“That’s two for two,” she said. “You up for another round?” She gave him a wicked grin, which was exaggerated by the small scar at the corner of her mouth. The scar that the Tribe saw as a flaw. It was plain on her face, right out in the open—there was very little she could do to disguise it. Attempts had been made to heal it and to correct it with cosmetic surgery. Those attempts had been mostly successful and now, to be sure, it was not all that noticeable. But this was a world where any flaw, any scar or deformity, was a strike against one’s potential for advancement.
The scar added insult to injury, as far as Vestara was concerned—because of its location, the thin line almost always made her look like she was smiling, even when she wasn’t. She had hated that about it until Lady Rhea, one of the most respected of the Sith Lords, had told her that deception was actually a very useful thing indeed.
“It mars your beauty,” Lady Rhea had said bluntly, pausing as she strolled down the line of potential apprentices after a formal ceremony. “A pity.” She, whose beauty was only slightly diminished by the cruel ravages of time, reached out a long finger and touched the scar. “But this little scar—it can aid you. Make others think you are something you are not.” She tapped the scar lightly with each of the last four words, emphasizing her point.
That had made Vestara feel a bit better. All of a sudden, looking like she was smiling all the time, even when she wasn’t, seemed like a good thing to her.
“I think I’ve sweated off at least two liters already,” Ahri replied. “Can’t we continue in the training courtyard at least? It’s cooler in the mountain shadows.”
At least he wasn’t refusing the offer of another round. Vestara dragged a black-draped arm across her own forehead. She had to admit, fighting in the cool shadows of the proud columns, beautiful statuary, and sheer mountain stone in which the Temple courtyard was nestled had a definite appeal right at the moment. While they were not yet formally apprenticed to any of the Sabers or the Masters, as Tyros they would be permitted to spar in the courtyard. That was as far as they were allowed to go, however. Neither of them had seen inside the Temple or, even more significant, inside the Ship of Destiny yet. The ship’s name was Omen, but the name “Ship of Destiny” had fallen into common usage. For such it was. Such an ancient, precious part of the Tribe’s heritage, with all its secrets and mysteries, was not just for any eyes.
“Well,” Vestara said, “we can go back and finish there. But only because you’re too fragile to—”
Her teasing insult died in her throat as something passed over the sun.
It was not an uvak, one of the deceptively delicate winged reptiles that were used for aerial transportation. Vestara’s dark brown eyes widened in shock.
“Ves,” Ahri said in a faint voice, “that’s … is that a ship ?”
The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end despite the heat as she watched, lifting a hand to shade her eyes. She still couldn’t speak, but nodded. She was pretty sure that was exactly what the thing in the sky was.
Yet it looked nothing like the Ship of Destiny, or any other vessels she had seen depicted or heard described. Rather than being long and rectangular, or V-shaped, it was a symmetrical sphere. With … with wings like an uvak. It moved swiftly and silently, and she now saw that its color was a dark orange-red. Closer and closer it came, until for a wild moment Vestara thought it was going to land right on the beach beside them.
It was coming in for a landing, certainly, but not quite so close as that. It was heading for the sharp, ridged mountains that seemed to spring up from the ocean itself. That was where the Ship of Destiny had crashed so long ago, and for a moment Vestara was alarmed that this vessel would suffer the same fate. Sudden worry suffused her. It couldn’t! She had to know who was inside, what sort of beings they were. Perhaps they were a species she had never before encountered. The thought was thrilling.
As it passed over, its shadow fell across her for an instant. A sensation of coldness, much more than the expected sudden coolness of something blocking direct sunlight, brushed Vestara. She gasped slightly as the feeling tingled through her.
It was cold, yes, forbidding … but also challenging. Curious. Intrigued.
By her.
She no longer was afraid for the vessel’s safety. Its pilot knew exactly what it was doing. It was heading directly and quite deliberately for the ruins of the Ship of Destiny, and the Temple, almost as old, that had been constructed around it.
