Fate of the Jedi: Backlash Read online

  Ben sighed. “Dyon? Speeder bikes?”

  “Oh. Right. Earlier today, the spaceport sensor station picked up speeder bike transponders, three of them, arriving at a broad meadow west of the spaceport at different times.”

  Luke shrugged. “So what? I understand that there are speeder bikes with several of the clans now.”

  “So they were arriving from different directions. Suggesting different clans. And a lot of the speeder bikes get modified when they fall into clan hands, their transponders being disabled, because the clans have a natural dislike of people being able to track their movements. So if three speeders with transponders converge on a site, it means there were probably more than three there at the time.”

  Luke nodded. “Where do their signals say they are now?”

  “That’s just the thing. They were there for a little while, then the three signals winked out, all within two minutes of one another.”

  “Which suggests,” Ben broke in, “that they were sitting around waiting, and someone said, You have all disabled your transponders, haven’t you? And three of them with the brains of monkey-lizards said, What are transponders? And then they fixed the problem.”

  Luke thought about it. “So you’re calculating that the Nightsisters decided they needed reinforcements, and more Nightsisters are coming in on speeder bikes.”

  Ben nodded. “Sure, there are other explanations. But I’m kind of naturally suspicious.”

  “Well, being suspicious seems to work for your uncle Han.” Luke looked around, scanning the campsite. “If you’re right, they’ve more than replaced their losses, and we haven’t replaced ours.”

  Dyon nodded. “It’s never a good idea to let the enemy choose the battlefield.”

  Luke moved off toward the camp’s center of activity: the competition ground where Kaminne and Tasander would now be officiating a new event. “Let’s talk to someone about moving the camp.”

  Tasander, who, like many noble Hapan males, came from a family line with a tradition of piracy, and Kaminne, who had kept her clan together and alive across ten hard years, didn’t require much convincing. The problem was simply one of logistics.

  “A full packing-up and moving-out can’t take less than an hour.” Kaminne thought about it. “Though we could announce it as a run to safety. Five minutes to get to your camp and grab what is most important to you, five more minutes to muster, and then move out, leaving behind everything not absolutely crucial. But where do we go? Add marching time, and there’s only so far we can get before night falls and we’re vulnerable.”

  Tasander glanced to the northeast. “There’s a hill a few kilometers that way. It’s off the trade paths. Very ugly, unpromising hill. Steep-sided, rocky, and barren. But there’s nothing up there to burn and it’s very, very defensible.”

  Kaminne nodded. “Water?”

  “Nothing to drink up there, unfortunately.”

  “We’ll have to fill up every waterskin and other container before we move out. More time, unfortunately. And whose is the standard?”

  “Huh?” Tasander seemed stumped by that one.

  Luke was, too. “The standard?”

  Tasander gestured around. “This is not one campsite. It’s two. Broken Columns distinctly over here, Raining Leaves distinctly over there, each under its own standard, or clan symbol. Oh, three camps now, with you offworlders right in the middle. But that hilltop, small and irregular as it is, can’t be partitioned off as easily. So it will be a Broken Columns camp or a Raining Leaves camp, but not both. One clan will be there at the sufferance of the other … and won’t like it, which undercuts our morale and chain of command. So, which is the hosting clan? Whose standard do we fly?”

  Luke let a little durasteel creep into his voice. “Jedi. It’s a Jedi camp. Dyon, I need you to make a standard. Quickly.”

  Dyon nodded. “Done.”

  Kaminne glanced at Tasander, then looked at Luke again. “Raining Leaves agree.”

  “So do Broken Columns.” Tasander scratched his chin, so obviously and theatrically an I’m thinking now gesture that it was difficult not to laugh. “We still need one member from each clan to accompany the Jedi to claim the site and plant the standard.”

  Though Kaminne was opening her mouth to answer, Ben interrupted her. “Halliava and Drola.”

  Kaminne gave him a curious look. “Why?”

  “They’re both young and popular, they’ve both won several matches. They’re both unmarried. Gives people something to speculate about.”

