by Troy Denning
“You’re the one who’s going to need it, my friend,” Bwua’tu replied. “All I have to do is sit in the command post and watch.”
“All the same,” Luke said. “You know how to contact Master Sebatyne, if the need arises?”
“Certainly,” Bwua’tu said. “Just watch for Sith falling out of the sky.”
Luke smiled, fully aware that the admiral was only half joking. Saba was keeping the pressure on the Sith who had not retreated into the Temple, leading Izal Waz and a small team of younger Jedi Knights on what she called “the never-ending hunt.”
“A comlink will work, too,” Luke said. He started toward the grimy durasteel wall where Bazel Warv stood, at the same time drawing his comlink and opening a channel to Ben. “Is Jedi Dorvald still with you?”
“Affirmative,” Ben replied. “We just got the speeder locked down. But this is a rough neighborhood, so Doran is staying behind.”
“Good,” Luke said. “Bring Seha with you when you join me.”
“Affirmative,” Ben said. “See you soon.”
As Ben signed off, Luke reached the wall where Bazel stood waiting. The big Ramoan was standing next to a doorway, which opened into a dark corridor that led out to the docking balcony. He looked dejected, his huge green shoulders sagging so far that his knuckles hung next to his knees.
“Did I do something wrong, Master Skywalker?” he asked in his gravelly voice. “I just want to—”
“You did nothing wrong.” Luke reached up and placed a hand on one of Bazel’s huge biceps. “But I’ve received a message from the Solos. They’re on their way here to see you.”
“Me?”
Luke nodded. “Yes. They need you to do something for Amelia.”
Bazel’s long ears went out sideways from his head. “For Amelia?” he asked. “What?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Luke replied. “They said they couldn’t explain it over the HoloNet, but that you were the only one who could do it.”
Bazel’s ears swung back flat against his head, and his big bulbous eyes shifted away from Luke.
“Bazel,” Luke asked, putting some durasteel in his voice, “what do they want?”
The Ramoan spread his huge hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “How could I? They’re not even here yet.”
“You have an idea,” Luke pressed. “What is it?”
Bazel let out a sigh that felt like a hot breeze against Luke’s face. “It must have something to do with the secret.”
Luke’s heart rose into his throat. “Amelia’s secret?” he asked. “How did you find—”
“The other secret, Master Skywalker!” Bazel interrupted, shaking his big head from side to side. “Not her secret name!”
“You know her real name?” Luke asked, stunned. “How?”
Bazel’s voice grew soft. “Master Skywalker, I can’t tell you that right now.”
Realizing that Bazel was no longer looking at him, but over him toward the doorway, Luke scowled. He, too, could sense a trio of presences coming through the doorway behind him—and if Bazel knew enough about Allana’s secret to be that careful with it, he probably knew who Allana really was. Fighting to keeping his alarm from bleeding into the Force, Luke pivoted around to see his son stepping into the hangar.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Ben said, stepping aside to allow Seha Dorvald’s lithe form through the door. “But I said we’d see you soon.”
“No problem, son.” Luke nodded to Seha, but continued to watch the door. “Is Vestara—”
“Right here, Master Skywalker,” Vestara said. She entered the room, being careful to avoid looking in Bazel’s direction. “I hope we didn’t miss anything important.”
THE ASSAULT WOULD SUCCEED, VESTARA KNEW, FOR ONE SIMPLE REASON: the Jedi knew their ancient Temple better than its Sith occupiers ever could. Within the hour, the Jedi would penetrate the immense structure in force, and the Circle of Lords would come to understand how badly they had underestimated Luke Skywalker. By the time Skywalker was finished, there wouldn’t be a High Lord left alive on Coruscant, and any survivors back on Kesh would be too busy worrying about him to even think about hunting her down.
At least that was Vestara’s hope. If the Jedi attack proved successful enough, she might even consider sending a message to the surviving High Lords, promising to reveal Kesh’s location if she so much as smelled a Sith looking for her. Such a threat would work only if the High Lords were truly frightened of Luke and his Jedi—and after today, they would be.
