Abyss

by Troy Denning

  “Such as?” Kenth asked. While not sounding relieved, he at least sounded hopeful. “The Jedi could really use some good news about now.”

  “I said begin, Master Hamner.” Cilghal turned to Han and Leia. “Captain Solo, if you’ll assist Tekli with Yaqeel, Jedi Solo and I can handle Bazel.”

  Han looked to Kenth, indicating that the acting Grand Master had other ideas about how to handle the situation.

  Cilghal rolled a huge eye toward Kenth. “Do you have an objection?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Kenth said. “There’s a GAS squad outside with a warrant for their arrest.”

  Cilghal dropped her gaze, and a sense of guilt began to fill the Force. “I see.” She turned to Leia. “How many did they hurt?”

  It was Han who answered. “Hurt? No one. We tranqed ’em right outside. GAS is only after them because the commotion got caught on holocam.”

  Cilghal’s mouth fell open. “Then why would GAS want to arrest them?”

  “Public endangerment,” Leia supplied. “And even that is overstating it. We had them inside in two minutes.”

  Cilghal turned back to Kenth, her expression changing from guilty to confused to upset. “And you want to turn them over?”

  “We were served a warrant, and we’re required to submit to it,” Kenth insisted. Judging by the color rising into his cheeks, Leia guessed that Daala had not bothered to tell him the charge when she commed to complain about the Solos’ defiance. “But this might even work to our advantage. When the circumstances are reviewed in open court, I’m sure Nawara ven can make the public see that the charges are completely unjustified.”

  “No,” Cilghal said. “We will not allow Daala to freeze my patients in carbonite so you can try to score a public relations point.”

  Kenth’s face grew stormy. “Master Cilghal, the decision isn’t yours—”

  “Nor is it yours alone. It is the Council’s. And if you want to honor a frivolous warrant simply out of expediency, I will insist that you seek approval.” Cilghal motioned the Solos toward the patients, then continued, “Until you have that, Master Hamner, I will be keeping the patients in the Asylum Block.”

  Not wanting to give Kenth a chance to countermand the order, Leia immediately pointed Han toward Yaqeel and turned to deal with Bazel herself. Tekli’s medication dart had already put a stop to the convulsions, so she used the Force to lift the big Ramoan from between the wrecked speeders.

  Leia had heard many times that “size matters not” when levitating an object, and perhaps that was true … for whoever had said it. But for her, it was all she could do to start Bazel floating toward the turbolift, and she was already beginning to tire when Han’s voice cried out behind her.

  “Hey, I think we just lost another two!”

  Leia’s concentration failed almost instantly, and Bazel hit the floor so hard it shook. Hoping a few more bruises would not make a difference to him, she spun toward the control booth and saw Han standing over Yaqeel’s unconscious form.

  The Bothan was still slumped against the control booth, but her hands had been resecured to the collision bar by a new pair of wrist restraints. To Leia’s dismay, the only signs of Reeqo and Melari were a pair of gray apprentice robes lying on the floor next to Yaqeel, each neatly folded with a lightsaber on top.

  “What happened?” Kenth asked, stepping over to the booth. To Leia’s relief—and maybe her surprise—there was no accusation or anger in his voice, only weariness and sorrow. “Did you see?”

  Han shook his head. “Sorry. I was busy watching the, uh, discussion over Barv.” He gestured at the robes and lightsabers. “I didn’t even notice Reeqo and Mel were gone until I saw this stuff.”

  “Well, they can’t have made it far.” Kenth pulled his comlink and started into the access tunnel. “Maybe we have time to stop them before they hurt someone.”

  “That isn’t necessary, Master Hamner,” Cilghal said. She extended a flipper-hand toward Kenth, using the Force to prevent him from breaking into a run. “Those two aren’t a danger to anyone.”

  Kenth spun on her, frowning. “Cilghal, if you want to take the warrants to the full Council, fine. But we can’t have any more crazy Jedi running loose on Coruscant.”

  “They’re not crazy, even in the way you use the term, Master Hamner,” Cilghal said. “At least, I’m ninety-eight percent sure they aren’t.”