  Kaminne shrugged. “Good enough. Halliava and Drola, then.”

  “But don’t tell them what this is all about. Let’s confine information as much as possible.” Ben kept his tone light, as though this were a reasonable request but not a critical one.

  “As you wish.” She glanced at her fiancé. “Let us begin.”

  “Let’s.”

  Together they trotted off toward the current competition, unarmed combat between those with no Arts.

  Luke gave Ben a look he tried, and failed, to make an admonishing one. “You’re getting very sneaky, Ben.”

  “I get that from Mom. And maybe from the Skywalkers, too—Leia’s your sister. Sneakiness just skipped you.”

  Dyon shook his head, confused. “I don’t get it. What was sneaky?”

  Ben gave him an innocent look. “It’s a teenage thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Not too surprisingly, Dyon had on his datapad some information on the Jedi and the Galactic Alliance. Using familiar symbols on the ’pad as a frame of reference, he quickly worked up a flag that would serve as the Jedi standard for this mission. On a large square of tan cloth, he painted in black the bird-like symbol that had served as the basis for much New Republic and Galactic Alliance heraldry. Over that stark image he painted two crossed lightsabers, both lit, one with a green blade, one with a blue.

  Ben, watching over Dyon’s shoulder, nodded approval. “That should do the job.”

  “I’ll blot it so that it doesn’t drip while we’re carrying it. But otherwise it’s ready to go.”

  Within minutes of the standard’s completion they joined Luke, as well as Halliava and Drola, both of whom looked perplexed and testy at being taken from the games, and set out for the hill Tasander had described. He’d given Dyon accurate information about its location, so all Dyon had to do was check his datapad against satellite coordinates every few minutes. Half an hour after setting out from the Raining Leaves/Broken Columns camp, they emerged from a particularly thick stretch of trees in view of the hill.

  It was indeed unpromising looking. It was a forty-meter-high slab of black rock thrust up from beneath Dathomir’s surface in ancient times and only slightly worn down since. Jagged edges jutted up at the sky, with little greenery growing from its upper slopes. The southwest slope was gentler than the others, meaning that it required only ordinary athletics to climb, not extraordinary efforts. Ben could see that the top was broken, angled terrain, a place where it would be hard to find a comfortable place to put down a bedroll. He hoped it didn’t rain tonight.

  The five of them, all in good shape and unhurt, climbed the slope in a matter of minutes, then stared down along the valley toward Redgill Lake. In the late-afternoon sun, the lake waters glinted in rippling bands of blue and yellow-orange.

  Drola blinked. “Well, it’s pretty. But not pretty enough to miss the rock hurling. I think I would have won this year.”

  Halliava snorted. “Would you have started with the rocks between your ears?”

  Unruffled, he shook his head. “No, with the granite ball you call your heart.”

  Luke smiled. “You have something more important to do than throw rocks. We need you as a witness.” He gestured, and Dyon handed him the long wooden pole to which the new standard was attached. Luke raised the standard high. “I claim …” Then his voice trailed off. A thoughtful expression on his face, he lowered the pole so that its butt end rested on the hilltop stone.

>   Ben gave his father a concerned look. “What is it?”

  Luke shook his head. “I can’t do this. If I claim this hill, however temporarily, it becomes a Jedi facility. Right?”

  “Right … oh.” The terms of Luke’s conviction prohibited him from creating or visiting Jedi facilities.

  Luke held the standard out to Ben. “You have to do it. I don’t think I can even be here.”

  “Where will you be? Down at ground level with no support?”

  “No … I’ll station myself at about the halfway mark down the hill. You just claim the hilltop and we’ll be fine.”

  “He cannot.” That was Halliava. She still looked perplexed as to their intention, but she seemed certain of something. “With you gone, there is only one Jedi here. Meaning you have no greater claim than Drola, Dyon, or myself. We cannot bear witness to this because our claim is as great as yours.”

