Star Wars: Fate Of The Jedi: Omen Part 2

Yaqeel turned her eyes back to the stranger, noting the well-manicured hands that accepted a portable cup. Now that she looked again, he seemed familiar to her somehow. Not the scent, she'd have remembered that, but his looks. Was he a holovid star? She watched the occasional one that Valin and Jysella had recommended to her and found them pa.s.sably entertaining, but she couldn't identify him. The stranger paid and walked out. He strode off briskly, and a droid that had been patiently waiting outside suddenly lifted and floated after him.

A Hologlide J57 cam droid.

And Yaqeel realized where she knew the stranger from. Her eyes narrowed and she growled softly, her fur rippling in displeasure.

"A journalist," she spat, infusing the single word with the same disgust and loathing with which she would have said A Sith.

Barv grunted, but he allowed that journalists, despite Yaqeel's personal opinion, were beings, too, and they should be allowed to buy a cup of caf if they felt so inclined.

A pedestrian hurtled through the tapcaf's window right about then, transparisteel folding about him as he hit a table, and the conversation was dropped.

Both Jedi Knights leapt to their feet, weapons in hand but not activated, and raced outside as the customers inside screamed and ducked. A soft, pudgy Ortolan, screaming and flailing his blue arms and legs, ears flapping wildly, hurtled toward Barv. Still calm, he lifted a ma.s.sive hand and Force-caught the Ortolan, lowering him gently to the ground. Yaqeel's lightsaber snap-hissed to life and she extended her senses, reaching past the chaos and fear to identify the source of the disturbance.

It took less than a second, and her eyes lit upon the miscreant at the same instance the Force directed Yaqeel's attention toward her. Her feline jaw gaped for a precious second.

"Jysella?"

She was there, just outside the Jedi Temple, her lightsaber lit and clutched in one hand while her other was extended, clearing a path through the crowd and battering back any would-be attackers. Jysella's eyes were huge, and even at this distance her friends could see the combination of terror and determination in them.

"Stang," muttered Yaqeel. Barv was right beside her, and moving as one, the two raced toward their friend and fellow Jedi. Barv rapidly began to outpace the Bothan, moving much more swiftly than most would expect of the large Ramoan. Neither he nor Yaqeel knew who was attacking Jysella, but it didn't matter. She was Sella, a member of the Unit, and- Time seemed to slow. In that stretched-out moment, Yaqeel watched as Jysella tensed. The human Jedi could not possibly have seen Barv running to her side, and somehow Yaqeel didn't think Jysella sensed him in the Force. Jysella didn't seem to react so much as she simply leapt and sprang. Barv was suddenly and unexpectedly jostled by a fleeing crowd member-that was something he needed to work on, Yaqeel thought disconnectedly, he tended to hyperfocus in moments of crisis-and ended up several steps to the right of where he had been running.

And yet Jysella was there.

The lightsaber descended so fast that Barv barely was able to block it with his own in time. Yaqeel stared, stunned into inaction for a moment. Why was Jysella- "It's not you!" Jysella was screaming as she pressed the attack. She seemed to know exactly when Barv would duck, would parry, would push forward, would execute a Force leap. It would have been astonishing to watch, almost balletic, if it weren't for the horror that Jysella Horn was fighting another Jedi, and not just any Jedi, but one who was among her best friends in the galaxy.

Fortunately for Barv, Jysella's uncanny and hitherto unguessed-at ability to predict where he would be at any given moment seemed mitigated by her panic. She was sloppy, shaking, and Barv, who never seemed to get rattled by anything, managed to defend himself-until Jysella screamed out, "Give me my friend back!" and her glowing weapon sliced across Barv's midsection.

Yaqeel cried out as Barv staggered back. Fortunately Jysella's weapon had barely grazed him. It was a smoking wound, but not deep, and could be treated. Yaqeel's eyes met Barv's. She realized now what had happened. Even as pity and sympathy for Jysella washed through her, the Bothan knew that she had to be stopped Preferably by fellow Jedi.

Even more preferably, by Yaqeel.

Crying incoherently, her mouth made ugly by a snarl, Jysella bore down on the Ramoan. Yaqeel's hand shot out, grasped air, and pulled. Barv's huge green body was suddenly invisibly yanked out of the path of Jysella's slicing lightsaber. The weapon made a buzzing sound as it sliced empty air where a fraction of an instant earlier Barv had stood. Had Yaqeel not intervened, the Ramoan would have been sliced in two.

