Abyss

by Troy Denning

  Bazel began to have a sinking feeling. He inquired what others she was talking about.

  Yaqeel stared up out of one narrowed eye. “The others like us, of course.”

  Bazel asked if she meant the rest of the Unit, Jysella and Valin.

  Yaqeel nodded, adding, “And Seff and Natua, too.”

  They were just angling past the main entrance, where a full Galactic Alliance Security assault team—complete with armored hovercars—had been stationed as an assertion of Daala’s authority. To either side of them sat a pair of newsvans, resting on their parking struts until the next opportunity came to embarrass the Jedi Order. Javis Tyrr was nowhere in sight at the moment, but Bazel recognized Tyrr’s distinctive, half-winking “gotcha eye” logo on one of the vans, and he knew the bottom-feeding reporter would be somewhere close. He pulled Yaqeel to his other side, where she would be shielded from roving cams by his jade bulk.

  His worst fears were confirmed when Yaqeel failed to notice what he was doing. “We’ll free Seff and Natua first,” she said. “Then maybe we can recover Jysella and Valin, find a safe place to thaw them out, and figure out what the kriff is going on.”

  It would certainly be good to figure things out, Bazel agreed. What he didn’t say was that Yaqeel was breaking his heart. He hadn’t grown as close to Seff and Natua at Shelter as he had to Yaqeel and the Horn siblings, but the quarters had been so tight that he had become friends with most of the other students, and he desperately wanted to see them leave the Asylum Block—when they were ready. Now Bazel’s best friend was starting to act like she was on her way to joining them, which was certainly a better alternative to being frozen in carbonite like Valin and Jysella. That, Bazel would never allow.

  As they approached the corner of the Temple, Bazel took one last look back toward the cam vans and found a single lens turned their way—no doubt capturing some stock footage of him so they would have something ready when they aired a report about the Jedi menace. He raised a hand as though to wave, at the same time shooting a Force flash toward the van that would wipe his image—and most of the day’s other footage—from the cam’s digital memory.

  They rounded the corner and came to a hedge of tall rutolu bushes, the purple leaves as long and slender as daggers. A freshly worn path led through the hedge to a chest-high safety wall that protected the sunken entrance to the speeder gate, and it was here that Yaqeel reached for her lightsaber. Bazel was desperate to keep her from causing trouble outside the Temple, where she might injure a passerby and would certainly draw the attention of the GAS assault team. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.

  Yaqeel spun on him with fire in her eyes, then sent a jolt of Force energy into his arm so powerful that Bazel squealed in surprise. He had never seen her do such a thing before; in fact, he had never seen any Jedi use the Force that way.

  “You, Barv?” Yaqeel’s hand dropped to her lightsaber. “They got you—”

  Bazel gave a disgusted snort, pointing out they weren’t going to free anyone from the Asylum Block by trying to fight their way into the Temple. The plan was to fool the Jedi, remember?

  Yaqeel’s hand remained on her lightsaber hilt, her long brow-fur rising at the ends as she studied Bazel. Finally, she said, “Barv, we are the Jedi.”

  Silently cursing the dim wits of his species and the sharp wits of the Bothans, Bazel took a deep breath and tried to accept that he would soon be in a huge amount of pain. Even under the best circumstances, Bazel wasn’t a very good liar, and now Yaqeel would be using the Force to determine whether he was being truthful. That left him with only one option: to grab her and try to drag her inside the Temple before the GAS assault team arrived and the two Jedi got themselves killed.

  And that was when Bazel realized he could lie to her. The key to defeating the Jedi truth-sense lay in believing the lie one told, and Bazel knew how to do that. He didn’t know how he knew, or where he had learned it. But all he had to do was soak his words in a little Force energy, and then he himself would believe what he said. And everyone else would, too.

  So Bazel simply shrugged and pulled his hand away from Yaqeel’s lightsaber. He suggested that maybe rescuing Seff and Natua wasn’t such a good idea, after all. The …the fakes were bound to be watching them, and the instant he and Yaqeel started down toward the Asylum Block, they’d probably get jumped and end up in a cell themselves.

  Yaqeel considered his words for a moment, then took her hand away from her lightsaber. “You’re probably right, Barv. But we’ve got to try.”

