“What happened?”
She looked up at him, and there was a hint of peace along with pain on her features. “I was reborn,” she said. “I went into the waters a Sith…and emerged a Nightsister.”
“By using magicks?”
“Some. But mostly by choosing to leave it behind, and being willing to accept the love of my sisters.”
Vos touched her cheek gently. “You never cease to amaze me.”
“Well,” she said, attempting lightness, “this time, you get to amaze me.”
He squared his shoulders. “Right. So, the sooner this is over with, the sooner we get to go after the count. And once that’s done…” He kissed her forehead lightly, then stepped back. He held out his lightsaber to her and she took it. The Nightsisters had no weapons when they faced the Sleeper; neither would Vos. This was a battle of the mind. “Take care of this for, oh, the next few minutes, because I’m going to want it back.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be waiting for you, I promise.”
He nodded, then turned and stepped toward the edge of the pool.
“Quinlan,” she called. He turned to look at her. “Don’t rush this. Make sure you’re ready when you call it.”
Vos nodded. He had not asked Ventress if she would aid him if he got in trouble, and she had not volunteered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, and he had no plans to find out. He began with adjusting his breathing; slow, deep, and rhythmic. Vos felt oxygen saturating his blood and being pumped through his heart, gaining the control that Ventress had assured him was vital to his victory over this mysterious, and apparently horrifying, Sleeper. He opened to the darkness, felt it almost physically curling around him.
Vos inserted the aquata breather into his mouth and reached out with his mind. There were many life-forms in this water, from tiny single-celled organisms to moderately sized fish and crustaceans. They were simple, uncomplicated, and he brushed their consciousnesses gently and continued searching. Down his mind went, into the depths of the blue-murk waters. Some things hid in caverns. Some swam freely. But Vos sensed one life-form that was more complex than the rest; more complex, and very…old.
Ancient.
It dreamed. Vos understood as he brushed it with the Force that it had been dreaming for some time, undisturbed. He wanted to send it calmness and peace, and let it rest, but he could not. Vos steeled himself and, still willing his body to remain calm, allowed his mind to gradually open to the Sleeper. He felt it stir unhappily, resisting him with surprising strength even in this state.
Awaken.
It would not. Vos lifted a hand and spread his fingers, calling out to the unseen beast.
Awaken! he demanded. And the Sleeper’s consciousness snapped into full presence. It was not sullen or sluggish, but alert and focused, and that focus was on Vos. Vos grunted slightly with the effort, knowing that he could not lose the upper hand even for a moment. He harnessed his concern, and twisted it into anger and resentment.
Rise. I will have it so.
And it did. He felt this impossibly old creature stir from its cavern, where it had rested and dreamed dreams unimaginable, and slowly, balefully, move upward. A bubble rose to the surface of the thick blue water, popping with a sludgy wet noise. A second bubble followed, then another.
Two huge lavender eyes, each the size of Vos’s head, emerged from the water. They swiveled on narrow stalks, seeming to look in every direction at once, then locked onto Vos standing at the edge of the pool. A wave of resentment that was so powerful it was almost physical buffeted Vos. He didn’t hesitate. He harnessed the hatred and hurled it right back at the Sleeper, who shuddered.
I said rise! All the way! Obey me and come onto the land!
For a terrible instant, Vos was certain he had failed. The Sleeper did not move. Then, slowly, fighting his command all the way, it did. It reared up, and up, seven meters long if it was a centimeter, revealing a long, carapace-covered body, quivering antennae, and two—no, four—appendages. The first pair appeared to be sickles as long as it was, tapering to spearlike points. The other limbs were narrow where they attached to its body, expanding into large clubs at the end. This set of legs the Sleeper kept tightly curled.
