Abyss (30 page)

“This one thinkz differently,” Saba said, leading Kyp and the others through the half-opened blast doors. “This one thinkz
you
will escort us where we need to go.”

As soon as the Rodians’ eyes fell on Saba’s hulking form, their sensory saucers drooped against their heads and their Force auras grew electric with fear.

“Relax,” Jaina said. “We have permission.”

“
Permission
?” Weeze turned his head to regard Jaina out of one eye. “What kind of permission?”

“You haven’t shown him the document, Jedi Solo?” Saba asked, feigning surprise. “Why do you wait?”

Jaina glanced back through the door and—behind Kyp, Cilghal,
and the other Masters—saw Corran and Mirax Horn ascending the escalator with a sizable mob of newsbeings with holocams shouting questions at them. Javis Tyrr, of course, was in the lead, his fashionable tabard badly wrinkled where he had been grabbed and—no doubt—shoved away. A puffy cheek and darkening bruise suggested that it had been done with relish, and Jaina began to have doubts about Master Horn’s ability to control himself once they reached Valin and Jysella.

Jaina turned back to Saba and dipped her head in mock apology. “I’m sorry, Master Sebatyne. It took a few minutes to confirm that this is the correct place.”

Confident that the Rodians would not try anything foolish with so many Masters in the room, Jaina released them from the wall, then withdrew the writ tube from inside her robe. By then, the Horns were entering the lobby, with Javis Tyrr and another half a dozen news teams pushing through the doors behind him.

Jaina waited while Kyp and Cilghal used the Force to subtly arrange the crowd. Once she was sure that all the holocams would have a clear view of the security counter, she stepped forward and presented the tube, turning it so the Justice Center seal was in plain sight.

“Sergeant Weeze,” she said, “this is a legal writ granting us visitation rights for Valin and Jysella Horn, who, as you can see by the accompanying incarceration order, are being held at a secret Galactic Alliance Security detention center located at this address.”

Weeze made no move to accept the tube, staring at it as though Jaina were trying to hand him an armed thermal detonator.

“I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Rodian said. “This is just a storage facil—”

The Rodian’s denial came to an abrupt end as the sizzle of deactivating access shields sounded from the turbolifts at the back of the lobby. Sharp voices began to shout contradictory orders to “get down” and “don’t move.” Everyone turned toward the sounds—just in time to see a GAS assault squad charging into the lobby in full armor, stun grenades in hand and repeating blasters ready to shoulder.

Of course, the news teams immediately activated their cam lights, and only a few quick Force nudges from Jaina and her fellow Jedi sent the flurry of bolts that followed into the ceiling instead of into the
crowd of journalists. The beings carrying the larger holocams merely dropped to a knee and continued filming as the rest of the confused assault squad poured out of the turbolifts and took up positions at the far end of the lobby.

The firing quickly died away as the assault squad realized they were being filmed instead of attacked, but by then the news teams had a full four or five seconds of GAS confusion for the evening broadcast. Things were going even better than Jaina had hoped—and they quickly improved when the familiar square-shouldered figure of the assault squad commander stepped out of the turbolift.

“Bloah!” Jaina started toward the lift. “If it isn’t
Captain Atar!”

She called the name out especially loudly, to be sure that Javis Tyrr and every other newsbeing caught it on their audio. If the plan kept going
this
well, she might even risk revealing that this whole trap had been Jag’s idea. That probably wouldn’t do much to buy him—or
her
—any slack with her parents, but it just might make the Masters view their situation a little more sympathetically.

Atar quickly motioned his troopers to lower their weapons, then came three meters forward and stood scowling out from beneath his bushy mustache. Jaina was glad to see that both he and his team were in full GAS uniform.

Jaina stopped half a pace away, then—once she felt the cam lights warming her flanks—said, “Captain Atar, I wish I could say what a pleasure it is to see you again.” She held out the writ tube. “Perhaps
you
would be good enough to accept this. Your subordinates seem to be rather confused about who they’re working for.”

This drew a round of snickers from the reporters, and Atar’s attitude grew wary and bitter. He had been ambushed inside his own nest, and he knew it. He accepted the tube without comment, then removed the writ and read it in silence.

