Dark Disciple

by Christie Golden

  They continued to utilize their droids for recon, finally “parking them” in an out-of-the-way corner. The droids would be discovered at some point, but the Jedi hoped to have their business concluded by then and be on their way back to Coruscant…one way or another. Even taking an indirect route, they did arrive before the ship’s master, though with only a few moments to spare. They glanced around, chagrined.

  “Why does Dooku have to be so…tidy,” Anakin muttered. There was only one place to hide, and it was painfully obvious: beneath the large, curving desk off to one side.

  “Cluttered room, cluttered mind,” murmured Kenobi absently. “Well, at least it’s not a difficult choice. We can both fit under there if we try. But we’d better hurry.” Kenobi was right on both counts. He and Anakin had just settled themselves into a position where, if they were careful, they could peer around the edge of the desk when the door slid open.

  Count Dooku entered alone, and for a moment Kenobi thought he had sensed them. The count paused, frowning, his gaze moving about the room. Both Kenobi and Anakin ducked back, gripping their lightsaber hilts. Dooku was actually walking toward the desk when the door opened again.

  Standing in the doorway, flanked by a group of battle droids, was Quinlan Vos—but one who looked nothing like the cheerful Jedi whom Kenobi had known for years. This man looked cold, arrogant…evil. Beside Kenobi, Anakin made a soft, angry sound and started to rise. Obi-Wan laid a hand on his arm and mouthed the word, Wait.

  “We brought him here, sir, just like you asked,” one of the battle droids said.

  “Vos,” Dooku said. “Were you successful?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Vos answered. His voice was as icy as his expression.

  Dooku chuckled, looking the other man up and down appraisingly. “You seem…unburdened. I sense a greater strength in you.”

  “I agree,” Vos said. “I am calmer. More focused. Stronger than before.” In the blink of an eye, he seized and activated his lightsaber. Its green glow bathed his face as he smiled. “Strong enough to kill you.”

  This time looking relieved, Anakin moved to get up. Again, Kenobi held him back. “Let this play out,” he whispered. “We must be absolutely certain.”

  Dooku’s own lightsaber was activated now, and the two men regarded each other. Dooku sighed. “Must we do this yet again? This time I shall make certain to swat this pesky fly!”

  The count went from standing perfectly still to a blur, but Vos was faster. He leapt up and over Dooku, just in time to prevent the red blade from severing his legs. Dooku whirled as Vos’s blade slashed down and caught it on his own. Vos kicked out in a long swipe, angling his body to force his enemy’s blade down. Dooku let himself fall, seizing Vos in the Force and hurling him across the room. The count extended his arm, and Force lightning leapt from his hand.

  But Vos wasn’t there. He stretched out his own hand and Dooku’s lightsaber flew into his open palm. Vos smiled, a cruel, satisfied smile. Dooku appeared unrattled, blasting another round of Force lightning. While Vos crossed both green and red lightsabers in front of him in a protective X, Dooku made a pulling motion with his other hand, and Vos was flipped backward. The red lightsaber returned to its owner, and the fight continued.

  Both Jedi watching were prepared to act if need be. Indeed, Anakin was more than eager to do so. But, truth be told, Vos seemed to be holding his own against Dooku. He leapt, sprang, ducked, and tumbled. Dooku might have been a master of technique, but Vos’s characteristic unpredictability—quite possibly even to himself—often gave him the edge.

  As it did now. Vos all but danced around Dooku, forcing the older man to whirl, strike, and block from every side. And then—there it was. Dooku overextended—only a trifle—and the next thing Kenobi knew the count’s lightsaber was across the room and the count himself was on his back.

  Vos smiled down at the defeated Sith. The tip of his lightsaber was a centimeter away from Dooku’s throat.

  Even now, Kenobi waited. Why wasn’t Vos taking the final step?

  Dooku, defiant to the last, spoke up. “What can you possibly think you’d gain from my death?” he sneered. “A sense of satisfaction? A badge of honor?”

  Vos leaned closer, his gaze locked with Dooku’s.

  “A new Master,” he said.

  “What’s he doing?” Anakin hissed.

  Dooku, too, seemed startled. “Impossible!” he snapped.

