by James Luceno
“There are many things I should not have done.”
Saes’s eyes narrowed at that.
Shouts carried from three of the corridors that opened onto the chamber.
Relin said, “Your servants will arrive soon.”
Saes raised a clawed hand and the blast doors closed, one after another, blocking the corridors from which Relin had heard the sounds of pursuit.
“This is between us, and is long overdue. Do you agree?”
They approached each other, circled at four paces, lightsabers blazing. Saes was the taller between them, the physically stronger, but Relin was faster.
“I do.”
Relin’s chrono continued its countdown. Thirty-three seconds.
“I have missed your company from time to time,” Saes said, and Relin heard sincerity in the words.
“You have chosen a lonely path, Saes. It is never too late to turn away.”
Saes smiled around his horns, an expression that did not reach his eyes, and the hollowness of the expression reminded Relin of the gulf between the natures of his first Padawan and his second.
“You have chosen the lonely path. The Jedi teach denial of self. That is their weakness. No sentient can long abide that. The Sith embrace the self, and therein lies their strength.”
“You understand so little,” Relin said. “The Jedi teach the interdependence of life. The understanding that all is connected.”
A flash of anger animated Saes’s eyes, and he spit at Relin’s feet. “A lie. You tried to steal what is best in me, to make me as empty as you.”
Relin sneered, but Saes bored deeper.
“When is the last time you felt anything with passion? When is the last time you laughed, Relin? Felt a woman’s touch? When?”
The words cut close to bone, echoing, as they did, Relin’s own thoughts about his training of Drev.
Saes must have seen it in Relin’s expression. “Ah, I see you’ve thought of these matters yourself. And you were right to think them. It is never too late for you to learn wisdom. Join me, Relin. I will present you to Master Sadow myself.”
“I think not,” Relin said.
“Very well,” Saes answered. He reached down to a pouch at his belt. “May I?”
Relin knew what he would draw forth and nodded.
Saes removed a white memory mask from the pouch, placed it before his face. It adhered, shaping itself into a likeness of the skull of an erkush, one of the largest predators on Kalee.
“You used to wear a mask of real bone,” Relin said.
“I reserve that now for only special prey,” Saes said, and attacked.
THE PRESENT:
41.5 YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE OF YAVIN
Jaden’s ship emerged from hyperspace and the navicomp automatically removed the tint of his cockpit window while R6 confirmed coordinates. Jaden checked the readout. They’d had a good jump and reentered realspace at the edge of the Unknown Regions.
“Well done, Arsix.”
Ahead, Fhost spun through space, night side facing out. He saw only an old weathersat and commsat in orbit. Like many planets so far out on the Rim, Fhost had no orbital dock and processing station, no planetary defenses, no sign of Galactic Alliance bureaucracy at all. The population of Fhost was on its own.
He felt a sudden, overwhelming impulse to throw away everything and start anew on some wild, independent backworld like Fhost, free of rules and obligations, but he had enough self-awareness to recognize the feeling for what it was: a desire to run away from his old life, not a desire to run to a new one.
He engaged the ion engines on his customized Z-95 and sped around the planet, outpacing its spin, chasing the day, until he saw the system’s star crest the horizon line.
“Put us in geosynchronous orbit, Arsix,” he said, and the droid complied.
Jaden stared out the cockpit’s window as the planet rotated into day. Light filled his cockpit and washed over the planet’s surface by increments, unveiling a quilt of clouds floating over the red, orange, and tan of vast deserts, the blue smear of an ocean, the spine of a mountain range that ran the length of the main continent. To Jaden, it was like watching the slow reveal of a masterful work of art, a sculpture of land and water, wondrous in its lonely, whirling trek through the emptiness of space. He always tried to see a starcrest from orbit before setting foot on a planet. He wasn’t sure why—maybe he wanted to see every world in its best light before putting down on its surface.
Unbidden, he recalled a starcrest over Corellia that he’d seen from a viewport aboard Centerpoint Station as he and his strike force had moved through the metal maze of its corridors.
