The Last Jedi

Forty-Nine


Making his way back toward the medbay, Jax paused long enough to throw two more Force projections along his back trail to mislead the body of pursuers he could sense below and before him. Trying the same trick on Darth Vader would be fruitless—Vader had sensed him through the Force now, and there was nowhere to hide.

So he headed straight for the dark signature of energy he felt ahead of him, his mind tumbling through a series of absolutes: He must absolutely not allow Vader to retrieve Thi Xon Yimmon. He must absolutely not allow Vader to keep the Jedi starfighter.

He must absolutely not allow Vader to capture him.

If the knowledge in Yimmon’s mind would wreak havoc on the resistance, the knowledge in Jax’s would bring destruction of another order of magnitude. What it would mean to the Cephalon species alone was terrifying.

Coming to a branching of corridors, Jax hesitated. Go right and try to escape in the Delta-7? Or go left and face Darth Vader—and maybe, finally, end this.

The things he knew about time currents alone should give him an advantage over the Sith Lord. Vader could have no idea what Jax was capable of. The local time currents were manipulable. Maybe just manipulable enough to confuse his adversary.

Maybe.

For a moment, Jax stood on the edge of a precipice. If he could destroy Darth Vader—even if he sacrificed his own life in doing it—it would be worth it. Vader’s death would serve to inspire more people to resist the Emperor’s will. More important, it would deprive Palpatine of his greatest weapon … and it would avenge the destruction of the Jedi Order, the deaths of so many brilliant Force-users.

And Laranth.

I would be vengeance.

He looked to the left. Took a step that way.

Anger, hot and unexpected, scalded its way through him. He could not even begin to name its source.

Is that what it means to be a Jedi? Maybe the last Jedi? Is that what you want to die for, Pavan—revenge? Passion? Those emotions are from the dark side.

Gasping, Jax stumbled back against a bulkhead.

Then he took the right-hand turn and ran.



Jax’s path through the corridors twisted and turned as he altered direction to avoid confrontation. His thoughts mirrored his flight. If he could reach the ship, he could blast his way out of here. If he couldn’t do that …

He could feel Vader now—an ice-hot presence coming at him.

Ahead of him he suddenly sensed a quartet of sentients. They must have just stepped out of a lift. Two of them were Force-users—Inquisitors. He was surprised to realize he could feel the texture of their ability. One was soft, weak … new. An apprentice, maybe. The other was stronger. Not Tesla’s equal, perhaps, but not inexperienced.

He could not avoid them without doubling back toward Vader, but if he engaged them …

No choice. He activated his lightsaber, stepped around a corner, and there they were: two stormtroopers and two Inquisitors. The troopers reacted to him swiftly, raising their blaster rifles and firing.

Jax easily deflected the blaster bolts while the Inquisitors drew their weapons. The smaller of the two wielded only a lightfoil, which marked him as an apprentice. Its tip quivered. Of course it did—the young adept was scared senseless. He had probably never seen a Jedi before, let alone faced one in combat.

That made him the obvious target.

Lightsaber spinning, Jax came right at the young Inquisitor, who reacted by dodging between the two stormtroopers, his cowl slipping to reveal a pale humanoid face with glittering, frightened eyes.

Jax darted after him, deflecting blaster bolts as he went.

The older Inquisitor did exactly what Jax expected him to do, as well—he slunk along the bulkhead, looking for an opportunity to get behind the Jedi. Jax ignored him for the time being, going directly at the stormtroopers and the terrified apprentice. He made a diagonal sweep with his lightsaber, slicing right through the blaster rifles and reducing their muzzles to molten nubs.

The Inquisitor behind him naturally chose that moment to attack Jax’s seemingly unprotected back. Not content to merely rush the Jedi, he gathered the Force about him and leapt.

Jax dropped, rolled, and flicked out a whip of the Force to yank the apprentice forward several steps, right into the path of his superior’s blade. The young adept bleated, blocking futilely with his lightfoil; the lesser weapon went spinning away to ricochet off the wall. The apprentice hit the floor.