A dull clang echoed through the crowded pumping station, and the large bypass pipe in front of Vestara trembled with an internal pressure change. The upper half rotated away, exposing the damp interior of a water main roughly one and a half meters in diameter. Ben and his cousin Jaina hoisted a maintenance capsule into the main, then opened the hatch. Inside the capsule was a cramped passenger cabin, complete with dual couches and a pilot’s yoke. Ben activated the control panel and waited while it ran a two-second systems check, then put a foot on the access step and turned to Vestara.
“Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Vestara touched the empty lightsaber hook on her hip. “I just wish I had a weapon—even a blaster.”
Ben’s face fell, but before he could speak, Jaina stepped forward.
“Sorry, Vestara. That’s the way it has to be.” Her voice was firm without being combative. “If being without a weapon worries you, you can always stay behind.”
“Not really,” Vestara said, putting a hint of understanding in her voice. “I need to prove my loyalty.”
Ben shook his head. “Ves, you shouldn’t take—”
“Please don’t, Ben,” she said. “I understand why the Masters find it hard to trust me. Truly, I do.”
“This isn’t just about the Masters,” Jaina said, taking another step closer. Vestara began to have the unpleasant feeling that Jaina understood her game better than she did herself. “Not everyone in the Jedi Order has spent time with you. For a lot of us, it’s hard to trust a Sith.”
“A former Sith,” Ben corrected. “Come on, Jaina. Her own father tried to kill her.”
“Okay, a former Sith,” Jaina said, barely glancing at him. “I’m serious, Vestara. If going into battle unarmed bothers you, then stay here.”
“And how will the Jedi know who the High Lords are?” Vestara asked. “How will they know when they have found the Grand Lord?”
“We’ll get by,” Jaina replied.
“Or blame me when something goes wrong.” Vestara climbed the step and placed a hand on Ben’s hip. “You’re not going anywhere without me. I need to be there to watch your back—even if I don’t have a weapon to defend it.”
An impatient tweedle sounded from the pumping station’s interface panel, and the R9 unit plugged into the dataport began to flash its projection lamp at them.
“I guess we’d better get in,” Ben said. “We’re holding things up.”
Vestara climbed into the capsule and stretched out on the passenger’s couch, then waited in the antiseptic-tinged air as Ben slipped in beside her and pulled the pilot’s yoke up between his knees. The hatch sealed automatically, and a soft green light filled the interior. As soon as Vestara had strapped in and brought the navigation display online, Ben activated the control thrusters.
A muffled thump sounded behind them as the droid opened the pipe again, then a loud gurgling echoed through the capsule, and Vestara felt her stomach rise as they slowly accelerated. Ben’s gaze went straight to the navigation display. It showed nothing ahead but a long stretch of uninterrupted pipe.
Vestara allowed an uncomfortable silence to hang between them for the first hundred meters of travel, then asked, “So, where are we going? Besides the Jedi Temple, I mean.”
Ben didn’t reply for a moment, keeping his eyes on the display and obviously struggling over how much to tell her.
“Oh, right. I’ll find out when we get there.” Vestara turned her ga
ze back to the padded hatch cover hanging just a dozen centimeters above her face. “And I’ll be sure to tell Jaina how careful you were to keep me in the dark.”
Ben sighed. “It’s not that, Ves,” he said. “I’m just not sure how to explain it to you.”
“It’s okay, Ben.” She pulled her arm away from her side, so that it was no longer touching him, and folded it across her stomach. “I understand.”
“Look, all I know is that it’s Level One-seventy-five, Sector Twelve, Twenty-two North Eighteen,” Ben said. “Does that mean anything to you? Because it sure doesn’t to me.”
“Level One-seventy-five?” Vestara asked. “That’s pretty high up, isn’t it?”
“Sure—if you’re a granite slug,” Ben scoffed. “But it’s still farther down than I usually go. It’s one of the mechanical cores, I think.”
“Core?” Vestara echoed. “As in, central core?”
