Apocalypse (56 page)

One Sith was cut completely in two, the top half of her body tumbling forward to hit the floor while the bottom half was still on its feet. The midsections of her two companions simply began to spray fans of blood as they Force-hurled themselves backward into their charging fellows.

Olazon’s voice sounded again in Saba’s ear. “Jedi,
down
.”

Saba and Tahiri hurled themselves to the floor facedown. By the time they hit, a steady
phuutt-phuutt
was sounding behind them as the Void Jumper sniper team opened fire with their silenced slugthrowers. Red circles blossomed in three Sith heads, and the targets crumpled to the floor, dead before they knew they were hit.

Reacting quickly, the survivors extended their arms and used the Force to jerk the weapons from the snipers’ hands.

“Legloppers,” Olazon ordered.

A loud
pop
sounded from the magpackets—Olazon’s demolition team had slapped two of them on the corridor walls after the scouts had reported the enemy approach—and then a pair of fan-shaped cutting lasers flashed across the passage at about knee height. All six Sith screamed in anguish and surprise as their legs were severed, and they tumbled to the floor writhing in pain.

“Stompers.”

A deafening clang shook the corridor as a four-meter section of wall peeled open adjacent to the killing zone, and then a pair of Void Jumpers in full-power armor came hissing and whirring through the breach. The first turned up the passage to provide defensive cover in case there were more Sith rushing to aid the ambushed band. The second Stomper stopped at the edge and covered the floor with a spray of flechettes, killing everything that was not already dead.

Less than sixty seconds after the initial warning, Stomper Two stopped firing and announced, “Kill zone clear.”

“Clear forward,” Stomper One said.

“Approach clear, two hundred meters,” Scout One reported.

“Backtrail clear,” Sniper One reported. “Thirty meters.”

“All clear,” Olazon said. “Good work, everyone. Good ambush.”

“Good pack,” Saba added, returning to her feet. “Their longtailz will not be so eager next time, this one thinkz. Now we start
our
hunt.”

“
Our
hunt?” Tahiri asked, rising next to Saba. “So you always
meant
to let the
Parting Gift
leave without us and the Void Jumpers?”

“It was overloaded,” Saba said. “And there is quarry for us here … very great quarry.”

As they spoke, Olazon and his Void Jumpers began to emerge from their hiding places. One of the technical sergeants began to collect comlinks, while the second clamped on a pair of knee magnets and began to climb the corridor wall.

Tahiri watched the preparations for a moment, then her eyes grew narrow. “You wanted the
Gift
because
I
was aboard, didn’t you?” she asked. “You want me to go after another of Abeloth’s manifestions with you.”

Saba shrugged. “It was Master Horn’z idea,” she said. “But you have already killed
one
Abeloth. When the time comes, this one expectz you to let the Master take first strike.”

Before Tahiri could agree, Tech One stepped between them and held out a hand. “We need your comlinks,” he said. “And chronos, too, if they have an autocheck function.”

Seeing that Tech Two was magclamping a small silver orb in front of the vidcam that covered this section of corridor, Saba quickly passed over the requested equipment, then asked, “What about lightsaberz and blasterz?”

“Not this time,” the tech replied. “This is just a small blinder. It’s only going to take out RF and a bit of optical.”

Tahiri passed her equipment over. “You’re disabling the surveillance system?”

“Everything within three hundred meters, anyway,” the tech said. “We can’t do the whole thing at once without crashing every speeder and blastboat within fifty kilometers.”

Tahiri turned to Saba. “No one put a backdoor in the Temple’s surveillance system?”

“Of course,” Saba replied. “But Abeloth entered the computer
core and removed it—along with all our other backdoorz. She controlz all systemz in the Temple now.”

Tahiri’s eyes widened in alarm—or perhaps it was excitement. With humans, Saba could never tell.

“When you say
entered
,” Tahiri said, “do you mean Abeloth actually moved her Force presence into the circuits, like Callista did aboard the
Eye of Palpatine
’s computer?”

“Yes … that is why we must destroy the surveillance system,” Saba said, forcing herself to be patient. “Before one can kill the kranbak, one must put out the eyes of the kranbak.”

“But that means setting off a blinder every six hundred meters.” Tahiri stopped to do the calculations, then her face sagged with disappointment. “We’re going to be here for
days
.”

