It was a long march down gleaming corridors, past the sick bay and weapons control center, and onto the bridge. A utility droid crossed in front of them, and crew people pa.s.sed in the other direction. None of them had the slightest bit of interest in who the prisoners were or what would happen to them. Rahn had never felt so lonely and isolated. More than that - he'd never encountered a concentration of evil like that which lay ahead.

It felt as though the Force had been turned inside out. The dark, inner core was a seductive place in which power could be had, but at the cost of one's spirit.

And there, like a shadow within a shadow, waited the one called Jerec. A man once, but less than that now - or so it seemed to Rahn. The Force churned as the Dark Jedi schemed, hated, wanted, and plotted.

But the good side of the Force was present as well, and Rahn drew on its power, wrapped himself in a cloak of white, and smiled as the darkness retreated before him.

Duno Dree, Nij Por Ral, and Rolanda Gron followed behind, their features downcast, unaware that a battle had begun.

Jerec waited as he had chosen to wait, with his back to the command pit and his nonexistent eyes on the stars beyond. It was a trick, but an effective one. At least half the crew believed he could see, in spite of the fact that both of his eyes were clearly missing. The manipulation amused the Dark Jedi and fed his gigantic ego.

There was a considerable amount of shouting and stomping as a noncom led the prisoners onto the bridge and rattled off some military nonsense. Regardless of what his position seemed to imply, Jerec had never spent so much as a day in the military. He saw their rituals as boring.

The Jedi waited for the commotion to cease and waited some more. He wanted to turn, wanted to rip the knowledge from their brains, but refused to submit to such weakness. No, it required discipline to control his spirit, as well as those belonging to his subordinates, subordinates who had more power than they knew, or were likely to know, since jealousy, envy, and a nearly universal l.u.s.t for power kept them apart. That's why he never showed any signs of weakness, never revealed what he really wanted, even when others thought they knew.

Finally, when the self-imposed penance had been paid, Jerec turned. Captain Sysco was waiting. "The prisoners are ready for interrogation, sir."

Jerec nodded. He felt Rahn the way hands feel a fire, as a presence that can warm flesh or burn it beyond all recognition. Even here, even now, the man was dangerous. Fear trickled through Jerec's veins and made him angry. Others were supposed to react this way, especially when he arrived. But him? Never!

Rahn watched the other Jedi's approach. Sadness filled his heart. Here was a spirit so malignant that it rivaled Emperor Palpatine's. If allowed to achieve its goals, it would plunge the civilized worlds into a darkness so complete that a thousand years would pa.s.s before the light managed to dawn. The Jedi's head continued to hurt, and his shoulder felt hot. He pushed both sensations aside and waited for the a.s.sault.

Six additional Jedi, including Yun, Sariss, Maw, Boc, Gore, and Pic, emerged from the shadows and added their power to the growing sense of menace. Duno Dree, Nij Por Ral, and Rolanda Gron stirred uneasily.

Jerec, careful to count his steps, stopped five meters short of his subjects and regarded them through long-dead eyes. "Rahn - we meet at last. And who might these sad specimens be? Servants, perhaps?"

"I speak for myself," the Klatooinian technologist growled. "My name is Rolanda Gron, and you will learn nothing from me."

Jerec seemed to consider the technologist's words. He nodded in agreement. "It shall be as you say. Kill him."

Rahn lurched toward Jerec, but hands held him fast. The odd pair known as "the twins" shambled forward. Gorc walked and Pic rode. The Klatooinian tried to back away as the pair approached, but guards held him in place. Gore activated his clubsized lightsaber and seemed ready to strike when Pic jumped for the technologist's chest. He landed, hissed, and drove a dagger into the scientist's throat.

The Klatooinian looked surprised, felt blood gush through his fingers, and toppled over backward. Pic rode the body down, retrieved his knife, and wiped it on his victim's clothes. His three-toed feet left tracks through the blood. He jumped onto one of Gores tree-trunk-sized legs and scrambled upward.

"So," Jerec said reasonably, "now that the stakes are clear, please answer my questions. I have reason to believe that you know about the Valley of the Jedi, that you may have been there. Where is it? Provide the coordinates for the planet, or the location where the coordinates can be found, and die a merciful death. Deny my request, and the suffering will last a long time. The choice is yours."

