"Good - I need your help."
"Knowing that, and admitting it, signals strength. The half-man awaits. Use my name to seize the advantage."
Who was the half-man? And what difference would Rahn's name make? Kyle wanted to ask a half-dozen questions, but the lift started to slow. The agent readied the lightsaber, allowed his thumb to rest on the switch, and kept his eyes on the door. The lift came to a halt. A tone sounded, and a light came on. The door rolled open, and a messenger droid scurried through the opening. It squeaked, sent a signal to the turbolift, and waited for the platform to fall. Kyle approached the entrance, looked out onto an empty platform, and heard machinery whir. The message was clear: get off or take his chances on the lift.
There was no sign of a half-man, whole man, or any other kind of man. Surprised by Rahn's error, and more than a little apprehensive, the Rebel stepped out onto the platform. The tone sounded, and the door closed behind him.
A loading ramp jutted off to the right, and a cargo ship hung beyond that. Kyle took two steps forward, felt something "pop," and felt a sudden flood of sensation. Nothing exotic, not by his standards anyway, just the sort of input he normally received via the Force but had been unable to access for the last ten to fifteen minutes. Why? The answer came with terrifying speed. Something, he wasn't sure what, hit his shoulder and sent him sprawling. He rolled onto his back, jumped to his feet, and lit the lightsaber. The air crackled and filled with the odor of ozone. That was the moment when Kyle realized that Rahn had been right - the lower half of his opponent's body was missing!
It was the Force that held him up off the ground. The Dark Jedi's skull was shaved and seemed too small for his body. Hatred filled his eyes and pulled at his thick-lipped mouth. Two equally enormous arms hung from his muscle-bound torso, and one ended in a lightsaber. In addition to holding the Jedi up off the deck, the Force exerted its influence over other objects as well, including nuts, bolts, pebbles, a ration bar, and various bits of wire. All of which orbited the half-man's body as if he were the sun and they were his planets.
The lightsaber buzzed with malevolent energy, and his words had a grating sound.
"I am Maw... prepare to die!"
"Maybe," Kyle replied calmly, "remembering that my friend Rahn already cut you down to size."
The effect was electrifying. Maw's face turned purple with anger, and he uttered a roar of pure, undiluted rage. He accelerated with far greater speed than Kyle had anticipated.
The Rebel fell backward, allowed the Dark Jedi to pass over him, and slashed upward. Maw bellowed with pain, lost his concentration, and hit the deck. The lightsaber sailed out of his hand, and debris rained onto his head and shoulders.
Kyle took a single step forward, eyed his opponent's back, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Maw supported himself with his fists, turned, and looked upward.
"I'm defenseless... kill me! Or do you lack the courage? As your father did before you?"
Kyle dropped his head. Anger, contained and controlled for so long, flowered within. He felt it radiate outward, seep through his body, and tingle at his fingertips. The lightsaber hummed, and his fingers wrapped and rewrapped themselves around the well-worn grip. Here was one of the people who had murdered his father - and not just his father, but hundreds, maybe thousands, more. Killing such a person would be just, yet...
Maw grinned demonically.
"Your father was on his knees, whimpering like a child, as Jerec struck him down. I placed his head on the spike where the rest of the Rebel scum could see it."
The lightsaber blurred as it rose and fell. The blade entered the half-man's left shoulder, sliced through his chest, and exited through the right side of his body. There was an explosion of blood as Maw fell into two distinct pieces - and Kyle felt energy swirl around him.
Dark energy, attracted by the nature of his act, ready for use. Shocked by what he had done and sickened by the slaughter, Kyle backed away.
A voice came from behind.
"Excellent... The journey to the dark side has begun. But there is more.. ."
Kyle turned to discover that Jerec, Sariss, and Boc had stepped off the turbolift, and that Jan was with them. Boc gave Jan a wholly unnecessary shove. She stumbled and caught herself. Kyle saw the bruises on her face and realized that her arms were bound.
Jan forced a grin.
"Sorry, Kyle, looks like I can't bail you out of this one."
Jerec gave her a push and Jan fell. He pointed to where she lay.
"Strike her down! Realize your true destiny... your true power."