“Yeah, Ves,” Ben replied. “That’s where the ‘core’ usually is. In the center.”
“I suppose so,” Vestara said, allowing some of her growing—and very real—fear to seep into her voice. “Maybe I should have listened to Jaina.”
Ben glanced over at her, his brow arched. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t think the Masters have thought this through,” she said. “Ben, I come from a planet with tens of thousands of Sith. And half of them are probably right here on this planet, hiding inside the Jedi Temple.”
Ben dipped his chin, trying to conceal a smile. “That’s kind of what we’re counting on, Vestara.”
Vestara’s stomach went hollow. She had expected their team’s objective to be the capture of a cargo dock, so the Jedi would have a bridgehead from which to invade the rest of the Temple. But this sounded like they planned to emerge well inside the Sith perimeter and attack outward—and if that was their intention, it could only mean that the Jedi knew a way to disable the shields and open the Temple remotely.
“The Jedi have a secret override, don’t they?” she asked. “You’re just going to open the doors and let all those space marines come in shooting?”
“Something like that.” Ben looked over at her, his eyes soft with concern. “Does that bother you?”
Vestara hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I guess it does.” It would have been useless to say anything else; Ben would have sensed the lie in two heartbeats. “There’s not one Saber in there who wouldn’t ignite a lightsaber through the back of my head, so I know it shouldn’t. But …”
“But they’re your own people.” Ben nodded. “You wouldn’t be human if seeing them killed didn’t bother you.”
“Thanks, Ben. I’m glad you understand.”
“No problem,” he replied. “I know it’s not easy.”
An alert ping sounded from the navigation unit, and a Y-intersection appeared on the screen ahead. Ben’s knuckles paled as his grasp tightened on the steering yoke, and Vestara saw him begin a silent count as he prepared to make the turn into the Temple. She found herself trying to imagine a life with him that didn’t involve being a Jedi or Sith, just two regular people trying to make their way in the galaxy. Of course, they would never be too regular. But she could see them being happy as professional gamblers, or even a husband-and-wife bounty hunter team—providing, of course, that she could persuade Ben to use the Force for something other than saving the galaxy.
Ben’s gaze locked on the navigation screen, and he eased them through the turn, bouncing off the pipe wall just once before he brought the capsule back under control. Almost instantly another intersection appeared at the bottom of the display, along with a small inset schematic showing a tangled network of navigable conduits.
“It won’t be long now, I guess,” Vestara said.
“Only a couple of minutes,” Ben answered. “We just crossed into the Temple.”
“Ben?” Vestara asked. Her dream of making a life together outside the Jedi Order was as much a fantasy as had been those letters she had written to an imaginary loving father, but she had to know—to be certain—before the battle began. Ben deserved that much. “Have you ever thought about not being a Jedi?”
“Sure,” Ben said, surprising her. “But not since I was a kid.”
“You didn’t want to be a Jedi when you were young?”
Ben shook his head. “Not at all.” He rolled the capsule up on its side, preparing to enter a riser pipe they were approaching. “I was in Shelter when Abeloth contacted the younglings.”
“And you weren’t affected?”
“Only because I withdrew from the Force.” Ben’s gaze remained fixed on the display, and he seemed to be only half listening. “I don’t remember a lot about it.”
“What about now?” Vestara asked. “Can you see yourself doing something else?”
Ben tipped the steering yoke away, his brow furrowing in concentration as he swung them into the riser.
“Why would I?” A knell rang through the capsule as it slammed into the pipe, then it hit the other side, and Ben cursed under his breath. “I need to concentrate on piloting this thing. Can we talk about this later?”
“No need,” Vestara said. “It was a silly question anyway.”
She had her answer—and it made her feel like a black hole inside.
Vestara could never be a Jedi, not in any true sense of the word. Ben could be nothing else. Their love had been doomed from the start—from five thousand years before they were born—and now all that remained was for her to accept reality and find a way to survive without the Jedi to protect her from the Lost Tribe’s vengeance.
