Apocalypse

by Troy Denning

  Still, it did not occur to Jaina that the empty seat had been saved for her until she began to make her way toward it and found herself squeezing past a long line of assistants forced to stand along the wall. There were military adjutants, bureaucratic assistants, and—much to her delight and surprise—four Jedi Knights whom she would have loved to pepper with questions.

  Instead, Jaina had to content herself with a quick smile and a pair of arm squeezes as she slipped past Lowbacca and Tekli, who responded with whispered words of congratulations on her promotion. She was dying to ask where Raynar was, of course. But, with the meeting already in progress, it would have been unthinkably rude to start a conversation on the side.

  Standing directly behind the chair that had been saved for Jaina were two Jedi whom she was even more relieved to see—Valin and Jysella Horn. Like her, they looked like they had been pulled from the bacta tank early, with bruises and half-healed lacerations still visible on their faces and necks. She had heard during one of her rare breaks from the bacta tank that they had made contact with the space marines, but this was her first confirmation that they had actually escaped the Temple alive. Clearly, the pair had had a hard time after the strike team split, and the absence of the third member of their squad gave Jaina a sinking feeling. She raised her brow and mouthed a one-word question: Ben?

  Valin shook his head, then shrugged to indicate that they didn’t know. Jaina nodded and reached out to the pair in the Force, trying to let them feel how happy she was to see them in one piece. They responded with a smile, and, as she turned to take her seat, she sneaked a quick glance at Luke. There were purple circles beneath his eyes, and his face was clouded by fear and uncertainty—no doubt on behalf of both Ben and the Jedi Order itself. But there was no hint of anguish or grief—and Jaina would have sensed both, had Luke been unable to feel his son’s living presence in the Force.

  Jaina slipped into her seat, assuming her place on the Jedi Council with no pomp or ceremony, just a couple of nods from across the table and a whispered “Welcome, Master Solo” from the Master next to her, Octa Ramis. And it seemed to Jaina that was exactly how the role should be assumed, not in celebration or pride, but with a humble willingness to serve.

  All eyes were fixed directly opposite Jaina, where Mirax Horn was standing in a gap between Master Barratk’l and Eramuth Bwua’tu. Dressed in the gray uniform of a brigadier general, she was holding a datapad in one hand, but speaking without any need to consult her notes.

  “… who have escaped the Temple are spreading out across Coruscant and launching soft-target terrorist attacks,” Mirax said. “Of course, BAMR News is blaming the violence on ‘Jedi spice cartels,’ and they’re urging their viewers to take arms against the Jedi and any ‘corrupt’ security personnel aiding the ‘spice smugglers.’ ”

  Eramuth Bwua’tu twisted his muzzle into a snarl, then tilted his gray-furred head so that he was looking up at Mirax out of one eye.

  “And how effective are these lies, my dear?” the Bothan asked.

  “There have been a few civilian attacks against Jedi,” Mirax replied. “But most of the other news outlets are taking a more balanced approach, attributing the violence to a rogue sect of Force-users.”

  “They’re not even using the term Sith?” Kyle Katarn asked.

  “There has been some speculation,” Mirax said. “But most of the public doesn’t really understand what Sith are, and those who do are accustomed to thinking of them as loners—either Jedi gone bad, or sinister geniuses hiding in plain sight.”

  “So the population isn’t doing anything to help us, either?” Kyp Durron asked.

  Mirax shook her head. “Not much,” she said. “We’ve been getting a little cooperation through the security forces—primarily reports of suspicious behavior. But most Coruscanti don’t seem to know what to believe. They’re just keeping their heads down and trying to stay clear of any trouble at all.”

  “Which is difficult, now that our fight with the Sith has spread beyond the Temple,” Luke said. “How bad is the violence getting? Are we starting to contain it at all?”

  Mirax pretended to consult her datapad, but Jaina could feel in her Force aura that she was simply gathering the strength to deliver bad news. Finally, she lowered the datapad and gazed around the table.

