Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Conviction

by Allston, Aaron

  And from her radiated the dark-side energy Luke had felt all this time.

  The Force-users and Cardya entered the cell. Luke glanced at the girl on the cot. She seemed stiff, unresponsive. “Who is this?”

  “My daughter, Fala.” Hallaf did not stand, and his body language said that he was as dejected as a man could be. “She’s going to die.” His eyes narrowed, suddenly full of fury, which he turned on Cardya. “Your fault. Her death is on your head.”

  Cardya shrugged. “By the way, I quit.”

  Hallaf scrambled to his feet, but Ben gave him a little shove and he fell into his chair again.

  Luke approached Fala and put a hand on her forehead. This close, he could tell that the dark-side energies she radiated were characteristic of, flavored of, Abeloth. “Has she studied the Force for many years?”

  “Never.” Her father’s voice was hoarse, despairing. “She’s quick, she feels things the rest of us don’t … but she’s no Jedi.”

  “How did she come to be this way?”

  “She was in my offices when that woman came. That woman wanted wine, so I stepped out to fetch some. When I came back, Fala was like this. That woman said that she would die … if you and your crew didn’t.”

  Luke frowned, considering. With a look, he caught the attention of Ben and Vestara. “There are spots where continued dark-side use for ages, or the presence of creatures instilled with that energy, can cause the places themselves to radiate the power of the dark side. My old Master’s home on Dagobah was near a site like that. I think we’re looking at something similar … but accomplished in a matter of minutes instead of centuries.”

  Ben shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I think Abeloth tore off little pieces of her own energy, in a sense, leaving it behind like crumbs of ryshcate for children to follow to danger. And it has poisoned this girl.”

  Vestara looked unconvinced. “Dark-side power doesn’t poison.”

  “That’s debatable, but we’re not even talking about the dark side as the Sith use it. We’re talking about tiny portions of Abeloth’s own being, energy interworked with her own nature. It turned Fala into a beacon and is keeping her unconscious.”

  “Can you do anything?” That was Hallaf, sounding as though he were being choked.

  “Maybe. Give me your chair.”

  Hallaf rose, and Luke sat. He kept both hands on the girl’s forehead. “The energy clings to the girl like a feeding mynock. It will be dangerous to try to ease it free.”

  Ben’s eyes said it all. Dangerous to you, too?

  Luke nodded.

  Vestara frowned. “We’re losing time. And you might hurt yourself doing this. Let’s just go.”

  “I might. But Abeloth had to have been planning, adjusting her goals, when she did this to Fala. Perhaps some sense of what her plans were remains within, bound up in that same energy. This could actually save us time.”

  Vestara fell silent. Indifferent or not to Fala’s fate, she clearly recognized the merit in Luke’s tactic.

  Luke turned to his son. “Ben, get to the command chamber. Lock everything down, put the Shadow and occupied areas under surveillance. I don’t want to be surprised while we’re doing this.”

  Ben nodded. He gave Hallaf a look that spoke volumes: I feel about my father like you feel about your daughter. Mess with him and you won’t like the results. “I’ll need your security codes. Right now.”

  “I’ll give them to you.”

  BEN AND HALLAF LEFT. VESTARA KEPT HER EYES ON THE SILENT, SULLEN Cardya.

  Luke could feel the energy within Fala slowly building, slowly moving its way through her mind, touching and changing everything. She was clearly a Force-sensitive, but without the training to recognize and understand what was happening to her, she would be far more vulnerable to the corrupting influences of the dark side than even a novice Jedi. What Abeloth had done to her might not kill her, but it could transform her into something dangerous and unpredictable, something that influenced beings and situations toward dismay and death.

  And there, beneath the feelings and unconscious thoughts of Fala, were others. Touches of memories of the Shelter Jedi Knights, the young Jedi Abeloth had made mad, all of them now recovered. But Abeloth wanted them back, was hoarding her energy to call to them again.

  There, too, distant, was the sad, self-sacrificing personality of Callista, with whom he had once shared so much. Luke couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. He went even deeper.

