by Troy Denning
“No, no, no!” the droid said. “That corpse hasn’t been identified yet.”
The droid pointed its scalpel into the shadows, but before it could explain what it wanted, the stern voice of a female security guard came over the public address system.
“Your attention: all Prison Hold surveillance and communications systems have been restored. Maintain Lockdown Level Two. We’ll be jumping to final objective in five minutes. Repeat, five minutes. This will be your final announcement.”
The GP-2 continued to point until the announcement was over, then said, “Put it there until I can collect a tissue sample and verify the identity.”
“That won’t be necessary in this case.” Caedus started to continue toward the incinerator—then felt the skin-blistering heat pouring from its mouth and pushed the gurney toward the droid. “This one goes directly to the incinerator.”
The droid accepted the gurney. “I’m afraid that isn’t procedure,” it said, retreating into the shadows with the gurney. “Thank you for the delivery.”
Cursing the slavish devotion to procedure of mechanical minds, Caedus followed the droid and was temporarily blinded as his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.
“In this case, procedure doesn’t apply,” Caedus said. “It’s overridden.”
Something hard brushed past him, then the droid demanded, “On whose authority?”
“Mine.” Caedus turned, following the voice, and found himself squinting as he watched the droid’s silhouette pull a flimsiplast carton off the conveyor belt, inspect the contents, and thrust it into the incinerator’s mouth. “Lord Caedus.”
“Lord Caedus?” The droid returned, moving from bright light to deep shadow as effortlessly as only machines could. It fixed its photoreceptors on his face for a moment, then said, “Identity confirmed. Prisoner Ay-Ess-Two-Three-Oh-Fifty-two-Ar will be disposed of without identity verification or tissue sample collection.”
The GP-2 returned to the gurney it had been working at and jabbed a ten-centimeter needle into the half-bald corpse of an emaciated Wookiee. “Thank you for the delivery.”
Caedus gritted his teeth. Maybe he should have just used the Force to feed the prince’s body into the incinerator himself—except the droid would probably have rushed over and pulled it out half burned.
After a moment, he said, “This matter takes priority over all others. I need to witness the disposal myself. Now.”
The droid’s head snapped around. “Is there a contagion concern? Because if there is, the collection of tissue samples cannot be overridden, even by—”
“It’s a security matter,” Caedus said. “Do it now.”
“Very well.”
The droid set its syringe down on the Wookiee’s gurney, then went over to Isolder and began to cut the clothes off the body. Caedus did not object, suspecting it would take longer to argue the matter than to simply let it happen.
After a moment, the droid paused to study Isolder’s arms.
“Oh, I see,” it said. “The tissue samples have already been collected.”
“What?” Caedus went over to the gurney. “Show me.”
The droid turned both of the prince’s hands up, revealing half a dozen bruises and needle marks on the interior of the forearms. There was a muffled scream in the corridor outside, but Caedus could barely hear it over the fiery roaring in his ears. He did not need to ask what the marks meant, because he had seen similar marks on Mirta’s arms after the Remnant medic collected her samples for the nanokiller.
The marks meant that Lecersen and the Moffs had betrayed him … and his vision. They meant that Allana’s nanokiller was probably already on its way to the Dragon Queen.
Caedus pulled his comlink and opened a channel to his aide, Orlopp. “Have a hold placed on all launches from the Anakin Solo,” he ordered, turning toward the door. “And find out if we’ve launched any missile boats recently—especially missile boats carrying Remnant forces.”
There was an uncomfortable pause, then Orlopp asked, “Did you say missile boats?”
Caedus’s stomach went cold. “Tell me.”
“A missile boat just launched from this hangar,” Orlopp reported. “I had to wait for it to clear the containment field before I blew the Beam Racer.”
“What about the crew?” Caedus asked. “Were they ours?”
“They were in Alliance uniforms,” Orlopp reported. “New uniforms … and a Remnant colonel saw them off. Shall I have a recall order issued?”
“It’s worth a try, but they won’t obey.” Caedus came to the door and, lacking a second hand to reach for the control pad, stopped to finish his order. “Have my StealthX prepped for immediate …”
He let the sentence trail off as the door opened on its own, revealing a dark-uniformed woman with an athletic build and brown, furious eyes.