Any fear or trepidation she had experienced a moment before evaporated like water on a hot rock. Vestara reached out in the Force and summoned Tikk, her uvak. Tikk had been basking in the sunlight, craving the heat as all reptiles did, his sharp beak and brilliant green eyes closed. Now he lifted his bright gold head, stretched out his long neck, and spread his red-and-black ruff in the uvak equivalent of an awakening stretch. With an answering croak, he spread his wings, leapt upward, and flew the few meters toward Vestara and Ahri.
She barely paid attention to Tikk, keeping her eyes glued to the strange vessel as it grew smaller and finally vanished from her sight. When she could see it no longer, Vestara took a deep, steadying breath, then gathered up the long hem of her robes, turned to where Tikk patiently awaited her, and began to run as fast as her long legs would carry her in the cumbersome sand, using the Force to stabilize her feet and push her along.
“Come on,” she called over her shoulder.
“Where are we going?” asked Ahri, hastening to catch up.
Vestara Force-leapt upward, landing gracefully on the broad back of the uvak. Ahri followed suit, his arms slipping around her waist as he sat behind her.
“To follow the ship,” Vestara said. “Couldn’t you feel it? It was for us, Ahri.”
Tikk gathered himself, shifting his weight from one clawed foot to the other, then sprang upward.
“For us?” Ahri shouted over the beat of the membranous, veined wings—wings so very like those of the vessel that had brushed Vestara’s thoughts only a few heartbeats earlier.
“For us,” Vestara repeated firmly. She didn’t know how she knew, only that she did.
The vessel had come for them. For younglings. For apprentices.
It had come for Sith.
IT WAS NOT A VERY GREAT DISTANCE AS AN UVAK FLEW TO THE SITH Temple. Accessible only from the air or by a perilous climb, the Temple had been created to protect and watch over the Ship of Destiny and house the survivors of the crash. Vestara had visited here many times before, ever since she had become a Tyro. But she was more excited now than she had been even on her first trip so long ago.
Tikk’s leathery wings beat steadily, and the Temple came into view. It had been hewn from the very rock that had been the destruction of the Ship of Destiny—the Omen. It was very much like the Sith, Vestara thought, to take that which had been responsible for their greatest hardship and make it serve them. She knew the history of its creation; how the original Sith crew, equipped only with lightsabers and a few handheld energy weapons, had cut into the mountain’s heart and shaped the spires, walls, and windows of the massive central Temple. Other wings were added as the centuries crawled past.
Most of the initial work had been done by the Sith, who could move huge chunks of rock with the power of the Force. Later, here and many kilometers away in the capital city of Tahv, the Keshiri—Ahri’s people, the native humanoid species of this world—were put to work, with the Sith in charge. Tahv bore the stamp of a place that had been expanded by a people who had the luxury to appreciate art and beauty; the Temple, while beautiful in its own right, as the first home of the Sith was more functional than decorative. The statuary, of early Sith leaders, including Captain Yaru Korsin, the first commander of the Omen, had been brought in much later, and the lovely carvings were an almost delicate counterpoint to the hard beauty of the Temple architecture.
Not visible from the air, but housed protectively within a special, highly secured section of the Temple, w
as said to be the Omen itself. Some muttered that the vessel was nothing more than bits and pieces of twisted metal, preserved only for sentimental reasons. Others believed that much of what it had once been still remained, its knowledge hoarded and shared with only the select few who ascended to the lofty ranks of the Sith Lords or the Masters.
But Vestara was not interested in admiring the black spires and functional, simple terraces of the Temple, or the beautiful figurines of its courtyard. And for once, her thoughts did not drift toward wondering what secrets the Omen contained. This time, her eyes were on the sphere of livid orange-red that sat in the middle of the courtyard of the Sith Temple.
Vestara’s breath caught in her throat again, and she stared, not even wanting to blink. Suddenly she felt as if all her life had simply been spent waiting until the moment when the spherical vessel had soared over her and caressed her with the cool brush of darkness, calling her to follow it.