Rahn had spent a great deal of his life in contemplation. He knew there were things worse than death. "No."

Jerec turned to Yun. "Show us your strength."

Head up, eyes bright, the youngest Jedi stepped forth. His lightsaber crackled into life. Nij Por Ral swayed and fell to his knees. "Please! I beg of you, spare us! Rahn has the information you seek - not I."

Yun, conscious that all eyes were on him, paused, ready to strike. His eyes locked with Rahn's. "So, what will it he old man? The coordinates, or death?"

Rahn, who knew hr was executing Por Ral as surely as if he held the lightsaber in his own hand, closed his eyes. "Death."

The linguistics expert screamed as the bar of bright blue energv sank into his shoulder. He screamed again as the blade was withdrawn from his still-smoking flesh. Yun was embarra.s.sed by his failure to make a clean kill. He lifted the weapon over his head and brought it down. This blow was successful.

Jerec spoke as the badly mangled body hit the deck. "Not very pretty. But death rarely is. What of the mercy that men such as yourself prattle about? I fail to see how your methods differ from mine. Give me the coordinates."

Rahn turned to Duno Dree. The young man stood, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body shaking with fear. Rahn knew the boy, knew who he could have been, and found his eyes. "Tell them, Duno - tell them for both of us."

Dree's eyes seemed to grow larger as he turned toward Jerec. The Dark Jedi couldn't see the boy's face, but he felt the young man's determination and heard his reply. "No."

Boc the Crude accepted the role of executioner this time. Dree closed his eyes. He could hear the shuffling feet and smell the Jedi's breath. Hands blurred, the young man's neck snapped, and he collapsed.

Rahn stumbled forward as he was released. Maw was waiting. The blows came hard and fast, more than he could count, and more than he wanted to know. His knees thumped against steel, and blood splattered onto the highly polished deck. Boots appeared, turned in his direction, and paused. He stared into his own reflection and readied himself for the kick. It never arrived.

Jerec went to one knee and whispered into the other Jedi's ear. The words smelled of mint. "Give me what I ask - or I will take it."

Rahn felt the other man's power and feared that what he said was true. Perhaps Jerec could take whatever he wanted, regardless of Rahn's wishes. He preferred death and tried to provoke it. "Why wait? Strike me down!"

Jerec touched Rahn's shoulder as if to comfort him. "In time, old man when I'm done with you."

Rahn felt something soft wrap itself around his neck. He started to choke and willed himself to die. His eyes sought Yun's, and the other Jedi looked away. Rahn welcomed death's embrace and was more than halfway there when oxygen flooded his lungs.

Jerec stood. A rare smile touched his lips. "Thanks, old man. It might please you to know that Morgan Katarn journeyed here before you, suffered as you have, and took the secret to his grave. However, thanks to the fact that you instructed him to leave a record, we know what to look for."

So saying, Jerec turned away. Rahn tapped the energy that flowed around him and sent it forth.

Yun felt his lightsaber fly out of his belt and saw it flash across the intervening s.p.a.ce. Warnings were shouted, bodies moved, but the damage was done. Rahn caught the weapon, rose to his feet, and turned it on. The air sizzled as a bar of bright-blue energy appeared over Rahn's shoulder.

Boc came at him, awkward at first, then unexpectedly graceful. He executed a series of diversionary spins, stopped, and slashed at a head that was no longer there.

Rahn ducked, made a sweep at his opponent's legs, and saw blood fly. Boc tried to advance, wondered what was wrong, and fell. Yun pulled him clear. It was later, in the sick bay, that Boc learned a tendon had been severed.

Captain Sysco frowned, drew his sidearm, and was about to fire when Jerec touched his arm. "Thank you, Captain, but no. The practice will do them good."

Sysco wondered if Boc would agree, nodded obediently, and holstered his weapon. "Practice. Yes, sir."

Sariss came next, offered a flurry of cla.s.sical moves, and was blocked at every turn.

Maw bellowed a warning, charged into the fray, and vanished in a welter of blood. Medics had arrived by this time and dragged his torso clear. His legs, one lying across the other, stayed behind.