The older Inquisitor executed his own twisting somersault and landed lightly on both feet, ready to come at Jax again.

One armed opponent. Better odds. No time.

Jax took a deep breath, steadied himself … then whipped around to face the turbolift. The doors slid open and Darth Vader stepped out into the corridor, turning his insectoid gaze on Jax.

The Inquisitor reacted by deactivating his blade, bowing his head, and backing hastily away.

That was all the time Jax needed. He gave the projection of Darth Vader a final surge of the Force, enough to hold it together a moment longer as he turned, vaulted over the stormtroopers, and raced away down the corridor.

His adversaries would wait for their Master to direct them, he knew. In the amount of time it would take them to realize the deception, he would be out of sight.

Two cross-corridors down, he stepped into a turbolift and took it up to the level of the shuttle bays. It was only when he’d had time to gather himself that he realized he could no longer sense Darth Vader’s regard.

What did that mean? Had the Dark Lord turned his attention elsewhere? Had he realized that Yimmon was no longer with Jax and gone after the Cerean? Or had his recent unfamiliar use of the Force begun to deplete Jax’s resources?

The turbolift doors swept open and Jax stepped out into the broad lift core that gave access to the short-range shuttle bays. He started forward—and was stopped dead in his tracks by a dark curl of intense curiosity … and an iron Force grip on his throat.

“Impressive.” Darth Vader stepped out of an open lift to Jax’s left. “Is this display of power the result of some knowledge you’ve sampled? From where, I wonder?”

Vader paced slowly toward him, his lightsaber held, deactivated, in one gloved fist. The lights of the lift core gleamed on his helm.

“This is dark knowledge you possess. I can feel it on you—in you. Just as I felt it when you acquired it from …”

Lava-hot tendrils of the Force surrounded Jax, trying to pry into his mind. Recalling what he had felt from Tesla as the Inquisitor had attempted to invade Yimmon’s consciousness, he rearranged the weave of his own thoughts and allowed Vader a glimpse behind the veil in his mind.

“Ah. A Sith Holocron.” Vader’s honeyed tones seemed actually tinged with slight respect. “And not just any such repository, but one of Darth Ramage’s works.” Vader stood before Jax now, his cloak and biosuit seeming to draw the soft pearlescent light into him, soaking it up like a thirsty sponge.

“I’m surprised at you, Pavan. Surprised you’d sully yourself with such knowledge from the dark side. What could have driven you to that, I wonder? The death of your Paladin?”

Jax tried to keep from reacting to the taunt, but it was beyond him. Fine. Let Vader imagine he was a quivering wreck. Maybe he was exactly that.

And maybe not.

“You don’t need to die, you know,” said the dark, velvety voice.

Jax found his own voice. “No?”

“No. In fact, it would be … unfortunate … for you to die with all that knowledge in your mind.”

“And you’re going to offer me a deal, right … Anakin?”

The grip on Jax’s throat tightened. The coldness of interstellar space invaded his core. If he could see Vader’s face—Anakin’s face—what would it reveal? Anger? Hurt? Torment?

“Let me make this clear,” Vader said. “Anakin Skywalker is dead. Burned to a cinder and blown away by the winds of betrayal.”

Jax dared to laugh. It sounded thin and wheezing. “Betrayed? You? No. You were the betrayer. You betrayed the Jedi Order. You betrayed us all. You betrayed yourself.”

The grip tightened more now. Jax gasped, the bay area growing dark. Vader’s tone remained amused, but with an edge to it. “Do you suppose your opinion of me matters?”

“Hardly.”

The Dark Lord relaxed his hold a tiny bit and activated his lightsaber. The vivid red of the blade slashed across Jax’s gaze. The Sith drew closer to his captive. Closer still, until Jax could see his own pale face as a warped reflection in the curved obsidian surface of Vader’s mask.

“I sense that you already dance at the edges of the shadows, Pavan. Come into them fully, share this knowledge with me, and you can live. Your cause is lost in any case. You might as well salvage something.”

“And Yimmon?”

“I have you, now. What do I need with him?”

“You won’t torture him anymore? You won’t kill him?”

