Inferno (10 page)

Alema linked her datapad to the archives computer she had been accessing, then downloaded the limited data she had found regarding the vessel she had inherited from Lumiya. According to Jedi histories, Ship—it refused to reveal its name, so Alema just called it Ship—was an ancient meditation sphere, a sort of thinking starship that had at one time been used by Jedi and Sith alike. From what little the records had revealed, the meditation sphere was a sort of Force-augmented control vessel, designed to amplify a commander’s battle meditation abilities while also concealing his or her location from the enemy.

The datapad displayed a message announcing that it had completed the download. Alema deactivated the datalink and erased her access trail on the main computer, then tucked the datapad into its pouch on her utility belt and started toward the exit. The two guards were so taken with each other that they failed to notice her until she had passed the front desk and was halfway across the lobby.

“What the kark?” the male gasped. “Where’d
you
come from?”

The woman was quicker to recover from her surprise. “Halt!” she ordered. “Move those hands a centimeter, and I blast you.”

Alema turned to find a big Merr-Sonn power blaster pointed in her direction. She raised her hand anyway, and the guard pulled the trigger.

The weapon issued a single soft
click,
and now it was the female’s turn to gasp, “What the
kark
?”

“There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Alema waved her hand, then pulled a pair of power cells from her robe pocket. “You gave these to us for safekeeping.”

The woman scowled in suspicion. “Why would I—”

“You remember.” Alema addressed herself to the man, who—as usual—was weaker-minded than his prospective mate. “We’re a friend of Jacen’s.”

“It’s okay, Tiz,” the man said. “You remember. She’s a friend of the colonel’s.”

Tiz’s scowl melted away, and she holstered her blaster. “That’s right.” She smiled at the man. “I remember now.”

“Good.”

Alema would have Force-tossed the power cells into Tiz’s head for letting a male make up her mind for her, but it was important to keep her visit to the library a secret. If Jaina and her lust-toads learned that she had come to Ossus to use the Jedi library, they would find a way to identify the records she had accessed, and then they would know as much about Ship as she did. Alema used the Force to float the power cells back to the lobby desk, at the same time backing toward the exit.

“You two have fun,” Alema suggested. “The colonel won’t mind.”

By the time she was out the door, the pair were pulling at each other’s utilities. Confident that her slippery Force presence would rob their minds of any memory of her visit, she worked her way through the academy gardens into the forest where Ship was waiting. The hike up to its hiding place wasn’t particularly difficult, even with Alema’s damaged foot and useless arm. But it
was
an unpleasant reminder of the time she had spent injured and marooned on Tenupe, of all that had been taken from her; every step into the night was a burning reminder of her duty to the Balance and her obligation to set matters even between her and Leia Solo.

As Alema approached the ravine where Ship had concealed itself, the strong-willed vessel rose into view without waiting for a summons. It was fantastically hideous, a bloated orb with a web of raised veins pulsing over an amber-colored hull that could be opaque or transparent depending on its mood. It held its four wings folded flat against the sides of its round belly, and as it spun to face her, it looked to Alema like a giant, disembodied brain—a very
old
giant disembodied brain.

Ancient,
Ship corrected. A two-meter section of hull melted into a ramp and extruded itself toward the bank where Alema was standing.
And brainy enough to feel when the enemy is watching.

The reproach in Ship’s thoughts was unmistakable, but Alema merely smirked and strolled up the ramp at her own relaxed pace. They had nothing to fear from
these
enemies, at least not at the moment. Wisely or unwisely, Jacen had given them something more important to worry about than Alema Rar.

Ship was doubtful, but it waited until Alema was kneeling inside, then sealed itself up and awaited a destination.

“Kanz sector,” Alema said aloud. “We assume you remember the coordinates of Lumiya’s asteroid.”

Ship remained in the ravine, and the smoldering flame that seemed embedded in its bulkheads grew brighter and redder. It would serve as the Broken One’s transport because it had nothing better to do, but it had no intention of taking her to Kanz sector. Lumiya would not have wanted Alema rifling through her home.

