“We got the all clear. I’m flying into the storm. Things are going to get rough,” she said. “Use the harnesses to strap yourselves into the chairs. You’ll need them, I guarantee you. But don’t worry. We’ll get through. Unless we go into complete systems failure. But that’s a pretty remote possibility.”
She saw some of them pale. One of the leaders strapped his harness tighter.
Solace went back to the cockpit to study the stormtracker map. She was glad she was flying Flame’s ship. It was fast and agile, yet solidly constructed.
Although the gravity shifts and massive asteroid showers made for seeming chaos, it was helpful to note patterns before going in. In the most intense parts of the storm, it was hard to have even an instant to check a navigational aid.
“So I heard what you said,” Ry-Gaul. “You mentioned systems failure.”
She shrugged. “I said chances are it won’t happen. But the ship is about to meet some powerful forces. I was trying to reassure them about their options.”
“That was your idea of reassurance?”
She magnified the stormtracker so it would be easier to check during the journey.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The storm always began with sudden air pockets and increased meteor activity. This was when pilots would rethink their idea of shaving off some mileage by flying through part of the storm. This is when they resigned themselves to a new flight plan and a delayed arrival to wherever they were going.
Solace set a course for the heart of the storm.
The air pockets turned deep and wicked. It was inevitable that the ship would hit them; they were impossible to avoid. They sucked the wind from you and slammed you against the seat.
The gravity shifts almost tore the controls from her hands. She could avoid the biggest asteroids but occasionally one would pass close enough to knock the ship off course. She was hanging on to the controls now, her hands clenched into position, her eyes straining to see every detail in the vast swirling grayness.
“Asteroid, port side!” Ry-Gaul said, his voice tight. She evaded it by meters.
She threaded her way through an asteroid field and dropped into an air pocket so terrifyingly deep she actually heard shouts of fear from the lounge. She zoomed out of the pocket and went into a screaming dive to avoid another one. Tiny asteroids peppered the shields of the ship. The controls shuddered under her hands.
The storm was worsening. Solace fought to keep the ship steady. Auroras shimmered ahead, deep purple and orange. Their glow lit up the cockpit.
She was drenched in sweat and casting an uneasy eye at the systems controls when Ry-Gaul said, “The asteroid is just ahead.”
She took a chance and pushed to maximum speed. She outran a rocketing asteroid and zoomed toward a satellite of rock so large it had its own atmosphere.
Immediately, the ship smoothed out...slightly. The ride was still bumpy, but she felt in control.
She landed near the small cluster of duraplastoid survival domes that comprised the base. Toma and Raina emerged from one of the shelters and came toward her. Lune came running, followed by a slower Garen Muln. Oryon brought up the rear.
The resistance leaders filed out on shaky legs, gazing up at the odd yellow sky, the air currents whipping around fully visible.
“Welcome to our base,” Toma said. “Let the first Moonstrike meeting begin.”
Ferus saw the glow of Vader’s lightsaber as he activated his own.
This was it, then. The final confrontation.
He was ready. His rage was ice and fire.
He charged.
His first blow was easily parried. He came at Vader again. Again. Circling, jumping, vaulting past him, turning. Each time his lightsaber came toward him, it was either deflected in a shock that ran up his arm, or...Vader simply wasn’t there.
“If you cannot even touch me, how can you win?” Darth Vader asked.
Ferus focused on his anger. He remembered Palpatine’s words.
There is no limit to what you can do.
He charged at the dark figure again. This time his strike came close. He touched the edge of Vader’s cape. He smelled the singed material.
Now, while he’s off balance. Now.
“Maybe I’ll just get lucky,” Ferus said. “Anakin.”
Vader came at him with surprising swiftness, but Ferus was able to Force-leap away. Still he sensed that Vader was holding himself back, playing with him for now.
“So you know who I was,” Vader said. “Do you think that would make a difference to me? Anakin Skywalker is dead.”
“Was it because the Council wouldn’t let you become a Master? You always had to struggle with your ego, didn’t you?”
“It was never a struggle. I was always the best.”
“‘Best’ is not a Jedi concept.”
“That is the trouble with the Jedi.”
Ferus wasn’t tired yet, but he knew he was expending too much energy. He was tapping into his anger and fighting better than he ever had, but it wasn’t enough. He had to unsettle Vader. He had to find the key.
He had everything he needed to defeat him, didn’t he? He had the Sith Holocron for strength, Vader’s true identity in his hand, his own rage. With those tools, he could do it. The Emperor had told him he could. Ferus thought quickly. He wanted to pick the battleground. Someplace that would unsettle the former Jedi.
There—the stairway to the Jedi High Council spire. Ferus started to climb. He knew Vader would follow.
He came out into the circular room. It was half rubble, the seating blackened lumps, the vast transparisteel shattered. Wind whipped through the room.
The Dark Lord entered. The wind blew back his cape. He stood, legs apart, ready for battle. Looking forward to it, Ferus was sure.
“The Emperor cannot protect you now,” Vader said.
What next? What could Ferus do to get him off balance? He suddenly had a flash of intuition. He remembered what Keets had told him.