  Bazel sighed in relief, using his newfound Force skill to make it seem like resignation. Then he asked Yaqeel if she was ready.

  Yaqeel nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She grabbed the safety wall and pulled herself up, crouching on its mist-slickened top to glance back down at Bazel. “Remember to act normal, Barv. You can’t let them shiver you out too much.”

  He assured her that he wouldn’t give them away to anyone inside the Temple. It was another lie, of course, but he did not feel guilty about it. Once he had Yaqeel safe somewhere deep inside the Temple, he could try to reason with her, make her see that nothing sinister had happened to their fellow Jedi. And if he failed, at least there would be plenty of help to make certain she didn’t fall into GAS’s custody and end up like Valin and Jysella.

  Bazel laid an elbow on top of the wall and swung a massive leg up so he was sitting astride it. He found himself looking down into a white duracrete trough, about five meters deep and just wide enough for two speeders to pass in opposite directions. At one end, the trough vanished into the tunnel that led down to the south-side speeder hangars. The durasteel gate to this entrance was wide open while a small, dome-shaped Lovolol cleaning droid polished the threshold.

  Standing just outside that gate, next to an armored luxury speeder bearing the crest of the Imperial Remnant, were Jaina Solo and Jagged Fel. Head of State Fel wore a formal dress uniform with the tunic collar still fastened. Jaina was in a purple day dress styled just enough like a Jedi robe to make the lightsaber hanging from its belt look appropriate. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing and paying no attention to anyone else.

  The fur on Yaqeel’s neck stood on end, and her hand drifted toward her lightsaber again. Bazel knew his plan to get her safely inside the Temple had just run into a serious problem.

  He leaned close to Yaqeel’s ear and rumbled that Jaina and her friend were only interested in each other. Bazel and Yaqeel should just hop down, excuse themselves, and continue into the Temple.

  Yaqeel shook her head. “What’s that cleaning droid doing there?” she whispered. “Something’s not right.”

  Bazel cursed under his breath, then explained that Jaina had probably been out with Head of State Fel having a late lunch—or early dinner—somewhere.

  “Bazel, they’re not people,” Yaqeel hissed. “You have to remember that.”

  Bazel nodded and assured her that he would try. Jaina must have sensed them watching, because she suddenly opened her eyes and peered up at them over Head of State Fel’s shoulder. Instead of breaking off the kiss, she lifted a hand and fluttered her fingers at them. It was a casual wave, such as anyone might give in a similar position, but Bazel was beginning to see Yaqeel’s point. With Han and Leia behind them and Jaina blocking their access to the Temple, the Solos had them in a perfect trap. Could it really be just coincidence?

  Jaina must have sensed his confusion, because she pulled away from her companion and motioned them down.

  “Sorry,” she called. There was an uncharacteristic flush to her cheeks—subtle, but distinct enough for Bazel to notice. “You’re not interrupting anything, really.”

  Now Head of State Fel turned as well, his cheeks showing the same uncharacteristic flush, and Bazel’s heart jumped into his throat. He couldn’t imagine what had ever made him doubt Yaqeel’s judgment; she was a Bothan, after all, and Bothans understood treachery a lot better than Ramoans.

  “Please,
don’t let us hold you up,” called the being who looked like Head of State Fel. “I was just leaving.”

  Yaqeel seemed frozen in indecision, so Bazel forced a smile and replied that it was no problem, they were in no hurry. He put a little Force energy into the words, but apparently the ability to tell a good lie could not get them out of everything. The being who was impersonating Jaina frowned and started to step around the car toward them, and Not-Fel leaned into the open door to say something to his driver.

  Bazel hazarded the opinion that they might have walked into an ambush.

  “Might have?” Yaqeel snapped her lightsaber off her belt and turned back toward the rutolu hedge. “Let’s get out of …”

  Yaqeel let the sentence trail off as a pair of beings who looked a lot like Han and Leia Solo came pushing through the hedge. They did not have the same flush Bazel had seen in the cheeks of Jaina and Head of State Fel, but he knew they couldn’t be the real Solos because Han didn’t have the ability to Force-jump, and that meant he could not enter the Temple by this entrance. Besides, Bazel’s danger sense was going wild, and both Solos were holding something behind their backs, and he knew the real Han and Leia would never harm him or Yaqeel.

