Abyss Page 30

  “Ves, did you ever figure it out?” Ahri asked. His voice sounded a bit muffled and distant, as though he were looking in the opposite direction. “Why Ship picked you, I mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Vestara’s connection with Ship was the one factor working against Xal, because there were a handful of survivors who still hoped to escape Abeloth’s planet—and to do that, they needed to complete their mission and recover Ship. “Because of my girlish beauty, I suppose.”

  Ahri chuckled. It sounded forced.

  Vestara slid her hand toward the weapons belt lying atop her folded clothes. She would use the parang, she decided, because it was relatively silent. Moreover, unlike the shikkar, its use did not signify any disrespect or loathing.

  “Seriously, Ves,” Ahri said. “Do you think there’s any way you can get Ship back under control?”

  “Sure,” Vestara lied. “If you can find Ship, I can command him.”

  Vestara knew why Ahri was pressing. If he could get her to admit that she could not command Ship any better than anyone else, then Lady Rhea’s last leg of support would be broken. Over the last few weeks, the Eternal Crusader’s entire crew had slowly been drawn down to the surface through a handful of Ship sightings that required effort to pursue. Two of those searches had resulted in the destruction of shuttles, and the second disaster had left the Crusader in orbit with only one pilot—and only one shuttle.

  That same night, Abeloth had despaired of ever capturing Ship and declared the time had come to flee the planet. Lady Rhea had immediately ordered the last pilot to come and retrieve the search party. Unfortunately, the shuttle had put down on the stony crust of an old lava pit. The boarding ramp had barely descended before the ground collapsed. The pilot managed to leap free, but the vessel itself dropped a thousand meters into a well of magma. And now there were no more shuttles.

  After a time, Ahri spoke again. “Okay, show me.”

  “Show you?”

  Vestara knew at once that she had seriously underestimated her friend’s treachery—and overestimated her own ability to read Force auras. She pulled her parang from its sheath and rolled toward Ahri …and found him propped casually on an elbow, looking in the other direction. Slowly, he lifted a beautifully shaped arm, so deeply tanned by blue sunlight that it had turned nearly sapphire, and pointed up the river valley.

  “Isn’t that Ship?” he asked.

  Vestara had to sit upright before she could see what he was pointing at, and even then she almost brought her parang around before she realized how wrong she had been. Ahri wasn’t trying to set her up for his own kill. He was pointing at a distant winged-ball silhouette coming in low over the river, moving so fast that it swelled from the size of a thumbnail to the size of a fist in the blink of an eye.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Ahri twisted back toward Vestara and caught her holding the parang. His eyes grew instantly wide and frightened, and he was on his feet so quickly she feared he would have to be killed just to prevent him from crying out in surprise and inadvertently touching off the bloodbath.

  “Sheesta, Ves!” He stumbled back a couple of steps, his eyes going to his own clothes, and his weapons belt floated into his hand. “Were you just going to kill me?”

  “No, of course not,” Vestara said. She summoned her own belt and returned the parang to its sheath. “I thought I saw a snake vine, that’s all. Ever since that siphon reed almost drowned me and Lady Rhea, I haven’t trusted Abeloth to keep us safe.”

  Ahri glanced around the sandy beach. There were no plants of any kind within ten meters.

  “uh, right,” he said. He stepped back, then summoned his clothes and dressed. “I think we’d better get back to Abeloth and Master Xal. If you didn’t call Ship, maybe they—”

  “They didn’t, either,” Vestara said. “I promise you that.”

  She pulled on her own clothes, then started back toward the others, weaving her way around the big drendek lizards that were resting on the beach, taking the sun on their huge green wings. Ahri accompanied her, being careful not to expose his back by leading and not to threaten by following, all the while staying a full three paces away so he would have time to react to an attack. Vestara hoped his caution was more a statement of anger than fear; once his anger subsided, they could probably remain close until the actual killing started. But if Ahri was keeping his distance out of fear, their friendship was over; Vestara was too well trained to allow herself to be alone with any Sith who feared her.