  Dyon made a strangled noise. He turned to Luke. “You think it’s bad dealing with planet after planet, each with a different form of government and constitution? Imagine a place where, if you cross a creek, you’ve got a different form of government, different customs, and no constitution, since there are few or no literate people there to write one. Welcome to Dathomir.”

  Luke just grinned at him and handed his son the standard. “Ben, you’re the one with the sneaky genes. Fix this problem.” He turned and began descending the slope.

  “Great.” Trust his father to shoot Ben out of his own cannon.

  He looked at his three remaining companions, and an idea occurred to him. He propped the standard pole against his shoulder and began fishing in his belt pouch. In moments he found what he was looking for, a five-credit coin of Coruscant minting.

  He flipped it to Dyon, who caught it. “Dyon, I’m hiring you. I can’t make you a Jedi, but I can employ you for the Order. As a consultant.”

  Dyon looked sorrowfully at the coin, then tucked it away into one of his vest pouches. “I’ve sunk pretty low. Selling myself for five creds.”

  “That’s life with the Jedi.” Ben glanced at the Dathomiri. “Now do the Jedi outnumber the Leaves and the Columns?”

  Drola nodded. Halliava considered, then nodded as well.

  Ben held the standard up. “I, Ben Skywalker, hereby claim this hilltop, from an altitude of twenty meters up, for the Jedi Order.” He looked at the Dathomiri. “Will that work? Dramatic enough?”

  Halliava shrugged. “You must mention your witnesses.”

  Drola pointed to the pole he held. “And then plant the standard so it can stand by itself.”

  “I hereby make this claim in the presence of Halliava Vurse of the Raining Leaves Clan and Drola—Drola—”

  The bearded man scowled. “Kinn.”

  “Drola Kinn of the Broken Columns Clan.” Ben looked around for some loose rocks with which to prop up the pole.

  “If you are going to fumble with my name, I should at least go first.”

  “You’re a man. You go second. Ben, are we done? I want to return to camp.”

  Ben gave Halliava an apologetic smile. “No, we have to wait here. Kaminne and Tasander want that, too.” He rested the pole against a vertical rock face as high as his shoulder and began piling loose stones against it to hold it in place.

  Drola tried to make his voice sound reasonable. “They did say that.”

  “Oh, be quiet. We never should have taught your kind to talk.”

  Ben grinned. Halliava’s tone was not biting, not genuinely angry. She was just bantering. As contentious as things had been in the camps during the conclave, he liked the sound of that.

  He felt a sudden stab of guilt. Maybe Halliava wasn’t the Nightsister here. He didn’t want his constant scrutiny of her to cause offense or to make others mistrust her if she were actually innocent.

  But he still couldn’t tell her the truth, not when she might be able to convey it to distant Nightsisters. Not when he didn’t know.

  His task complete, he straightened. “Welcome to Camp Jedi. Now we wait.”

  THEY DIDN’T HAVE A LENGTHY WAIT. AN HOUR AFTER THEY FIRST achieved the summit, Ben saw the first clan members straggling out of the forest. Tasander was at their head. As more and more emerged from the trees, Tasander directed some to climb the hill, others to begin moving along the tree line surrounding it. Within a short time, men and women were reaching the summit and setting up bedrolls and, where possible, tents; those below were emerging from the trees with hastily cut poles whose ends they began to sharpen with long slashing blades.

  Ben gulped. Suddenly it struck home. They were indeed at war, preparing fortifications to defend themselves. He’d been born during a war and had fought through others as a boy and an adolescent. Now it was war again, however small its scale. He wondered if he was always to be involved in some war or another. Then he thought back over his father’s history and knew the answer.

  His father was visible, too, halfway down the hill. Luke sprang from stone to stone, landing, rocking back and forth on each perch, leaping to the next one within reach. Ben knew what he was doing: testing the terrain, giving himself home-field advantage should enemies come against him.

