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Leia moved beside him in her white robes. “Admiral, your victory here must make up for the simple accident on Vortex. I hope you aren’t considering going back into hiding?”

Ackbar shook his massive head. “No, Leia. You’ve reminded me of one thing with your friendly insistence. I am not the type of person who can hide. I must do what I can, and as much as I can. Hiding is for others. Action is for myself.”

Leia placed a hand on the Admiral’s thick bicep. “Thank you, Admiral. The New Republic needs you,” she said.

But Ackbar shook his head. “No, Leia, I won’t be returning to Coruscant. After this attack I can see just how much my own people need me. I must stay here on Calamari to help my people rebuild, to strengthen their civilization, and to tighten their defenses against future Imperial strikes.

“We still have not recovered from the onslaught of the World Devastators, and now a new fleet has laid waste to our floating cities. I can’t just leave Calamari now and go back.” He turned his circular eyes up into the leaden sky and said, “This planet is my home. These are my people. I must devote my energies to helping them.”

Han slipped his arm around Leia’s waist and squeezed her. She felt stiff and cold; he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I understand … Ackbar,” Leia said, finally dropping his military title.

Han could sense her tension, knowing how the loss of Ackbar devastated her. Han gripped her shoulder, feeling iron cords of tension rippling beneath her smooth skin.

With Ackbar’s refusal to return to Coruscant, and with Mon Mothma growing weaker day by day, that meant Leia had to face all the problems of the New Republic alone.

23

Daylight shone through the rectangular skylights of the Great Temple. Kyp sat on an uncomfortable stone bench in the grand audience chamber, listening to Master Skywalker. He pretended to pay attention, though it became more and more difficult as his opinion of Skywalker’s knowledge dwindled.

The other Jedi trainees sat in rapt attention as Master Skywalker placed the small white Holocron on its pedestal. It told yet another story of the ancient Jedi Knights, extolling their heroic adventures, their battles against the dark side—all ultimately ineffectual, because the Emperor and Darth Vader had been stronger than the Jedi Knights, squashing them.

Skywalker refused to learn from that failure. If he meant to bring the new Jedi Knights to greater power, he would have to recognize new abilities, make his Order of Jedi Knights powerful enough to resist a purge like Vader’s.

Exar Kun had shown Kyp the ways of the Sith. But Master Skywalker would never adopt those teachings. Kyp wondered why he bothered to keep listening to Skywalker. He seemed so weak, so indecisive.

The other students were a potential wellspring of strength. They had learned how to tap the Force, but they had gone no further than a novice level, mere magicians, playacting in a role that was too big for any of them. They refused to peek behind the doors of greater power; but Kyp was not afraid. He could handle the responsibility.

Another holographic gatekeeper of the Holocron appeared and began telling the story of how young Yoda had become a Jedi. Kyp stifled a yawn, unable to understand why they had to keep watching these trivial histories.

He craned his neck to look at the walls of the enormous stone temple. In his mind he tried to imagine the Great Sith War four thousand years ago. He thought of the damp-skinned Massassi race enslaved by Exar Kun, used by him as tools to build the temples that he had reconstructed from even more ancient and forgotten Sith records. Kun had revitalized the dark teachings, granting himself the title of Dark Lord of the Sith, a tradition passed down all the way to Darth Vader, who had been the last Sith Lord.

Exar Kun’s temples had been erected across Yavin 4—the last archaeological resting place of the incredibly ancient Sith race—as focal points for his power. Kun had ruled here on