  By the time they came into view of Abeloth’s customary boulder-top perch, the rest of the crew had already assembled. Baad Walusari and the other two Keshiri officers stood a little apart with Lady Rhea. Everyone else—including Yuvar Xal—stood at the base of Abeloth’s boulder. They were all looking upriver toward Ship, their eyes wide with shock and hope.

  In Xal’s sharp-featured face, Vestara was alarmed to also see resolve. As frustrating as Ship’s sudden appearance had to be for him at the moment, he was clearly more determined than ever to move against Lady Rhea. Realizing she had only one hope of preventing the attack, Vestara stopped and turned toward the river.

  Ship was almost on them, a red-veined sphere ten meters in diameter, his delicate-looking wings tipped almost vertical as he slowed for landing. Vestara called to him in the Force, Ship, come to me.

  Ship seemed amused. Have we not had this discussion before?

  This is different, Vestara insisted. Even if you obey Abeloth, you serve the Sith. Come to me and save us … or go to Xal and destroy us all.

  Ship slowed, but did not veer toward her, and Vestara felt the weight of a dozen gazes on her back. Wary of a preemptive strike, she pivoted on one foot to keep Xal and Ahri in sight. She found Abeloth’s gruesome face turned in her direction, the wide mouth straight and grim, the silver eyes shining up from the depths of their sockets like tiny cold stars.

  Vestara shivered and looked away. The effort to forestall the coming fight, even to survive it, hardly seemed worthwhile. Whether the victor was Lady Rhea or Xal, the entire crew was doomed. They were Abeloth’s playthings, pets held for her amusement for as long as she could keep them alive, no more capable of surviving on this planet without her than a Keshiri canakal bird could survive outside its cage. Vestara, Ahri, even Xal and Lady Rhea—everyone was going to die here, and whether they were devoured by carnivorous plants or impaled on one another’s blades hardly made a difference.

  Vestara knew all this, knew that at best her struggles would buy her only a few extra days of suffering and despair. But she refused to surrender. She intended to continue fighting through her last breath and beyond, to drag any enemy she could into the grave behind her, if only for pride …because the only choice that remained to Vestara Khai was how she died, and she intended to do it well.

  Ship had slowed to a crawl now, more or less hovering over the center of the crimson river, caught, perhaps, between obedience and flight. Vestara extended a hand, grabbing for Ship in the Force, and ordered, Come. Now.

  And Ship did.

  In the flash of a thought, he was there before her, suddenly looming so large that Vestara thought he meant to run her down. Still, she stood her ground and forced herself not to flinch, so she would not die a coward.

  But Ship could no more kill a Sith than he could disobey a powerful will. He stopped a meter away and hovered before her. His eye-shaped viewport was turned not toward Vestara, but toward Abeloth.

  Deciding she had nothing to lose, Vestara ordered, Open.

  Again, Ship seemed amused. As you command.

  A horizontal split opened in his side, and he extruded a short boarding ramp. Obviously, this was all far too good to be true. It could only be another of Abeloth’s traps, all the more cruel because it promised deliverance from a certain and painful death.

  The rest of the survivors were clearly as shocked as Vestara, though perhaps not as suspicious. For what seemed a hundred heartbeats, they stood staring at the lowered ramp,
their mouths agape as though they had never before seen one and could not comprehend the salvation it promised.

  Lady Rhea, as usual, was the quickest to recover. She turned to Vestara with a stern expression. “It’s about time, Vestara. I was beginning to wonder if Master Xal might be right to doubt your special relationship with Ship.”

  She waved Xal’s supporters toward the ramp and started forward herself. “Let’s not stand on ceremony,” Lady Rhea said, now addressing Xal’s followers. “You may board ahead of me.”

  Lady Rhea’s would-be attackers did not need to be invited twice to realign themselves with her. They scrambled forward at just shy of a sprint, followed closely by Baad Walusari and the other two Keshiri officers who had remained loyal to Lady Rhea all along. Only Xal and Ahri remained behind, the Master openly glaring at Vestara over his change of fortune, the apprentice looking as though he was expecting the most severe beating of his life.

  Lady Rhea gave Master Xal a smirk that promised a private, painful death, then turned to Abeloth. “You’ll have to board now, Abeloth.” Though her words suggested she was issuing a command, her tone was that of a request. “It’s only the short ride to Eternal Crusader that will be crowded, I promise.”

