The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  The guarded cast to her face eased. “I’ll confess to being relieved, Ula. It was a dangerous heresy you had embraced. Well meant, naturally, but not one that can be tolerated at any level of governance.”

  “I see that now. You were very forgiving, Minister.”

  “Nonsense, Ula. We are friends, and friends forgive much.”

  He wondered if part of her was disappointed. There must have been some advantage—even if merely psychological—to having a private informant intent on maintaining her own advancement. If so, she hid it well.

  I am tired of seducing you to my way of thinking, Shullis Khamarr, he said to himself, thinking of Larin and Shigar, who had both rescued him from terrible fates, and the calm stoicism of the Grand Master, Satele Shan. The survivors of Sebaddon would be changed forever by what had happened to them there, and he was no different. I am persuaded that there is more to governance than just rules, laws, and discipline. A culture must have a heart, too. A strong heart that never falters.

  “Thank you, Minister,” he said, and offered her a respectful bow.

  She concluded their conversation with a hollow platitude, and signed off. Ula wondered if he would ever speak to her again. Probably not. Friendships of any kind were difficult to maintain in the intelligence business, all the more so when one had been demoted.

  In the coming weeks he would consider the benefits of playing both sides against the other, attempting to juggle the interplay between them as Jet had. He didn’t have access to an army of unstoppable hexes or a droid that could take over entire fleets, but he was coming to believe that maybe the end did justify the means, sometimes. If he could guide the Empire and the Republic away from war, or at least spare their citizens the worst of their excesses, then that could be a good thing—and a real thing, not fake like everything he had tried before. He would be on his own side, at last, as Larin had been when she had been discharged from special forces—on the side of the trillions of ordinary people trapped in a warring galaxy.

  He stood in his tiny apartment and considered his next move. Search for that bug? Draft a coded message for the Ithorian he had spoken to in Strategic Information Systems? Sleep?

  Ula didn’t know just yet, which in itself was a pleasing thing.

  The walls might be closing in around him, but his horizons were broader now than ever. Even Coruscant didn’t seem as cursed as it once had. Larin was back in the special forces. Satisfaction fairly glowed from her face when she talked about the future. We can drink Reactor Cores and talk about old times. No mention of Shigar, or any of the other survivors of Sebaddon.

  That, at least, gave him something to look forward to.

  AFTER HOURS OF WAITING, Shigar’s moment had come.

  “We find you ready for the trials, Shigar Konshi,” said Master Nobil. “You will be unsurprised, I think, to learn that mastering your psychometric powers was only the smallest part of your journey.”

  Shigar wasn’t surprised, but at the same time he couldn’t hide his relief. He bowed deeply before the holographic images of the High Council members, many of whom he had yet to meet in person: brooding Wens Aleusis, brilliant Giffis Fane, young Oric Traless, the newest member of the Council …

  “Thank you, Masters,” he said. “I’m sure I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Tell me how you resolved your agreement with Tassaa Bareesh,” Master Nobil said. “That was not mentioned in your debriefing session.”

  “I’m afraid it remains unresolved,” he said. “The agreement was expedient at the time, but it was always likely to become a liability. She used a homing beacon to find the world herself, so I have no qualms about allowing the Republic there first. She can claim no disadvantage, since the world itself has fallen to no one.”

  “There’s the damage to her palace on Hutta,” said Master Fane, “and the very public loss of face. Suudaa Nem’ro must be rubbing his hands with glee.”

  “And there must be ramifications for dishonoring her, no doubt.”

  “Yes, Master Nobil. I believe there is a price on my head.”

  “We’ve all had one of those, at one time or another,” said Master Traless with a wry smile. “Don’t lose any sleep over it, but do keep an eye out.”

  “Thank you, Master. I will.”

  Shigar knew what they were trying to say. Don’t expect to play this game without breaking the rules. You’ve done it once, and you’ll do it again. Get used to it. It was Larin all over again.

  The squabbling of Hutt crime lords didn’t worry him in the slightest. He had much bigger concerns.

  “May I address the Council freely?” he asked.

  “I think you should,” said Grand Master Shan, the first time she had spoken during the discussion. He had almost forgotten she was there, standing quietly in the corner of the audience chamber they had requisitioned. “There’s been something on your mind ever since Sebaddon.”

  “It’s true, Master. I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Start with what pains you the most.”

  He had never thought of his new understanding as painful, but he saw that it was true. It burned in his chest like fire.

  “So many people have died,” he said, “for nothing. Don’t tell me that this is what it’s like in wartime, because officially we’re not at war. Xandret and her hexes weren’t our enemy; Darth Chratis was in fact our ally for a while. Yet they are all dead. I see no sense to it.”

  “Go on,” said Master Nobil.

  He tried to explain himself clearly. “This whole affair is endemic to the current crisis. The Sith are on the rise. We are on the wane. The Mandalorians and the Hutts stand between us, creating confusion and jostling for advantage. Our options are limited. If we do nothing, millions of people die. If we fight back, we engage with them at their level.”

  “Tell us your solution, Shigar,” said Master Traless.

