Fate of the Jedi: Backlash

by Aaron Allston

  “Of course.”

  As they left the office and headed toward the lift accessing the main entrance level, Dorvan tried again. “Chief Daala wants you to understand that she is as devoted as anyone to eliminating the remnants of slaver mentality from the galaxy.”

  “Yes, yes.” Saar fidgeted, and as soon as the door opened to give them access to the turbolift, he darted inside.

  Dorvan followed. “But she does have many other demands on her attention and resources, of course.”

  “Of course. Main level.” The turbolift doors dropped into place, and the lift descended.

  Dorvan felt a flash of impatience. Saar normally played the verbal-politics game with skill and enthusiasm. Now it seemed he couldn’t be bothered. “So perhaps you could put together a proposal for a cooperative effort between the Jedi and the government, using resources of both, for her to evaluate. Achieve both our ends. Perhaps engender a greater feeling of cooperation between us than we’ve experienced recently.”

  Saar turned to look at him, a stare of evaluation. Dorvan felt unsettled by it. It was as if the Jedi were staring through a magnifying lens at him, discovering for the first time that Dorvan belonged to a hitherto unknown species. But he merely said, “Good idea.”

  The turbolift stopped and the door shot up. Saar stepped out into the building’s main entrance hall. To the right, a hundred meters away, was sunlight. Between here and that exit were innumerable cross-corridors, doors into offices, bustling politicians, ambling protocol droids.

  Saar set off at a rapid walk in the direction of the exit. Dorvan struggled to keep up with him. “Jedi Saar, let me speak frankly. Tensions between the Jedi Order and the government are damaging both. It behooves us to go out of our way to find common ground. To calm things down before something sparks a tragedy. Before our differences become irreconcilable. If the heads of both groups cannot find this common ground, perhaps lower ranks can. Yes?”

  “Yes.” Saar sounded not in the least interested.

  And it was then, finally, that Dorvan realized what he was seeing, what he was hearing. The realization was almost like being hit by a stun beam—though in this case, it was a wash of fear rather than energy.

  If he was right in his guess, he was in more danger at this minute than he had been in years.

  But he had to know.

  He thought back over recent events, over the odd behavior of other Jedi, and finally he said, “You’re probably wondering what I’ve done with the real Wynn Dorvan.”

  If Dorvan was wrong, if Saar’s behavior had some more innocuous explanation, Dorvan could explain the comment away as a figure of speech.

  Saar stopped and spun to face Dorvan. Suddenly his lightsaber, unlit, was in his right hand. His eyes were wide—not with fear, but with the awareness of a man ready to enter combat, taking in as much visual data as he could.

  Dorvan stopped, too, uneasily aware that a single wrong move might lead to his death. He felt as if a heavy weight were resting on his chest. It was difficult to breathe. “Jedi Saar, I’m unarmed.”

  Saar seemed to disappear. Dorvan blinked and realized that Saar was still before him, now a dozen meters away and running at such speed that he appeared to blur as he headed for the exit. There was a shriek as the Jedi brushed past an aide carrying a precariously balanced stack of datacards; the cards went flying in an arc, clattering to the stone floor of the hallway.

  Dorvan grabbed his comlink. “Lockdown, lockdown!”

  Those words, broadcast by his comlink, triggered an instant and automated response in the building’s security system. The sunlight ahead suddenly narrowed as blast doors began a rapid close-and-seal. A low, bone-rattling alarm tone began cycling.

  The blur that was Jedi Saar suddenly became even harder to focus on as he raced to the exit, diving through the closing doors when there was less than a meter’s gap between them.

  Dorvan cursed.

  “Dorvan, this is Captain Brays in security. What is—”

  “Jedi male, Chev, leaving main entrance, dark robes, is a mad Jedi. Repeat, mad Jedi. Bring all resources to bear to track him. Do not confront him unless you have the resources necessary to take down a Jedi Knight.”

  “Understood.”

  JEDI SAAR RACED ACROSS THE PLAZA BEFORE THE SENATE BUILDING. He had to get away from the broad open space and had to do so fast, before the inevitable stream of security airspeeders launched to follow him. He couldn’t keep up that Force-boosted running speed for the entire distance. He slowed to a rate that was merely that of a championship runner.

