“You’re probably right.”
R2-D2, waddling in two-legged mode because of the unevenness of the sand, rounded the corner and moved up to them.
They waited.
Allana looked at the astromech. “Artoo, where’s Threepio?”
R2-D2 tweetled something unhelpful. His dome twirled so his main photoreceptor was trained back the way he’d come.
But C-3PO did not round that corner.
Back at the Falcon, Leia did not look worried enough to suit Allana. “No, sweetie, he’s not responding to comm signals, but think about it—who’s going to hurt a protocol droid?”
Allana looked at Han. “He’s said he was going to a bunch of times.”
Han grinned as if reflecting on particularly expressive threats of the past. “Yeah, but, Amelia, I never have. It’s just talk.”
Leia curled a finger under Allana’s chin to regain her attention. “Look, I have to make a public appearance with Master Kyp and the other Jedi. When it’s done, we’ll all come back and look for Threepio.”
“How long will it take? Five minutes?” That was longer than Allana wanted to wait. She wanted to be out there searching—not for C-3PO. That was just an excuse. The hunt for the droid would give her more opportunity to hunt for the man with the dark aura.
“An hour, two at most.”
Allana slumped.
Leia gave her a placating look. “You can come watch.”
“No, thanks. I’ll stay here.”
“Your mother will be there.”
“I’ll stay here.”
Leia became very still, and Allana wondered if she’d made a mistake with her answer. Of course she always wanted to see her mother. Always, always. But now there was something more important going on. Saving her mother.
But Leia simply stroked her hair. “All right. We’ll be right back after we’re done.”
They filed out, five Jedi and a retired smuggler, leaving Allana with her nexu and an astromech aboard, a handful of guards scattered about outside the Falcon.
And leaving her with a mission she wasn’t sure how to accomplish.
CRYSTAL VALLEY PUMPING STATION,
NAM CHORIOS
IN FIFTY METERS OF LATERAL TRAVEL, THE NATURAL TUNNEL DESCENDED ten meters of depth and then gave way to ancient tunnel works chipped and burned out from living stone. The walls became square and rough, still bearing scars of high-intensity burners and even metal picks from centuries earlier. And now Ben could smell water, a rare scent on Nam Chorios. The tunnel here leveled off, with unlit side passages; overhead glow rod fixtures continued only along the main tunnel.
A few meters onward and Ben could hear the distant thrumming of machinery from ahead. A sign on a metal door to the side read EMERGENCY SHELTER. OPENING DOOR ACTIVATES ALARM. Yet the door was open. Luke and Ben peered in.
Inside, on benches, all across the permacrete floors, lay Oldtimers, men and women, many of them curled up in fetal positions. Their eyes were half open and fixed. Also fixed were the expressions of misery and despair on their faces. Ben recognized the Theran Listeners who had been at the healing hall when Luke had learned the mnemotherapy technique.
And then he recognized one other. Lying faceup on the farthest bench, looking as though she were trapped in a dream of apocalypse and horror, was Sel.
Ben winced and glanced at his father. He kept his voice a whisper. “Suffering to benefit Abeloth. Should we try to break them out of it?”
Luke shook his head. “They’d still be under her control. They’d alert her and attack us, delay us. How many of them do you want to injure or kill?”
“None.”
“Still, this is good news. It proves we’re close.”
Another forty meters and the tunnel opened into a rectangular artificial chamber. It was around a hundred meters in length and fifty in width, large enough to comfortably hold an oval running track. The entire length of it on the left side was dominated by machinery two stories in height. The top story, metal tube works and pistons attached to rotating cams the size of airspeeders, clanked dully as it probably had for centuries, doing the vital job of drawing water to the planet’s surface. The lower story seemed to be made up entirely of enclosed tanks for holding water. Immediately before Ben, Luke, and Vestara, a permacrete platform led to catwalks along the machinery to the left and to permacrete stairs leading down to the tank level below. Directly ahead was open air. Here, at least, was a sense of openness, countering the claustrophobia of the tunnels. Glow rod arrays overhead made the chamber bright, and there were large potted plants tucked in between the water tanks and at points along the walls.