Jysella whirled, her gaze impaling Yaqeel. Then her eyes widened in horror and grief.

"Oh, no ... not Yaqeel, too!" she cried brokenly, almost whimpering, and if it were not for the fact that the human girl had just almost killed Barv that sound would have cracked Yaqeel's heart. Instead she wrapped it in durasteel and hardened herself to what had to be done.

She glanced around frantically in the instant before Jysella sprang. There was nothing she-ah, the cam droid. There it was, hovering about the now panicking crowd, faithfully recording the incident. And over there, that journalist speaking into something in his hand. It would be all over the newsvids tonight-might already be-actual footage of a Jedi going nuts and attacking civilians and fellow members of her own Order. The GA would have a field day with that.

Yaqeel reached out again with the Force, snagged the cam, and alternately pulled the droid in Jysella's direction and pushed the charging Jedi backward.

Except again, somehow Jysella knew it was going to happen. She turned with more than enough time to methodically slice the cam droid into three chunks, which she then directed back at Yaqeel. The Bothan Jedi was dimly aware of the reporter yelling, "Hey! What are you doing? That's valuable property!"

His irritation gave Yaqeel a tiny spark of pleasure. The pleasure quickly vanished when she realized that Jysella was running at her-but then the human Jedi vaulted over Yaqeel's head at dizzying speed. Yaqeel whirled, set to pursue. Jysella had covered a great deal of distance already; clearly, she was more interested in escaping than in fighting.

But it didn't look like she was going to. Even as Yaqeel followed, several GA vehicles pulled up. Their doors slid open and disgorged several men and women clad in the blue uniforms and helmets of Galactic Alliance Security. They immediately started firing on Jysella.

She leapt, ducked, and moved her lightsaber in a blue blur, batting the stun blasts back at those who were firing on her. For a wild second Yaqeel thought Jysella was going to make good her escape. But there came a blast that was either simply one too many for her to handle or else one she had failed with her preternatural senses to antic.i.p.ate. In midleap, Jysella Horn was struck by a bolt and rendered unconscious. And because she loved her friend, and because she knew that something dreadful had happened to Jysella to make her act this way, Yaqeel reached out with the Force, caught her, and lowered her gently to the pavement.

The GA converged on Jysella like a swarm of insects. Yaqeel glanced back at Barv and was relieved to see that he was on his feet, although he was clearly in pain. He nodded to her and she nodded back, turning toward the guards who had cl.u.s.tered around Jysella.

It would have made for an odd picture, had one not known that Jysella was a Jedi Knight: seven heavily armed officers cl.u.s.tered around one slight human female, their blasters still pointed at her as one of their own quickly bent over the limp form, retrieved her lightsaber, and began to pat her down for any other weapons. One of them snapped restraining devices on her slender wrists.

This was bad. The GA had already gotten their hands on one Jedi who appeared to have gone berserk. They sure didn't need another to encase in carbonite and hang on a wall like some sick trophy or credential. If only Yaqeel and Barv had been able to bring her in.

A thought struck Yaqeel, and she smiled a little to herself. Deactivating her lightsaber and returning it to her belt, she strode briskly up to the nearest GA officer.

"Good work," she said. She extended her thoughts, brushed those of the Quarren male who was speaking into a small handheld device. "A smooth capture. I'm sure your superiors will agree that the Jedi belongs in the Temple. I'll take charge of the prisoner from here."

The Quarren's tentacles twitched in irritation, and even before he spoke Yaqeel knew she'd picked the wrong target. "Not likely, Jedi. Take your mind tricks elsewhere and step back before I have you arrested for interfering with the prisoner's arrest. She was taken down by the GA and will go to them for evaluation."

"You're going to just stick her in carbonite!" Yaqeel burst out, her fur rippling in anger. "She's a Jedi, and the Temple's right here!"

The tentacles twitched, this time obviously in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Too bad you didn't bring her down a few meters from here then, isn't it? This is not your jurisdiction, Jedi."

He almost spat the word. Yaqeel seethed, but the Quarren was right. Legally, the GA had authorization here. The fight with Jysella had taken only a couple of minutes, although it had felt like an eternity, and now she watched as several Jedi, lightsabers glowing, poured from the Temple only to halt in their tracks, as helpless as she. She turned away from the sight of their shocked expressions to watch, impotent and furious and heartsick, as one of her best friends was trussed up and bustled quickly into a vehicle.

The door slammed shut.

Stang.