When he came to the authorizing signature, his eyes grew wide and his face turned red. He lowered the flimsi and studied Jaina with a raised brow.

“You want to visit Valin and Jysella Horn?”

“That’s right,” Jaina said.

“But they’re frozen,” he said, “in carbonite.”

“We’re aware of that,” Cilghal said, stepping to Jaina’s side. “That order gives me the right to inspect their frigidation pods and make certain everything is in good order.”

“And affirms the right of Valin and Jysella Horn to receive visitors while being held in detention,” Kyp added, motioning Corran and Mirax forward. “Just like any other prisoner.”

“As you can see.” Jaina glanced back, addressing the cams directly. “We’ve taken pains to acquire all the necessary permissions.”

Atar nodded. “So you have.” He rerolled the flimsi carefully, no doubt trying to buy himself time to think, and returned it to the tube. “I’m sure the facility director will be happy to make an appointment—”

“No, Captain.” Jaina stepped closer to Atar, craning her neck to look up at him—and using the Force to nudge him back. “That order gives us
immediate
access.”

“So we can be sure that GAS is maintaining the pods properly, and as a matter of routine,” Cilghal added, also starting forward. “If you think we are going to give you a chance to make repairs and forge maintenance records, you are quite mistaken.”

Jaina nudged him back another step, but Atar centered himself in front of the turbolifts. “I’m sorry.” He motioned the rest of his squad to their feet. “But I don’t have the authority to grant you entry to this facility.”

Saba slipped forward to stand snout-to-nose with him. “Look again, Captain. You have no authority to
stop
us.”

The Barabel snatched the tube from his hand, then poked him in the chest with it. Atar’s eyes bulged with rage, but before he could respond, Javis Tyrr shoved forward to push a microphone into his face.

“Captain Atar,” the reporter demanded, “is it your position that Galactic Alliance Security is not bound by Judicial Center writs?”

“No, of course not.” Atar had barely spoken before the rest of the press began to shout questions, and his face reddened as he realized how his meaning was being misconstrued. He raised his hands for silence, and when that didn’t work he shouted, “I mean, the security services are
absolutely
bound by the law, just like anyone else in the Galactic Alliance.”

“This one is glad to hear that,” Saba said. She handed the tube back
to Jaina, then started toward the turbolifts. “We will start our search in the sublevelz and work up.”

Atar’s red face suddenly grew pale, and he rushed after her. “There’s no need to search, Master Sebatyne. I’ll escort you myself.”

Saba stopped at the entrance to the turbolift and turned. “How nice, Captain.” She turned to the cams, which were already pressing in close behind her, then asked, “What are the cell numberz?”

Atar shook his head. “I’m sorry, Master Sebatyne. We’ll be going to—”

“The infirmary, perhapz?” Saba stooped down to peer at the turbolift control panel. “Is this it? Level four ninety-eight?”

She extended a talon toward the number pad, but Atar’s hand shot out to enter a different level instead. Saba studied the number, then turned to the captain, her face scales flattened in the Barabel equivalent of a frown.

“Four seventy?” She turned and added the level designation for the benefit of her companions and the reporters. “The
executive officez
?”

Atar dropped his gaze, and Jaina
knew
. GAS was treating the Horn siblings like some sort of prize, putting them on display—just as Jabba the Hutt had put her own father on display four decades earlier. And she could feel by the rising tide of fury in the Force that the Masters realized it, too.

An instant later Atar tried to cover. “We, uh, need to pick up some visitor passes.”

Saba fixed him with a cold reptilian glare. “This one doubtz that very much.”

She stepped into the turbolift and vanished up the tube.

Atar cursed under his breath, then turned to a young Bothan with a lieutenant’s patch on her collar. “The Horns and the Jedi can follow, Rasher. No one else.”

The lieutenant—the name above her pocket read
KE’E, RASHER—
came to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“Set the turbolift level yourself,” he said. “And check them for weapons first.”

Again the lieutenant saluted, but by this time Atar was already
going after Saba. Cilghal immediately moved forward to the turbolift and entered the level number herself.

“Hold on, Master,” Ke’e said, moving to block her way. “You heard the captain. I need to check you for weapons.”