Time stretched thin. Jerec felt Kyle's hunger, the ambition that seeped up through his consciousness, and allowed himself a smile. Here was the flaw that Rahn feared, here was the lever he'd been looking for, and here was a hunger that matched his own.
Jan watched the other agent's eyes, saw temptation flicker there, and wondered if she had misjudged him. Boc simpered, did a little dance, and waited for someone to die.
He wore two lightsabers, one thrust through the back of his sash and one in front.
Kyle looked from Jerec to Jan and back again. The fact that he'd been tempted, could be tempted, made his stomach churn.
"No."
The Dark Jedi drew upon the energy that leaked out of the Valley, gave it shape, and hurled the construct at Kyle's chest. The blast threw the Rebel backward onto the loading ramp. He staggered and had just managed to reestablish his footing when a second, more powerful explosion hurled him back into the cargo ship. The lock sensed his presence, and the hatch started to close. The ramp disintegrated.
The ship tilted away, and fell toward the rocks below.
Jan rose, tried to make her way to the edge of the platform, and was slammed to the deck. Boc laughed and put a foot on her chest.
Unaware of what was going on above, Kyle smashed into a bulkhead and knew what he had to do. Head for the belly of the ship and pass through the docking port. It was his only chance. The docking port? Why the docking port? But there was no answer - just an overriding sense of urgency. The inner hatch opened, and Kyle ducked through and found himself in one of two corridors that ran the length of the ship. As with most ships of her design, there was an emergency drop shaft that ran top to bottom through the ship's hull.
Kyle staggered as the nose tilted down. He dropped to his knees and opened the access door set flush with the deck. A ladder was welded to one side of the drop shaft. The Rebel clamped the side rails between his boots, slid downward, and triggered the hatch.
The agent dropped through and landed on the docking port. Or would have, had the freighter been level. Because the ship was tilted nose down, the Rebel hit forward of the hatch and had to battle his way up. Precious seconds passed while he cycled through the lock and entered a familiar-looking compartment.
The Crow! The Imperials had located the ship and flown it to the tower. The agent heard a beeping sound and knew that Wee Gee was locked in one of the storage compartments.
There was no time to free him, however. If he could bring the engines on-line... if he could break the connection...
The odds were against him - but there was little else that Kyle could do. He fought his way into the cockpit, dropped into the pilot's position, and hit the emergency bypass switch. Alarms sounded and lights flashed as the vessel's nav computer took exception to the breach in protocol. Freed from normal safety procedures and responding to the Rebel's prayers, the engines came to life.
Kyle bit his lip, hit the emergency release button, and felt the vessels part company.
The application of power, plus a turn to port, increased the distance between them. The agent pulled back on the control yoke, saw a flash as the cargo ship corkscrewed into the ground, and fought for altitude. The Crow shook violently, rattled Kyle's teeth, and slammed into a rocky spire. The port engine sheared off, the nose dropped, and the ground rushed up to meet her. The hull hit, bounced, and started to slide. Kyle thought about the safety harness, wished he was buckled in, and felt his head strike the control panel.
The Rebel was unconscious by the time the ship skidded to a halt. The dream, if it was a dream, seemed incredibly real. Rahn smiled as if welcoming Kyle home. He wore a cream-colored robe with a hood that fell in folds across his shoulders.
"That which is flows from that which was. The best way to learn is to feel what it was like."
The Jedi faded from view, and Kyle became aware that another mind coexisted with his.
Though seemingly unaware of him, he was aware of it, and all that it contained. There were memories of a youth spent exploring the stars, a passion for a woman long dead, and a planet frosted with ice and snow. There was a weariness as well, for the mind was very, very old. But evil cares little for age or infirmity. It grows where it can, sinking its roots deep into the rich fertilizer of ego, lust, greed, envy, and hatred, sending new shoots to the surface where they form a tangle from which nothing can escape.
That's why Tal had taken his lightsaber down from its place above the hearth - and joined the Army of Light.
"Tal? Are you awake?"
It wasn't until the Jedi opened his eyes that Kyle realized they'd been closed. A man sat across from him: a giant of a man with shoulder-length blond hair, a lantern-shaped jaw, and ice-blue eyes. They twinkled merrily.
