It was the right decision. Luke knew it the moment he opened his eyes. He had had another one of those elusive, yet sweet and calming dreams in which the loving female presence had again enveloped him.

It’s time, she had whispered, her breath soft against the back of his neck, her right arm draped over his side, her fingers entwined with his. You need to go to the Maw. Too many fates hinge upon it … yours and Ben’s not the least.

The concern, the love—Luke kept his eyes tightly closed. He breathed in her scent—familiar, cherished. I know. The girl is too dangerous for him. I need to find out what I can about the Sith, and then sever this alliance.

Then go. Go to the Maw.

Luke thought about the time when he had, with the aid of the Mind Walkers from Sinkhole Station, gone to that state they called Beyond Shadows. He had seen his wife there, in the Lake of Apparitions.

Will I see you again, in the Maw?

A gentle nuzzle from behind. Oh yes, my love. You’ll see me again. I am there, and I will be waiting for you. I promise.

And with that, he was instantly, completely, restfully awake. He half wondered, as he always did, if he turned around and reached out, whether he might find the sheets warm.

He rose, got dressed, and went to check on Dyon. The younger man was still unconscious, his face calm and untroubled. It was hard to imagine Dyon screaming and attacking others, but he had not been the first to fall to this strange malady, although Luke desperately hoped he would be the last. Luke checked the drip, the restraints, and Dyon’s stats, then headed out to send a message.

It was early yet, and both Ben and Vestara, with the biological requirements of people their age, were still deep asleep in their respective quarters. Luke breakfasted on something quick and easy, and a scant twenty minutes after he sent the message, he received a reply.

Lando Calrissian looked less immaculate and pulled together than was customary for him. He wore practical and stained work clothing, which told Luke he had probably been working on the Rockhound himself, and a frown, which told Luke that he was not at all happy with Luke’s message.

“Come on, Skywalker,” Lando said without preamble, “You ask for my help with the Rockhound, and then you hare off without her?”

“The situation has changed,” Luke said. Briefly, he brought Lando up to speed. He did not mention the inner need that was driving him to leave; Lando wasn’t a Force-user, and sometimes they looked askance at such things.

“I see your point,” Lando said. “I’d not be too happy with a crazy Jedi on my vessel for longer than I had to have him around either.”

“He’s not a Jedi, just a Force-user.”

“Just as bad,” Lando said, flashing white teeth in a quick grin. “And I can imagine that sitting around with a bunch of bored Sith doesn’t make for restful sleep either.”

Luke thought about the dream, and simply smiled.

“We won’t get into dangerous territory without waiting for you,” Luke promised, “but I’d like to get everyone doing something, at least.”

Lando sighed. “I can step up repairs, but it’s still going to be another couple of days at the very least. Think you can distract your Sith buddies with shinies long enough so they don’t decide that a Skywalker skin might make a nice belt?”

“I think I can manage that,” said Luke. “Thanks.”

“You got it, Luke. Watch your back.”

Luke expected the second conversation to be better received. He was right.

“I completely concur,” Taalon said, nodding his purple head, his fingers steepled in front of him. “This vessel does sound useful, as I said earlier, but I chafe at the delay. I am anxious to be about our joint task of protecting our younglings and finding out exactly who and what Abeloth is.”

Luke smiled. He kept careful control of his presence in the Force, letting go of all negative emotions connected to the fact that he had conclusive proof that Taalon’s words were lies. Any irritation Taalon sensed would be ascribed to Luke’s open dislike and mistrust of Sith in general, which he had never made any attempt to mitigate.

“Then we are in agreement. I’ve already contacted Lando; he will follow as soon as he can. Let’s use the next day to double-check everything, and make sure every vessel has proper supplies. Then we depart in twenty-four standard hours.”

Taalon held up a long index finger in a chiding motion. “One moment,” he said. “It might be wise to leave a small group behind—say, three or four frigates—to wait for your friend. In case any problems arise.”

Luke did not like the idea of leaving Sith vessels, even one or two, behind on Klatooine. He liked his enemies in front of him, where he could see them. But communication would be impossible in the Maw. What if there was a problem? What if Cilghal learned anything important? Luke was not about to have her contact the Sith, but she could leave an encrypted message for him with Klatooine security and the Sith ship could deliver it if necessary.

“I hate to admit that a Sith has a good point, but you do,” he said at last.

Taalon’s very fake smile widened. “Sith always have good points, Master Skywalker. We consider all the options.”

“One vessel.”

“Four.”

“Only one is needed to carry messages of delays or difficulties.”

“One vessel might have technical problems.”