The … Ship … was a perfect circle, its wings now folded in on itself, its surface rough and hard looking. Dark-side energy seemed to flow from it. Dozens of Sith were milling about in the courtyard already, and Vestara saw that more were approaching on uvak-back.
She wanted to land, to leap off, to rush up to the Ship and caress its knobbed, pebbly surface. A soft sob escaped her; embarrassed, she tried to turn it into a cough. But Ahri knew her too well. He tightened his arms around her waist.
“Ves, you all right?”
“Yes, of course I am. I just … this is an unusual situation, don’t you think?”
She knew that Ahri was fond of her, and while she found him attractive—he was a Keshiri male, of course he was gorgeous—she had no desire to start a romance. For one thing, despite the fact that the Sith were firm believers in merit over birth, there was still a stigma attached to being Keshiri. No doors were closed to them by their unfortunate birth—indeed, one of the current High Lords was Keshiri—but there were never marriages between them and the Sith, and they had a narrower window of opportunity to prove themselves.
Some Sith did take Keshiri lovers, of course, although the species were sufficiently different that no children could be conceived. The physical beauty of the Keshiri was difficult to resist, but Vestara knew she would not be one of those who succumbed to it. She was utterly devoted to the Force, to her studies, to practicing and training and honing her skills until her body quivered with weariness, until she was drenched in sweat, until she crawled into bed and slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.
And now this Ship had come, and she did not care about anything else.
Again she felt the cold perusal, and shivered. Ahri’s arms tightened about her, mistaking the gesture for a physical chill.
You sensed me.
I—I did, she sent back through the Force.
She was being … examined. Appraised.
You seek to become a Sith Master. To harness the power of the dark side.
I … I…
Vestara straightened to her full tall height atop Tikk’s back and deliberately banished her childish hesitancy. Never mind that she had never before beheld a spacefaring vessel—never even seen the diagrams and schematics that were purported to rest inside the forbidden hull of the crashed Omen. She was of the Tribe, the daughter of a Sith Saber. She was exceptionally strong in the Force and knew it.
And the ship—Ship itself, not its pilot, she realized now it had no pilot, not yet—was testing her. She would not shrink before its probity.
I do. I shall. I am Vestara Khai, daughter of a proud heritage. I have what is necessary to command the dark side and bend it to my will. To use it for the good of the Tribe, and the People.
For the good of all Sith, Ship suggested.
She nodded automatically, though even as she did so she realized the vessel couldn’t see her.
Except somehow it could. Or rather, she realized, it could sense her agreement in the Force. She felt it approve and then withdraw. Without the coldness of its presence in her mind, she somehow felt bereft, but she refrained from seeking it out again.
At that moment, as her gaze wandered from Ship to the throng of Sith crowding around it, in that sea of dark robes she saw a pale blond head turn in her direction. It was Lady Rhea, one of the members of the Sith Circle of Lords, and her blue eyes were fixed upon Vestara. Even from this height, Vestara could see that Lady Rhea’s eyes were narrowed, as if she was considering something.
Slowly, Vestara smiled.
ABOARD THE JADE SHADOW
THE JADE SHADOW WAS FULL OF ALL THINGS MARA.
Once or twice, during the long silences that filled too many hours spent simply traveling, with the quiet, controlled hum of the engines the only sound, Ben Skywalker could have sworn he felt his mother’s presence. And he did not dismiss it every time as wistful imagination; he was a Jedi, and he knew better. If her spirit was to linger or visit anywhere, surely it would be here, with her husband and son, in the ship that had been designed especially for her.
In a way, it was like having almost everyone who’d cared about Mara Jade Skywalker present. Their love and labor had gone into turning an ordinary space yacht into something unique, formidable, and unexpected, like the woman for whom it was intended.