Accepting, if not liking, the fact that she could do nothing for Jysella now, Yaqeel turned and trotted back to Barv. Some of the other Jedi had already reached him, and Cilghal herself had put a flippered hand on the Ramoan's shoulder and was gently guiding him back to the Temple. No one was going to stop this particular Jedi from receiving Jedi medical aid.

Barv allowed that he had certainly felt better, but had complete confidence in Cilghal's abilities to heal him-and, eventually, to heal Valin and Jysella.

Cilghal caught Yaqeel's attention and sighed. "I saw it happen, right before my eyes," she said quietly. "We'll be debriefing both you and Bazel here. Come back with me to the Temple. We'll take care of Bazel, and then we will talk."

Yaqeel nodded miserably. Her ears twitched at a sound and she turned to see a multipa.s.senger speeder, distinctively marked with the seal of the Galactic Alliance, pull up right beside the cl.u.s.ter of officials.

"Just when I thought it couldn't get worse," she growled.

TEMPLE DISTRICT, CORUSCANT.

THE SPEEDER DOOR SLID OPEN, AND AN ATTRACTIVE OLDER HUMAN female stepped out. Her crisp white admiral's uniform molded to a figure that was still fit and toned. Green eyes took in the situation at once, keen as lasers in a face framed by copper-colored hair only beginning to gray, and as Admiral Natasi Daala, Galactic Alliance Chief of State, moved a.s.suredly forward, Yaqeel's heart sank.

A 3PO protocol droid followed her and addressed the crowd that was beginning to quiet down now at the presence of GA Security. All were curious as to what their Chief of State had to say about this event. Yaqeel glanced over the crowd and frowned as she saw the reporter holding a small cam and speaking intently into it, then directing it toward Daala. She had hoped that the coverage of the event would have stopped with the destruction of the cam droid, but apparently the journalist had a backup.

"Your attention please, good citizens," said the protocol droid in its pleasant, crisp voice. "Chief of State Daala has a few words to address to you."

The crowd murmured expectantly, then fell silent. The Jedi supporting Barv stayed where they were.

"This should be good," Yaqeel muttered sarcastically. Cilghal silenced her with a pointed glare from a single eye.

Daala waited until her staff had set up a makeshift podium, complete with a microphone, then stepped forward. She did not speak immediately, only regarded the crowd intently.

"A short while ago, Valin Horn, Jedi Knight, appeared to go insane," Daala said without preamble. Her voice was slightly husky, but pleasant to the ear. Still, Yaqeel winced at the choice of words. Daala obviously was not going to pull any punches.

"He claimed not to recognize his own parents. He claimed they were doppelgngers-identical replacements of people he had known and loved all his life." Daala paused to let the ludicrousness of the notion sink in to the now avidly listening throng. "And in escaping these evil duplicates, he caused a great deal of property damage and physical harm as he attempted to elude capture. Fortunately-and with little thanks to the Jedi Order, who consistently stood in our way-the GA was able to obtain custody of Valin Horn. Deemed criminally insane, he is now safely imprisoned in carbonite, unable to harm anyone further."

Daala paused to take a sip of water. Yaqeel was willing to bet she wasn't really thirsty, just making a dramatic pause. "Today," the Chief of State continued, "Jysella Horn, Jedi Knight and sister to Valin Horn demonstrated identical behavior. Fortunately, her capture was swift and decisive, and she is safely in Galactic Alliance hands. There will be no 'negotiations' for her release with the Jedi this time. She will be taken directly from here to the same facility in which her brother is incarcerated. Once any injuries she sustained in resisting arrest are properly treated, she will be frozen in carbonite."

Cilghal lowered her head and closed her eyes. Yaqeel felt a lump in her throat. She thought of Master Corran and his wife, Mirax. Both of their children-how would they endure it?

Daala continued mercilessly. "It is becoming brutally clear that there is something going wrong with the Jedi. They are intelligent, trained warriors, with powers that most of us can barely comprehend. Their former leader, erstwhile Grand Master Luke Skywalker, failed in his duty to protect the public from one Jedi who sought to obtain power. As all of you know, he pleaded guilty to the charge of reckless endangerment of a population. For this crime, Luke Skywalker has been sentenced to exile for ten Coruscant years unless he can produce a convincing argument and evidence that he is able to properly control and manage his Order.

"Now we have not one, but two Jedi who appear to be having dangerous hallucinations that even the Jedi themselves cannot properly explain. Rest a.s.sured, we will investigate and explore all possible explanations for this baffling and unsettling development. In the meantime, the Jedi will continue to come under heavy scrutiny and remain under the watchful eye of the government. I will now accept a few questions."