“The time will pass faster than you think, Jedi Veila,” Saba said. “We have much to prepare before Master Skywalker signalz the attack.”

They had been given nothing to drink since departing Coruscant, and the dark waters of the Font of Power were starting to tempt even Ben. The journey had taken days, and Abeloth had refused to allow her captives either water or food, urging them instead to throw off the shackles of mortality and claim their destiny. Ben, she insisted, was to become the eternal Prince of Light, and he would keep burning the twin flames of justice and forgiveness. Vestara was to become the irresistible Daughter of the Night. She would guard the forbidden mysteries of the Force—and she would bring life to the galaxy by filling dreams with images of beauty and desire. Together, the three of them would become the Ones, and they would live forever and remake the galaxy however it suited them.

Ben and Vestara had made the mistake of telling Abeloth they would rather die than become part of her insanity, and now they were standing back-to-back in the yellow fog that surrounded the Font of Power. Their noses and throats were raw from its caustic steam, and their eyes were burning, but they were so dehydrated that their bodies were imploring them to drink—and it did not matter that the water was so tainted with dark side energy that it made them shudder
inside. Their heads were pounding and their vision was blurring, and their thoughts were coming slow and muddled. They had to drink or die—and when faced with those choices, the body always chose to drink.

Vestara’s shoulder shifted against Ben’s, and he could tell that she was looking toward the Font … no doubt wondering the same thing he was, what would happen if they drank, whether there was any way they could risk even a sip.

“Don’t do it, Ves.” Ben’s throat was so dry and swollen that words came out as a croak. “That has to be what she wants, why she didn’t let us drink on the trip. So we’d drink from the Font.”

Vestara’s shoulder did not shift back. “That might be better than dying, Ben.”

“Think so?” Ben asked. “You remember what happened to Taalon, right?”

“That was the Pool of Knowledge,” Vestara pointed out. “And he
fell
in.”

“And this is the Font of Power,” Ben replied. “I can feel the dark side gushing out. Do you really think you can touch that and not turn into the kind of freak he became?”

“That might be better than dying,” Vestara repeated.

A swirl appeared in the fog a few meters ahead, and Abeloth spoke in her multiple voices. “You see, Ben? She cannot be trusted to resist temptation.” The swirl approached closer and resolved into a ghostly face. The face had tiny silver eyes and a too-wide mouth, full of pointed fangs. “
That
is why I brought you here—so that you would learn whom you can truly trust.”

Vestara pivoted around to stand at Ben’s side. “And that would be you?”

“I am not the one hiding my betrayal from him,” Abeloth replied.

“If you’re talking about the attack on the
Falcon
,” Ben said, “I know all about it. Vestara told me what happened.”

“Yes, but did she tell you
everything
?” Abeloth asked. “Did she tell you about—”

“Of course I did.” Vestara looked over and caught Ben’s eye. “You can’t listen to her, Ben. She’s just trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“No worries, Ves, it’s not going to work,” Ben said. “All we’ve got is each other—and no way am I letting that go on
her
word.”

“Good, Ben,” Vestara said. “We just have to remember who’s holding us captive.”

“You are holding
yourself
captive, Vestara,” Abeloth said. She raised an arm, and four fluttering tentacles pointed toward the churning fountain next to them. “The power you crave is there. It is
Ben
holding you back—not I.”

Vestara glanced past Ben toward the pillar of dark waters, then shook her head. “No, Ben’s right,” she said. “Drinking from the Font would destroy us, not save us.”

Abeloth lowered her arm. “The choice is yours to live with.” She withdrew into the fog. “Or to die from.”

Ben waited until even the swirl of her retreat had vanished, then said, “Good job, Ves. We can get through this as long as we stand firm—and stand together.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Ben, but that’s a load of poodoo.” Vestara pivoted to stand back-to-back again. “In case you didn’t notice the last hundred times we tried to leave the courtyard, we’re kind of outclassed here. No way are we getting past Abeloth to safe water.”

“Probably not.” Ben tipped his head as far as he could toward Vestara, then whispered, “But we just have to hold on. Dad’s on his way—I can feel him reaching out to me in the Force.”