“Is it so important to you at this moment?”

“If you want what’s in my head, it will be important to you, too.”

The Dark Lord hesitated. “Where is he?”

Jax flicked a glance at the lift doors to his extreme right. The doors parted, revealing Thi Xon Yimmon and Den Dhur. Yimmon leaned against the wall of the lift; Den, looking horror-struck, supported him.

The unexpected sight was enough to break Vader’s concentration. The blast of Force energy that Jax then unleashed sent the Dark Lord staggering back, one, two, three steps.

Not much. But enough.

Jax dropped prone, his body hovering horizontally six centimeters above the floor. He coiled and hurled himself past Vader, accelerating through the open portal of the docking bay.

Vader recovered swiftly and strode through the doors, his robes billowing about him in an inky cloud.

“You’ve progressed, Pavan. I hadn’t imagined you could wield such knowledge so well. It won’t do you any good, of course. I can see through you. I always could see through you.”

Jax came lightly to his feet and turned to face the Sith Lord. Lightsaber poised and activated, he continued to move backward deeper into the bay, keeping one eye out for Imperial troops. He saw none—only a handful of terrified crew huddled in a far corner.

“I’m that transparent, am I?” he asked Vader.

“Perhaps not, but your illusions are. You neglected to give them life signs.” The Dark Lord swept a hand back at “Yimmon” and “Den”—still standing in the open turbolift—as if to dismiss Jax’s careful mirage. They blurred about the edges, but did not evaporate. That Vader had expected them to do so was evident only in the slightest halting of his step, the sudden tilt of his helmeted head, the twitch of his gloved fingers.

Jax quashed the bubble of elation that bloomed in his heart at having thwarted the Dark Lord’s expectations. He held the projections long enough to make the point that he could, then dropped them. The images of the Sullustan and the Cerean vanished like smoke.

“Proud of yourself?” Vader asked. “Perhaps you’re entitled. You’ve exceeded my expectations, I’ll allow. But … how interesting—the projections of your comrades are gone, yet I can still feel the texture of an illusion … somewhere …”

The helm tilted upward as if the Dark Lord was scenting the air, and Jax realized his mistake. Having touched and felt of Jax’s projections, Vader could now recognize them. And there was a pyronium-powered projection buried in a far corner of this bay.

“What is it?” Vader asked Jax, moving slowly, inexorably closer. He was mere meters away. “What are you hiding, Jedi? What have you concealed in here? More to the point—how are you concealing it?”

Jax hesitated. He had hoped he could foil Darth Vader with a combination of thrust, parry, and projection, but that now seemed naïve. Now Vader stood a good chance of having not just the Jedi ship, but the pyronium, as well.

Ironic. Anakin Skywalker had been the one to give Jax the pyronium in the first place. For safekeeping, he’d said. That had been before—before he had become this towering pillar of darkness, this … thing. What might such a conscienceless creature do with that inexhaustible power source now?

The black helmet canted toward the corner of the bay where the Jedi starfighter sat, half concealed by the vessel that had entered the bay before it.

“Ah! The pyronium, of course. That’s how you’re doing it. That’s how you’re powering all your projections. Stupid of you, Pavan, to carry it with you.”

“Oh, but I’m not.”

Jax Force-grabbed the first thing he could find—a discarded length of shielding from a nearby shuttle under repair—and flung it at the Dark Lord. When Vader whirled out of its way, Jax followed it by wrenching the entire shuttle off its repair struts and tumbling it onto the Sith.

Without stopping to see the results of his efforts, Jax darted to his left, away from the telltale signature of the projection around the Delta-7. He was cut off from the lift core by his own hand, but he knew that there were, in every docking bay, hatches in the deck used to lower large pieces of machinery and cargo from one level to another. If he could just find one …

He heard the shriek of metal on metal behind him as Vader dealt with the shuttle. He spent no more of his precious Force sense on that, instead probing ahead as he ran.

There! There was a hatch, five meters ahead—but closed.