  Not-Leia’s eye went straight to the lightsaber in Yaqeel’s hand. “Yaqeel, what are you doing with your lightsaber out? Is there a problem?”

  Not-Leia was still speaking when Yaqeel sprang, yelling, “You are—” Not-Han’s hand was already coming around. Bazel glimpsed the silver form of some kind of hand weapon, then heard the phoot-phoot of flying darts.

  Yaqeel gave a startled cry, her knees buckling as she landed in front of Not-Leia. She activated her lightsaber and flicked her wrist around in a clumsy attack, but Not-Leia had already stepped out of range. The blade sputtered dead as the hilt spun from Yaqeel’s twitching hand.

  Bazel watched in horror as Yaqeel’s eyes rolled back in her head and drool began to slide down the long red tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. He bellowed her name and reached for his own lightsaber—then noticed the tranquilizer pistol Not-Leia was holding on him.

  “Bazel, it’s just a tranquilizer,” Not-Leia said. “Yaqeel’s going to be fine.”

  “Yeah,” Not-Han agreed. “How about you?”

  Bazel considered trying to use his mass to overpower them both and flee with Yaqeel. But he was still sitting astride the wall with his lightsaber hanging from his belt, and both Not-Solos were holding tranquilizer pistols in their hands. He simply wasn’t quick enough, so he moved his hand away from his lightsaber and nodded, using his new skill to put a little Force behind the gesture.

  The faces of both Not-Solos relaxed instantly, and Not-Han whistled in relief. “Good. I thought for a minute we’d lost you both.”

  Bazel shook his head to assure him they hadn’t. He eyed a landing spot close to Yaqeel, then began to gather his legs under him. If he was quick enough, he might be able to snatch Yaqeel up and be through the hedge before—

  “Stay up there, Bazel,” Not-Leia ordered. “We’ll pass her up.”

  “Yeah, we need to get out of here.” Not-Han kicked Yaqeel’s lightsaber aside, then holstered his tranquilizer pistol and stooped down to pick up her unconscious form. “That GAS team was already starting this way when we came through the hedge.”

  Bazel settled back astride the wall, then stretched a hand down to take Yaqeel’s limp form. This lying skill was a handy thing, he reflected. If the impostors were just going to hand her up to him, maybe he could hang on to her until he saw an opportunity to—

  His hopes of making an easy getaway came to an abrupt end when he heard a pair of small feet land atop the wall behind him. Both Not-Solos did a credible job of looking surprised. Not-Han even let his jaw drop.

  “Jaina?” Not-Han gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Long story,” Not-Jaina said. By the sound of her voice, she was less than two meters behind Bazel—easily within reach of his gangling arms. “But maybe you’d better let me take Yaqeel.”

  Not-Han and Not-Leia both frowned and cast uneasy glances in Bazel’s direction. It was then that Bazel saw the flaw in his plan. If the impostors were replacing real Jedi with their own copies, they would know whom they had already replaced—and whom they hadn’t. They had been fooling Bazel, manipulating him into a vulnerable position so it would be easier to take him down. And his Ramoan mind had been too stupid to see it! Sometimes he hated being such a big spotted oaf, hated himself for being so easy to trick. And hated them for taking advantage of it.

  Bazel let out an angry bellow, then spun around, flinging his long arm out toward Not-Jaina. He heard her yell in surprise, then felt a satisfying impact as he caught her across the torso and sent her flying.

  The next thing Bazel heard was the phoot-phoot of flying darts. His face and arms erupted in fiery waves of stinging pain, and he instantly grew dizzy and sick. He felt himself falling and crashing into an oblivion of crumpling metal, and he hoped that all that throbbing meant there wasn’t going to be enough of him left to copy.

  “SORRY ABOUT YOUR LIMO, JAG.” HAN WAS STARING AT JAGGED FEL’S damaged speeder, now half hidden beneath Bazel Warv’s green bulk. Through a side window, he could see that the impact had folded the roof a good sixty centimeters down into the passenger compartment. “Maybe you should find another dealer. You’d think an armored speeder would take a hit better than this.”