  Ben heard Drola and Halliava asking the newcomers if they knew the reason for all the commotion, and finally getting their answer. We’re fortifying against the Nightsisters. Now, if Halliava was one of the Nightsisters, she would find a way to communicate the news to her fellow conspirators. But as Ben watched her from the corner of his eye, she did not immediately dash off on some pretext of an errand. Grim-faced, she met and took her daughter from Olianne, then set about erecting her own camp.

  Ben found Dyon sitting on a boulder overlooking the southwest slope, tapping away on his datapad. “What’re you doing?”

  “Composing a chronicle of the day so far.” Dyon didn’t look up, and his tone indicated that he was concentrating mostly on his document. “I’ll be sending it to Yliri and updating it as the night progresses.”

  “Why?”

  “I could die tonight, Ben. Die alongside people who barely know me, a long way from home. I’d like for the people who care about me to know why.”

  “Oh.” As if suddenly deflated, Ben sat on a boulder nearby. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Sorry that we asked you for help. Well, that Han and Leia did, and that we asked you to stay behind.”

  “Don’t be.” Dyon left off his typing for a moment to look at Ben. “You know that, when I was younger, I wanted to be a Jedi. That I was tested and did some training.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I washed out. Not good enough with the Force. I understood, but it still came down to being told that I just wasn’t good enough. Not valuable enough.”

  Ben winced. “That’s not what it meant.”

  “I know that, but on an emotional level, that’s exactly what it meant. Well, that’s all right. I found other ways to make my life worthwhile. And now, just these last few days, I’ve been able to give the Jedi—the Grand Master of the Jedi—help that he couldn’t get anywhere else.” He shrugged. “If I die tonight, I want people to know that I didn’t go out thinking there was no value to my life.” He turned his attention back to his datapad and began typing again.

  Ben turned to look over the last several dozen clan members straggling in from the forest.

  As with Dyon, any of them might die tonight. Just because they wanted to take their clans, to take their culture, in a new direction, one of their choosing. He felt cold anger settle across him, anger for those like Jacen Solo and the Nightsisters and the Sith, those who valued their own goals so far above the very lives of ordinary people like—

  “Water?”

  He turned. Vestara stood before him. Around her neck was a leather strap supporting a crude leather container, a bucket of sorts, holding water; it rested against her hip. She dipped a long-handled wooden ladle into the water and offered it to him.

  He took it, drank, returned the impleme
nt to her. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I’ll only lie. That, or tell the truth.”

  “Where’d you get the credits?”

  “What credits?”

  “Enough credits to get your yacht fixed.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I have no such fortune, and I have no yacht, and I have authorized no repairs.”

  “There’s really no point in lying. We found the yacht in Monarg’s shop.”

  “That’s not my yacht.”

  “Well, let’s say the one that’s yours by right of salvage, since it was abandoned in the Maw and you retrieved it.”

  “Still not mine.”

  He sighed.

  “Really, Ben.” She returned the ladle to the bucket. “You shouldn’t tell people you consider your enemies what you’re thinking. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?” She turned away and headed for a cluster of Raining Leaves a few meters away.

  Ben shrugged. Sure they had. But maybe he hadn’t learned quite enough.

  CORUSCANT

  So much for transponder codes.

  The Star Tripper—an alias for the Millennium Falcon that Han had thought no one else knew—had barely entered Coruscant orbit before a pair of Aleph-class starfighters had appeared out of nowhere and started to follow her down. To Han, the choice of escort craft suggested they were more of a courtesy than a guard detail. Heavily armed and armored, Alephs were well suited to picket duty, but couldn’t hope to keep up with a ship like the Falcon if she decided to run.

  Leia spoke a few words of confirmation into the comm board and switched off the transmitter. “They’ve given us landing coordinates. In the plaza outside the Senate Building.”

  Han grimaced. “So they want a show for the media—but it can’t be of an arrest.” He jerked a thumb toward the aft, roughly in the direction of the Alephs. “If they want to arrest us, they would have sent something that could catch us.”

  “Probably,” Leia said. “But I sent for Jaina, just in case. She has clearance to meet us, to take charge of Allana and Anji.”