Abyss (2 page)

Cilghal extended a web-fingered hand first to Leia, then to Han, and spoke in her rippling Mon Calamari voice. “Jedi Solo, Captain Solo, thank you for coming. I trust you were able to find someone to watch Amelia on such short notice?”

“No problem,” Han said. “Barv’s keeping an eye on her.”

“Barv?” Tekli squeaked. “As in, Bazel Warv?”

“Yeah, Amelia just loves the big guy.” Han smiled. “I’m beginning to think that girl’s going to marry a Ramoan when she grows up.”

The glance that Tekli shot up at Cilghal was almost imperceptible, as was the answering dip from the Mon Calamari’s near eye—but not quick enough to escape the notice of a former diplomat.

“Is that a problem?” Leia asked. “Barv has always been very good with her.”

“I truly doubt there’s anything to worry about,” Cilghal said. “It’s just that the only link we’ve been able to establish among patients is one of association.”

“What kind of association?” Han asked.

“Age and location,” Tekli supplied. “All four victims were among the students hidden in Shelter.”

Leia nodded. Shelter was the secret base where the Jedi had sequestered their young during the last part of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong. Located deep inside the Maw cluster of black holes and cobbled together from the remnants of an abandoned weapons lab, it had been a gloomy place to care for young Jedi—and now, it appeared, perhaps a dangerous one.

“Are you thinking environmental toxins?” Leia asked.

“We decontaminated the place pretty well,” Han added. “But I suppose we could have missed something. The Imperials were making some strange stuff there.”

Cilghal spread her hands. “It’s impossible to say. At the moment, all we have is a simple observation.” She lowered an admonishing eye toward her assistant. “The sample is too small to establish a statistical correlation.”

“True, but it’s the only firm link we have,” Tekli countered. “And whether it’s causative or not, Bazel
does
associate closely with both Valin and Jysella.”

“Yeah, along with Yaqeel Saav’etu,” Han said. “I’ve heard Barv call the four of them ‘the Unit.’ ”

Leia raised a brow. “Did this Unit include Seff?” She glanced up and saw that Seff was still staring at his hands; in the adjacent cell, Natua continued to worry at her lock. “Or Natua?”

“Not that I ever heard,” Han said.

Tekli confirmed this with a shake of her golden-furred head.

“You see?” Cilghal asked. “There are plenty of facts and connections, but which are significant? Are any?”

“If anyone can sort it out, it’s you,” Leia said. “In the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with being careful.”

“Of course not,” Cilghal said. “So if you’d rather return to Amelia right away—”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Leia interrupted. “Artoo-Detoo is there, and he has standing orders to contact us if anything starts to look out of the ordinary. And we’re very eager to help you.”

“Yeah.” Han glanced toward the cell block. “Judging by the looks of those two up there, you need it.”

“Thank you.” Cilghal turned and waved them toward the cell block. “But actually, the reason I asked you here is that Seff has begun to improve.”

Han looked doubtful. “So he
didn’t
tear up his hands punching walls?”

“He did,” Cilghal admitted.

“But he
has
stopped,” Leia noted. “Is that the improvement?”

Cilghal nodded. “A few days after we isolated them from the Force, both Seff and Natua began to exhibit symptoms of violent psychological withdrawal. Seff’s present calmness suggests he may have entered a recovery phase.”

“Wait a minute.” Han cast an uneasy look toward Leia. “You mean they’re
addicted
to the Force?”

“All we know is that there
appears
to be a connection,” Cilghal said carefully.

“We’re wondering if the Force acts as some sort of carrier for the madness,” Tekli explained. “Or maybe a trigger.”

Cilghal fixed a disapproving eye on her assistant. “That’s all speculation at this stage, of course.” The other eye swung toward Leia—a Mon Calamari ability that Leia still found a bit unsettling. “So far, we haven’t been able to confirm either the withdrawal or the recovery.”

“And that’s why you need us?” Leia surmised.

Cilghal nodded. “We’d like to conduct a furtive encephaloscan to determine just how calm Seff truly is—”

“And you want us to distract him,” Han finished.

“Would you mind?” Cilghal asked. “We can’t establish a baseline stress pattern unless we keep his attention focused elsewhere. And you’re the best con artists in the Temple.”