"There you are - I was afraid you'd sleep through the surrender."
Tal chose his words with care. Hoth might be a Jedi, and a great one at that, but many voices vied for his attention. So many it was difficult for the big man to sort them out.
Which was why Tal reserved his council for only the most important issues - and chose his words with care.
"There won't be a surrender - not today, at any rate."
Lord Hoth's face grew dark as if hidden from the sun.
"You try my patience, old one. We conjured an army from nothing... We turned freighters into warships... we fought seven terrible battles... Battles in which thousands of Jedi died. In spite of their superior numbers, in spite of their brutality, in spite of their willingness to invoke the dark side of the Force, the Brotherhood of Darkness lost all but two of those engagements. Only one choice remains to them... and that's surrender. Why deny the obvious? "
Tal shrugged.
"Because what we consider to be unthinkable they will accomplish in a heartbeat."
"What?" Hoth demanded. "What do you fear? Put a name to it. I cannot act on a single being's forebodings... no matter how trusted that individual may be."
Tal searched for the words that would explain his misgivings and came up empty.
"I'm sorry, sire... it's a feeling. Nothing less and nothing more."
Hoth shook his head irritably.
"I'm surrounded by every sort of sycophant, soothsayer, and clairvoyant. A pox on the lot of you... Come, it's time to go."
Tal used the arms of the campaign chair to push himself up and out of the seat. He bowed.
"I pray that I am wrong, sire, for nothing would please me more. I will be at your side no matter the outcome."
Hoth smiled and took the old man's hand.
"I know and take strength from it. Come... history awaits."
The Jedi leader collected his lightsaber, threw his cape back over a shoulder, and strode into the sunshine. The Army of Light saw him emerge, and a thousand voices roared his name.
Tal took one last look around the inside of the tent, knew he would never see it again, and hobbled toward the entrance. It took the better part of the morning to pull the troops together, march up the winding road, and enter the Valley. Tal was thankful for the fact that the going was slow, since age had robbed his once-responsive body of its strength and quickness.
But not his mind.
If anything, it was stronger, anchored by more than eighty years of experience and alert to the slightest stirring of the Force. Tal could feel what the Dark Ones had achieved. The Force seemed to congeal like blood in a wound, to thicken the air around them, to press against their chests. The others felt it, too, for they were Jedi and wise in the ways of the Force. Expressions turned grim, muscles strained against the invisible burden, and the air crackled with unreleased energy.
Poles appeared along both sides of the road. Each bore the scavenger-pecked remains of a Jedi - their clothes filled with momentary life as the wind pushed in to explore them.
Cliffs crowded the road and served as vantage points from which the Dark Ones could watch. Their ranks were thinner now, much thinner, but no less intimidating. Their banners flapped languidly in the breeze, their eyes projected hate, and their hands rested on well-worn weapons. For these were the survivors, the beings so skilled at mental-physical combat that seven hard-fought battles had not only failed to bring them down but served to hone their skills. Tal knew that they were - and would always be - dangerous. A double row of heads appeared, one to each side of the road, many still recognizable.
Tal saw one of his students, her eyes empty of the humor for which she'd been known, and felt a deep sense of sorrow. He thought about Hoth, about begging the Jedi Master to call the whole thing off, but knew it was useless. The same determination that made Hoth a great leader would result in his downfall. Nothing could turn him... nothing but death itself.
The chambers, almost as large as the ego they had been created for, stretched for miles. Their location deep within the ground had proven to be bomb proof, missile proof, and assault proof. Up till now, that is. More than a thousand battle-torn flags hung from the walls - many of which still bore the blood of those who had carried them. The leaders to whom the flags had been entrusted, or what remained of those leaders, were arrayed before the flags.
Some were human - many were not. Their eyes were blank, their cavities were filled with preservatives, and their bodies were supported by steel rods. The trophies stood in two inward-facing ranks and formed the letter V.
Kaan sat at the point where the lines came together on a throne made of bones. He had white hair, a prominent forehead, and a finely pointed chin. Power radiated away from the Jedi like heat off a sun-baked rock. - It caused the air to shimmer, sent static through pocket comms, and hurt unprotected minds. His eyes were filled with hatred and probed the beings in front of him.
