Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Outcast

by Aaron Allston

The energy spider flew off the cockpit as though it were a winged insect, arcing down to the dusty ground. It hit, rolling, kicking up a tremendous cloud of dust as it went, its legs thrashing. Then it rolled to a stop and righted itself, turning toward the Falcon.

  It wasn't unhurt; at least two of its legs were clearly broken, dangling uselessly. But it was obviously capable of continuing the fight.

  “Falcon, Rogue. I have two missiles left, and I have a shot.”

  Han indicated, by gesture, for Leia to return the inertial compensator to normal mode. He set the Falcon on a slow climb, traveling backward while continuing to face the spider. “Negative on that, old buddy. Just let it go.”

  “Understood.”

  The energy spider trotted forward a few meters. The sparkles beneath its glassy skin were bright now, sometimes eye-hurtingly intense. It peered up at the Millennium Falcon and rocked back and forth, seeming to gauge the leap. But it must have concluded that the distance was too great.

  It turned and, with one last look back, scrambled the two hundred meters to the lip of the shaft. Then it was over the edge and gone into the darkness.

  Allana's voice was surprised. “You didn't kill it.”

  Han felt very tired and unexpectedly relieved. “That's right.”

  “Why?”

  “It was just hungry, sweetie. And, yeah, it wouldn't have been a good thing for it to get us, because it would have killed us … but the spider's not evil. That's just its nature.” He turned the Falcon around, orienting toward the muster point for the operation.

  “You don't hate it anymore?”

  “I guess not. Or Kessel, either. Come on up and sit in my lap. You can have your hands on the controls and help me with the landing.”

  JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

  THE RAID ON THE PRISON WAS ONE OF THE LEADING STORIES ON THE holonews the next day.

  Recordings taken by security holocams in the prison and all around the building offered inconclusive visual information. One intruder, dressed as a routine worker, was identified as Jedi Seff Hellin. Two black-clad, masked intruders remained unidentified. The three of them had managed to penetrate the lower levels of the prison, though whether they were a team or rivals was not yet determined.

  Their evident objective was the rescue of Jedi Valin Horn. They managed to enter and leave the prison without taking life or doing permanent harm to any of the guards on duty, and failed in their efforts to free Horn. Outside the prison, mercenary units assigned to the Chief of State's office, having already identified Seff Hellin as a Jedi, captured him. But Hellin had immediately been rescued by two more confederates, both women, one probably a Jedi, who escaped with him. A high-speed pursuit ensued. The last sight security officers had had of the situation was of the black-clad intruders in a stolen security speeder working their way toward Hellin's two female confederates.

  That was the story as the press understood it. It wasn't a lot of information for a press corps voracious for information. But in interviews on the steps of the Jedi Temple, Master Kenth Hamner, demonstrating dignity and poise, denied the involvement of the Jedi Temple in these crimes.

  On the day after the raid, Captain Oric Harfard, now point man for Alliance Security-Jedi Order interactions, made a visit to the Temple. Master Hamner met him at the main entrance. The red-faced Harfard did not wait for them to reach the privacy of Hamner's office to begin his questions and complaints; Jedi along the main hall, including Jaina, heard it all as the two men passed.

  “Where is Jedi Hellin?”

  Master Hamner gave the captain a cool, indifferent look. “I do not know, and that is the truth.”

  “Why didn't you tell us that Jedi Hellin had gone rogue, that he would stage a rescue attempt?”

  “We told you he had ‘gone rogue.’” Hamner's tone was endlessly but not cheerfully patient, as though he were answering the same question from the same hardheaded child for the thirtieth time. “We told you, when we provided you the list of all active Jedi, that he was no longer maintaining contact with the Temple and was pursuing his own agendas. Hence, ‘gone rogue.’ We don't know his plans.”

