Vaner smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“You think your old mother’s going senile, don’t you?”
“Sometimes the Force is a little hard to understand.”
“You’d better get used to it,” she told him. “It’s in your blood. I can already sense it in those kids of yours.”
“I guess it skips a generation,” Vaner said with a soft laugh.
After a few more minutes of silence he spoke again; it was a question Bastila had expected to hear for many years.
“Do you ever wish he had stayed with you instead?”
“I miss your father every day of my life,” she said, “but I never once thought that.”
“Why not?”
“Revan knew there was something out there—something that threatened the Republic. Maybe something that threatened the entire galaxy. He went to stop it, and I know he succeeded.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because you and I are here talking about this,” she said. “We haven’t been wiped out by war, or turned into refugees. The galaxy hasn’t come to some kind of horrific end. Whatever Revan did, he made it possible for you and me to live our lives without fear and hardship. And for that, I will always be grateful.”
She reached out and placed a wrinkled hand on each of her son’s cheeks, pulling him in close and kissing him softly on the head.
“I better go check on Emess and the kids,” he said, standing up.
“Of course,” she said, waving her hand. “Go, go. I’ll just stay here on the couch and have a little nap.”
Her son headed off to the guest room in the back, and Bastila closed her eyes, quickly drifting into sleep. As always, she dreamed of Revan.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DREW KARPYSHYN is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction and its sequel, Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two. He also wrote the acclaimed Mass Effect series of novels and is an award-winning writer/designer of videogames for BioWare. After spending most of his life in Canada, he finally grew tired of the long, cold winters and headed south in search of a climate more conducive to year-round golf. He now lives in Texas with his wife, Jennifer, and their cat.
ALSO BY DREW KARPYSHYN
Baldur’s Gate II: Throne of Bhaal
Temple Hill
Mass Effect: Revelation
Mass Effect: Ascension
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil
STAR WARS—LEGENDS
What is a legend? According to the Random House Dictionary, a legend is “a nonhistorical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical.” Merriam-Webster defines it as “a story from the past that is believed by many people but cannot be proved to be true.” And Wikipedia says, “Legends are tales that, because of the tie to a historical event or location, are believable, though not necessarily believed.” Because of this inherent believability, legends tend to live on in a culture, told and retold even though they are generally regarded as fiction.
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a legend was born: The story of Luke Skywalker and his fellow heroes, Princess Leia and Han Solo. Three blockbuster movies introduced these characters and their stories to millions of people who embraced these tales and began to build upon them, as is done with myths everywhere. And thus novels, short stories, and comic books were published, expanding the Star Wars universe introduced in the original trilogy and later enhanced by the prequel movies and the animated TV series The Clone Wars. The enormous body of work that grew around the films and The Clone Wars came to be known as The Expanded Universe.
Now, as new movies, television shows, and books move into the realm of the official canon, The Expanded Universe must take its place firmly in the realm of legends. But, like all great legends, the fact that we can’t prove the veracity of every detail doesn’t make the stories any less entertaining or worthy of being read. These legends remain true to the spirit of Star Wars and in that way are another avenue through which we can get to know and understand our beloved heroes in that galaxy far, far away.
—Del Rey Books, May 2014
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars Legends novels to learn more.
Read on for an excerpt from
Star Wars: The Old Republic: Annihilation
by Drew Karpyshyn
Published by Del Rey Books
THERON SHAN walked quickly through the packed streets of Nar Shaddaa’s Promenade. His unassuming features—pale skin, brown hair, brown eyes, average build—allowed him to blend easily into the crowd. The cybernetic implants visible around his left eye and right ear were his most distinguishing features, but he wasn’t the only one sporting them on Nar Shaddaa, and they typically didn’t draw unwanted attention.
The Hutt-controlled moon was a landscape of unfettered urban sprawl, marked by towering skyscrapers crammed too close together and gaudy, glowing billboards that dominated the horizon as far as the eye could see in every direction. Sometimes called Little Coruscant, it was hard to accept Nar Shaddaa as a true homage to the Republic capital world; in Theron’s eyes it was more akin to a grotesque parody.
Coruscant had been designed with an eye to aesthetics: There was a pleasing flow to the cityscape and a consistent and complementary style to the architecture. The city was carefully divided into various districts, making it easy to navigate. The pedestrian walks were crowded but clean; the endless stream of air speeders overhead stayed within the designated traffic lanes. On Coruscant, there was an unmistakable sense of order and purpose. At times, Theron found it positively stifling.
Here on the Smuggler’s Moon, however, it was a glorious free-for-all. Rundown residential buildings were scattered haphazardly among seedy-looking commercial structures; factories abutted restaurants and clubs, with no regard for the toxic clouds of filth spilling out over the patrons. With no traffic rules in force, air speeders and swoop bikes darted and dove in seemingly random directions, sometimes flying so low the pedestrians would duck and cover their heads.
As Theron turned a corner, he realized someone was following him. He hadn’t actually seen anyone on his tail, but he could sense it. He could feel eyes watching him, scoping him out, measuring him as a target.