  Vos calmly grabbed Dooku by the hair and slammed his head violently against the floor. “Is it?” he asked. “After all of your betrayals? Your mistakes? You think your lord would be so quick to deny me?”

  “Sidious will kill you as soon as he lays eyes upon you! Do you think he accepts just anyone as an apprentice? A mediocre Jedi, no less?”

  “Mediocre? Who’s got the lightsaber?” Again, Vos slammed Dooku’s head against the unyielding metal of the deck, this time with his hand around the older man’s throat. Vos’s fingers tightened.

  “You need…an introduction…,” Dooku choked out.

  “Obi-Wan,” Anakin said in a low, urgent voice. Kenobi held up a hand. He sensed there was more to learn before they intervened—perhaps even the identity of this second Sith Lord.

  “You’re lying,” said Vos, but Kenobi noticed that he had relaxed his grip so that Dooku could speak more easily.

  “Am I? Go then. Find him. See what happens. Or you could join with me again. We will defeat Sidious together!”

  “I won’t be your apprentice!” Vos started to choke Dooku again.

  “No, no!” Dooku wheezed. “A team. Equals.”

  “Sith don’t work that way.”

  “Are you and I ordinary Sith?”

  Vos still looked skeptical. “You know where he is? And do not lie to me!”

  “Of course I know. I’m the only one he trusts!”

  There was a long, tense minute. Kenobi hoped desperately that Vos wouldn’t take that final step, that one that would doom him. Don’t let him go, old friend…

  Vos released Dooku. “Then let’s go find—”

  As one, Anakin and Obi-Wan sprang from their place of concealment. Dooku leapt up, hissing, “Jedi!”

  Obi-Wan was too devastated to speak. He lunged for Dooku, kicking the count’s legs out from underneath him, then thrust out his hand. Dooku’s lightsaber flew toward him from the corner of the room where it had rolled. Obi-Wan ignited it and placed the tip a hair’s breadth away from Dooku’s chest.

  Anakin had targeted Vos, head-butting him and snatching up Vos’s lightsaber. He stood over Vos, pain and anger warring on his face as he spoke. “I am happy to say that this little unholy alliance you two have formed is officially over!”

  “Count Dooku, Quinlan Vos,” Kenobi said, surprised at how strong and steady his voice sounded, “you are both under arrest on charges of treason.”

  “Obi-Wan,” Vos began, staring with a shocked expression at his old friend.

  “You had your chance,” Kenobi snapped. “More than one. Come on.”

  The darkness of the Vigilance’s war room suited the somberness of the news. The only light came from the multicolored small screens on the various black consoles, and from the cool blue of Master Kenobi’s grim-visaged hologram. Beside the Mahran, Kav Bayons, a Chagrian Jedi Knight, stood in shock, his mouth slightly open. Even Commander Cody looked stunned.

  “There…there must be some mistake,” Desh stammered.

  “I wish there were,” Kenobi said. He looked…old, and sadder than Desh had ever seen him. “The only good news is, we now also have Count Dooku in custody. General Skywalker and I will be rendezvousing with you shortly with the prisoners.” Kenobi hesitated. “Bayons, Desh…you should know that my orders from the Council originally stipulated execution. It may yet come to that, and we may be the ones asked to perform it.”

  “Execution? Both of them?” This can’t possibly be happening…

  “Both of them,” Kenobi repeated heavily. “I’ll be checking
in with the Council immediately upon my arrival, and I hope they will be open to reconsidering the sentence. I wanted you both to understand the full import of this situation. Please meet us in the hangar—and bring enough men to properly provide escort for the prisoners to the brig.”

  “Yes, Master Kenobi,” Desh said automatically. Kenobi’s image flickered and disappeared. Desh stood for a moment, dazed.

  Cody looked at him with a mixture of pity, compassion, and resolve. Bayons had a sympathetic look on his light-blue face. Tall, younger than Desh, he had distinguished himself in battle, but the Mahran suspected this was the Chagrian’s first encounter with the true power of the dark side. Truth be told, it was Desh’s, too, and it was more devastating than he ever could have imagined.

  “Desh, I’m so sorry,” Bayons said. “I know you and Master Vos were friends.”

