Apocalypse

by Troy Denning

  “No shrapnel wounds or internal burns?” Ben asked.

  “Had I found either, I wouldn’t have said ‘spontaneous ejection.’ ” The droid stepped aside. “You may speak to the patient, but keep it short. You are in need of attention, too.”

  Ben went over to the bunk and grew even more alarmed. Even with the tape over the lids, it was clear that his father’s eyes were sunken—in fact, the sockets looked empty. And his chest bandage was stained with circles of yellow and green ichor, which suggested an infection far nastier than any normal complication. Most worrisome of all, however, was the fist-sized basin in the center of the bandage. It looked like his father had taken a bolt from a blaster cannon, and Ben had trouble understanding what could have happened beyond shadows to cause such an injury to a physical body. He grasped the curled fingers of his father’s hand, at the same time reaching out to him in the Force.

  “Hey, Dad, thanks for coming after us,” Ben said. It was well established that many coma patients could hear someone speaking, so Ben tried to keep the fear out of his voice. “I don’t know what happened beyond shadows, but it probably saved us. Vestara and …”

  Suddenly his father’s hand clamped down so hard Ben thought his fingers might break.

  “Dad?”

  His father’s grasp weakened, but it did not go entirely slack.

  “Dad, are you awake?”

  The Emdee droid stepped to the foot of the bunk and plugged into the data socket.

  “I’m sorry, soldier. The patient’s brain activity is still minimal.”

  “He squeezed my hand,” Ben said. “In fact, he’s still squeezing it.”

  “It’s just motor response,” the droid said. “With this level of brain inactivity—”

  “I don’t care what your scanner says,” Ben interrupted. “This man is a Jedi Grand Master. He has capabilities you can’t begin to understand.”

  The Emdee fixed beady photoreceptors on Ben and pushed its head forward. “Alternative medicine is the folly of the weak-minded, soldier.”

  “Jedi Knights are not weak-minded,” Jaina said, stepping into the cabin. “And the Force is hardly ‘alternative medicine.’ Clear?”

  She pointed a finger, and the droid went floating back toward its primary interface socket at the front of the cabin. A steady stream of static spilled from its vocabulator, but Jaina ignored both the sputtering and the insincere apology that the droid offered once its feet were on the deck again.

  Instead she came to stand next to Ben. “Luke squeezed your hand?”

  “That’s right,” Ben said. “He’s not squeezing it right now, but he definitely squeezed. It started when I was talking to him.”

  “When you mentioned Vestara?”

  As soon as she said Vestara’s name, his father’s hand clamped down on Ben’s again.

  Ben turned to study Jaina. “What’s going on?”

  “I imagine he’s trying to tell you something.”

  “Like what?” Ben asked. “If you’re going to tell me she can’t be trusted, forget it.”

  Jaina’s eyes remained hard. “I don’t think I need to tell you anything, Ben. I think you already know.”

  Ben shook his head. “What I know is that Vestara risked her life to save me from Abeloth.” Despite his words, he could not help recalling how willing she had been to drink from the Font of Power, how she had justified it by claiming it was the only way to defeat Abeloth. “She can’t still be Sith. They turned her over to Abeloth … with me.”

  Jaina spread her hands. “I can’t explain that,” she said. “But there’s something you need to know about the battle in the Temple.”

  Ben’s heart fell, but he continued to shake his head. “No … you can’t possibly blame the ambush in the treatment plant on her,” he said. “She didn’t even know the plan until after our capsule was in the line.”

  “That’s a very good point,” Jaina admitted. “And she wasn’t the one who told the Sith where we would be entering. Abeloth did that.”

  “Abeloth?”

  Jaina nodded. “Wynn Dorvan clued us in,” she explained. “He was Abeloth’s prisoner for a while, and he said she could look into the future. We think she was probably flow-walking.”

  Ben began to feel a glimmer of hope. “You see? If Vestara didn’t—”

  He was interrupted by a horrible gagging noise from the bunk beside him, and his father’s grasp grew so tight that Ben’s knuckles popped. He looked down to see his father’s eyelids fluttering and his mouth moving as he tried to speak around the breathing tube.

  “He’s awake!”

