About the Book
About the Author
Also by Christie Golden
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Star Wars Novels Timeline
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Copyright
Luke and Ben Skywalker continue on their quest to learn the ways of non-Jedi Force-users and to try to understand just what went wrong with Jacen Solo that caused him to become a Sith. In the meantime, Han, Leia, and Jaina Solo – along with Jag Fel and the other Jedi – try to deal with the escalating problem of Jedi Knights seemingly going insane ...
Christie Golden is the award-winning author of 28 novels and over a dozen short stories in the fields of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. Her media tie-in works include launching the Ravenloft line in 1991 with Vampire of the Mists, over a dozen Star Trek novels, and the Warcraft novel Lord of the Clans. Her website is www.christiegolden.com.
ALSO BY CHRISTIE GOLDEN
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Allies
Ravenloft: Vampire of the Mists
Ravenloft: Dance of the Dead
Ravenloft: The Enemy Within
Star Trek Voyager: The Murdered Sun
Instrument of Fate
King’s Man and Thief
Star Trek Voyager: Marooned
Invasion America
Star Trek Voyager: Seven of Nine
Invasion America: On the Run
Star Trek The Next Generation: The First Virtue (with Michael Jan Friedman)
A.D. 999 (as Jadrien Bell)
Star Trek Voyager: The Dark Matters Trilogy, Book 1: Cloak and Dagger
Star Trek Voyager: The Dark Matters Trilogy, Book 2: Ghost Dance
Star Trek Voyager: The Dark Matters Trilogy, Book 3: Shadow of Heaven
Star Trek Voyager: Endgame (with Diane Carey)
Warcraft: Lord of the Clans
Star Trek Voyager: Gateways—What Lay Beyond
Star Trek Voyager: No Man’s Land
Star Trek: The Last Roundup
Star Trek Voyager: Homecoming
Star Trek Voyager: The Farther Shore On Fire’s Wings
Star Trek Voyager: Spirit Walk, Book 1: Old Wounds
Star Trek Voyager: Spirit Walk, Book 2: Enemy of My Enemy
In Stone’s Clasp
Warcraft: Rise of the Horde
StarCraft: The Dark Templar Series, Book 1: Firstborn
StarCraft: The Dark Templar Series, Book 2: Shadow Hunters
Under Sea’s Shadow (in e-book format only)
Warcraft: Beyond the Dark Portal (with Aaron Rosenberg)
Warcraft: Arthas: Rise of the Lich King
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, standing out in stark contrast with her dark skin tones, crinkled with her smile. This was the destination she had beheld in her mind’s eye a short while before, 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, ice-capped 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. 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 into 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.
“Yes, 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 traditional 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 orange-yellow-red hue, the spherical shape flanked by twin sets of bat-like wings. 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: 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 un-ashamed 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 stealthed, 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—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.
Let Ship remain isolated on Ziost. It would find no one to serve, no one to permit it to do that which it was designed for.
In her irritation, Dician allowed the thought to comfort her.
This book is dedicated to my parents,
James R. Golden and Elizabeth C. Golden.
All those afternoons you dropped me off at the movies
when Star Wars was playing have now borne fruit.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. …
JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
JYSELLA HORN FELT like a part of her, like her brother, was encased in carbonite. Frozen and isolated and unable to move. Yet somehow she forced her legs to carry her forward, toward the Jedi Temple that would, she hoped, have some answers for her today.
Ever since the inexplicable and horrifying moment when her older brother, Valin, had turned on their parents, eyes wild, teeth bared, screaming nonsense, part of the youngest Horn had gone with him into the cold prison in which he was now encased.
She had always been the baby of the family, the tagalong, the me too! little sister. Three standard years separated the Horn siblings, and it had only been recently that they had begun relating as friends and not just as brother and sister. Jysella had always idolized her easygoing, levelheaded big brother. The lives of her rather famous family had been fraught with danger almost since the day she was born. Often, she and Valin had been separated from their parents and even from each other for long periods of time. Three Jedi in a family did not make for much time spent doing traditional familial things. But the challenges and the separation had always brought them closer, not driven wedges between them.