  “Attack now. The war is coming—we all know it—so why sit on our hands waiting for the Emperor to make his move? Preempt him before he has a chance to consolidate his power any further. Use the element of surprise while we have it. Don’t expend lives for nothing.”

  “The owners of those lives might question the necessity of it,” said Master Nobil. “There is much talk of how we caused the current misfortune by making enemies of the Sith in the first place. Starting a war now would not ease those misgivings.”

  “When we’ve won the war, people will see the necessity for it.”

  “And if we lose?” asked Master Fane.

  “We must not,” Shigar said. “We cannot. And we will not if we act quickly enough. With every day the Emperor grows stronger and we grow weaker. How many spies and traitors erode the fortresses we’ve built around ourselves? How many fruitless battles must we fight before everyone in the Republic deserts us? How many other Sebaddons are out there, waiting for us? The next one might be the one that finishes us.”

  “Our mission is to promote peace,” said Master Nobil. “Have you forgotten that?”

  “Never, Master. But there are degrees of war, just as there are degrees of peace. An early strike might spare the galaxy from total war.”

  “But at what cost? Remember, Shigar, when you used to argue for justice for the billions of ordinary people, caught between the two sides in this conflict? If we act now, their deaths will be laid at our door. Do you want that on your conscience, my young warmonger?”

  “No, Master. That is, I don’t—I just—” He looked down at his hands, so startlingly unburned after holding so much power on Sebaddon. If he could do it, why couldn’t the Jedi Council? That was the one lesson Darth Chratis had taught him. “I just think it’s worth considering.”

  “We have considered it,” said Master Fane. “And we will continue to consider it until the proper solution presents itself.”

  “You’re not the only one who feels this way,” said Master Traless, leaning forward. “We have a thousand young Jedi just waiting—”

  He might have said
more, but a glance from Master Nobil stilled his tongue.

  “Your passion is undiminished, young Shigar. You must take care that it never rules your head. Thank you for your opinions. Come to Tython and finish what you started. When you are fully installed as a Jedi Knight, then you may play your part more fully in the times to come.”

  But what is my part?

  He let those words sit silently on his tongue as, one by one, the images of the Jedi High Councilors flickered and disappeared.

  “We will go together,” Grand Master Shan told him. “The trials are difficult. Many try and fail, so I advise you not to be complacent.”

  Her face was unreadable.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve displeased you, Master,” he said.

  “You haven’t displeased me at all, Shigar. I am simply tired. Like you, I wish a speedy resolution to these times.”

  “But not through war.”

  “Not if it can be avoided, no. I understand that you don’t see it this way, though. You are a product of your time.”

  He started, recognizing her words from the vision he’d had on Sebaddon.

  “I know what you’re about to say,” he said. “I’ve seen it. You’re about to tell me that I must confront the times ahead with great care. But I’ve already said that, so now maybe you won’t.”

  She smiled. “It’s disconcerting when what you’ve seen doesn’t quite turn out the way it’s supposed to.”

  That was true. The conversation had already headed off in a different direction, thanks to his intervention. Next she was supposed to warn him that the Sith were the enemy and that he shouldn’t become like them in order to beat them.

  “So the future isn’t always laid in stone?”

  “No, and I am glad of that sometimes, Shigar.” She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the door. “You will learn to be, too, I think.”

  She did seem tired. He wished there was something he could do to make her feel better. But how could he, a lowly Padawan, understand or even begin to shoulder the heavy load she was under?

  Again, a spark of predestination told him that he was brushing closely against something seen in the past.

  Be kind, Shigar.

  Had she meant herself all along? Had all his agonizing about Larin been for nothing?

  Then another thought occurred to him.

  Some roads are harder than yours have been.

  Were the words so far left unspoken for him to consider now?

  She was talking about him.

  As they left the audience chamber, he decided that it was okay to feel torn. In fact, he should get used to it. There were serious challenges to come, whether the High Councilors succeeded with their diplomatic efforts or not. In a universe that demanded black and white, he would settle for gray.

  And when he passed his trials, he would talk to Master Traless in private. If a thousand Jedi Knights really felt as he did, there would be hope when diplomacy failed.

  DARTH HOWL, Dark Lord of the Sith, was less imposing on second meeting than he had been the first time. He wore a black uniform lacking both insignias and trophies, and Ax interpreted that to mean he wasn’t out to impress. That he had asked to meet her in private, on his personal hunting range on Dromund Kaas, she took as a mixed sign.

  “Pick a rifle,” he said, indicating an extensive collection lining the wall of his study. “Follow me onto the deck.”

  Ax selected an antique weapon with a stock made of bone. Its charge was full and its sights, perfectly aligned. She bet herself Darth Howl kept them all that way, and not just for show.

  She was right. The “deck” was an extensive viewing platform overlooking dense, tropical terrain that had been cleared in patches, allowing an unobstructed line of sight to the undergrowth. The sun was at its zenith above the clouds. Conditions were as good as they would ever be on the Imperial capital.