“Are you
certain
?” As Alema spoke, she was using the Force to push sideways against Ship’s resolve, trying not so much to challenge its decision as to merely shift its perspective. It was the same technique she had employed as the Dark Nest’s Night Herald, one that she had used many times to control UnuThul and his nest. “Lumiya
wanted
us to continue her work with Jacen.”

Ship recoiled angrily from her mind-touch. It had served Masters more powerful than she could imagine. Did she really think it would not feel a simple thought veer? It was insulted beyond expression.

Despite the protests, Alema could feel the vessel slowly yielding to her will. And why shouldn’t it? At its core, Ship was still a machine, and that meant it had been designed to serve. All Alema need do was prove herself capable of commanding it. She pushed harder against its resolve, this time forsaking subtlety for sheer power.

“You
remember,
” she said. “Lumiya
invited
us to her asteroid.”

Ship struggled to hold firm, recalling that Lumiya had not actually invited the Broken One to her asteroid. Alema had
followed
her there.

“That doesn’t change facts,” Alema insisted. “Lumiya
asked
for our help.”

Lumiya hadn’t asked—the Broken One had volunteered.

“And Lumiya
accepted,
” Alema pointed out. She was careful to continue her pattern of stressing important action words; that was a key part of the technique. “She
assigned
us to keep watch on Mara.”

Ship knew what she was doing, but it was not a sentient being, and it did not have the strength to resist the pressure she was bringing to bear. What the Broken One said was true, Ship realized at last. Lumiya had
sent
her to watch Mara.

“Because Lumiya
trusted
us,” Alema said. “Because she was
counting
on us to continue
helping
Jacen…like we did at Roqoo Depot.”

When you reconfigured that freighter crew?
Ship asked.

“So the Jedi would
know
we were near when Mara died,” Alema clarified. “So they would suspect
us
instead of Jacen.”

To ensure
his
success,
Ship added.
To ensure that the Sith would rise again.

“Yes,”
Alema agreed. “We promise. The Sith
will rule
again.”

In the next instant Alema found herself pressed against the rear bulkhead as Ship accelerated skyward. A sense of frustration flooded the Force as one of her pursuers—Zekk, judging by the labored purity of his presence—alerted his fellows to her escape. Jaina’s reaction was not discernible, but the fact that no one launched a shadow bomb or a proton torpedo at Ship told Alema all she needed to know. For now, her hunters had more pressing matters on their minds.

The journey to the Kanz sector was as uneventful as it was unnerving. Ship seemed to take a special delight in taxing her composure, flying most of the way with a hull so transparent that Alema felt as though she were traveling across the galaxy in a bubble. For a spacefaring species like the Duros or Gands, the illusion might have produced feelings of exhilaration and awe—but not so for Alema. Twi’leks were cave dwellers by nature, born to the snug comfort of total darkness and tight spaces. By the time Ship entered the unnamed system and a silver nugget of rock appeared in the vacuum ahead, every instinct in her body was screaming for her to close her eyes, to slam shut all perception of the brutal, sickening vastness of the galaxy.

Alema ignored those instincts, forcing herself to watch calmly as the nugget swelled to a tumbling stone, then to a dust-caked boulder glinting in the light of the distant sun. Ship was testing her, searching for any indication that she was too weak to make good on her promise, and Alema refused to provide one. She knew that Ship could see in her thoughts how terrifying she found the void, but she also knew that it could sense the resolve with which she faced that terror, her utter willingness to sacrifice
anything
to restore the Balance between her and Leia.

When the asteroid had grown so large that nothing else could be seen ahead, Ship swung around to its dark side and made a breakneck hangar approach. Sensing that it was still trying to rattle her, Alema resigned herself to the possibility of a fiery death as the price of flying such a fine vessel, then watched in stoic silence as murky crags swelled into looming cliffs. At the last possible moment, a camouflaged blast door slid open, and Ship shot into the hideaway’s cramped hangar, decelerating so hard that Alema had to Force-anchor herself in place to keep from being hurled into the forward bulkhead.