Jysella shivered. Cold, she was cold; he was cold and in carbonite, her kind, grinning brother, the gentle and loved one, whom they said was criminally insane. He had attacked both their parents, claiming that they had somehow been stolen away and replaced by fakes. How could such a thing have happened? But it had, and Valin had been caught, arrested, and imprisoned in the most horrible way possible.
Bazel Warv laid a heavy jade-green hand on her narrow shoulder as they climbed up the long ceremonial staircase of the Processional Way toward the Jedi Temple. A series of grunts and squeaks issued from his tusked mouth as he offered reassurances.
“I know, I know,” Jysella said to the Ramoan with a sigh. His small, piggy eyes were full of compassion. “Everyone’s doing their best. It doesn’t make it any easier.”
Bazel, “Barv” as his little circle of close friends called him, considered this and nodded agreement. He squeezed her shoulder, putting all his concern into the gesture, and Jysella forced herself not to wince. Around his fellow Jedi, Bazel tended to forget how strong he was. With little Amelia, the young war orphan who had been adopted by Han and Leia Solo, though, the Ramoan was gentle to a fault. Amelia often went for rides on Barv’s huge shoulders, laughing and giggling. The little girl was fond of everyone in “the Unit,” as Barv, Yaqeel Saav’etu, Valin, and Jysella called themselves.
“The big guy’s right,” Yaqeel, walking on Jysella’s other side, commented. “Don’t underestimate what a group of top Jedi can do when their backs are against the wall.”
Jysella had to force herself again to refrain from wincing, this time from the coolness of the Bothan’s words. She’d known both Barv and Yaqeel for a long time. They had been Valin’s friends first, but had drawn Jysella happily into the circle as she grew older.
Yaqeel used words in the same controlled, deadly way she used her lightsaber. Normally the acerbic, cynical comments she was fond of drawling didn’t bother Jysella in the slightest. But now she felt … raw. Like her emotional skin had been flayed away, and even the slightest breeze caused agony.
Barv oinked, annoyed, and Yaqeel’s ear twitched slightly. Barv was convinced that the Jedi were working hard to find a cure for Valin’s condition not because their own necks were threatened, but because it was the right thing to do. Because that’s what Jedi did.
Tears of gratitude stung Jysella’s eyes as she smiled at her friend. Yaqeel’s ears lowered slightly, a sign that Barv’s simple faith had gotten to her as well. That wasn’t unusual. Everyone—well, everyone except dear, slightly dense Barv himself—knew that Yaqeel had a soft spot for “the big guy,” and no one blamed her for it. Barv was uncomplicated and true, with a heart as big as the galaxy and an unshakable sense of right and wrong.
Jysella desperately wanted to believe him in this case, but the fear, fluttering at the back of her throat like a living thing, prevented it.
“Anyway, honey, we know your brother’s got his head screwed on right,” Yaqeel said in a gentler tone of voice. “Whatever’s happening to him, I’m convinced it’s only temporary. What you need to do is stop watching newsvids. They’re all about reporting whatever sounds juiciest. And that’s usually not the truth.”
They’d reached the Temple entrance. Once, the Jedi Temple had been notable for its five spires, a unique feature of the Coruscant skyline. But much of that had been destroyed during the Yuuzhan Vong War. A great deal of the interior of the Temple had been restored to its former appearances—right down to the marble patterns on the floors in some cases—but the exterior, a collection of stone and transparisteel pyramids in a variety of sizes, was aggressively modern. Jysella found she missed the familiar statues of four former Masters that once stood guard over the main entrance.
She sighed. She’d just turned around to speak to her friends when she found herself caught up in a nearly crushing hug. A grin curved her lips despite herself and she hugged Barv back.
“Thanks, Barv,” she said, using up the last bit of air he’d left in her lungs.
