Inferno

by Troy Denning

  Luke shook his head. “I don’t think so, Ben.”

  “You have to!” Ben insisted. “I deserve it!”

  “Deserve it?” Luke returned to his feet, far angrier with Jacen than he had been just a moment earlier. “To kill someone?”

  “You don’t understand,” Ben insisted. “It was my fault. If I don’t do this—”

  “I said no,” Luke interrupted. How could Ben believe that he had a right to kill someone? “You’re very confused, Ben. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Giving his son no further chance to argue, Luke turned back to Jacen, who by now was almost free. Only one leg remained caught, though it was still entwined in a half a dozen places. Luke limped forward, circling toward Jacen’s trapped side.

  Jacen stopped cutting at the tendrils and flung a hand toward the ceiling.

  “Dad, look—”

  Luke was already throwing himself to the deck. A tremendous crash sounded from the illumination panel, and the chamber tell instantly dark. He rolled opposite the direction he had just been moving, but wasn’t quick enough. The fixture smashed into his head and shoulders, slamming his face into the deck. He heard something crunch in his nose and was instantly choking on his own thick blood.

  Jacen’s lightsaber droned twice, filling that corner of the torture chamber with flickering green light. Luke Force-hurled the light fixture off his back, then hobbled to his feet.

  Jacen launched himself over Luke in a high Force flip. They exchanged perfunctory attacks as he tumbled past, then Luke was alone in the corner, watching the green column of his nephew’s lightsaber move toward the door.

  Jacen was running.

  Luke spat out a mouthful of blood and Force-leapt after his nephew, at the same time reaching out to drag him back. They came together in a blinding flurry of sparks, their blades colliding faster than the eye could follow, filling the dark chamber with flashing fans of color. Blows came out of nowhere. Luke caught another kick in his knee and found himself calling on the Force to keep his balance. He landed an elbow and felt a bone in Jacen’s face shatter.

  Jacen stumbled back, groaning, the green light of his lightsaber briefly illuminating Ben’s face as the boy struggled to cut himself free. Luke pressed forward, angling toward the Embrace to keep Jacen away from Ben. Jacen fought his way over anyway, placing himself squarely between Luke and the chair, then gave ground and vanished behind the green ribbons his lightsaber was weaving through the darkness.

  Luke Force-leapt after him, knowing that this Jacen—the Jacen he had caught torturing his son—would not hesitate to take Ben hostage … or to kill him. Luke landed half a meter in front of Jacen’s lightsaber and quickly beat down his nephew’s guard—too quickly. When he did not glimpse a face in the light of his own blade, Luke knew something was wrong and stopped.

  Which was exactly what Jacen was waiting for, of course.

  Luke had barely started to turn before a loop of thin tendril slipped over his head and tightened around his throat, oozing toxin and cutting deep into the flesh. The wound swelled and burned as if it were on fire. Luke whipped his lightsaber around, trying to cut Jacen off his back, but Jacen was already spinning away, tightening his garrote and placing Luke’s body between himself and the deadly blade.

  “Should have let me go when you had the chance,” Jacen snarled. “Now you’re done.”

  Luke slammed an elbow into Jacen’s ribs, but it was like hitting a permacrete wall. Instead of continuing to fight, he accelerated into the spin, using the Force to hurl them both into the nearest wall.

  Jacen hit first, his skull clunking hard into the durasteel. The garrote loosened a little. Luke dropped his lightsaber, bracing one hand against the other so he could use the strength of both arms to hammer his elbow up under Jacen’s chin.

  The garrote went completely slack. Luke followed up with a palm-heel to the same target, using the impact to drive himself away from his attacker and buy some maneuvering room.

  Then Jacen let out a bloodcurdling scream and stumbled away, a black silhouette vanishing into the darkness of the torture chamber.

  Luke stepped back in shock and confusion, summoning his lightsaber to hand, but knowing by the surprise in Jacen’s scream that this was not another trick.

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Ben said from beside him. “It’s just me.”

  Ben took the glow rod from Luke’s belt and activated it. Jacen was crawling across the torture chamber, the hilt of a vibrodagger protruding from between his shoulder blades. His face was inflamed and misshapen, his clothes were smoking and tattered, a hand-sized rectangle of scorched skull showed through his scalp, and still he was stretching a hand toward his lightsaber.