  Ahead was the security station that screened all pedestrians and speeders entering the plaza from that direction. The agents in it would just now be receiving the alert. He raced past, ignoring the cries of the helmeted workers. The station’s automated defenses, designed to detect and bring down vehicles coming in from the other direction, could not impede him as he passed by.

  Now he was on the street beyond, a street thick with pedestrians. It would take him a mere second to shuck his cloak, perhaps grab a gaudy tunic from a passerby, making himself visually distinct from the image he’d presented to the Senate Building holocams—

  He almost gasped in relief. Ahead of him, departing from a hired airspeeder and awkwardly handing credcoins to the driver, was Master Cilghal. She would know what to do, she—

  It was not her. In the seconds it had taken him to cross most of the thirty meters separating them, Saar realized that the Mon Calamari female he was facing, for all that she was identical in garb and appearance to Master Cilghal, was not Cilghal.

  He stopped. He heard a snap-hiss and realized that he had ignited his lightsaber without meaning to. Its blue-black blade glowed as it stretched like a teacher’s pointing tool. Pedestrians exclaimed, changed direction, drew away from the two Jedi.

  The driver of the hired speeder hit his thrusters and sped away, scattering Cilghal’s credcoins. They clattered to the permacrete pavement and rolled in all directions.

  The Mon Cal Jedi looked steadily at Saar. “Jedi Saar, I suspect I know what you are experiencing.”

  “What have you done with Master Cilghal?”

  The false Cilghal blinked at him, each eye blinking separately, as she considered her answer. Finally, she nodded, as if coming to a decision. “I know how this conversation progresses. There is no point to it. You cannot be reasoned with.” She reached for her lightsaber, drew it forth, ignited it.

  Saar leapt toward her.

  Their blades came together in a spectacular clash of sparks and pop-zapp noises. Those few people surrounding the scene who had not already drawn back did so now, in a hurry. A moment later the hum of the lightsabers was drowned out by the sirens of oncoming official vehicles.

  Saar threw a quick series of blows, intended to draw his larger, clumsier opponent into an ever more extravagant series of blocks, the last ones pulling her out of line or off-balance. But she wasn’t clumsier. She fought like a Jedi Master, lightning-fast, anticipating every attack, not being fooled by feints.

  He backflipped to put a few meters’ distance between them, but when he was upside down and facing away from the false Cilghal, he felt a pulse of Force energy from her direction. He was hurtled forward into the granite facing of the closest building. With his own use of the Force he tried to slow his rate, to soften the impact, but to no avail. He hammered into the building edifice.

  The last thing he saw was the street pavement above his head sliding down to meet him.

  CHIEF OF STATE’S OFFICE, CORUSCANT

  Daala looked up as Dorvan walked into her office. Her expression was hard, but there was concern in her voice. “Are you all right?”

  “I managed not to impale myself on his weapon while we were talking.” Clearly upset, he flopped down into a chair without waiting to be asked. “I’m mostly mad because the lockdown I called for didn’t even slow him down but it kept me from getting here for half an hour. What does security say?”

 
; “He ran into Jedi Master Cilghal, dueled with her her briefly, and was flattened like a bug. She commandeered a passing commercial speeder and took him back to the Temple.” She glanced down at the monitor on her desk. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she read an update. “The Coruscant Security officers I dispatched to the Jedi Temple are there now and have issued an order to the Jedi. They must turn over Jedi Saar within the hour or there will be consequences.”

  “Will there be consequences?”

  “Oh, yes. Definitely, yes.”

  JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

  The news about Jedi Saar’s madness and the Coruscant Security officers parked on the Temple’s front steps circulated with the speed of comm traffic. When Jaina swept into the medical ward, the first thing she saw was news coverage of the event on the chamber’s main monitor. It showed an aerial holocam view of the Temple, uniformed security officers and Jedi guards standing stiffly, meters apart, in a temporary standoff.