Gorc chose that moment to attack from the side. Rahn sensed his presence, turned, and knocked the lightsaber from the other Jedi's hands. Pic hissed and was about to leap the gap when Jerec intervened. A blast of energy threw Rahn backward. He fell, skidded, and attempted to rise.

Energy crackled as a lightsaber came to life. There was something birdlike about Jerec's approach. He raised the weapon and brought it down. Rahn saw an explosion of light, an old friend's face, and relished his freedom.

Jerec looked around as if actually able to see - and killed the power to his lightsaber. The air stank of ozone and blood. "Clean up the mess, set a course for Sulon, and arrange something special for dinner. The Valley is ours." Jerec's heels made a clacking sound as he left the bridge. The rest of the Jedi, those still able to walk, followed him out.

Sysco said "Yes, sir," stepped over Maw's legs, and headed for his cabin. There was a bottle of Bonadan booze stashed in the bottom drawer of his desk. This seemed like a good time to break it open. The bridge crew, their expressions neutral, watched him go. It was a scene they'd never forget.

CHAPTER THREE.

The Rimmer's Rest was more than a bar - it was an inst.i.tution, a place where members of every known race could find their favorite intoxicants among the establishment's collection of 1,241 bottles, decanters, tubes, vials, jars, inhalers, and bulbs. And then, with the appropriate stimulant or depressant in hand, claw, or tentacle, members could retire to one of more than a hundred booths, some of which had been engineered to accommodate specific species.

Once ensconced, the average customer would be able to find at least a few samples of his, her, or its native cuisine. That - combined with the establishment's rather lenient policies toward weapons and their use - made the Rest an ideal place to conduct business. Any kind of business, ranging from the mundane to the out-and-out illegal, all of which explained why the droid known as 8t88 paused, eyed the alien hieroglyphic over the door, and entered.

Servos whined as the droid paused to get his bearings. He attracted some attention because of both his somewhat antiquated appearance and the fact that he had arrived alone. Where was his owner?

The question was to be expected. But it a.s.sumed that all machines were necessarily subordinate to beings having "natural intelligence." An absurd but commonly held notion that 88 resented with every circuit in his body. Originally designed for bookkeeping and other administrative tasks, the first 88 eventually became outmoded and was junked.

Somehow, and the present-day 88 wasn't quite sure what had taken place, his original head and processor had disappeared and had been replaced by a unit that appeared too small for his two-meter frame. Or was it the other way around? There was no way to be sure.

8t88 had only vague memories of his previous existence. Nonetheless, he hated the cavalier manner in which his parts had been reconfigured. With that in processor, 88 was acc.u.mulating wealth, a large of amount of wealth, which would be used to find and punish the person or persons responsible for his disfigurement. It was not the sort of thing the average droid worried about, but 88 was anything but average.

No one took issue with the droid's presence, which was hardly surprising in an establishment where the saying "mind your own business" was not a plat.i.tude but a strategy for staying alive.

8t88 turned and walked down an aisle. Tiny white lights blinked along the margins. The bar was kept dark to hide the many layers of grime and to protect customers' privacy. Red, blue, and green rings rippled the length of the evenly s.p.a.ced support columns and were reflected in the ceiling tiles.

8t88 switched to infrared and watched while bodies, weapons, and plates of recently delivered food were transformed into bright green blobs. The man he was looking for, a bounty hunter known as Boba Fett, would be somewhere toward the back, watching those around him, playing out one more day in the never-ending game of eat or be eaten.

8t88 waited for a brightly attired Rybet to pa.s.s, and walked down an aisle. The droid's hip made a squeaking sound and drew attention. A multiplicity of eyes checked him against mental lists, scanned him for weapons, and calculated his current market value. Once satisfied, they returned to their own affairs.

Most of the beings around 88 were biologicals or, if possessed of machine parts, mostly biological. 8t88 pitied them. The process of dying had begun the day they'd been born, hatched, or decanted. Yes, science might delay their demise, but entropy would have its inevitable way. Except with machines, which could have themselves rebuilt and thereby live forever. The thought pleased 88 and resulted in what others perceived as a grimace.

