Abyss Read online

  “Jedi Solo,” Korr said. His eyes slid toward Han. “Captain Solo. I’m sorry, but the Council has left strict instructions to prevent all interruptions.”

  “And I’ll bet they mentioned us by name,” Han said.

  Korr smiled. “As a matter of fact, Captain Solo, yes, they did.”

  “And since we know that,” Leia said, “you know that we wouldn’t be here unless the matter was vitally important.”

  “Nevertheless, I have my orders,” Korr said. “And I was specifically reminded how persuasive you two can be.”

  “Yeah, but you’re also a Jedi Knight,” Han said, “and that means you’re trained to follow your own initiative.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now is the time to do so, Jedi Korr,” Leia said. “We’ve come into possession of some information the Masters need to hear—before they make their final decision about Barv and Yaqeel.”

  The resolve in Korr’s face began to crack, but his piercing gaze remained fixed on Han—no doubt because he knew that it would be easier to read the truth of the assertion in Han’s Force aura.

  After a second, Korr sighed and looked away. “Okay, I’ll take a message inside—and I shouldn’t even do that much. Grand Master Hamner said—”

  “Grand Master Hamner?” Han erupted. “Don’t tell me the Masters are actually calling him that now?”

  “Since about two hours ago, when Master Katarn came out during a break,” Korr said. “He said it was time for the Masters to set a proper example for the rest of the Order.”

  “I’ll bet I know whose idea that was,” Leia said, letting the acid drip into her voice. “And he’s being presumptuous.”

  Korr nodded, but said, “Did I mention it’s just temporary? Apparently, the Council feels Master Hamner might command a little more authority from …well, you, if the Masters show their support.”

  “The Council feels that way?” Han shot Leia a worried glance. If Kenth could persuade the Masters to call him Grand anything, he probably had the votes to turn the sick Jedi over to Daala. “Or Kenth does?”

  Korr shrugged uneasily. “Does it matter?” He looked to Leia. “You said you had some important information?”

  Leia looked to Han, as though suggesting that he relay the information, and Han knew that she had reached the same conclusion he had. The Solos really had to get inside that Chamber and set the Council straight.

  Han cast a meaningful glance at the two apprentices standing behind Korr, then nodded him toward one side of the foyer. Korr cocked his brow, but followed. Han put an arm around the Jedi Knight’s shoulder, then, being careful to keep him facing away from the door, leaned close.

  “I can’t tell you how, but we have this on good authority.” Han kept his voice nearly inaudible, so that Korr would have to concentrate on him instead of what was happening behind him. “Chief Daala is getting ready to call in the Mandos.”

  Korr’s eyes widened. “Mandalorians?” he gasped. “Supercommandos?”

  Han made a disparaging face. “Come on,” he said. “Those guys can’t even agree on a color for their armor. There isn’t anything super about them.”

  That actually drew a smile from the usually staid Jedi. “Except maybe their ability to overheat Jedi jets.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Is Daala trying to provoke us?”

  “I don’t think so,” Han said. “That old dame is just space-crazy enough to think a few hundred tin suits might actually scare the Jedi.”

  Korr snorted his opinion of that possibility—then heard the soft click of a latch opening. He spun toward the Council Chamber just in time to see Leia pushing a door open, while the two apprentices—a human male and a Mon Calamari female—stood behind her, protesting that they weren’t supposed to let her through the doors. Korr’s mouth fell open in surprise, closed in anger, then finally broadened into an embarrassed grimace. He turned to Han, only half scowling.

  “I knew she was going to do that.”

  Han slapped him on the shoulder. “If you say so, Jaden.”

  “Well … I would have let you in anyway.” Korr started back toward the door. “The Council needs to hear about this.”

  “Yeah,” Han said, accompanying him. “If nothing else, they can probably use a good laugh.”

  Korr did not even crack a smile. “What’s so funny about killing Mandalorians, Captain Solo?”