  Abeloth responded with a smile so gruesome that Vestara knew it would have drawn a shudder of revulsion from both Xal and Ahri, had they been able to see its true nature—as she herself did.

  “I’ll be happy to join you aboard the Eternal Crusader,” Abeloth said, “as soon as we have captured Luke Skywalker and his son, Ben.”

  The Force churned with astonishment and confusion.

  “Luke Skywalker?” Lady Rhea asked.

  Abeloth nodded. “And Ben.” She turned toward Xal, then said, “Isn’t that who you said the expedition was originally meant to pursue, Lord Xal?”

  Xal’s face paled, for laying false claim to the title of Lord was a death sentence. “I never said I was a Lord.” He shot a nervous glance in Lady Rhea’s direction, no doubt checking to see whether she intended to seize on Abeloth’s mistake to eliminate a rival, then said, “I’m not a Lord.”

  “But you will be,” Abeloth said, stepping to his side. “When you return to Kesh with Luke and Ben Skywalker in chains.”

  “Our mission would have been to kill the Skywalkers, not imprison them,” Lady Rhea pointed out. “But that assignment was superseded by the order to recover Ship.”

  Abeloth’s eyes blazed white with fury. “And now you have recovered Ship, have you not?”

  Visibly shaken by Abeloth’s anger, Lady Rhea merely nodded.

  “Good. Then you have succeeded in your mission.” Abeloth’s eyes shrank back to silver stars. “And now Ship can help you with this new task. Imagine how pleased your Circle of Lords will be when you return with both Ship and the Skywalkers.”

  “Assuming you’ll be there to help us control them,” Lady Rhea replied. “Otherwise, I fear the Circle of Lords will be anything but pleased to have a pair of Jedi brought to the last bastion of the Sith Empire.”

  “Of course I’ll be with you,” Abeloth replied soothingly. “Do you think I want to be marooned in this hell forever?”

  A triumphant glow came to Lady Rhea’s Force aura, and Vestara realized her Master still had no idea she was being tricked. But why should she? Vestara had tried a hundred times to warn Lady Rhea about Abeloth’s true nature, always to no avail. Finally, Vestara had been forced to accept that no one else could see their companion for what she truly was.

  Abeloth was no castaway, no mere woman marooned here for thirty years. She was much more—a manifestation of an ancient power so dark and hideous it was beyond human comprehension. Against such a being, how could Lady Rhea resist being a thrall? How could anyone? The only reason Vestara was still alive, she felt certain, was that it amused Abeloth to watch her struggling to remain sane.

  Abeloth shifted her gaze to Vestara and sent a sensation like cold fire rushing through her veins, then draped her tentacles over Xal’s shoulder.

  “We will talk, Lord Xal.” Motioning for Ahri to follow, Abeloth turned Xal away and started toward the other side of Ship. When she seemed to sense Lady Rhea’s rising tide of fury, she paused, looked back over her shoulder, and asked, “And what is it they will call you when you sit in the Circle, Lady Rhea? Lady Rhea, High Lord of the Sith?”

  Lady Rhea’s fury melted away like ice in the river, and she dipped her head and smiled broadly. “That would be the correct title, yes,” she said. “If I am chosen.”

  Abeloth’s eyes twinkled in reassurance. “You shall be, High Lady Rhea. Have no doubt.”

  With that, Abeloth turned away again and led Xal around Ship. Vestara waited until they were out of sight, then caught her Master’s eye and tipped her head in the opposite direction. When Lady Rhea nodded, Vestara started to walk and began to Force-whisper, directing her words to her Master’s ears alone.

  “You do know that Abeloth is setting another trap for us, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say a trap, exactly,” Lady Rhea replied. Though her words were barely a whisper, they nevertheless resounded clearly in Vestara’s head. “Abeloth is just recruiting Xal to be her spy, to be certain I don’t revert to our original orders and content myself with only capturing Ship. She wants to arrive at Kesh with an impressive gift: Skywalker slaves.”

