Vortex: Star Wars (Fate of the Jedi) (Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi)

by Troy Denning

  “There is alwayz a choice, Chief Daala.” Saba sat back in her chair and placed her hands on the armrests. “This time, the choice is yourz. If it is a fight you wish, the Jedi will oblige you—in that much, at least.”

  Daala’s expression hardened to ice. “Am I to take that as a threat, Master Sebatyne? Don’t waste your breath. The Jedi might take hostages, but they would never kill a hundred beings in cold blood. Even I don’t believe that.”

  Saba started to deny that the sabacc players were hostages, but she stopped when Corran Horn gave her a Force nudge and stepped into the camera range.

  “Chief Daala, did you believe the Jedi would join forces with the Sith?” Corran asked. Instead of slipping into his seat at the end of the speaking circle, he crossed in front of the cam and came to stand at Saba’s side. “There are many, many things you don’t know about the Jedi Order. You would be wise to keep that in mind.”

  “Master Horn, I remind you that I am the Galactic Alliance Chief of State,” Daala replied coolly. “Threatening me is an act of treason.”

  “Who is threatening?” Saba broke into a fit of sissing. “Chief Daala, that is too funny. We are long beyond threatening, are we not?”

  The color drained from Daala’s cheeks, but that was the only sign of fear she betrayed. “Yes, Master Sebatyne, I suppose we are.”

  “Good.” Saba leaned forward and stared into the cam lens, deliberately making her image as menacing as possible. “This one is glad we understand each other. Much will depend on it.”

  Then Cilghal stepped into cam range. “The hostages, as you call them, will return in three days, when their sabacc tournament has come to an end.” She crossed the speaking circle and came to stand opposite Corran, so that she and Corran were flanking Saba. “Let us hope they will not find a city in ruins.”

  “I agree, Master Cilghal,” Daala replied. Her white-sleeved arm rose, signaling an assistant to end the transmission. “One can always hope.”

  The hologram vanished, leaving Saba and her companions to stare at the swirls of color fading on the projection pad. They remained silent for a moment, each taking the time to form his or her own impression of Daala’s words without being influenced by the others. Saba was not sure what to make of the Chief-of-State’s reaction, whether the call had simply been a ploy to find out what was happening inside the Jedi Temple, a diversion, or a last-ditch attempt to avoid an all-out battle. All she knew for certain was that Daala had been frustrated by her inability to speak to Kenth Hamner—and it seemed safe to assume that her frustration had left her somewhat off-balance.

  Finally, when they had all looked up, Corran said, “That certainly went well.”

  Saba cocked her head around so she could look up at him. “You are joking, yes?”

  Corran shook his head. “I am joking, no. We rocked Daala back on her heels today,” he said. “We launched the StealthX wing without a fight, we recovered Valin and Jysella—”

  “Your young are here now?” Saba asked.

  “Not yet,” Corran said. “But they’re aboard the Cygnus-Seven and on their way.”

  “On their way is not here,” Saba said. “This one will not stop worrying until they are with us.”

  “Me either,” Corran said. “But they’re with the Solos. That’s the next best thing.”

  “It is very good,” Cilghal agreed. “But I don’t agree that the conversation with Daala went well. She’s afraid of us now, and fear breeds danger.”

  “True,” Corran replied. “But it also breeds caution, and we gave her plenty of reason to be cautious—and to think we’re ready to dish out more. Everything we’ve tried has worked. Now she has to be wondering what else we have up our sleeves.”

  Saba nodded. “No one expectz the shenbit to stop biting until the prey is devoured,” she said. “Daala will want to take care, and care takes time.”

  “So does politics,” Corran added. “The Errant Venture also got away clean with a hundred of Coruscant’s social elite. That’s going to put a lot of pressure on Daala to avoid a fight until after they’re scheduled to be back. If she tries to move before then, she risks losing her power base.”

  “That’s true as long as everyone understands that our, um, guests on the Venture are safe,” Cilghal replied. “I suggest we ask Lando to transmit live updates of the tournament. If the public sees sabacc players playing sabacc, Daala will find it difficult to do anything that might put them in danger.”