  Korr paused at the door to reassure the two apprentices that no one had expected them to physically restrain Leia Solo, then he and Han followed her into the Council Chamber proper. It was a bright, moderately sized room elegant in its simplicity, with a circle of high-backed chairs sitting in a transparisteel viewport bay designed to give visitors the subliminal impression that Masters were floating above the city. Every seat was equipped with a holocomm unit to allow the participation of Masters who happened to be away from the Temple when a meeting was called, but today all of the Masters—except Luke himself, of course—were present in person.

  And by the look of it, they were all hopping mad. Saba Sebatyne was sitting motionless in her chair, her slit-pupiled gaze sliding from one Master to another while her forked tongue flicked between her lips. Cilghal was perched on the edge of her seat, her Mon Calamari skin flushed crimson with rage. Kenth Hamner and Kyle Katarn were glaring at each other across the circle, while Kyp Durron was on his feet, actually pounding his fist in the air, his graying hair trimmed short and neat, but his rumpled brown robe still looking like something he had slept in.

  And Corran Horn …Corran was the scariest of all, just sitting slumped in his chair, glaring at the floor as though trying to focus all the Force energy he could draw into that one spot. Han could only imagine how the current debate must be playing to him, sitting in a room with a dozen of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, listening to them arguing not about how they were going to get his two sick kids out of carbonite, but about whether they should turn two more young Jedi Knights over to the same people who had frozen valin and Jysella.

  In Corran’s place, Han wouldn’t have been anywhere near a council chamber. He would have been holed up in a warehouse somewhere, planning how he was going to break into the GAS blockhouse where his kids were being held and get them back. But Corran had always been a law-and-order kind of guy. Even now, when the government that he had always served so loyally had turned against his own children, here he was, still trying to work within the law to set matters right. It wasn’t something Han could have done, not even something he could truly understand, but he did admire it. Corran was a man of principle, and he stuck to those principles even when they became a dagger in his own gut.

  When Leia reached the edge of the seating alcove, she stopped and folded her hands in front of her, waiting in silence for someone in the circle to acknowledge her. Han and Korr did the same thing. Interrupting a Jedi Master in the middle of an argument with another Jedi Master was a good way to end up with a Force-clamped mouth. It might look like the Council hadn’t noticed them, but Han had been to enough of these things to know that every Master in the room had realized the Solos were coming even before Leia had brushed past the apprentices.

  To Han’s dismay, however, the Masters were no longer arguing about whether to honor the arrest warrants. They were arguing about something he would have thought was a given: whether to intercede on Tahiri’s behalf.

  “… we demand her release,” Kyp was saying. “Tahiri was vital to winning the battle at Shedu Maad. If she hadn’t come back to us, we’d have lost our entire hangar complex.”

  “I’m not sure that excuses some of the things she did during the war,” Kenth said. His voice and manner were restrained, but Han didn’t need the Force to know by the way he kept his stare fixed on Kyle Katarn that something bad must have passed between them shortly before. “She assassinated Gilad Pellaeon.”

  “A lot of people killed a lot of people,” Kyle replied. His voice was just as restrained, but his stare did not leave Kenth’s. “What about Cha Nia
thal? She played an equal part in Jacen’s coup, and I don’t see any charges being filed against her. Daala is only going after Tahiri to make a statement—a statement directed at us.”

  “I agree with Master Katarn,” Cilghal said. “Chief Daala is taking the resignations of Melari and Reeqo as a bolt across her bow.”

  “How so?” asked Kyp.

  “The only thing more frightening to Chief Daala than an independent Jedi Order is no Order at all,” Cilghal explained. “So she reads the resignations as a warning: if she continues to push, the Jedi will disband and spread across galaxy as independent agents. Then it will be impossible for anyone to control us.”

  Kyp smiled. “Not a bad idea, when you think about it.”

  “It’s a very bad idea,” Kenth grumbled, finally looking away from Kyle. “How do you think we would accomplish anything?”

  “And we still have the dozens of Jedi Knights who were hidden at Shelter as young ones,” Cilghal pointed out. “If we disband—”

  “Hold on,” Kyp said, waving both palms. “Joke, okay?”

