Ben's planetary positioning system datapad put them at about thirty kilometers west of Dor'shan. With Ithia's blessing, they un-shrouded a speeder, poked at the engine and connections to make sure they were in good working order, and started up the vehicle. Within minutes, they were nearing Dor'shan's outskirts.
“Are we going to stay and offer them any help?” Ben asked.
Luke shook his head. “We may stay for a day or two and actually relax, but they don't need help. Mistress Tila Mong is capable of handling things among the living, and Charsae Saal and Ithia among the formerly dead. And really, I doubt they want our help right now. I suspect they would be happier not seeing us for a while.”
“You're probably right. What's going to happen to the Hidden One?”
Luke thought about that for a few moments, searching among his feelings, his knowledge of the way such Force societies operated, his sense of the future. “One of two things, probably. If he gets better, if he finds a new direction for his original goal, he may end up distributing the archives of his Order, or maybe organizing groups of Baran Do to go out into the galaxy the way Master Plo Koon did. If not, if he doesn't get better … well, he'll probably stay in those caverns, maintaining them as a hideaway for the Baran Do. The place will just be a bit less secure than it used to be.”
“I wish I could feel happy for him.”
“Feel happy about the others.”
“Hey, there's something I've been meaning to do for you. I've been practicing while you weren't around.”
Luke shot his son a suspicious look. “Go ahead.”
Ben pulled his breath mask free and took a deep breath of the helium-rich Dorin atmosphere. “‘Where fields once grew, a road runs through, and buildings hide the sun,’” he sang, his voice as high and ridiculous as that of an animated Ewok in a children's broadcast.
“Ben, don't.”
“‘Where grass of green could once be seen, are only gray and brown.’”
“I hate that song under normal circumstances.”
“‘My childhood home, while I did roam, became a place of sadness.’”
“I'll just wait until you pass out.”
“‘Now I return, my heart does yearn for times of light and gladness.’”
“You'll make your throat sore.”
CALRISSIAN-NUNB MINES, KESSEL
It had been a couple of days since the pilots' expedition into Kessel's caverns, and a day since the last of the caverns not prematurely detonated had self-destructed. Things were different now.
The groundquakes had ceased. Lando's seismologists had concluded that the surface effects of cavern collapse were over for the time being. Mine workers and other inhabitants of Kessel were being returned in stages from the garrison moon.
There were no more bogeys to be seen. It seemed that their continued existence had depended on the functioning of the mysterious machinery that lined those caverns.
Lando and Tendra had filed a report about the whole affair with the Galactic Alliance government, and had been castigated for acting without consulting the authorities. Lando's company was now under strict orders not to blow up anything else on Kessel until government scientists had the opportunity to make a thorough study of the planet's underworld—a task, Han knew, that would require lifetimes just to generate preliminary conclusions.
But at the moment, no one was worried about extinct bogeys, recovering subterranean ecosystems, or the dictates of the GA government. Today a celebration filled the cafeteria of the main building, a chamber that had been little used in recent weeks.
Pilots of the three phases of the operation, seismologists, mechanics, returning miners, a recently arrived archaeological team, spouses, and children filled the room, crowding the tables. Animated, cheerful conversation, for so many years and in recent weeks a rarity on Kessel, rose as a din.
At the first table sat the Calrissians, the Solos, Nien Nunb, and several of their friends. Tendra raised a glass. “Here's to no more groundquakes, ever.”
The others raised glasses and drank. Leia, her cheeks flushed, set her tumbler down and turned to Lando. “Is that just a hope, or is that the way it is?”
“The way it is.” Clearly deeper into his cups than Leia, he leaned toward her and almost lost his balance; he braced himself against the table and sat upright again. “More caverns that have been weakened by the explosives might collapse, but the likelihood of them interacting in any way is basically nil. And the Great Kessel Fault remains stable.”
Han gave Lando a nonchalant shrug. “Stable or not, it's all your fault. Yours and Tendra's and Nien Nunb's.”