Vos noted all this in a heartbeat, but what astounded him most was how beautiful it was. Its limbs and eyes must have seemed ghastly to a child who had never ventured beyond her own world, but Vos had seen more frightening things. No, it was the kaleidoscope of colors that made the Sleeper so visibly remarkable. Every hue Vos could dream—or have nightmares of—adorned it. He had known other species to have eyes similar to the Sleeper’s, which could see five or ten more colors than he could. But the Sleeper’s eyes were even more complex, and Vos briefly wondered if this creature was so difficult to subdue because it might be able to actually see the Force.
It was an effort to keep his attention focused, but Vos managed. His anger hot but his body calm, Vos stepped backward, not knowing how much room the thing would take up once it had clambered onto land. Just as it reached the place where he had stood a moment ago, its sickle-legs shot out with astonishing speed, impaled themselves into the surface so hard the stone cracked, and heaved its bulk onto land.
Vos had assumed the creature was a sort of crustacean, but once it was wholly out of the water, he realized that its lower appendages were not legs, but tentacles, long and shiny and every shade of blue that the eponymous protocol droid from Sheb’s black-market shop had known and probably more. So astonished was he that for just a moment, Vos felt his control waver.
The Sleeper felt it, too, and gathered itself for an attack. Immediately Vos lifted both his hands and Force-shoved it so it slid along the rocky surface, smashing into braziers and pottery. Hatred, cold and pure, wrapped around Vos, and he met it.
You. Will. Obey!
It fought him for a moment, its massive body rocking back and forth, tentacles and legs flailing.
Stop.
The cold hatred brightened with a sharp sensation of pain. Vos’s will was hurting the beast. He strengthened his power in the Force, cruel and harsh, and the creature subsided. It tucked its limbs in close to its body, and its tentacles ceased wriggling.
Vos took a deep breath but didn’t lessen his intense control. He’d done it. And he hadn’t even needed the aquata breather. He pulled it out so he could speak. “Ventress,” he called out, not taking his eyes from the enormous, almost pixilated ones of the Sleeper, “I don’t need to make it cut off a limb, do I?”
“No.” Her voice was strangely heavy with regret. “Vos…listen to me, but don’t let your attention waver.”
He felt a flicker of unease. The creature’s tentacles undulated, sensing it, waiting to exploit any crack in his will. “Okay,” he said. “I’m listening.”
“You have to kill it.”
Vos’s shock lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. With a blast of triumphant loathing, one of the Sleeper’s tentacles whipped around Vos. Together they tumbled beneath the pool’s surface.
Vos’s face struck the water hard, and his aquata breather flew from his hand. The tentacle’s pressure against his chest compressed his ribs, forcing him to expel air in a rush of bubbles that meant life. His empty lungs clamored for breath, and his internal organs felt like they were being slowly squeezed to pulp. One arm was trapped, immobilized at his side. He could barely see in the milky-blue depths, and panic made his heart race.
Through sheer will, Vos slowed its beating as he had practiced. Abruptly he was hauled through the water again, to come to a stop less than a meter away from the Sleeper’s face. Two flat, teardrop-shaped scales beneath its eyes turned from sickly green to a pulsing, angry red. Vos realized that the change signaled an imminent attack. Without thinking, only trusting completely in the Force, he shoved his free hand toward the second set of clublike legs with enough power that the trajectory of the blow was altered.
The strike was faster than he could see. Suddenly the water
around Vos was boiling from the intensity of the shock wave, clouding the blue water with black liquid and ragged chunks of the Sleeper’s own tentacles. The spots that had been red before now were the color of an angry bruise; it had struck itself, not Vos, with pulverizing force. An earsplitting rumble of pain assaulted Vos’s ears. He fought to keep from wasting his rapidly dwindling supply of air in his own agonized cry as the bubbling, boiling water scalded his flesh.
Taking advantage of the Sleeper’s distraction, Vos used the Force to propel himself upward, gasping for air as his head broke the surface and he struck out for the safety of land. Pain shot through him; the Sleeper had struck him a glancing blow with one of its razor-sharp sickles, and he could feel it growing maddened from the sudden flow of his blood in the water.
