Abyss (44 page)

In short, neither Lady Rhea nor anyone else expected Xal and Ahri to survive the mission. Of course, Vestara hoped Ahri would prove them wrong, which was one of the reasons she had been happy to accept the assignment. If anyone was going to give him the benefit of the doubt, it would be her. She might even be able to give him a second chance, if no one was looking.

Ahri’s voice came over her helmet speaker. “Hey, Ves?”

“Yes?”

“Something’s been troubling me about this whole Skywalker mission,” he said.
“Why
?”

Vestara grimaced, immediately suspicious of his motivations. “Ahri, don’t.” She peered through the crack of her open hatch, looking
across the chamber toward the partially open hatch where Ahri was hiding. “Lady Rhea gave us our orders.”

“Yeah, and
those
orders make sense,” Ahri returned. His helmet appeared in the sliver of open space behind his hatch, the faceplate raised so she could see one pale eye. “What I don’t get is why does
Abeloth
want the Skywalkers?”

“I really haven’t thought about it,” Vestara lied. The fact of the matter was that she and Lady Rhea had thought about the problem plenty, and still they couldn’t see why Abeloth would risk losing all her Sith pets in exchange for just two Jedi. There was only one reason that made even a little sense—and Vestara was loath to believe it. “Maybe Abeloth thinks they’re stronger than we are and can survive longer?”

“Yeah,
right,
” Ahri scoffed. “Two Jedi are stronger than fifteen Sith. That—”

His voice was overridden by a burst of connection static. For an instant Vestara hoped it was Xal, ordering them to be quiet. Because maybe then, Ahri’s questions wouldn’t be what she feared they were: the opening gambit in some backstabbing ploy of Xal’s.

But when the static cleared, it was Lady Rhea’s voice that Vestara heard. “Coming your way,” she commed. “Be care—”

The transmission was interrupted by an eruption of blast static, and the deck jumped so hard that Vestara thought the station was about to come apart.

“—are
very
good,” Lady Rhea finished.

“Acknowledged,” Vestara said. “And thank you—”

Xal’s sharp voice cut her off, ordering, “Silence! You have your orders!”

Vestara acknowledged the reprimand with a comm click. Xal’s tone—and her own intuition—told her that Lady Rhea had been entirely right about the Master’s treachery. She took a pair of special grenades off her equipment harness and removed the safety locks, then crouched at the hatch, peering through the crack she had left open and waiting for the Skywalkers to show. She did not need to comm Baad Walusari to know the grenades in his hands would be identical to hers; Lady Rhea had made clear to them both that they were not to take any
chances, that they were to use the special grenades first if they sensed even the slightest whiff of betrayal from Xal.

A few breaths later a hatch about a third of the way around the circle opened. A pair of dark figures came shooting into the chamber, using the Force to pull themselves up toward the strange membrane air lock at the top of the chamber. Their helmet faceplates were closed, so it was impossible to be
certain
these were Luke and Ben Skywalker, whose faces she had seen so many times in training briefings. But the two were wearing the same formfitting Jedi vac suits she had seen in those briefings, and in their hands they held lightsabers as well as blasters.

“Fools,
” Xal hissed over the comm.

Vestara had to agree. They were moving fast, which was always wise when traversing a potential ambush site. But Force-users had so many other tools available that there was no excuse for the kind of risks they were taking—except maybe arrogance. Perhaps the Skywalkers were just so accustomed to having the sole advantage of the Force that they no longer bothered with the most basic of tactical precautions. If
these
were the best in the Jedi had to offer, the Jedi deserved what would befall them when the Tribe began its expansion.

The Skywalkers were about two-thirds of the way to the membrane—far enough so they would not see the hatches swinging open behind them—when Xal gave his command.

“Now!”

Vestara opened her hatch and sent the two special grenades she had selected sailing up toward the Skywalkers. As she started to pull the hatch shut to protect herself, she saw Baad Walusari’s grenades reverse course and go flying back into his hiding place. Time seemed to slow. In the next nanosecond she caught Ahri looking in her direction. Her own grenades reversed course and came sailing into her corridor with her, and the last thing she saw—just before her hatch closed—was Ahri tossing
his
grenades up toward the Skywalkers.

Vestara dropped to her haunches, her stomach sinking and going hollow as she watched the special grenades—the ones with no detonators—bounce harmlessly down the corridor. Foreseeing that
Xal would attempt to kill Vestara and Baad with their own grenades, Lady Rhea had provided them each with a harmless pair to throw first. Now, with evidence of her Master’s wisdom rolling down the floor behind her, Vestara found herself filled with both rage and disappointment. It wasn’t Ahri’s betrayal that disheartened her. They were on opposite sides of a conflict, so
that
was to be expected—even respected. It was the
stupidity
she found sickening. Did he really believe Abeloth intended to accompany Xal back to Kesh with Ship and the Skywalkers as prizes? Or was he just so much of a coward that he would rather die on Abeloth’s planet than betray his Master and strike a deal with Lady Rhea?

The thin bang of a pair of stun grenades sounded from the chamber outside, and Vestara knew the time had come to put Ahri out of his weakness. She pulled two more grenades from her equipment harness—both frag models, both fully lethal. Then she went back to the hatch and pushed it open a crack.

There was only one Skywalker in sight, floating overhead, up near the strange membrane. For a moment, Vestara thought Xal and Ahri had muddled not only their double cross but the ambush itself. Steeling herself to report the escape of one Skywalker, she removed the safety locks on the two fragmentation grenades and waited as Xal and Ahri emerged from their hiding places, already opening the shock shackles with which they intended to restrain their captive.