Master Ngani Zho, the man who’d raised him, would probably have claimed Theron’s awareness came through the Force. But despite coming from a long line of famous Jedi, Theron wasn’t one of the Order. In fact, he had no special connection to the Force at all.
What he did have was a decade’s worth of experience working for Republic Strategic Information Services. He’d been trained to notice minute details; to be hyper-aware of his surroundings at all times. And even though his conscious mind was distracted by the details of his coming mission, his subconscious had instinctively picked up on something that had set the warning bells off in his head. He knew better than to ignore them.
Careful not to break stride, turn his head, or do anything else that might tip off whoever was following him, Theron used his peripheral vision to scan the area around him, looking for his tail.
At street level, everything was a chaotic mishmash of bright, flashing colors: a constant assault from an army of pink, purple, green, and blue signs and billboards—perfect camouflage for whoever might be following him. Fortunately the intensity of the inescapable neon was muted by the layer of grime that clung to every surface; a reminder of the unchecked pollution in the atmosphere that would eventually transform Nar Shaddaa into an uninhabitable wasteland.
It wasn’t easy to pick someone who looked suspicious out from the crowd. The population of the Smuggler’s Moon was as varied, unpredictable, and seedy as the surroundings. In the seventeen years since the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant, the Hutts had remained staunchly neutral in the ongoing cold war between the Republic and the Sith Emp
ire, making Nar Shaddaa a common gathering place for criminal elements from all corners of the galaxy: Black Sun slavers, Rodian pickpockets, Twi’lek hustlers, Chevin stim dealers. Any and all illicit activities were tolerated on Nar Shaddaa, provided the Hutts got their cut.
Still, there were those too greedy or stupid to cut the Hutts in on their action. When that happened there were consequences. Things got messy.
Is that what this is about? Theron wondered. Is Morbo onto me? Did he send someone to take me out?
He passed by the statue of Karragga the Unyielding that dominated the Promenade. Though he’d been to Nar Shaddaa many times, he couldn’t help but pause for a second and shake his head in disbelief: a thirty-meter-tall Hutt made of solid gold was too impossibly ostentatious to ignore. Shaking his head also gave him a chance to quickly glance from side to side, expanding his field of vision just enough to catch a glimpse of someone darting into a doorway off to his left. He didn’t get a good look at whoever it was, but the sudden movement was unnatural enough to stand out.
Someone working alone. Could be a mugger. Or a trained assassin.
Theron was on a tight schedule; it was time to force the action. He turned down a narrow side street, leaving the worst of the crowds—and the relative safety they provided—behind. Off the main thoroughfare there were fewer neon lights and more shadowy corners. If his tail was going to try something, this was the perfect place to make a move.
A slight buzzing of the cybernetic implant in his right ear alerted him to an incoming transmission. There was only one person who knew his private frequency, and Theron knew he had to take the call.
“Accept incoming,” he whispered. Louder, he said, “Director.”
“Theron.” The head of Strategic Information Services, as he so often did, sounded annoyed. “Where are you?”
“I’m on vacation,” Theron replied. “I put in for some R and R. Remember?”
Theron realized the director’s call could work to his advantage. Whoever was following him would think he was distracted, vulnerable. All he had to do was pretend to be oblivious while listening for his stalker to creep up close, then suddenly turn the tables.
“Vacation, huh?” the director grumbled in his ear, as Theron continued farther into the deserted alley. “That’s funny, because I have a report that one of our field agents has been spotted snooping around on Nar Shaddaa.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me?”
“What are you doing on Nar Shaddaa?” the director demanded, not bothering to answer Theron’s question.
“Maybe I just like the climate.”
“Smog clouds and acid rain? Not likely. You’re up to something.”
I’m about to be ambushed in a dark alley, then I’m going to go save someone’s life, Theron thought.
Out loud, he said, “I’m taking care of some personal business.”
“What’s Teff’ith mixed up in now?” the director asked with a sigh.
Even though he couldn’t see the man on the other end of the call, Theron could picture his boss rubbing his temples in exasperation.
“Teff’ith’s not a bad kid,” Theron insisted. “She just tends to fall in with the wrong crowd.”
“Guess that explains how she ended up working with you,” the director grumbled.
Theron had stopped walking and was standing with one hand up to the cyber-link in his ear, pointedly staring straight ahead.
Might as well be wearing a sign that says, “Come and get me!” Time to make your move.
“Ngani Zho saw something special in her,” Theron said to the director.
“I know Master Zho raised you, but by the time he met Teff’ith he was … troubled.”
You almost said crazy, didn’t you?
“She has key underworld contacts,” he explained, “and she knows how to handle herself in a tough spot. We might need a favor from her someday. I’m just looking out for a potential asset.”
“What makes you think she’d ever help us? Didn’t Teff’ith say she’d kill you if she ever saw you again?”
“Then I’ll make sure she doesn’t see me.”