He dismissed the memory quickly, pained by the realization that his actions on Centerpoint had polluted even this, one of the small pleasures he had long enjoyed.
Frowning, he looked out of the cockpit, past Fhost, and into the field of stars that dotted the Unknown Regions.
“There be dragons,” he said, smiling.
R6 beeped a question.
“Something Kyle once said to me,” Jaden explained.
What you seek can be found in the black hole on Fhost.
Fhost’s largest population center was Farpoint. He would start there, keep an ear to ground, and try to figure out how something could start in the lightlessness of a black hole. He’d pose as a salvager with old Imperial–era hulks to sell for scrap. The fact that he piloted a Z-95 would add credibility to the claim.
“Why do I fly an old Z-Ninety-five, Arsix?”
The droid beeped and whistled in answer, though Jaden needed none. He flew the Z-95 for the same reasons he still bore an old lightsaber in the small of his back.
“Arsix, set the comm to standard planetary control frequency.”
R6 chirped when it was done.
“Farpoint control, this is Far Wanderer, requesting permission to land.”
A long pause and the crackle of static answered his request. Before he could repeat it, the planetary control finally answered in Basic.
“Far Wanderer, permission granted. Coordinates for the yard are being transmitted to you now. What is that, a Z-Ninety-five? How’d you get a hyperspace sled to stay attached to that old girl? We didn’t know those antiques still flew.”
“Still flies, Farpoint control. But it isn’t always pretty.”
Laughter carried over the channel. “Bring that bird in.”
Predator settled into orbit over Fhost and Kell took in the planet. It was covered in great swaths of desert; stretches of tan and brown bisected by gashes of reds and smudges of black made the surface look scarred, bruised, wounded. He hovered over it for a time, his ship invisible to the meager scanning technology available to those onworld. He studied the planet’s specs on his console a final time.
Apart from a few isolated settlements on the edge of the deserts, the planet had only one main population center—Farpoint, with a transient population of perhaps thirty-five hundred sentients. He frowned, thinking that he would have to take care to keep his feeding discreet in such a small settlement. On the other hand, the small population limited the target of his inquiry. With his talents, he would be able to gather information rapidly.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the image Wyyrlok had burned into his brain—the icy moon hanging against the backdrop of the blue gas giant, its sky on fire. He stared past Fhost out at the trackless systems of the Unknown Regions. The moon could be anywhere.
Wyyrlok had demanded that he look for a sign. Kell had another idea. He intended to look for a Jedi. Thinking of the rich soup of a Jedi caused his feeders to roil in their cheek sacs. Thinking of the soup of the one who would bring him revelation caused him to drool.
He stared down at the planet as the line of night crept across its surface, swallowing the deserts in darkness.
“I am a ghost,” he said.
THE PAST:
5,000 YEARS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF YAVIN
Harbinger’s bridge crackled with activity.
“Forty-five seconds to jump,” said the helmsman to Dor, then, into his communicator, “Forty-five seconds. Confirm, Omen.”
The speakers crackled with Omen’s answer. “Confirmed. Forty-five seconds. Forty-four.”
Dor put his clawed hand on the weapons officer’s soft shoulder. “You have twenty-five seconds to destroy that Infiltrator. Or explain to the captain why you could not.”
Saes’s blade spat a blurry shower of sparks as he unleashed a series of powerful blows. Relin allowed the strength of the attacks to move him backward as he dodged left, right, leapt, spun, and parried, biding his time. At last he deflected an overhand strike in a shower of energy, slid his blade free, and stabbed at Saes’s middle. His onetime Padawan slid left, spun, and drove Relin’s blade to the deck with an overhand strike. Saes threw a reverse elbow with his off arm, augmented with strength from the Force, but Relin anticipated the blow, parried with his forearm, lurched his blade free, and drove a Force-augmented kick into Saes’s midsection. The impact lifted Saes from his feet and drove him fifteen paces across the room, though he flipped in flight and landed on his feet in a crouch.
“Your skill with a lightsaber remains wanting,” Relin said, advancing. “You rely on strength over technique.”