He released her and she gulped oxygen, smiling up at him. Yaqeel embraced her then, all warm, slightly spicy-scented fur and a softness that most people never really got to know. “You’ll feel better once you’re doing something,” Yaqeel said.
Barv allowed that he himself always felt better when he was doing something. Usually that involved attacking bad guys. Yaqeel patted Jysella’s cheek. “Sure you don’t want us coming in with you?”
“No, it’s okay. You two have done enough. I—I don’t know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jysella said, the words burbling out of her. “Mom and Dad have been so focused on Valin—and I mean, of course they should be focused on him. I am, too. Just—”
“You don’t need to say it,” Yaqeel interrupted her gently, sensing, as Jysella now did, that if the human girl continued she’d lose what tenuous control she had. “We’re the Unit. And the Unit can always rely on each other. You’d have done the same for us.”
Barv nodded vigorously. And it was true. Jysella and Valin would have done the same for either of these two friends and fellow Jedi Knights. Done a lot more, as she knew they would have if they had to.
“Well,” she said, trying to put a brave face on it, “with you two and the whole Jedi Order, I’m sure we’ll have Valin out of that carbonite slab in no time. Though I have to admit, when I was a kid, there were plenty of times when I’d have loved it if he’d been a caf table that didn’t talk back.”
It was a feeble attempt at humor, but they all seized it and laughed. Gotta laugh or I’ll cry, Jysella thought. And Valin wouldn’t want her to cry. She’d done altogether too much of it in recent days.
Grinning, Yaqeel slipped her arm through Barv’s. “Come on. I’ll buy you a caf. We still on for lunch, Sella?”
Lunch. She’d forgotten about that. She seemed to be forgetting a lot these days, except the overwhelming longing for everything to be all right again.
“Oh, right. Yes, come back in a few hours. I’m sure I will have annoyed Cilghal sufficiently by then.” She laughed, a genuine laugh this time.
It was a good note to end on, and the three remnants of the Unit waved at one another. Jysella watched Barv and Yaqeel walk off, then sighed and turned to enter the Temple. She smiled politely at the five apprentices who were stationed there as guardians.
How many times had she been here before? She had lost count. It had always been a special place, as it was to every Jedi. For long stretches, when she was not out on assignment, it had been home. But now it seemed even more to her to be a bastion of hope. Somewhere within this vast repository of knowledge, some information that could help her brother had to be housed. Some clue as to what had happened to him, and how to put it right.
Barv thought so. Jysella clung to that hope as well.
Her booted feet rang in the vast, open space of the Temple entrance hall as she headed toward the turbolift that would take her to the First Wing of the archives. She crossed her arms, fidgeting slightly, as the turbolift hummed softly and bore her to the top floor.
She found Cilghal in a small alcove in the depths of the stacks, seated at one of the tables and surrounded by tall piles of glowing blue datatapes and datacards. Her smooth brown head was bent over an ancient text, and her flipper-like hands were encased in gloves to protect the delicate old flimsi. She looked up at Jysella’s approach.
“Jysella. Right on time,” she said, her gravelly voice warm.
Jysella offered her a weak smile in return and slipped into the seat across from her. Even though this was the arranged time for them to meet, it was clear that Cilghal had been here for a while already.
“I …” Jysella sighed and reached out for a datapad, holding it in a limp hand. “I’m sorry, Master Cilghal. I don’t even know where to start trying to help.”
Cilghal regarded her sympathetically, slightly turning her head to fix Jysella with a single large, bulbous eye. “You know everyone is doing everything they can. It is important to us all that your brother recover fully—and that we understand what happened to him. With understanding will, we very much hope, come a cure, and the ability to negotiate his release from Galactic Alliance custody.”
Jysella winced and brushed back a lock of reddish brown hair that had escaped the haphazard bun she’d pinned up that morning.
“I know. It … it’s upsetting that this is only serving to damage the Jedi in the eyes of the public. Valin—he would never have wanted that.”