Not for long. Using the Force, Jax ripped the thick durasteel grating up and flung it back on its groaning hinges. Then he leapt, throwing himself into the open maw. He landed lightly, one level down, on the bow of a docked shuttle, then turned a quick somersault and vaulted to the deck.

What would Vader do?

If he believed the pyronium was in Jax’s possession, he’d pursue Jax. Then the starfighter and the pyronium would be safe … for the time being. If he believed the pyronium must be aboard the vessel, if he failed to give chase, Jax could cause the nameless ship to self-destruct and maybe—a slim maybe—he could catch Vader in the blast.

Jax knew, now, what the endgame would have to be. He told himself he’d know when the moment arrived for him to give up fighting for his life.

The lower bay was laid out just like the one above it, with a portal that gave onto a lift core. Jax headed for that, chose a lift at random, and took it up two levels. He would head back toward the civilian sector of the station, hope that Den and Sacha had disobeyed after all, and waited for him.

As Den had waited, once before, in the corridor of the Far Ranger …

Off the lift, Jax headed to his left—west, in the geography of Kantaros Station. He’d have to work his way back down a number of levels once he’d gotten farther from Vader, but for now he just wanted distance.

He dashed past crewmates, stormtroopers, and officers, knowing they saw him as one of their own—an anonymous grease monkey hurrying about his assigned tasks. He hesitated when a trio of Inquisitors stepped out of a lift ahead, then dodged left and found himself in a galley.

It was a long, gleaming room, redolent with cooking smells and furnished with durasteel tables and equipment. The droids that staffed it were busily preparing meals for the crew. They paid him no heed.

He was halfway across the galley when the far door into the canteen swept back and Darth Vader appeared, his lightsaber vibrating the air around him. The droids ignored him, too.

“The problem with those projections, Pavan, is that I now know their scent. You left a trail a blind bantha could follow.”

From the corner of his eye, Jax saw ranks of pots, pans, and metal utensils hanging above a center prep area. Beneath them were stacks of meal trays. Realizing the only escape was behind him, Jax coiled the Force in his hands and swept every pot, pan, utensil, and tray at Vader in a hail of metal.

Not done, Jax scooted back the way he’d come, using the Force to turn the droids in the galley to his own uses. He turned them on Darth Vader, with their knives and chopping blades, pestles and cook pots. There were a good half dozen of them, now intent on the Sith.

Jax had no doubt that the Dark Lord, with his mastery of the Force, could repel the attack, but it gave him time to flee. This time he didn’t use a projection. And this time, he was spotted by the enemy. A handful of stormtroopers led by a corpulent lieutenant turned to give chase.

That decided his course of action. He headed back toward the docking bays, hoping Vader might believe he had gone the opposite way.

It was a forlorn hope. He heard the uproar as the Dark Lord entered the corridor outside the galley, felt the disturbance among the Imperials at the sight of him, heard his voice of command as he made it clear that this Jedi was his to dispose of.

“Leave him to me!”

Leave him to me.

Was it that inevitable?

Fine—endgame, then.

Lightsaber activated, Jax raced back to the docking bay in which the Delta-7 sat hidden. He entered the huge chamber and turned as Darth Vader came through the portal behind him.

“Your last chance, Pavan. Come willingly and live. Resist, and die. It makes no difference to me.”

That was a lie and Jax knew it. It did make a difference to Darth Vader, because it made a difference to Anakin Skywalker. Jax understood, at last, that if he capitulated, he would vindicate Anakin in his fall to the dark side. If he resisted to the last and died, there could be no vindication. The Jedi Order—the thing that Vader lived to crush—would be gone, true enough. But Jax knew that merely killing it would not be enough for Darth Vader. No, the last Jedi had to do more than just die.

He had to be broken.

If not—if he made Vader end him—the Dark Lord’s thirst for vengeance would remain unslaked, and there would be no one left for him to avenge himself upon. Even if there were other Jedi still alive—it was a big galaxy, after all—the man who had been Anakin Skywalker could search for a lifetime—a thousand lifetimes—and never find them.

He would be without purpose.

Like you were?