As Yaqeel had known he would, the reporter shouldered his way to the front, raising his hand. He was not alone-apparently the incident, brief and comparatively bloodless as it had been, had drawn the news-hounds like krakanas to chum-infested waters. Daala smiled a little at them. Her emerald eyes flickered over the crowd, and then she pointed at someone.

"Javis Tyrr," she said. "Please ask your question."

"Admiral," the first reporter said, his voice smooth and cultured and perfectly paced and pitched-Yaqeel was really beginning to hate this guy-"do you honestly think it can possibly be coincidence that the two Jedi who have displayed such aberrant behavior are siblings?"

"There are many factors to take into account in our investigation, but certainly we will be looking into any genetic causes for this display of uncontrollable violence and paranoia. We will also consider the environment in which these two Jedi have been raised."

"So would it be fair to say you think that because the Horn siblings are the children of a Corellian Jedi Master and the grandchildren of a well-known smuggler, these factors might have caused this mental condition?"

"Don't go putting words into my mouth, Tyrr," Daala admonished, but there was no real ire in her tone. "I simply said we would consider the environment in which they were raised, that's all."

"Do you think this is a hitherto unknown manifestation of simply being Jedi?" Tyrr plowed on, although Daala had turned away and was looking at another reporter with his hand imploringly raised.

By this point, Yaqeel's hand had closed on her lightsaber, as had Barv's, although he grunted with pain at the effort. A flippered hand touched her wrist, slightly moist, cool, and sending calm through the Force.

"Don't," said Cilghal in a quiet voice. "Don't give them any more ammunition to use against us. I for one have heard enough, and I daresay that we'll be seeing this particular speech played and replayed often enough on the HoloNet that we can pick up anything we've missed. Come. Let us get Bazel treated and we will talk."

Yaqeel growled softly and nodded. Cilghal spoke wisdom, although it pained the Bothan to sit by and listen to such disgusting things being said about Valin and Jysella's parentage.

"To think anyone would stoop that low," she muttered, and turned to follow the other Jedi. She moved to one side of Barv, smiling rea.s.suringly up at him as she slipped his arm around her shoulders to a.s.sist him as he walked. Cilghal was on his other side. They and the other Jedi who had emerged from the Temple moved steadily, un.o.btrusively back toward their sanctuary. But apparently not un.o.btrusively enough.

"Jedi!" came Javis Tyrr's voice. Yaqeel froze her in tracks. Barv turned his ma.s.sive head to regard the reporter. In his grunting, guttural language, he chided Tyrr for not covering the news impartially and for clearly harboring a bias. Such behavior, Barv said, was not becoming for a journalist, and Tyrr should know better. While the rebuke was mild, the Ramoan language always sounded as if the speaker were trying to take someone's head off verbally, and Tyrr, clearly not understanding a word of it, recoiled ever so slightly.

"Do you have any comments on Admiral Daala's speech? I witnessed the fight between you two and Jysella Horn. I take it you were trying to stop her? Can you tell us why? How much of a threat is she? How far-reaching is this strange mental illness?"

Cilghal, displaying more patience in her right flipper than Yaqeel had in her entire furry body, stepped forward before the Bothan could retort.

"The Jedi are obviously very concerned about the current state of events, and have been since the first incident. We are doing everything we can."

She gave him a smile and then turned decisively back toward the Temple. Yaqeel knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't resist casting one more glowering glance over her shoulder at Javis Tyrr.

"This can't be good," she murmured.

DAALA LEANED BACK INTO THE COMFORTABLE NERF-HIDE UPHOLSTERY of her chauffered speeder and sighed, running a hand through her hair. Across from her sat her personal a.s.sistant, Wynn Dorvan. Slight, nondescript, but always looking completely pulled together with not a brown hair out of place, he had become invaluable to her over the last year and a half. So invaluable that she had relaxed regulations and permitted him to allow his pet chitlik to accompany him from time to time. It perched on his shoulder now, a small, orange-striped marsupial from Ord Cestus that had become all the rage as a pet. It was quiet, litter-trained, and had a tendency to find a dark place to sleep most of the day, so the little creature was not much of a distraction for either Dorvan or Daala.

It had been Dorvan who had been scanning the HoloNet when the coverage began, and he who had notified her of what was happening. Now he glanced up at her, calm and yet eager, his datapad in his hands as he awaited her comments and perhaps further instructions. The chitlik snuffled at his ear, then jumped down and curled up quietly beside him.

