Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 06_ Vortex - Denning Troy [28]
Ben was still tumbling when he saw Taalon’s crimson blade slashing for his midsection. He brought his own lightsaber around to block—and felt the invisible hand of the Force pushing his arm aside, leaving a clear path for the High Lord’s strike.
“Wait!” Vestara’s voice boomed across the courtyard like a thermite detonation. “It’s a trick!”
“A trick?” Taalon echoed.
Ben suddenly found himself hanging upside down, his ankle locked in the High Lord’s crushing grasp and his eyes fixed on the crimson blade that was no more than a centimeter from pushing into his chest. In the next instant Luke and Gavar Khai came rushing around the pyre together, their lightsabers ignited but not yet crossing. When they saw the situation—and how close Ben was to death—both men stopped in their tracks.
Taalon glanced at them only briefly, then looked back toward Vestara. “Explain.”
“They switched bodies,” Vestara said. “I don’t understand how, but they did.”
Ben turned his head toward her voice and found her standing next to the pyre, using the Force to levitate the corpse over which they had been fighting. The bloody shroud had been torn away during the tug-of-war, and now he could see that the corpse was not Abeloth’s at all.
In fact, it wasn’t even female.
“This isn’t Abeloth,” Vestara continued. She floated the corpse toward Taalon, and Ben found himself looking at a much-battered, but still recognizable male face. “It’s Dyon Stadd!”
OUTSIDE THE TEMPLE, A THOUSAND MANDALORIAN THUGS STOOD CLUSTERED around their QuickStryke assault sleds, dressed in full battle armor and looking generally hot, bored, and eager to start something. Behind them sat a pair of Canderous-class heavy hovertanks and a squadron of ungainly vyrhawk fighter-bombers, and in the Walking Garden across the plaza more than two dozen sniperscopes were flashing in the foliage. Han Solo was starting to think Daala just might be serious about taking over the Jedi Order—that she might actually believe that mere military force was enough to bend the Jedi to her will.
As he watched, the QuickStrykes fired their repulsorlift engines, retracted their struts, and began to hover. The Mandalorians came more or less to attention, balancing their weight over both feet and swinging their weapons toward the Temple. Even the vyrhawks ascended to strafing altitude, their stubby wings and barrel-bristled noses winking with the rosy tips of energizing weapons. The sudden change of posture put the media on high alert, sending news presenters scrambling for their makeshift broadcast stages and cambots swarming into the unoccupied land between the Mandalorian lines and the Jedi Temple.
A couple of seconds later, the dark ribbon of a Gallactic Alliance Security hovercade streamed into view. Coming from the direction of the Government Center, it consisted mostly of speeder bikes, armored aircars, and cannon sleds. In the center of the procession were two large medical vans and a floating limousine that bore the emblem of the Galactic Alliance’s Chief of State.
“Okay, that has to be Daala.” Han turned away from the viewport and faced the small band of Jedi standing in the Temple’s majestic mirrsteel foyer. “Looks like we’re on.”
“Yes, finally,” Saba Sebatyne said. The Barabel stepped to the viewport, her thin tongue shooting between her pebbled lips as she glowered out at the hovercade. “How did you know Chief Daala would come in person?”
“Easy.” Han started to slap the Master on her shoulder—then recalled how Barabels reacted when touched and quickly lowered his hand. “Daala is a power-hungry—”
“Han,” Leia interrupted. She nodded at Allana, who was standing close beside her. “Admiral Daala is the Chief of State. She deserves to be