  He saw and felt dark places, gems that thought, insects that stole thoughts—

  Of course.

  Luke was dimly aware of Hallaf’s return to the brig cell. He paid no attention, trusting Vestara to continue to guard him. He turned his mind away from the shadows of Abeloth’s memories for the moment and to Fala, to the alien energies that were wrapped up within her.

  He extended himself, a subtle but pure wave of light-side energy, flowing through his body and into hers.

  His energies, Abeloth’s energies, light and dark, both of the Force, two sides of the same coin, bonded. And with the infinite care of someone carrying a planet’s last trickle of water in his cupped hands, Luke drew both sets of foreign energy out of Fala’s body. He held them suspended before him, noted Vestara’s quick understanding of what was happening.

  Slowly, with meticulous care, he separated the two forms of energy from himself. They had nothing to hold them, nothing living to sustain them, nothing but each other to cling to, and they began to dissipate. In moments they were gone.

  He felt weary. Well, wearier. That last fight on Almania had stolen a lot of his strength. Keeping himself going despite his injury had taken more. And now this … What he had sacrificed he would eventually regain, after rest and food and meditation, but for now he felt tired to his bones. He wondered if the same was true of Abeloth.

  Fala’s eyes fluttered open. “Papa?” Then her gaze fell on Luke. She lay there, confused for a moment, and then, evidently recognizing him, gasped and drew away.

  In a moment Hallaf was by her side, holding her. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”

  “It was … I couldn’t think, couldn’t move …”

  Luke rose and stepped away from father and daughter. He rejoined Vestara and activated his comlink. “Set the lockdown to continue for ten minutes,” he told Ben. “I don’t want them training their blasters on us or interfering with our departure. Come on back.”

  “Copy, Dad.”

  Ben, his step bouncy despite his injured shoulder, rejoined them within moments. He glanced at his father, and his expression became one of concern. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Luke turned to Fala. “Keep a close eye on yourself for the next few months. Look for sensations, emotions that seem out of place, dreams that aren’t quite right. If you begin to experience them, set your scruples aside and go consult a Jedi. Your life and your future may depend on it.”

  Hallaf rose from his daughter’s side, his expression confused. “You’re not going to bring in the authorities?”

  “Currently we don’t represent them, and we have bigger issues to deal with. Such as the kind of being who could do that to your daughter just to distract her pursuers.” Luke let a touch of durasteel creep into his voice. “A little smuggling does not offend me. But the kind of individual who uses others—and uses up others—invites me to retaliate. You understand?”

  Hallaf nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

  Luke spun away, his cloak fluttering, and, ignoring the pain in his knee, led the way back toward Jade Shadow.

  “Where are we going, Dad?”

  “Nam Chorios. We have to hurry. I could sense that she’s calling to the Shelter Jedi Knights, to renew her bonds with them. She’s too weak now to reestablish those severed bonds, but if she becomes stronger …”

  ERRANT VENTURE, ALMANIA SYSTEM

  Raynar Thul’s StealthX, its S-foils locked together in standard flight configuration, r
ose into the belly bay of the red Star Destroyer orbiting the planet Almania. His fighter had a little scoring along the port side, the result of cruising just a trifle too near a missile detonation, and it would have to be patched if he hoped to retain full stealth capability in time for the next engagement—wherever that might be.

  Rising into the bay, he could see the majority of the other Jedi StealthX fighters already at their landing spots. He nudged his craft in the direction of an empty spot, marked off by yellow reflective tape laid down on a temporary basis, and settled in beside the fighter of Master Kyp Durron. Moments later, canopy raised, he ignored the offer of a ladder from a support worker; he merely dropped over the side and landed between his fighter and Kyp’s.

  Kyp stood there with his astromech, scrutinizing his starboard S-foils. Of average height, handsome, with graying brown hair worn long and currently matted by sweat and hours under a helmet, Kyp did not look much like the Jedi Master he was; his dark StealthX pilot’s jumpsuit was rumpled and he had a faint reddening of skin on his face, similar to a sunburn, suggesting that a laser volley had been stopped—mostly stopped—by his forward shields.

