The odds were against him — but there was little else that Kyle could do. He fought his way into the cockpit, dropped into the pilot's position, and hit the emergency bypass switch. Alarms sounded and lights flashed as the vessel's nay computer took exception to the breach in protocol. Freed from normal safety procedures and responding to the Rebel's prayers, the engines came to life.
Kyle bit his lip, hit the emergency release button, and felt the vessels part company. The application of power, plus a turn to port, increased the distance between them. The agent pulled back on the control yoke, saw a flash as the cargo ship corkscrewed into the ground, and fought for altitude.
The Crow shook violently, rattled Kyle's teeth, and slammed into a rocky spire. The port engine sheared off, the nose dropped, and the ground rushed up to meet her. The hull hit, bounced, and started to slide.
Kyle thought about the safety harness, wished he was buckled in, and felt his head strike the control panel. The Rebel was unconscious by the time the ship skidded to a halt. The dream, if it was a dream, seemed incredibly real.
Rahn smiled as if welcoming Kyle home. He wore a cream-colored robe with a hood that fell in folds across his shoulders. "That which is flows from that which was. The best way to learn is to feel what it was like."
The Jedi faded from view, and Kyle became aware that another mind coexisted with his. Though seemingly unaware of him, he was aware of it, and all that it contained. There were memories of a youth spent exploring the stars, a passion for a woman long dead, and a planet frosted with ice and snow. There was a weariness as well, for the mind was very, very old.
But evil cares little for age or infirmity. It grows where it can, sinking its roots deep into the rich fertilizer of ego, lust, greed, envy, and hatred, sending new shoots to the surface where they form a tangle from which nothing can escape. That's why Tal had taken his lightsaber down from its place above the hearth — and joined the Army of Light. "Tal? Are you awake?"
It wasn't until the Jedi opened his eyes that Kyle realized they'd been closed. A man sat across from him: a giant of a man with shoulder-length blond hair, a lantern-shaped jaw, and ice-blue eyes. They twinkled merrily. "There you are — I was afraid you'd sleep through the surrender."
Tat chose his words with care. Hoth might be a Jedi, and a great one at that, but many voices vied for his attention. So many it was difficult for the big man to sort them out. Which was why Tal reserved his council for only the most important issues — and chose his words with care. "There won't be a surrender — not today, at any rate."
Lord Hoth's face grew dark as if hidden from the sun. "You try my patience, old one. We conjured an army from nothing . . . We turned freighters into warships . . . We traveled through many systems, conquered all that the dark ones placed in our way, and arrived on Ruusan. Here we fought seven terrible battles . . . Battles in which thousands of Jedi died. In spite of their superior numbers, in spite of their brutality; in spite of their willingness to invoke the dark side of the Force, the Brotherhood of Darkness lost all but two of those engagements. Only one choice remains to them . . . and that's surrender. Why deny the obvious?"
Tal shrugged. "Because what we consider to be unthinkable they will accomplish in a heartbeat."
"What?" Hoth demanded. "What do you fear? Put a name to it. I cannot act on a single being's forebodings . . . no matter how trusted that individual may be."
Tal searched for the words that would explain his misgivings and came up empty. "I'm sorry, sire . . . it's a feeling. Nothing less and nothing more."
Hoth shook his head irritably. "I'm surrounded by every sort of sycophant, soothsayer, and clairvoyant. A pox on the lot of you .. . Come, it's time to go."
Tal used the arms of the campaign chair to push himself up and out of the seat. He bowed. "I pray that I am wrong, sire, for nothing would please me more. I will be at your side no matter the outcome."
Hoth smiled and took the old man's hand. "I know and take strength from it. Come . . . history awaits."
The Jedi leader collected his lightsaber, threw his cape back over a shoulder, and strode into the sunshine. The Army of Light saw him emerge, and a thousand voices roared his name.
Tal took one last look around the inside of the tent, knew he would never see it again, and hobbled toward the entrance.
