Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Outcast

by Aaron Allston

  Let Ship remain isolated on Ziost. It would find no one to serve, no one to permit it to do that which it was designed for.

  In her irritation, Dician let the thought comfort her.

  Chapter One

  JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

  JYSELLA HORN FELT LIKE A PART OF HER, TOO, WAS ENCASED IN CARBONITE. Frozen and isolated and unable to move. Yet somehow she forced her legs to carry her forward, toward the Jedi Temple that would, she hoped, have some answers for her today.

  Ever since the inexplicable and horrifying moment when her older brother, Valin, had turned on their parents, eyes wild, teeth bared, screaming nonsense, part of the youngest Horn had gone with him into the cold prison in which he was now encased.

  She had always been the baby of the family, the tag-along, the me too! little sister. Ten standard years separated the Horn siblings, and it had only been in recent years that they had begun relating as friends and not just as brother and sister. Jysella had always idolized her easygoing, levelheaded big brother. The lives of her rather famous family had been fraught with danger almost since the day she was born. Often, she and Valin were separated from their parents and even from each other for long periods of time. Three Jedi in a family did not make for much time spent doing traditional familial things. But the challenges and the separation had always brought them closer, not driven wedges between them.

  So the sight of her brother coldly staring at them through the oneway transparisteel panel, knowing that he had attacked both their parents and claimed that his beloved sister, father, and mother were “fakes,” had somehow been stolen away—

  Jysella shivered. Cold, she was cold, he was cold and in carbonite, her kind, grinning brother, the gentle and loved one, whom they said was criminally insane.

  Bazel Warv laid a heavy green hand on her narrow shoulder as they climbed up the long ceremonial staircase of the Processional Way toward the Jedi Temple. A series of grunts and squeaks issued from his tusked mouth as he offered reassurances.

  “I know, I know,” Jysella said to the Gamorrean with a sigh. His small, piggy eyes were full of compassion. “Everyone's doing their best. It doesn't make it any easier.”

  Bazel, “Barv” as his little circle of close friends called him, considered this and nodded agreement. He squeezed her shoulder, putting all his concern into the gesture, and Jysella forced herself not to wince. Around his fellow Jedi, Bazel tended to forget how strong he was. With little Amelia, the young war orphan who had been adopted by Han and Leia Solo, though, the Gamorrean was gentle to a fault. Amelia often went for piggyback rides on Barv's huge shoulders, laughing and giggling. The little girl was fond of everyone in “the Unit,” as Barv, Yaqeel Saavis, Valin, and Jysella called themselves.

  “The big guy's right,” Yaqeel, walking on Jysella's other side, commented. “Don't underestimate what a group of top Jedi can do when their backs are against the wall.”

  Jysella had to force herself to again refrain from wincing, this time from the coolness of the Bothan's words. She'd known both Barv and Yaqeel for a long time now. They had been Valin's friends first, but had drawn Jysella happily into the circle as she grew older.

  Yaqeel used words in the same controlled, deadly way she used her lightsaber. Normally the acerbic, cynical comments she was fond of drawling didn't bother Jysella in the slightest. But now she felt … raw. Like her emotional skin had been filleted away and even the slightest breeze caused agony.

  Barv oinked, annoyed, and Yaqeel's ear twitched slightly. Barv was convinced that the Jedi were working hard to find a cure for Valin's condition not because their own necks were threatened, but because it was the right thing to do. Because that's what Jedi did.

  Tears of gratitude stung Jysella's eyes as she smiled at her friend. Yaqeel's ears lowered slightly, a sign that Barv's simple faith had gotten to her as well. That wasn't unusual. Everyone—well, everyone except dear, slightly dense Barv himself—knew that Yaqeel had a soft spot for “the big guy,” and no one blamed her for it. Barv was uncomplicated and true, with a heart as big as the galaxy and an unshakable sense of right and wrong.

  Jysella desperately wanted to believe him in this case, but the fear, fluttering at the back of her throat like a living thing, prevented it.

