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Behind Gantoris came Streen, the second candidate Luke had found in his Jedi search. Streen had lived as a gas prospector in an abandoned floating city on the planet Bespin. Streen had been able to predict eruptions of valuable gases from deep within the cloud layers. Luke had tempted him with the ability to shut off the clamoring voices Streen heard in his head whenever he went to populated areas.

As the trainees bowed, Luke clasped their hands. “Welcome back. Tell me what you’ve learned.”

“We found another Massassi temple!” Streen said breathlessly, looking back and forth. His wispy pale hair was tangled, matted with flecks of vegetation.

“Yes,” Gantoris said. The man’s ruddy face and his braided dark hair were smudged with sweat and dirt. “The new temple isn’t as large as this one, but it seems more potent somehow. It’s made of obsidian, sitting out in the middle of a shallow glassy lake, with a tall statue of a great lord.”

“A site of great power!” Streen said.

“I felt the power too,” Gantoris added. He straightened, tossing his thick braid behind him. “We should learn all we can about the Massassi race. They seem to have been very powerful, but they vanished entirely. What happened to them? Is there something we need to fear?”

Luke nodded gravely. He, too, had sensed the power in the temples. The first time he had come to Yavin 4, Luke had been little more than a boy thrust headfirst into the Rebellion against the Empire. He had barely realized the extent of the Force; in fact, he had learned of its existence only days before.

But he returned to the jungle moon a Jedi Master, and he could sense many things that had been hidden to him before. He knew the dark power that Gantoris had detected, and although he told his students they must share what they learned, Luke felt that certain knowledge could be deadly.

Darth Vader had discovered the wrong kind of knowledge. Luke could not dismiss the possibility that one of his students would be seduced by the dark side.

Luke clapped his hands on their shoulders. “Come inside. Take a drink. A supply shuttle is landing, so let’s go greet our guest.”

When they reached the cleared landing pad, Artoo-Detoo waited next to the grid-control kiosk, chittering coordinates to a descending X-23 StarWorker space barge.

Craning his neck, Luke watched the craft descend with a grinding whine of engines and a blast of jets. The StarWorker barge looked like a trapezoidal cargo container with Incom sublight engines strapped on. The intrasystem craft had seen better days: its gray metallic hull showed discolorations from blaster fire and countless pitted scabs from meteor encounters. But the engine sounded loud and strong as the landing gear kicked in.

The space barge flashed its running lights around its belly, then settled down gently. Luke tried to squint through the tiny front port as a group of flying creatures in the treetops burst into flight, screeching and scolding the metal thing that had lumbered into their forest.

Heavy plasteel support struts extended, locking to the ground with a hiss of hydraulic pressure. The bitter-oil smell of exhaust hung in the humid air, mixing with the peppery and sweet scents of jungle flowers and leaves.

The mechanical smell reminded Luke of the bustling metropolis of Imperial City, the governmental center of the New Republic. Though he had been at peace for months now on Yavin 4, Luke felt a tingle of sweat down his back. He could not let his guard slip for one second—he had a mission to do for the New Republic. This was not a vacation.

The hull of the space barge continued to mutter to itself as it settled. With a coughing hiss the rear cargo doors slid apart slowly as if two giants pushed them back one step at a time. Bluish-white light shone down on crates and boxes wrapped in storage nets or bolted to the walls—food, communications equipment, clothing, and amenities.

Moving softly across the packed clearing, Gantoris and Streen came up beside him. Streen’s eyes went wide with a sense of