It took the better part of the morning to pull the troops together, march up the winding road, and enter the Valley. Tal was thankful for the fact that the going was slow, since age had robbed his once-responsive body of its strength and quickness.
But not his mind. If anything, it was stronger, anchored by more than eighty years of experience and alert to the slightest stirring of the Force. Tal could feel what the Dark Ones had achieved. The Force seemed to congeal like blood in a wound, to thicken the air around them, to press against their chests.
The others felt it, too, for they were Jedi and wise in the ways of the Force. Expressions turned grim, muscles strained against the invisible burden, and the air crackled with unreleased energy.
Poles appeared along both sides of the road. Each bore the scavenger-pecked remains of a Jedi — their clothes filled with momentary life as the wind pushed in to explore them.
Cliffs crowded the road and served as vantage points from which the
Dark Ones could watch. Their ranks were thinner now, much thinner, but no less intimidating. Their banners flapped languidly in the breeze, their eyes projected hate, and their hands rested on well-worn weapons. For these were the survivors, the beings so skilled at mental-physical combat that seven hard-fought battles had not only failed to bring them down but served to hone their skills. Tal knew that they were — and would always be — dangerous.
A double row of heads appeared, one to each side of the road, many still recognizable. Tal saw one of his students, her eyes empty of the humor for which she'd been known, and felt a deep sense of sorrow. He thought about Hoth, about begging the Jedi Master to call the whole thing off, but knew it was useless. The same determination that made Hoth a great leader would result in his downfall. Nothing could turn him . . . nothing but death itself.
The chambers, almost as large as the ego they had been created for, stretched for miles. Their location deep within the ground had proven to be bomb proof, missile proof, and assault proof. Up till now, that is. More than a thousand battle-torn flags hung from the walls — many of which still bore the blood of those who had carried them.
The leaders to whom the flags had been entrusted, or what remained of those leaders, were arrayed before the flags. Some were human —many were not. Their eyes were blank, their cavities were filled with preservatives, and their bodies were supported by steel rods.
The trophies stood in two inward-facing ranks and formed the letter V. Kaan sat at the point where the lines came together on a throne made of bones. He had white hair, a prominent forehead, and a finely pointed chin. Power radiated away from the Jedi like heat off a sun-baked rock. It caused the air to shimmer, sent static through pocket comms, and hurt unprotected minds. His eyes were filled with hatred and probed the beings in front of him. "They come."
Kaan's second, third, and fourth in command were dead, killed during hellacious battles of the past few weeks. Number five, the Jedi known as LaTor, stepped forward and bowed. Kyle bowed with him. "Yes, my lord. They come."
"We have no way to stop them? No strategy for salvation?"
LaTor, half his face obscured by a blood-stained bandage, shook his head. "No, my lord, none I am aware of."
"Then we must create one! Surrender is unthinkable. Assemble my Jedi."
"Yes, my lord."
It took the better part of two hours to spread the word, to bring what remained of the Brotherhood into chambers, and to settle them down.
Once assembled, the Dark Army was woefully small. Less than two thousand Jedi compared to ten times that number that had followed Kaan into the first few battles. Still, small though they were in number, these were th
e smartest, strongest, and most powerful of the lot, for the rest were dead, having been overpowered by Hoth and the Army of Light. The air hummed with barely controlled energy. Kaan stood and the chambers fell silent. His eyes roamed the audience, found those he knew to be leaders, and claimed their minds.
"Greetings, brethren . . . and welcome to darkness. Our great and noble cause has come to an end. The forces who favor anarchy over structure have won. For what is this 'democracy' they speak of if not the absence of order? Of reason? Surely the strong, should rule — for that is nature's way.
"But we must forget what could have been — and focus on what is. Defeat looms only hours away and with it, the loss of all we had hoped for. I ask that you join me in one last task. The creation of a weapon so powerful that when it is detonated, the victors shall become the vanquished and be swept from the pages of history."
Kaan was a skilled orator and knew when to stop. The chambers fell silent. LaTor allowed the silence to build . . . and broke it with the traditional salute. "Kaan rules!"