“Of course not,” Cilghal soothed. “This is in no way a reflection on your family, Jysella. It is simply a tragic and, temporarily I hope, an inexplicable event.”
Cilghal sounded utterly earnest, and Jysella believed that the Mon Calamari healer meant every word. She knew that Cilghal was, to some degree, against the idea of Jedi having attachments. And yet she was still so kind and supportive to Jysella. It meant a lot.
Still … She wished Master Skywalker were here. Although Luke had done everything he could to make sure the transition of power was smooth, the Jedi Order had been thrown into tumult upon his departure. She knew Master Hamner was doing his best in the thankless role of trying to handle everything tactfully, but also knew he wasn’t succeeding. The last thing the Order needed was a crazy Jedi Knight running around claiming that people weren’t who they were.
And now Valin was encased in carbonite in a GA prison, unable to be with those who loved him, to even comprehend that those who loved him were trying to help him. Empathetically feeling the cold that enshrouded Valin, Jysella wrapped slim arms around her own body and shivered slightly.
Oh, Valin. If only you could tell us what had happened … why you looked at Mom and Dad and thought they weren’t themselves. How could you not know your own parents?
Tears leaked past her closed lids, and she brushed them away angrily. Stop it, Sella, she told herself sternly. Grief and worry would not serve Valin, or the Order, now. Only calmness and knowledge would. She opened her eyes and reached for the discarded datapad.
“That looks like a very old record,” she said, lifting her eyes to Cilghal. “Do you have any theories on—”
Jysella felt the blood drain from her face.
The Mon Cal was apparently done with the old flimsi and now was intently studying the information on a datapad. Her large eyes were fastened on it, unblinking in her concentration. The alcove was quiet, save for soft voices talking and the sound of footfalls some distance away. All was as it had been just a moment before.
Except everything—everything—had been turned upside down.
Valin had been right. She saw it now…
Jysella inhaled swiftly. It looked like Cilghal. Whoever had done this had not missed a detail. It even moved like the Mon Calamari healer. And it had certainly acted and sounded like her. But Jysella suddenly and sickly understood exactly what her brother had meant.
The Not-Cilghal turned to regard Jysella, cocking her head curiously. “Jysella? What is it?”
“N-nothing. I … you know what?” She gave a shaky laugh. “I think I may be too upset to help you out much,” she managed. She rose. She had to get away, and fast, before this doppelgänger realized she was on to its deception. But where would she go? Who could she tell? If Valin had been right, then everyone except for her had been taken and replaced by their doubles. How could she not have seen this earlier? Oh, Valin, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you—
The imitation Cilghal looked fully away from the datapad she had been studying and fixed Jysella with one huge, circular eye.
“You’ve held up very well indeed throughout all this, Jysella,” the doppelgänger said gently. “It’s not surprising that you might now be finding you cannot carry it all. Do you wish to talk about this? Speaking one’s worry and fears can be as healing as bacta tanks, in its own way.”
The rough voice was warm and concerned. It only rattled Jysella more. Stang—whoever it was, she was good; she had mastered Cilghal’s voice, her inflections, her movements. No wonder she was succeeding at fooling everyone.
But Valin hadn’t been fooled, although in his confusion he had mistaken his sister and parents for doppelgängers like the one before her now.
Oh, no … what if he’d been right about Mom and—
“I think I had just better go.” One hand dropped casually to her waist, resting on the lightsaber hilt that was fastened there. As a full Jedi Knight, she was authorized to carry the weapon throughout the Temple except in a very few restricted areas. She’d almost forgotten it this morning in her stress over Valin. Now she was tremendously glad she had gone back for it.
Cilghal’s eye followed the gesture, and she got to her feet. She had her own weapon, of course, but made no move to draw it. “Jysella, why don’t you come with me and we’ll—”
Terror shot through Jysella, and a sob escaped her. She stepped back, her hand gripping the lightsaber hilt so hard her knuckles whitened.
“Get away from me!” she screamed, her voice shaking.
“Jysella—” It reached out to her imploringly.