“Jaina?”
A lightsaber snap-hissed to life, and suddenly Caedus felt as though he were going to vomit fire.
The invisible fist of a Force blast slammed Jaina in the chest and sent her flying back, her breath groaning from her lungs and her lightsaber hissing free of Caedus’s stomach. From the fight on Nickel One, she had learned the dangers of letting her head snap back on impact. She tucked her chin, then fought to hold it there as she struck the durasteel wall on the far side of the corridor.
Jaina almost wished that she had been knocked unconscious. Stinging needle-thrusts of pain zippered down her spine as her vertebrae rocked beneath the impact, and the synthmesh supporting her half-healed ribs came apart in a single agonizing pop. She dropped to the floor, fighting to keep her pain from carrying her down into numb oblivion, gazing back to where she had surprised Caedus … where Caedus still stood in the doorway, his mouth gaping in surprise, with a thumb-sized scorch hole just below his ribs. But he was still standing.
Jaina’s pain-clouded mind did not understand how he could take a lightsaber through the gut and do that. Why didn’t Caedus just lie down and die like most people? Didn’t he understand she was trying to do him a favor?
Apparently not, because as soon as she began to gasp for breath, his hand shot up, the fingers splayed and pointed in her direction. Jaina barely brought her lightsaber around in time to absorb the forks of blue lightning that came dancing toward her chest.
Then Caedus stepped forward, the Force lightning still shooting from his fingertips. Jaina could not believe what she was seeing. With that wound, he was coming after her. She feinted an attempt to roll to her knees. When Caedus shifted the lightning to block her, she brought her free hand up and gestured toward his shoulder, using the Force to hurl him back through the door. A loud, thudding crash sounded from deep in the shadows, and the voice of an annoyed droid began to complain about the mess.
Jaina was instantly on her feet, springing through the door. But Caedus was just as quick, forgoing his Force lightning in favor of his lightsaber. She saw a fan of crimson light arcing toward her out of the dark side of the pit and spun toward it, blocking and kicking in the same move. Caedus grunted as her boot caught him somewhere above the waist, but behind his crimson blade, he was no more than a gray blur, and it was impossible to tell where the kick had landed.
A black boot heel came shooting under Jaina’s guard, driving hard into her sore ribs. She stifled a cry and circled into the shadows, trying to acclimate her eyes to the darkness because it was impossible to sense Caedus in the Force. He fought to keep his advantage, dancing back and forth behind his crimson blade, anticipating her every move—and making her pay for each step with a painful kick or elbow strike.
Knowing that sooner or later one of Caedus’s blows could be fatal, Jaina risked a quick look around, searching for something she could Force-hurl. The dark side of the pit was black; she could see nothing in there. And the bright side of the pit was so glaring that she could see only the white, glaring mouth of the fusion incinerator and the conveyor belt that fed it.
Caedus made her pay for the survey in b
lood, landing a pommel across her cheek that split the flesh and smashed the bone. Jaina countered with a driving knee to the thigh, then a downward slash that Caedus barely turned in time to save his hand.
A flimsiplast crate emerged from the conveyor belt chute beside them. It wasn’t much—certainly not heavy enough to do damage—but it was all Jaina had. She gave a little ground, allowing Caedus to force her toward the door so she could let the crate move past him and bring it flying into him from behind.
Then the dark shape of the pit droid came clanking out of the shadows. “Excuse me, please,” it said. “I must inspect—”
That was as much as it said before Jaina grasped it in the Force and drew it, stumbling, into Caedus’s flank.
The droid was more than heavy enough to send Caedus staggering. He whirled instantly, bringing his blade around at shoulder height. By then Jaina had slipped into the shadows and was lunging forward, her shoulders back but her boot heel driving in under his lightsaber.
Once again, Caedus anticipated her. He spun around, leaning away to protect his vulnerable midsection and bringing his leg up to counterkick. Jaina Force-launched herself into him anyway, whipping her lightsaber around in a down guard to keep his blade at bay. His counterkick landed first, driving into her stomach with a deep sharp ache. Her stomp caught him on the hip and sent him falling onto the conveyor belt.