“That's right, old buddy. All our fault. We'll be exploring it next, by the way. You want to earn some easy money?”
“Noooo.” Han put an arm around Leia. “It's back to Coruscant for us. We're trying to settle down. Raise a kid.” He didn't add, And we need to do it on a world where she isn't terrified of some specter from space coming after her. Allana hadn't mentioned any further contact from the mysterious presence that had spoken to her, but just the possibility was keeping the child jittery, costing her sleep.
Lando would not be deterred. “Who knows what you'll find down there? Spiders the size of frigates. Gigantic glow rods that can light an entire solar system. Ancient Sith preserved in blocks of crystal for thousands of years.”
Han shook his head, not uneasy, just disinterested. “They're all yours.”
“Oh, well.” Lando raised his glass, gesturing to old friends and new. “My final drink of the evening, then, and my final toast for now.” Suddenly he sounded much more serious. “Kessel is a homely world without much to commend it. It's a demonstration of your generosity of spirit that you would all come here to save it. You have my respect, and my thanks.”
“And your hospitality,” Wedge said.
“And my hospitality. Here's to you.” Lando drank and set down his emptied glass. He rose and extended a hand to help Tendra up. “I'll see you off as you leave over the next few days. Those leaving tomorrow, we'll cry over our hangovers together.” Smiling, the Calrissians departed.
Han drew in one deep, satisfied breath, let it out slowly, and turned to Leia. “Home?”
“Home.”
DOR'SHAN SPACEPORT, DORIN
Dressed in fresh clothes and breathing the Coruscant-like atmosphere provided by Jade Shadow's life-support system, Ben and Luke sat in the yacht's small lounge area. Momentarily free of responsibility, they could relax for a bit. Ben sprawled in a reclining chair while Luke sped through several days' worth of holonews recordings and communications.
“What's new in the galaxy, Dad?”
“I had about a dozen queries from Cilghal. The fact that I wasn't replying had her a bit concerned … I just asked her to look into reports of Force nexuses Jacen might have heard of while he was here. Not the one on Dagobah or the one walled in at the base of the Jedi Temple. He was already aware of those. Somewhere different.”
“Nexuses. Thrilling.”
“They caught Seff Hellin. Jaina and some allies did.”
“The crazy Jedi that Aunt Leia mentioned?”
“That's the one.”
“Good.”
“Cilghal reports some abnormalities in his brain scan. A place to start her research. And—oh, excellent.”
“What?”
Luke angled the monitor screen so his son could see more clearly. It showed aged newsman Wolam Tser speaking in his usual grave manner; then the image cut to Nawara Ven, well-dressed, standing on the steps before the Courts of Justice Building, surrounded by members of the press. Luke dialed up the volume and Tser's voice could be heard: “—action initiated by advocate Nawara Ven. The High Court's ruling effectively strikes down the Chief of State's executive order, lifting many of the restrictions imposed on the Jedi Order in recent weeks.” Nawara Ven raised a fist, triumphant, and shouted silently in answer to someone's question; then the image cut back to Wolam Tser. “Chief of State Natasi Daala ha
s not yet issued a statement about the ruling. Privately, many of the observers assigned to the Jedi, whose mission came to an abrupt end this afternoon with the issuance of the ruling, have expressed dissatisfaction, claiming that the Jedi tendency toward willfulness and disregard of the law make the observers' role a crucial one. Jedi Master Kenth Hamner, asked about—” Luke dialed the volume down again.
Ben raised a fist, mimicking Nawara Ven's gesture. “That's one for us.” He saw his father take a breath and hastily added, “Yes, I know. Dangerous forces out there. The Hidden One may have been partly right. Mustn't get cocky. Dad, just for tonight—”
Luke grinned. “Just for tonight, no admonitions. No advice.”
“Thanks. Where do we go next?”
“We'll see what Cilghal tells us. Until then, we relax.”
Ben put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Relax—that he could do.