  “Not even close,” she said. “When the space marine volunteers entered through the exhaust shaft, the Sith had far too much time to react. We think at least three hundred escaped and spread into the rest of the city, and their only objective seems to be to create as much chaos and destruction as possible. So far, they’ve launched over three thousand attacks, and they’ve completely destroyed seven hundred skytowers. We’re already estimating civilian casualties at over three million.”

  “And how many Sith have we taken out?” Corran asked.

  “Twenty-two,” Mirax replied. “But we’ve lost fifteen Jedi doing it. Security force casualties are running into the thousands—even the Special Weapons Teams are no match for Sith Sabers.”

  An unhappy silence fell over the table, for the conclusion was clear: so far, the enemy was winning this part of the fight, and there was little hope of turning the tide of battle anytime soon.

  After a moment, Luke said, “We all know you’re doing everything possible under the circumstances.” He glanced out the window at the Galactic Justice Center—which was beginning to sway so wildly now that the deck of Fellowship Plaza could be seen buckling around it—then asked, “What do the reports say about how the skytowers collapse?”

  “It’s usually a well-placed explosion or a hot-burning fire,” she said, following his gaze. “We don’t have any reports of buildings being shaken down, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “It is, but I still don’t like what we’re seeing over there,” Luke said. He turned toward the government side of the table. “It might be wise to evacuate the Galactic Justice Center.”

  Both Bwua’tus and Senator Wuul nodded, and Dorvan said, “Would you please give the order, General Horn?”

  “Of course,” Mirax said. She glanced back to Luke. “Before I see to it, there is one more thing I’d like to mention.”

  “Yes?” Luke asked.

  “We’ve received several reports of … well, of an observer,” she said. “A tall man with a rugged, tattooed face showed up at hand-to-hand combat near Fellowship Plaza. So far, he’s done nothing but watch, but when Jedi Saav’etu noticed a dark side aura and tried to take him into custody, he disarmed her. Then he said something very odd: ‘Not yet, Jedi. Abeloth first.’ ”

  “These tattoos,” Luke asked, “did they radiate from around his eyes?”

  “Jedi Saav’etu described it as a spray pattern with the eyes at the center,” Mirax replied. “Then you know who he is?”

  Luke shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “But I caught a glimpse of him during the trouble we had leaving the spaceport. He certainly didn’t appear to be a member of the Lost Tribe.”

  “Then I’ll put out a ‘report location only’ bulletin on him,” she said. “We certainly have no need to go out looking for a fight right now.”

  “I think that’s best,” Luke agreed.

  “Thank you.” Mirax glanced around the table, then said, “If I’m not needed here, I’ll see to the Justice Center evacuation.”

  Luke dipped his chin and said, “Thank you, Mirax. We’ll send you some additional Jedi support as soon as we’re able.” As she stepped away from the table, he turned his attention to Gavin Darklighter. “How soon can we start withdrawing our combination teams from the Temple?”

  Gavin stared at the table a moment, gathering his thoughts, then looked up. “We’re making progess.” Judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes, he had not slept since the assault on the Temple had begun. “We control everything above Level Three-seventy and below the Pinnacle.”

  “Above Three-seventy?” Dorvan asked. “Then you haven’t captured the computer core?”


  Darklighter shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Then you have captured nothing.” Dorvan’s voice was pitched high, and his eyes were bulging. He glanced around the table. “Does no one understand? The Beloved Queen is living in the computer, too. She is the computer!”

  Gavin nodded wearily. “You did mention that—several times—in the post-rescue debriefing, Chief Dorvan. And we’ll deal with the computer core just as soon as we’re able to attack it.” He shifted his attention back to the others. “In the meantime, we’re splitting the Sith forces that remain in the Temple, driving them down into the sublevels and up into the Pinnacle. We’ve encountered a lot of resistance in the upper levels, and frankly, if Chief Dorvan hadn’t told us that Abeloth was in the computer core, we would be inclined to believe that she is somewhere near Pinnacle Platform.”

  The message was clear—whatever Dorvan believed, the space marines were pretty sure that they had located Abeloth on Pinnacle Platform. Of course, after her conversation with Tahiri, Jaina realized that it was all too likely that both Dorvan and the space marines were right.

  “And why would you believe that she is at the Pinnacle, Admiral?” Luke asked.

