“I’m glad you’re safe,” Luke said.
“What did Mom say?” Jacen asked his sister.
Jaina bit her lower lip, and Tenel Ka answered for her. “The Shadow Academy is jamming our transmissions. We were unable to send our distress signal.”
Jacen felt the blood drain out of his face. How long would it be, then, until reinforcements arrived, if they couldn’t even send a distress call?
Luke spoke in a loud voice, addressing the gathered Jedi students. “We can’t rely on outside help to save us. We must fight this battle ourselves. I believe the Great Temple will be the initial target of attack. Tenel Ka has already briefed you on ground tactics, so we’re going to move this battle to the jungle—where the territory will be new for the Shadow Academy’s troops, but familiar to us. We’ll fight them one-on-one.
“But we must evacuate the Jedi academy immediately.”
5
From the Shadow Academy’s crowded hangar bay, Zekk watched the final preparations for the attack. The frenzy of bustling troops, mixed with their brooding anger and lust for destruction, galvanized him. He felt as if the lines of Force around him had been set on fire.
The hub of the activity was an immense hovering battle platform that dominated the hangar bay. Constructed specifically for this most important assault on the Rebel Alliance, the movable tactical platform bristled with weaponry. Stormtroopers crawled over its armored surface, preparing to launch. Guided by the ominous Nightsister Tamith Kai, the platform would be the staging point for the ground combat, Jedi versus Jedi.
At the battle platform’s helm she stood, eager for vengeance. Her long black cape slithered around her with a hissing sound, like snakes coming out to strike. Spines, taken from the carapace of a murderous giant insect, protruded from her shoulders. Her black hair curled around her head like ebony wires, writhing and crackling with dark powers, each strand seemingly alive and malevolent.
Tamith Kai’s violet eyes burned as she ordered the stormtroopers to board the battle platform, gathering her inner power. Her onyx-scaled armor clung to her muscular, well-formed body. Her demeanor spoke of power and confidence—and a yearning for destruction.
Zekk tended to his own duties. He himself had been a target of Tamith Kai’s suspicious thoughts. The Nightsister didn’t trust him. She felt that his commitment to the dark side wasn’t strong enough, that he was blinded by his former friendship with the Jedi twins, Jacen and Jaina Solo.
Zekk had been trained as the prize student of Lord Brakiss, and had defeated the Nightsister’s own protege Vilas in a duel to the death. By winning the duel, Zekk had gained the title of Darkest Knight. And Tamith Kai—perhaps because she was simply a sore loser, or perhaps because she sensed his flickering doubts—rarely let him out of her sight.
But Brakiss had given him command of the Shadow Academy’s new Force-wielders who would be the vanguard of the battle to reclaim the galaxy. He himself would lead the Dark Jedi strike force, dropping like death from the skies to obliterate Master Skywalker’s trainees.
Zekk drew a deep breath, smelled the metallic tang in the cold air. He heard coolants pumping, engines powering up, the clatter of stormtrooper armor, preparatory signals as systems were locked down. They were ready to launch.
Zekk turned to his group of Force-talented warriors. He wore his crimson-lined black cape and his leather armor; his lightsaber hung clipped at his side, waiting to be used. He had secured his long dark hair in a neat ponytail, and his emerald-green eyes flashed at those gathered around him.
“Feel the Force move through you,” he said to the other trainees. They stood with their jaws set, their eyes alert, eager for battle. They had been trained for this.
He gestured to the waiting platform, and the Dark Jedi moved with a fluid motion as they entered the armored vessel. “We must strike the Jedi academy now, before we lose our element of surprise.”
The TIE pilot’s helmet fit perfectly on his gray-haired head. Along with the breathing mask, goggles, black flight suit, padded gloves, and heavy boots, the uniform seemed to transport Qorl back to a different time, a time when he had been much younger … a pilot for the first Empire.
Years ago, he had flown with his wing of TIE fighters from the original Death Star to attack the desperate fleet of Rebel X-wings. He had been shot down in combat, spiralling down to crash-land in the wilds of Yavin 4. When he had looked behind him, to his absolute horror and disbelief Qorl had watched the invincible Death Star blow up, leaving him stranded on the miserable little moon.
After recovering from his injuries, Qorl had lived like a hermit for over twenty years until four young Jedi trainees had stumbled upon him … setting in motion the events that had returned him to the Second Imperium.
And now, Qorl found himself boarding another TIE fighter, launching from another battle station—once more ready to defeat the Rebels. This time, though, he was sure it would end differently. This time the Empire would make no mistakes.
Qorl stood in front of his wing of twelve TIE fighters. Crowded into the side of the launching bay, the small fighters would take off as soon as the battle platform descended. He turned to his troops, all of them unproven fighters, taken from the ranks of the most ambitious new stormtrooper trainees. The new pilots had never seen combat. They had only practiced, performing simulation after simulation—but he knew they were itching for a real fight. The pilots stood beside their ships, clothed in identical black flight suits and helmets.
One new pilot fidgeted with obvious eagerness, glancing toward his TIE fighter, studying the laser cannon turrets, anxious to be off. He finally stepped forward. The fighter removed his helmet and held it against his chest. Even before seeing the young man’s wide face, though, Qorl knew it was the broad-shouldered Norys, former leader of the Lost Ones gang.
“Excuse me, sir—I have a suggestion,” Norys said. “In light of my superior performance during the simulations, since I scored better than any of these others, I think I should be the one to lead this wing.”
Qorl quelled his anger. “I … understand your reasons, Norys. You have done excellent work in your cross-training as a TIE pilot and stormtrooper. You are eager to learn and, presumably, to serve the Second Imperium. But I must turn down your request this time.”
“On what basis?”
Sensing the challenge in the young man’s voice, Qorl kept his answer firm and direct. “On the basis that Brakiss chose me to command this mission. If you prefer not to follow orders, however …” He shrugged, leaving the implication hanging in the air between them.
The boy was rude and so often insubordinate that if he hadn’t shown such a true aptitude for weaponry and fighting skills, Qorl would certainly have left him behind. Too much was at stake in this mission to allow an overeager young man to botch things up.
Norys flushed. “I think you are afraid, Qorl. You’re old and haven’t flown a mission in years. You’re leading the wing so you can hold us back to cover your own failures.”
“That will be all,” Qorl said in a voice that, although quiet, was so commanding that the air cracked with tension. “I give you the choice: say the word and I’ll ground you from this mission, or hold your tongue and fight for your Emperor.” At the moment Qorl didn’t care what the surly young man chose. He would gladly take a smaller fighting wing if it was the only way to ensure that all his pilots were well disciplined.
Fuming, Norys struggled to keep silent and rammed the black helmet back onto his head.
Qorl spoke, more to divert attention from the outburst than for any other reason. “We have successfully jammed all signals from the Jedi academy. They are unable to call for reinforcements. Since no battleships are in orbit, the foolish Jedi Knights must have assumed that their own powers and their puny energy shield would be enough to thwart us.