  Ben looked for the EmDee droid and found him racing foward, interface arm already reaching for the bunk’s data socket. His father made another gagging sound, and this time it grew apparent that he was trying to say a single word. The initial sounds were too wet and guttural to make out, but the final syllable sounded like ih.

  Ben leaned over the bunk and said, “Hold on, Dad. The EmDee will take the breathing tube out in a second, and then you can talk all day.”

  “That wouldn’t be possible with bruised vocal cords, even if he were returning to consciousness.” Leaving his interface arm in the data socket, the droid’s head rotated to face Ben. “The brain activity is still minimal. I’m afraid he was just trying to swallow.”

  “Nonsense—watch this,” Ben said, not looking away from his father. “Vestara.”

  Again, his father tightened his grasp and made a horrible gagging sound.

  “I’ve never seen this before,” the droid said. “The patient isn’t coming out of the coma, but the name seems to trigger a primitive fear response.”

  Ben frowned. “Fear response?”

  “He’s afraid for you, Ben,” Jaina said. “I think I know what he’s trying to say.”

  Ben turned to glare at her. “Okay, Jaina. You’ve been treating Vestara like the spawn of Palpatine ever since you landed. Whatever your problem with her is, it’s time to lay it out.”

  Jaina’s expression softened, and that was when Ben knew he was in trouble. His cousin wasn’t known for her compassion, so this had to be bad.

  Jaina looked him directly in the eye and spoke in a quiet, almost apologetic voice. “After you were captured, Vestara was seen inside the Temple with a band of Sith.”

  “Of course. She was a Sith prisoner,” Ben said carefully.

  “She wasn’t a prisoner,” Jaina said gently. “It was an ambush, and Vestara was leading the attack.”

  Now Ben understood why Jaina was being so careful. She was telling him something that couldn’t be true. He wanted to say that someone had misinterpreted what they had seen, but his father’s grasp had tightened to the point that Ben feared a bone in his hand would break. He was beginning to have a sick feeling … and it was growing hard to ignore.

  “And you’re sure it was Vestara?” Ben asked. “That she was actually with the Sith?”

  Jaina gave a reluctant nod. “My parents are the ones who told me,” she said. “They contacted us via the HoloNet, just before we entered the Maw.”

  Ben’s heart fell. With everything Jaina said, the accusation kept seeming more likely to be true. “How were Aunt Leia and Uncle Han involved?”

  “They’re the ones the Sith ambushed—and they both saw Vestara leading the attack,” Jaina explained. “The Falcon was making a drop at the loading bay where the evacuation tunnel comes out. Vestara was there, waiting with a couple dozen Sith. She used a thermal detonator to disable the Falcon while the rest of her team attacked. Dad is positive it was her.”

  Ben was too shocked to ask himself how Vestara could have known where the Solos would be and when, or why the Falcon had been on Coruscant when it was supposed to be ferrying students to Shedu Maad. The Solos were too fair-minded to make such an accusation without being absolutely certain of what they had seen, and he knew better than to think they might be lying about it. The simple truth was that Vestara Khai had led an attack on the Solos. The ugl
y truth was that Ben had allowed that to happen by letting Vestara play him for a fool.

  After a moment, Ben pulled his hand free of his father’s crushing grasp and squeezed his forearm. “Thanks for the warning, Dad. I understand.”

  He turned away and fought to keep the tears from his eyes. “Vestara Khai is a Sith. She always has been.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Jaina said. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

  “Don’t be,” Ben said, almost resentfully. He didn’t deserve her sympathy—not after he’d given Vestara so much access to the Jedi Order. “Is everyone okay?”

  Jaina’s voice grew somber. “Mom and Dad are fine,” she said. “But Bazel Warv died in the ambush.”

  Ben’s shock began to turn cold and bitter. He did not understand how he could have been so blind to Vestara’s deceit, how he could have believed for so long that there was a hope of redeeming her—that any child raised by the Sith could ever turn her back on the dark side.

  Ben let his chin drop to his chest. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I can’t believe I let her fool me—or that I was ever stupid enough to think she really loved me.”