Anger tensed Saes’s body, darkened his visible skin from crimson to deep red. “It is well, then, that I’ve learned other methods.”
Blue Force lightning gathered on the black claws of his fingertips, crackled a dire promise. Before Relin could respond, Saes gestured and the energy cut a jagged path across the room.
Relin dodged too late and the energy struck him, put a cold spike into his heart, and threw him against the far wall. Despite the agony, he managed to use the Force to cushion the impact and fell to the floor, his breathing ragged as the last of the lightning crawled over him and expired.
He climbed to his feet, lightsaber held low, and eyed Saes. His Padawan had grown in the Force since they had parted.
As if reading his thoughts, Saes saluted him with his lightsaber. Relin imagined him grinning behind his mask. “More than you know, even.”
The pitch of the hyperdrive’s hum changed, accelerated, took on the regular cadence of a rapidly beating heart. Relin felt the vaguely nauseating swirl in his stomach that he often felt when a ship was about to enter hyperspace.
Staring at Saes, he decided that he would not bother with escape. He had accomplished his mission. Now he would right a wrong before he died.
He fell into the Force, let its energy course through his body, enhance his reflexes, his strength, his endurance. Saes answered Relin’s stare with his own, his eyes black holes in the white mask, and lightning sizzled on his fingertips, tracing a spiral path up the red blade of his lightsaber.
“We end it,” Relin said.
Former Master and Padawan strode across the chamber toward each other, lethal purpose in both their minds.
Relin’s comlink crackled. “I am hit! Master!”
Drev’s alarmed voice eroded Relin’s resolve, carried away the anger that had been driving his thinking. Strength went out of him.
Saes, sensing the hesitation, bounded forward, lightsaber raised in a killing stroke. Relin parried but too slowly. Saes’s blade severed Relin’s left arm at the elbow.
Blinding pain exploded in Relin’s mind; a scream broke through the wall of his gritted teeth. He felt himself fall, but as if from a distance. The world seemed to slow. His senses felt attenuated, all except for the throbbing, acute agony of his arm. His heart kept time with the pulse of the hyperdrive, and each beat sent a knife stab of pain up his bicep.
Saes loomed over him, his lightsaber sizzling, the masked embodiment of Relin’s failure.
“No right, no wrong,” his former Padawan said, and raised his weapon. “Only power.”
Relin’s chrono beeped a warning, and Relin smiled through his pain.
The expression caused Saes a moment’s hesitation and in that moment the charges in the hyperdrive chamber exploded. A column of flame and a concussive wave burst from the chamber’s doors and rolled over Saes and Relin. The blast flattened Relin to the floor—he felt his ribs crack, adding that agony to that of his arm and seared face—and blew Saes across the room, slamming him against the wall with the force of a battering ram. Shrapnel rained down. The entire ship lurched from the explosion.
Saes and Harbinger fled from his mind. Relin sat up, still half dazed, but able to think of only one thing.
“Drev!”
“It is … all right, Master. I believe I have matters righted. Though I now admit to being wrong. The Sith appear willing to fire pre-jump.” Drev laughed and Relin thought he heard the hint of hysteria in it. “What just happened aboard Harbinger?”
Relin could hear the continuous thrum of laserfire through the comlink, could hear the stressed grunts and rapid breathing of his Padawan. He glanced at Saes, unmoving on the floor of the chamber, and fought down his need for revenge. He could not fix himself through murder, and anger had already caused him to exercise poor judgment.
He deactivated his lightsaber, and left his arm and his former Padawan behind him on the deck of the Sith dreadnought.
“I’m coming. Stay out of the way of those guns.”
“The dreadnoughts are near the end of the jump sequence. I’ve got to stay in their jump field until the last moment or those guns will get a clear shot.”