But instead of going toward the prisoner-to-be together, Xal broke off and started in Vestara’s direction. She began to fear that he had sensed her survival—then she noticed that his gaze was fixed on the wall just above her hatch. The stun grenades had sent one of the Skywalkers drifting toward her, she realized.

Deciding that she had earned the right to a little selfish indulgence, Vestara used the Force to pull the shikkar from her equipment belt. Valued on Kesh as an art piece as much as a weapon, the thin glass dagger was designed to break off inside the target’s body, killing him with as much anguish as possible. She sent it flying straight into Xal’s abdomen.

The attack took Xal completely by surprise, the blade sinking a full
ten centimeters into his solar plexus before it reached the hilt guards and stopped. Again using the Force, she snapped off the handle, leaving the glass blade buried inside his body.

Had Xal shown his apprentice the courtesy of dying in silence, Vestara might have been able to save her friend Ahri. But the Master bellowed his surprise and anguish like the coward he was. And that drew Ahri’s attention away from the unconscious Skywalker he was preparing to restrain.

In the next second a lightsaber sizzled to life, and Ahri came apart along the length of his spine.

Vestara suffered only a heartbeat of surprise before she realized that the Skywalkers had completely escaped the stun grenade attack. Even then, she was a heartbeat slower than Baad Walusari, whose long arm was shooting out from behind his hatch, a pair of armed fragmentation grenades grasped in one hand.

The Skywalker beside Ahri was already extending his free hand in Walusari’s direction. As soon as the Keshiri’s hand opened, the grenades flew
back
into the corridor and vanished from sight. Half a gasp later the hatch slammed shut on Walusari’s arm, folding the limb in a direction no arm was meant to bend.

It was already too late for Vestara to learn from Walusari’s mistake. Though she managed to avoid releasing her grenades, a dark-gloved hand clamped down on her wrist and jerked her from her hiding place. A second hand snatched the grenades from her hand and tossed them back into the corridor behind her. Then the hatch scraped past her and closed, leaving her to stare up into an open faceplate, where she found the pale blue eyes of Luke Skywalker.

He quickly slid her faceplate open so he could look into her eyes, then grasped her free hand with his.

“You should know,” he said in Basic, “that Jedi can resist stun grenades.”

“Fool!”
she replied in Keshiri.

Even with both hands trapped, Vestara was far from helpless. Using the Force, she drew her parang from its sheath and brought the blade slashing up toward Luke’s face.

Skywalker reacted with incredible swiftness, throwing his head back
and to one side. But even a Jedi Grand Master was no match for the speed of the dark side. The blade took him across the cheek and nose, opening a deep cut that sprayed Vestara’s face with hot blood that burned like acid.

Skywalker released her hand. She glimpsed four large, black-gloved knuckles flying through her open faceplate, and when they landed, everything went dark.

Luke was almost there … as long as
there
was the next section of equipment-littered corridor, the next panel of self-lighting wall, the next doorway they passed, the next “whatever” his son chose for him. He was sustaining himself only through the strength of the Force. It was pouring into him from all sides, filling him with a blazing furnace of pain, devouring him even as it empowered him, burning him alive even as it saved him.

Luke would have liked to think he had never been quite this tired, to believe he would never again find himself in circumstances quite this desperate. But the truth was, he had been here many times before—in the wampa cave on Hoth, during the Battle of Mindor, on the approach to Qoribu in the Gyuel system in the Unknown Regions. And Luke had no doubt that he would be here many times again. In the years and the decades to come, there would be a hundred occasions when he thought he was dying and a dozen times when others
believed he already had. Yet for Ben’s sake, and for myriad reasons that seemed far less important right now, he had to keep going.

“Come on, Dad!” Ben’s voice came over the helmet speaker. They had fled the ambush in the junction chamber just half a minute earlier, and now they were fleeing through the depressurized part of the station. “We’re almost back to that detention center with the Killik carapaces!”

Luke didn’t have the energy—or the heart—to tell Ben that the steady stream of encouragement was more irritating than helpful. He knew Ben was alarmed to see the blood from his slashed cheek pooling at the bottom of his faceplate, but the wound wasn’t as serious as it looked. He had been careful not to let the girl cut too deeply, and it was a small enough price to pay for his prisoner.

Ben had insisted on being the one who pulled her along, and Luke was just as glad. Even though she was floating, it took effort to keep her from drifting away as the deck slowly rotated under her, and Luke needed to keep his concentration focused on all that Force energy he was pulling into himself.

Another section of wall illuminated, this time in a rich yellow, and the corridor behind them fell dark. If Luke remembered correctly, as they advanced toward the end of the passage—about three hundred meters distant—the panel color would deepen to green. That was where they would find the entrance to their hangar, and then it should be a simple matter to board the
Shadow
and depart with their prisoner.

They passed the door to the detention center, and Luke’s entire body began to prickle with danger sense. Ben clearly felt it, too, because he suddenly gave their prisoner a hefty Force shove. She went sailing down the corridor ahead of them, her vac-suited body seeming to spin on its long axis as the station rotated around her.

Luke swung around, blaster and lightsaber already in hand. At the other end of the corridor, about two hundred meters distant, the air lock membrane was stretching toward them as someone pushed through. He reached out in the Force and felt half a dozen dangerous presences waiting behind the first.

“Can’t those guys take a hint?” Ben asked. “We must’ve killed
half
of them already.”

“They just keep coming, don’t they?” Luke agreed. “We have
got
to find out who they are.”

“We’ll ask the girl … later,” Ben said, “once we’re aboard the
Shadow
.”

The first figure pulled free of the membrane. Another began to push through, and Luke sensed danger. He threw himself to the floor, just as the first, faceplate still covered in goo, began to pour blasterfire blindly down the corridor.