  Darth Howl rang a bell. Somewhere in the trees, a cage door rattled open. “I brought you here, Eldon Ax,” he said as he raised his own rifle to scope the range, “so you could explain to me how you killed Darth Chratis.”

  She froze. How did he know? She had told no one, and she was sure none of the troopers on Sebaddon would have understood what had happened that day. The hexes had killed so many people. Darth Chratis had been just one of them.

  Darth Howl’s rifle emitted a sharp, high-pitched crack, making her jump. Something cried out in the trees below.

  The Dark Lord glanced at her and offered her an eerie, sharp-toothed smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “As long as you’re up here, you’ll be fine.”

  She wondered how long that good fortune would last.

  “What makes you think I killed him, my lord?”

  “Whenever a former apprentice returns without her Master, the question asks itself. It’s something of a tradition, although not one you’ll hear spoken of much. First you survive the Academy; then you have to survive your Master. That’s how I earned my reputation, and I presume that’s how you plan to do it, too. The question is: how?”

  The rifle cracked again.

  “If you don’t fire soon, young Ax, I’ll be forced to assume you’ve lost your nerve.”

  Ax did as she was told, raising the rifle and holding it steady against the ball of her shoulder. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d fired a blaster of any kind. Certainly not since building her first lightsaber.

  She scanned the foliage through the scope. When a fluffy, dark-eyed head peered warily out from cover, she took a shot at it. The rifle produced an odd whining twang but launched an impressive bolt of bright green energy in the right direction. The terrified creature exploded into a ball of flaming fur.

  “I used the hexes,” she told Howl, appropriately satisfied, as she lined up for another shot.

  “How did you get them to do your bidding?”

  “It’s, uh, hard to explain.”

  “I’ve not brought you here to make life easy for you.” Another shot from his rifle; another squawk below. “You’ve already told us about the remnant of Lema Xandret present in all the droids. What did you call it, again?”

  “The amnioid.”

  “Yes. You mentioned in your report that you and the Jedi Grand Master were both able to influence the hexes, thanks to the amnioid. I didn’t realize that you were able to do so to such an overwhelming degree.”

  “That wasn’t how I did it.”

  Her second shot missed. He was beating her three kills to one.

  “Be assured, young Ax, that I’ll get it out of you one way or another.”

  There was no denying the threat now. She sought the same steely strength Satele Shan had demonstrated on Sebaddon.

  “There was something I omitted from the report, my lord,” she said. “The amnioid didn’t exist solely to control the hexes. It was designed also—mainly, perhaps—to sustain a child in a Force-free bacta tank. She was Xandret’s child. A clone.”

  “Of you?”

  Ax wouldn’t use the word me. She refused to. “Her name was Cinzia. She believed that I was her.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you killed her?”

  “No, but I might have. The Grand Master released her when the amnioid tried to smother her. She died upon exposure to air.”

  They both fired. At the very same time a bolt of lightning shattered the gloomy sky into a thousand jagged pieces. The synchronicity was unintended but impressive.

  “When the hexes weren’t operating independently,” she went on, “they obeyed Cinzia, not the amnioid. Because we possessed identical genetic codes, they also obeyed me. It was easy to make them turn on Darth Chratis.”

  “And of course that was necessary. You couldn’t have killed him on your own.”

  “No.” It burned her to admit it, but that was the truth, and this seemed like a moment when only the truth would suffice. Darth Howl’s game was utterly unlike any Darth Chratis would hav
e played. She was learning the rules as she went along.

  “The omission of the clone from your report,” he said, “was premeditated, deliberate, and dangerous. The Dark Council disapproves of anything that smacks of disloyalty—or of emotional attachment to anything other than the Council itself.”

  “I felt no kinship with the clone, my lord,” she said.

  “None at all?”

  She struggled to find words for the emotions that still stirred her when she thought of the pathetic creature in the tank. “Lema Xandret refused to let her daughter go, so she created a new one, whom she imprisoned. She refused to be controlled, yet she herself was possessive and controlling. What imprisonment might she have fashioned for me had I not been rescued from her by Darth Chratis? Was that why my memories of her have been so easy to suppress? The only thing stirred up in the entire affair was a recollection of her screaming. I think, in short,” she concluded, “that I had a lucky escape. And the clone, too, in the end.”

  “Did you order the hexes to commit suicide?”

  “That I didn’t do,” she said, “but I probably could have ordered them not to.”

  He nodded. “It was the amnioid, then.”

  “This time, yes. Lema Xandret lost her daughter twice. There was nothing else to live for. Not even revenge.”

  “So instead of becoming their master, you let them die.” Darth Howl lowered his rifle and fixed her with an obsidian stare. “Some might find it puzzling that you did not use the hexes to fulfill your vendetta against Dao Stryver, and then go on to conquer the galaxy.”

  “Yes.” I could have been Emperor! “The thought did occur to me. But the Mandalorian had already escaped by then, and I remain loyal to the Dark Council.”

  “Some might say that your exposure to the Grand Master of the Jedi addled your thoughts. Some might use this as an argument to never trust you again.”

  “I don’t care what people say.”