Star Wars - Lando Calrissian and the Mindharp of Sharu Read online

  He hit the annunciator button. “Give me the Captain of the Guard!”

  At first there was no answer. Then a terrified secretary told him, “Sir, the guard contingent has left the building because of the tremors. I was about to go, myself. I—”

  “If you leave, I’ll have you shot. Summon those four men who went to Rafa XI. They’re under house arrest here in the building. Tell them to get up on the roof and—never mind, I’ll tell them myself!”

  Once more, he looked upon the Mindharp. It had better work this time.

  Rokur Gepta was coming.

  “You will pardon my dramatic appearance, Captain Calrissian,” Mohs said as he ushered them around the curving corridor toward the Falcon’s cockpit, “but things are beginning to happen, and I am too busy to be anything but dramatic.”

  “I know,” Lando said, throwing himself into the left-hand seat. He flipped a couple of switches and helped Vuffi Raa through the preflight checklist. It was a long list, much too long for comfort. “I know everything—but I’m in something of a hurry myself right now.”

  Mohs looked puzzled, then relaxed and grinned. “Ah, yes. You put the pieces together. All my life I was the instrument of my ancestors, given orders—the Voices of the Gods—whisked thither and yon at Their bidding. It was terrifying to the savage that I was, for example, to brush near an ancient wall, as I did that night in Teguta Lusat, and appear an instant later, leagues away, amidst a gathering of my people. I apologize also for vanishing from the tunnel; its purpose was elementary education, you see, and I matriculated and went on to higher things.” He absently ran a fingertip over his bizarre eyes. “The decision was made for me, and I—”

  “Had no choice about it?” Lando asked. He looked at Vuffi Raa. “There’s a lot of that going around. What in heaven’s name is that red light on the life-support panel! Here, let’s override—”

  “You are in no danger,” Mohs smiled. “The two of you helped me, and now I shall help you. We mean you no harm.”

  “Swell. Can you fend off the governor and his friend the sorcerer?”

  “I can tell you that the governor is alone, trying to use the Mindharp, while Gepta is on his way from Rafa V. He ought to be down any minute, but he won’t be coming to the spaceport.”

  Lando turned to look at the old man, no longer bent and wizened. He was still old, but it lent him dignity and authority now.

  The tattoo of the Key—the Mindharp, Lando realized—was darker now, stood out more sharply on the old man’s forehead. It practically glowed.

  “Are there any more like you?” Lando asked.

  “No, Captain, I am the only one. I am all there ever was, of my generation. The burden was to be passed on next year, but here I am.”

  “Master, what are you talking about?”

  “Quiet, Vuffi Raa. Watch the temperature in that reactor!”

  “I assure you, Captain, everything is under control. You’d realize that, if you truly know our secrets.”

  “I know your secrets, Mohs, believe me. There never were any pre-Republican colonists here, right?”

  “That is correct, Captain.”

  “But what are you saying, Master? If—”

  “Nor were there really any Toka. Or would that be telling?”

  “Master—”

  “Quiet! You people are the Sharu. It’s written all over your walls inside the pyramid. You’re humanoid and very, very advanced. I don’t know what scared you into this masquerade—and I’m willing to bet you don’t either!”

  “Master, will you please explain—”

  “All right, all right. Mohs will correct me over the rough spots. I hardly understand contemporary Trammic, let alone an ancient—and thoroughly synthetic—version. But this is the gist: something pretty scary threatened the Sharu. Something that liked to eat hyperadvanced cultures but that wouldn’t bother with savages.

  “So, a vast computer system was created. That’s all the so-called ruins in the system. The Sharu, before the threat, lived in cities not terribly different from our own, and they’re probably concealed beneath the monumental architecture too—along with the intelligence of the Sharu. Hand me that checklist a moment.”

  “Very good, Captain, very good.”

  “You bet it’s good. The life-orchards weren’t created to increase intelligence or longevity. They were created to suck it away from the population. I’ll bet three-quarters of everybody’s mind on the planet is stored inside that pyramid and other buildings like it. That’s so succeeding generations would be disguised as savages, too. But, when the crystals were separated from the trees by the colonists, the things absorbed small amounts of intelligence and life-force from the ambient environment, then fed them back to whoever wore the crystal—an accidental and unlooked-for effect.”

  The old man nodded. “The colonists’ harvesting did no harm. What was of real value was stored in the buildings.”

  “The buildings,” Lando continued, “may be the biggest computer system ever created. When this colony was founded, the computer searched our records, came up with a missing pre-Republican colony ship, and decided to use that as a cover story. The Sharu—reduced to mere Tokahood—were poor savage brutes, ‘broken’ by their experience with the mighty Sharu.

  “I just couldn’t swallow it. What were the Sharu afraid of? How could they be so mighty, and yet—”

  “I still don’t know the answer to that, Captain. It was expunged from the records, out of sheer terror, I think. It worries me”

  “It ought to. Ready, Vuffi Raa?”

  “I think so, Master. Yes, we’re ready.”

  Another tremor rocked the ship.

  “Mer’s trying to use the Harp again. Boy, will he be disappointed. It’s a trap, isn’t it, Mohs?”