  Luke re-ignited his own lightsaber, then pointed out the door. “Artoo is in the hangar prepping a skiff for launch,” he said. “Go help him while I finish up here.”

  “No way.” Ben extended his free hand and summoned Jacen’s still-ignited lightsaber. “This kill is mine.”

  Ben’s words chilled Luke to the core—chilled him and frightened him. He could hear the hatred burning inside his son, feel the darkness swirling in his Force aura.

  “I said no.” Luke limped after his son and grabbed him by the shoulder. “You can’t surrender to your rage, Ben. I did that with Lumiya, and all it did was make me weak. But if you do now, you’ll be lost to the dark side. I feel it in you already.”

  “I don’t care about the dark side.” Ben was still holding Jacen’s lightsaber, waving it around in careless anger. “Jacen killed Mom, and it was my—”

  “Is that what you think?” Luke interrupted. He was pained by his son’s confusion, but at least he finally understood the hatred and the rage, the thirst for vengeance. “Jacen didn’t kill Mara. It was Alema—at least that’s the way it looks now.”

  Ben frowned. “Alema?”

  “Jaina and Zekk uncovered some evidence putting her near the scene.” Luke started Ben toward the door. “I’ll explain on the way back to Kashyyyk. We’ve got to get out of here before the rest of those turbolasers blow.”

  Ben allowed himself to be pushed across the threshold into the hangar. “The rest of the turbolasers, Dad? How many did you sabotage?”

  “Four,” Luke said. “Just the long-range batteries.”

  “Then I’ve got news for you,” Ben said. “They’ve already blown—while you and Jacen were fighting.”

  Luke glanced at the ceiling, not all that surprised to learn that he had missed the detonations. “We’d better hurry.” He tapped a control pad on the wall, and a heavy door clanged down to seal Jacen inside his torture chamber. “Security is going to be all over this part of the ship looking for saboteurs.”

  “No kidding.” But instead of starting across the hangar, Ben shined the glow rod back toward the torture chamber, as though he could somehow see Jacen behind the durasteel door plotting his defense against an attack that was not going to come—at least not today. “Being at the scene doesn’t mean Alema is Mom’s killer, you know. Jacen was close, too.”

  “Everyone knows that.” Luke did not try to draw Ben away; this decision, Ben had to make on his own. “But if I can’t be sure it was Alema, can you be sure it was Jacen?”

  Ben exhaled in exasperation, and Luke was relieved to feel the hatred in his son’s aura softening to uncertainty.

  Luke held his hand out. “Give me the lightsaber, Ben. It isn’t time to finish things with Jacen—not this way.”

  Ben deactivated the lightsaber, but did not pass it over. “So we’re just going to let Jacen get away with it?” he asked. “With burning Kashyyyk and torturing me and everything else?”

  “Of course not,” Luke said. “But we’ll come for him when the time is right—for us.”

  Ben thought for a moment, then asked, “You promise?”

  Luke nodded. “We have to stop this madness,” he said. “And we will—when our judgement isn’t clouded by pain and rage.”

  Ben let out a heavy sigh
, then passed the lightsaber over. “In that case, we really need to get out of here.” He started across the hangar at a run. “Jacen still has his comlink.”

  twenty

  The air in the forward infirmary reeked of bacta salve and scorched flesh, and casualties were jammed three and four to a bay. Yet Caedus had an entire corner to himself—and not because his injuries warranted it. He had only a few broken bones and some damaged organs. There were patients here who had lost half their limbs to the explosions Luke had caused, and others with third-degree burns over half their bodies.

  But the triage droid was skillfully directing new patients to every treatment hub except Caedus’s—perhaps because its compassion module could read in their averted glances and angry grimaces the same thing Caedus felt in their Force auras: hostility, anger, and fear. They blamed him for the sabotage, as though he should have foreseen the detonation of all four long-range turbolaser batteries—as though he had caused it by attacking Kashyyyk in the first place.

