Apocalypse (22 page)

Ben glanced toward the control panel and found Jysella holding her lightsaber with both hands, dragging it back and forth as fast as she could. He pulled a thermal detonator off his combat harness.

“Jysella!” Ben could barely hear his own voice, but it was loud enough to make Jysella look in his direction. He tossed the thermal detonator to her. “Blow it!”

Jaina suddenly leapt onto the bench, her lightsaber igniting barely in time to intercept a fork of Force lightning that came crackling out of the delivery portal. Ben spun to the other side, activating his own blade and moving in for the kill as their Sith attacker shot out into the open.

Ben did not strike.

The Sith was too familiar, a tall slender Lord with thin sneering lips, wearing a black cape over blast armor. His hands were extended in front of him, continuing to pour Force lightning into Jaina’s flagging guard even after the freight-handling system dropped him facedown on the receiving bench. Ben waved his blade past the Sith’s eyes to catch his attention, then lowered the tip to within a few centimeters of the man’s temple.

“Surrender or die,” Ben ordered. “Decide now.”

Jaina’s outrage hit like a Force blast, but Ben did not care. This was the Lord who had taken Vestara prisoner—who had been trying to use her to lure Ben into an ambush. If Ben had any chance at all of rescuing her, it lay with this Sith. So even when the man was slow to stop attacking Jaina, Ben did not kill him. Instead he placed a boot in the center of the Sith’s back and repeated his order.

“Surrender or die.”

The Lord let his chin drop, and the Force lightning fizzled out. He turned to look up at Ben.

“What is it you want, Jedi?” The words would have been soft under the best of circumstances. But with the ringing in Ben’s ears, he had to stoop down to hear them clearly. “A trade?”

Ben nodded. “The thought had crossed my mind.” It appeared it might be easier to strike a deal than he expected. “Your life for—”

“Ben!”

Ben had no time to wonder who had called out, or even to wonder
why. He simply sensed a blast of alarm, then felt Jaina grab him in the Force and Jysella reaching for his attention. In the same breath, his leg exploded in pain, and Ben looked down to see a finger-length shikkar lodged in his thigh.

The Sith used the Force to snap off the hilt, then took advantage of his victim’s shock to roll away from the lightsaber hovering at his temple. Ben lunged after him, but stopped when Jysella clutched at him through the Force.

“No, Ben!” This time, it was clearly her voice. “Detonator!”

Ben glanced over to see her backing away from the smoking control panel, one hand held above her head with two fingers raised. She lowered one finger, then flung herself away from the delivery portal. By the time he turned to do likewise, Jaina had already grabbed him in the Force and hurled them both away from the freight system.

They hit together, crashing into a shelf full of heavy boxes just before a blinding white flash filled the room. There was a thunderous crackle that seemed to last forever, and the heat grew so intense that Ben feared they had been caught inside the blast radius.

That particular fear vanished an instant later, when he dropped to the floor and drove the shikkar against his femur. His entire leg erupted into the kind of anguish that made weak men wish they were dead, and he felt his mouth open to scream.

Jaina landed at his side, her hand already clamping his mouth. “Quiet!”

She used the Force to pin him down, then raised herself up just enough to look back toward the detonation site. Shooting from the flaming delivery portal was a fountain of blood and bone—all that remained of their Sith pursuers after they passed through the wrecked deceleration rings.

“We don’t know if that mugwump cleared the blast,” Jaina said. “He might still be alive.”

Ben nodded and swallowed his unvoiced scream, then reached up and gently pulled her hand away from his mouth. “I wasn’t actually going to scream.”

Jaina eyed him doubtfully. “If you say so.”

She grabbed his leg above and below the wound, then used the
Force to start extracting the glass blade. The pain grew even more unbearable as the jagged top began to tear through muscle and sinew. Ben clamped his jaw shut, drawing on the Force for strength.

Jaina’s expression was devoid of sympathy. “You deserved that, you know.” She kept her voice low, but her tone was harsh. “What were you thinking, trying to capture a Sith Lord? In the middle of hand-to-hand combat?”