  The two of them walked past a group of Jedi, among them Corran Horn. Jaina winced to see Corran, who looked leaner than she had ever seen him, his expression distant and bleak. But as Harfard passed before him, Jaina saw Corran's expression change. Anger flashed in his eyes. Jaina could feel his anger in the Force; it struck her like a slap and, intense as it was, she would not have been surprised to see him ignite his lightsaber and cut the captain down. Every Jedi in the Hall turned his way, and Master Hamner gave Corran a look of worry and caution.

  But Corran did not attack, and Harfard remained oblivious to him—or nearly so: He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he passed Corran, but he kept talking. “Who was the female Jedi, the one who rescued him from Dhidal Nyz?”

  “We don't know her identity. We don't know that she was a Jedi.”

  “She was using a lightsaber!”

  “So does Zilaash Kuh, who works with you.”

  “Kuh's whereabouts last night are very well known.”

  “My point is that not everybody with a lightsaber is a Jedi. The recordings I saw cannot even prove that the subject you're looking for was either human or a woman. Take a lean man and pad his clothes properly—”

  The two men reached the turbolift and waited for a car to arrive. Harfard shook his head, angry and frustrated. “You'll wish you had been more cooperative.” His voice suddenly became low enough that Jaina had to strain to hear. “The next step is going to be tracking devices. Implanted in every one of you Jedi.”

  Master Hamner drew himself up to his full height and said a few words very, very quietly. Captain Harfard stiffened. Then the lift doors opened and the two men entered. They were gone a second later.

  Jaina whispered to Kolir, a female Bothan Jedi Knight, “I wonder what the Master said.”

  Someone right behind Jaina answered. “He said, ‘I would be privileged to show you where such a device might be implanted.’”

  Jaina turned. The speaker was Dab. He had his miniature holocam to his face and was peering into its tiny screen. Jaina suspected that Dab had listened to the Master's words through the device's microphone. “Good answer. Informative, yet insulting.”

  Dab grinned and brought his holocam down. He lowered his voice so only Jaina could hear. “You know, I'm not stupid.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “They're looking for a female mystery Jedi. And there we were last night, not half a klick from the scene of the crime, and you were out of my sight for, well, quite a while … If I had mentioned all that to the captain as he walked by, he'd be pretty sure he knew who the mystery woman was.”

  His words sent a chill through Jaina. “Then why didn't you?”

  Dab looked straight at her. “My job is to tell the authorities what I know about the Jedi. Not what I suspect. My lifelong job as a documentarian is to show the truth and expose lies. If I conclude that the position of my employers—that the Jedi have to be reined in for the sake of society, and anything the government does to rein the Jedi in is justified—is a lie, it sort of puts me in an awkward position.” He shrugged. “So I don't speculate. I try to figure out what the right thing to do is, and then do it.”

  “Very much like a Jedi.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Thank you for not speculating, Dab.”

  “So tell me about Tahiri Veila. After I left you two last night, did she talk about me?”

  It took a moment for Dab's intent to click in Jaina's mind. Her jaw dropped for a second. “Dab, you need to stay away from Tahiri.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you look—you look like—”

  “I look like your brother Anakin, and they were together just before he died, and since then something about him has messed her up. Not surprising. Young love and tragedy. I've heard the stories. But I'm not Anakin Solo. I don't feel I should have to
bear the burden of all that he did.”

  “No, you shouldn't. But Tahiri—”

  “I won't hurt Tahiri.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “I've liked her ever since I met her on Borleias. She was sixteen and would never have noticed someone four years younger than she was, but I certainly noticed her.”

  Jaina suppressed the urge to strangle him. “Right. Now that she's recently come out of emotional turmoil involving Anakin, here you are, sniffing around, and things should be just fine. Accident or not, you showed up when she least needed to be reminded of Anakin.”

  “So, to make sure nobody ever experiences a twinge of pain, I should move to Dantooine and live in a cave.”

  “You could move to Mustafar and jump into a volcano instead.” Jaina turned and headed to the turbolift. Other than specific authorized trips to residential levels, observers were not allowed below the Great Hall level, and so Dab could not follow. She heard his exasperated sigh as she left him.