And though he was countless light-years from home, only a few weeks into his father's ten-year exile, sore from physical labor and being beaten by a combat trainer, he decided that things could be a lot worse.
It was good to be alive.
Read on for an excerpt from
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Omen
by Christie Golden
Published by Del Rey Books
ORBITING ZIOST
TWO STANDARD YEARS AGO
DICIAN FELT THE PLANET EVEN BEFORE IT APPEARED ON THE MAIN bridge monitor of the Poison Moon. She sensed it had seen her, as she now saw it, this seemingly harmless world of blue and white and green, and she smiled gently. The pale geometric tattoos on her face, which stood out in stark contrast with her dark skin tones, crinkled with the gesture. This was the destination she had beheld in her mind's eye a short while ago, the unvoiced answer to the question of what she was hoping to intercept here. She had ordered the crew of this frigate to make all speed, and only hoped she was in time.
Where are you going, charming one?
To unopened eyes and dead senses, this planet would seem a world much as any other: a world with oceans and landmasses, heavily, practically entirely forested, with two white, icecapped poles on either end. White clouds drifted lazily above it.
But it was not a world like any other.
It was Ziost. Homeworld of the Sith.
What was left of the Sith Order now remained silent and in hiding on Korriban, of course. She would return there soon, but not without the prize she had come to claim.
Dician realized she was leaning forward slightly in anticipation, and settled back in her command chair. She gently pushed her excitement down lest it interfere with her mission.
“Wayniss, take us in to orbit.” In her role as an intelligence gatherer, the light, musical tone of her voice often deceived others into thinking her much, much more harmless than she was. Her crew knew better.
“Aye, Captain,” the chief pilot of the Poison Moon replied. Wayniss was a laconic man, not at all Force-sensitive, pleased enough to do as he was told in exchange for the generous pay he was receiving. In his own way, the graying ex-pirate was as fair, honorable, and hardworking as many so-called upstanding citizens. He had done well by Dician on this mission already.
“Any sign of the meditation sphere?” she asked Ithila, her sensor officer. Ithila leaned forward, her face, which would have been beautiful in the traditionally Hapan manner if not for the horrific burn scar that marred the right side, furrowed in concentration.
“Negative,” Ithila replied as Ziost appeared in the forward viewports and the Poison Moon settled into orbit around it. “No indication of it on the planet surface.” She turned to regard her captain. “Looks like we beat it here.”
Dician smiled again. No mistakes. All that remained was to capture the small vessel itself.
Dician settled in to wait, her dark eyes on the slowly turning planet in front of her. It gazed back at her, and she felt a tug in her heart. She wanted to land the Poison Moon, to walk Ziost's forests as other Sith had done in ages past. But that was not why they were here. She must think of the good of the One, the Order, above her own yearnings. One day, perhaps, she would stand upon the surface of this world. But that day would not be today.
They did not have long to wait. Only a few moments later, Ithila said, “Picking it up on long-range sensors, Captain.”
Dician sat up straighter in her chair. “You have all served well and brilliantly. Now, as our smuggler pilot might say, it is time to close this deal.”
It was time for her, Dician, to be perfect. She could not afford a mistake now.
She felt it even as Ithila transmitted the image to her personal viewscreen. There it was, the Sith meditation sphere. She regarded it for a moment, taking it in—the spherical shape, the orange-yellow-red hue, the twin sets of bat-like wings on either side of it. It resembled an enormous eye.
“Hello again, charming one,” she said in her most pleasant voice.
Silence from the sphere.
“As you see, we have anticipated your arrival. Why have you come to Ziost?”
Home.
The voice was inside her head, masculine and intensely focused. A little thrill of exhilaration shivered through Dician. This was not a pet to be coaxed, but a mount to be broken. It respected strength and will.
Dician had plenty of both.
There is a better place for you than on an abandoned world. Dician did not speak the words. Her melodic voice was no asset in this negotiation; the focus and strength of her thoughts were.