“I said get away!”
Jysella drew the lightsaber in one hand and shoved the other in the false Cilghal’s direction. The males in her family were unable to use telekinesis. Jysella was not so hampered, and she used that ability now. She put all her fear, all her focus, in the gesture, and Not-Cilghal was caught unawares as Jysella Force-shoved her back into a stack of datapads.
She didn’t pause to watch as Cilghal crashed into the stack. By then Jysella Horn, quite possibly the only real person left on the planet—maybe in the galaxy—except for her brother, was racing down the aisle toward the turbolift as fast as she could go.
Cilghal recovered quickly, using the Force to steady the stack and prevent it from toppling entirely. A few datapads clattered to the floor as she rose and reached for her comlink with one hand and her lightsaber with the other. She’d been utterly taken by surprise and mentally rebuked herself.
“Temple security, this is Master Cilghal,” she said even as she began racing after the fleeing human. “Jedi Jysella Horn is to be captured and retained. Do not harm her if at all possible. She is not herself. Notify Master Hamner immediately. Tell him—tell him we’ve got another one.”
“Acknowledged,” came a crisp, cool voice. Cilghal clicked the comlink off. Time enough for more details once Jysella was safely apprehended.
It was obvious what had happened. Like her brother, Jysella Horn had lost her reason. But unlike Valin, who had been irrationally angry, Jysella was pouring utter and abject fear into the Force. Whatever her mind might be telling her, it was terrifying her beyond anything Cilghal had experienced from a human before.
Compassion combined with a grim determination to prevent the frightened young woman from harming anyone lent the Mon Calamari speed. One way or another, they would stop her. After all, this was the Jedi Temple, and Jysella, although quite a capable Jedi Knight, was hardly unstoppable, even if fueled by insane fear.
Where could she possibly go?
JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
WHERE COULD SHE go?
Jysella was trapped, trapped like an animal, and she had to get out, she had to. Oh Valin, Valin, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, I’m so sorry I—
She couldn’t take the turbolift. It was too slow, and besides, they, the doppelgängers, would shut down the power to it and trap her inside. She’d have to get down to the main floor another way, and she knew exactly how.
The turbolift shaft was located in the center area where the hallways of the Archives came together. Four ramps led over an open space from the halls to the turbolift. There were carved stone banisters at waist height, more for decoration than function. Any Jedi walking over these ramps could glance down and see the corresponding hallways of the floor below.
Jysella did not hesitate for an instant. Clutching her activated lightsaber in one hand, she reached out with the other, placed it on the cool marble of the banister, and vaulted diagonally to the other walkway on the floor below. Using the Force to control the leap, she landed easily. She had just turned her head and was about to jump to the next level when she heard Not-Cilghal’s voice.
“Jysella, wait! What you think is not true! No one has stolen us away. We—”
Terror flooded Jysella so that her sweaty hand almost lost its grip. She sprang for the next level, haphazardly and inaccurately, and slammed her knee hard against the marble banister as she clung to it from the side.
She felt the presence of the Jedi rushing toward her, and her head whipped up. She knew this Jedi—or rather, knew who she was supposed to be. The doppelgänger looked exactly like the Falleen female Natua Wan, right down to Natua’s preference for blue beads woven into her long black hair. Her lightsaber was activated and she was shouting something at Jysella. Some nonsense about how she didn’t want to hurt her, that something wasn’t right with Jysella’s thinking but that they wanted to help her. And this doppelgänger’s skin was changing color, just like a real Falleen’s would when she was exuding pheromones in order to trap Jysella—
“Right,” she muttered. Jysella couldn’t release either the railing or her lightsaber, but Not-Natua had to be stopped before the pheromones took effect. Her eyes lit on a bust that sat on a small table at the end of this hallway. With a quick snap of her head, Jysella threw the carved stone bust of a long-dead Jedi at the being who was impersonating a living one. It slammed hard into Natua’s double and she fell.
Jysella didn’t want to see if the false Falleen got up. Grimly she dropped down, landing easily on the balls of her feet.
