Star Wars.

The New Rebellion.

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch.

ONE.

He 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.

"You'll know when it works." Kueller's voice was a live thing. It surrounded Brakiss, resonated within him, and held him at bay. Brakiss concentrated, not on the voice, but on Kueller himself.

And finally saw him, standing near the edge, overlooking the city below.

Stonia, the capital of Almania, looked small and insignificant from this height. But Kueller looked like a powerful bird of prey, his cape billowing in the wind, his broad shoulders suggesting great physical strength.

Brakiss took a step forward when suddenly the wind died. The air around him froze and so did he. In that moment, he heard - felt-saw-a million voices scream in terror.

The terror rose in him, and he saw again that moment when Master Skywalker led Brakiss deep into Brakiss's own heart, that moment when he saw himself clearly and nearly lost his mind-A scream formed in his own throat-And died as the other screams exploded around him, filling him, warming him, melting the ice in the wind. He felt stronger, larger, more powerful than he ever had before. Instead of fear, his heart felt an odd, twisted joy.

He looked up. Kueller had raised his arms, his head tilted back, his face uncovered for the first time in years. He had changed, his skin filled with a knowledge Brakiss wasn't sure he wanted.

And yet...

Yet Kueller glowed, as if the pain of those million voices had fed something within him, had made him even greater than he had been before.

The wind returned, its frigid gusts knocking Brakiss against the stone.

Kueller didn't seem to feel it. He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the entire tower.

Brakiss braced himself against the stone. He waited until Kueller's arms fell to his sides before saying, "It worked." Kueller slipped the mask over his face. "Well enough." Such an understatement for such a great moment. Kueller had to remember that Brakiss was strong in the Force as well.

Kueller turned, his cape swirling around him. He almost appeared to fly.

The skull-like mask that adhered to his face shone with its own internal light. "I suppose you want to return to your paltry job."

"It's warm on Telti. "

"It could be warm here," Kueller said.

Brakiss shook his head almost involuntarily. He hated Almania.

"Your problem is that you do not understand the power of hate," Kueller said, his voice soft.

"I thought you said my problem is that I serve two masters." Kueller smiled, the thin lips on his mask moving with his mouth. "Is it only two?" The words hung between them. Brakiss's entire body felt as if it were made of ice. "It worked," he said again.

"I suppose you expect to be rewarded."

"You promised."

"I never promise," Kueller said. "I imply." Brakiss crossed his arms over his chest. He would not get angry. Kueller wanted him to be angry. "You implied great wealth."

"So I did," Kueller said. "Do you deserve great wealth, Brakiss?" Brakiss said nothing. Kueller had put him together after Yavin 4, after the disastrous debriefing that had nearly cost Brakiss the rest of his sanity. But Brakiss had long since repaid his debt. He only stayed because he had nowhere else to go.

He pushed off the wall and started down the stairs. "I'm going back to Telti," he said, feeling defiant.

"Good," Kueller said. "But you will give me the remote first." Brakiss stopped and looked at Kueller over his shoulder. Kueller had grown taller in the last hour. Taller and broader.

Or perhaps that was a trick of the darkness.

If Brakiss had faced any other mortal, he would have asked how Kueller knew about the remote. But Kueller was not any other mortal.

Brakiss held out the remote. "It's slower than the controls I built you."

"Fine."

"You have to set the security codes. You have to instruct it which serial numbers to follow."

"I'm sure I can do that."

"You have to link it to you."

"Brakiss, I can operate remotes."

"All right," Brakiss said. He braced himself as he moved inside the stone hut. It was warmer in there, out of the wind.

He didn't believe Kueller was letting him leave so easily.

"What do you want from me, when I return to Telti?" Brakiss asked.

"Skywalker," Kueller said, his voice thrumming with the depth of his hatred. "The great Jedi Master, Luke the invincible Skywalker." The chill had reached Brakiss's heart. "What do you plan to do with him?"

"Destroy him," Kueller said. "Just as he tried to destroy us."

TWO.

