• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Where’s Ben?”

“Driving.”

They were getting closer. Ben wasn’t a big fan of art and culture per se, but even he had to admit the Fountain of the Hutt Ancients was a true wonder.

It rose up out of the sand like a giant tidal wave, a thing frozen in time and dreadfully, beautifully, out of place. The glasslike wintrium caught the light and glinted brightly, causing Ben’s eyes to water slightly. He narrowed them further against the glare of the sun on the sand. He hadn’t anticipated needing goggles and there had been no time to find any. He was beginning to understand why his father hated desert worlds so darned much.

Still, the fountain was gorgeous, and Tatooine, as far as Ben had been told, had nothing of beauty to recommend it other than the dual sunset. Certainly nothing like the Fountain. He could tell even at this distance that it was much larger than he had expected it to be. No wonder the Klatooinians revered it so much, and attached such significance to it. He wished he could spare it more than a glance out of the corner of his eye, as his attention was demanded elsewhere.

Blaster fire kicked up little sprays of molten glass from where the bolts struck the sand. Behind him, he felt Vestara’s body, pressed against his back, move in various pleasant and somewhat distracting ways as she gestured to deflect the fire that was directed at them. He was closing in on Dyon, the tracker having selected an older vehicle. Ben grimly pressed his lips together and began to steer erratically, trying to avoid the attack and still stop the mad Jedi from violating a treaty that was twenty-five thousand years old. He felt a sudden stinging pain emanating from where Vestara’s arm encircled his waist and inhaled quickly in surprise and annoyance.

“Stop that,” Vestara shouted. “It’s harder for me to deflect them!”

“Avoiding is better than deflecting,” Ben shot back. “And don’t use your dark side poodoo on me.”

“I’m better at deflecting than you are at avoiding,” Vestara retorted. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to stop this crazy Force-user, even dark side poodoo.”

She was utterly serious, and he realized she didn’t know the slang term. He couldn’t help it, and he laughed. Hard. Until she sent another bolt through him.

“I’m bringing the Jade Shadow down to assist, but I’m not sure I’ll get there in time,” Luke said through the comlink. “Dyon has to be stopped, but we don’t want him killed if we can avoid it.”

“Of course not,” Vestara said, sounding indignant. Ben felt her lift her arm, then heard a sizzle as she batted back a bolt. “He’s ill. We need to help him.”

“Sorry, Vestara, but that sounds a little too compassionate coming from a Sith.”

“Not all of us take delight in hurting or killing unnecessarily,” Vestara said. “And remember, our apprentices”—pause, sizzle—“are being harmed by Abeloth as well as your Jedi. We might need them all alive if we want to find out what’s going on.”

She made a good point, but to Ben it almost felt as if she were making excuses for her original comment. As if she were embarrassed at showing compassion. He wondered if that was real or just wishful thinking. Then he forgot completely about the conversation.

Up ahead was a wall similar to the one that enclosed Treema. It was, apparently, the only barricade that protected the Fountain from its admirers. There were gates at various intervals and these were closed, but … seriously, it was only a ring of dirt and wooden gates. Apparently, even the barricade around the place had to be low-tech.

The guards patrolling it, however, had no such hindrance. They wore plastoid armor and sported DL-44 heavy blasters that looked like they meant business. And the extremely businesslike-looking blasters were trained on the figure of Dyon Stad as he barreled in, seemingly intent upon crashing through the gates.

“Off! Off!” shouted Ben.

Vestara understood immediately, and as one, they vaulted upward, soaring and then landing easily on their feet even in the soft sand. Ben’s lightsaber was in his hand