Ben couldn’t answer without risking a scream, but he had been thinking about Vestara, of course. The Lord had been using her as bait, so he probably knew what had become of her. Ben only hoped the Sith had other uses for her, too, or she would soon be dead.

Jaina continued to draw the blade out slowly, deliberately prolonging Ben’s anguish—or so it seemed to him.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “A little to the left, and you’d be dead.”

The blade slipped free with a final
pop
of tendon. The pain faded from the unendurable to the merely excruciating, and blood started to flow out of the wound, fast and dark. But Jaina was right. Had the shikkar penetrated a few centimeters to the left, it would have severed his femoral artery. Frankly, Ben could not understand how that had failed to happen. The Sith Lord had struck from an ideal angle, he had been using the Force to guide his shikkar, and he’d taken Ben completely by surprise. By all rights, Ben should have been watching the last of his life’s blood spurt out in a long, bright jet. The fact that he
wasn’t
could only mean one thing: the Sith had not wanted to kill Ben, either.

“He didn’t miss, Jaina,” Ben said. “He didn’t
want
to finish me.”

Jaina shook her head. “Don’t kid yourself, Ben. Sith don’t play nice. You shouldn’t, either.” She pulled a clean bacta patch from a belt pouch and pressed it over his wound, then took his hand and placed it on top. “Pressure.”

Ben did as she instructed. “He wasn’t being nice,” he said. “I think he wanted to take me prisoner. That’s why he went for my thigh, instead of my heart or my abdomen.”

Jaina remained silent as she secured the patch with a self-snugging bandage, then finally nodded. “Okay, you’ve got a point,” she said. “You’re Luke Skywalker’s son. You’d make a pretty good hostage.”

She slipped an arm under his shoulder and helped him to his feet. They were still looking back toward the gaping hole where the delivery portal had been, and as they watched, the familiar growling of activating control rings sounded down in the freight-handling system. A muffled scream came next, followed by a fountain of pinkish ooze that had once been a living being.

“You guys took out the deceleration series,” Jaina said. “Nice thinking.”

“Jysella’s idea,” Ben admitted. “I’m not sure she thought about goo geysers, though.”

Jaina shrugged. “It buys us enough time to join your dad and the others,” she said. “That’s what counts.”

But instead of starting forward again, Jaina paused at the edge of the aisle, no doubt looking for any sign of Ben’s attacker. Ben extended his own Force awareness into the surrounding area, searching for any hint of danger that would suggest the Sith was lying in wait for them. It certainly seemed possible that Jaina had guessed correctly about wanting to take Ben hostage, but something did not feel quite right about that. The Sith had hurt his own odds of surviving by failing to eliminate an enemy when he had the chance. And back in the waterworks, he had also taken a big risk by dangling Vestara as bait. Together the two ploys seemed like a deliberate plan, and Ben was starting to feel hunted.

Ben and Jaina were still searching for any sign of the missing Sith Lord when Jysella poked her head out of an aisle on the other side of the crater. “You’d better hurry,” she called. “They’ve got problems at the interface station.”

In the distance, an exchange of blasterfire could be heard. Evidently, the Sith out in the hangar had finally realized they had trouble in the parts locker and launched an attack.

“Be right there,” Jaina called. She slowly withdrew her support from under Ben’s arm. “Can you move on your own?”

Ben took his own weight, calling on the Force to fortify his injured leg—and using a Jedi meditation technique to handle the pain. When his knee did not buckle, he removed his arm from her shoulders.

“I’m good.” He gestured at the blaster burn in her side. “How about you?”

