Jag’s expression darkened. He sat upright, his posture once again rigidly military. “Jedi mind tricks.”
“I wasn’t reading your mind, Jag. Just your face.”
Jag rose. His voice became cordial but impersonal. “I need to see about commissioning the building of some specialized gear.” He spun on his heel and strode from the hangar, boot heels clicking.
chapter four
SANCTUARY MOON OF ENDOR, JEDI OUTPOST
The flat top of the outpost had once been a landing pad for shuttles and TIE fighters, and now, some forty standard years later, relics of that era still littered the pad—a discarded wheel from a shuttle’s landing gear, a rusty rolling cart that had once held tools, a scattering of corroded nuts and bolts that neither wind nor time had managed to scour from the surface.
They met there, Jedi Masters in exile: Luke Skywalker, Kyle Katarn, the Mon Cal healer Cilghal, Kyp Durron, Corran Horn, the fierce reptilian Saba Sebatyne, and Octa Ramis of Chandrila. Octa, trained by Kam and Tionne Solusar, both still recovering from their near-fatal wounds at the hands of Jacen Solo’s soldiers, was more subdued than the rest, her stillness in the Force clearly a consequence of rigid self-control rather than inner peace.
Kyp caught Luke’s attention. “I have something to bounce off you.” With a flick of his wrist and an exertion through the Force, he sent the ancient wheel soaring through the air toward Luke.
Luke somersaulted to the right and the wheel flew harmlessly over him. He came to his feet, igniting his lightsaber, as the wheel dropped to the landing pad surface and rolled nearly to the far edge of the roof before toppling and lying still. “Funny.” He advanced toward Kyp in mock menace. “Is this every Master for himself?”
Kyp shrugged and ignited his own lightsaber. “Might as well.”
Luke heard snap-hisses as the other Masters lit their weapons. This friendly exercise would be horribly dangerous to anyone but a Jedi Master, but all of those present were so in tune with the Force and one another that the odds of a mishap were, as usual, almost nil.
Luke charged Kyp but then, well outside lightsaber strike range, skidded to an abrupt halt. Kyp’s face had just enough time to register suspicion before Luke exerted himself through the Force, reaching upward to tree limbs that had grown out over the outpost. He yanked downward. A broad branch slapped down atop Kyp, bearing him to the landing pad surface and sending leaves swirling out all over the roof.
Kyp laughed and rolled free, coming up to his feet. “No fair.”
“Tactical superiority is never fair.”
“I mean, getting leaves and bugs in my hair.”
Luke felt the approach of Cilghal from behind. He leapt up and backward, inverting as he flew, and blocked the Mon Cal Master’s strike with his blade in passing. He landed behind her. A few meters away, Saba Sebatyne and Corran Horn dueled, each adopting a traditional, formalized lightsaber posture—Saba using a lightsaber in each hand, Corran with his own weapon adjusted to its second setting, its blade now three meters in length and a brilliant purple instead of its usual silver. Octa Ramis, who had supplied Saba with her second weapon, was content to stand off to one side, using the Force to hurl stones, plucked from the ground far below, through the tumult of practicing Masters. Kyle Katarn stood near her, watching all the others, practicing ritualized sword forms and waiting for an opponent to come open.
Kyp advanced against Luke again, striking at Luke’s ankles while Cilghal engaged the Grand Master’s blade. Luke danced over the low strike and put a foot into Cilghal’s torso, more of a push than a kick, before landing again. The Mon Cal staggered back a few steps, offering a nod of appreciation.
Kyp threw a succession of fast blows at Luke’s shoulders, occupying him while Cilghal recovered. “Actually, it’s a plan for a mission against Jacen. A capture-or-neutralize,” he said, his lightsaber flashing at Luke.
“Neutralize.” Luke frowned. He circled Kyp, trying to put him in the middle of their three-way exchange, but Cilghal paced him so that Luke remained in the center. “Meaning ‘kill.’”
