Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 07_ Fury - Aaron Allston [86]
There, within Ship, was a hard knot of resistance, older orders, planted by Alema Rar. Zekk saw them as a mound, like a standing stone. He lashed that stone with his own strength and saw it begin to erode, flaking away, dissolving.
In moments it was gone, reduced to nothingness. Zekk felt a sort of dark joy rise up within Ship, and then the meditation sphere was accelerating upward, toward the exit out of the chamber. An instant later it was gone.
Zekk sagged, relieved. Jaina would live. He would live.
He would descend to where Ship knew Alema to be. Zekk would kill Alema, cutting her until no remaining piece could sustain life.
Then he would kill Jag and be rid of that moralistic, interfering simulation of a man. That, of course, he would have to do in such a way that it did not distress Jaina.
And finally, there would be Jaina. He would reforge the link between them and, through it, pour his thoughts, his love. He would do so until she understood, until she loved and obeyed him. Until she was his.
Worry suddenly gnawed at him, like the sharp teeth of some undercity rodent. That’s not right. Slowly, he lowered himself to sit on the top cross-tie of the track, wrapping his legs around the rail for security.
That’s not what he should be thinking. The dark side was flooding him now, pouring its toxins into his thoughts.
He tried to shove it out, to become what he had been just a few minutes before. But it was strong, so very strong, and it laughed at his pathetic efforts.
Over the comlink, Jaina called for Zekk, for Jag. She got no answer. That was not entirely unexpected. These personal comlinks could transmit across many kilometers, but not through stone or thick duracrete, and she had plummeted into yet another cavern chamber through a narrow passageway since parting from Zekk.
A touch of Force exertion brought her alongside the track again. She put the soles of her boots against it, allowing friction to slow her. Alone, with only one set of eyes, she needed to descend more slowly, to be more alert.
Alert to presences in the Force. She felt them off to her left. Then they were closer, moving into the range of her glow rod: the flock of mynocks. The rearmost of them now towed Jag, who flailed helplessly.
The foremost of them came on, tail lashing, and struck at her as it passed. She dodged the blow with minimal effort. The other mynocks, strung out behind like a parade, wheeled in the first one’s wake, preparing for one attack after another.
Jaina snorted. “Jag, stick out a hand as you pass. I’ll pull you free.”
Jag didn’t respond. His helmet comlink was probably out—
That’s an assumption. Whenever I make an assumption like that, you two are free to mock me mercilessly. The words were Jag’s, but spoken long ago, during one of their many planning sessions.
And they were correct. She’d just made the sort of assumption that Jag himself routinely mocked.
As she dodged the second mynock attack, and the third, she cast out in the Force to sense the figure being towed by the last mynock.
It was Jag, all right.
Jaina worked the vertical rail track as a gymnast would a set of exercise bars, swinging her wide of every tail attack, or interposing the rails between her and an incoming tail, until only the last mynock remained. Jag, in its grip, struggled and waved frantically at her. Jaina extended her hand to catch his—
Then yanked it back, allowing him to be towed past.
As she did, Jag changed in form and dimension, becoming smaller, slighter. His outstretched hand suddenly had a blue-black lightsaber blade in it, and as Jaina pulled away the blade crossed the spot where her torso had been; it cut a gash in the front of her robe, but did not catch the skin beneath.
Abruptly it was Alema Rar being towed, the young, unmaimed Alema, and she stared angrily at Jaina as she and her mynock passed.