Jysella was on the main floor now. Escape, and safety, temporary though it might be, was just a few moments away. She turned and saw the exit from this wing. It opened onto the huge main hallway. Beyond that, the Promenade, and freedom. Jysella gulped and started running.
She swore under her breath as another Jedi emerged from one of the side stacks. This one looked like a Brubb, but she didn’t recognize him. They were everywhere, these false ones. So desperate was her need to get out that she didn’t even slow. With a snarl, she made a gesture as if she were running her fingers horizontally along one of the shelves. Hundreds of datatapes sprang forward as if thrown from where, a heartbeat before, they had been safely ensconced. They showered down on the Jedi Knight, momentarily distracting him as he tried to deflect them. Brubb were strong, and no doubt this doppelgänger had that quality as well. Little that Jysella could throw at him would harm him, but all she needed was to buy a couple of moments—
Coming at the Brubb at a dead run, Jysella threw her lightsaber directly at him. She saw his slitted eyes widen in his pitted yellow-skinned face as the glowing weapon hurtled end over end toward him. He barely got his own lightsaber up in time to bat the blade away. By then Jysella was in the air, vaulting easily over him, extending her hand to call her weapon back to her.
She landed lightly, raced through the entrance, then whirled and touched the button that caused the door to this wing to slam shut.
He could open it from the other side, she knew. To prevent that, she shoved her lightsaber hilt-deep into the controls. They crackled and hissed, and her nose wrinkled at the acrid burning smell.
It wouldn’t hold them for long, but she’d bought herself a precious moment to think, blast it; clear her head and think. She was prey, trapped in the rancor’s lair, and she had to get out—
She took a slow, steadying breath, and with the control of a Jedi Knight she calmed her racing, terrified thoughts. Jysella closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, and then slowly opened them.
And saw something very strange.
* * *
Cilghal caught up with Radd Minker as the Brubb was using his lightsaber to cut a hole in the door. She reached out into the Force, trying to sense Jysella, startled to realize that the young woman was still on the other side of the door.
“Cilghal to security,” she said on her comlink. “Jysella Horn is directly outside the Archives on the south side. She has closed the door and destroyed the controls. Jedi Minker is currently cutting through the door with his lightsaber. My guess is that once she catches her breath she’ll head straight for the Promenade exit. She’s frightened, and I anticipate she’ll take the most direct route. Expect her to bolt.”
“Acknowledged. She won’t get past us.”
Cilghal replaced the comlink on her belt and extended her thoughts into the Force, trying again to see if she could reach Jysella and calm the panicked human.
She braced herself for the expected, almost animalistic fear that had buffeted her the first time she’d reached out to Jysella. Instead, she found something else entirely. The fear was still there, yes, but over and around it was something that was only vaguely familiar to Cilghal, and the Mon Cal healer couldn’t quite place it. She frowned, letting herself drop in deeper.
Jysella saw herself, racing down the hallway toward freedom. The hallway was flanked by large pillars on either side, supporting the beautifully carved roof. Before her astonished gaze, hitherto concealed doors in two pillars opened and two security droids emerged.
They started attacking her at once. Jysella watched, trying to understand what she was seeing, as her other self batted back bolts so quickly her lightsaber was nothing more than a blue blur. Was this really her, or just her imagination? What was going on? From the entrance, the five apprentices she had seen half an hour before—had nodded to in greeting—came rushing in. One of them was shouting something into a comlink.
The other Jysella lunged forward and brought her lightsaber down on one of the security droids. It sliced clean through the metal and wires. She flipped just as the other droid was firing, executing a one-handed cart-wheel and lashing out with her lightsaber.
This droid, too, was disabled, slowing to a halt, black smoke emanating from it. By then the other Jysella was on her feet, and the apprentices were on her.
She watched, amazed at her own courage and determination, as she fought wildly. She did not escape unscathed. One blow dragged across her cheek, searing in a black burn. Another blow nearly severed her left arm.