Kyp nodded, not repentant. “This isn’t a mission of assassination, Luke. But if the capture isn’t clean, if the choice is to run away and leave him in charge of the Alliance or finish him then and there…”
“Yeah.” Luke felt Cilghal’s approach behind him. He bent over backward, his lightsaber hand coming down on the landing pad surface to hold his upper body clear of it, and Cilghal’s lightsaber passed through where his waist would have been. Luke instantly straightened, catching her hilt with his free hand, and stepped away, her lightsaber now in his grip. He twirled one blade at each Master. “Go on.”
With an exasperated sigh, Cilghal stepped back and exerted herself toward Kyle. The man’s lightsaber leapt free from his grip and flew to Cilghal’s. Kyle offered no resistance. Cilghal caught it out of the air, called “Thank you,” and dashed toward Corran.
Kyp looked dubiously at Luke’s twin weapons and fell into a defensive posture. “The team will consist of one or two Masters, three or four Jedi Knights, and a native guide. They’ll approach the Senate Building through the undercity.” As Luke neared and began throwing probing attacks in quick succession, Kyp deflected them close to his body with equal speed and minimal movement. “When Jacen enters or leaves the building, they spring the trap. Coma gas and shock nets as the first wave, the Jedi making their direct assault immediately afterward.” He stopped to stare intently at Luke.
Luke felt the attack—the Force, propelling numerous small objects at him. He jumped back and brought up both lightsabers as a shower of old nuts and bolts came at him with missile speed. It was like defending himself against Yuuzhan Vong thud bugs for the first time in years, but the old skill was undiminished—he calculated which objects had a chance of hitting him and incinerated only them with his blades, letting the others fly harmlessly past.
The trouble was, the ones that flew past soon curved around for another attack.
Meanwhile, Kyp continued, “We have a shuttle or other enclosed vehicle land for a quick extraction. But the trick is, it’s an empty droid vehicle. Our group, with Jacen, their captive, actually reenters the undercity through a groundside maintenance access hatch modified to serve as an exit. While the shuttle makes its escape run and draws off pursuit, our group goes back the way it came to the true departure point.”
“Who’s the team leader?”
Kyp shrugged. “Not determined yet.”
Corran’s and Kyle’s voices rose simultaneously: “Me.”
Luke, thoughtful, finished incinerating the last of the flying bolts. He switched off Cilghal’s lightsaber and tossed it over his shoulder. He heard it slap down into her big webbed hand. “What about your native guide? Someone to get you through the undercity, I’m guessing. Do you trust him?”
Kyp nodded.
“Not as far as I can throw her.” That was Corran, his voice punctuated by zaps as Saba advanced on him, trying to bat his longer blade aside.
Kyp made a sour face. “Horn, you can’t throw anybody any distance. With the Force, anyway. This calls your judgment into question.”
“Her.” Luke switched off his lightsaber. “Maybe I should meet her.”
Kyp deactivated his own weapon. “She’s one level down. I can have her come up if you want to meet her now.”
“Sure.” Luke looked around for something to serve him as a chair—an impromptu throne of the Jedi Grand Master—and decided against the landing gear wheel as being just slightly below his dignity and preferred altitude. He chose the old tool rack and sat upon it. Its corroding wheels groaned under the weight; one of them, decayed past the point of functionality, slowly collapsed, tilting the rack slightly forward.
Meanwhile Kyp spoke into a comlink. The other Masters left off their exercise, extinguished their lightsabers, and gathered around.
A section of roof slid aside and a metal plate rose to occupy that space, lift-style. On it stood a teenage girl in Je
di robes. She was redheaded, and she nervously twirled one lock of hair in her fingers. At Kyp’s gesture, she approached.
Luke recognized her and frowned. “I know you. Seha, from the Temple.”
She came to a stop in front of him and nodded. “Yes, Grand Master.” Her voice was faint. Her face was so pale Luke thought she might be on the verge of fainting.
He tried to remember her record with the Jedi Order. She hadn’t been with them long. An orphan since childhood, he recalled. She’d been sponsored to the Order by…
By Jacen. Ah. “There would seem to be some question as to your reliability.”