The answer came like thunder and echoed off the chamber walls. "Kaan rules!"
And so the decision was made to place death before life. More than a thousand highly trained minds were focused on a single task. First came the creation of a mental construct that was analogous to a bomb casing. A container in which energy could be stored. Then came the process of turning the Force inside out, of tapping the darkness within and channeling that energy into the newly created vessel.
Time hung suspended, the air crackled with barely suppressed energy, and three of the Jedi died, their minds overcome by the violence of the process. Others went insane, rose with weapons drawn, and were executed by the master-at-arms.
Kyle was a novice compared to those around him and might have been killed if it hadn't been for LaTor and the other Jedi's strength. For LaTor was strong, very strong, and Kyle was impressed by the power resident in the dark side. The power and the relative ease of access .. . a temptation for anyone with the necessary talent.
Finally, their robes soaked with sweat and their hearts beating like trip hammers, the Brotherhood was done. The thought bomb was complete. The time had come to venture out into the sunlight, to embrace the victors and drag them into hell.
The final confrontation came in the Valley located above the chambers. It was there, in an amphitheater carved by the forces of wind, rain, and erosion, that the Brotherhood of Darkness had assembled and waited for death.
And it was into the Valley that Tal dragged his aching body, knowing that death hovered nearby but determined to protect his master's back.
And it was there that Kaan, the Lord of Darkness, met Hoth, Defender of the Light, and gestured to the cliffs that rose on every side.
"Welcome, Lord Hoth. Welcome to the grave and darkness from which none will ever emerge."
The thought was relatively trivial, much as the pressure exerted by a marksman represents only a fraction of his total strength but has the capacity to destroy that which he could never create.
The explosion that followed was anything but trivial, however, for it shattered the construct made to contain it and filled the Valley with destruction. Tal reeled under the impact, felt his body snatched away, and was thrown toward the stars. Joy filled his heart. Freedom! He was free from pain . . free from .. .
Nature abhors a vacuum, however, and the emptiness at the heart of the explosion bad to he filled with something, so it sucked Tal in. Tal and all the rest. Understanding filled the Jedi's mind. His screams were nearly lost among the others. "No! Please! No!"
But the matter was settled. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and consistent with that law, both armies were pulled back in. A state of equilibrium was achieved as force matched force, and they were trapped. Thrown together for eternity . . . or until something disrupted the existing balance.
Tal, and his alter ego, Kyle, were still in the process of absorbing that, of understanding it, when the Rebel awoke.
Chapter 6
Kyle awoke to pain, more pain than he had ever felt before and more pain than he wanted to feel again. So much pain that it took a moment to realize that it belonged to him — and not his alter ego, Tal.
The Rebel opened his eyes, saw stars twinkling high above, and felt cold night air enter his lungs. He tried to sit. What felt like a six centimeter-long needle passed through his skull and entered his brain. He groaned and leaned on an elbow.
That's when Boc shuffled forward — and Kyle realized that others were present. His heart sank. The Imperials had entered the Crow and dragged him clear. The worm-head? It didn't matter. The female was present, her mouth pressed into a hard straight line, as was the Jedi Kyle had battled on Sulon and subsequently spared. The same one who had located the missing patrol? Yes, the personality felt the same. Their eyes met, held, and broke as Boc brought a lightsaber out from under his cloak.
"My, my . . . such a nasty crash . . . You're lucky to be alive . . . or are you? Oh, what's this? A lightsaber — no, not just any lightsaber, but your lightsaber, and a pretty piece of work it is."
Boc placed the weapon on a flat piece of shale, grabbed a rock, and raised it over his head.
Kyle tried to rise, made it to one knee, and paused as pain filled his head.
Boc grinned. "Yes? Did you want something? No? Well, let's see how sturdy this saber really is . . ."
So saying, the alien Jedi brought the rock down with all his strength. There was a crunching sound, and pieces of saber flew in every direction.