"Well done, Dorvan," she said. "I don't know how you managed to get the GA on this so fast. It was completely under control by the time I even got here, and we didn't waste a moment."

"Jedi mind tricks," he deadpanned, his thin lips only cracking into a smile when he saw the amus.e.m.e.nt on his employer's face.

"Careful who you joke about with that," Daala said, sobering. "While I can't complain about the political leverage incidents like this provide, it is ... troublesome. I have always had my issues with the Jedi." There were many things, and people, and organizations, she'd had issues with. The Jedi had almost had to get in line, but she'd had her eye on them for a while.

"Keep them in their box, away from politics, and certainly never arm them," she'd once said to bounty hunter Boba Fett. Now that she was in a position to do precisely that, it seemed more and more like a good policy. "It is certainly convenient that there's reason to tighten the reins on them, but it's more than that. What's going on with them now ..." She sighed and shook her head, her unbound hair waving gently, and peered out the tinted reinforced transparisteel window. Dorvan dropped a hand to pet the sleeping animal beside him, and waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts.

"This is dangerous and unpredictable. And I don't like what I can't predict. They're far too powerful to simply be allowed to run amok like this. If they can't even control their own members, they are a very real threat. One that has to be contained for the greater good."

Wynn nodded, not necessarily agreeing-his approval carried no weight, and both he and she knew that-but in acknowledgment of her words.

"Master Kenth Hamner wishes to meet with you tomorrow. Will you be available?"

Daala considered for a moment. "No," she said. "Isn't my schedule too tightly booked for that?"

Again, the ghost of the not-quite-grin. "It is indeed. You couldn't possibly spare him any time for at least ..." He entered some data and looked up at her inquiringly. "Three more days?"

Jysella Horn would be locked away like her brother within the hour. Hamner would have to arrange a meeting with his fellow Masters, and probably, frankly, contact Luke Skywalker, even though it violated the terms of Luke's exile. That shouldn't take more than a day or two, given that most of the Masters seemed to be sticking close to Coruscant these days.

So that would give her one, two days to leave the Jedi Council stewing and fretting. Long enough to work in her favor, not so long that she looked like she was neglecting a duty.

"Perfect," she said. "I wonder if I should promote you, Wynn." She graced him with the smile that still managed to disconcert men of almost all ages.

"Oh, please don't, ma'am," he said, sounding utterly sincere. "Right where I am is just perfect. Any higher and I'd have to have someone under me, and that just wouldn't do."

Daala laughed.

KESH.

TWO YEARS EARLIER.

THE OCEAN SIGHED AS IT RUSHED FORWARD AND RECEDED IN A RHYTHM even more ancient than what was unfolding on its lavender-sand sh.o.r.es. While the sun was bright and warm, a breeze came from the sea to cool the heated faces of the two figures standing there.

They faced each other, as still as if they were carved from stone, the only motion around them that of their hair and heavy black robes as the wind toyed with them.

Then, as if by some unheard signal, one of them moved. The soft sound of the ocean was punctuated by a sharp snap-hiss. The almost perfectly symmetrical, light purple features of Vestara Khai's adversary were abruptly cast into sickly green relief. Vestara activated her own weapon with a fluid motion, saluted her opponent with it, settled into position, and waited to see who would make the first move. She balanced lightly on the b.a.l.l.s of her booted feet, ready to leap left, right, or straight up. Still her opponent did not move.

The sun was at its height and its light was harsh, beating down on them like something physical. Their heavy dark robes were stifling hot, but Vestara would no sooner abandon her robes than she would abandon her weapon or her heritage. The robes were traditional, ancient, a deep and valued part of who she was, and she would endure the enc.u.mbrance. The Tribe valued strength as much as it valued beauty; rewarded patience as much as initiative. The wise being was the one who knew when which was called for.

Vestara sprang.

Not at her opponent, but to the left and past him, leaping upward, turning in the air, and slashing outward with the blade. She felt the blade impact and heard its distinctive sizzle. He gasped as she landed, flipped, and crouched back into a defensive position. The sandy surface was treacherous, and her foot slipped. She righted herself almost instantly, but that moment was all he needed to come at her.

He hammered her with blows that were more of strength than grace, his lithe body all lean muscle. She parried each strike, the blades clashing and sizzling, and ducked underneath the final one. Lightness and agility were her allies, and she used them freely.