  “And it will show that they are not hostages,” Saba replied. “Perhapz we should ask Booster to offer them the option to leave?”

  “Are you crazy?” Corran asked. “No one’s going to leave with a hundred million credits in play.”

  “Exactly,” Cilghal said. “I like it.”

  “We are in agreement, then,” Saba said. “But when the tournament endz—Daala will come for us, will she not?”

  “Oh yeah,” Corran said, nodding. “One way or another, she’ll be coming. After the ruckus she made about the Jedi being a danger to the government, she can’t let us win. If she does, she’s done as Chief of State.”

  “Then she is done either way,” Saba said, “because the Jedi are not going to lose this fight.”

  Saba braced her hands on the chair arms and pushed herself to her feet. Her knees nearly buckled with the waves of agony that rolled through her battered body, but pain was nothing, only information that a Jedi could chose to examine or to ignore. She ignored it.

  “We should ask the Solusarz to join us,” Saba said. “The Masterz—those who are available—should name a leader to guide us through the next few dayz.”

  “What’s wrong?” Cilghal asked. She took Saba’s elbow, which was how one checked for a pulse on a Barabel. “Aren’t you feeling strong enough?”

  “This one is strong,” Saba said, puzzled. “But she has killed another Jedi. She must present herself to judgment.”

  “Judgment?” Corran asked. “By whom?”

  “By the leader.” Saba curled a lip, flashing a bit of fang. “Sometimes it seemz like you have rockz in your nest, Master Horn.”

  Corran’s brow rose. “Does it?” He looked to Cilghal, then asked, “I don’t know, Master Cilghal. The Masters Solusar are busy running evacuation drills. Do you think we really need to disturb them?”

  Cilghal thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Under the circumstances, no. I think we all know who the temporary leader should be.”

  Corran nodded. “Agreed.”

  Saba waited for them to say a name—but when they merely turned to look at her, she began to have a guilty, uneasy feeling in both of her stomachs.

  “No,” she said. “It is wrong. This one cannot take the place of a longtail she has killed.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Cilghal said. “We’re going to need a warrior leading the Order, and that’s not me.”

  “And I’m too filled with anger and thoughts of vengeance,” Corran said. “If I take lead against Daala, I’ll walk us all into the dark side.”

  Saba shook her head stubbornly. “It isn’t right.”

  “But it is necessary,” Cilghal said. “You started this, Saba. You’re the one Daala fears. You must do this—for the good of the Order.”

  Saba let her muzzle drop. She had hoped to escape this burden, to avoid being elevated by her mistake. But the Force was not so forgiving. Every act was a link in the chain of consequence, and she had been a fool to think that she could avoid the taint of the decision she had made in the hangar—to think that she could allow a Jedi to drop to his death and not find herself walking the line between the dark side and the light.

  “Saba, we need you to say yes,” Corran said. “We’ll sort out the rest after it’s done, when the Order is safe and the Sith are defeated—”

  “When Daala is gone,” Saba finished. She pointed at the chair at the head of the circle. “This one will do this until Grand Master Skywalker is sitting in that chair again. But when h
e is, this one will be judged.”

  Corran nodded. “Fair enough. Now, tell us how we’re going to keep this thing from turning Coruscant into a battlefield.”

  Saba looked over at him. “There is only one way to do that, Master Horn,” she said. “We must remove Daala from office.”

  A trio of Kondo-class shuttles had been tracing vapor trails across the sky for the last half hour, searching in vain for an island located almost directly below them. Meanwhile, the small group of Sith warriors who were actually in the village, searching for Abeloth, were outnumbered six to one by Fallanassi adepts. Sarasu Taalon had grown so weak that he was swaying on his feet, and he looked more unsteady by the moment. So why the High Lord continued to believe he controlled the situation, Luke could not imagine.

  “So Abeloth came to the Fallanassi for protection, and you expect me to believe you have no idea why?” Taalon demanded.