Boc chuckled. "Blast! They just don't make 'em like they used to . . . Oh well, it's not as if you built the weapon yourself. That would take brains."
Sariss drew her weapon and flicked the switch. The air popped and sizzled. "Enough ... Tell Jerec that we located Katarn and put him down."
Boc glanced from Sariss to Kyle and placed a hand over his mouth. "Oops! That doesn't sound very promising, does it? But what did you expect? Milk and cookies?"
The Jedi broke into peals of laughter, turned, and shuffled away. Sariss turned toward Kyle and raised her weapon.
Kyle looked into the glow and thought about Jan. Was she dead? Would they be together?
Sariss tightened her grip and brought the weapon down.
Yun saw everything in slow motion, felt himself respond, and wondered why. Had he made a decision? There was no memory of one . . . Not a single decision, anyway, just a long chain of seemingly minor decisions, which, taken together, added up to an important decision. The lightsaber seemed to ignite on its own. If his aim was good, if the training paid off, he would nick his mentor's arm. She would miss — and Katarn would be spared. Not for long, probably — but he couldn't control that.
Blood flew as energy sliced through flesh. Startled by the attack, and reacting instinctively, Sariss turned. Her lightsaber rose, fell, and sliced through Yun's shoulder. The younger Jedi looked surprised, gave a gasp of pain, and sank to his knees.
Sariss was horrified. Yun, her best student and the closest thing she had to a friend, was dying. Why? It was impossible, yet there he was, kneeling before her. She screamed for a medic, and the echoes seemed to mock her. Yun's head came up. His eyes saw through her. "Sariss, can you see the light? How bright it is?" Then he was gone. He leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground and then fell on his side.
Kyle saw Sariss turn her back in his direction, saw Yun drop the lightsaber, and used the Force to "grab" it. The weapon made a slapping sound as it hit the palm of his hand. The Rebel pushed up through the pain, fought a wave of dizziness, and thumbed the unfamiliar switch.
Each lightsaber was as unique as the sentient who built it — and Yun's was no exception. It came equipped with what Kyle's fencing instructor would have called a "modified pistol grip" — meaning that carefully cast projections echoed the human hand and gave his index finger a place to rest.
Not only that, but the grip was made from a highly malleable "live" polymer
that explored Kyle's hand and morphed into a solid, highly customized grip. Kyle had never dreamed of such a thing but immediately fell in love with it.
The Rebel raised the weapon into the traditional "on-guard" position and could almost hear the Academy's fencing instructor. He had a squeaky high-pitched voice: "Keep your head up, look at your opponent, and check your balance. The point should be at eye level — or slightly lower —like so .. ." A steel blade differs from a lightsaber, of course . . . but many of the same techniques apply.
Sariss turned. Her eyes burned with anger. There was more than enough time. No cut would be fatal in and of itself, but each added to all the rest would result in a painful death. Then, after his life force had been released and his blood had mingled with the sand, she would take his head. Not that it would compensate for the pain in her arm or the ache in her heart.
Kyle swallowed, knowing his opponent was more experienced than he, and then suddenly reeled under the impact of a mental attack. This battle would be fought on two planes. One mental, the other physical — just like the ones in his "dream."
The Jedi accessed the knowledge gained from the long-dead Tal, blocked the mental strike and answered with an attack of his own. He launched a head cut from the third position, flexed his wrist, and extended his arm.
Though a good deal lighter than its metal counterpart, the Jedi energy weapon possessed similar characteristics. It could penetrate like a rapier and cut like a saber. A double-edged saber.
Sariss blocked the mental blow, wondered where Katarn had garnered such knowledge, and found herself under attack. Her opponent's skill was a surprise — and reminded her that this was no ordinary Rebel.
There were various ways to defend against his attack. Sariss chose parry five followed by a well-practiced riposte. Her blade passed under Katarn's, buzzed as it passed through the outer corona of the field created by his blade, and lunged toward his chest.
Jedi Knight Page 11
