Crisis at Crystal Reef

1

On the grassy landing field in front of the Jedi academy’s Great Temple, an old-model cargo ship gleamed in the morning sun. Though some might have considered the Lightning Rod little more than a junk hauler well past its prime—perhaps better suited to be hauled away as junk—it was Zekk’s pride and joy. The young, dark-haired Jedi walked in a slow circle around his ship, appraising the recent repairs with his sharp emerald gaze.

“You’re awfully attached to this scrap heap, aren’t you?” Jaina observed with good humor.

Zekk looked into her brandy-brown eyes, raised an eyebrow, and grinned. “Jealous?”

“Maybe just a little.” Jaina took a sudden interest in a minute scratch on the hull plating. “Kinda silly, I know. But sometimes I wonder if you don’t care about your ship more than, um … more than most people do,” she finished lamely.

Zekk shrugged. “Why not? Old Peckhum gave me the Lightning Rod, and he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a family. This old ship was a special place for us. I practically grew up with her, kind of like you and Jacen did with the Millennium Falcon.”

Jaina nodded and bit her lower lip. “Sure. I can understand that.”

“But there are other reasons that I care more than most people would about this ship,” Zekk went on. “Fixing up the Lightning Rod was part of my healing process after I left the Shadow Academy.” Zekk’s face grew serious as he spoke. “And the Lightning Rod was with me all through my days as a bounty hunter while we were fighting the Diversity Alliance, while I was learning to trust the Force again.”

He gave her a playful look. “Not only that, but it seems like every time I need to fix up my ship, there you are helping me.” He paused, as if searching for words. “So in a way, you—and Jacen and Lowie and Tenel Ka—are all a part of how I feel about the Lightning Rod.” Zekk reached out to push a strand of straight brown hair back from Jaina’s face.

Her cheeks turned a delicate pink. She opened her mouth as if to answer him.

“Hey, did somebody call us?” Jacen’s face appeared over the top of the old light freighter. He waggled his eyebrows comically as Lowie’s and Tenel Ka’s faces joined his, looking down at Zekk and Jaina.

Tenel Ka’s red-gold hair, part of it flowing free and part fixed in its traditional warrior braids, hung around her face and draped along the Lightning Rod’s hull. “We have completed the external hull patch as you requested, Zekk,” she announced.

Lowbacca, the lanky young Wookiee, scratched at the dark streak that ran up through his fur above one eye. He rumbled a comment as well. The miniaturized translating droid Em Teedee hovered beside the ginger-furred Wookiee’s head. “Oh, indeed, yes! The workmanship is so fine that I daresay it is virtually undetectable—except perhaps by a droid.”

Zekk smiled. “Well, thanks everyone, that’s great. But I still don’t understand why all of you decided the Lightning Rod needed an overhaul this morning. It’s not as if we’re planning a trip.”

“Well, no, not exactly …,” Jaina said, her voice trailing off. “But there is something—”

“Of course, it never hurts to look your best,” Jacen interrupted, jumping down beside his sister and Zekk.

“This is a fact,” Tenel Ka said. The warrior girl leapt down to join them.

Lowie looked up at the jungle moon’s horizon above the Massassi treetops and gave an inquiring bark. Then, with a joyful bellow, he grabbed the oval translating droid, tucked Em Teedee under one arm, and dove off the side of the Lightning Rod. He somersaulted on the short grass and bounded to a standing position beside his friends.

“Well, really, Master Lowbacca!” Em Teedee scolded as he was being clipped back at his accustomed place on the Wookiee’s syren-fiber belt. “Such grandstanding could result in permanent damage to my circuits. Do be careful!”

Zekk ignored the little droid and looked at Lowie. “What did you mean when you said, ‘There he is’ just before you jumped down here?”

Jaina grinned. “Right on time.”

“Who’s right on time?” Zekk asked in confusion. “Certainly not Anja Gallandro. I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“Oh,” Jacen said, “I forgot to tell you. I checked in on her ’cause she missed morning meal. I asked her to join us, but she said she wasn’t feeling well. I believe her. She was shaking all over.”

Zekk frowned. “Spice withdrawal?”

Jacen shrugged a shoulder. “That was my guess. Funny thing is, when I asked her why she was shivering, she tried to make it into a joke. Said she’d just been thinking about what the weather must be like on Kessel this time of year.”

“Ah. Aha,” Tenel Ka said, placing her single hand on her hip. “Definitely spice, then. The spice mines of Kessel are the main source for the drug.”

“Anyway, we weren’t talking about Anja being on time,” Jaina said, getting them back on track. “Look up.”

Zekk’s face broke into a broad smile as he recognized the enormous modern freighter descending toward the landing field: the Thunderbolt.