  A look of pain came over Gavin’s face. “Because we just lost three blastboats of Void Jumpers there, and even Sith gunners aren’t that good.”

  Luke nodded. Jaina was relieved to see him turn his gaze toward the Galactic Justice Center. Obviously, he could see what was happening to the skytower, and he had made the same connection as Jaina—that the center was in a direct line of sight from Pinnacle Platform.

  “We have to make another run at the platform,” he said. “But this time, we’ll send an all-Jedi unit. We’ll select a team after the meeting. Until then, would you task someone to prepare a squadron of blastboats for us?”

  “Of course,” Gavin replied. He sat down, then looked over his shoulder and motioned an aide forward.

  Even before Gavin had begun to issue the orders, Dorvan complained, “I see what you’re doing, you know. But it’s a mistake to ignore me. I’ve been closer to the Beloved Queen than any of you. I know what she can do.”

  “Nobody is ignoring you, Chief Dorvan,” Jaina said, leaning forward so she could look Dorvan in the eye. “At least I’m not. If you say she’s living in the computer core, I absolutely believe you.”

  “So do I,” Luke assured him. “We know for a fact that she had contact with Callista Ming, a former Jedi who once merged her Force presence with a computer. So we have every reason to believe you.”

  Their reassurances seemed to calm Dorvan.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad to hear that. Abeloth may be on Pinnacle Platform, but that doesn’t mean that she’s not—”

  “In the computer core, too,” Jaina finished, realizing that Dorvan already knew what she had only recently surmised. She looked around the table at the other Masters. “Unfortunately, Abeloth can inhabit more than one body at a time.”

  An uneasy hush fell over the room, and all eyes swung to Jaina.

  “On the way over here, I spoke with Tahiri Veila.” Jaina focused her attention on Corran and Luke. “It turns out that, at the same time we were fighting our Sith Abeloth in the Temple ventilation ducts, Tahiri and Boba Fett were fighting another Abeloth on Hagamoor Three. They destroyed theirs with a thermal detonator … at exactly two minutes before midday GST.”

  The eyes of both Masters lit with comprehension, and Luke said, “The same time ours suddenly lost her strength and fled the fight.”

  “So the two bodies were linked,” Corran said. “Kill one, weaken the other?”

  Jaina nodded. “I think so,” she said. “Tahiri knew the exact time because she was expecting a turbolaser strike at midday, and we knew the exact time because we had to blow the shield generator at midday. Our Abeloth was winning—until the precise moment they killed theirs.”

  “That would explain what happened to Dyon Stadd in the Maw,” Luke said. “I knew I was killing Abeloth when I fought her there—”

  “But you were killing just one part,” Saba said. “The part that was in the body of Dyon Stadd.”

  Luke nodded. “Exactly. And when that part died, the part in Abeloth’s other body was weakened, too—the same way that the Abeloth here in the Temple was weakened when Fett and Tahiri killed the one on Hagamoor Three.”

  “Then I fear we may be running out of time,” Cilghal said, looking out the viewport. The Galactic Justice Center was swaying more wildly than ever now, and pieces of debris could be seen falling from its balconies into a series of dark, smoking chasms that had opened in Fellowship Plaza around its base. “Each time we have killed one of Abeloth’s bodies, the other part has fled to hide and recuperate.”

  “That’s right,” Kyp Durron agreed, addressing himself to Luke. “When you killed the part in Dyon’s body, the other part left the Maw and went to Pydyr to recover. When you killed another body on Pydyr, the second Abeloth fled to Nam Chorios to recuperate. If she stays true to form, she’ll be leaving Coruscant any minute now—if she’s not already gone.”

  “A good observation,” Kyle Katarn said. “But the pattern is rather different now.”

  “Different how?” asked Nek Bwua’tu. “Because there are three parts this time?”

  “For starters, yes,” Kyle said. “First, we have the part that Tahiri and Fett killed on Hagamoor Three. Second, we have the part that Luke and his team fought in the ventilation system. Presumably, she is the part that’s now on Pinnacle Platform. Third, we have the part that Chief Dorvan reports is living inside the computer core.”

