wrong?"

Luke put his left hand over his face. He was shaking. "There's been a great disturbance in the Force." He

wondered how they could fail to feel it, how he had failed to feel something even stronger, all those years

ago.

As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

"Ben,"he whispered. "Another Death Star?"

But he expected no answer. Ben's comforting presence had left him before the Jedi Academy, before

Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Luke closed his eyes, feeling for the location of the disturbance. He found a great emptiness where a

moment before there had been life. The residue of pain, the deeply held surprise, the shock of betrayal,

remained like an echo of a shout over a canyon rim.

"Master Skywalker?" The voice belonged to one of his most promising students, Eelysa, a young woman

from Coruscant. "Master Skywalker?"

He waved his right hand at her. His back hurt from the force of his landing, his chest ached from the lack

of oxygen, and his heart ached from the magnitude of the loss. Somewhere in the distance, R2 whistled, a

mournful sound.

He had to sit up, to show them everything was all right, even though it wasn't.

"Master Skywalker?"

Her voice merged and blended with the echoes in his head. He opened his eyes. In the shade of his

shaking hand, he saw Leia's face, scorched and blood-covered. He reached toward her, and then she

was gone.

It is the future you see.

The destruction did not come from Coruscant. He would know if Leia died. Or Han. Or the children.

He would know.

R2 whistled again, impatient this time.

"Find R2," he said. His voice sounded haunted, shaky, preoccupied, like Ben's had after the destruction

of Alderaan.

Feet snapped twigs around him as three students left in search of R2.

Or as they ran from Luke and his sudden, startling loss of control.

"What happened, Master Skywalker?" Eelysa was crouched beside him, her small, slender body

hunched against an unseen enemy. She had been a surprise, a native of Coruscant, born after the

Emperor's death, her Force abilities untainted by the poisons around her. She was young. So very, very

young.

"A million people died a moment ago, all in great pain, and with great suddenness." He pushed himself

up on his elbows. A vast evil had returned to the galaxy. That much he knew.

And it threatened Leia.

He knew that too.

For now, the days of teaching were over. He and R2 had to leave immediately for Coruscant.

Leia Organa Solo, Chief of State of the New Republic, adjusted the belt on her long white gown. She

took a deep breath. Mon Mothma placed a hand on her arm. Leia smiled distractedly at her, much as

she had as a young senator, facing Palpatine and his followers in the Imperial Senate.

She let the breath out. That was the emotion she was feeling, something she hadn't felt since she was a

teenager. A sense of loss, of defeat, of the life changing without her permission or control.

Mon Mothma dosed the golden carved door and turned the lock. They were in a small dressing room

that had been added during Palpatine's days as Emperor, a room just outside the Senate Assembly

Chamber. The room had been used as a secret communications area, but it masqueraded as a dressing

room. The walls were gold leaf and delicate. A mirror covered one panel, floor to ceiling, reflecting both

Leia and Mon Mothma. In some ways, Mon Mothma looked like an older, calmer version of Leia,

although her short hair was now streaked with silver. Tiny lines webbed her skin, lines that had been

there since her devastating illness at the hands of Carida's Ambassador Furgan six years before.

"What is it?" Mon Mothma said.

Leia shook her head. She smoothed her damp hands on her skirts. She didn't look much different from

the girl who had walked into the Imperial Senate filled with hope and idealism, Princess Leia Organa of

Alderaan, the youngest senator, the one who believed that persuasion and reason would save the Old

Republic. The one who lost her idealism the moment she stared into Senator Palpatine's ruined face.

"They're members of the New Republic now, Leia," Mon Mothma said. "They were elected fairly."

"This is wrong. This is how it all started before." Leia had had this same conversation with Han since the

elections. Several planets had petitioned the Senate to allow former Imperials to serve as political

representatives. The argument was that some of the best politicians had kept their peoples alive by

working with the Empire, as minor functionaries. They were petty bureaucrats who saved dozens of

Rebel lives by overlooking strange troop movements, or unusual faces in the crowds. Leia had opposed

the petitions from the beginning, but the arguments in Chamber had been fierce. M'yet Luure, the

powerful senator from Exodeen, had finally reminded her that even she had once served the Empire in

her role as Imperial senator. She had retorted that she was serving the Rebellion even then. M'yet had

smiled, revealing six rows of uneven teeth.These people were serving the Rebellion too, he had said,in

their own way.