Still, the other Jysella fought on. One by one, she slew them, dropping the false apprentices until there were none left. She did not mourn them; they were not really apprentices, simply more imposters. In agony, she stepped quickly over the bodies and made for the doors.
Jysella cried out as she watched what happened next.
So close—she was so close to making it. But even as the other Jysella was bathed in sunlight from outside, the shield at the entrance to the Temple was activated. Jysella let out a sob as she watched herself writhing, trying to escape, caught as surely as an insect trapped in a spider’s web.
“No!” Jysella cried aloud. She had been mesmerized, watching this strange scene unfold, and was suddenly seized with a realization. And there was a way for her to prove this realization right.
She knew, as all Jedi knew, that there were all kinds of security measures in place at the Temple. The past had starkly shown that even a Temple with Jedi in it could still be violated. Jysella, like all the Jedi Knights and probably most of the Masters, wasn’t privy to exactly what many of these security measures were. At least, she had never been before, but if her guess was correct …
She sprinted to the pillars. If she had indeed somehow been granted a glimpse into the future, then a droid was ensconced within. With a grunt, she thrust her lightsaber in at the exact spot where she suspected the droid’s center would be. The lightsaber cut through the marble pillar—and into the metal and wiring of a security droid. With a whiny hiss and crackle, it was disabled before it was even alerted to attack her. Elated, Jysella leapt across the main hall to the other pillar and repeated the process.
She turned her head to the exit. She didn’t see the apprentices coming at her yet—which meant she had a chance. Quickly she turned back the way she had come and saw the telltale outline of the door to a service corridor, opened it, and ducked inside. She closed the door behind her, then dived behind the large outline of one of the larger, more industrial-duty cleaning droids. She curled up, trembling, hugging her knees to her chest as she had when she was a little girl, and concentrated on masking her presence within the Force.
Jysella had bolted, and Cilghal didn’t know where. She only knew that the presence on the other side of the door, so very frightened and yet tinged with that strange sense of there-not-there, was gone.
Quickly she clicked her comlink. “Jysella is on the move,” she said. “Get people at the main entrance immediately. I think she may be heading for it.”
There came a few seconds of silence interrupted only by the protesting sound of the door as the lightsaber slowly cut a circle through it. The doors were meant to be activated in case of an intruder in the Temple, to protect the Archives, or in case of another disaster such as fire. Thus these doors were not the easiest to get through, not even for a lightsaber, and Radd Minker’s blade was dragging, like a stick through poured and setting duracrete, as he determinedly kept going. It would take several more precious seconds before they were through, and Cilghal didn’t think Jysella Horn had several more seconds. She was dreadfully worried that the confused young woman would get herself killed.
“It’s impossible!” came a sudden yelp from the comlink. Cilghal, who had seen enough to know that the word impossible was one not to be bandied about lightly, didn’t comment on the exclamation. She asked, “What’s happened?”
“She—the locations of the security droids are strictly on a need-to-know basis.” This was true—even Cilghal didn’t know where they were ensconced. “There’s only a handful of my team who have that information. And yet Jysella targeted and destroyed the two we were just about to activate. She couldn’t possibly have determined their locations at all, let alone in so short a time.”
Cilghal thought about the strange resonances she had sensed from Jysella a few moments before, and unease stirred inside her as a suspicion began to form.
“Go on,” said Cilghal, her enormous eyes on the slowly moving blade.
“And she’s not heading for the main entrance. We don’t know where she’s heading.”
“She’s going to want to get out, I can assure you of that much,” Cilghal said. “I would send the security teams to every other exit.”
“Yes, Master Cilghal.”
Cilghal sighed. Radd threw her an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry this is taking so long, Master.”
“Perhaps I can assist,” said Cilghal. Her lightsaber activated with a snap-hiss. She stepped forward and plunged it into the door, feeling the resistance, and began to slowly pull it through the material to meet up with Radd’s incision. It was tricky, doing this in tandem. There was the risk of suddenly feeling the metal yield and having both lightsabers collide while surrounded by white-hot metal, which was why Cilghal hadn’t stepped forward before. But Jysella’s life possibly hung in the balance.