“What about Senator Amidala?” he asked, leaping away from Vader. He faced him, his lightsaber held in an offensive position. “What about Padmé? What happened on Mustafar?”
He felt the quake in Vader. He had reached him at last.
“Do not mention her name!”
“I thought it was a lie, that the Jedi killed her,” Ferus suddenly understood, the Sith Holocron burning under his tunic. “It wasn’t. You killed her, didn’t you? You killed the woman you loved.”
Vader’s wrath filled the room. Ferus could feel it. Instead of turning away from it, he took it. He filled himself with it.
This is what the Emperor meant. This is the last step.
He flew across the room and this time he landed a blow.
Vader roared. It was a howl of fury, inarticulate, undisciplined. Totally unlike his usual icy control. The control box on his chest started to smoke.
Stones in the floor ripped out and were flung toward Ferus. He dodged them, rolling and twisting away. A blackened piece of furniture flew across the chamber and smashed into the wall over his head.
Anything that could be torn from the floor or walls came at him—conduits, debris, hunks of stone. He dodged and weaved, attacking and retreating as Vader hit him with everything he had.
“How did you kill her, Anakin? Did you lose control? Did you see her die, Anakin? Is that why you wanted Zan Arbor to perfect that drug? Was it for you, Anakin? So you could forget her? So you could forget your wife?”
Another roar from Vader. Part of the ceiling gave way. Durasteel melted, smoke rose from the debris. Ferus leaped over a gaping hole in the floor and attacked Vader again, but his lightsaber cut through empty air.
The anger inside Ferus was now like liquid fuel inside him. He was feeding off Vader’s rage, he was pushing every molecule of his body and feeling every molecule of the room respond to him. Everything was clear, hard-edged. His body obeyed him without any hesitation, and his mind was focused. He had no doubt tha
t he could defeat Vader. No doubt.
And that was what the dark side brought him.
When he won, when he defeated him, he could take the victory to the Emperor, and he could be greater than Darth Vader, more powerful than even the Chosen One had been.
He charged at Vader and made contact. Vader waited a beat too long to deflect him. The blow shuddered off his body armor. Something inside fused and the plastoid melted. Ferus could smell burning circuits. At the same time, he detected a tremor in Vader’s arm.
Suddenly he was picked up and slammed against the wall. He fought to hold onto his consciousness.
“Don’t...get...cocky,” Vader said.
Ferus rolled away from the blow that followed, barely escaping. He looked up. For a moment Vader was just a shape at the side of the room. For a moment, a trick of the eye or the light, he saw the room as it had been. The seats were restored, the air traffic outside flashing, the potent energy of the Force filling the room because the Jedi Masters were still alive.
Ferus felt it invade him, the sense of peace and light.
No, push it away! Listen to us! You could have been a great Jedi Knight, and they let you go! They never appreciated you!
It was true, wasn’t it? Ferus saw himself as a Padawan, standing before the Masters. Taking responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault. Tru’s lightsaber. He had fixed it secretly....
He remembered that day. He remembered the compassion in that room.
Another vision came to him, of himself as a Padawan, accepting responsibility for what he had done. The Jedi Masters sorrowful, showing him the two paths he could take. He could have stayed. He chose to go.
His choice.
The room returned to its ruined state. He was crouching, breathing hard.
Connect.
The Force was still here in the ancient stones. The stories of all the Jedi who had lived and died here, they were here, too. His story was here. Not as distinguished as most, shorter than many, but his. He had followed the path for as long as he could, as well as he could, and the Masters had never asked for more than that.
He felt the wisdom of the Masters inside him, and he gripped that feeling with his hands and let it fill his heart. He rose. He had no doubt that they had reached out and touched him. Many hands on his shoulder, showing him. Here is one way. Here is another. Choose.
He had come so close.
He walked out of the dark side and into the light.
I am a Jedi.
Now he knew with absolute certainty that he had to be rid of the Sith Holocron. It had been slowly poisoning him. He had been a fool to think he could take what he wanted and not be corrupted. He had fallen into the Emperor’s trap. Almost.
He Force-leaped over Vader, surprising him, and let himself fall into the hole in the floor. He heard Vader’s chuckle.
“Run like the coward you are!”
The wind whistled past his ears as he fell. He landed safely in the Map Room. He headed for the stairs.
He took each turning at top speed, Force-leaping most of the way. He knew where to go. The heart of the building, the power core. No longer operational, it would still contain enough residual energy, if not to destroy the Sith Holocron, then to damage it. He ran through the hallways and found the central conduit that ran, he knew, straight down to the power core. He reached into his tunic.
You are throwing away your only chance at success.
This is not the kind of success I want.
The voices of darkness were a clamor inside him as he held the Sith Holocron. He threw it in. He felt something rip inside him. It was an agonizing pain that sent him down on his knees. He breathed through it, calling on the Force to help him.
He felt it lift. He was exhausted, but he was free. He was himself again.
Vader came out of nowhere, raising a gloved hand. Ferus felt himself lifted up, over Vader’s head. He couldn’t breathe.
“You should know before you die that your dream is dead,” Vader said. “Don’t you know I can bow anyone to my will?”