Jaina glanced down at the hole. “A little trouble breathing,” she said. “But not much blood loss. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ben asked. “Because if you’re having trouble breathing—”

“I’m fine,” Jaina insisted. She gave him a look that suggested she might be talking to a five-year-old. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

With that she nudged him forward, and together they limped cautiously around the crater. When no Sith Lords emerged from hiding to attack them, they fell in behind Jysella and went forward to the interface station. Luke and Master Horn were crouched behind the service counter, ducking Force lightning and trading blasterfire with a rapidly growing contingent of Sith warriors out in the repair bay. Rowdy was still plugged into the data socket, tweeting and chirping and rocking back and forth on his treads in what looked suspiciously close to frustration.

As they drew near, Ben and his two companions began to add their own fire to the storm of flying bolts, and Ben went to crouch next to his father. He fired blindly over the counter three times, then dropped out of sight as a flurry of bolts came streaking back over his head.

“Problems?” he asked.

“You could say that,” Luke replied, almost yelling to make himself heard over the screeching torrent. “Rowdy seems to think that
all
of the interface panels have been disabled.”

“So?” Ben popped his head up and saw a white orb sailing toward the parts locker. Trusting his aim to the Force, he opened fire and was rewarded with an orange fireball as the grenade detonated twenty meters from the counter. “It’s not like we can get out there to use another one anyway.”

“No,” Corran said, dropping back behind the counter with a pinging depletion alarm and ejecting his useless power cell. “You’re not understanding. It’s not just the hangar stations that are disabled. It’s all of them—in the entire Jedi Temple.”

Ben’s heart sank, but it was Jysella who asked, “Then how are we going to lower the shields? And get the blast doors open?”

No one spoke for a moment, then Ben said, “There’s only one way, at least if we want to open them all at once.” He turned toward the corner of the parts locker, where Valin Horn was still dragging his
lightsaber blade through the durasteel wall, just putting the final touches on the bolt-hole. “Rowdy needs to talk directly to the Temple computer.”

His father nodded. “We need to enter the computer core itself.” Luke signaled Ben and Jaina to lead the way toward Valin’s bolt-hole. “And you can bet the Sith will be expecting us.”

T
HE PILLARS STOOD SCATTERED ACROSS THE FACE OF THE DISTANT
mountain, their pale shafts cropping out of the blue-gray slopes like cliffs. Their columns looked a hundred stories tall, but the mysterious edifice they had been erected to support remained buried beneath a kilometer-high mound of silt. No road crossed the endless sweep of scrub-dotted plain that surrounded the dust-mountain, and no craft could be seen streaking across the orange sky above it. And yet the pillars were the sole hint of civilization in the Reo system—in the whole Maraqoo sector—so this had to be the place.

Raynar Thul eased the landspeeder forward. Though he had played an important part in several recent Jedi missions, he did not feel ready for this one. Master Skywalker had asked him to return to the Killik Colony he had once led as the Joiner UnuThul. But Raynar had literally not been himself back then. He had been a wounded combat survivor who had allowed himself to become lost in the shared mind of a Killik hive—to become a Joiner. It was an experience that had totally destroyed his sense of identity and left his mind a shattered
wreck, and Raynar continued to feel tenuous and incomplete in his recovery.

But now the Jedi were facing an enemy as enigmatic as she was powerful, and their only hope of survival was to coax some answers from the jumbled hive-minds of the Killiks.
Someone
had to convince them to reveal everything they knew about the mysterious Celestials they had once served, and Raynar was the only Jedi who could do it. So he had accepted the assignment and promised to succeed … even if it meant losing the mind he had spent eight long years trying to reassemble.

As the landspeeder drew closer to the mountain of dust, Raynar saw that the giant pillars were decorated with reliefs of winged beasts and horned fiends. Twined around the feet of these figures were ropy shapes that might have been serpents or vines.

Lowbacca, two and a quarter meters of Wookiee, hunched in the front passenger seat with his knees in his chest, growled the opinion that the vines were a good sign.

“I quite disagree, Master Lowbacca,” C-3PO said, speaking from directly behind the Wookiee. “In this context, the tendrils are symbols of inevitable destruction. If the ruins weren’t so obviously deserted, I would suggest that we turn around immediately and erase them from our memory chips.”