Star Wars: Jedi Trial Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Preview of an Star Wars: Outbound Flight

  Copyright

  Also by this Author

  Introduction to the Star Wars Expanded Universe

  Excerpt from Star Wars: Yoda: Dark Rendezvous

  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

  Timeline

  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 important.” 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.

  “I 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 suggest again?”

  Obi-Wan shook his head. “First there was no point, and then there was no time. But as soon as I return, I’ll make 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 datapad 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 on your 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.

  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 report, “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. People 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.”