Something deep within Jax Pavan resonated with that. Didn’t he also seek revenge for Laranth’s death? Yes, of course—he’d come to rescue Yimmon, but hadn’t he ultimately wanted this?

He met Vader’s opaque gaze, stared into the gleaming black lenses. If he died, would that put an end to Vader’s purpose? If Vader died, would that put an end to Jax’s?

There was no time to answer the question. The Dark Lord was coming at him with long strides.

“Choose, Jedi!”

Jax chose. He flung himself at the Sith, lightsaber cutting the machine-scented air of the docking bay. Vader parried and the blades locked, slid apart, arced, and locked again. The air sizzled with their power.

Again, again. Thrust, parry, fade. Thrust, parry, fade.

Jax worked his way slowly, inexorably back toward the Aethersprite’s berth. He was careful not to seem as if he’d given up the fight. If Vader realized he was being lured, there was no telling how he’d react.

So Jax fought. Quite as if he expected to win.

He pelted his adversary with small objects—anything that wasn’t bolted down, and a few things that were. Vader parried them with his lightsaber, slicing everything that came at him into shards of slag. He answered by treating Jax to the same rain of metal.

Crew scrambled to get out of the way; but, prisoners of curiosity, most of them continued to watch from the far sidelines.

And that gave Vader the advantage he sought.

With a flick of his free hand, the Dark Lord Force-lifted one of the deckhands off his feet and hurled him at Jax.

Jax froze for a split second, his weapon raised, then twisted out of the way of the screaming crewman. Anakin knew him too well—knew what he would and would not do.

Maybe.

With a supreme effort of will, the Jedi felt the local time currents around him, stirred them to eddies, then dropped and rolled beneath the fuselage of a small shuttle that lay between him and the Aethersprite.

Vader’s next barrage of ordnance was aimed at where Jax had been, not where he had gone.

Jax shot to his feet and pelted toward the Jedi starfighter where it lay tucked behind its Imperial look-alike. He was panting with the effort now, drained by the effort it took to harness so much energy.

The deafening groan of metal from behind him caused Jax to turn. The small vessel he’d just rolled beneath was ripped from her moorings and flung aside as if she were a bit of stray debris. Darth Vader came at him out of her wake, his Sith weapon shedding lurid light.

“You amaze me, Pavan. The things you have absorbed from that dark well of knowledge, the ease with which you use them. You are truly wasted on the light side. Your continued existence and what you have done to ensure it confirm this.”

The observation cut deep, but Jax would not let Vader see him bleed. “What I’ve done, I did to free Yimmon. Having done that, I’ve served my purpose.”

He was close enough to the Delta-7 now that he could feel the energies of the pyronium-fed projection as a humming tremor in the Force around him. He was certain Vader must feel it, too.

“Served your purpose?” the Sith echoed. He made an elegant gesture with gloved hands, the lightsaber describing a graceful arc in the air. “Then surrender.”

“I’ll die before I let you have what’s in my head, Anakin.”

Vader was completely still for a moment, then raised his lightsaber for an attack. “As you wish … Jax.”

As Vader swept toward him, Jax reached back and felt of the connection between the pyronium and the ship. A simple command—a simple trigger—was all it would take to end this.

He was startled by the sudden flash of light that exploded along the hull of the starfighter’s nearest neighbor. It was as if someone had opened a door between the two ships, letting sunlight pour through.

Vader stopped, his attention half on the newest intrusion. “Is this another of your projections? I won’t be fooled by it …”

The dark voice trailed off as the Dark Lord must have sensed what Jax did: the new presence had a Force signature of its own—weak, but steady.

The glow intensified, and Jax could see a figure at its heart. A humanoid figure. Had Sacha—

“Run!”

It was a familiar voice, but he hesitated to obey. He knew what he had to do. He had to destroy the starfighter, himself, and Vader with him.

“Run!”

A volley of blasterfire streamed out of the radiance between the two ships, targeting Vader. The Dark Lord Force-leapt from the station deck in an arc that took him over Jax’s head. He touched down in a swirl of black robes and rolled beneath the Aethersprite.