  Jaina put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m pretty sure that Vestara does love you. It’s the only way she could have tricked you long enough to pull this off.”

  Ben looked up, confused. “How so?”

  “Ben, you’re a fairly sensitive young man and as strong in the Force as your father,” Jaina said. “Don’t you think you would have noticed if she were lying about her feelings?”

  Ben considered the question for a moment, then finally began to understand the true depth of Vestara’s treachery. “You’re right,” he said. “She did love me. It just didn’t matter.”

  “That’s what Sith do—they draw on the power of their emotions to get what they want.”

  Jaina took her hand off Ben’s shoulder, and he could feel her gathering the strength to tell him something else—something that she thought would devastate him.

  “Go on,” Ben said. “Tell me the rest.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to, but you need to know,” Jaina said. “That ambush Vestara was leading? They were after Allana. The Sith know who she is.”

  * * *

  Vestara sat hiding in the jungle, looking out over the courtyard and feeling worried and useless and alone, silently calling for Ship. Whether Ship had been destroyed or somehow remained under Abeloth’s sway, he wasn’t answering, and his silence left Vestara struggling to see some way her current situation did not end with her dead, imprisoned, or marooned.

  Jaina Solo knew what had happened in the bowels of the Jedi Temple. That would explain why she had worked so hard to get Ben alone on the pinnace—and refused to let Vestara aboard. She probably thought that Vestara was a Sith assassin, with Luke Skywalker as her next target. By now, Ben believed the same thing.

  It tore Vestara apart to imagine how Ben must be reacting to the accusation—the anger and the hatred for her that he must be feeling—but she knew better than to think she could deny it, or attempt to talk her way out of trouble. Even were the two Jedi willing to listen, there was no excuse in the galaxy that would make them forgive an attack on Allana Solo. Their Order was founded on foolish idealism and the nobility of sacrifice, so even a truthful explanation—that Vestara had only revealed Allana’s true identity to save herself—would merely deepen their contempt.

  And that left Vestara with only three choices: flee into the jungle and spend her life marooned here alone; surrender and hope to escape from the Jedi sometime in the next decade; or attempt to steal the battered pinnace. All three options could only be described as desperate, but she was leaning toward the third. After the battle against Abeloth, she was hardly in prime fighting condition, and stealing the pinnace would not be accomplished without killing both Ben and his Sword of the Jedi cousin. But after Jaina had raised the pinnace’s boarding ramp, the first thing Vestara had done was return to the Font of Power to recover the lightsaber and parang from the Keshiri body that Abeloth had been using, so at least she was armed.

  And besides, Sith do not surrender. The voice was raspy and weak and familiar, and it came to Vestara only inside her mind. Sith fight, and if they find they must die, they never die alone.

  Vestara’s heart suddenly began to grow lighter. “Ship?” She looked skyward and saw only the green-tinted clouds of this strange world, then spoke only in her mind. Is that you?

  Such as I am, Ship responded. And entirely at your command, my master.

  Then Abeloth is truly dead? Vestara asked.

  As much as that is possible, yes.

  “As much as that’s possible?” Vestara asked, in her alarm speaking aloud. “What does that mean?”

  Only that there are some things the Force does not reveal to us, Lady Khai. A dark speck appeared beneath the distant clouds and began to descend toward her. And that we are finally free to return to our own kind.

  A muffled thud sounded from the battered pinnace below, and the boarding ramp began to descend. A terrible pang of loss shot through Vestara, and for the first time in her life, she began to feel utterly without hope. Not only had she lost Ben’s love, but she had lost her home, her people, and her identity. Wherever her future carried her now, she did not see how she would ever be a Sith again. She stood and retreated deeper into the jungle, stopping only when it began to grow difficult to see the vessel through the vegetation.

  I’ll take the ride, Vestara replied. But I’m not sure my own kind will have me. I’ve killed too many of them.

  Lady Khai, do you really believe the Lost Tribe to be the only Sith in the galaxy? Ship asked. There are others—and they have need of you.

  “Other Sith?” Vestara began to feel a bit more optimistic. “Sith who would welcome me?”

  Sith who have need of you, Ship repeated. You have spent time with the Skywalkers—a great deal of time. How can you fail to see the value in that?