Fortunately, if it came to it, Vestara would have something to trade. At first, she had not understood the significance of the conversation between Master Skywalker and Bazel Warv. Most young girls had secrets, so it had taken her a moment to grasp the significance of Amelia Solo’s “secret name.” But Master Skywalker’s reaction—and how quickly he had ended the conversation when he realized they were not alone—had certainly suggested to Vestara that Amelia’s secret was one the Jedi themselves took very seriously. The final confirmation had been the wave of alarm she had felt when she rounded the corner and stepped through the door with Ben, when Master Skywalker—and even Ben, to a certain extent—had realized what she had just overheard.
After that, it had been a simple matter for Vestara to complete the puzzle. At the Pool of Knowledge, she had glimpsed enough of the face that High Lord Taalon had seen on the Throne of Balance, and that glimpse had been enough to know the Jedi Queen was a redhead who bore a striking resemblance to the Hapan Queen Mother, Tenel Ka. It was well known that Tenel Ka and Jacen Solo had been classmates at the Jedi academy on Yavin 4, and the gossip media suggested they had remained “friends” until Jacen set fire to Kashyyyk.
It was a fact that Tenel Ka had given birth to a baby girl name Allana, whose father she refused to identify. Allana had reportedly been killed during the Second Civil War, when Moffs attempted to assassinate Tenel Ka’s entire family with one of their nanoviruses. At about the same time, the Solos had adopted a Force-sensitive war orphan of the same age.
But most telling, now that Vestara thought back, was the day she had seen Han and Amelia together in a hologram. She had been aboard the Jade Shadow when Han Solo commed to report that Leia had been arrested, and Amelia had been in the holo with him. Vestara had suggested that Han take the child along when he went to seek his wife’s release from Chiefs of State Padnel Ovin and Wynn Dorvan. At the time, she had thought she was merely reacting to how cute Amelia was. But now she realized it was more than that—she had been reacting to a family resemblance.
Amelia Solo had Han Solo’s eyes and mouth. Even more telling, there was a hint of a crooked grin in Amelia’s smile. Vestara closed her eyes and looked back in her memory, using meditation and the Force to sharpen her recall, to bring every detail of the little girl’s head into clearer focus—and she saw the last bit of proof.
Amelia’s hair was not naturally
black. It had red roots—golden-red, as a matter of fact. And golden-red was the color of the Hapan Queen Mother’s famous tresses.
So Amelia Solo was destined to become the queen whom Lord Taalon had seen in the Pool of Knowledge. The Skywalkers knew it. Bazel Warv knew it. And now Vestara Khai knew it, too.
For the time being, she would keep the knowledge to herself. Until she knew the circumstances of her new life, there was nothing to be gained by revealing it to anyone, and she owed it to Ben to hold the secret—at least until she could trade it for something very important.
Like saving her own skin.
They banged through a dozen more intersections, then the entire display flashed yellow and Ben eased back on the throttle. He slipped the capsule into a bypass line and came to a dead stop. A liquid squeal reverberated through the hull as the control valves were adjusted, and the water began to gurgle away.
Ben unbuckled his restraint harness and glanced over at Vestara. “Ready?”
Vestara nodded. “You have no idea how ready,” she said, unbuckling her own harness. “After today, no Jedi will have any doubts about me. I promise you that.”
A look of concern came to Ben’s face. “Don’t do anything reckless, Ves,” he said. “Just point out the High Mugwumps. You don’t have anything to prove.”
Vestara forced a smile. “Not to you, maybe.”
The muffled clang of a shifting access panel sounded from above, then the capsule’s hatch broke its seal and hissed open. Ben let his gaze linger on Vestara and whispered, “I mean it—be careful,” then climbed out.
Vestara followed a moment later and found herself standing on the bypass platform next to Ben and the Horn siblings, Valin and Jysella. Valin extended a hand to Ben.
“Welcome home.”
“Thanks,” Ben said. “It’s good to be back.”
Jysella eyed Vestara as though considering whether to offer a similar greeting, then simply gestured toward the inspection capsule.
“Come on,” she said. “Help me pull this out of the way.”