  “I’m afraid so,” the old man admitted gravely. “The legends were spread among my people in order to entice members of another intelligence species into finding and using the Harp. That way, we’d know that it was safe to come out of hiding.”

  “Your giant computer system will regurgitate all those smarts it’s been storing for thousands of years, the covers will be stripped off your cities—there’s going to be a good deal of earth-moving around here, isn’t there?”

  “All over the system.”

  “And when the dust clears, the Sharu will be back in control. Well, considering the governor and the nature of the colony here, it can’t happen too soon for me. We’re leaving. Better jump off, Mohs. I’d say it’s been nice to know you, but I hate being used, by governors, sorcerers, or representatives of semilost civilizations.”

  Rokur Gepta swept down upon the governor’s office building. As he’d expected, guards were posted all over the miniature landing field.

  He cleared them away with a burst of the craft’s blasters and set down lightly amid the smoking remains. The ground trembled again, and this time it didn’t stop. Gepta hurried down to the penthouse office.

  He thrust the doors aside and walked into a burst of radiance. Gepta was thrown against the corridor wall as energy streamed out all around him. He squinted his eyes, employed certain other protections, and gazed briefly at the governor’s desk.

  The Mindharp of Sharu shone far too brightly to be looked upon, even by the sorcerer. Behind it, his fat hands wrapped around the base, stood the governor, his mouth and eyes opened wide, frozen, paralyzed.

  And doomed.

  Even as Gepta watched, both governor and Harp began to melt, to fuse, showering the room and hall with deadly radiation. He regained his feet and ran back up as the earth tremors redoubled.

  It was a scene from hell. All around, as far as the horizon, the giant forms left by the Sharu were shifting, fusing, melting like the Harp or, occasionally, detonating rather spectacularly. Something else was rising from the rubble, something Gepta didn’t want to see.

  He leaped into his scoutship but neatly tumbled it off the roof before he got it properly airborne. Ahead, toward the spaceport, a
n ungainly crustacean-shaped object lifted from the runway.

  Gepta cursed.

  He heeled the fighter around, then aimed it straight for the Millennium Falcon. Closing, closing, he laid a thumb on the firing stud, his crosshairs on the unsuspecting freighter.

  Two things happened.

  Aboard the Falcon, another thumb rode another stud. Energy streaked toward the fighter Vuffi Raa had noticed landing on the roof. The Falcon’s radar was good, and they’d both been alert against flying debris.

  I may not be much of a pilot yet, but I can shoot, Lando thought.

  Almost simultaneously, a small obelisk of Sharu manufacture exploded beneath Gepta’s fighter, driving fragments into the small craft. The explosion staggered the scout, disabling it but throwing it from the path of Lando’s beam.

  Seconds later, Rokur Gepta clambered from the wreckage as the Millennium Falcon soared away, safe, and with a precious load: the last life-crystals ever to be harvested in the Rafa System. Lando would be very, very rich.

  Gepta shook a fist at the departing ship.

  Someday …

  STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe

  You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …

  In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?

  Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?

  Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?

  Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?

  All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!

  Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.

  1

  “IT’S a warship all right. Damn!”

  Instrument panels in the Millennium Falcon’s cockpit were alive with trouble lights, warning flashers, and the beeps and hoots of the sensor package. Readout screens were feeding combat-information displays at high speed.

  Han Solo, crouched forward in the pilot’s seat, coolly flicking his eyes from instrument to screen, hastily assessed his situation. His lean, youthful face creased in a frown of concern. Beyond the cockpit canopy, the surface of the planet Duroon drew steadily nearer. Somewhere below and astern, a heavily armed vessel had detected the Falcon’s presence and was now homing in to challenge her. That the warship had, in fact, picked up the Millennium Falcon first was a matter of no small worry to Han; the ability to come and go without attracting notice, especially official notice, was vital to a smuggler.

  He began relaying fire-control data to the ship’s weapons systems. “Charge main batteries, Chewie,” he said, not taking his eyes from his part of the console, “and shields-all. We’re in prohibited space; can’t let ’em take us or identify the ship.” Particularly, he added to himself, with the cargo we’re hauling.

  To his right, Chewbacca the Wookiee made a sound halfway between a grunt and a bark, his furry fingers darting to his controls with sure dexterity, his large, hairy form hunched in the oversized copilot’s seat. Wookiee-style, he showed his fierce fighting teeth as he rapidly surrounded the starship with layers of defensive energy. At the same time, he brought the Falcon’s offensive weaponry up to its maximum charge.

  Bracing his ship for battle, Han berated himself for ever having taken on this job. He’d known full well it could take him into conflict with the Corporate Sector Authority, in the middle of a steer-clear area.

  The Authority ship’s approach left Han and Chewbacca just seconds for a clutch decision: abort the mission and head for parts unknown, or try to pull off their delivery anyway. Han surveyed his console, hoping for a clue, or a hit off the Cosmic Deck.