“I hate to do this, Theron,” the director said. “But I’m ordering you to pull out of Nar Shaddaa. It’s for your own good.”
Theron felt the unmistakable shape of a vibroblade’s tip pressing up against his back, and a deep voice growled, “Move and you’re dead!” in his other ear.
“You worry too much,” Theron told the director, keeping his voice light. “Everything’s under control.” In a whisper he added, “Disconnect,” and the comlink in his ear shut down.
“Get your hands up!” his unseen assailant snarled.
Theron slowly raised his arms in the air, silently cursing himself for letting his assailant get so close.
Never even heard him coming. Was I really that sloppy, or is he that good?
“Lose the piece.”
The words were in Basic, but the voice was definitely not human—too deep, too rumbling. The speaker was large, but without turning around there was no way for Theron to pin down what kind of alien he was dealing with.
The comlink in his ear buzzed again, but this time Theron ignored the director’s call. He clicked his teeth together twice, temporarily shutting the cybernetics off so he could focus on getting out of the alley alive.
“I said lose the piece!”
The order was accentuated by an increase in the pressure of the blade against Theron’s back. Reaching down slowly, he slid his blaster pistol from the holster on his hip and let it drop to the ground. He briefly considered making a move; there were a dozen ways he could try to surprise and disarm his opponent. But without knowing exactly who or what he was facing it was too risky.
Patience. Analyze the situation. Wait for your chance.
“Those are some fancy wrist guards you got. Maybe have a poison dart or a pinpoint blaster built in, right? Lose ’em.”
Any hope Theron had of catching his assailant by surprise with the weapons in his customized bracers vanished as he unclipped the metal bands from his forearms and let them fall at his feet.
The fact that his assailant had marked the bracers as potential weapons also meant this wasn’t some run-of-the-mill mugger. An Imperial operative would probably recognize the bracers, but it didn’t make sense for any of them to be targeting Theron on a Hutt-controlled world … especially now that Imperial Intelligence had been officially disbanded. That left only one other likely—and unsettling—option: a bounty hunter or assassin working for Morbo the Hutt.
“Now turn around, real slow.”
The pressure of the blade eased as the ambusher took a step back. Theron turned to see a violet-skinned Houk towering over him, his heavyset torso and thick, muscular limbs seeming to fill the entire width of the narrow alley. His froglike features were set in a grim scowl, his eyes fixed intently on his victim.
He was pretty sure the Houk didn’t have any backup—he would have noticed if there was more than one person following him. But even if he was acting alone, Theron was no match for the massive brute’s raw muscle. Under normal conditions he could make up what he lacked in strength with speed, but in the tight confines of the narrow alley avoiding the deadly vibroblade might be difficult … especially if the Houk was trained in close-quarters fighting. Given his choice of weapon, Theron had to assume he was facing a capable and deadly opponent.
“What’s your interest in Morbo?” the Houk demanded.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Theron said, his earlier hypothesis about his ambusher working for the Hutt confirmed.
“I’ve seen you scoping out Morbo’s place for the past three days,” the Houk snarled. “Lie to me again, and I won’t ask nicely next time,” he added, waving the vibroblade back and forth for emphasis.
The implied threat didn’t bother Theron nearly as much as the realization that he’d been made during his recon trips to Morbo’s club.
“Never saw you at M
orbo’s,” Theron admitted. “Didn’t think anybody saw me, either.”
“I’ve been trained to know what to look for,” the Houk answered.
Trained? Theron wondered. By who? Imperial intelligence?
As if echoing his own thoughts, the Houk asked, “Who are you working for?”
Theron wasn’t about to reveal his connection to SIS, and he suspected another evasive answer would be met with violence.
“Take the shot!” Theron shouted, as if calling out to an unseen accomplice.
The Houk’s head turned just a fraction as he reacted to Theron’s bluff, his survival instincts forcing him to sneak a quick look for a hidden sniper in the alley.
Seizing on the distraction, Theron lashed out with a quick kick to the Houk’s midsection. The impact caused no real damage, but it momentarily knocked the big alien off balance, giving Theron more room to operate.
He was already backpedaling in anticipation of the counterattack; even so he barely avoided the expected lunge of his opponent. As he feared, the Houk wasn’t just some clumsy brawler—he was quicker than he seemed.
As the Houk moved in, Theron tried to disarm him with a wrist lock, reaching out for the hand that held the blade. The Houk countered by twisting his body and throwing his opposite shoulder into Theron, sending him stumbling back.
Unable to set his feet, Theron was forced on the defensive. The alley was too narrow to dodge from side to side, so his only option was full-scale retreat, backpedalling rapidly as the Houk charged forward, the blade slicing and stabbing the empty air mere centimeters from Theron’s chest.
With all his opponent’s momentum moving forward in his pursuit, Theron suddenly stopped short and dropped to the ground, rolling into the thick legs of his advancing foe. The move caught the Houk by surprise; he tripped over Theron and tumbled to the ground, the fall knocking the vibroblade from his grasp.