Cilghal would just have to focus.
Jysella felt them rush past her, sensed their concentration on reaching the exits, their focus so great that they failed to search the immediate area in the Force. That was why they were still just apprentices.
No, she thought. They weren’t. They were imposters. That was why they hadn’t sensed her. A shiver ran through her and for a moment she was so frightened she couldn’t move. Then, through sheer will, she forced her legs to unfold and got to her feet.
She pressed the door with her hand, and it slid open. There was no one, nothing, between her and the exit. The guardian apprentices had gone off elsewhere. What about the shield that had been the downfall of her future self?
Wait—one of the apprentices had been speaking into his comlink as he ran toward her. Was it then that it was activated, when they knew she was heading for it? Had he already contacted security?
There was no time to head for another exit, no time to sit and concentrate to see if she could again find her future self to learn what had happened. Jysella took a deep breath, grasped her lightsaber firmly, and ran down the empty hall.
She tensed as she approached the entrance, the daylight coming through and pooling on the carpeted floor, expecting at any moment to feel the energetic net being dropped around her.
Nothing happened.
Jysella bit back a sob of relieved joy and raced out to freedom.
TEMPLE DISTRICT, CORUSCANT
YAQEEL SIPPED THE hot, dark beverage and glanced at the newcomer to the tapcaf. He was human, slender but not scrawny. He had a full head of hair, tawny and immaculately styled, and his clothing was fashionable but tastefully understated. His face was quite handsome by human standards, but the full lips seemed to her to be held in a constant smirk. Yaqeel’s sensitive nose detected some sort of musky scent about him. She had learned that humans liked to adorn themselves with “perfume” or “cologne,” as it was called, apparently not trusting in their own natural scents to attract the opposite sex. Bothans had no such concerns. They all smelled unique and almost all smelled appealing. At least to other Bothans. She cast a glance at Barv and wondered what he thought of her scent.
Barv was enjoying his caf in silence, his oversized hands holding an appropriately oversized mug. His jade face, with the thick, boxy snout and strong chin that often made him look so glowering and imposing to others, was relaxed in what Yaqeel recognized as comfortable good cheer.
Yaqeel turned her eyes back to the stranger, noting the well-manicured hands that accepted a portable cup. Now that she looked again, he seemed familiar to her somehow. Not the scent, she’d have remembered that, but his looks. Was he a holovid star? She watched the occasional one that Valin and Jysella had recommended to her and found them passably entertaining, but she couldn’t identify him. The stranger paid and walked out. He strode off briskly, and a droid that had been patiently waiting outside suddenly lifted and floated after him.
A Hologlide J57 cam droid.
And Yaqeel realized where she knew the stranger from. Her eyes narrowed and she growled softly, her fur rippling in displeasure.
“A journalist,” she spat, infusing the single word with the same disgust and loathing with which she would have said A Sith.
Barv grunted, but he allowed that journalists, despite Yaqeel’s personal opinion, were beings, too, and they should be allowed to buy a cup of caf if they felt so inclined.
A pedestrian hurtled through the tapcaf’s window right about then, transparisteel folding about him as he hit a table, and the conversation was dropped.
Both Jedi Knights leapt to their feet, weapons in hand but not activated, and raced outside as the customers inside screamed and ducked. A soft, pudgy Ortolan, screaming and flailing his blue arms and legs, ears flapping wildly, hurtled toward Barv. Still calm, he lifted a massive hand and Force-caught the Ortolan, lowering him gently to the ground. Yaqeel’s lightsaber snap-hissed to life and she extended her senses, reaching past the chaos and fear to identify the source of the disturbance.
It took less than a second, and her eyes lit upon the miscreant at the same instance the Force directed Yaqeel’s attention toward her. Her feline jaw gaped for a precious second.
“Jysella?”