  The other ship wasn’t gaining. In fact, the Falcon was pulling away. Sensors gauged the mass, armaments, and thrust of their pursuer, and Han made his best guess. “Chewie, I don’t think that’s a ship of the line; looks more like a bulk job, with augmentative weapons. She must’ve just lifted off when she got wind of us. Hell, don’t those guys have anything better to do?” But it figured; the one major Authority installation on Duroon, the only one with a full-dress port layout, was on the far side of the globe, where the dawn line would just be lightening gray sky. Han had planned his landing for a spot as far away from the port as possible, in the middle of the night-side.

  “We take her down,” he decided. If the Falcon could shake her follower, Han and Chewbacca could make their drop and, with the luck of the draw, escape.

  The Wookiee gave a grumpy growl, black nostrils flaring, tongue curling. Han glared at him. “You got a better idea? It’s a little late to part company, isn’t it?” He took the converted freighter into a steep dive, throwing away altitude in return for increased velocity, heading deeper into Duroon’s umbra.

  The Authority vessel, conversely, slowed even more, climbing through the planet’s atmosphere, trading speed for altitude in an attempt to keep the Millennium Falcon under sensor surveillance. Han ignored the Authority’s broadcast order to halt; telesponders that should have automatically given his starship’s identity in response to official inquiry had been disconnected long ago.

  “Hold deflector shields at full capacity,” he ordered. “I’m taking her down to the deck; we don’t want our skins cooked off.” The Wookiee complied, to shed thermal energy generated by the Falcon’s rapid passage through the atmosphere. The starship’s controls trembled as she began to buck the denser air Han worked to put the planet between himself and the Authority vessel.

  This he soon accomplished, as indicators registered increased heat from the friction of the freighter’s dive. Between watching sensors and looking through the canopy, Han quickly found his first landmark, a volcanically active crevasse that ran on an east-west axis, like a stupendous, burning scar on the flesh of Duroon. He brought the Falcon out of her swoop, her control systems rebelling against the immense strain. He leveled off only meters above the planet’s surface.

  “Let’s see them track us now,” he said, self-satisfied. Chewbacca snorted. The meaning of the snort was clear—this was temporary cover only. There was little danger of being detected either optically or by instrument over this seam in Duroon’s surface, for the Falcon would be lost against a background of ferrous slag, infernal heat, and radioactive discord. But neither could she remain there for long.

  In the vivid orange light of the fissure that illuminated the cockpit, Han conceded that fact. At best, he’d broken trail so the Authority ship would be unable to spot the Falcon should the pursuer gain enough altitude to bring her back into sensor range. He poured on as much airspeed as he dared in an effort to keep Duroon’s mass between himself and the vessel hunting him while he sought his landing site. He cursed the fact that there were no proper navigational beacons; this was seat-of-the-pants flying, and no chance of leaning out the cockpit and stopping a passerby for directions.

  In minutes the ship had neared the western end of the fissure. Han was compelled to dump some velocity; it was time to look for road signs. He reviewed the instru
ctions given him, instructions he’d committed to memory alone. Off to the south a gigantic mountain range loomed. He banked the Falcon sharply to port, slapped a pair of switches, and bore straight for the mountains.

  The ship’s special Terrain Following Sensors came on. Han kept the freighter’s bow close above a surface of cooled lava and occasional active rifts, minor offspring of the great fissure. For whatever small edge it might give against detection, he trimmed the Falcon off at virtual landing altitude, screaming over eddied volcanic flatlands. “Anybody down there better duck,” he advised, keeping one eye pinned to the Terrain Following Sensors. They bleeped, having located the mountain pass for which he’d been searching. He adjusted course.

  Funny. His information said the break in the mountains was plenty wide for the Falcon, but it looked mighty narrow on the TFS. For a second he debated going for altitude fast, hurdling the high peaks, but that just might put him back onto the Authority’s scopes. He was too close to his delivery point, and a payday, to risk having to cut and run. The moment of option passed. He shed more airspeed, committed now to taking the pass at low level.

  Sweat collected on his forehead and dampened his shirt and vest. Chewbacca uttered his low rumble of utmost concentration as both partners synched to the running of the Millennium Falcon. The image of the pass on the TFS grew no more encouraging.

  Han tightened his grip on the controls, feeling the press of his flying gloves against them. “Pass, nothing—that thing’s a slot! Hold your breath, Chewie; we’ll have to skin through.”

  He threw himself into a grim battle with his ship. Chewbacca caterwauled his dislike for all unconventional maneuvers as he cut in braking thrusters, but even those would not be enough to avert disaster. The slot began to take on shape, a slightly lighter area of sky lit by bright stars and one of Duroon’s three moons, set off by the silhouette of the mountains. It was, just barely, too narrow.

  The starship took some altitude, and her speed slackened. Those extra seconds gave Han time to pilot for his life, calling on razor-edge reflexes and instinctive skills that had seen him through scrapes all across the galaxy. He killed all shields, since they’d have struck rock and overloaded, and wrenched his controls, standing the Millennium Falcon on her port-side. Sheer crags closed in on either side, so that the roar of the freighter’s engines rebounded from the cliffs. He made minute corrections, staring at rock walls that seemed to be coming at him through the canopy, and rattled off a string of expletives having nothing whatsoever to do with piloting.