  They were right, of course. Had the Anakin Solo not been setting fire to the wroshyrs, Luke would never have tried anything so foolhardy. Nor would the Bothans have come to the Wookiees’ aid—along with the Corellians and much of the rest of the enemy’s fleets, if infirmary rumors were to be believed. Caedus had sacrificed the lives and well-being of a couple of thousand crew members to draw the Confederation away from the Battle of Kuat.

  And he would do it again. Now that he had moved the battle away from the Core, Coruscant was no longer at risk, and he had bought the Alliance time to regroup. Now all that remained was to withdraw and let the traitors believe they had driven him back. Caedus sat up—savoring the fiery bolts of pain that shot through him with the effort—and swung his legs over the side of the gurney.

  His uniform and cloak, now completely shredded after being cut off his body, were draped half in and half out of a disposal bin in the corner, and his equipment belt was hanging over the back of an empty chair. He felt uncharacteristically vulnerable—partly because he was wearing only infirmary-issue underclothes, but mostly because he couldn’t help looking at the empty lightsaber hook on his belt.

  Luke had beaten him. Luke had just kept coming despite his injuries. He had inflicted more damage on Caedus than he had suffered himself, and he had even escaped the garrote before Ben struck. In fact, it was probably that attack that had saved Caedus’s life. Nothing else could have shocked Luke out of his battle rage—only the sight of Ben slipping so far to the dark side.

  It was a memory that both frightened Caedus and burned his pride, but it was one that he would have to contemplate at length. Now he knew what to expect when Luke discovered who really killed Mara—and when Luke came after him next time, Caedus would be ready.

  Provided, of course, he escaped this battle first.

  “Where’s Orlopp?” Caedus demanded of no one—and everyone—in particular. “I asked for my aide ten minutes ago.”

  The Bith surgeon and his Codru-Ji assistant exchanged glances over Caedus’s shoulder, but it was the skull-faced MD droid who answered.

  “You’re in no condition for duty, Colonel Solo.” The droid gently tried to push Caedus back down. “If you continue to ignore Dr. Qilqu’s advice about sitting up, we may have to sedate you.”

  “Try it.” Caedus turned to Qilqu. “I’m tired of hearing that squawking. Can’t you override him?”

  Qilqu’s cheek folds flattened in alarm, and he looked to the droid. “The colonel has an extraordinary constitution, EmDee. If he feels strong enough to sit up, it will be better to let him.”

  “Very well.” The droid raised its hand, extruding a hypo from the tip of its index finger. “Then perhaps an injection of painkillers will make him less irritable.”

  “No painkillers—I need a clear head.” Actually, Caedus was feeding on the pain, burning it like fuel to keep his hormone levels high and his mind alert. “And I need my aide!”

  Qilqu glanced outside the bay and nodded. Orlopp stepped around the partition, one of Caedus’s spare uniforms tucked under his arm and the ever-present datapad in hand.

  “There’s no need to be cross, Colonel.” Orlopp’s long Jenet snout twitched in disgust—no doubt at the smell of Caedus’s wounds. “Perhaps painkillers would be a good idea.”

  “Be my guest,” Caedus retorted. He pointed at the datapad. “What’s the tactical situation?”

  “You’re going to wish you were still unconscious.” Orlopp tapped a few keys on the datapad and passed it over. “The good news is that your plan worked beyond all expectations.”

  Orlopp wasn’t exaggerating. The tactical feed showed the Fifth Fleet—with the Anakin Solo at its center—surrounded by the enemy. The Wookiee fleet was shielding Kashyyyk from any further bombardment, while the Bothans, Corellians, and the remnants of the Commenorian and Hutt fleets attacked from the rear.

  “What happened to Bwua’tu and Darklighter?” Caedus demanded. “They should be relieving us by now.”

  “Admiral Bwua’tu sent his regrets,” Orlopp replied. “Apparently, he and Admiral Darklighter were ordered to hold their forces inside the Core.”

  “Of course.” Caedus didn’t need to ask who had issued the order: Cha Niathal was too good a tactician to overlook an opportunity to have the enemy eliminate her rival—even if it did mean sacrificing a little thing like the Fifth Fleet. “I was expecting this betrayal.”