And there were the bodies on the floor below. Scores of them, more Oldtimers, doubtless Theran Listeners, all of them alive, all of them suffering.
There was one among them who was not lying down. A young man, energetic, he wore Jedi robes as he strolled among the bodies, carefully stepping among them. Perhaps sensing the new arrivals’ eyes upon him, he looked up at them. It was Valin Horn.
His tone was polite enough. “Master Skywalker.”
“Jedi Horn.” Luke took the permacrete stairs down. “So sorry you made it here.”
“I’m not. It’s given me the opportunity to learn many things. To understand what has happened to you.”
Ben and Vestara followed Luke down. Ben gave Valin a dubious look. “What has happened to us.”
Valin nodded. “You’re not to blame for what’s happened. You’re not even impostors, exactly. You’ve simply been compromised, invaded by an alien intelligence that cuts you off from the true Force. Fortunately, you can be cured. As Jysella and I were. All these poor unfortunates, too, are in the process of being cured.”
Luke stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the younger Jedi. “The one who explained that to you, I have to admire her creativity. It’s a story that reinforces everything the madness of the Shelter Jedi Knights causes them to believe.”
Valin offered him a pitying expression. “Whoever is Grand Master Callista Ming. Though she’ll renounce her title in your favor when you’ve been cured, too.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Ben rolled his eyes. “Good of her. Where is she?”
“Coming.”
“How about Abeloth?”
“She is nearby. Maintaining the ongoing cure.” Valin’s gesture took in all the suffering Oldtimers. “You don’t need to see her yet.”
Luke leaned in close to Ben and Vestara so only they could hear him. “Follow my lead on everything. We need to stall so I can get some things accomplished and to give the Sith time to arrive. Ben, I want you recording and transmitting for Kandra until things happen.” He turned back to Valin. “What about Jysella?”
“Elsewhere. Helping the Grand Master.”
Ben removed his datapad from his pouch and opened it up. He activated its external holocam and trained it on Valin, then activated data streaming to Kandra’s distant datapad.
Valin said nothing more after that, just kept his eye on the three. Ben could hear the rhythmic functioning of the pumping equipment, an occasional groan from one or more of the Oldtimers lying around the chamber. Then, finally, there were distant footsteps—boot heels—approaching.
From the upper-story tunnel opposite Luke, Ben, and Vestara emerged Callista. She moved to stand at the lip of the platform overlooking the chamber. She was dressed as befitted a Jedi Master, in somber robes, a lightsaber at her side. She bore no sign of injuries sustained in previous engagements. She leaned over the rail and gave her visitors a sad little smile. “Hello, Luke.”
Ben spared his father a glance. Luke was not impassive, but his face wore the sympathetic calm of the Grand Master, the face of the man who sat in judgment over others, whose decisions could affect whole populations.
Luke offered her a nod. “Abeloth.”
“It’s not as simple as that. I am Callista. And Abeloth. And others.” She turned to descend the permacrete stairs from her platform.
“Well, then, Callista, perhaps you could tell Abeloth to go back to the Maw cluster and stop destroying lives.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Callista shook her head. “I can’t compel her to do anything.” She moved toward an open trail between bodies and headed toward Luke. “But I do influence her. Perhaps because I am more intact than anyone else held within her. Which in turn is probably because I survived, intact, moving between physical bodies before.”
As she neared Luke, Ben offered his father a stage-whispered warning, “Dad …”
Luke shook his head. He didn’t bother whispering. “There’s nothing to worry about, Ben. There is still Callista there. And she still cares for me. She will not attack, not at this time. Am I right?”
Callista came to a stop before him. “Yes.”
“And because she wants something from me.”
“I do. And Abeloth does. The same thing. We want you, Luke.”
Luke sighed. “That’s an insane notion, Callista. Join you? Can you imagine that I ever would?”
Ben glanced at Valin. The Jedi Knight had to be hearing the conversation, and it ran contrary to what he believed about Callista. But Valin’s expression was a little glassy. He clearly was not hearing the words.