Seha nodded, agitation making her motion fast, jerky. “Some people don’t trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a traitor to the Jedi Order.”
Corran Horn’s eyebrows rose. He looked faintly impressed. “Well, I’ll give her points for honesty.”
Luke ignored him. “Perhaps you’d better explain that.”
Seha glanced around, as if looking for sympathetic faces, but returned her attention to Luke. “I was little when the Yuuzhan Vong came to Coruscant. When the Vongforming happened. Most of my family died. I don’t remember them, except my father. We lived in the undercity, so deep and out of touch that the Yuuzhan Vong had been driven offworld for months before I even learned about it. My father was dead by then, stung by a Yuuzhan Vong insect he didn’t see in time. I stayed there, with the other refugees and crazies and rejects, because they were the only people I knew.
“But I met Jacen. He’d come down from time to time—sometimes his visits were years apart—to visit his friend the World Brain. My home was close to the World Brain’s lair. I thought it was a horrible, evil thing, but Jacen told me how it was just acting according to its nature, that what it looked like had nothing to do with what it was inside. Jacen figured out I was Force-sensitive and arranged for me to become an apprentice to the Order, even though I was old for an apprentice.”
“I know what it’s like to be old for an apprentice.” Luke’s voice was gentle, but now he let an edge creep into it. “So how did you betray the Order?”
“I did things for Jacen. Kept him updated on goings-on in the Temple. After he became the head of the Guard, he asked me to take things into and out of the Temple for him, like spare datapads and replacement electronic components.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “When your son disappeared…I was the one who helped him get out of the Temple without being seen.”
Luke stared at her for a long moment. “At Jacen’s order.”
“Yes.”
Luke looked away from her as his emotions threatened to spin out of control. Ben’s account of his solo mission had never included a confirmation that Jacen had sent him. Ben had never volunteered details of where he had gone or what he had done. Luke had known intellectually that only Jacen could have dispatched the boy. But now, at last, Luke had proof, a corroborating witness, and the confirmation hit him harder than he would have expected.
This girl had helped effect the plan—had endangered Ben. All out of a misguided loyalty to a very bad man.
Luke stared at her again. He tried to remain impassive, but she apparently saw something in his expression and took an involuntary half step backward.
Luke didn’t bother trying to keep anger from his voice. “How were you found out?”
“She wasn’t. She came forward.” Cilghal put a comforting hand on Seha’s shoulder.
“When we received word about the massacre on Ossus.” Seha blinked, and tears came. “I don’t know how he could do that, send in a crazy man to bargain with the younglings’ lives, to torture Kam Solusar and Tionne and kill all those others.” Her tears flowed freely now, but she ignored them. “I betrayed the Order…but not like that. I’m not going to do that.”
“You’re no Jedi.” Corran’s voice was harsh. “Your emotions are all over the map. Even an apprentice knows that. So we can’t trust you as a Jedi, we can’t trust you to be a calm, collected operative, and now you’ve left the most dangerous man in the galaxy disappointed in you—” He gestured at Luke. “Plus, you’ve volunteered to go on a mission to capture the second-most dangerous man, when all you had to do to retain everyone’s trust was keep your mouth shut.”
Seha glared at him. “Trust isn’t worth anything when it’s built on lies. Maybe I’m the stupidest girl you’ve ever met, but even I can figure that out.”
No one answered her immediately. Even Corran’s expression was more evaluative than angry, and Luke knew, both from experience and from what he felt through the Force, that Corran had been goading the girl professionally, his own display of emotion simulated.
Finally Cilghal broke the silence. “In fairness, after the Order broke ranks with Jacen and the Alliance at Kuat, when the Guard moved against the Temple to seize it, Seha helped destroy the computers. She carried out a complete set of records and led two Jedi Knights to safety through the undercity.”
Luke cleared his throat to catch Seha’s attention. “You can stay in the Order without going on this mission.”
A brief, uncertain smile flashed across Seha’s lips. “I can?”
