Cilghal wrestled with the controls. “Hang on,” she said as Zekk tried to steady the craft in the midst of the foamy turmoil.
Anja was thrown backward into her seat.
Lights flickered and dimmed inside the cabin before the emergency generators kicked on, adding fresh illumination.
Zekk grunted as his head smacked against the wall. “Tell me this sub has some sort of defense system.”
“Unfortunately, this is not a fact,” Tenel Ka said. “And I doubt we are capable of outswimming that creature.”
Jacen looked through the front windowports into the cold arctic sea. He sensed that the giant shadowy hulk would turn and swim back, return for another pass—and that this time it would be less reticent to make a full-fledged assault. He reached out with his mind, trying to use the Force to find the massive creature’s primitive mind. But the beast’s attention was entirely absorbed by the new prey.
“That wasn’t even an attack yet,” Zekk said. “The thing was just checking us out.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if he tingled, and looked back at Jacen. “Next time it’ll want a meal.”
The minisub’s stabbing lights spread out in white cones through the water. Bubbles still drifted up, shrouding them in a watery bead curtain. Moments later the gigantic silhouette swam into the light, showing off its thick body core studded with long deadly tentacles, and its large ravenous mouth. The creature undulated toward them, thrashing through the water. The tiny underwater vehicle would never be able to travel that fast. They could not escape through sheer energy alone.
The creature’s maw opened wide.
Cilghal added power to the hull attitude jets, tilting the craft at a steep angle to rise toward the jagged ceiling of ice under the polar cap. The sub sputtered out of the way. Snapping with its tentacles, the monster pursued.
Despite Cilghal’s attempts to control it during the violent evasive maneuvers, the small grappling claw that held the last andris container ripped loose. The second claw bent and jammed. The crate popped free, drifting … slowly sinking.
“There goes the spice!” Anja said, and Jacen couldn’t be sure if she was disappointed or just observing a fact.
Seeing the bright morsel fall away from the larger craft, the sea monster swerved and ducked toward it. Long tentacles reached out, grasped, and in a single swift movement the creature’s fanged mouth came forward and chomped down on the container. Swordlike teeth tore through the outer coverings, freeing the spice ampoules.
Vials began to shatter … and the beast swallowed a thousand doses of andris. All at once.
Jacen stared as the monster gulped down an immeasurable quantity of the intense stimulant. “Uh-oh,” he said, “now we’re really in trouble. If you thought that monster was hyper before, wait until the andris kicks in.”
Below them, the creature thrashed about in growing agitation. And then it turned its attention back to the minisub.
13
Under the humid, hazy sunlight of Yavin 4, a steady flow of Jedi Knights came and learned and became the hope of the galaxy. Nothing would stop them now.
Master Luke Skywalker considered his students over the years, remembering them all. Alone at first, he had been so tentative, so uncertain, as he tried to bring back the association of heroic fighters who had performed so many legendary deeds in the days of the Old Republic.
But now the Jedi training center had taken on a life of its own. The new Jedi learned as much from each other, and from his former students, as they took from Luke’s lectures and intensive training sessions. Never again would the order of Jedi Knights be limited by the bottleneck of having only one teacher and a single student.
Luke’s very first trainees, the batch of twelve he had taken and trained after his Jedi search, were full Jedi Knights. They traveled throughout the young New Republic fighting battles, helping to maintain planetary stability, and performing the various good works a Jedi was called upon to do. Some of those candidates had become legends in their own right, a new generation. Now, with the remarkable capabilities of Han and Leia’s twins, as well as their young Jedi friends and their younger brother Anakin, Luke felt that the Force had truly been reborn. The Jedi Knights were strong now. He did not believe they would ever fall again.
He wished Obi-Wan Kenobi could be here to see him now. The “old wizard” from the Jundland Wastes had changed his life more profoundly than Luke could ever have imagined. Kenobi had turned a simple farm boy from a desert planet into a Jedi. And, in so doing, he had single-handedly set in motion the events that had brought down the Empire, restored the Jedi Knights, and helped create the benevolent New Republic. Kenobi had died sacrificing himself on the Death Star before he could see any of his seeds bear fruit, but Luke would never forget him. The teachings of the old Jedi would always be a part of Luke’s continuing work at the Jedi academy.
Students came and went here on Yavin 4. Luke’s partner in teaching, Tionne, had been one of his first students. In order to keep from repeating the mistakes of the past, she made certain the candidates were well grounded in history. Tionne loved to tell tales of past Jedi. She shared her knowledge of the lore of those who fought for the light side of the Force in ancient times. Through her teachings, the legends survived and grew, fixed again in history—though the evil Emperor had tried to obliterate them from the memory of all living beings.
As Luke stood pondering, Artoo trundled up, bleeping a greeting and chittering a new assessment of supplies and needed equipment. Luke rested a hand on the astromech droid’s domed head.
“Relax, Artoo. I was just thinking about how things have changed.”
He recalled his uncle Owen and aunt Beru, who had tried to shield him from all traumas his life would bring. Their attempts to corral him on a desert world and keep his dreams small had been unsuccessful. His aunt and uncle had wanted him to hide on Tatooine, to live the uneventful life of a quiet, simple moisture farmer. Uncle Owen had known Luke’s heritage, who his father was, and what dark connections a Skywalker child might have. Despite the best of intentions, the overprotectiveness of Owen and Beru Lars had nearly cost Luke—and the galaxy—the ultimate freedom.
Visions of the last time he had been home as a boy filled his mind—the burned-out moisture farm, the blackened corpses of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, gunned down by stormtroopers in an act of terrorism. He had no idea what horrors they had experienced in their last moments, whether his aunt and uncle had been tortured by the Imperials for information … even though they’d had nothing to tell.
But the stormtroopers had killed them anyway.
He wished Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru could be here now to witness all he had accomplished. Luke Skywalker had established a firm place in history. But lasting victories often demanded harsh sacrifice.
Luke vowed that such violent repression would never happen again, not if he or his Jedi Knights could prevent it. There would be battles to fight, and there would be casualties. He didn’t try to give his new trainees a false sense of reality. There were great costs associated with being a Jedi. They might be called on to suffer, to feel pain … or to die for a cause.
But Jedi did what they believed was right—not what was simple or safe. They trusted the Force.
In front of the rebuilt temple on the training field, a dozen students sparred and clashed. Some practiced alone, using their minds to work with the Force. Others developed the fine points of teamwork. His students, all of them … but they were also their own people. They would go through their own ordeals.
Despite the perils he knew some of his students would eventually face—and that the young Jedi Knights might be facing even now on their quest to find Anja out in the galaxy—Luke had no regrets. He had made difficult choices. He had done what he’d had to do. His students were doing the same. And the Force was with them all.