“Yes. Because—well, my own reasons are completely selfish. I miss you. I’m lonely. But I’m what gives Abeloth any affection for the Jedi at all. Think about it—the Jedi and their devotion to the light side are the antithesis of what she is. Yet she seeks them out, grasped at the Shelter Jedi like Valin here. Why? Because of me, because of what I feel. Join with us, and she will have an even greater understanding of the light side, an even greater compassion for your way of thinking.” She took a final step forward and laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You can feel it’s me, can’t you? You know me. You know I endure.”
Now even Ben could feel it, Callista’s presence in the Force. It arose from her and spread out to flavor the very air around them all. It was not alien, not malevolent like Abeloth.
Luke put his hands on her hips. “The use of the drochs kind of argues against Abeloth’s intentions for the living, Callista.”
“That was a lure to lead you around. It increased your anxiety, made you go from place to place while Abeloth entrenched and took control of all the Theran Listeners. She fooled you, Luke. You can’t outthink her. Can you imagine that Abeloth would ever use something that competed with her for the same resources?”
“Perhaps not.”
Now Ben could feel his father’s presence, too. Luke was suddenly all around them, his presence embracing Callista’s.
But Luke shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve lived a lifetime apart. I’ve moved on. Loved another. Clearly we weren’t meant to be together.”
Callista’s voice turned a touch despairing. “We were.”
“Well … remind me.”
Callista touched her forehead to Luke’s.
Now there was more than just the flavor of their individual presences in the Force. Ben began to catch glimpses of distant memories. Luke’s face, much younger, as if seen through a holocam. The Jedi academy at Yavin 4, the distinctive foliage surrounding it, the ancient ruins.
“Dad …”
“Quiet, son. I’m reliving the past.” And below that, just the touch of a thought, Luke beseeching him to wait, to know trust.
Vestara nudged Ben with her elbow. He looked away from his father, followed her gaze.
Valin, no longer glassy-eyed, had his comlink up to his ear and was speaking urgently. In the distance, Ben could hear faint echoes of durasteel clangs … and then blasterfire.
Valin lowered his comlink and grabbed his lightsaber from his belt. “You brought Jedi to attack us.”
Ben shook his head. “You, your sister, Dad, and I are the only Jedi on Nam Chorios. I think we’re under attack by the Sith.” The absolute truth, artfully presented to achieve disinformation. His uncle Han would have been proud.
“Liar.” Valin ignited his lightsaber. Its blade, a cool green, sprang to life.
Ben slipped his datapad back in its pouch. He skidded sideways to his right, onto the pathway Callista had walked between prone Listeners, getting a few meters clear of Luke. He brought up his own lightsaber and activated it. “Don’t be an idiot, Valin.”
Vestara went the other way, crossing past Luke and Callista, stepping over bodies, moving up on Valin’s other side, and activated her own blade. She said nothing.
Valin sighed. “I hope Master Skywalker will forgive me … if I have to kill his son.” And he lunged at Ben.
Ben caught the blow. It was a simple strike, fast but not too powerful, not followed by others in a combination. In short, it was a probe. He saw Vestara dart in from behind Valin. Standard tactics would call for Ben to shove Valin back, throw him off-balance, but Ben suspected that this was exactly what Valin wanted, that Valin would use the redirection and momentum to launch an attack against Vestara. Instead Ben gave ground, drawing Valin onward.
Valin spun anyway, a graceful reversal, and caught Vestara’s slash. His lightning-fast riposte nearly severed her weapon arm—she withdrew just far enough that Valin’s blade merely caught hers, angling it up.
Ben continued a step to the right, putting Valin directly between him and Vestara, and thrust. But Valin continued his spin, stepping on a Theran Listener’s chest as though it were rock-steady ground, and came around to face both opponents.