  “Yes, I—I’ve known Quinlan for most of my life. I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s always a shocker when one of your own betrays you,” Cody said. “We clones had a similar situation a couple years back. One of our men, Slick, turned against us. He was working with the enemy. Said he loved his brothers, but he was selling information to Ventress and sabotaging our supplies…doing things that could end up getting a lot of those brothers killed. Funny way of showing love, if you ask me.”

  He shook his head. “I hope you’ll forgive me saying this, sir, but—I’d almost rather have my mate seduced by the dark side than be a simple turncoat.”

  “No forgiveness needed,” Desh said. “But either way, it’s a tragedy.” He squared his narrow shoulders and gathered himself. They had a job to do. “Commander,” he said, “how many men should we bring to the hangar?”

  Cody chuckled humorlessly. “For Count Dooku and Quinlan Vos? Two hundred ought to do it.”

  —

  It was considerably fewer than two hundred, but a full two dozen armed clones, handpicked by Cody, assembled in the Vigilance’s cavernous hangar to await the arrival of the infamous prisoners. Even with advance warning, Desh wasn’t prepared to see his old friend being marched out of the Jedi shuttle in stun cuffs alongside the infamous Count Dooku. General Skywalker looked as if he wished he could lop off Vos’s head then and there. Master Kenobi also wore a grim, angry look, but there was pain there, too.

  Desh reached into the Force and calmed himself. He could see it now, he realized: the flat, cold expression in Vos’s eyes. The cruel set of his mouth, so much like Dooku’s. Doubtless feeling his gaze, Vos turned to regard his old friend Desh. There was no flicker of remorse, or pleading, or anything other than cold hate on those familiar features. Desh swallowed hard. This was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

  “Sir,” said Cody, “we’ve brought two dozen of our finest men to serve as escort, and I’ve stationed clones every couple of meters between here and the brig.”

  Skywalker was practically shoving Vos toward Desh as Kenobi said, “Good job, Commander.” The Jedi Master transferred Dooku to Bayons with more decorum, though no less distaste. Desh noticed that Kenobi seemed unable to bring himself even to look at Vos. “These two have a tendency to slip away.”

  “Not on my watch, sir.”

  “Let’s go tell the Council, Anakin,” Kenobi said. With a final glare at both Dooku and Vos, Skywalker turned and followed Kenobi.

  And then Desh was face-to-face with Vos. He found himself baring his sharp white teeth in a silent snarl. Wordlessly, he nodded to the clones. Four of them—including Cody, who made straight for Dooku—stepped up to grasp the prisoners’ arms and march the captives to the hold.

  “Desh, you’re making a mistake,” Vos said.

  “You already made one,” Desh snapped. The hackles on his neck rose and his nostrils flared as he drew breath to calm himself. “And now you might have to die for it.”

  He knew he shouldn’t say anything more. He should be calm, remind himself of the Jedi Code. Remain nonattached. It simply wasn’t possible.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Vos?” Desh’s voice cracked slightly. “Why did you do this?”

  “His reasons are his own,” Dooku said smoothly.

  “You be quiet,” Bayons snapped.

  The group continued in silence. The four clones flanking the prisoners kept a tight hold on manacled arms. A dozen clones walked in front of them. The Jedi followed behind, and the rest of the clones brought up the rear. Somewhat to Desh’s surprise, neither Vos nor Dooku offered resistance.

  Abruptly, Vos stopped and turned to Desh. “You want to know why I did it?” he asked, and Desh couldn’t read his expression.

  “Don’t bother pleading,” said the clone on Vos’s right, yanking his arm.

  “Sir,” warned Cody, “do not listen to him.”

  Desh held up a hand. “No, wait. It’s all right, Commander. I want to hear this.” He stepped directly in front of Vos and folded his arms, his ears flat against his head. “Go ahead.”

  “Jedi don’t understand,” Vos said, his voice dripping contempt. “You can’t grasp the full power of the dark side. You’re too afraid to wield it. You’re not prepared to make the sacrifices necessary. You’re weak, Desh. Weak. And pathetic. And I’m—”

  Desh’s lightsaber flew into Vos’s hands.

  “—sorry,” Vos finished, violently Force-shoving the shocked Jedi into the clones behind him. They went flying.