“Two then. I want the rest with us in case we run into any problems.”

Taalon sighed. “Very well. Two. I shall select which ones and give them their orders. We will be prepared to depart in twenty-four … no, twenty-three hours and forty-seven minutes.” He gave Luke a smirk.

For the briefest of moments, Luke envied Han’s lack of calm, measured response in a situation like this. Captain Solo would cheerfully have punched Taalon in his perfect, purple nose, and Luke had to admit, he wouldn’t have tried very hard to stop his old friend.

Taalon leaned back in his chair, a smile spreading across his face. He went over the logistics in his mind, then sent out three communiqués.

He received a response immediately to the first one. His second in command, Leeha Faal, appeared in front of him within seconds of receiving his request to do so.

She saluted and stood at attention. “Yes, sir?”

“You have served me well,” he said, “and now, I need you to serve in another capacity. Congratulations, Faal—I’m giving you your first command.”

Her eyes widened and he tasted her pleasure in the Force. “Thank you, sir. May I ask which vessel?”

“The Winged Dagger,” he said. “I’ve informed Captain Syndor of his new position as your second in command.”

A slow, sly smile spread across her pretty lavender face. “I see,” she said. “I will collect my belongings and immediately transfer to the Winged Dagger to take command. What is your first assignment?”

“One which you yourself brought to my attention,” Taalon said, and told her.

Ben and Luke went through the prelaunch systems check. Luke seemed completely at ease, even upbeat at the thought of finally heading out toward the Maw. Ben, however, was still upset by what he had learned.

He’d pretended that he’d expected such betrayal and manipulation from her, and in a way, he had. But that didn’t lessen the sting when it had actually happened. Worse, he couldn’t even confront Vestara about it. Luke had advised against tipping their hand. “If she doesn’t know we can translate her conversations,” Luke had said, “then she won’t try to hide them. Nor will she inform any of the other Sith that we have a way to understand them. This means that we have a chance to learn more—and Ben, we have to learn as much about them as we can in the time we spend with them. You know that.”

Ben did know that. It didn’t make anything any easier. He sensed her standing at the entrance to the cockpit. “Vestara, you shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why not?” she said. “I’ve already piloted a ship almost exactly like this. I won’t learn anything new and highly secret.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder at her, then returned his attention to the checklist.

“Okay, true enough. What do you want?”

“I wanted to ask you to tell me about your sick bay.”

Ben turned to glare at her. “Why?”

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him an arch look that somehow reminded him of Jaina. “Two reasons. If anything happened to the two of you, I’d be the only chance you have of getting patched up.”

“Like you wouldn’t light a bonfire and dance a jig if we got injured.”

A bright, sharp flicker in the Force—the remark had hurt her. She covered it quickly. “You might still be of use to us. Or maybe we’d just want to keep you alive so we could torture you.” Yeah, she was angry all right. Despite himself, Ben felt bad.

“I’m saying this a lot to Sith today, but you do have a point, Vestara,” Luke said. “But surely you already know the basics of a sick bay. You yourself said it—you’re familiar with SoroSuubs.”

“Master Skywalker, you shouldn’t play ignorant. It’s not becoming. You know as well as I do that the Jade Shadow is no ordinary vessel. I’m sure there are quite a few things in that sick bay that aren’t standard equipment for this class of ship. Also, in case you’ve forgotten, you have a crazy man held prisoner in there. I need to know how to best subdue him in case something happens. Which, by the way, would necessitate that you stop locking me in my room when you leave the vessel.”

Ben really wished his dad had opted to take someone else hostage back at Sinkhole Station.

“Dad?”

Luke sighed and rose. “Back in a moment. This won’t take long.”

Ben rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, then stretched. He wished Vestara wasn’t so … well … He wished she was uglier, or stupid, or unpleasant. But she wasn’t any of those things. He knew she was a Sith, knew that she was trying to manipulate him—but blast it, he also knew that on some level, she cared. She was trying to drag him over to the dark side, but what if he could bring her to the light side? There was good in her. He’d felt it in the Force. She wasn’t like Jacen, not yet—she was much more like Tahiri. True, she’d been born Sith and raised with a whole planet full of them. But maybe she was Sith because that’s all she knew. Maybe if she was shown another path, she’d take it.

After all, even in her conversation with Gavar Khai, she’d admitted that she liked him. A question formed in his mind. His father returned a few minutes later. Vestara was not with him.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Gavar Khai would kill his own daughter if she disappointed him?”

Luke considered the question. “I think he cares for her very much. But he is very demanding. Yes, I do think that if she disappointed him and he found out about it, he’d kill her.”