  “Anyway, honey, we know your brother's got his head screwed on right,” Yaqeel said in a gentler tone of voice. “Whatever's happening to him, I'm convinced it's only temporary. What you need to do is stop watching newsvids. They're all about reporting whatever sounds juiciest. And that's usually not the truth.”

  They'd reached the Temple entrance. Once, the Jedi Temple had been notable for its five spires, a unique feature of the Coruscant skyline. But much of that had been destroyed during the Yuuzhan Vong War. A great deal of the interior of the Temple had been restored to its former appearances—right down to the marble patterns on the floors in some cases—but the exterior, a collection of several stone and transparisteel pyramids in a variety of sizes, was aggressively modern. Jysella found she missed the familiar statues of four former Masters that once stood guard over the main entrance.

  She sighed. She'd just turned around to speak to her friends when she found herself caught up in a nearly crushing hug. A grin curved her lips despite herself and she hugged Barv back.

  “Thanks, Barv,” she said, using up the last bit of air he'd left in her lungs.

  He released her and she gulped oxygen, smiling up at him. Yaqeel embraced her now, all warm, slightly spicy-scented fur and a softness that most people never really got to know. “You'll feel better once you're doing something,” Yaqeel said.

  Barv allowed that he himself always felt better when he was doing something. Usually that involved attacking bad guys. Yaqeel patted Jysella's cheek. “Sure you don't want us coming in with you?”

  “No, it's okay. You two have done enough. I—I don't know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jysella said, the words burbling out of her. “Mom and Dad have been so focused on Valin—and I mean, of course they should be focused on him. I am, too. Just—”

  “You don't need to say it,” Yaqeel interrupted her gently, sensing, as Jysella now did, that if the human girl continued she'd lose what tenuous control she had. “We're the Unit. And the Unit can always rely on each other. You'd have done the same for us.”

  Barv nodded vigorously. And it was true. Jysella and Valin would have done the same for either of these two friends and fellow Jedi Knights. Done a lot more, as she knew they would have if they had to.

  “Well,” she said, trying to put a brave face on it, “with you two and the whole Jedi Order, I'm sure we'll have Valin out of that carbonite slab in no time. Though I have to admit, when I was a kid, there were plenty of times when I'd have loved it if he'd been a coffee table that didn't talk back.”

  It was a feeble attempt at humor, but they all seized it and laughed. Gotta laugh or I'll cry, Jysella thought. And Valin wouldn't want her to cry. She'd done altogether too much of it in recent days.

  Grinning, Yaqeel slipped her arm through Barv's. “Come on. I'll buy you a caf. We still on for lunch, ’Sella?”

  Lunch. She'd forgotten about that. She seemed to be forgetting a lot these days, except the overwhelming longing for everything to be all right again.

  “Oh, right. Yes, come back in a few hours. I'm sure Cilghal will want me out of her …” She paused and laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “Except Mon Calamari don't have hair, do they?”

  It was a good note to end on, and the three remnants of the Unit waved at one another. Jysella watched Barv and Yaqeel walk off, then sighed and turned to enter the Temple. She smiled politely at the five apprentices who were stationed there as guardians.

  How many times had she been here before? She had lost count. It had always been a special place, as it was to every Jedi. For long stretches, when she was not out on assignment, it had been home. But now it seemed even more to her to be a bastion of hope. Somewhere within this vast repository o
f knowledge, some information that could help her brother had to be housed. Some clue as to what had happened to him, and how to put it right.

  Barv thought so. She clung to that hope as well.

  Jysella's booted feet rang in the vast, open space of the Temple entrance hall as she headed toward the turbolift that would take her to the First Wing of the archives. She crossed her arms, fidgeting slightly, as the turbolift hummed softly and bore her to the top floor.

  She found Cilghal in a small alcove in the depths of the stacks, seated at one of the tables and surrounded by tall piles of glowing blue data tapes and datacards. Her smooth brown head was bent over an ancient text, and her flipper-like hands were encased in gloves to protect the delicate old flimsi. She looked up at Jysella's approach.