  Desh sprang to his feet just in time to see Vos slice through Dooku’s bonds. The count emulated his ally, seizing Bayons’s lightsaber. In rapid succession Dooku cut down one clone escort, Force-threw Cody down the corridor and against the bulkhead, freed Vos, then blasted everyone in front of him, including Bayons, with Force lightning. The Chagrian and the four clones went down, writhing in agony.

  Holding Desh’s blue lightsaber, Vos charged at him. Their eyes met. Desh growled and started toward his old friend, but just as he reached out to grab Vos in the Force, the former Jedi Master soared over the heads of both the Mahran and the clones and continued running down the hall back toward the hangar. Dooku followed him.

  Desh glanced over his shoulder. All but one of the clones lay at such unnatural angles that it was clear they would never rise again. Cody seemed to be injured, but alive. Bayons was a little dazed, but he quickly shook his head and joined Desh in giving chase.

  The few clones still on their feet were firing at the escaped prisoners. Vos whirled, batting back the blasts and shouting to Dooku, “Take them out!”

  “With pleasure,” Dooku purred. He paused, shot both hands out in front of him, and raised his clenched fists. The clones were lifted in the Force, dropping their blasters as their hands went to their necks to pry off invisible hands. Desh heard an awful crunch, and they both went limp. Sneering, Dooku hurled the corpses directly at Bayons and Desh. The two Jedi dodged, and kept coming.

  There was only one thought in Desh’s mind as he summoned the Force to him and used it to leap at a man he had considered a great friend: Stop Vos. It was clear to Desh now that the only way to do that was to kill him.

  To kill him…and to die with him.

  The Mahran snapped his right wrist as he sprang, splaying his hand. A six-centimeter shard of bone, slick with black venom, emerged directly below his palm. The action of exposing the stinger released its toxin into Desh’s bloodstream. It was not painful…not yet. Just as his leap was about to bring him crashing down atop Vos, the Sith apprentice—for such Desh now knew him to be—shot out a hand. Desh was suddenly whipped around. To his horror, Vos had hurled him straight at Bayons.

  Desperately, Desh tried to twist to the side, to angle his stinger away from his fellow Jedi, but it was too late. The lethal tip grazed the Chagrian’s blue face, drawing a thin line of blood. The surrounding flesh began to swell immediately. Bayons’s eyes went wide as he stared, shocked, at Desh. He lurched to the side, catching himself on the wall.

  Venom pumped more freely now throughout Desh’s body. He lay where he had fallen, shak
ing with agony as his blood turned to liquid fire, scalding him with every beat of his heart. He bit back a howl, and froth dripped from his muzzle. His vision was starting to deteriorate. In a few moments, he would be completely blind, but for now, he could dimly make out the figure standing over him.

  Vos knew about the Mahran birthright. And he knew that death, while inevitable, could sometimes take as long as ten minutes and would be an excruciating torment.

  So it was that, when Vos lifted Desh’s own lightsaber and brought it sweeping down, Desh was unsure if Vos meant the death blow as a cruelty, or a kindness.

  —

  Kenobi took a deep breath. There was no point in putting this off any longer. He pressed a button on the holographic table in the war room and an image of the Jedi Council appeared. He looked to Yoda first, who regarded him solemnly.

  “Fallen, Vos has.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, Master Yoda,” Kenobi replied. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded disheartened. “We have taken both Vos and Dooku into custody.” He gave them a brief summary of events.

  “I am truly sorry things worked out this way, Master Kenobi,” Windu said. “But…I think we can all agree that this matter has been resolved. Quinlan Vos has signed his own death warrant.”

  The entire Council looked dismayed, even Windu. There was no doubt in Kenobi’s mind that the other Master would have preferred to be wrong.

  Yoda nodded sadly. “Signed it, he has.”

  “We, ah…can take care of the matter here, if you wish.” Bloodless words for a bloody deed, Kenobi thought as he spoke them.

  Yoda shook his head. “Anticipate a capture of both, we did not. To the Temple you will bring them. If information from them we obtain, saved, lives can be. But in the end…executions, must we have.”

  “Yes, Master Yoda.” Kenobi pressed a button and the hologram disappeared. He placed both hands on the table and bowed his head for a moment.

  “Hey,” said Anakin, “this isn’t your fault.”

  Kenobi gave him a humorless chuckle. “Isn’t it? I’m the one who suggested him for the mission in the first place.”