Vestara whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Would I lie about something like that?” Ben asked. “Trust me. He’ll be here.”

“When?”

“As soon as he can,” Ben said. “I tried to let him know we’re desperate.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess.”

“It’s hope,” Ben replied quickly. “And hope is enough to get us through this … as long as we stick together.”

Vestara fell silent for a moment, then said, “I’m with you, Ben. That’s not going to chaaa … aaaigh!”

Vestara screamed as she stumbled back into Ben. He spun around instantly and found Abeloth already on Vestara, tentacles probing for
her mouth and nose. Lacking a lightsaber or any other sort of weapon, Ben stepped into the melee and slammed a palm-heel into the center of Abeloth’s chest, at the same time hitting her with a panic-fueled blast of Force energy.

Abeloth went flying, doubled over, trailing a spray of bloody bile. Vestara recovered her footing and stepped forward into a fighting crouch, her arms raised and ready to attack, either hand-to-hand or with the Force. Ben found himself staring in amazement at the cone of red mist that Abeloth had left behind, surprised by the power of the Force blast he had just unleashed. He felt cold and queasy from the effects of so much dark-side energy, and had he not been so thoroughly dehydrated already, he probably would have vomited.

“Ben?” Vestara grabbed his arm and stepped in close, propping him up. “Are you okay?”

“I will be, as soon as I get rid of this rot inside,” he said.

“Rot?”

Ben jerked a thumb toward the Font of Power. “The Force is corrupt this close to the fountain,” he said. “All dark side.”

Vestara turned toward the pillar of dark water. “We may have to use it anyway, Ben. The Force is all we have to protect ourselves with.”

“No—it’s like poison,” Ben said. “We can’t use the Force until we get out of this fog.”

Vestara shook her head. “You know that isn’t going to happen,” she said. “That’s why Abeloth is keeping us here. She’s trying to corrupt us.”

“We won’t let her,” Ben said. “We won’t use the Force.”

“Ben, we’re going to
have
to,” Vestara said. “It’s the only way to hold her off until your father arrives.”

Ben fell silent. Just a small taste of the Font’s dark side energies had convinced him that it would be better to die than to let himself be corrupted by its power. But of course, they
wouldn’t
die. Abeloth would take them as her avatars, just as she had done with Callista and Akanah and countless others, and they would learn the literal meaning of a fate worse than death.

“Then we’re going to have to make a run for it,” Ben said. “She can’t be in two places at once, so at least one of us should be able to get clear.”

“And then what?” Vestara asked.

“And then we make sure that she doesn’t make an avatar out of the one who falls behind,” Ben said. “We’ve used the Force here before, so we know that the fountain’s corruption doesn’t extend for more than a few meters. Once we’re both clear, we can fight with the Force again.”

“So one of us is almost sure to die?” Vestara asked. “And the other one is going to have to do the killing?”

“Probably,” Ben said. “But it has to be better than the alternative.”

Vestara turned toward the Font. “That’s
one
way to look at it, I guess.”

Ben frowned, unsure of what Vestara was suggesting. “If you have another way, I’m all ears.”

“Maybe dying
isn’t
the best thing.” Vestara turned back to Ben and touched her hand to his chest. “Maybe there’s a reason we’re here … a reason that we were brought together in the first place.”

Ben’s frown grew deeper. “Like what?”

Vestara stepped back, as though his stern tone had pushed her away. “We need to follow the will of the Force, Ben.”

“And you know what that will
is
?”

Vestara nodded, turned toward the Font of Power. “I think I do, Ben.”

“I don’t like where this is headed,” Ben said, following her gaze. “Ves, you can’t be serious.”

Vestara continued to gaze into the Font’s dark waters. “But I am, Ben. If we
both
drank, together we would be stronger than Abeloth—probably strong enough to destroy her.” She reached out and took Ben’s hand. “And wouldn’t
that
be the best thing for the galaxy?”

It had been three days since the frigate
Redstar
had dropped Luke and Jaina at the entrance to the Maw, and that meant it had been three days since Luke had first been handed the crumpled flimsy he now held in his hands. On the flimsy was the text of a short S-thread message from Corran Horn, which the
Redstar
’s communications officer had retrieved as soon as the frigate emerged from hyperspace outside the Maw.