* * *
Luke could not help but keep track of the fight with some small part of his mind. That was his son at risk. He recognized Ben’s tactic, Ben and Vestara spread out in a loose screen between Luke and Valin. It could be a bad fight—two to one, yes, but Valin had more than a decade’s experience on Ben and Vestara. Ben needed to remember Valin’s lack of strength in moving objects with the Force …
Yet most of Luke’s concentration was wrapped up in Callista. Her memories flooded him, her presence suffused him. And beneath it, beneath the love for him that was all she wanted him to feel, was pain, decades of pain and loneliness experienced in her death-union with Abeloth.
And Abeloth herself. Luke could sense her at the fringes of Callista’s presence. No matter how she sought to conceal herself, Abeloth was too strong, too alien to hide successfully.
There were buzzes and zaps from the fight. The three were in the tentative stages of testing one another with feints and defensive flurries. Luke forced himself to ignore that conflict. He had to have all his awareness, all his resources available to him.
Luke could see a kaleidoscope of images, all drawn from Callista’s past, much of it with him, some of it from more ancient times. He marveled at her strength, the power it had required her to survive the loss of her original body, the strength it took her to remain partly Callista in the face of this overwhelming alien force.
“Luke …” She spoke with both her voice and her mind. “Join with me. Save me.”
He wrapped himself more fully around her, in body and in the Force. “I will. I will save you.”
And he tore at her.
It was an act of brutality, a perversion of the mnemotheraphy technique. It was like performing a surgical amputation with a dull stone ax weighing ten kilos. With all the strength he possessed in the Force, he yanked her away from her body, away from Abeloth.
He could not have done it to a living being. But Callista did not belong where she was. The body she now inhabited, the broad life force that was Abeloth—they were not her true home. She had no true home. And Luke tore her free of the things that anchored her to the physical world.
It was a physical effort, too. Luke staggered free of Callista’s body and fell to his knees, drained in an instant of all his strength.
Now he could see with just his own eyes. Callista staggered back from him, her mouth open, a shriek of pain, half Abeloth and half someone else, none of it Callista, pouring out of her.
But Callista also hovered in Luke’s arms, her robes now a softer
brown, a glow suffusing her. She was transparent. Through her, Luke could see Valin stumbling back as though he’d been kicked in the face and tripping over the body of a Listener.
Callista—the ethereal one—looked at Luke one more time. There was no anxiety in her expression, no longing—just gratitude. She threw back her head as though reacting to a river suddenly pouring through her.
Luke knew there was such a river. The light side of the Force—at last she could feel it again, touch it, be a part of it.
She smiled, and faded, and was gone.
Panting, Luke looked up at her body. It still shrieked. And now it was changing, as the Force illusion that had altered it faded away. The body flattened and lengthened, hair vanishing from the top of its head, more appearing upon its face. An elderly man, thin as a post, his eyes almost black—Luke recognized Nenn, elder of the Theran Listeners.
Still shrieking, Nenn drew the lightsaber from his belt. He did so awkwardly, clearly unfamiliar with the weapon. He activated it, and the red blade of a Sith sprang forth.
Luke drew his own weapon. His own hands were shaky. He got to his feet, wobbly as a newborn cu-pa.
Nenn reversed his lightsaber and plunged its blade into his own body, driving it home through his breastbone. Luke saw the glowing red blade emerge from his back. Nenn collapsed to the permacrete floor and finally was silent. His eyes remained open, fixed.
Valin, struggling until that moment to rise, gave a moan and collapsed.
And from not too far away, echoing through the pumping chamber, rising above the sounds of blasters and lightsabers, came a wavering cry—a scream of pain and anger from Abeloth. She had to be in a nearby tunnel or chamber. Luke wondered if he had the strength to confront her. At least Ben and Vestara seemed to be unhurt.
Immediately above Luke, a woman spoke. “You Jedi have some interesting customs.”
Luke looked up. On the platform above stood Tola Annax, the Sith woman who’d confronted them at Kesla Vein. Her skin was now an attractive purple and her hair a snowy white. With her were perhaps a dozen robed Sith, unlit lightsabers in hand, some human and some lavender-skinned.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Conviction Page 34