“I assure you, that’s not necessary.” Cilghal waved a finger, and the lieutenant slid out of her way. “I didn’t bring any.”

She stepped into the turbolift and rose out of sight, leaving the Bothan sputtering in anger. Jaina glanced back and saw Kyp standing behind the reporters with the Horns, waiting to bring them forward. She caught Corran Horn’s eye, then raised a questioning brow and tipped her head toward the turbolift. This next part was going to be harder on him and Mirax than anyone had expected, and the decision to put them through it in the middle of a media frenzy was not hers to make.

Corran acknowledged her question by turning to his wife, whose impish face was already creased in outrage and grief. She answered with a curt, narrow-eyed nod that told Jaina all she needed to know about the Horns’ state of mind. They knew how much this was going to hurt, and they were willing to bear it and stick to the plan.

Jaina turned back to find Ke’e pointing her subordinates toward the turbolifts, growling at them to stop standing around and secure the lobby. Jaina stepped forward to take possession of the entrances. The troopers immediately trained their weapons on her and began shouting orders for her to stand down.

Jaina calmly turned to Javis Tyrr, using the Force to make herself heard above the GAS troopers. “Don’t you want to go up and see what Daala is trying to hide?”

Tyrr’s narrow eyes lit with something akin to greed, but quickly turned fearful as they swung toward Lieutenant Ke’e.

“Stay where you are, Tyrr,” the Bothan ordered. “The news media isn’t permitted to—”

“What are you going to do, Lieutenant?” Jaina demanded. “Blast them on a live holofeed?”

With that, she turned and used the Force to slide a couple of troopers out of Tyrr’s path. He continued to hesitate—but only until the rest of the cam teams began to push forward. Tyrr and his stocky assistant
began to fling elbows and shout that the invitation had been extended to
them
, and reporters began to vanish up the turbolifts.

Lieutenant Ke’e waved her subordinates off, then pushed her way over to stand muzzle-to-nose with Jaina. “You are going to regret that, Jedi. We have a long reach.”

“Lieutenant Ke’e, I have been threatened by assassin droids, Yuuzhan Vong Warmasters, and Sith Lords.” Jaina watched as Kyp and the Horns followed the last of the reporters into the turbolift, then added,
“Them
, I worried about.”

With that, Jaina turned her back on the Bothan and entered the turbolift. She rose three levels to the executive offices, then stepped out into an expansive lobby area with a vaulted ceiling and high stone walls. The spacious sitting area featured three nerf-hide couches arranged before a long, built-in aquarium filled with exotic water species from Pavo Prime.

But the aquarium was not the focal point. Hanging two meters above the tank were a pair of black slabs, each about two meters tall and perhaps a meter and a half wide. Along the bottom blinked a row of control lights, but otherwise they resembled a black, glossy bas-relief sculpture of Valin and Jysella Horn. In the bright illumination of so many lights, it was possible to see every detail of the young Jedi Knights’ faces—the eyes bulging in terror, the nostrils flaring with panic, the mouths frozen in mid-scream.

Directly below the carbonite pods stood the Horns, their necks craned back and their mouths hanging agape as they looked up at their frozen children. Jaina’s stomach instantly went cold and heavy as she struggled with her own feelings—the guilt of being the one who had suggested using the Horns so cynically, the outrage of discovering the extent of the indignity being visited on their children … who were, after all, her fellow Jedi Knights.

The reporters must have been as shocked as Jaina and the other Jedi, for they maintained a respectful distance behind the couches. The only sound from them was the faint hum of their equipment and a few whispered cam instructions. For a moment, Jaina thought the GAS officers were going to disappoint her and allow the confrontation to end on that sad note, with the Horns watching while Cilghal inspected the
carbonite pods to make sure Valin and Jysella were being properly cared for in custody.

Then a long, spine-chilling wail rose from somewhere inside Mirax, and she turned to bury her head in Corran’s robes. He clutched her to his chest, his eyes growing wet and furious as he stared up at the carbonite slabs. The reporters began to shout questions, though they probably knew better than to expect answers, and a hulking Yaka in a GAS colonel’s uniform came tramping out of the corner office. Escorted by half a dozen armed guards and twice as many scowling captains, he was almost certainly the facility commander.