Ben had his answer. And it was not the answer to the question he’d just asked his dad.

It was good to be Sith, to be in command of your own vessel, and to be charged with so pleasant a task, mused Leeha Faal. She leaned back in the command chair, enjoying the sensation. Her chair, her ship. She had been wise to ally with Sarasu Taalon a few years ago. She had observed how his star was rising among the Circle, and had contrived to be assigned to the Black Wave. “Contrived” and “assigned,” of course, meant that she had arranged for the assassination of her current competition and two other possible threats. Their bodies had never been found. It would seem that although they had been beaten back from the main cities of Kesh, the huge, aggressive rukaros were still eager to feed and continue their species.

Her insight had proven correct. Now she was here, in orbit around this backwater planet, assigned to perform a task that would specifically please the leader of this whole expedition. And once that was out of the way, she would rejoin the fleet and be part of the ultimate Sith victory. With the power Taalon would command and the Skywalkers eliminated, there was no telling how far she could—

“Incoming message, Captain,” said Syndor. She smiled prettily at him. He had once been captain of this vessel and was dealing surprisingly well with his demotion to second in command. Which, of course, meant he had some sort of plot up his sleeve. She’d have to be careful. But then again, she was Sith, and there was a joke among the Sith that they were always born faceup to protect their backs. “From Commander Sarasu Taalon.”

It was only the commander’s voice, but that was enough. “The flotilla is ready to depart for the Maw, Captain Faal,” came Taalon’s smooth voice. “Join us when you are able.”

“Of course, sir,” Leeha replied. “That will be soon, I hope.”

“As do we all,” Taalon said. “I would hate for you and your crew to miss all the fun. Remember your duties, Captain.”

“I ever do, sir,” said Leeha.

*  *  *

Sarasu Taalon had told Luke Skywalker that he had left two vessels behind to wait for the Rockhound. That was not entirely true, although neither could it be said that it was entirely false. The vessels would be well into the Maw by the time Lando Calrissian arrived with his asteroid tug, but Lando would be able to catch up with them quickly enough.

It simply worked better for the Sith if they were not here when the Rockhound arrived.

So it was that less than a day later, when Leeha Faal received notification that the Rockhound would be there within twelve hours, she sent back a polite and vague response, and issued the orders to the captain of the second ship, the Starstalker.

Captain Vyn Holpur had leapt at the opportunity. An older man with pale green eyes and black hair elegantly going to gray, he was a Saber who had once been well on his way to becoming a Lord. No one knew for sure what had happened, but there had been some sort of scandal, and then there was no more talk of promotions. Still, Taalon had regarded him well enough to bring him along. Successful completion of this task would go a long way to restoring Holpur’s favor.

The order had come, from Taalon to Faal to Holpur, and he obeyed.

The Starstalker’s light freighter, piloted by Holpur himself, soared above the sand, zipping speedily and smoothly toward its destination, due west of Treema. The object of their desire appeared in the distance, the bright sunlight bouncing harshly off it, and everyone had to squint and remember to not look directly at the Fountain of the Hutt Ancients.

Holpur had been sent all documentation of the ancient natural formation. He read disinterestedly about the wintrium that formed the beautiful, glassine “sculpture,” how long it had been in existence, how sacred it was to the Klatooinians, what a vital role it had in the making of the Treaty of Vontor. He knew that his ship would not be permitted within a kilometer radius of the Fountain because all modern technology was forbidden.

He did not particularly care about any of it. He did, however, care very much about pleasing Sarasu Taalon and recovering his lost status. And so it was that he was completely calm when the first warnings came.

“Fountain Security to unknown vessel. You are approaching within five kilometers of the Fountain. Please alter your course.”

Holpur tucked his robes about him more comfortably as he sat in his chair. He extended his senses in the Force, attentive to his crew’s emotions. Some of them were a little uneasy. Not, he suspected, out of any mere qualms, but about possibly being caught and punished. Others were excited, eager, enjoying even this little adventure after waiting and doing nothing for so long. Still others were neutral, not caring one way or the other. Holpur made note of all of it. When this was done, he would reward those who had had faith in him and the mission, and mete out punishment to those who did not.

“Unknown vessel, you are rapidly approaching the forbidden radius of one kilometer. Alter your course immediately or we will open fire!”

Holpur leaned forward and thumbed the intercom. “As we discussed,” he said. “We’ll have to be fast. Anyul, Marjaak, are you ready?”