The bounty hunter sat in a corner booth, his back to the wall, his jetpack on the seat beside him. A human might have resented the Tshaped visor and the fact that it obscured the bounty hunter's face, but 88 felt no such discomfort. He'd heard humans refer to eyes as "windows to the spirit" but had no idea what they were talking about. His voice was flat and synthesized. "Boba Fett?"

The human nodded. "And you are?"

"A potential client. They call me 8t88."

Fett gestured toward the opposite side of the booth. "Take a load off. Are you representing yourself or someone else?"

"Does it matter?"

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Nope. Just curious. Never worked for a machine before."

With no flesh to soften it, 88's grin took on a threatening quality. "Then get used to it - machines are the future."

"Maybe," Fett replied calmly, "and maybe not."

"A man named Kyle Katarn will enter this bar in an hour or so. He has information that I want."

Boba Fett leaned backward. Light rolled across the surface of his visor. "So? Ask him."

"He may not wish to tell me."

"And that's where I come in?"

"Exactly."

The bounty hunter remained silent for a full thirty seconds. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because I've heard of Katarn. Some say he's aligned with the Empire, while others claim he works for the Alliance."

"So? You've done work for the Empire."

"True, but the Alliance has been on a roll of late. Who knows? They might come out on top. Either way, I'll sit this one out."

"That's your final word?"

"That's it."

8t88 stood and stepped into the aisle. He was about to leave when Fett cleared his throat. "One more thing . . . "

The droid turned. A ball joint squeaked in protest. "Yes?"

"Get a lube job."

Kyle Katarn tossed his drink back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and triggered the cube. The holo played for what? The fifth time? The man with the beard was his father - and the boy was him. A younger, more innocent him before he left for the Imperial Military Academy on Carida, before the Imperials murdered his father, before the raid on Danuta's research facility. Five years had pa.s.sed since then - though it seemed like fifty - and the search went on. Who had murdered his father? He, she, or it would pay dearly for the mistake. Maybe this was the night the truth would be known.

The holo flickered. Morgan seemed transparent, but his words were warm and strong: "I want you to remember, son, when you're at the Academy, how very proud I am of you."

Something squeaked as a droid slid into the far side of the booth. The synthesizer sounded flat and unemotional. "How touching."

The holo disappeared. Shadows hid Kyle's eyes. He removed the tiny tracker droid from his pocket, pressed the b.u.t.ton on its back, and allowed the device to scuttle away. It sought 88's leg, activated an internal magnet, and went to work. If the larger droid felt anything, he gave no sign of it.

"Don't waste my time, 88. You called this meeting. Who killed my father?"

8t88 switched to infrared, checked to see if the bounty hunters had taken their places and saw they hadn't. Blast the idiots anyway! Boba Fett would have arrived on time. He cursed the human's intransigence. All he could do was stall. "When someone desires information, they come to me."

Kyle brought the pistol up from the darkness. Light rippled along the top surface of the barrel. "And?"

The droid spoke quickly. "Patience. He's a Dark Jedi."

The hand weapon remained as before, only centimeters from 88's scanner plate.

"Jedi?"

"Dark Jedi. He is known as Jerec. He has great plans for the rebirth of the Empire."

8t88 saw two green blobs appear in the booth beyond. Help, such, as it was, had arrived.

Kyle felt his heart beat a little bit faster. Jerec! The same Jerec who had attended the graduation ceremony at Cliffside! The same Jerec who had sought him out, pinned the medal to his chest, and spoken as if to an old acquaintance?

"Greetings, Kyle Katarn. You have accomplished a great deal for one so young. Recognition is sweet, is it not? However, remember that recognition is a gift given by those who have power to those who don't. This is but the first step .... Climb the ladder swiftly, join those who possess power, and claim what is yours. I will be waiting."

Kyle hadn't been aware of it at the time, but his father had been killed weeks before. Was Jerec aware of that? Not only aware of it but of the reason for it? Had Jerec murdered his father?

The Rebel had no more than framed the question when someone rammed a blaster into the base of his skull. Something or someone laughed, and 88 made a clicking noise. "Ouch! That looks uncomfortable. I'll take the blaster so n.o.body gets hurt."