He sensed another tentacle reaching for him and whirled, Force-grabbing the appendage and squeezing it tight. Again, the Sleeper rumbled in pain, its focus on him broken. Vos used the few seconds of respite to clamber onto the stone, then turned and seized the creature in the Force. He closed his eyes and directed a command with every bit of strength he had, and the Sleeper grew still. It was no longer angry, or bloodthirsty, or filled with hatred.
The Sleeper was terrified.
Vos drew in great, ragged gulps of air, his body straining with tension. He heard Ventress’s voice shouting at him, “What are you waiting for? Kill it, Vos!”
And yet, even now, after the battle, he hesitated. The Sleeper had no evil in it. It was a simple creature, innocent of knowing wrong from right. It only wanted to be left undisturbed, and when threatened, it had protected itself. What would this unnecessary killing prove?
“Ventress,” he called, still controlling the Sleeper, “it may be the last of its kind!”
“Yes, and if it dies, a great secret of my clan dies with it. That doesn’t matter. We both have to make a sacrifice. You have to do this!”
“It’s obeyed me twice! Why do I need to kill it?”
“Because you were sent to kill Dooku, in cold blood if you have to. If you can’t use the dark side to kill now, can you do so later, when it truly matters? Or will you let your Jedi compassion destroy everything?”
Tears stung his eyes; tears, as she had just accused, of compassion. Vos desperately wanted to send the Sleeper back to its peaceful burrow, to let it rest and heal from its wounds. Ventress would be disappointed and angry, but he would find another way to convince her that they could kill Dooku without him going to the dark side. It gave him power, true, but at what cost?
But in his heart, he understood the distinction Ventress had made. The Jedi had fought Dooku before, and the possibility had always existed that the count could be slain in such a struggle. What Vos had been ordered to do wasn’t just killing. It was assassination; it was murder.
And now, Ventress wished him to snuff out the life of a simple beast that didn’t have to die.
The moment stretched, taut, each passing second draining Vos further. He could delay no longer.
He made his choice.
He focused on his earlier fear: the helplessness he had felt, and his anger at it. He narrowed his eyes, calling up the hatred and rage, feeling them burst into him, white-hot and so very powerful.
This was an enemy. This was Count Dooku. Vos extended his hand, slowly, deliberately, taking the time to truly experience the emotions as they translated from thought to action.
Die.
The Sleeper’s head snapped back. Puzzlement flowed through it, then cold, primal, simple fear. So pure. So strong. So—liberating.
Vos lifted the Sleeper from the water, continuing to manifest his emotions into a Force energy while simultaneously suffocating it.
It suffered as it died. Vos cleared his mind of everything but this moment, as it writhed in agony, its powerful punches and spearlike limbs striking only air. With a final spasm, the great beast crumpled. Vos released it. It splashed into the water, sinking for a moment, then floated, partially submerged.
Vos stared at it. His body was tingling. His heart raced, but not with fear—with exultation. So engrossed was he in the sensation of unleashing such power that he didn’t hear Ventress approach until her voice said, right beside him, “Quinlan?”
He whirled, his hand raised for an instant before his mind cleared and he let his arm fall, alarmed at his reaction and reeling from what he’d just done. Ventress appeared to understand, looking at him with pride and not a little awe.
“Quinlan,” she went on, laying a hand on his arm, “I know that was difficult for you, but it was necessary. You’ve come so far in such a short time. I’m impressed.”
Words crowded his mouth, but he spoke none of them. Not about the sharp delight he had taken in brutally asphyxiating an innocent creature. Not about the desire to do it again, and to harness that power and unleash it any way he chose. He couldn’t speak, either, of the wrenching sadness that permeated him as he realized that something in him had broken, or the delight at having been freed of its shackles.
He didn’t need to. He could sense Ventress, proud and pleased, her desire for him only the stronger for the ordeal through which she had put him. She knew what he was feeling.
So Vos said just, “The Jedi have always taught that the dark side is a quick and easy path.”