  “You were?” Orlopp sounded genuinely relieved. “In that case, you may want to brief Admiral Atoko on your plan. He’s given the order to prepare all vessels for scuttle and abandonment.”

  “Without consulting me?”

  “You were … unavailable,” Orlopp explained.

  “I’m available now.”

  Jacen slipped off the gurney—then groaned in shock as the small impact of landing on the deck sent halos of pain radiating out from his two back wounds. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen if the MD droid’s hand hadn’t shot out to hold him up.

  “In your condition, standing is out of the question,” the droid informed him. “Even if the swelling in your brain doesn’t destroy your balance, you have burn damage to your kidney and a perforation in your lung. You’re simply too weak.”

  “I’m a master of the Force, EmDee.” Caedus jerked his arm free of the droid’s grasp, then thrust the datapad back into Orlopp’s hands. “I’m never weak.”

  Using the Force to hold himself upright, Caedus limped over to the wall comm and opened a channel to the bridge. When the familiar voice of his communications officer answered a moment later, he asked her to connect him to Atoko. While he waited, he took his uniform from Orlopp and slowly—painfully—dressed.

  Finally, the admiral’s surprised voice sounded over the comm speaker. “Colonel Solo? How are you feeling?”

  “Well enough to retain command.” Caedus allowed enough anger into his voice to let Atoko know he did not appreciate having his authority usurped. “And I don’t recall giving orders to scuttle the fleet.”

  “And neither have I, yet.” Atoko didn’t seem fazed by Caedus’s displeasure—perhaps because he suspected that soon neither of them was going to be in command of anything. “But the Wookiees are starting to launch boarding craft. Rather than allow our assets to fall into enemy hands—”

  “Why aren’t you attempting to fight free, Admiral?” Caedus demanded. “If the Fifth is going to be vaped, at least it can take a few Bothans along.”

  The speaker fell silent, and—were it not for the steady crackle of turbolaser interference—Caedus would have assumed the channel had been closed. As he waited for Atoko to acknowledge the order—or at least to respond—he slowly began to realize that the admiral wasn’t the only one who had been shocked by the command. Qilqu and his assistant were both oozing dismay and disbelief into the Force, and even the normally unflappable Orlopp was shaking his head in amazement.

  “Admiral Atoko, I seem to be sensing a problem with my order,” Caedus said. “Is somet
hing unclear?”

  “No, sir,” Atoko said. “It’s very clear. All too clear.”

  “Then there must be a flaw in it,” Caedus said. “What is it?”

  “The, well, the crews,” Atoko replied. “There are over seventy thousand beings in the Fifth. We can’t just order them to their deaths.”

  “Ah.” Caedus had planned to escape in a StealthX if Niathal betrayed him, so it had not occurred to him that the crew members of the Fifth might be reluctant to give their lives for the Alliance. “You think the vessel commanders will refuse?”

  “With no chance of survival or escape, it’s … a possibility,” Atoko said carefully. “Destroying a few enemy ships isn’t going to seem like a worthwhile sacrifice when the alternative is an honorable surrender.”

  “I suppose not,” Caedus admitted. “So when the time comes, we should remind them that those are Wookiee boarding parties … and the Fifth has been shielding the Anakin Solo while we burned Kashyyyk.”

  Again, the speaker fell silent—but only for a moment. “I think that will persuade them, Colonel.”

  “I thought it might,” Caedus said. “Cancel the scuttle preparations and ready the fleet for a penetration attack. I’ll give you the coordinates once I’ve studied—”

  “Excuse me, Colonel.” Orlopp shoved the datapad at Caedus again. “But I believe you will find the coordinates fairly obvious.”

  Caedus took the datapad. His vision was still a little blurry, and all he could see was a tight cluster of unreadable designator codes popping onto the top edge of the screen. For a moment, he didn’t understand what Orlopp was suggesting … then the Corellian fleet began to move aside, creating room for the new arrivals to join in the encirclement of the Fifth.

  “Very good, Orlopp,” he said. “Admiral Atoko, we’ll make for the seam between the Corellians and the newcomers. If we time this right, we should be able to battle through and save at least a third of our strength.”