  Taalon was standing in what had once been a stone courtyard but was now a moss-covered ring. Across from him, just beyond lightsaber’s reach, floated a cross-legged woman. She looked like Akanah, but Luke had begun to fear she was actually their quarry, Abeloth. The transformation might have been mere illusion, or it might have been complete replication, or it could even have been an actual transference of mind and spirit. Luke had no clue. He was certain of only one thing. If he wanted to destroy Abeloth for good, he needed to discover which.

  “That is not what I told you,” Akanah said, replying to Taalon. “I said we don’t know who she is.”

  Anger smoldered in Taalaon’s weary eyes. “Your answers are honest, yet they reveal nothing.” He stepped closer, and Akanah floated back. “I tire of this game.”

  Akanah turned her palms up in a gesture of helplessness. “You are not here at our invitation. I see no reason to care how you feel.”

  “Then perhaps Saber Khai should give you one.”

  Taalon nodded to Khai, who now wore dark robes, having removed his bulky hazard suit when Taalon declared the Weeping Pox a Fallanassi deception. Luke could tell by Khai’s tense body language—and by that of the rest of the Sith, who had also switched to robes—that the act had been one of faith rather than belief. The Fallanassi illusion was still working on them, using their own minds to make them feel sick and prove Taalon’s mistake.

  Khai extended his hand toward the edge of the circle, where dozens of Fallanassi Adepts stood watching the confrontation, and the gray-haired elder whom Taalon had struck earlier began to move forward, her toes dragging and digging small furrows into the moss. Worried about what might happen next, Luke let his hand edge toward the lightsaber hanging from his belt. He stepped away from Taalon and Khai, buying room to maneuver, and felt a Force nudge from the edge of the circle.

  He glanced in that direction and found his son standing with one hand on his lightsaber, body angled to keep an eye on Luke and Vestara both. The girl appeared just as ready, standing well out of striking range, her body angle a mirror of Ben’s. Despite all the violence and death both teenagers had seen in their brief lives, Luke hated that they would see what was about to happen. The battle—if it could be called that—was bound to be more slaughter than fight, and there was a strong possibility both of their fathers would fall. He would have given anything to spare them that, but some things were beyond the abilities of even a Jedi Grand Master.

  By the time Luke had returned his attention to the circle, Gavar Khai was using the Force to hold the elder—Eliya—before him. The cheek that Taalon had struck earlier was swollen and blue, her jaw obviously shattered. But as Khai pressed his unignited lightsaber against her thigh, the old woman showed no sign of fear.

  Luke stepped forward. “This will accomplish nothing,” he said. “If you think the Fallanassi can be threatened with violence—”

  “This matter is no concern of yours, Jedi,” Eliya said. “You have done enough harm to us already.”

  Taalon smiled at her bravery, then turned to Akanah. “You will tell me why Abeloth came to the Fallanassi for protection at once,” he said, “or this old woman will suffer for your stubbornness.”

  “Tell him nothing, Lady,” Eliya said, turning from Luke to Akanah. “These sewer eels don’t deserve your—”

  “There is no harm in telling him this much, Sister.” As she spoke, Akanah kept her gaze fixed on Taalon. “Abeloth returned to the Fallanassi because she is Fallanassi.”

  “What?” It was Ben who blurted this. “How is that possible? Abeloth has been locked in the Maw for twenty-five thousand years!”

  Akanah’s gaze slid toward him. “The Fallanassi are older than that, Ben Skywalker,” she said. “They are older than the Jedi, older than the Sith, as old as civilization itself.”

  Taalon narrowed his eyes at her claim, then turned to Luke and raised a questioning brow. “Can that be true?”

  “I suppose it could,” Luke replied, daring to hope Taalon might not find it necessary to torture Eliya. If Akanah—or Abeloth—was willing to reveal something of the Fallanassi’s history in order to spare Eliya, perhaps she would reveal something else: Abeloth’s hiding place. “But I’m more interested in whether Abeloth was always Fallanassi. Or did she join more recently?”

  A sly smile crossed Akanah’s lips. “The answer would tell you whether she is still here,” she said. “And that I won’t reveal.”

  “You will in time,” Taalon said.