“On
Coruscant,
” Han corrected, a bit too proudly. He hitched a thumb toward C-3PO. “But Goldenrod here isn’t going to be much help tricking anyone. Why’d you want
him
along?”

“Natua has been hissing as she works,” Tekli explained. “I’m beginning to think she’s talking to herself.”

“That’s entirely possible,” C-3PO offered. “The phonetics of many reptilian languages have sibilant root patterns. I’d be happy to assist you in identifying the language, if you wish.”

“A translation would be much more useful,” Tekli said. “It might be helpful to know what she’s saying.”

“See-Threepio is entirely at your disposal,” Leia said to Cilghal. “As are Han and I.”

Cilghal thanked them and led the way to the Asylum Block. Tekli disappeared into the control room to retrieve a pair of stun sticks for
the Solos and a tranquilizer pistol for Cilghal, then announced she would join them with the encephaloscanner once Seff was distracted. Leia and Han secured the stun sticks in the small of their backs, under their belts, then followed Cilghal to a turbolift and ascended to the second-story catwalk.

The cells arrayed along the catwalk were clearly designed to confine rather than punish, for they were furnished with flowform couches, holographic entertainment centers, and privacy-screened refreshers. Judging by the muffled screel of fingernails coming through the second door, the distinction of purpose was no comfort to Natua Wan.

The first door stood open. Inside the cell, a tall, powerful-looking human Jedi sat meditating, with an upturned palm resting on one knee and a wrist stump on the other. On the floor beside him rested an artificial hand, palm-up, with the thumb and middle finger touching. Dozens of surgeries and skin grafts had repaired his burn scars to the point where his face looked merely plastic instead of horrific, but his ears remained flat and misshapen, and the bristly texture of his short blond hair betrayed its synthetic origins.

As the group approached his door, the Jedi’s blue eyes popped open, fixing first on Leia, then Han. “Princess Leia, Captain Solo,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You, too, Raynar,” Han said. “You doing okay in here?”

“Very well,” Raynar said. “Thank you.”

A sad reminder of the price young Jedi too often paid for their service to the galaxy, Raynar Thul had gone missing on the same strike mission that had claimed the life of the Solos’ youngest son, Anakin. Years later, Raynar had reappeared as UnuThul, the badly disfigured, insane Joiner who was leading the Killik Colony’s expansion into the Chiss territories. Fortunately, Raynar had not proven too powerful to capture alive, and he had been residing in the Asylum Block for more than seven years while Cilghal helped him put his mind back together.

Had Natasi Daala been the Galactic Alliance Chief of State at the time, Raynar would probably have been frozen in carbonite and hung up in the nearest detention center—just as Valin and Jysella Horn had been when they fell ill. And that thought made Leia about as angry as a wampa in a sauna. Anyone whose mind came undone
because of what they had suffered for the Alliance deserved to be nurtured back to health, not labeled a “danger to society” and treated like wall art.

Leia stopped at the entrance to Raynar’s cell. “Hello, Raynar. Cilghal has told us how much progress you’ve made.” Actually, the Mon Calamari had told the Solos that all that remained was for
Raynar
to realize he was recovered. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’m free to visit the commissary myself,” Raynar said. He glanced toward the adjacent cell, where Natua was still scratching at her door, then grinned a bit mischievously. “Unless you care to do something about all that racket? It’s enough to drive a man crazy.”

“No problem,” Han said, reaching for the control pad on the exterior of the cell. “It’ll be quieter if we close this—”

“On second thought,” Raynar interrupted, “I may be growing fond of the noise.”

Han smirked. “I
thought
that might fix your problem.”

“You should apply for therapist credentials, dear,” Leia said drily. She turned to Raynar. “But seriously, Raynar, if the noise bothers you, why don’t you just change your quarters?”

Raynar’s eyes widened as much as his rigid brows would allow. “Leave my cell?”

“The door has been open for quite some time,” Cilghal said. “And if matters continue to deteriorate with the younger Jedi, we may be needing your room.”

“There are plenty of empty quarters up on the dormitory level,” Han prompted.

Raynar retrieved his artificial hand, then rose and stepped toward the door. “Would I be welcome?”

“That depends,” Han said with a smirk. “Are you going to do your own chores?”