  Kenth’s brow shot up. “Because?”

  “Because they were never at Shelter,” Tekli answered. “They’re too young.”

  “And all the other patients were,” Leia said, recalling their conversation when she and Han went to visit Seff Hellin. “Are you saying you’ve established a definite correlation?”

  “A definite statistical correlation,” Cilghal corrected. “Not cause-and-effect, but when we factor in Bazel and Yaqeel, the margin of error falls to less than two percent. Only Jedi who were hidden in the Maw during the war with the Yuuzhan Vong are in danger of falling ill.”

  Han’s brow arched in alarm, and Leia knew what he was thinking even before he asked, “What if they weren’t exactly hiding?”

  Cilghal could only shrug. “I wish I could reassure you, Captain Solo, but the truth is we just don’t know.”

  “Though, if it’s something environmental, there’s a good chance the risk would be related to length of exposure,” Tekli added, glancing toward Leia. “And the fact that neither of the Masters Solusar has fallen ill may suggest that adults aren’t as susceptible. You and Princess Leia are probably fine.”

  Han’s expression remained anxious, and Leia knew he wasn’t worrying about himself, or even about her. He was thinking about a certain red-haired little girl, wondering who would protect her if her grandparents suddenly set course for the nearest black hole.

  “Han, relax,” Leia said. “You’ll be the first to know if I start feeling crazy.”

  An embarrassed smirk came to Han’s face. “That’s not much comfort, Princess,” he said. “After hanging around with me all these years, you wouldn’t feel the change.”

  “Oh, I’d feel it,” Leia said, smiling. “Trust me.”

  “If you ask me, you’ve both been crazy for a long time,” Kenth added, probably only half joking. “But I’m not sure I have faith in this new theory. If those apprentices didn’t fall ill, why did they run off?”

  Han glanced over at the folded robes and abandoned lightsabers, then frowned.

  “If I had to guess,” he said, “I’d say they quit.”

  IN SPACE AHEAD FLOATED A DISTANT CLUSTER OF FIERY WHORLS, EACH about the size of a finger ring and rapidly growing larger as the Eternal Crusader approached. With the edges of every whorl just touching the edges of those adjacent, the cluster was too uniformly dense to be natural. Yet with a diameter of more than a billion kilometers, it was too immense to be anything but natural. Around the middle of the strange formation, resembling a belt around a big belly, ran a line of larger, brighter whorls. In the middle of this belt, one pair hung close, connected by the distinctive curved accretion bars of a tight binary system.

  The binary was the sole imperfection in the homogeneous formation. It had drifted out of place and seemed to be in danger of crashing into several of its neighbors. On the side opposite the impending collision, a small crescent of darkness had opened between it and the adjacent whorls, and through this crescent, burning deep inside a hollow shell of darkness, Vestara Khai could see the hot blue ember of a distant star.

  Vestara’s Master, Lady olaris Rhea, pointed toward the dark crescent. “There.”

  A pale blond woman with pale blue eyes, Lady Rhea had a regal, lithe frame and an austere beauty as imposing as it was striking. Her manner tended to vacillate between self-assured and arrogant—not that she cared what Vestara or anyone else thought of her. She was a Sith Lord of Kesh, and it was others who needed to worry about what she thought of them.

  “Do you see?” she demanded. “That must be where Ship went.”


  “Yes, Lady Rhea. I’ll see if he’s there now.”

  Vestara did not say she would try to locate Ship, nor did she ask if she should. Sith apprentices did not try, and they did not ask permission before acting. They were expected to know what their Masters required of them and then do it. If they failed in either regard, they suffered for it; if they failed too often, their suffering ended—permanently.

  Vestara focused her attention on the dark crescent, then reached out in the Force and sensed a murky, tireless presence that she immediately recognized as Ship. He seemed surprised to feel her touch, yet this time he did not flinch or try to hide, as he had so many times before. He simply allowed her to maintain contact and feel his joy, as though he had passed beyond the Lost Tribe’s reach and no longer feared being taken back to Kesh.