"They come." Kaan's second, third, and fourth in command were dead, killed during hellacious battles of the past few weeks. Number five, the Jedi known as LaTor, stepped forward and bowed. Kyle bowed with him.
"Yes, my lord. They come."
"We have no way to stop them? No strategy for salvation?"
LaTor, half his face obscured by a blood-stained bandage, shook his head.
"No, my lord, none I am aware of."
"Then we must create one! Surrender is unthinkable. Assemble my Jedi."
"Yes, my lord." It took the better part of two hours to spread the word, to bring what remained of the Brotherhood into chambers, and to settle them down. Once assembled, the Dark Army was woefully small. Less than two thousand Jedi compared to ten times that number that had followed Kaan into the first few battles. Still, small though they were in number, these were the smartest, strongest, and most powerful of the lot, for the rest were dead, having been overpowered by Hoth and the Army of Light.
The air hummed with barely controlled energy. Kaan stood and the chambers fell silent.
His eyes roamed the audience, found those he knew to be leaders, and claimed their minds.
"Greetings, brethren...... and welcome to darkness. Our great and noble cause has come to an end. The forces who favor anarchy over structure have won. For what is this 'democracy' they speak of if not the absence of order? Of reason? Surely the strong should rule - for that is nature's way. "But we must forget what could have been - and focus on what is. Defeat looms only hours away and with it, the loss of all we had hoped for. I ask that you join me in one last task. The creation of a weapon so powerful that when it is detonated, the victors shall become the vanquished and be swept from the pages of history."
Kaan was a skilled orator and knew when to stop. The chambers fell silent. LaTor allowed the silence to build... and broke it with the traditional salute.
"Kaan rules!" The answer came like thunder and echoed off the chamber walls.
"Kaan rules!" And so the decision was made to place death before life. More than a thousand highly trained minds were focused on a single task. First came the creation of a mental construct that was analogous to a bomb casing. A container in which energy could be stored. Then came the process of turning the Force inside out, of tapping the darkness within and channeling that energy into the newly created vessel.
Time hung suspended, the air crackled with barely suppressed energy, and three of the Jedi died, their minds overcome by the violence of the process. Others went insane, rose with weapons drawn, and were executed by the master-at-arms.
Kyle was a novice compared to those around him and might have been killed if it hadn't been for LaTor and the other Jedi's strength. For LaTor was strong, very strong, and Kyle was impressed by the power resident in the dark side. The power and the relative ease of access... a temptation for anyone with the necessary talent.
Finally, their robes soaked with sweat and their hearts beating like trip hammers, the Brotherhood was done. The thought bomb was complete. The time had come to venture out into the sunlight, to embrace the victors and drag them into hell. The final confrontation came in the Valley located above the chambers.
It was there, in an amphitheater carved by the forces of wind, rain, and erosion, that the Brotherhood of Darkness had assembled and waited for death. And it was into the Valley that Tal dragged his aching body, knowing that death hovered nearby but determined to protect his master's back.
And it was there that Kaan, the Lord of Darkness, met Hoth, Defender of the Light, and gestured to the cliffs that rose on every side.
"Welcome, Lord Hoth. Welcome to the grave and darkness from which none will ever emerge."
The thought was relatively trivial, much as the pressure exerted by a marksman represents only a fraction of his total strength but has the capacity to destroy that which he could never create. The explosion that followed was anything but trivial, however, for it shattered the construct made to contain it and filled the Valley with destruction.
Tal reeled under the impact, felt his body snatched away, and was thrown toward the stars. Joy filled his heart. Freedom! He was free from pain... free from...
Nature abhors a vacuum, however, and the emptiness at the heart of the explosion had to be filled with something, so it sucked Tal in. Tal and all the rest. Understanding filled the Jedi's mind. His screams were nearly lost among the others.
"No! Please! No!" But the matter was settled. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and consistent with that law, both armies were pulled back in. A state of equilibrium was achieved as force matched force, and they were trapped.
Thrown together for eternity... or until something disrupted the existing balance.
Tal, and his alter ego, Kyle, were still in the process of absorbing that, of understanding it, when the Rebel awoke.