  Cilghal’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she simply inclined her head. “Of course, forgive me.” She turned to the other Masters. “Perhaps if we sent Leia to explain—”

  “No. We explain nothing to Daala.” It was Corran who said this, though his gaze remained fixed on the floor. “That would imply the Order answers to her—and the day that happens, you’re going to have a lot more than apprentices resigning.”

  A heavy silence fell over the circle as the Masters considered his words. Then Saba Sebatyne hissed, “Massster Horn is correct. The Jedi Order is no thedyklae herd. We are shartuukz.”

  Kyp turned to her in obvious confusion. “Uh, sure,” he said. “What’s a shartuuk?”

  “A guard beast,” Saba explained. “It protectz the lair from zo’oxi and tarnoggz.”

  “Oh, that explains it.” Kyp rolled his eyes, then asked, “And zo’oxi and tarnoggs are what, exactly?”

  “Alwayz hungry.” Saba leaned forward and jabbed a talon toward the viewport, where the silver cylinder of the Galactic Justice Center was just visible on the far side of Fellowship Plaza. “Like any tyrant.”

  Kyp nodded. “Ah—of course.” He turned back to Cilghal. “We can’t explain to Daala. We’re the shartuuks, and she’s the zo’oxi.”

  “Tarnogg,” Saba corrected. “Zo’oxi are skin parasitez. The shartuuk eatz them off.”

  “I don’t know,” Kyp said. “Zo’oxi sounds like a pretty good description of most of the politicians I’ve—”

  “In any case,” Cilghal interrupted, “we’re the shartuuks, and shartuuks don’t explain. Where does that leave us with Tahiri?”

  “Well, she’s not a Jedi anymore,” Kenth said. “And that means we can’t demand anything on her behalf.”

  “Not that Daala would listen if we tried,” Kyle replied. “But we can and should support her. I insist on that much.”

  “As does this one,” Saba agreed. “The Order will send Nawara ven to represent her.”

  “And plant the idea in a few media heads that there’s a disparity of treatment between her and Cha Niathal,” Kyle said. “Maybe even provide some background on Niathal and Daala’s partnership after the Battle of Fondor.”

  “Good,” Corran said. “That should put some pressure on Daala to give Tahiri an easy out.”

  When no one objected, Kenth let out a long sigh. “Agreed.”

  For the first time since the Solos had entered the room, Corran raised his gaze—and turned it on Jaden Korr.

  “Now, Jedi Korr, perhaps you’d be good enough to tell us why you ignored orders and allowed the Solos to interrupt us?”

  Korr’s face reddened, but he met Corran’s gaze and said, “I’m sorry, Master Horn. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Of course not.” It was Korr’s former Master, Kyle Katarn, who said this. He turned to Kenth and said, “I told you we should have done this somewhere else, Grand Master Hamner.”

  There was just enough sarcasm in Kyle’s voice to make Kenth clench his teeth visibly. “Next time, we will,” he said. “But since they’re here now, perhaps you would you care inform them of our decision regarding the arrest warrant.”

  Han’s heart jumped into his throat. “What?” He started forward without thinking—until Leia caught him by the arm and physically held him back. “You’ve already decided?”

  “Afraid so,” Kyp said. He started across the circle toward Han. “And it was a tough one—”

  “But you haven’t done it yet, right?” Han asked, growing desperate. If Kyle Katarn was addressing Kenth as Grand Master even in the privacy of the Council Chamber, then Bazel and Yaqeel were as good as hanging on Daala’s wall. “There’s something you really need to know first.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Kenth said. He took a deep breath, then rose and started across the circle. “Han, Leia, I know how much you care about all of our troubled Jedi Knights, and I think I even understand why. But Luke isn’t here at the moment, so you need to respect the chain of command now. Your behavior is starting to be disruptive, and it’s not going to change any of our decisions.”

  “This might,” Leia said. There was so much suppressed anger in her voice that when she released Han and started to step forward, he grabbed her arm. “We just learned that Daala is hiring a company of Mandalorians.”

  Kenth stopped three steps short. “When?”

