Book 14 - Traitor by Matthew Stover

Author:Matthew Stover [Stover, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Star Wars, Science Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345428653
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2002-07-30T07:00:00+00:00

NINE

THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

Ever deeper, ever darker, farther and farther below even the memory of light—

Jacen staggered out from a downlevel stairwell onto some forgotten catwalk, gasping. Had he been running for hours? For days? His legs refused another step, and there was no reason to force them.

No matter how far or fast he fled, he could never outrun himself.

The ancient duracrete floor of the catwalk, rotten with age and neglect, collapsed beneath his weight; a frantic grab onto a lichen-crusted rail left him hanging by one hand over a hundred-meter drop. This shaft might once have been a dump for wrecked air taxis: twisted, rusteaten metal tangled together below, a heap of curving knife edges and torn jagged points.

He hung there for a moment, imagining a long, long plunge, a slicing, ripping impact, a flash of colorless fire …

Maybe he should just let go. Maybe this was his only answer to the darkness inside him. Maybe he wouldn’t even scream on the way down.

There was only one way to find out.

His fingers loosened.

“Jacen! Hey, Jacen! Over here!” He knew the voice. He could not remember ever not knowing this voice; it was as familiar as his own. The voice was a trick—he knew it was a trick, it had to be, he’d been tricked this way before—but he could not make himself ignore it. With the deliberate caution of an experienced climber in a tricky traverse, he reached up and grabbed the rail with his free hand, so that he had enough strength to hold on while he turned his head to look.

On a smog-blackened balcony jutting just below the far end of the gangway, stood Anakin.

Jacen muttered, “You’re not real.”

“Come on, Jacen!” Anakin waved, and beckoned. “This way! Come on! You’ll be safe here!”

Jacen closed his eyes. There was no such thing as safe. “You’re not real.”

When he opened them again, Anakin was still there, still beckoning, wearing a loose-fitting tunic and pants in the Corellian style, lightsaber hung loosely at his belt. He waved Jacen on, jittering with urgency. “Jacen, come on! What’s the matter with you? Let’s go, big brother, let’s go!”

“I saw you die,” Jacen said. He opened himself to the throb of the Force around him; the red tide swelled within his chest, but he pushed it down, focusing tightly, reaching out with his feelings …

Uncle Luke had told, sometimes, of getting guidance from his dead Master, the legendary Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had told of seeing his Master, hearing his voice, feeling him in the Force, long after Kenobi’s death—

Jacen could see Anakin. Could hear his voice. But when he reached toward his brother through the Force, he felt nothing. Nothing at all.

“Two out of three,” Jacen said through his teeth. The red tide roared into his ears. He clenched his teeth together to lock his voice in the back of his throat. “Two out of three makes you Vong.”

“Jacen! What are you waiting for? Come on!”

He could put up with a lot. Had put up with a lot.

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