  She visited the lower medical level and the chamber housing Seff. She tapped on its door, hoping that Tekli was inside to admit her. A moment later, the door opened … revealing Master Cilghal within.

  Jaina froze. “Uh … Master.”

  “Well said.” The Mon Cal Jedi withdrew a pace so Jaina could enter. “Come in. Best for this door not to remain open.”

  Numbly, Jaina stepped in, and Cilghal shut the door behind her. Jaina looked around. Through the portal into the inner chamber, everything was as it should be, Seff strapped to his bed, monitoring devices activated … except that Cilghal was here instead of Tekli. Jaina took a deep breath. “How did you, um …”

  “Am I supposed to be stupid?”

  “People keep asking me that today.”

  Cilghal moved to Seff's side and began scrutinizing the monitor readouts of the devices measuring his brainwaves.

  Jaina followed. “Of course you're not supposed to be stupid.”

  “Seff Hellin tries to free Valin Horn. We can correctly gauge his intent and his relationship with the others in the intrusion even if the authorities cannot … Jedi end up in possession of Seff. Where is he going to turn up except the Temple? Civil of you to keep Master Hamner in the dark.”

  “We were trying to keep all the Masters out of the loop.”

  “Also civil, but not wise. You need me for this. Both for my medical expertise and because I'm the only Jedi in regular communication with the Grand Master.”

  That revelation rocked Jaina back on her heels. “You've talked to him recently?”

  “Relatively. He's on Dorin, learning the scanner-blanking technique Valin manifested. I haven't heard from him recently.”

  “You're risking a lot.”

  “We're often called a militant Order, but do you know one of the principal differences between the military and the Jedi Order? And please, give me no Solo sarcasm.”

  “I won't. There are a lot of differences. I can only guess at which one you mean.”

  “The military are expected to follow orders, even when they feel those orders are not what's right. The Jedi are expected to do what's right, even when that course of action runs contrary to orders.”

  “Well, yes.”

  Cilghal turned back to Jaina. “Finding out what's wrong with Valin and Seff, helping the Grand Master … that's what's right.”

  Jaina felt a touch embarrassed. “I'm sorry we didn't include you from the start.”

  “No harm done. Include me now. I need to know where your mother is. She and your father were the first ones to contact Seff in his current distorted condition. I may want them to come and see him as he is now, to gauge whether there has been any advancement of his dementia.”

  “They're on Kessel. I'll get you the direct holocomm data you need to contact the Falcon.”

  Cilghal gestured toward the monitor. “Already we have interesting results. Seff does not possess Valin's trick of blanking the electroencephaloscan. The portions of Seff's brain that are active when he dreams have been seeing activity during his waking hours as well, for some considerable time—these stress patterns here so indicate.”

  “Meaning that he's, what, sleepwalking?”

  Cilghal shook her head. “But he is in some small way in a dreamlike state. Which may be the first clue toward determining how to restore him and Valin to normal. So … well done.”

  “Thank you, Master Cilghal.”

  CAVERNS OF THE HIDDEN ONE, DORIN

  It had been days now since their audience with the Hidden One, and that audience had not been repeated. Luke and Ben had divided their time among numerous tasks: digging out the chamber the Baran Do intended to be their permanent quarters, exploring the caverns, and talking to the other dwellers in this lonely environment.

  Ben grew impatient. Swinging his pickax at a particularly stubborn outcropping of stone, he imagined it was the Hidden One's face, a fantasy that gave him some satisfaction as he worked. “Dad, we need to get out of here.”

  Luke, shoveling stony debris into a small rolling cart, smiled—the enigmatic, you're-so-young expression that Ben found so annoying. “Is that our objective?”

  “Of course it is! We have to get out of here to continue our mission.”

  “But is it our most immediate goal?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Ben, what is our purpose as Jedi?”

