Star Wars: The New Rebellion

An explosion rocked the Chamber, flinging Leia into the air. She flew backward and slammed onto a desk, her entire body shuddering with the power of her hit. Blood and shrapnel rained around her. Smoke and dust rose, filling the room with a grainy darkness. She could hear nothing. With a shaking hand, she touched the side of her face. Warmth stained her cheeks and her earlobes. The ringing would start soon. The explosion was loud enough to affect her eardrums.…

The tone had truly been set for this Senatorial term.

And for that, the Empire would pay.

Thanks on this one go to Tom Dupree, Lucy Autrey Wilson, and Richard Curtis for thinking of me in the first place; to Sue Rostoni, who answered all my questions; to Renee Dodds for keeping me on the straight and narrow; to Jenny Goodnough for understanding the depth of the Star Wars universe; to Dean Wesley Smith for reminding me to laugh in all the right places; to Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta, Dave Wolverton, Steve Perry, and Barbara Hambly for their thoughts, theories, and advice; and to all the other
Star Wars
authors for providing me with the most enjoyable month of research I’ve ever had.

H
e 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 wanted to
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.