Leia had disputed that claim. They had served the Empire and not fought against it, had merely looked

the other way. But M'yet's argument was powerful, and because of it, the Senate had approved the

petition. Leia had modified the election law with the help of her backers—no former stormtroopers could

hold office, no Imperial of rank, no former Imperial governor—in short, no Imperial with access to

power in the Empire could serve the New Republic. But still she felt this law was wrong.

"They're going to destroy all we've worked for," she said to Mon Mothma.

"You don't know that," Mon Mothma said softly.

Her words echoed Han's. Leia clenched her fists. "I do know that," she said. "Since we formed the New

Republic, we have always known that our leaders have the same goals. We have the same philosophy of

life. We have always worked in the same directions."

Mon Mothma's grip on Leia's arm loosened. "We have always fought the Empire. But the Empire is

gone now. Only bands remain. Someday we must move beyond the Rebellion and into true government.

Part of that, Leia, is accepting those who lived under the Empire but did not serve it."

Leia shook her head. "It's too soon."

"Actually," Mon Mothma said, "I think it isn't soon enough."

Leia tugged at her skirt. She had even worn her hair in the long-outdated style, braids wrapped around

her ears, in defiance of the new Senate members—as a sign that Chief of State Leia Organa Solo was

once Leia Organa, princess, senator, and Rebel leader. Han had kissed her roughly before she left their

apartments and had grinned at her.Well, Your Worship, does this mean I get to go back to being a

scoundrel?

She had laughingly pushed him away, but his words echoed even as Mon Mothma spoke. Perhaps Leia

was the problem. Perhaps she was not willing to move forward.

Perhaps she was the one unwilling to let go of the past.

"All right," she said, straightening, a leader once more. "Let's get on with this."

Mon Mothma did not move toward the door. "One more thing," she said. "Remember that whatever

tone you set at the opening remarks of this Senate will be the focus of the debate for years to come."

"I know," Leia said. She reached for the door when a wave of deep cold smashed into her. She froze.

Voices screamed—hundreds, no—thousands of voices, so faint she could barely hear them. Then she

saw a face form on the golden door, a white face with black, empty eyes. The face was concave, almost

skeletal, like the death masks she had seen in a museum on Alderaan in her youth. Only, unlike them, this

one moved. It smiled, and the cold grew deeper.

Then the voices ceased, and Leia collapsed against the door.

Mon Mothma hurried to her side, and grabbed Leia, staggering as she attempted to support her weight.

"Leia?"

Leia was still cold. Colder than she had ever been on Hoth. Her teeth were chattering. She reached with

her limited Force training and found her children in the apartments, just as they should have been.

"Luke," she whispered. Leia freed herself from Mon Mothma's hold, and headed toward the old

communications control. She contacted Yavin 4, only to be told Luke was in his X-wing.

"Leia, what is it?" Mon Mothma asked.

Leia didn't answer. She waited to be patched into Luke's X-wing. Soon his voice filled the room.

"Leia?" he asked, as if he had been worried too.

"I'm fine, Luke," she said, relief filling her.

"I'm coming to you. Wait for me."

But she couldn't wait. She had to know. "You felt it too, didn't you? What was that?"

"Alderaan," he whispered, and that was all she needed to know.

The image of Alderaan filled her mind, Alderaan as she had last seen it on the Death Star, beautiful and

serene, in the seconds before it was smashed to bits.

"No!" she said. "Luke?"

"I'll be there soon, Leia," he said, and signed off. She wasn't ready for him to disappear so soon. She

needed him. Something awful had happened, like the destruction of Alderaan.

And she had felt it.

"What happened, Leia?" Mon Mothma put her arms around Leia. Leia's shivering had stopped.

"Something terrible," Leia said. She reached out, touched the cool gold door, straightened, and stood.

"There's death in that chamber, Mon Mothma."

"Leia—"

"Luke is coming here. He felt something too."

"Then trust him," Mon Mothma said. "He'd know if you were in immediate danger."

But he hadn't known. He had been as relieved to hear from her as she had been to hear from him. Her

mouth was dry. "Send someone for Han, would you?"

Mon Mothma nodded. "I suppose you want to put off the opening session."

More than anything. But Leia straightened her shoulders, rubbed her cold hands together, and checked

her braids a final time. "No," she said. "You were right. I have to be careful of the message I send. I'm

going in. But let's double the guards this afternoon, and step up security on Coruscant. Also, get Admiral

Ackbar to scan for anything unusual in nearby space."