The flimsicrate burst at the seams as Caedus’s shoulder and head came down on top of it. Jaina leapt in to press the attack—and was stunned by how quickly he popped back up. There were more than a dozen used syringes hanging from his shoulder and face. He barely seemed to notice. Letting his lightsaber deactivate and drop to the floor, he reached toward her, making a twisting motion with his hand.
Jaina felt her chin twisting around and went with it, using the Force to accelerate her whole body into a spin, still leaping toward Caedus, bringing her lightsaber around in a clearing arc. She felt the blade meet metal, and the droid’s ebony head popped into the air. Then she was on Caedus, slashing at his head with her lightsaber, bringing her boot toe up under his chin when he grew predictable and ducked.
The kick snapped Caedus’s head back and sent him tumbling over the conveyor belt. Thinking she had just won the advantage, Jaina dropped her free hand toward the lightsaber he had let fall—then barely saved her arm when the crimson blade snap-hissed to life and went spinning past.
Caedus’s hand shot up on the other side of the conveyor belt and caught the hilt; then the rest of his body slowly rose into view. His flesh was bulging around the scorch hole in his abdomen, and there were half a dozen syringes planted in his face almost to the barrels. He was in obvious pain—and he was feeding on it. His eyes were bulging and maniacal, his nostrils red and flaring, his lips drawn back so far it almost appeared that he didn’t have any.
Jaina brought her lightsaber to high guard and braced her feet, ready for Caedus’s attack.
Instead, he deactivated his blade.
“Jaina, listen to me.” There was a throaty, gurgling quality to Caedus’s voice, and it seemed obvious that the only thing keeping him on his feet was Force energy—a lot of it. “You need to get out of my way. I’m trying to save Tenel Ka and Allana.”
“Sure you are,” Jaina scoffed. As she spoke, she extended her Force awareness in all directions, trying to figure out why Caedus was stalling when his body was running out of time. “Just like you saved Isolder.”
“Isolder would have made the same choice. In fact, he did.” Caedus clipped his lightsaber to his belt, a trust-building gesture that might have had some meaning, had he not been a lying Sith murderer. “Jaina, we don’t have time for this.”
“So die already.”
Jaina launched herself into a Force flip, tumbling over the conveyor belt head-down so that she could strike before Caedus had time to unclip and ignite his lightsaber.
Caedus didn’t even try. He simply glanced toward the open mouth of the fusion incinerator. In the next instant Jaina felt herself rushing toward its searing heat, and it took all her Force strength to pull herself aside the half meter that saved her life.
But the durasteel into which she slammed was still scorching, and the pain of impact was nothing compared to the sizzling shock of merely contacting the furnace exterior. She dropped to the floor screaming in rage and anguish, her nostrils filled with the stench of singed hair and charred skin, the black GAG utilities still burning on her back.
Then Jaina opened herself fully to the Force, drawing it in through the power of her emotions—not through her anger or pain, as a Sith might, but through her love of what her brother had been … the teenage jokester who could always find hope in a desperate situation, the questioning warrior who had bested the Yuuzhan Vong warmaster in personal combat, the reluctant champion who had shown a galaxy the way to compassionate victory.
The Force came pouring in from all sides, saturating Jaina and devouring her, filling her with a roaring maelstrom of power, carrying away her pain and leaving in its place the strength not only to survive, but to rise and fight.
Caedus was already on the far side of the conveyor belt, pulling the syringes from his face and shoulder while he staggered toward the exit. Jaina used the Force to depress the control pad, and the door closed in his face.
Caedus whirled with fury in his eyes, but Jaina was already bounding over the conveyor belt, her hair still trailing smoke. He splayed his fingers and sprayed Force lightning at her. Jaina caught it on her lightsaber and whirled past, bringing her blade down where Caedus had been an instant before and leaving a long gouge in the door.
Caedus’s blade snapped to life beside her, a crimson fan whirling toward her shoulders. She dropped to her haunches and used her free arm to block the Force-driven snap-kick she knew he would launch at her throat.