“You can. You should. Jacen is…extraordinarily dangerous. If he sees you, he might devote only a single, negligent attack to you. Such an attack would distract a Jedi Master, hurt a Jedi Knight…and kill you.”
She swallowed. “Does anyone in the Order know the undercity approaches to Jacen’s offices?”
“Zekk, perhaps.”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t know it since the Vongforming. Since the rebuilding after the war. I’d better stay with the mission.”
“And keep your head down.”
“And keep my head down.”
Luke took a long breath, then looked around. “Will you all excuse me? Kyp, please escort Seha downstairs, then return to me in a few minutes.”
They all bowed and, grave-faced, withdrew, descending via the lift plate by which Seha had arrived.
Alone, Luke stood away from the ill-balanced tool rack, closing his eyes, immersing himself in the Force…looking for guidance.
His heart should have been the only guide he needed, with the Force offering the occasional nudge when things were unclear. But his heart had been burned beyond recognition when Mara had died, and what was left was in pieces, each piece suggesting a different course of action. Throw everything into the effort against Jacen. Hunt down Alema Rar and make her pay for killing Mara. The rot is too deep; the Jedi Order should withdraw and let the warring states fight their way to a finish; only then can rebuilding begin. This kill is mine. This kill is mine.
And the Force was silent. It seemed like forever since it had shown him any guidance about the bigger picture. All it offered him these days was guidance for immediate problems, the here and now. It had been that way since—for how long? Since Mara’s death at least. It could have begun before then.
Perhaps he could no longer read the Force. Perhaps it chose not to speak to him anymore.
And if that was true, he could not remain the Grand Master of the Order. He would lead the Jedi into ruin.
“Grand Master?”
Luke opened his eyes. Kyp stood before him. Luke had neither heard nor felt him coming.
Luke forced his thoughts back to the present. “You’ve been putting together the plan for this mission.”
“Yes.”
“Why is there some doubt as to who is going to lead it?”
Kyp hesitated a moment. “Masters Horn and Katarn have volunteered. I am also willing to lead it. But I haven’t assigned a mission leader yet…because I think you should lead it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please hear me out. There’s worry in the Order. It comes from not knowing where we’re going. The Jedi need you to show them. They need you to lead. A mission like this shows them your goals, your heart.”
If I lead this mission, I will strike at Jacen with hatred. One of us will die,
and Ben will follow our mutual example and be lost to the dark side. Luke did not need the Force to show him the future to know that this was true.
He thought about it a long moment. “Here’s my decision. Master Katarn will lead this mission.”
Kyp’s face fell. “Yes, Grand Master.”
“I’ll leave it to the two of you to finalize details.” The conference done, Luke turned back to face the sunlit Endor forest and the momentary peace it offered him.
chapter five
HAPES, GALACTIC ALLIANCE SHUTTLE, APPROACHING THE PALACE OF THE QUEEN MOTHER
The engineering officer aboard the Galactic Alliance shuttle had a five-day growth of whiskers, a patch over his right eye with the edges of a blaster scar peeking from beneath at forehead and cheek, and a dress uniform whose tunic was pulled out from the waistband.
Anyone who had served a few years in any armed force would recognize the man—not by his name, not by his individual identity, but by what he was. Clearly, he was a lifelong military man, one who had risen to the highest rank noncommissioned personnel could attain. Indispensable in his role, he could flout regulations and authority with impunity. He was too valuable a resource to court-martial for anything less than a capital offense. New officers appointed over him would try in vain to make him shave, wear his uniform according to regulations, accept a prosthetic eye to replace the organic one he had obviously lost in a battle, and treat his officers with the respect their commissions warranted. He would ignore them for a year or two, and then they’d move on, to be replaced by other officers with equally futile agendas.
Military personnel would recognize this man, but they would be wrong. Under the synthskin appliances on his cheeks, under the pasted-on whiskers and cosmetic eye patch, was Darth Caedus. He sat quietly in the copilot’s seat of the cockpit, monitoring vehicle system diagnostics, assisting the pilot with various checklists, and responding in monosyllables to attempts at conversation.
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Fury Page 4