"What are you afraid of?" Mon Mothma asked.

Alderaan flashed before Leia's vision at the moment of explosion, a flare of brilliant, horrible light. "I

don't know," she said. "Maybe a Death Star, or a Sun Crusher. Something that could destroy us all."

THREE

Han sat in the back corner of the smoke-filled room. He hadn't been in this casino since he won the

planet Dathomir in a game of sabacc before he married Leia. The casino had changed hands at least

fifteen times since then—now it was calling itself the Crystal Jewel, a misnomer if he'd ever heard

one—but it looked no different. The air smelled of damp decay mixed with smoke and alcohol. A

mediocre band played Tatooine blues with a decided disinterest. All around him, conversation rose and

fell with the fortunes at the sabacc tables.

He clutched a pale blue Gizer ale, which he had snatched off a servo droid. Han's companion, Jarril, had

disappeared a few moments ago, searching for the bar. Han wasn't sure if Jarril would be back.

Han was watching the sabacc game at the nearest table, where a Gotal was betting all it owned. As it

slid the chips across the table, it shed piles of gray hair. Most Gotals had learned to control their

shedding. This one had to be extremely nervous.

Its companions didn't seem to notice. The Brubb, a large brown reptile, was scratching its knobby hide,

leaving scales all over the floor, its tail knocking the mechanical base of a nearby servo droid. The

two-armed Ssty was counting her cards, her claws making indentations in each. The tiny Tin-Tin Dwarf

stood on its chair, its ratlike features focused on the pile in the center of the table.

The dealer droids had been upgraded since Han's last visit. This dealer was bolted to the ceiling, but

unlike its predecessors, it could slide down to table height and knock aside an unruly player. The dealer

had done just that after Jarril left, and had riveted Han's attention. He had never seen such an aggressive

droid before. Although he had to admit, they were needed in a place like this.

"The line was incredible." Jarril slipped back into his chair at the table. He had two drinks, both bright

green. Neither looked appealing.

Han wrapped his hands around his Gizer ale. "I'd've waited if I'd known you were buying."

Jarril shrugged. He was a small man with narrow shoulders, and a face scarred from years of harsh

living. Han had always envied Jarril's hands, though. They were smuggler's hands, with long, thin, tapered

fingers, perfect for piloting, blasting, and those forms of gambling that required dexterity. "More for me,"

Jarril said.

The smuggler's credo. Han grinned. It'd been too long since he'd been in a place like this. He probably

wouldn't even have answered Jarril's contact if it hadn't been for Leia. She had looked like that

sharp-tongued princess he'd rescued back when he'd been an equally sharp-tongued scoundrel.

Sometimes he missed that part of himself more than he cared to admit.

Han slid his chair back so that it hit the wall. He wore a blaster at his hip, having learned almost before

he could walk that no sane man entered a place like this without protection. Besides, he didn't really

know the reason behind Jarril's visit.

"I don't believe you came to Coruscant just to buy me a drink," Han said. He didn't bother to mention

that the Jarril of old would never have bought anyone anything. A lot had changed about his old

colleague, including the price of the man's clothes. Jarril used to wear shirts until they fell off him. This one

was made of a dyed green gaberwool, a singularly ugly garment despite its obvious newness.

"I didn't," Jarril said. He downed one green drink, coughed, wiped his mouth, and grinned. His teeth

glowed for a moment before he licked the liquid off them. "I came to tell you about an opportunity."

This was rich. An opportunity. For Han Solo, hero of the Alliance, husband, father, and family man. "I've

got opportunities," Han said, and immediately wondered what they were.

"Yeah, sure." Jarril pushed a strand of hair off his pocked forehead. "I gotta admit you stayed legit a lot

longer than I woulda thought. I figured six months with the princess and you and Chewie would be back

on theFalcon, heading for parts unknown."

"There's enough to keep me busy here," Han said.

"Busy, maybe," Jarril said. "But it's a waste of talent if you ask me. You and Chewie were the best

pirates I knew."

Han slid one hand to his blaster and rested his fingers against the trigger. "I haven't been away that long,

Jarril. I still don't con easily. What do you want?"

Jarril leaned close. His breath smelled of mint, ale, and cream candy. "There's money out there, Han.

More money than we ever dreamed of."

Star Wars - The New Rebellion (by Kristine Kathryn Rusch)

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