Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 07_ Conviction - Aaron Allston [164]
Someday. When she had resources again. At least now she had a datapad, some ill-fitting clothes, some snack food.
And a home. She smiled mirthlessly at the oddly angled ceiling as it vibrated under the most recent turbolift passage.
Resources. In a world hunting for her, she could only acquire resources by theft and deceit. Oh, she certainly had skills enough to use that way. But was that what she had been brought to? Was this her punishment for Pellaeon’s murder—to become a petty thief, a scavenger?
Yes. If she stubbornly chose to do everything by herself, her way, that was exactly what her fate would be.
She needed help. She needed … family.
The HoloNews said that the closest people she had to family were offworld now, but coming home.
She’d wait. She’d wait, then creep through the shadows to find them and ask them for help. For aid in becoming herself again, for making things right.
As for now … She looked down where her feet rested atop the bedroll. She flexed them, wiggling her toes.
At least, at last, she was barefoot again.
About the Author
AARON ALLSTON is the New York Times bestselling author of novels in the Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi, Legacy of the Force, New Jedi Order, and X-Wing series, as well as the Doc Sidhe novels, which mix 1930s-style hero-pulp action with Celtic myth. He is also a longtime game designer and in 2006 was inducted into the Academy of Adventure Gaming Arts & Design (AAGAD) Hall of Fame. He lives in Central Texas. Visit his website at AaronAllston.com.
Read on for an excerpt of
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension
by Christie Golden
Published by Del Rey Books
COUNCIL CHAMBERS OF THE CIRCLE,
CAPITAL CITY OF TAHV, KESH
THE SUN BEATING DOWN UPON THE STAINED-GLASS DOME OF THE CIRCLE Chambers painted the forms of all those assembled in a riot of colors. Yet it was not hot in this large room; regulating the temperature was child’s play for such masterful users of the Force as the Sith assembled here.
It was an emergency meeting. Even so, formalities were strictly observed; the Sith were nothing if not meticulous. Grand Lord Darish Vol, the leader of the Lost Tribe, had summoned the meeting less than a standard hour earlier. He now sat upon a dais in the very center of the room, elevated above all others, enthroned on his traditional metal-and-glass seat. While there had been sufficient time to don his colorful formal robes, he had not had time to sit and permit his attendants to paint his gaunt, aged face with the vor’shandi swirls and decorations appropriate to the meeting. Vol shifted slightly in his throne, displeased by that knowledge, displeased with the entire situation that had necessitated the meeting in the first place.
His staff of office was stretched over his lap. His claw-like hands closed about it as his aged but still-sharp eyes flitted about the room, noting who was here and who was not, and observing and anticipating the responses of each.
Seated on either side of the Grand Lord were the High Lords. Nine members of the traditional thirteen were here today, a mixture of male and female, Keshiri and human. One, High Lord Sarasu Taalon, would never again be among that number. Taalon was dead, and his death was one of the reasons Vol had called the assembly. Seated in a ring around the dais were the Lords, ranked below the High Lords, and standing behind them were the Sabers.
Several of their number were missing, too. Many were dead. Some … well, their status remained to be seen.
Vol could feel the tension in the room; even a non-Force-sensitive could have read the body language. Anger, worry, anticipation, and apprehension were galloping through the Chambers today, even though most present hid it well. Vol drew upon the Force as naturally as breathing in order to regulate