Ankle met arm with a sharp crack. What looked like an extra joint appeared in the middle of her forearm, then her wrist flopped over Caedus’s leg, a useless throbbing thing no longer under her control.
It didn’t matter. Jaina was a dead woman if she didn’t win this—maybe even if she did win. She whipped her lightsaber around in a high block and deflected the reverse slash Caedus was bringing down toward her neck.
Then she dived forward, whipping her violet lightsaber at his other foot. Caedus sprang away backward, trying to draw both feet out of harm’s way at once, and countered by flipping his own weapon around, bringing it up beneath her belly.
Neither blade cut deep, but both did damage. Jaina felt a searing pain across her abdomen, then felt a terrible uncoiling inside her as something she didn’t want to think about bulged into the void left by the slashed muscle.
Jaina’s blade tapped Caedus behind the boot, touching just long enough to sever the crucial tendon running up the back of the ankle. He landed in an awkward stagger, nearly falling as his foot flapped and flopped without any control.
Jaina came to a knee facing him and knew Caedus was about to die. He had one arm and one good leg, and they were not even on the same side of the body. He could not pivot and he could not retreat. All she needed was to get past his lightsaber and attack the armless side of his body—before she collapsed herself, or he recovered enough to kill her with one last Force blast.
Jaina sprang.
Caedus tried to turn to meet her, but only staggered, his lightsaber falling to his side as though it were a cane. It wasn’t, of course, and his momentum kept him stumbling back toward the bright side of the pit, his eyes filled with rage and exhaustion and despair.
Jaina feinted at his head, then began to whirl toward his armless side, bringing her lightsaber around in a flat, high slash that he could not hope to block. It was a sure kill, one that would land even if she died first—which she thought she might, since the attack would leave her completely open to an avenging counterstrike.
But Caedus seemed to know that Jaina had already killed him, and whatever he had in mind, it was not vengeance. When her blade came aroun
d, his lightsaber was still hanging at his side. He was staring up toward the ceiling, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the murk overhead, and the only attempt he made to save himself was to take one step back into the light spilling from the furnace.
It would not be enough, Jaina knew. She closed her eyes and felt the lightsaber sink in, felt it slicing through his ribs into his chest. And Jaina felt something in the Force, too—something that made her pulse stop and her chest sink and her blood freeze in her veins. Her brother was reaching out to Tenel Ka, screaming at her through the Force, warning her there was danger, urging her to take Allana and …
Then the blade reached Caedus’s heart, and he dropped at her feet, and Jaina felt nothing at all.
What’s the difference between a Jedi Knight and a Jedi Master? Ask me in twenty years!
—Jacen Solo, age 15
Stars had finally come to Shedu Maad’s black skies. Ben could see a thousand of them chasing one another across the night. They were flinging tiny slivers of light back and forth, erupting into orange novae and silver supernovae, falling from the sky trailing long ribbons of flame. About a hundred were descending in wild unpredictable helixes, trying to evade a pursuing torrent of streaks and flashes. Most failed—then blossomed into a spray of color and finished their descent in the form of dozens of brightly glowing specks.
But all too often, the shooting stars swelled rapidly into the fiery-nosed lozenges of Remnant drop ships. They made a long sweeping curve toward the abandoned mining complex the Jedi had been using as a base, then began to trade cannon fire with the Hapan gun emplacements hidden in the surrounding terrain. Some would make a single pass over the central compound, loosing a flurry of missiles into the already flaming buildings, then wheel around and drop into the trees.
It did not seem to matter to the Imperials that most of the buildings were empty—just as they had been before the Jedi arrived. Nor did it seem to matter that much of the fire they were encountering was coming from the enormous strip and pit mines adjacent to the compound. They had been given an objective to capture, and capture it they would, no matter how worthless it was, or how many storm-trooper lives it cost. Once they had succeeded, Ben and the rest of the base’s inhabitants would retreat even deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels, shafts, and open pits that was the mining world of Shedu Maad. The Imperial commanders would analyze the situation and assign their stormtroopers another objective, and so it would continue until one side made a mistake or simply wore down their adversaries.