Luke Skywalker was balanced on one hand, his fingers deep in the moist jungle earth. Sweat dripped down his naked back, onto his face, and off his nose and chin. His feet were bare, but he wore an old pair of tight pants that clung to his damp skin. R2-D2 floated in the air above him, along with several boulders and a half-rotted tree. Some of Luke's students were gathered around him, half a dozen members of his youngest and most powerful cla.s.s.

He had been in this position since the huge orange sphere of the gas planet Yavin had risen on the horizon of its fourth moon. Yavin was now directly overhead, and although Luke was sweating, he didn't feel tired or thirsty. The Force flowed through him like cool water, holding R2, the boulders, and the tree aloft.

The students were shifting, probably wondering how long they would have to continue watching. Perhaps he would lift them one by one, and then withdraw, leaving them to find the ground delicately or with difficulty, as their talents allowed.

Luke suppressed a smile. As much as he enjoyed teaching, he didn't always show that enjoyment. Sometimes the students believed he was laughing at their expense, which was not conducive to a good student-teacher relationship. Still, he had moments of pure pleasure, especially at times like this. R2 didn't appreciate this aspect of the training, but it made Luke feel like a boy again.

Instead of lifting one of his students, he eased another boulder into the air. It hovered near the others, bobbing a bit before it found its place.

The students watched, suddenly still. Luke scanned their feet, hoping for some sign of annoyance. The first one to look restless would be the first one into the air.

He had learned this method over the years as a way of teaching his students patience, and also as a way of showing them the powers of the Force. Like so many of the methods he used, it worked for some students and didn't work for others. Often he got an insight into a student's mind by the student's reaction to various aspects of training. These cla.s.s members were still new enough to mimic each others' reactions. He hoped that mimicry would be gone by the end of the day.

Then a wave of emotion slammed into him-cold, hard, and filled with terror. The pain was worse than anything he had ever felt, worse than the near loss of his leg on the Eye ofPalpatine, worse than the Emperor's electric blast on the Death Star, worse than the destruction of his face on Hoth. Mixed with the terror and pain was the shock of betrayal, a shock multiplied by the millions of minds who felt it.

Luke wobbled on his hand, struggling to keep the boulders and tree aloft, to keep them from falling on his unsuspecting students. R2 screamed as he shot across the sky, the sound mingling with the screams in Luke's mind.

R2 landed with a metallic bang against the jungle floor, Luke's students scattered, and the rest of Luke's control fled.

His arm collapsed beneath him, and he tumbled to the ground, his breath gone from his body. He lay on his back, sinking in the soft dirt, the screams still echoing in his mind.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the voices were gone.

"Are you all right?" one of his students asked. The voice was overlaid with his own, filled with the same trembly fear seventeen years ago.

"What's wrong?" Luke put his left hand over his face. He was shaking.

"There's been a great disturbance in the Force." He wondered how they could fail to feel it, how he had failed to feel something even stronger, all those years ago.

As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

"Ben,"he whispered. "Another Death Star?" But he expected no answer.

Ben's comforting presence had left him before the Jedi Academy, before Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Luke closed his eyes, feeling for the location of the disturbance. He found a great emptiness where a moment before there had been life. The residue of pain, the deeply held surprise, the shock of betrayal, remained like an echo of a shout over a canyon rim.

"Master Skywalker?" The voice belonged to one of his most promising students, Eelysa, a young woman from Coruscant. "Master Skywalker?" He waved his right hand at her. His back hurt from the force of his landing, his chest ached from the lack of oxygen, and his heart ached from the magnitude of the loss. Somewhere in the distance, R2 whistled, a mournful sound.

He had to sit up, to show them everything was all right, even though it wasn't.

"Master Skywalker?" Her voice merged and blended with the echoes in his head. He opened his eyes. In the shade of his shaking hand, he saw Leia's face, scorched and blood-covered. He reached toward her, and then she was gone.

It is the future you see.

The destruction did not come from Coruscant. He would know if Leia died.

Or Han. Or the children.

He would know.

R2 whistled again, impatient this time.

"Find R2," he said. His voice sounded haunted, shaky, preoccupied, like Ben's had after the destruction of Alderaan.

Feet snapped twigs around him as three students left in search of R2.