The basic vessel itself had come from Lando Calrissian. Tendra, Lando’s wife, had given it the name Jade Shadow. The name was ostensibly because of the vessel’s hull, gray and nonreflective, but Ben thought it an apt choice. Mara’s shadow was everywhere in it. With all the extras, Mara could have piloted the vessel herself. The bridge, however, was originally designed for a pilot, copilot, and navigator. Three, just like the Skywalker family had once been three.
Upgrades, some astonishing and cutting-edge, had come. Lando and Talon Karrde gave the vessel teeth in the form of retractable AG-1G laser cannons and two concealed Dymex HM-8 concussion missile launchers. Each had a magazine of eight high-yield torpedoes. The whole defense system could be controlled manually or by a targeting computer that did everything except send consolation notes back to the next of kin. The ship might be a shadow, but it was quite substantial when it came to fighting back.
Han Solo himself had souped up the engines, replicating many of the tricks he’d learned over the years on his own beloved vessel, the Millennium Falcon. On top of that, he’d given the Shadow an advanced long-range sensor suite that anyone seeking to avoid detection or beat a hasty retreat would salivate over. Port and starboard visual scanners, sensor decoys, jamming devices, fake transponder codes, and what Ben had always thought of as the jewel in the crown—a remote-controlled slave circuit that summoned the Shadow over short distances.
After that, Luke and Mara had worked together on many aspects of the vessel, just as they had worked together on a marriage that had been dedicated and true. They’d complemented Han’s contributions by adding an autopilot capable of admirably evasive maneuvers, and retrofitted the aft docking bay to accommodate a modified starfighter.
Mara herself, at not insignificant cost, had installed an extremely sensitive holographic communications array that could send and receive messages all the way from the Deep Core to the Outer Rim. Ben now viewed that almost as a prescient gift, though of course Mara could not possibly have known how vital a lifeline it would one day be for her son and husband. The places Ben and Luke were going to could hardly be considered a quick trip.
Ben was leaning back in the copilot’s seat, hands clasped loosely behind his head, gazing up through the transparisteel canopy at the velvet blackness punctuated by stars.
“Thinking of Mom?” Luke asked quietly.
Ben nodded. “Yeah. Spending so much time in her ship—it’s hard not to.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I’m glad we took the Shadow. Not just for the practical reasons.”
Luke glanced over at his son and gave him a quick grin. “Me too. It feels appropriate. As if part of her is making this journey with us.”
Ben nodded. He didn’t mentio
n the feelings he’d had, almost as if she’d been present. If it was real, Luke was doubtless already feeling it, too; if it wasn’t, it was his own imagination and he’d keep it to himself.
In a way, this was a memorial journey. The immediate reasons were very pressing and very dire. They were attempting to gather information that would help demystify and hopefully cure the strange mental illness that was affecting Jedi Knights Seff Hellin and Valin Horn, and also figure out what had gone so badly wrong with Jacen Solo so that Luke’s ten-year exile would be commuted. But Ben was also finding that the many hours of comfortable silence or quiet conversation the journey allowed him to have with his father had been honoring Mara Jade Skywalker in some way. He knew they wouldn’t have had these times together on Coruscant. In a way, Luke’s exile and this journey upon which they had embarked had been and promised to continue to be something that brought them together, slowed things down a little bit, despite the urgency of the mission.
Mara’s expensive holographic communications array chimed softly. Luke frowned. Ben did, too. Cilghal wasn’t expected to make contact for another four hours; one could set one’s chrono by her. Luke reached forward and tapped the controls.
A diminutive image of the Mon Calamari healer, about a third of a meter high, appeared on the little dais of the holoprojector. Mon Cal expressions were hard to read, but both Luke and Ben could tell from the way she moved her body that she was agitated.
“Cilghal, what is it?” Luke asked.
Cilghal inclined her head in a gesture of respect, observing the proprieties even when Luke was in exile and disgrace, even when she was obviously in distress.
“Much has happened in the last few hours, Grand Master. Shall I tell you the good news or the bad? Both are important.”
“Let’s start with the bad news,” said Luke.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi II: Omen Page 5