“Copy, sir.” Anyul, twenty-four, blond and lithe, and Marjaak, a white-haired Keshiri male, were standing ready to leap out of the ship as soon as the hatch opened and execute their task quickly. He’d chosen them carefully. Both were Sabers, given that high honor at comparatively young ages. Both were physically fit, swift, and disciplined. They were prepared.

Now, finally, Holpur’s heart sped up. It was a risky maneuver, although Taalon had made it sound like child’s play. The very law that they were violating was what would protect them long enough for them to succeed.

The Klatooinians opened fire from several small blaster cannons. Holpur frowned slightly as the ship took a blow and rocked. It could withstand much more than this, but he had hoped that even a minor attack would be avoided. He wanted to bring the ship whole into the Maw, to find Abeloth, glory, and his restored name.

And then suddenly the firing stopped. Holpur actually laughed, a short bark.

They had entered the one-kilometer forbidden zone.

The Starstalker opened its hatch. A small, elegant, if older, skiff darted out as the Starstalker moved out of range of the land-based blasters.

The Fountain of the Hutt Ancients loomed ahead, bright and beautiful and gleaming. Anything but the most rudimentary technology anywhere in this zone was a blatant violation of both law and tradition, and was not only illegal, it was blasphemy. But the Klatooinians would never willingly violate the sacred law themselves, and so the best they could do would be to come after them with ancient weapons.

The skiff settled down, stirring up sand. Even before it had landed, the hatch had opened and Anyul and Marjaak used the Force to leap out gracefully close to the Fountain. They, like the three Sith behind them cradling blaster rifles, were in full armorweave. They had known they would not need much more.

The pair raced up to the Fountain. Swiftly, calculatedly, Anyul drew her lightsaber and began shaving off samples from a large “wave” of wintrium. Marjaak moved farther down and tried to cut off a thinner, dagger-shaped portion. The wintrium was startlingly strong. Even their lingnan crystal-powered lightsabers were having difficulty cutting through the deceptively delicate-looking material.

The three Sith behind them took up defensive positions, prepared to defend Marjaak and Anyul with their lives if need be.

That need would not come, and when they saw what they were up against, they began to laugh.

“You’re joking,” said Turg, a red-haired man in his early forties. “This is the defense for a twenty-five-thousand-year-old treaty?”

His companions Vran and Kaara, a brother and sister pair with black hair and blue eyes, were laughing so hard they couldn’t reply, although they were able to fire quite well.

Outside the packed dirt wall that encircled the Fountain, as they had just witnessed, the guards had blasters and proper armor. But the Klatooinian guards who rushed in, crying, “Blasphemers! You will pay!” wore nothing but simple plate armor and carried spears, arrows, swords, and nets. They looked like actors in a drama, enacting some long-ago battle.

It was ease itself to mow them down, but more came—and from all sides. Turg’s laughter died in his throat when, from behind him, a net dropped over him and pulled tight. His companions swore and rushed to cut him free. Kaara, the dark-haired woman, grunted when something hard struck her, only to gasp in surprise when her armorweave began to hiss and smoke as acid started eating away at first the armor, then her skin.

Her brother Vran activated his lightsaber and freed Turg with a single precise, perfect slice of the red blade. In the same motion he whirled, bringing the lightsaber around to slay Kaara’s attacker. The Sith woman dropped to the sand, biting her lip to stay silent as the unbearable pain continued. Unable to help her, her brother concentrated on exacting revenge, cursing and letting his fury and hatred augment his deadly speed.

Marjaak glanced over his shoulder at the commotion. “Faster,” was all the Keshiri Saber said to his colleague. Anyul nodded, clenching her teeth as her muscles knotted, adding her strength and that of the Force to push the lightsaber through the crystal.

Turg, the redhead, took the offensive, rushing at the approaching Klatooinians. One of them aimed a spear right at him, the other three had swords raised. Casually, the Sith sliced the weapon in two, and did the same to its wielder and the three others who charged, sending three swords—each still with part of an arm attached to them—flying.

Arrows sang as they were released. Turg sensed them and turned casually, deflecting them even more easily than he would bat back blaster fire. They had gotten a lucky blow in with Kaara and the acid, because that had been an unexpected weapon. With the element of surprise gone, Turg and Vran began accumulating bodies. Quietly, as befitted a Sith Saber, Kaara died.

The two Sith assigned to take samples of the wintrium were sweating with effort. “This stuff is almost impossible to cut,” muttered Marjaak.

Anyul shot him an angry glance. “Tell me something I don’t know, fool,” she spat, and continued. The impossibly hard substance was finally starting to yield.

Almost … there …