  Still, he looked normal, and Raynar felt a small pang of envy. His own features had been restored to nearly normal by numerous surgeries, the extensive burns he had experienced years ago detectable only as a few patches of slightly glossy skin resembling textured plastic. His face would no longer cause children to scream, and he had much to be grateful for—especially the fact that the Jedi had once again accepted him as one of their own.

  But occasionally he did feel a distant longing for an even greater degree of normalcy.

  He pulled off his helmet, then removed his gloves and dropped them into it. “Master.”

  Kyp looked his way. “Jedi Thul. You did well out there today.” It was the sort of encouragement a Master tended to offer an apprentice or a newly elevated Jedi Knight, not one of Raynar’s experience, but Raynar knew what it meant. You’ve come back a long way from your own dark times. You’re doing fine. Keep it up.

  “Thank you. Master, is there any update?”

  Kyp shrugged. “We’re recovering EV pilots now. The Sith force has regrouped in a tight defensive formation, very disciplined. They apparently got one of their disabled frigates moving again just before we took out the seventh, so their net loss is six. We expect them to enter hyperspace at any moment.”

  “The Grand Master?”

  Kyp became just a little more somber. There were, of course, two Grand Masters, in a sense—Luke Skywalker, in exile, and Kenth Hamner, who had succeeded him. And Hamner was dead. Details were still sketchy. Only the Jedi knew anything at all; some of them had dimly felt it happen.

  Kyp knew which Grand Master Raynar meant. “Jade Shadow went into hyperspace hours ago. While we’ve been mopping things up here, there’s been no further word from Master Skywalker. And there’ve been no instructions from the Temple.” He slapped his gloves against his thigh, a show of irritation or impatience not characteristic of most Masters.

  Another StealthX rose into the bay, a ferocious shower of sparks spewing from its starboard thrusters. Its pilot maneuvered it skillfully enough, landing it well away from other fighters to keep its fiery exhaust from damaging them.

  Kyp watched it for a moment, then sighed. “We don’t know what to do. Until we know where Abeloth went, where the Sith are going, how the situation on Coruscant is shaking out …”

  “Understood.”

  “Have Calrissian arrange a conference room for us. Ask Masters Ramis and Katarn to meet me there in half an hour. We need to make some contingency plans.”

  “Will do, Master.”

  “I’m going to see if I can sanisteam the stink of this battle off my skin.” Kyp managed a little smile. “Let me know when everything’s set up.” His step jaunty, or perhaps just plausibly jaunty, he headed off to the temporary pilots’ quarters.

  ARMAND ISARD MAXIMUM SECURITY

  CORRECTIONAL FACILITY, CORUSCANT

  THE GUARD-DROID, BULKY AND INTIMIDATING, ITS SMOOTH, BLACK surface offering no place for an attacker to grip, came to a halt at the end of the industrial-green corridor. The blast doors slid aside ahead of it, and it gestured for Tahiri Veila to continue alone.

  Tahiri, clad in the strident yellow jumpsuit intended to alert the public that its wearer was a dangerous prisoner, walked through and down the ramp into the exercise yard.

  Of course, it wasn’t a yard at all. Yards had access to the sky. This large chamber, buried deep within the prison, afforded those in it no opportunity to scale a wall or receive aid from an ally on a speeder bike. Its walls and ceiling were disingenuously painted sky blue, and large monitors on the walls displayed soothing nature scenes. Air blowers set in the high ceilings provided intermittent breezes carrying simulated forest scents. A sophisticated sound system provided background noise, bird calls and other animal sounds, that one might find in nature. Altogether, they provided an atmosphere that was only slightly less claustrophobic than that of an ordinary large subterranean chamber—and was no doubt intended to lull prisoners into passivity.

  At the bottom of the ramp, as the blast doors closed behind her, Tahiri took a look around. The chamber had perhaps a hundred inmates in it, all of them clad in yellow jumpsuits. Some ran along the oval track laid out just inside the wall. There was a ball game going on in a wire mesh-enclosed court. Most of the pieces of exercise equipment, especially weight machines, were occupied.