  “Jysella. Right on time,” she said, her gravelly voice warm.

  Jysella offered her a weak smile in return and slipped into the seat across from her. Even though this was the arranged time for them to meet, it was clear that Cilghal had been here for a while already. There were piles of datapads on the table beside her and curious objects she had obviously signed out in order to examine.

  “I …” Jysella sighed and reached out for a datapad, holding it in a limp hand. “I'm sorry, Master Cilghal. I don't even know where to start trying to help.”

  Cilghal regarded her sympathetically, slightly turning her head to fix Jysella with a single large, bulbous eye. “You know everyone is doing everything they can. It is important to us all that your brother recover fully—and that we understand what happened to him. With understanding will, we very much hope, come a cure, and the ability to negotiate his release from the GA.”

  Jysella winced and brushed back a lock of reddish brown hair that had escaped the haphazard bun she'd pinned up this morning.

  “I know. It … it's upsetting that this is only serving to damage the Jedi in the eyes of the public. Valin—he would never have wanted that.”

  “Of course not,” Cilghal soothed. “This is no way a reflection on your family, Jysella. It is simply a tragic and, temporarily I hope, an inexplicable event.”

  Cilghal sounded utterly earnest, and Jysella believed that the Mon Calamari healer meant every word. She knew that Cilghal was, to some degree, against the idea of Jedi having attachments. And yet she was still so kind and supportive to Jysella. It meant a lot.

  Still … She wished Master Skywalker were here. Although Luke had done everything he could to make sure the transition of power was smooth, the Jedi Order had been thrown into tumult upon his departure. She knew Master Kenth was doing his best in the thankless role of trying to make everyone happy, but also knew he wasn't succeeding. The last thing the Order needed was a nutso Jedi Knight running around claiming that people weren't who they were.

  Jysella closed her eyes for a moment, feeling again the sickening pain as her adored big brother stared at her and demanded in a cold voice, “Where's my sister? Where is she? What have you done with her?”

  And now he was encased in carbonite in a GA prison, unable to be with those who loved him, to even comprehend that those who loved him were trying to help him. Sympathetically feeling the cold that enshrouded Valin, Jysella wrapped slim arms around her own body and shivered slightly.

  Oh, Valin. If only you could tell us what had happened … why you looked at Mom and Dad and thought they weren't them. How could you not know us? Not know me?

  Tears leaked past her closed lids, and she brushed them away angrily. Stop it, 'Sella, she told herself sternly. Grief and worry would not serve Valin, or the Order, now. Only calmness and knowledge would. She opened her eyes and reached for the discarded datapad.

  “That looks like a very old record,” she said, lifting her eyes to Cilghal. “Do you have any theories on—”

  And felt the blood drain from her face.

  The Mon Cal was apparently done with the old flimsi and now was intently studying the information on a datapad. Her large eyes were fastened on it, unblinking in her concentration. The alcove was quiet, save for soft voices talking and the sound of footfalls some distance away. All was as it was just a moment ago.

  Except everything—everything—had been turned upside down.

  Valin had been right. She saw it now …

  Jysella inhaled swiftly. It looked like Cilghal. Whoever had done this had not missed a detail. It even moved like the Mon Calamari healer. And it had certainly acted and sounded like her. But Jysella suddenly and sickly understood exactly what her brother had meant.

  The Not-Cilghal turned her head to regard Jysella, cocking her head curiously. “Jysella? What is it?”

  “N-nothing. I … you know what?” She gave a shaky laugh. “I think I may be too upset to help you out much,” Jysella managed. She rose. She had to get away, and fast, before this doppelgänger realized she was on to its deception. But where would she go? Who could she tell? If Valin had been right, then everyone except for her had been taken and replaced by their doubles. How could she not have seen this earlier? Oh, Valin, I'm sorry I didn't believe you—

  The imitation Cilghal looked fully away from the datapad she had been studying, turning her head slightly to fix Jysella with one huge, circular eye.