  And perhaps that was so. Vestara felt another presence deep in the crevice beyond. Even more ancient and alien than Ship himself, this new presence was filled with the hunger and longing of the dark side, and powerful beyond comprehension. Though Ship had never actually spoken to her across such great distances, she could sense that he wanted her to understand his connection to this strange presence. Ship was a creature of service. When a being of strong will commanded him, obeying became his greatest joy, his only joy. Ship could no more disobey than Vestara could stop breathing.

  Vestara understood. She had felt the ancient presence reach out to Kesh, the same as Ship had—the same as the entire Tribe had. But Ship should have waited for Lord Vol to assign a pilot before leaving. The Sith had created Ship, and his duty was to the Sith. Therefore, Ship would return to the Eternal Crusader and accept Vestara as his pilot, and they would all proceed together.

  Ship’s amusement was unmistakable. He had a special relationship with Vestara. She had been the first Tyro he had found back on Kesh, and her presence had always burned more brightly for him than had others. But did she truly believe herself strong enough to command Ship now? Was she fool enough to think she could match wills with one as ancient and dark as the Maw itself?

  Then Ship’s presence was gone.

  Vestara continued to stare out at the dark crescent, expelling her anger with a calming trick she had learned from her father: a condemning curse, followed by a promise to herself that she was not forgoing retribution, just giving it time to grow. By fleeing again, Ship was putting her in a delicate position with her Master, Lady Rhea—one dangerously close to failure.

  Of course, part of Vestara’s anger came from the knowledge that she had overreached her abilities. She had hoped to impress Lady Rhea and the other Sith by commanding Ship to return to the Eternal Crusader. But she had been mistaken to think she could match wills with the ancient presence that had reached out to them on Kesh—and Vestara did not allow herself to make mistakes. Mistakes got apprentices killed. Worse, they prevented Sith apprentices from advancing to Sith Sabers.

  After a moment, Lady Rhea said, “Lost it again.” It was a statement, not a question, and there was disappointment in her voice. “Ship continues to toy with you.”

  Vestara was quick to shake her head. She did not like to disappoint her Master—especially when it was because she had made a mistake—and this time she saw no need.

  “Ship is going …well, inside” She pointed toward the dark crescent. “Through there.”

  Lady Rhea raised a thin eyebrow. “You know this how?”

  “I feel it,” Vestara explained. “Whatever called Ship away from Kesh is hiding in there.”

  Lady Rhea narrowed her eyes and studied the crescent for a moment, then said, “Ship has been allowing you to find it.”

  “That’s how it feels,” Vestara confirmed. She would not have dared to contradict Lady Rhea even if it hadn’t been so. “I see no other reason I’d be able to sense him when Lords and Masters cannot.”

  “As long as Vestara is sensing it.”

  The comment came from the opposite side of Lady Rhea, where Master Yuvar Xal was also standing at the command rail. With green, deep-set eyes and black hair hanging down to his collar, Xal’s features were just a little bit too sharp to be considered truly handsome—a flaw that had no doubt contributed to his slow advancement on beauty-conscious Kesh.

  “I find it, um, interesting,” Xal continued, “that Ship chooses to reveal itself only through an apprentice.”

  Lady Rhea turned to glare at him. “Master Xal, are you suggesting that my apprentice has led us out here on a lark?”

  “Not at all, Lady Rhea,” Xal replied. “I’m concerned because she may have misconstrued what she’s sensing in the Force.”

  Vestara glanced behind Lady Rhea and saw Xal’s apprentice, Ahri Raas, looking in her direction. A Keshiri male, he was as gorgeous as most members of his species, with pale lavender skin, shoulder-length white hair, and large, expressive eyes—which he was now rolling to show his weary impatience.

  Vestara shot him a half grin and nodded. Xal had been assigned to the Eternal Crusader as Lady Rhea’s executive officer. In the way of the Tribe, that meant he had also become her primary rival for command of the vessel. Most likely, the conflict would be waged as it was now, on a level of constant innuendo and political maneuvering. But there was always the possibility it would come to violence, and that was something Vestara tried not to think about. If it did come to a shipwide bloodletting, she and Ahri would be on opposite sides, and the last thing she wanted to contemplate was having to kill her best friend.