  “And if there can be three parts, why not four?” asked Nek. “Why not five, or a hundred, scattered across the entire galaxy?”

  “Because all of Abeloth’s bodies are part of one Force entity, yes?” Barratk’l asked in her gravelly voice. “She has grown much in power since we discovered her, but each time we kill a part, she is weakened. So there are limits. As she grows stronger, those limits rise. And now she has three bodies.”

  “That we know of,” Kyle reminded her.

  “Yes, but there is a correlation, or she would not need to hide from us when a part of her has been killed,” Barratk’l said. “So we must ask ourselves this: what, exactly, are we harming when we kill a body she has taken?”

  She turned an expectant eye toward Cilghal, who—as the Jedi Order’s most knowledgeable healer—was the most likely source for an answer. The Mon Calamari nodded and raised a finger to indicate that she was contemplating the question. When she finally looked up, her bulbous eyes looked uncertain.

  “The answer must lie in the Force,” she said. “But it is difficult to grasp without knowing how she takes control of her victims. If it was just Force telepathy, or a simple exertion of will, she wouldn’t be harmed when one of her bodies is killed. She would simply withdraw and find another.”

  “I saw her take Lydea Pagorski,” Dorvan said tentatively. “Would it help if I tried to describe the process?”

  All eyes swung toward him, and Cilghal said, “Very much, Chief Dorvan.”

  Dorvan’s face went pale and blank, the way torture victims’ faces did when they relived their torment. But he swallowed hard and said, “I’ll do my best.”

  “Just take your time and tell us everything you can remember,” Cilghal said. “No detail is too small.”

  Dorvan nodded. “It seemed very fast,” he said. “Abeloth was using Roki Kem’s body at the time, but it wasn’t holding up well. The skin was starting to peel, and her eyes were starting to bulge.”

  Jaina saw Luke exchange glances with Saba and Corran. No doubt they were all thinking the same thing that she was—that Abeloth had been hiding in plain sight the whole time they were searching for her.

  “Those are very helpful details, Chief Dorvan,” Cilghal assured him. “Please continue.”

  Dorvan closed his eyes, then said, “First, Roki Kem told Pagorski that she was simply going to erase her memory of what
she had seen inside the Temple. Pagorski believed her, so she didn’t resist. Then Kem grabbed Pagorski’s head and locked gazes with her. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air started to shimmer between them. Pagorski’s eyes opened, and she looked terrified.”

  Dorvan paused and began to shake as he recalled what happened next. “Kem’s fingers started to grow, then her arms suddenly dissolved into tentacles, and she … well, she became Abeloth. I mean, she always was Abeloth, but now I could see her real nature.”

  “Can you describe her?” Cilghal asked.

  “She had coarse yellow hair and eyes that weren’t really eyes—just silver points of light set deep in the sockets,” he said. “Her mouth was more like a deep gash. It stretched most of the way across her face.”

  “No doubt about it, that’s Abeloth,” Luke said. “What happened next?”

  “Well, Pagorski started to scream, then Abeloth’s tentacles shot down her throat,” Dorvan said, still keeping his eyes closed. “And into her ears and nostrils. Pagorski made very horrible sounds, like she was gagging and choking, and the tentacles started to pulse. After a few seconds, Pagorski just collapsed and hung from the tentacles, looking terrified.”

  Dorvan fell silent, no doubt lost in a memory more terrifying than any nightmare.

  After a few moments, Cilghal prompted gently, “And that was the end of it?”

  Dorvan shook his head. “That was just the beginning,” he said. “After a while, the terror finally drained from Pagorski’s face. I thought maybe she had died. But then her face turned so pale that I could see the tentacles writhing around under her skin, pumping something dark and viscous through her nose—up into her sinuses—and down into her throat. I didn’t think there was any way she could live through that, but she did. I could see her chest rising and falling as she breathed, and she never—well, she never went slack, the way dead people do. Finally, she seemed to get stronger, and she sort of looked at me and smiled. But it wasn’t just Pagorski looking. She was still in there, and I could see in her eyes that she was going crazy with fear. But Abeloth was in there, too—and she was enjoying it.”