  “Don’t know that yet,” Han said. Angry as he was at Kenth, he had to admire the man’s discipline and focus. He didn’t waste time doubting them, and he didn’t ask stupid questions like For us? He just got down to the important details. “She’s still getting the money together. But she’s serious about it.”

  “I see. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Leia answered. “But our source has promised to keep us informed. We’ll pass along whatever we hear as soon as we hear it.”

  “Thank you,” Kenth said, not bothering to ask for the identity or their source—or to question the source’s reliability. He started to turn back toward the circle of Masters. “Obviously, we have something else to—”

  “Hey, hold on a minute,” Han said. “What about Barv and Yaqeel? This has to change their situation.”

  Kenth stopped and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it does.” He looked around at the rest of the Masters. “Does anyone else feel a need to revisit the arrest warrant decision?”

  The Masters all shook their heads—even Corran Horn.

  “You can’t be serious!” Han protested. “You can’t just hand them over!”

  Han’s first hint that he had badly misread the situation was a loud sissing sound from the vicinity of Saba Sebatyne’s chair.

  “Oh, Captain Solo!” She slapped her knee with a huge, scaly hand, then rasped, “You are so easy to play!”

  Han scowled and turned to Leia, who merely spread her hands and looked even more confused than he was.

  After a moment, Kenth said, “The Council has come to an … arrangement that we all hope will be best for the Jedi Order and the patients.” He turned to Saba. “Master Sebatyne, perhaps you would be good enough to explain what the Order needs the Solos to do.”

  Saba inclined her armored head. “Of course, Grand Master Hamner.” She looked up, then turned to Leia. “Jedi Solo, the Council needz you to contact Queen Mother Tenel Ka. We have a very great favor to ask of her.”

  UNTIL SHE HAD ACTUALLY DISASSEMBLED ONE, JAINA HAD NEVER APPRECIATED the magnificent complexity of a cleaning droid. Scattered across the long lab table were soapy-smelling sprayers, misters, brushes, polishing heads, vacuum nozzles, disintegrators, infradryers, logic boards, and a dozen other pieces of semi-miniaturized equipment that seemed entirely pertinent to the droid’s function. What had not proved pertinent—once she had identified its true nature—was the tiny parasite droid that she had found spliced into its contr
ol systems.

  Disguised as a stain analyzer-dissolver module, the parasite was a marvel of espionage engineering, so cleverly designed that Temple security could not be faulted for having missed it. Instead of requiring its own lens and microphone, the parasite had hijacked the cleaning droid’s photo- and audioreceptors. It didn’t even need its own data storage unit. Instead it had overwritten the host’s entire stain-recognition bank, then partitioned off that part of the datachip for its own use. To transmit, the parasite simply waited until it was near an open door, then inserted a burst of compressed data—coded to sound like normal interference static—into the cleaning droid’s communications stream. That much, Jaina had figured out.

  What she hadn’t figured out was how Javis Tyrr could have come by such a sophisticated device. The parasite droid was clearly state-of-the-art surveillance equipment, the kind that cost millions of credits—probably tens of millions—to produce. Journalists simply did not have access to those kinds of resources—especially third-rate hacks like Tyrr.

  Jaina took a much-needed sip of caf. She allowed her gaze to run over the table at random, asking herself who would have the resources to acquire secret-police-grade surveillance equipment, as well as the desire to put it into Tyrr’s hands. Daala was an obvious possibility. But she and Tyrr seemed an unlikely team, given that Tyrr’s reports had been nearly as hard on her as they had been on the Jedi.

  A soft chime sounded behind Jaina. She spun her stool around to see what the computer had turned up for her this time …and she had her answer.

  On the display was a visual comparison between two miniaturized logic chips. The one on the left had come from the parasite droid. The chip on the right had come from a supply of eavesdropping equipment captured near the end of the last civil war, when the Jedi had boarded the Anakin Solo. According to the caption below the image, the equipment had been recovered from the temporary quarters of one of the Imperials who had been aboard at the time, a certain Moff Lecersen.