  Ben sighed and lowered his pickax. This was going to be one of those conversations. “Well … to keep the Force in balance and to help people stay in balance with the Force. To detect wrongs and make them right. To serve as models for very attractive lines of boots.”

  “Let's go back one. Detecting wrongs and righting them. Is there a wrongness going on here?”

  “Absolutely. They've kidnapped people. Which we can right by escaping.”

  “Is that the only wrong?”

  Ben lifted his breath mask for a moment, wiped his sweating face with the sleeve of his overlong Kel Dor robe, and lowered the mask into place again. He exhaled, forcing the helium-rich Dorin atmosphere out of the mask, then took a new breath before answering. “I guess not. These Baran Do are wronging themselves, too. Following a paranoid down into this hole, pretending to be dead—”

  “There you go. The Force is an energy of life. These Kel Dors, in pretending to be dead, are rejecting life. They're unwittingly becoming dead. How much happiness have you seen down here? How much enthusiasm?”

  “I'd say it reaches pretty far into the negative numbers. They're all about duty, but not about happiness.”

  Luke shoveled the last of the larger rocks into his cart. “So if we escape now, what happens to them?”

  Ben slumped, defeated. “They continue to live their nasty little lives and nothing gets better.”

  “Correct.”

  “They brought it on themselves.”

  “Spoken with all the sympathy and altruism of a teenager who'd rather be doing something else.”

  Ben grinned, unabashed. “You've got that right.”

  * * *

  In his free time, Ben set out to uncover the cavern's secrets.

  First there was the question of the trigger the Hidden One was supposed to have that would collapse the tunnel leading to the surface. It had been said that the Hidden One could activate it through the Force or by physical action. Ben set out to find out where that trigger was.

  When the largest hall was empty, he searched the Hidden One's throne and the platform it rested on. It took him mere moments to find what he was looking for. The throne, though seemingly cut from a single block of white stone, was not; close examination showed that it was assembled from several pieces, their seams so fine and patterns so well matched that the deception was undetectable by anyone more than a few centimeters away. The right armrest lifted outward on hinges, and beneath it was a single button—round, black, inset in a red depression. That had to be it.

  But Ben frowned at the discovery. Would a paranoid mind be content with one e
asily disabled trigger for his ultimate act?

  Ben restored the armrest to its closed position and sat on the platform next to the throne. He dared not sit on the throne itself; the Hidden One, a Force-user, was even more likely to detect that he had been there if he rested in the seat of power.

  Ben relaxed, letting the Force flow through him. He thought of nothing but the trigger beside him, seeking anything related to it—images, flashes of insight about the future—

  Up.

  Ben looked upward. He saw only shadows in the irregular stone ceiling four meters up, but something there had all but called him. He stood, stepped onto the throne armrest he had so recently closed, and sprang upward, giving himself a little boost in the Force.

  In the ceiling directly over the throne, his fingers gripped either side of a hole, about the size of a human head, cut into the stone. He hung there a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the reduced light. Then he saw it: a polished durasteel cylinder protruding twenty centimeters from the rock above.

  Ben concentrated on it, trying to obtain through the Force some sense of how it worked. He could feel its length, nearly another meter inset in the stone, and machinery above it—simple mechanical parts made of durable metals.

  It was simple, all right. Drive the cylinder home, like a plunger, and contact with something above it would relay the signal to detonate the charges in the entry tunnel. Without being able to look at the device, Ben doubted he would be able to disable it. Thoughtful, he dropped back to the platform.

  In the hall where he regularly trained in combat against Chara, he found another such apparatus in the ceiling. And in the dormitory where he, Luke, and four male Kel Dors slept, another. The next day, Ben determined that every chamber of any significant size had one of these triggering devices in it. The Hidden One was clearly determined to be able to seal these caverns if he felt the need.

  Later that day, Luke joined the audience for combat training. Not many Kel Dors were in attendance. Chara was on hand; Ithia, the female who had been beside Ben's canister upon his arrival in the caverns, led the proceedings. A Kel Dor male, younger than the others, merely sat and watched.