  “Crumple zones are part of the design. I assure you, it can take a volley of concussion grenades and still speed away.” Jag turned toward Jaina, who was standing at the limousine’s front fender with the driver’s raincoat buttoned over her torn dress. “I’m just glad Jaina wasn’t hurt.”

  Jaina glared at him. “I can take a hit, too, Jag.”

  Jag’s steely eyes widened ever so slightly. “I’m sure you can,” he began apologetically. “I just meant to say that you’re more important to me than a million-credit limousine.”

  “I’d better be,” Jaina shot back. “That doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”

  Han had to bite his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter. He still found it hard to believe that Jaina was really going to marry this guy, and it was foul-ups like this that made him hope she’d come to her senses before it was too late. Jagged Fel was a decent enough fellow, and a fine pilot, to be sure. But he was also a stickler for rules and a slave to his honor, and Han had seen enough of that kind to know Head of State Fel would never, ever put Jaina ahead of his duty. And that just wasn’t good enough for Han’s only daughter—not by a long shot.

  Jag finally withered under Jaina’s glare and turned to Han, who laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Son, you’ve got a lot to learn before you’re ready to marry a strong woman,” he said. “You might start by always remembering she can break your neck with just a glance.”

  “Han!” Leia scolded. She was sitting atop the safety wall, one hand reaching out over the speeder lane as she used the Force to lower Yaqeel Saav’etu’s unconscious form down to the others. “You’ll scare him off!”

  “Hey, he should know what he’s in for.” Han winked at Jaina, and her scowl melted away, probably because she realized she was being too touchy about Jag’s protective streak. “You’ve been threatening to break my neck for forty years,” he reminded Leia.

  “That has nothing to do with being a strong woman,” Leia retorted. “Just one whose patience is too often tested.”

  Han turned to Jag. “And that reminds me—it pays to keep life interesting. These women can get bored just sitting around the apartment.”

  “That depends on who we’re sitting around with,” Leia said drily. She swung her hand toward the limousine, lowering Yaqeel onto its hood. “As interesting as it might be to explore my husband’s nerfheaded theories on marriage, we’d better take care of our two patients. That GAS squad is right behind me.”

  “I’ll get Bazel.” Jaina turned to Han. “Dad, if you can take Yaqeel—”


  “I’ll help,” Jag said, stepping toward the Bothan’s feet. At the same time, he glanced across the hood at the big-shouldered hump standing beside the driver’s door with a T-21 repeating blaster at the ready. “Put that weapon away and stay quiet about this, Baxton.”

  “Yes, sir,” Baxton confirmed, tucking the weapon back inside the driver’s door. “As far as GAS is concerned, I didn’t see anything.”

  “Lying to a GAS agent is a crime here,” Jag said. “Just tell them you’re not authorized to discuss my activities with anyone. That’s well within your immunity rights, and you won’t run the risk of arrest.”

  Baxton snapped to attention. “Thank you for considering my welfare, sir.”

  Han took Yaqeel’s shoulders and helped Jag lift her, then started toward the tunnel. Bazel Warv’s huge form floated off the limousine roof and followed them through the gate, where Han tripped over a cleaning droid with a faulty right-of-way routine. He fell to the floor with Yaqeel’s shoulders slumped in his lap.

  “Captain Solo?” Jag asked. “If she’s too heavy, I can—”

  “I just tripped,” Han barked, clasping the Bothan to his chest with one arm and using his free hand to push off the tunnel floor. “The droid got in my way. I’m not old, you know.”

  “of course not. I wasn’t thinking that.”

  Han rose to his feet and glared at Jag across Yaqeel’s unconscious form. “Kid, for a Head of State, you’re a lousy liar.”

  The color drained from Jag’s face. “Captain Solo, I have no doubts about your—”

  “Jag!” Jaina’s voice came from somewhere on the far side of the huge Ramoan bulk that was still out in the speeder lane waiting to float into the access tunnel. “Will you stop worrying about the old man’s feelings and get moving? The last thing you need is a GAS squad seeing you actually help us hide a pair of crazy Jedi.”

  “Right.” Jag stepped past Han and started down the tunnel backward. “I’ll take the lead.”