The vessel continued its approach to Ziost, not wavering in the slightest, but Dician sensed she had its attention. It would listen.
You are a Sith meditation sphere. Come with me to where the Sith are now. Serve us, as you were designed to do. She let herself visualize Korriban as it was now: with not just two Sith, but many who were One, with apprentices in need of focus and training in the power of the dark side if they were to achieve the glory and power that were rightfully theirs.
“It's slowing its approach,” Ithila said. “It's come to a full halt.”
Dician didn't bother to tell the Hapan woman that she already knew that; that she was intimately connected with this meditation sphere, this … Ship.
It seemed particularly interested in the younglings, and she understood that this had been the focus of its design. To protect and educate apprentices. To prepare them for their destinies.
You will come to Korriban. You will serve me, Dician, and you will teach the younglings. You will fulfill your intended purpose.
This was the moment upon which everything hinged. She sensed scrutiny from the vessel. Dician was unashamed of her strengths and let it see her freely. It sensed her will, her drive, her passions, her desire for perfection.
Perfection, said Ship. It mulled over the word.
Nothing less serves the dark side fully, Dician replied. You will help me to attain perfection for the Sith.
Perfection cannot be obtained by hiding.
Dician blinked. This had caught her by surprise. It is wisdom. We will stay isolated, grow strong, and then claim what is ours.
Ship considered. Doubt gnawed at the corner of Dician's mind like a gizka. She crushed it utterly, ruthlessly, and poured all her will into the demand.
The Jedi grow strong and numerous. It is not time to hide. I will not serve. I will find a better purpose.
She felt it shut down in her mind, close itself off to her in what was tantamount to a dismissal. Dician felt her cheeks grow hot. How could it have refused?
“Captain,” said Ithila, “The ship has resumed course to Ziost.”
“I can see that,” Dician snapped, and Ithila stared openly. Ship was a rapidly disappearing sphere on her screen, and as she watched it was lost to sight.
Dician returned her attention to her crew, who, she realized, were all looking at her with confused expressions on their faces. She took a deep, steadying breath.
“The vessel would not have been appropriate for us,�
�� she said, her pleasant voice challenging anyone to disagree. “Its programming is antiquated and outdated. Our original message was successful. It is time to pick up the shuttle crews and return home. Plot a course through hyperspace for Omega Three Seven Nine,” she instructed Wayniss. He turned around and his fingers flew lightly over the console.
The Poison Moon's original mission had not been to recover Ship, as Dician had begun thinking of the sphere. Dician had initially been sent to track down a Twi'lek woman named Alema Rar and her base of operations. Rar had somehow inherited a lost Force technique that enabled her to project phantoms across space. Dician had been ordered to destroy both the woman and the dark side energy source lest either fall into Jedi hands. And then she had been forced to choose between two unexpected prizes.
When the Poison Moon arrived at Alema Rar's base, coming in stealth, Dician had discovered they were not alone. One of the two vessels already at the asteroid was none other than the Millennium Falcon. Subsequent observations of her operations revealed that it was more than likely her notorious owner Han Solo was piloting her—and quite possibly his wife, Leia Organa, traitor to the noble name of Skywalker, was with him. Her crews had placed bombs on the asteroid that had been Alema's base, and Dician, not about to let such a victory slip away, was turning her attention to the destruction of the Corellian freighter.
But before Dician could issue the orders to detonate the bombs and attack the Falcon, Ship had emerged from the base—without Alema Rar.
Dician had made the decision to follow and attempt to capture Ship, forgoing an attack on the Falcon. She had ordered the bombs to detonate and the crews that had placed them to await her return on the largest asteroid in the system, designated Omega 379. No doubt they were anticipating her swift return.
Dician pressed her full lips together. She had chosen tracking Ship over blowing the Millennium Falcon out of the skies. She had done exactly what she had threatened her crew not to do—made a mistake. And now she could claim neither victory.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Outcast Page 31