“Harbinger isn’t jumping,” Relin said as a secondary explosion ripped through the hyperdrive chamber. Smoke poured through the double doors, and he lifted his cloak to his mouth to prevent a coughing fit that would feel like a knife stab to his broken ribs. Alarms sang their song of dismay while he sped as best he could from the chamber. Even if his charges had not completely destroyed the hyperdrive, Harbinger would not risk a jump with a damaged drive. He and Drev had done something to help Kirrek. Not everything. But something.
* * *
Klaxons blared on the bridge. Tension animated the faces of the bridge crew, hung in a pall over the quiet. Dor stalked over to the helmsman’s station.
“Abort the jump sequence!” he ordered, his claws sinking into the helmsman’s shoulder deep enough to draw blood.
“Trying, sir. Something is … wrong.”
Crew stood from their stations, watching the helm and the viewscreen.
“Stay at your posts,” Dor ordered, and stared them back into their seats. “Sit!”
They did as he bade, while Dor hovered over the helmsman’s shoulder like a guardian spirit. Harbinger could not jump with a damaged drive. The ship would be torn apart.
“Not responsive, sir,” the helmsman said, and Dor heard panic creeping into his voice.
“Emergency shutdown, then,” Dor ordered, and disliked the tension in his own voice.
The helmsman worked his console, then slammed a fist on the readout. “Not responsive. Jumping in twenty-three seconds.”
“Get the engineers down there,” Dor said.
“I’ve tried,” the communications officer said. “No one is responding. A security team is in Corridor Three-G, outside the hyperdrive antechamber, but they report that the blast doors are closed and sealed.”
“Have them go around, and quickly!” Dor said, and the comm officer repeated his order.
The ship lurched as another explosion rocked the rear section. The distinct bass hum of the activating drive, more felt than heard, vibrated Dor’s bones. He turned to the bridge security officer, a Massassi a head taller than Dor and with as much metal under his flesh as he had bone.
“Get a team to the hyperdrive with explosives and blow the power linkages! Now!”
The security officer nodded and sped off the bridge, barking orders into his comlink, but Dor knew nothing could be done in time. They were going into hyperspace, on fire and with a damaged drive. He sagged into the command seat as the helmsman counted down the seconds remaining to them all.
“Nineteen. Eighteen.”
Captain Korsin’s voice from Omen cut through the silence. “We are getting odd readings from your jump field.”
Dor stared at the viewscreen and saw the bulk of Omen beside them. The Jedi Infiltrator did a fly-by of Harbinger’s bridge, twisting and turning through a shower of laserfire, smoke streaming from one of its damaged engines. Dor cursed the Jedi in the Infiltrator, cursed the blasted Jedi on board who had done a half job on the hyperdrive so that they would all die in hyperspace.
“You shoot that ship out of the sky,” Dor snapped at the weapons officer. “And you do not stop shooting until I countermand the order. If we’re to die, so is that Jedi.”
“Sir? The jump—”
“Do it!”
The weapons officer nodded and the sky around Harbinger lit up with intensified laserfire.
“Sections ten, eleven, and twelve on D deck have fires,” said someone. “Dispatching fire teams.”
Dor waved a hand in acknowledgment. It mattered little.
“Captain Saes, did you receive my last transmission?” Korsin asked.
“Twelve. Eleven …”
* * *
Despite the ache in his severed arm and the spike of pain in his ribs, Relin used what mental strength remained to him to augment his speed with the Force. His emotions swirled: fear for Drev, anger at Saes, disappointment with himself. The Force swelled in him and he drew on it fully to pelt through the corridors, a blur of motion. Alarms sounded everywhere in the ship. Droids, crew members, and teams of Massassi security forces hurried through the corridors.
Concealed by the chaos, Relin sped toward the ship’s spine and its escape pods.
“Harbinger is still readying to jump,” Drev said. An explosion sounded in the background. Drev cursed as an alarm sang. “Engine one is down.”
“They cannot jump. I destroyed the drive.”
“Still showing an active drive, Master.”
Relin cursed, hesitated, almost turned. But he did not. Wounded, fatigued, he would not be able to fight his way back to the hyperdrive. Perhaps he had damaged it enough to at least foul Harbinger’s jump coordinates.
