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She felt a gentle bump beneath her seat as the bomb was forced from the tube. She reached out for it in the Force, her eyes fixed on Ship, directing the bomb directly toward it. It simply sat there. For a wild moment, Jaina wondered exactly how sentient it was. Why wasn’t it attacking her, or moving out of the way? Was this thing choosing suicide by Jedi rather than continuing to help Abeloth against the Sith it had been designed to serve? Was it really going to—

And suddenly, as if someone had snatched something she was holding right out of her hand, she felt Ship commandeer the direction of the bomb and send it spiraling off harmlessly. It turned to “face” her now. And as Jaina watched, its surface seemed to shiver. Strange appendages began to form, and she realized Ship was making its own weapons and training them on her.

The battle was on.

Good.

Abeloth was raging. Ben felt buffeted by the sheer hatred roiling off her. Sweat sprung on his brow, beneath his arms, and a brush of what had terrified him so badly a few moments ago shuddered through him. She turned her tiny eyes upon him and he gripped his lightsaber. If this really was Callista—or rather, what the thing in the Maw had left of someone his father once loved—then he knew there was no better target to hurt Luke Skywalker than himself.

What could he do against her, really? But he had to try.

He took his cue from his father, who lifted his lightsaber and charged the creature. Taalon and Khai, too, rushed into the fray. Ben started to join them. Vestara was right by his side.

Abeloth was still staring at Ben, and as he raced toward her, she smiled, and flicked three of the tiny tentacles that served as fingers.

Beside Ben, Vestara’s eyes flew wide as something seized her by the throat, lifted her two meters off the ground, and shook her. She dropped her lightsaber, one hand going to her throat attempting to pry off the invisible fingers, the other hand outstretched, fingers splayed hard. Blue force lightning shot from her palm to dance erratically in the air around her for a moment, not reaching its target. Then, inexorably, the blue lightning began to twist, like heated metal folding, to go back on its creator. At the same moment, a thick white root, tipped with finger-length barbs, shot out of the ground. The roots, capped with a thick green spike, twisted around Vestara, then reared back like a snake about to strike. Vestara’s eyes darted to the spike and she yanked in her hand, folding her arm over her chest as the spikes struck home a second time.

“Vestara!” shrieked Ben. He sprang forward, slashing frantically at the vines, calling her name again and again. She dropped like a stone to the ground, landing hard on her arm, face twisted in agony, booted feet churning up the loose soil. Blood poured from several puncture wounds on her arm and chest, and there was something obviously wrong with her shoulder. Tears poured from her eyes, but she stayed silent, so silent—

Vestara …

He gathered her in his arms and raced away from Abeloth’s fury, setting her down, away from the vegetation that even now struggled to crawl up on her. Her face was sweaty and her eyes rolled in her head.

Ben realized he was shaking as he cradled her. “It’s okay, I’ve got you Ves, you’re okay,” he murmured over and over again. He forced his fingers to stop trembling as he tried to examine her injuries. There didn’t seem to be anything life-threatening; it looked like the shoulder was dislocated. The puncture wounds were deep, but nothing had hit a vital organ or artery. Relief flooded him. She was going to be all right. Ben gave her a quick smile and turned, started to rise.

Her hand, slick with warm blood, clamped down on his arm. She was shaking. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “… p-poison …”

Ben felt as though someone was squeezing his heart as he swore violently. He hadn’t seen anything to indicate that the spikes on the roots were poisoned, but Vestara had been here before. If she thought the barbs were poisoned, Ben wasn’t about to take a chance. He glanced over at