  Vestara’s optimism swelled into confidence—pride, even. She had done something that no other Sith in the galaxy could have managed. She had lived with Luke and Ben Skywalker for nearly a year and—so far—survived to exploit it.

  Then you had better hurry, she told Ship. The pinnace’s ramp clanged down on the cobblestones again, and she added, Ben and Jaina are coming for me now.

  I arrive in two minutes ten seconds, Ship said. Surely, a Sith Lord can stall them that long.

  A Sith Lord? Vestara felt more confused than excited, for she had never heard of a Sith Lord under twenty—not even under thirty. I’m hardly a Lord. I’m not sure I’m ready.

  You are a Sith Lord if I say you are, Lady Khai, Ship said. And I say it now. Two minutes.

  Vestara didn’t know whether to be thrilled or frightened, for being a Sith Lord carried as many dangers as it did privileges. But there had been no doubt in Ship’s pronouncement. And why should there have been? After all, Vestara had deceived the renowned Luke Skywalker for months on end. She had slain a Sith Lord and played the key role in slaying Abeloth herself. And—most important—she had discovered the identity of the Jedi Queen.

  Perhaps Vestara was ready to be called a Sith Lord. Perhaps she had even earned the right.

  Ben and Jaina appeared at the top of the pinnace boarding ramp, frowning in suspicion as they scanned the courtyard for Vestara. Ben was still dressed in his blood-soaked robe, and Jaina was in her combat vac suit. Neither appeared to be holding weapons—at least none that Vestara could see through the vegetation.

  “Vestara? Where are you?” Ben called. She felt him searching for her in the Force, and almost instantly, he looked in her direction. “Come on out.”

  Realizing her best chance of lasting two minutes against Ben and Jaina together lay in talking rather than fighting, Vestara hid her weapons inside her robe. Then she stood and stepped closer to the drop-off into the courtyard.

  “Up here!” she called. “Sorry!”

  The gazes of both Jedi
went to the ledge where she was standing. They quickly descended the ramp into the courtyard and stepped away from each other.

  Ben studied her for a moment, then asked, “What are you doing up there, Ves?”

  His voice was so casual it almost made Vestara doubt the conclusion she had reached earlier. But Jaina was continuing to circle away from the pinnace, trying to put herself in position for a flanking attack, and Vestara could see now that Ben’s left hand was slightly curled, as though he had something up his sleeve that would drop into his grasp as soon as he straightened his wrist.

  Vestara shrugged. “Hiding, obviously.” She shifted her gaze to Jaina, who quickly stopped moving and placed a hand on her hip. “If Ship really is around here, I didn’t want him seeing me.”

  “Oh, yeah—good thinking,” Ben said. “But we’re good to go now. Come on down.”

  Vestara remained where she was and continued to look at Jaina. “You’ve done a cranial scan on Ben already?”

  Jaina nodded. “He’s fine.” She remained where she was, and now Ben began to circle in the opposite direction. “But Grand Master Skywalker not so much. We need to get going.”

  “You did a cranial scan and made repairs already?” Vestara asked, trying to sound in awe. “You’re fast.”

  Jaina’s eyes narrowed, and she began to circle toward Vestara’s flank again. “The EmDee did the cranial scan. Are you coming or not?”

  “Sure.” Vestara stole a glance toward the sky and saw a dark circle about the size of a fist approaching over the ridge that loomed up beyond the opposite side of the courtyard, then froze Ben in place by looking back toward him. “As soon as Ben shows me what he has up his sleeve.”

  Ben’s brow arched in surprise. “Nothing to worry about, Ves.” He straightened his wrist, and a hypo dropped out of his sleeve into his hand. “It’s just a sedative.”

  “And why would I need a sedative?” Vestara allowed herself to take what she hoped would seem a very natural step back into the jungle, then began to draw on the Force, preparing to fight. “Do I seem agitated to you?”

  “My fault, I’m afraid,” Jaina said, still circling. She was nearly at the arcade now, in position to launch her attack with a single Force leap. “With Luke in such bad shape, I’m in no mood to take chances—and, well, it hasn’t been all that long since you were a Sith.”