  To Vestara’s surprise, instead of continuing to engage Xal directly, Lady Rhea elected to do it through her. “What do you think, Vestara? Is it Ship we’ve been following, or some figment of your imagination?”

  Taking her lead from Lady Rhea, Vestara leaned slightly forward and turned to lock gazes with Xal. It was a terrible affront for a mere apprentice to face a Master in such a manner. And that affront would suggest to the entire crew that Lady Rhea’s power was so great that even her charges felt secure in challenging Xal.

  “I know Ship’s presence as well as anyone does,” Vestara said. “And it is Ship I’ve been sensing.”

  Xal’s eyes flashed emerald with rage, and the already quiet bridge fell absolutely still as shocked Sabers awaited his response. Had Lady Rhea not been standing there, Vestara was quite sure that response would have been a Force spike through her own heart. But Xal could not attack her in public without it being construed as an attack on Lady Rhea herself, and he could not yet have gathered the kind of support he would need for such a thing. The imperfections of his appearance simply did not permit him to work that fast.

  The best response in such a situation would have been to demand that the apprentice’s Master discipline her. But Xal was still trying to glare Vestara into an apology when Lady Rhea deprived him of the opportunity.

  “I have every confidence in the acuity of your Force sense, Vestara,” Lady Rhea said. “But I wonder if you’ve given any thought to why Ship keeps allowing us to find it?”

  “I have,” Vestara said, guessing what Lady Rhea was thinking by the way she had phrased the question. “But I don’t believe Ship is leading us into a trap—at least not intentionally. I think he just wants us to understand why he left.”

  Lady Rhea paused and glanced over at Xal. “Master Xal, what is your opinion?”

  “Who am I to question the word of your apprentice, Lady Rhea?” Xal’s snide response was a not-so-subtle rejection of the graceful surrender Lady Rhea was offering him. “If the girl thinks she has a special link to Ship, and if you’re willing to believe her, who am I to question your orders?”

  “I see,” Lady Rhea replied.

  Xal had, in effect, told her that if she was wrong to trust Vestara, he intended to use her mistake to steal command of the Eternal Crusader. It was a terrible blunder. He was telegraphing his blow out of anger, and his poor judgment would count heavily against him in the crew’s opinion. Now his only means to put himself back into a position to challenge Lady Rhea would be to kill Vestara in a way that
couldn’t be traced to him—and he was effectively declaring his intention to do exactly that.

  Lady Rhea gave him a disappointed shake of her head, then said, “I’ll tell you what I think.” She was not even bothering to face Xal as she spoke, instead addressing herself directly to the bridge crew. “I think Ship is allowing only Vestara to find it because she is young. Someone older might have a stronger will—a will powerful enough to compel its return.”

  A murmur of agreement rustled over the bridge, and several crew members nodded openly. They were all Sith Sabers, mostly humans descended from the shipwrecked crew of the original Omen. But there was also a sizable number of lavender-skinned Keshiri who, like Vestara’s friend Ahri, had risen from a disadvantaged social status to become full members of the Sith Tribe. Although there was no separate officers’ caste aboard the Crusader, the three seats of authority on the bridge were all occupied by Keshiri Sabers, for—like all hierarchies in the Tribe—the ship’s company was a strict meritocracy, with positions of responsibility awarded only according to ability.

  “If Ship doesn’t want to be forced to return,” a melodious Keshiri voice asked, “why allow anyone to find it?”

  Vestara’s head snapped around.

  “I mean, if it can hide from you,” Ahri continued, “it can hide from Vestara.”

  He shot her a frightened glance, and Vestara flashed him an apologetic smile. It wasn’t Ahri challenging Lady Rhea, it was Xal, trying to use his apprentice to embarrass her. The difference was that Lady Rhea had the power to turn his ploy against him. If she decided to punish Ahri herself, Xal was not strong enough to protect his apprentice, and the rest of the crew would take that failure as a further sign of his weakness—which, of course, was the reason that Lady Rhea almost certainly would kill Ahri.

  But Lady Rhea must have seen a trap that Vestara did not, because instead of punishing Ahri for daring to challenge her, she turned to smile at him.