“You must be cautious how far down that quick and easy path you go,” she warned. “Now that you have tapped into it, it can consume you. It is a delicate balance to strike—being free enough to feed from it, but remaining your own master.”
“Like you did.”
“I fought my way back. I almost didn’t make it.” Her eyes grew sad and she slipped into his arms. “I regret that this is a path you must tread. But it must be done, if we are to defeat Dooku.”
Vos stroked her short, pale-blond hair. The recollection of his actions unnerved him, and her words were sobering. He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eye.
“Dooku is strong. But we will be stronger.” He caressed her cheek. “Together.”
Her face softened into a smile that had nothing of the darkness about it, an expression that, Vos knew, few had ever been permitted to glimpse.
“Together,” she agreed, and kissed him.
Vos was late. Again. Kenobi settled in to wait at the bar on Level 1313. One of these days, he mused, Vos would show up on time. Kenobi wondered if his heart could bear the shock.
The minutes ticked by. Still no Vos. When two hours had crawled past and Kenobi had been forced to consume more alcohol than he had really desired and what passed for a meal to go along with it, he finally gave up. He activated his comlink.
“Master Obi-Wan, to hear from you, surprised I am.”
“Master Yoda…I am…troubled by something, and I wish to speak privately with you.”
“To the Temple, return, and speak, we shall.”
—
When Kenobi entered Yoda’s quarters, he found the Jedi Master sitting in meditation next to a small fountain designed with crystals known as “singing stones.” They emitted soft sounds, something between a chime and a stringed instrument, as water flowed over them. Kenobi usually found the resulting music deeply soothing, as was the scent of special oils heated over small flames, but today even their influence did not dispel his sense of worry.
Yoda did not open his eyes. “Welcome, you are, Obi-Wan. Across from me, please sit.”
Kenobi obeyed, and managed to calm his thoughts at least somewhat. A few moments later, Yoda spoke again.
“Clouds your heart, this concern does. Speak of it, you will?”
Obi-Wan bit his lip. “Master Vos did not show up for our appointed meeting. I fear that something has…happened.”
“Sense something in the Force, do you? A vision, you have had?”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. But there was something off about him the last time we met. He was guarded. I could sense it, although he behaved like his usual self. And he used words that…” He paused,
searching. “At the time, I simply thought that the challenge of the mission was starting to wear on him, but in retrospect…Master Yoda, he may have placed too much trust in Ventress. She may have discovered who he really is.”
Yoda’s ears curled in slight surprise. “Gone on many undercover missions, Quinlan Vos has. Carefree, he is, but careless, he is not. Possible it is that attached, he has grown. Always a risk, there is.”
“Vos? He never has before.”
“When one trusts another with his life, forged a bond is. In this position, neither Vos nor Ventress has been.”
“He did say they were working well as a team,” Kenobi said. “And I have always known that Ventress lets us see just what she wishes us to. She is a complex individual. I can only imagine what it must be like to be in such constant contact with her as Vos has been.”
“And now, contact him, you cannot.”
Kenobi nodded. “I probably should have come to you the moment I had concerns, or else just voiced them to Vos. But it seemed so ludicrous, to be worried about word choices and a vague sense of unease. Vos isn’t a Padawan, he’s a Master. He didn’t deserve to have suspicion fall on him for such trivial things.”
“More to say, you have, but not on this subject.”
Kenobi frowned, then nodded. “Yes. I had misgivings from the beginning about this entire enterprise. I still believe that sending a Jedi to assassinate a man was wrong. And I fear that I will likely lose not only a fellow Jedi Master, but someone I consider a friend, and we will have nothing to show for such a loss.”
Yoda rose, picked up his cane, and went to his friend. Gently, he laid a small hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Disagree with you, I do not. But now, in motion things are, and stopped, they cannot be. All must proceed as the Force wills it. Sometimes it is a dark path we must tread so that long more for the light, we shall.”
Kenobi placed his own hand over Yoda’s. He did not ask if it was Vos or the Jedi Order that was treading the dark path—because in his heart, he didn’t want to know the answer.
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