  The High Lord nodded to Khai, who activated his lightsaber. The emitter was still pressed to Eliya’s thigh, and the crackle of the activating blade could barely be heard over the woman’s scream. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, then her thigh buckled, and she pitched forward into Khai’s chest. He stepped back, allowing her to drop the rest of the way onto his blade, and her voice fell abruptly silent.

  The snap-sizzle of igniting lightsabers sounded throughout the village as the Sith search party—no doubt alerted to the possibility of trouble through the Force—activated their weapons. But if Taalon truly believed the Fallanassi response would come in the form of physical violence, he had learned nothing during his hour of attempting to intimidate them. Luke placed a hand on his own weapon, but did not activate it—or even remove it from his belt. He wasn’t ready for a fight with Taalon and his men, so he had to be careful not to provoke them. Abeloth, after all, was his first target.

  Akanah merely floated a little higher, placing herself above Taalon, and said, “You think you can intimidate me?”

  As she spoke, Gavar Khai’s gaze dropped to Eliya’s cleaved body, and his eyes widened with horror. He brought his blade up and began to slash at the air, pivoting and dodging as though he were in combat. Twice, he cringed as though he had taken a blow. Each time, a deep, anguished sigh gusted from his mouth, and his movements grew less confident and energetic. He began to flinch more quickly and started to retreat, his motions becoming awkward and slow, his posture stooped and elderly.

  Finally, Khai simply turned his back on the corpse and, screaming, began to totter away. Had his daughter not flicked a hand in his direction and buckled his knees with a Force blast, he might have kept going until he had left the village—and perhaps even the island. As it was, he simply covered his head and lay on the ground wailing—an embarrassment that caused his daughter to render him unconscious with a second Force blast.

  Taalon flicked a finger toward Akanah, drawing her back down to eye level. “I will turn the whole Fallanassi order into ghosts, if you like.”

  “I assure you,” Akanah said, “that won’t be necessary.”

  Before Taalon could reply, Sith all over the village began to scream and hack at the air. Sometimes they hit Fallanassi, sometimes they hit a tree fern or a fungus-covered hut, occasionally they even hit one another—but most of the time they struck nothing at all. Still, they universally began to cringe and wince as though taking blows, and within seconds they began to retreat into defensive squares that did nothing at all to diminish their panic.

  Luke glanced over at Ben
and was relieved to see that Akanah had spared his son—and Vestara—from her illusion. He signaled them to come and stand with him and Taalon, who also seemed to be free of the deception. Then he withdrew his presence from the White Current, just far enough to see the illusion to which the Sith were reacting.

  It appeared the Sith were being swarmed by translucent green figures. These phantasms had ghastly, distorted faces and thin tentacles lashing from their fingertips, and every couple of seconds one of them would belch a cloud of brown vapor into the face of a warrior. The victim would age a dozen years in a heartbeat, the face wrinkling and the posture growing more stooped.

  But it was the tentacles that were the most gruesome. They would shoot out from the ghost’s fingertips to lodge themselves in the eyeballs or nostrils or ears of an intruder. What looked like thumb-sized drops of dark Force energy would pulse down the tentacles, and with each globule, the phantasm seemed to grow a bit more solid and real looking.

  As the ghosts grew more opaque, they stopped belching brown fumes and started to spew flame. Before long, there appeared to be wildfires springing up everywhere, driving the Sith toward the edges of the village, screaming and stumbling just as Gavar Khai had done. Within seconds, the fastest Sith had reached a low stone wall that separated part of the village from a thousand-meter plunge to the sea.

  When Luke saw the first warrior vault over the wall and drop screaming out of sight, all doubt about the woman before him vanished. No Adept of the White Current would have used her art to kill any being so casually.

  Luke immersed himself within the Current again. The scene before him changed from horror to simple madness, with the Fallanassi standing pressed against their huts while the Sith flailed at empty air and rolled in the moss, trying to smother flames that did not exist. Whether the Adepts were contributing to the illusion or just standing aside while Abeloth alone tormented the intruders, Luke could not say. But it seemed clear to him that the Fallanassi were under Abeloth’s influence, or they never would have permitted the White Current to be defiled in this way.