  Cilghal or Tekli had switched the sound off. Jaina turned to Cilghal, who was bent over the unconscious form of Saar. The Jedi Knight lay on his back on a hovergurney, the device currently settled on the floor. His tunic was off, and he wore a monitor ring on his brow like a headband. His eyes were closed; his wrists and ankles, shackled to the bed. There was a formfitting blue plascast on his nose.

  Jaina moved up beside the Jedi Master and Shul Vaal, Jedi medic and Cilghal’s aide, a middle-aged blue Twi’lek whose unhurried movements and soothing manner made him seem the island of calm at the center of any storm of chaos. “Same as the others?”

  Shul Vaal nodded. “Paranoia and hostility. No manifestation yet of Force powers he should not possess. Master Cilghal gave him a concussion and a broken nose.”

  “I had to end the fight quickly.” Cilghal sounded gruff, even defensive. “Sometimes to heal, you must first hurt.”

  Jaina grimaced. “In just a few words, you’ve summed up my love life. Anything I can do?”

  Cilghal nodded. “Prep a shuttle. Before the government gets the bright idea to examine every vehicle leaving the Temple, I want to get Jedi Saar offworld and to the Transitory Mists.”

  “Will do.”

  Several levels down in the Temple, Jaina walked into one of the building’s civilian hangars. The chamber was broad and deep enough to host a ball game, and the ceiling was ten meters high, to accommodate repulsor takeoffs and landings. Two Lambda-class shuttles and a number of airspeeders and speeder bikes were in place there. Both shuttles had their wings locked in upswept position. One had a panel off at the engine section, but the mechanic, a woman in Jedi robes, was leaning against the fuselage, watching the same news coverage on the wall-mounted monitor. She gave Jaina a distracted nod. “Jedi Solo.”

  “Jedi Tainer. Is the other shuttle fit to fly?”

  Tyria Sarkin Tainer nodded. A woman of about Leia’s age, she was lean and blond. It was said that in her youth she’d been a raving beauty, but now her looks had more of an all-mother appeal to them. Her sleeves were pinned up and her arms were spattered with dirty lubricants from fingertip to elbow. “I can have this one up and ready for you in half an hour, too.”

  “No need, one’s enough.” Jaina glanced at Tyria’s befouled hands. “I think I’ll handle the sign-out myself.”

  Tyria nodded. “The smart choice.” She turned back to the engine compartment. “Don’t ever marry a mechanic. Over the years, you pick up a lot of training, whether you want to or not. And then you’re stuck on motor pool duty whenever you can’t avoid it.”

  “I am a mechanic. And I like motor pool duty.” Jaina moved over to the desk by the door and began typing into the console there, checking out the other Lambda. How would she describe the mission for the records? Something dull and Jedi-like to allay suspicions. Delivery of practice lightsabers to Corellia.

  It was said that Tyria would never make Master owing to deficiencies in her command of the Force, but she was an excellent flier, hence her current assignment to the Temple. When the StealthX squadrons rose, she’d be in the cockpit of one—

  Jaina felt the other woman tense. She looked up. “What’s wrong?”

  Tyria was once again looking at the monitor. “It looped.”

  “Eh?”

  “The recording just looped. There was a little stutter and then it went back to the recording of several minutes ago. But it still says LIVE BROADCAST.” She pointed to the lower right-hand portion of the monitor screen.

  Jaina looked. The screen did say what Tyria indicated. It could have just been a mistake by the news provider’s technical personnel, or …

  Jaina extended her senses into the Force, settling as quickly as she could into a meditative state that would make her more sensitive to thoughts of anger or vengeance, intrusion or attack …

  There was nothing close, but as her range of attention broadened, she felt a quiver of anticipation, felt eyes trained against the Jedi.

  She grabbed her comlink. “Comm center, this is Jedi Solo.”

  A man’s voice answered. “We read you, Solo.”

  “Tell Master Hamner possible attack imminent.” She didn’t bother to add recommendations for security or defensive procedures. Hamner was ex-military. He didn’t need such advice and might resent it.

  “Will do.”

  Tyria grabbed solvent-soaked cloths from the pavement at her feet and began degreasing her arms.