Ferus was slammed against the wall. He felt himself losing consciousness.
He was glad, in the end, that he would die here at the Temple. With the ghosts of his friends, his mentors, his fellow Jedi. He would become one with the Force in the place he first discovered and nourished it.
All in all it wasn’t a bad start, Raina observed. The resistance leaders hadn’t yet acquired the kinds of layers of protocol that bogged down the leaders of planets. They actually listened to each other. They could get things done.
The Roshans and the Samarians were talking about sharing technology that might result in a super droid that could take on Imperial weapons technology. The leader from Naboo had a suggestion about how to sway politicians to join them. They all soberly discussed Tobin Gantor’s report, delivered by Oryon, which stated that the Empire might be working on a super weapon. The discussions were fast and lively. Raina suddenly felt that Moonstrike might work after all.
Toma had told her to stay and act as a kind of moderator in order to control disputes. But she was in a funny position here. She was part of the resistance, but she didn’t represent her homeworld. The others had discussed Flame—or Eve Yarrow—at the beginning of the meeting. Raina felt ashamed, even though she’d had nothing to do with Flame’s betrayal. Flame came from Acherin.
She walked out onto the rocky ground. Overhead, the sky was darkening. Toma had said the storm was intensifying. When that happened, it would often be so dark on the asteroid that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.
She could see the shadow of Toma through the plastoid of the communications dome. She went toward it. The wind was picking up, and she couldn’t hear the sound of her own footsteps. She thought ahead to the evening meal. She had hoped to set up glow-lamps to eat outside but with this wind it would be impossible.
She stopped in the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light. Toma was bent over the console. She walked closer. He didn’t turn, intent on his job.
At first she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. But she’d been a top-ranked pilot on Acherin, and she knew how a homing beacon worked.
“What are you doing?”
Her voice startled him. He turned, surprise on his face. Surprise and unease. “Raina! I thought I told you to stay in the conference dome.”
“Answer my question.” Disquiet ticked inside her. “That’s a homing beacon.”
“It’s for Ferus. You know he can’t find us without it.”
“That’s not our coded channel.”
“Raina...”
“Toma, what’s going on?”
He said nothing.
Her voice was a whisper of disbelief. “Are you...a traitor?”
“No,” he said fiercely. “How can I be a traitor to something that doesn’t exist?” He leaned forward, spitting out the words. “What are we doing here, Raina? What did we commit to? A dream from a man who had once been a Jedi as a boy. He left us here for months to babysit his dream.”
“We offered.”
“He should never have accepted our offer. He knew what it would mean. While he was chasing nonexistent Jedi, I almost died here!”
“That was the risk you took when you pledged your support to him! He couldn’t have predicted your illness. He brought more supplies as soon as he could.”
“And what did I get in return? The Empire has won, Raina, and we have to accept it. It’s the only way we’ll get our homeworld back. It is torn apart by civil war.”
“And the Empire is allowing it to die!”
“It’s our fault! The Acherins are fighting each other now. They’ll destroy Acherin—there will be nothing left if we don’t act now. They need a leader, someone who will restore the government and take the reins. Someone who will have the backing he needs to institute reforms, fix the infrastructure.”
She fell back against the table. “By the light of the ancients, I don’t believe
it. They’ve offered you the chance to rule Acherin, and you betrayed us for it.”
“Come with me,” Toma urged. “We can return to Acherin together. We are old friends, Raina. The best of friends. We fought side by side. Together we can save our homeworld. Eve Yarrow will return as well, and with her we can do anything.”
“Turn off that homing beacon, Toma.”
“No, you don’t understand—”
“No,” she said, drawing her blaster. “You don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t kill me.”
“I will do anything to protect this base.”
She had made a mistake, she saw, when he half-turned. She’d thought he was unarmed. He had a blaster up his sleeve.
The bolt hit her in the heart. She fired, and he staggered and fell.
Raina’s legs wouldn’t work properly. She was telling them to move, and they were failing her. She tried to reach the homing beacon but everything was so dark. She stumbled forward, felt herself falling, but it was like falling into a cloud. She felt nothing now.
When she hit the hard ground it was as though she had jumped into her childhood bed on Acherin, the one piled with her mother’s quilts, where she had played at night in the close darkness, pretending to be a pilot, pretending to be a queen, waiting impatiently to grow up and do something—anything—that would prove her courage.
Outside the Temple, Trever sent out the distress call, and they all responded. Keets, Curran, Clive and Astri, who had just landed on Coruscant, and even Malory Lands. All they had to hear was that Ferus was in trouble, and they were there.
They found Ferus in the great hallway.
They gathered around him. Trever sank to his knees. His disbelief and his grief burned his chest. “No,” he cried.
Astri knelt by Ferus and touched his hair gently. She dropped her head in her hands.
“Wait.” Malory hovered over Ferus, taking his vitals. “He’s not dead. Not yet, anyway.” She went to work with her diagnostic tools. “He needs a bacta bath, but I’ll have to treat him here, for now.”
Trever stepped back as Malory prepared her medications. She worked over Ferus for long minutes while they waited.