  Vestara shook her head vehemently. “We’re not going to Kesh,” she said. “At least, Abeloth isn’t. Haven’t you noticed? She’s done everything in her power to keep us trapped here.”

  “Because she hadn’t lured the Skywalkers into position yet,” Lady Rhea insisted. “Now that she has a proper gift—”

  Vestara spun on her Master, drawing her parang with one hand and swinging her other arm up so fast that Lady Rhea was still speaking when Vestara’s open palm reddened her cheek.

  “No!” Vestara spat. “Think. How many shuttles have we lost?”

  Lady Rhea’s green eyes flamed with rage. “That’s something no apprentice lives to do twice.”

  Lady Rhea’s hand dropped toward her lightsaber, but Vestara was prepared and had her parang pressed to Lady Rhea’s wrist the instant her fingers touched her lightsaber.

  “Give me two minutes before you do that,” she said. “Please, Master. Just answer three questions, then you can kill me however you like. How many shuttles have we lost?”

  “Very well.” Lady Rhea opened her fingers, but left her hand hanging next to her lightsaber. “All of them.”

  “And how many crewmembers are still aboard the Crusader?”

  Lady Rhea’s eyes grew cold—and when they were cold, they were calculating. “None.”

  “Last question.” Vestara pulled her parang away from Lady Rhea’s wrist. “If you were in your right mind, would you ever make such foolish mistakes?”

  The flames returned to Lady Rhea’s eyes, but along with her fury, Vestara also saw a flicker of recognition. Slowly, Vestara stepped back and sheathed her parang, then knelt before her Master and dropped her head.

  When her head was still on her shoulders several seconds later, Vestara was not terribly surprised. Her Master was many things, but wasteful was not one of them. Still, Vestara remained kneeling, playing the penitent apprentice until Lady Rhea herself decided the charade had run its course.

  “You may as well stand, Vestara,” she said. “We both know I’m not going to kill a talented apprentice over a few inviolable rules.”

  Vestara rose. “Thank you, milady.”

  “But if you ever do that again, it will be the last time,” Lady Rhea warned. “I will not be told that I make mistakes. Is that clear?”

  “I apologize,” Vestara said, biting her cheek to keep from smiling in relief. “It will never happen again.”

  “Good.” Lady Rhea turned back toward Ship, which continued to sit waiting. “Am I correct in assuming that you had nothing to do with Ship’s change of heart?”

  “Absolutely,” Vestara said. “Ship has toyed with me,
but he remains completely under Abeloth’s control.”

  “Which means we remain trapped on this death planet.” Lady Rhea grew thoughtful. “Unless …” She paused, then turned to Vestara. “You already have this figured out, don’t you?”

  Vestara grinned, not even caring that the scar at the corner of her mouth would make her smile appear lopsided.

  “I believe so,” she said. “If Ship can take all of us in one trip, the Skywalkers must be very near. And they had to come in something. Once Ship takes us to them—”

  “Absolutely.” Lady Rhea paused as Abeloth and Xal emerged from behind Ship, then turned away and spoke in a Force whisper so low that Vestara was not sure she heard it even inside her own mind. “We kill the Skywalkers and …”

  “… we steal their vessel,” Vestara finished with a wry smile. “How hard can it be?”

  THAT AWFUL SMELL, BEN REALIZED, WAS PROBABLY HIM. IT REMINDED him of sour nerf milk, with a hint of ash and mildew. His tongue lay in his mouth like a raw sausage—swollen, numb, and cold—and he felt generally sore and weak, with a muddled, throbbing head that made him feel like he had died and just didn’t realize it yet.

  Which, Ben suddenly remembered, was a distinct possibility.

  He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into the familiar red strobing of alarm lights in Sinkhole Station’s smoky control room. He glanced over and saw that his IV drip bags had drained themselves flat, which meant he had been Mind Walking for at least a day—and probably much longer, assuming his symptoms were due to dehydration.

  “Mra …dhe muck!” he croaked. He swallowed, then tried again. “Now I see why these head cases would rather die than return to their bodies.”

  When no reply came, Ben looked over and found his father still lying motionless on his gurney, his gaze vacant and fixed on the ceiling.