  Jaina, still half in her meditative state, moved back out into the hall. If she could get more of a fix on the contradictory emotions she was feeling …

  She heard a succession of clunks as numerous exterior doors on this hangar level were remotely shut.

  A teenage apprentice, black-haired and old enough to carry a lightsaber, moved out into the hall from the main starfighter hangar. He didn’t waste time asking what was going on. Obviously he felt something, too. “Should I go up to the Main Hall?”

  “Yes.” Just outside the Main Hall, at the main entrance, was where those security agents waited. “But … No. Wait here.” Jaina shook her head. She felt something amiss, not just distant emotions suggesting imminent attack.

  A wail cut the air, a keening alarm. The Temple lights flickered for a moment.

  Jaina heard no direct sounds of conflict, but her comlink suddenly came alive with traffic. “Alert, alert, Main Hall under attack. The doors are compromised—”

  “State enemy strength and disposition.” That was Master Hamner, his voice icy, under complete control.

  “It’s Mandos.” The young Jedi speaker sounded overly excited.

  Jaina cursed. Mandalorians. The government wasn’t just serious, they were being smart and serious.

  She turned toward the distant turbolifts, but a nagging presentiment kept her from moving in that direction. She pinned the apprentice with a look. “What’s your name?”

  “Bandy Geffer, from Bespin.”

  “Apprentice Geffer, get to a hardwired intercom away from any outside wall. That’s your position until I say different. Keep your comlink in hand and if it cuts out, give me a shout.”

  “Yes, Jedi Solo.” He spun on his heel and raced off.

  Tyria appeared in the nearest doorway, her arms clean, her unlit lightsaber in hand. She paid Jaina no mind. She looked down the corridor as if gauging the strength of the walls, then looked up, examining the rafters and other architectural elements of the corridor’s high ceilings. “I hate defending a position.”

  “Me, too.”

  The door that Apprentice Geffer had emerged from, the door into the StealthX hangar, rattled in its frame and there was a muted boom from beyond it. Jaina nodded. It would be shaped charges, simultaneously blasting several entry holes for commandos. She raced past the shuttle hangar, was unsurprised to hear Tyria running right behind her. “Inform control. Second attack prong is here.”

  “There’s static on the comlinks now! I’m on the intercom.”

  “Report the comm loss, too.” The two Jedi ran past the main door into the
StealthX hangar. At the next corridor intersection—beyond it were the turbolifts for this level and, at a wide point in the hall, the coordinator’s desk where Apprentice Geffer was now sitting—Jaina turned and lit her lightsaber. Tyria joined her; her blade came alive with a snap-hiss.

  The door into the StealthX hangar blew out, instantly transformed into innumerable chunks of durasteel ranging from the size of pebbles to the size of starfighter helmets. At the same instant four places in the wall, two on either side of the door, blew out. And from each hole emerged a Mandalorian warrior, distinctive in their modern armor with classical helmet designs. They were as anonymous as Imperial stormtroopers and yet more individual than Jedi, each set of armor having its own color pattern, its own unique helmet contours.

  They turned toward the Jedi. There were no preambles. The foremost Mando gestured and smoke trails, a cluster of them, jumped toward the Jedi—mini rockets.

  Jaina and Tyria leapt about two meters. With an exertion of the Force, even as the Mando was aiming, Jaina caused the largest section of wall debris to fly up in front of the commando’s outstretched hand. A wave of mini rockets slammed into the debris and detonated. The blast disintegrated that debris but blew the firer and the two commandos closest behind him off their feet.

  Tyria nodded, approving. “Nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tyria looked back toward the apprentice. “Report five-plus Mandos. Tell them to consider sending reinforcements.”

  “I’ll reinforce you—”

  Tyria’s voice turned sharp. “Abandon your post and you’ll be tasting my boot from a direction you never expected.”

  The fourth Mando, blaster rifle in hand, darted diagonally forward. He crossed in front of the fifth commando, and as he passed, Jaina realized that the fifth commando had fired a second spray of mini rockets, using his comrade as a visual block. It was a beautifully timed stratagem. At the point Jaina realized more rockets were incoming, the spray was already too widespread—the rockets were already past the debris—for her to use the same defense.