  And except for Tahiri, every prisoner present was male.

  Tahiri frowned. This prison had inmates of both sexes—all sexes, actually, when certain nonhuman species were factored in—but as a practical consideration the genders were kept separated except in circumstances where there were few prisoners and many guards, such as group emotion therapy sessions and some work environments. But in this chamber there was no guard in sight, either flesh or droid. Of course, the exercise yard would be under constant holocam surveillance, but clearly something was not right.

  “Look at this.” The words were spoken in the gravel-toned voice of a Mon Calamari male. The salmon-pink skin of his head and hands was thickly decorated with crude black tattoos, many of them gang markings or kill silhouettes Tahiri recognized. The Mon Cal stood in a group of other inmates, perhaps a dozen; they had been doing calisthenics when Tahiri arrived.

  She felt her heart sink. She knew this Mon Cal. But she kept her dismay from showing. “Hello, Furan. It’s been a while.”

  “Since just before the war. When you decided to frame my little social club. Fabricated evidence of grand vehicle theft against us.”

  “Fabricated?” Tahiri let some contempt creep into her voice. “You and your motor-pool buddy were stealing and chopping army hospital shuttles. My evidence didn’t convict you. Your buddy’s testimony did.”

  “Too bad he’s dead now and can’t recant it.” The Mon Cal twisted around to face the other way and raised his voice. “Gaharrag, Leurm, look who we have here.”

  Across the chamber, two other inmates, one involved in the ball game and the other lounging near it as an observer, raised their heads. Tahiri felt her heart slip down a few centimeters more. The first was a Wookiee, his fur marked by patches shaved away in gang markings. The other was a Hutt, large for his kind. Both left their places to move toward Tahiri.

  Tahiri took a deep breath. No, her presence here was no accident. Three of the most murderous criminals she’d put away during her career as a Jedi were here, with no guards present.

  The rest of Furan’s buddies were moving, not being too obvious about it, several of them repositioning themselves to get to her sides and back, the rest simply giving themselves a little more space.

  She could see the situation play out in her mind’s eye. The Wookiee and the Hutt would arrive and crowd in. Taunting would continue. She’d be shoved—shoved at, since she was not likely to allow herself to be touched. She’d have to leap clear to get fighting space, and given
the arm reach of the Wookiee and the ability of the Hutt to lash with its tail, she might have odds as poor as fifty-fifty to get clear. If she did, everyone in this chamber would be on her. If she didn’t, she’d die at that moment, her body snapped by the Wookiee’s tremendous physical strength.

  She didn’t even know whether it was a touch in the Force or just her own tactical sense that showed her these things. Nor did it matter. She wasn’t going to wait for the situation to unfold that way.

  Furan turned toward her again. His eyes vibrated in what Tahiri took to be expectation. “You shouldn’t—”

  She turned to the right and brought her left leg up, planting her foot between his eyes at the perfect point in her delivery. She felt his skull flex under the impact. He staggered back into the arms of two of his yard buddies, the strike so sudden and effective that he didn’t even have time to grunt.

  While the other inmates around her recoiled in sudden surprise, Tahiri leapt toward Leurm.

  Simple tactics. Gaharrag was the most dangerous of her opponents on a being-by-being basis, but not as dangerous as Gaharrag plus Leurm. So she had to eliminate Leurm first, and fast.

  Her leap brought her directly in front of the Hutt. He wasn’t prepared for her swift arrival and was still in full-speed forward slither. He slowed himself, his greasy mass going flat on the flextile floor for more traction, and she continued forward, bouncing up over him in a flying somersault. He reached up for her as she passed, but his arms were too short.

  She landed on his back, struggling for balance as his uneven contours rippled beneath her feet.

  His arms were the key. Spindly as they might look in comparison with the rest of his body, they were powerful by human standards … but not as well protected by sheaths of fat and muscle as the rest of his body. As Leurm twisted to spin around, she grabbed his lead arm at the wrist and kicked out as hard as she could against his elbow.