“It’s Peckhum!” he yelled. Zekk ran out onto the flattened grass and began to wave frantically.

“He wanted to surprise you,” Jaina said above the whine of the repulsor engines as the ship descended.

“So that’s why you wanted the Lightning Rod looking her best.” Zekk laughed.

“And we got you out onto the landing field without making you suspicious,” Jacen added, his brown hair blowing wildly as the Thunderbolt approached.

By the time the modern freighter touched down, Zekk was already running toward it, yelling incomprehensible words of greeting. The moment the hatch opened, the old spacer with lanky hair and gray beard stubble started down the ramp. At the same time, Zekk jumped onto the Thunderbolt’s still-lowering ramp, bounded up, and met him halfway. Old Peckhum caught him up in a gleeful bear hug as the companions gathered beside the ship to watch.

“So, we surprised him after all, did we?” old Peckhum asked.

“This is a fact,” Tenel Ka confirmed.

Peckhum laughed. “I knew I could count on you. Now where’s this new young lady you’ve been talking about in all your messages recently?” he asked, turning to Zekk. “Anja, is it?”

Zekk gave a guilty start, then glanced at Jaina to see if she had noticed. She seemed to be studying something in the grass at her feet. Zekk turned back to the old spacer. “Urn, she’s not feeling very well. You’ll meet her later, Peckhum. But meanwhile, come on into the Jedi academy. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

Anja Gallandro prowled around the interior of her guest quarters inside the Great Temple. Her agitation would not allow her to sit or stand still for even a moment. Twice already this morning she had ransacked every corner of her room, every pocket of her clothing, every crevice in the cupboards, every fold of her travel bags. It was time she faced the truth.

She had run out of andris spice and there was no more to be found. Still, her huge dark eyes darted around the room searching for inspiration, never resting on any object for more than a second.

Think, she ordered herself. Think.

So she thought. But the more Anja thought, the more certain she became that there could be no andris anywhere on Yavin 4, even in the Jedi academy’s infirmary.

Anja had insisted to the young Jedi Knights that she was not addicted to spice—that she only used it because she liked the way it made her feel, liked the way it could speed up her reactions and clarify her thoughts. Andris is an enhancement, not an addiction, she assured herself.

Then why, she wondered, were her hands trembling? Why was she close to panic at the very thought that she had no way of getting another dose of andris on this tiny backwater moon? And she needed one now.

She growled and shook her head like a nek battle dog on the attack. Her waist-length hair, highlighted by streaks of honey, snapped like a whip made of silky strands.

What was she doing on Yavin 4, anyway? It had been her hatred for Han Solo and her belief that he had murdered her father that first motivated her to befriend his twin children, Jacen and Jaina. It had all been part of her plan to take revenge on Solo, either directly or through his children. But now she had gotten to know the twins and their friends and, in spite of the fact that she distrusted and despised their father, she had come to the conclusion that she did not want to hurt them. They didn’t deserve it.

Czethros, however, had tried to have them all killed on Cloud City and earlier on the war-torn world of Anobis. Anja no longer trusted her former mentor as she once had.

Still, she wished she could contact him. After all, Czethros had been her main source of spice over the years. He had, in fact, been the first person to show her, years ago, all the benefits andris could provide. He had told her back then that only weaklings became truly addicted. But for the strong-willed, he had insisted, andris was merely a useful tool.

She threaded her shaky fingers through her flowing dark hair and gave it a vicious yank. She had believed Czethros. About everything. But Anja was no longer certain what she believed.

With a groan, she threw herself down onto the sleeping pallet and covered her eyes with one arm, trying vainly to slow the rapid beating of her heart. Czethros had lied about the addictiveness of spice. He had ordered her friends murdered. Perhaps he had lied about Han Solo’s role in her father’s death as well….

This was the idea she found most difficult to accept. Since childhood, her hatred of Han Solo had given her a focus, someone to blame for everything that had gone wrong in her life. Loathing Solo, and knowing that he was to blame for all her problems, had been one of the few constants she had been able to cling to during the turmoil of her youth.

It would be hard for Anja to give up her hatred—every bit as hard as giving up spice. This was one reason why, in spite of the fact that she now cared about the young Jedi Knights, she still found herself snapping at them, even though they’d done nothing to earn her anger.

Unable to stay still any longer, Anja pushed herself up off the sleeping pallet and began prowling her chambers again.

“I’ve got it under control,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “I can handle this.” She reached behind her head and retied the leather band she wore around her forehead to keep her flowing hair in check. Although she hadn’t been doing any real physical activity, perspiration dripped from under the headband and down the back of her neck.

“I can handle this,” she repeated, more forcefully.

But Anja knew she was lying to herself.