Ship stopped almost a meter from the far wall and extruded three landing struts, then settled onto the hangar floor, hissing, creaking, and groaning as though it were the
Millennium Falcon.
Alema allowed herself an enormous smirk of victory.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

Ship let out a final disgruntled rumble, then, once the hangar had repressurized, shaped a door and ramp for her.

“Wait for us here,” Alema said, rising. “You may as well top off your fuel and tend to your maintenance needs. This may take a few hours.”

Ship seemed amused by that, and Alema had the distinct impression that it expected her to be here much longer than a few hours—
forever,
probably.

“In that case,” Alema said, descending the ramp, “if we fail to return within a hundred years, consider yourself released.”

If Ship made any reply, it was lost to the dark side aura that began to rise around her as she set foot on the permacrete floor. The energy was so thick it was almost tangible, a cold cloud of gloom that trailed up her thighs like lovers’ fingers. She shuddered with what she thought were pleasant memories—until the shuddering continued and an icy knot of danger sense began to form between her shoulder blades.

Traps.

Of course there were traps. This
was
a Sith hideaway, was it not? Alema opened herself to the Force and felt a sharp sense of peril from the far wall of the hangar, where two dozen coolant drums stood stacked in a triangle seven meters high. The smart thing would have been to climb back aboard Ship and flee before one of those drums exploded. Instead, Alema started across the hangar at a sprint.

Ship’s surprise was exceeded only by its alarm. It seemed less concerned about Alema than about her orders. If she wanted to get herself killed, that was fine with Ship—but she couldn’t expect it to—

Stay.
Alema put the weight of the Force behind her thought-command.
My turn to test
your
nerve.

Ship withdrew its presence in a huff, leaving Alema free to concentrate on the problem of the coolant drums. The knot between her shoulder blades was growing colder and tighter by the second, and of course the danger seemed to be emanating from the bottom of the stack. Without breaking stride, she made a clutching motion with her hand, and the middle barrel slid out of line.

As Alema floated the drum across the hangar to meet her, the rest of the stack crashed down in a cacophony of sloshing liquid and ringing metal. Several barrels burst, pouring hundreds of liters of viscous blue fluid onto the floor and filling the air with the caustic sweetness of hyperdrive coolant.

Alema already had her lightsaber in hand. Ignoring the burning pain that the fumes brought to her eyes, she ignited the blade and slashed the top off the drum in front of her.

What she found inside was a barrelful of baradium with a proton grenade detonator—enough explosive power to shatter the asteroid into hundreds of pieces. A thick harness of multicolored wires ran from the detonator to a digital timer currently displaying the number 10 and counting down by seconds. Next to the display was a red disarming switch.

Rejecting the switch as much too obvious for Lumiya, Alema deactivated her lightsaber and dropped it, then frantically began to sort through the wire harness with her one good hand. By the time she found a single gray disarming wire, the display read 3. She started to pull it—then recalled how Lumiya had nearly killed them aboard the
Anakin Solo
by mistaking a proximity sensor feed for a safety delay. She released the gray and grabbed the most orange of the three orange wires. When no warning chill raced down her spine, she held her breath and jerked the wire free.

The timer reached 0. Nothing exploded.

Alema felt her one lekku uncurl in relief. She recovered her lightsaber and, coughing violently from the hyperdrive fumes, turned to Ship with her brow cocked in triumph.

Ship seemed unimpressed. There were a hundred ways to die in Lumiya’s sanctuary. Certainly one of the most foolish was standing in a cloud of coolant fumes to gloat.

The vessel had a point, Alema had to admit. She crossed the hangar to the hatch that led into Lumiya’s chambers, then began to work her way past the gauntlet of traps that had once protected the privacy of the Dark Lady of the Sith. First there was the flechette spray behind the false control pad at the entrance. Then came the air lock with the reversed controls and the poison “decontamination shower,” followed by a clever Force illusion of Lumiya herself that somehow transferred the damage of any attack directed at
it
back to the assailant. Alema
really
wanted to learn how that was done—once the throbbing inside her skull subsided enough for her to concentrate.