The rapid blasterfire followed him, sweeping the length of the vessel and melting its port landing struts. The Jedi ship sagged toward the deck, then dropped its bow with a metallic groan.

Jax ran.

He ran toward the light and found, at its center, not Sacha but a stranger—a man. No, not a man, he realized as his eyes and Force sense took in the details of the face and body.

It was a droid—a human replicant droid. It could only be I-Five, his android arm encumbered with the Nemesis blaster rifle.

Jax stopped beside the droid.

“Keep moving,” I-Five said, his humanoid face showing grim determination. “I am not losing you the way I lost your father.”

Jax kept moving.

Behind him, the blasterfire intensified. He heard a roar of Force-backed rage, then felt the air quake as something exploded in his wake. The blast tumbled him off his feet. He pitched up against the landing strut of a small courier vessel.

Stunned, he tried to peer into the fiery aftermath of the explosion. There was no sign of Vader. And I-Five … he caught the shimmer of silvery metal as the lower half of the droid’s leg—stripped of its synthflesh—toppled into hungry flames.

No. No, not that. Not Five.

Jax surged to his feet, started back toward the blast, and kicked something hard that lay on the deck. He looked down. I-Five’s HRD head stared up at him from the decking. One ear had been blown away, but the durasteel skull was intact.

As Jax reached for the head, its eyes blinked and it gave a very human grimace.

“This,” said the droid, his voice muffled and small, “is getting old.”

Jax smothered his quaking elation and gathered the head up.

He became fully and suddenly aware of the chaos around him. The fire was spreading. Klaxons were going off, lights flashed, and over it all a voice repeated a dire warning: “Evacuate docking bay! Evacuate all personnel and vessels from the docking bay! Explosion imminent! Evacuate docking bay! Evacuate …”

Jax needed no further encouragement. With I-Five’s head tucked under one arm, he hauled himself up into the courier—a tiny two-seater—and set I-Five’s head on the second seat.

“The Laranth?” Jax asked, as he fired up the engines.

“On her way into the asteroid field … if they obeyed my last instruction set.”

“Let’s hope they did.”

Jax navigated the little ship away from the burning wreckage and maneuvered easily among the shuttles fleeing the burning docking bay. As they zoomed clear of the station, he spared a backward thought to the crippled Jedi starfighter.

A moment later the docking bay was racked by a second explosion as the Aethersprite sacrificed itself. The ruined ship was shot out into the void of space by the blast, and vanished as if it had been sucked up by a vacuum. In a sense it had—the pyronium had devoured the energy of the blast and now was just one more tiny, glittering bit of flotsam jettisoned from the Imperial shuttle bays. A very powerful bit of flotsam.

Jax doubted even Darth Vader would be able to track it down … if he thought to look for it. Right now, the Dark Lord would have other things on his mind. And Jax knew without question that that mind had survived—he could feel the waves of cold rage even now.

Jax located the Laranth amid the flotilla of commercial vessels that had evacuated the station in the wake of the “accident” on the Imperial side. He made a soft dock with the little freighter and transferred aboard before setting the courier adrift in the lee of a slowly moving asteroid.

It felt strange to be back aboard the Laranth. He was caught up in a daft combination of joy and trepidation. After all that had happened—after all he’d done—would the others be welcoming or wary?

He stepped through the hatch onto the cramped bridge, I-Five’s head still cradled in his arms. Sacha, Den, and Yimmon all turned to look at him for a long, heavily silent moment.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Den said, his gaze lighting on what Jax was carrying. “Are you planning to make a habit of this?”

The droid snorted through its slightly flattened nose. “I’m pleased to see you, too.”

“Yeah, right.” Den pulled himself out of the copilot’s seat and came back to the hatch, holding his hands out. “Give him to me. I’ll go put him in one of the, umm … other chassis.”

Jax handed over the head.

Den slid past him, grumbling, then paused to look up into his face. “Welcome back, Jax. If you are back.”

Jax nodded. “Yeah. I’m back. For good, this time.” He turned to Sacha, who was still watching him warily from the helm. “Set a course for Dathomir. I’ve got an appointment to keep.”