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“Then we should be prepared for it to happily attack us, Ben,” Luke said. “We’re the one target Abeloth can send it after that won’t cause it any discomfort to kill.”

Ben nodded. “And Jaina and Lando.”

“If we can free him from her will somehow, Ship would be a powerful ally,” Vestara said. “He likes me. He doesn’t want to be used to harm me, or the Tribe. But he can’t resist on his own.”

“That may be,” Luke said, “but let’s take this one step at a time. I’m happy enough it’s not firing on us at the moment. Time to go planetside and see what’s there.”

He and Ben were in the pilot and copilot’s seat. There was still no way to communicate with the Sith aboard the frigates, so Ben waited until they were all assembled in orbit. Each frigate opened up to emit two well-armed atmospheric vessels, no doubt crammed to the gills with Sith.

“Stang,” said Ben. “We’ll have to land the Shadow, won’t we?”

“Yes … Why? Is that a problem?”

“Dyon,” said Vestara, as if reading Ben’s thoughts.

“Yep. Abeloth might try to free him somehow.”

Luke glanced over at the monitor. “He’s conscious, though still under the influence of the drug.”

“Let me go check him out while you two take the Shadow down,” Vestara said.

“Give him another dose,” Luke called after her.

The drug was coursing through his system. Dyon Stad could feel it, could sense it, even though he knew on one level he shouldn’t be able to. He knew that it was clouding his mind, slowing down his body, holding him hostage to the physical needs of his form as surely as the stun cuffs held his body hostage here in this sick bay.

It was not sufficient, however, to shut her out.

Tears leaked beneath his closed lids as he struggled, futilely, inevitably, against the restraints, and his heart ached as if it were squeezed by an invisible hand.

Come to me. Come home.

A sob escaped him, hastily bitten back. The Others couldn’t be permitted to think they had broken him. If he could, he would happily tell them, as he spat in their faces, their perfect replica faces, that it wasn’t they who had broken him. In fact, he was not broken at all. He was actually awakening to what had been going on for who knew how long. To the truth. And he was here, here where the greatest strength of understanding and resistance could be found.

He knew her, and he did not know her. All he knew was that she was kind, and good, and understanding, and somehow she held the answers he sought.

You are true and real, Dyon. There are others. You are not alone. Come to me, find me—

He was not alone.

His eyes snapped open, red from crying, but sharp and hard. He stared at the Sith girl—or rather, the Other who was masquerading as the Sith girl—and remained silent, waiting for her to speak.

“She’s calling to you, isn’t she? Abeloth?”

He said nothing.

She stepped closer. Her face, sweet, innocent-looking, no doubt as perfect a replica of the original Vestara as the Not-Luke was of the original Jedi Grand Master, furrowed slightly in speculation.

“I know that you think we’re all imposters,” she said quietly. “I know that Luke and Ben keep telling you that you’re wrong, that you’re insane. I know you’re sure you’re not.”

Dyon Stad said nothing. This was likely a trick.

She smiled, a little sadly. “The real Vestara would be trying to play you. She was a Sith, after all.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you’re standing there telling me that you’re not Vestara.” It was a statement, not a question. She nodded slowly, dark brown eyes watching him.

“You know the imposters who have taken the place of Luke and Ben—you know them to be hostile. I play along with them, but there are some of us that are secretly opposed to them. Think about it. Do you think that Jedi and Sith would ever really agree on anything?”

“But you’re not really a Sith.”

“No. But I am one who opposes those who have taken the places of those who were Jedi. And I’m trying to fight them. All of us who have opted to replace the Sith are.”

He blinked, the drug coursing through him, making him