  “You've held up very well indeed throughout all this, Jysella,” the doppelgänger said gently. “It's not surprising that you might now be finding you cannot carry it all. Do you wish to talk about this? Speaking one's worry and fears can be as healing as bacta tanks, in its own way.”

  The rough voice was warm and concerned. It only rattled Jysella more. Stang—whoever it was, they were good, they had mastered Cilghal's voice, her inflections, her movements. No wonder it had fooled so many for so long.

  But Valin hadn't been fooled, although in his confusion he had mistaken his sister and parents for doppelgängers like the one before her now.

  Oh, no … what if he'd been right about Mom and—

  “I think I had just better go.” One hand dropped casually to her waist, resting on the lightsaber hilt that was fastened there. As a full Jedi Knight, she was authorized to carry the weapon throughout the Temple except a very few restricted areas. She'd almost forgotten it this morning in her stress over Valin. Now she was tremendously glad she had gone back for it.

  Cilghal's eye followed the gesture, and she got to her feet. She had her own weapon, of course, but made no move to take it. “Jysella, why don't you come with me and we'll—”

  Terror shot through Jysella, and a sob escaped her. She stepped back, her hand gripping the lightsaber hilt so hard her knuckles whitened.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed, her voice shaking.

  “Jysella—” It reached out to her imploringly.

  “I said get away!”

  Jysella drew the lightsaber in one hand and shoved the other in the false Cilghal's direction. The males in her family were unable to use telekinesis. Jysella was not so hampered, and she used that ability now. She put all her fear, all her focus, in the gesture, and Not-Cilghal was caught unawares as Jysella Force-shoved her back into a stack of data-pads.

  She didn't pause to watch as Cilghal crashed into the stack. By then Jysella Horn, quite possibly the only real person left on the planet—maybe in the galaxy—except for her brother, was racing down the aisle toward the turbolift as fast as she could go.

  Cilghal recovered quickly, using the Force to steady the stack and prevent it from toppling entirely. A few datapads clattered to the floor as she rose and reached for her comlink with one hand and her lightsaber in the other. She'd been utterly taken by surprise and mentally rebuked herself.

  “Temple security, this is Master Cilghal,” she said even as she began racing after the fleeing human. “Jedi Knight Jysella Horn is to be captured and retained. Do not harm her if at all possible. She is not herself. Notify Master Hamner immediately. Tell him—tell him we've got another one.”

  “Acknowledged,” came a crisp, cool voice. Cilghal clicked the comlink off. Time enough for more
details once Jysella was safely apprehended.

  It was obvious what had happened. Like her brother, Jysella Horn had lost her reason. But unlike Valin, who had been irrationally angry, Jysella was pouring utter and abject fear into the Force. Whatever her mind might be telling her, it was terrifying her beyond anything Cilghal had experienced from a human before.

  Compassion combined with a grim determination to prevent the frightened girl from harming anyone else lent the Mon Calamari speed. One way or another, they would stop her. After all, this was the Jedi Temple, and Jysella, although quite a capable Jedi Knight, was hardly unstoppable, even if fueled by insane fear.

  Where could she possibly go?

  About the Author

  AARON ALLSTON is the New York Times bestselling author of the Star Wars: Legacy of the Force novels Betrayal, Exile, and Fury; the Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Enemy Lines adventures Rebel Dreams and Rebel Stand; novels in the popular Star Wars X-Wing series; and the Doc Sidhe novels, which combine 1930s-style hero-pulps with Celtic myth. He is also a longtime game designer and was recently inducted into the Academy of Adventure Gaming Arts & Design (AAGAD) Hall of Fame. He lives in Central Texas.

  www.AaronAllston.com

  Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Outcast is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2009 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated.

  Excerpt from Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Omen copyright © 2009 by

  Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated.

  All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.