Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 06_ Vortex - Denning Troy [74]
Asokaji nodded. “Exactly.” His gaze was fixed on Bwua’tu’s form, and Daala did not need to be a master of Bith facial expressions to see that he was thirsty for revenge. “We need to bring the Jedi into line, Chief, before it’s too late. If they’ll go after Admiral Bwua’tu, they’ll go after you.”
Wynn’s face grew pale. “Rynog, we don’t know that they did go after the admiral,” he said. “In fact, what little evidence we have suggests it wasn’t them.”
“You underestimate the Jedi.” Asokaji circled the bed and pushed between Daala and Ysa’i. “Give the order, and I’ll have five thousand space marines storming the Temple tomorrow.”
Daala was tempted … sorely tempted. But as much as she wanted to bring the Jedi to heel, she didn’t want to destroy them unless it was absolutely necessary. And even if she’d thought it was necessary, she would not have entrusted the job to someone whose judgment was so obviously clouded.
She turned to Asokaji. “Thank you for the offer, Commander, but I don’t see the Jedi faking a Jedi attack in an effort to throw us off their trail. Too many things can go wrong.”
Asokaji’s shoulders fell. “You’re letting them get away with it.”
Daala shook her head, then laid a hand on Asokaji’s arm. “No. I assure you, whoever did this to Admiral Bwua’tu is going to pay. But I want it to be the true attackers, not their patsies.”
An audible sigh of relief sounded from Wynn’s side of the bed. “Very smart, Chief. We don’t want to play into the assassin’s hands.”
“No, we don’t,” Daala agreed. “What we want is to find out who they are. We also want them to know we’re looking for them—and we want them scared. We want them very scared.”
Wynn’s expression grew worried. “Am I to assume you have some idea of how to accomplish that?”
“Yes, you are.” Daala’s gaze returned to the vidscreen, where Madhi Vaandt was delivering a final recap of the day’s events on Blaudu Sextus. “Dr. Ysa’i, would you please excuse us? We’re about to have a very secret conversation.”
THE FIST DESCENDED AND SENT VESTARA FLYING, COMPLETELY OUT OF the grotto and onto the rubble pile that High Lord Taalon had Force-blasted from the entrance earlier. She tumbled across the stones backward, tucking her chin to prevent her skull from cracking against the stones but otherwise leaving herself unprotected. Three somersaults later, she slammed into a chunk of broken pillar and finally came to a rest, her head spinning and her body aching. Her barely healed shoulder had begun to throb again, and a line of stinging dampness confirmed that her old abdomen wound had reopened.
Two pairs of boots began to crunch toward her from the grotto mouth. Vestara struggled to her feet and stood at attention. This was the third time she had been punched, and she knew High Lord Taalon would not want to kneel down when he inspected his work. Her tunic and trousers were torn in a dozen places, exhibiting an impressive array of cuts and already darkening bruises. She had a split lip, a bloody nose, and two black eyes, but so far nothing that seemed likely to cause permanent disfigurement.
Despite her fear that High Lord Taalon would find it necessary to change that, Vestara would not have dreamed of begging for mercy. The fight against Luke Skywalker had left her father in far worse condition than she was, with a pair of blaster burns and an amputated forearm. Even Taalon was having trouble breathing because of some cracked ribs, and his cheek was as swollen and black as a guama fruit. Most alarming, his fall into the Pool of Knowledge had done something to his eyes. The pupils had grown so large that meeting his gaze was like staring down a pair of wells, and if Vestara looked long enough, it seemed to her that she saw two dim stars twinkling in the bottom.
The two men circled Vestara twice, appraising every detail of her injuries, and finally stopped in front of her. Taalon sent a chill down her spine by looking her up and down for several more moments, then turned to her father.
“What do you think, Saber Khai? Have we done enough?”
Khai’s expression grew hard