“The days when I considered myself above doing chores are long past, Captain Solo.” Raynar’s tone was more distracted than indignant, as though he was so consumed in thought that he had failed to notice Han was joking. He stood at the door, considering his options, then shrugged and began to reattach his artificial hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if
they’re
ready.”

Leia started to suggest there was only one way to find out, but before she could speak Raynar started toward the interior of his cell. Cilghal shook her head in disappointment, Han sighed, and Leia bit her lip in frustration.

“Relax,” Raynar called over his shoulder. “I’m just going to pack. I
have
been here awhile, you know.”

Leia’s relief was bittersweet. As happy as she was to see Raynar leaving his cell, it made her wish that incarceration and rehabilitation had been possible for her son Jacen. But Jacen had been too powerful to capture and too destructive to leave free, and in the end there had been no choice except to hunt him down.

There had been no choice
.

Leia reminded herself of that almost daily. Yet she knew that she and Han would go to their graves asking why they had not seen Jacen’s peril in time to save him, why they had not realized until it was too late that their son was falling to the dark side.

Once Raynar had begun to pack his few possessions, Cilghal smiled and led the way down the catwalk again. As they passed the next cell, Natua stopped scratching at her door locks and pressed herself to the transparisteel, her narrow eyes fixed on Han. A ruddy flush began to creep up her delicate face scales, and she slid a hand along the wall, reaching out in his direction.

“Captain Solo.” Even through the electronic speaker that relayed the words to the catwalk, Natua’s voice was soft and cajoling. Leia was just glad that the Falleen’s powerful attraction pheromones were safely trapped inside her own cell. “Please … get me out of here. They’re hurting me.”

“Not as much as you’re hurting yourself,” Han said, pointing to the crimson streaks that her bloody fingertips were leaving on the wall. “Sorry, Nat. You need to stay here and let them help you.”

“
This
isn’t help!” Natua slapped the wall so hard that the resulting
pung
caused C-3PO to stumble back into the safety rail. She began to curse in the strange hissing language Tekli had mentioned earlier.
“Sseorhstki hsuzma sahaslatho Shi’ido hsesstivaph!”

“Oh my!” exclaimed C-3PO. “Jedi Wan is promising to kill Captain Solo and his fellow imposters in a terribly unpleasant way. Fortunately,
it appears that she hasn’t thought through her plan very well. I don’t even
have
intestines.”

“Then you recognize the language?” Leia asked.

“Of course,” C-3PO said. “Ancient Hsoosh is still the Language of Ceremony in the best houses of Falleen.”

“Language of Ceremony?” Han echoed. “Like one they’d use to make formal vows?”

“Precisely,” C-3PO said. “The elite classes have kept it alive for more than two thousand standard years to distinguish—”

“Threepio, that’s not important at the moment,” Leia interrupted. She could tell by the way Han was clenching his jaw that he was truly disturbed to have a mad Jedi making death vows against them. A lecture on the history of ancient Hsoosh just might be enough to make
him
yank out C-3PO’s inner machinery. “Wait here and let us know what else Natua has to say.”

C-3PO acknowledged the command, and Leia and Han followed Cilghal to the next cell. Seff had moved to the far corner, where he was kneeling, facing away from the door with his battered hands on his thighs. The barely perceptible rise and fall of his shoulders suggested that he was meditating, perhaps trying to calm his troubled mind and make sense of what had been happening to him.

Cilghal glanced back down the catwalk toward the turbolift, where Tekli was waiting with what looked like a meter-long recording rod that ended in a large parabolic antenna. When the Chadra-Fan nodded her readiness, Cilghal stepped closer to Seff’s cell and rapped gently on the wall.

Seff, a sturdily built young man with square shoulders and light curly hair, answered without looking away from the corner. “Yes, Master Cilghal?”

His voice came from the small relay speaker near the door, and when Cilghal answered, she angled her mouth toward the tiny microphone beneath it.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

“It’s …” Seff struggled for an explanation, then finally said, “It’s
always
you … or Tekli. And Tekli wouldn’t reach that high when she knocked.” He shrugged. “So, to answer the question clearly on your
mind: no, I have not yet developed the ability to touch the Force through an ysalamiri void-bubble.”