Crosscurrent

THE PRESENT:41.5 YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE OF YAVIN

The screams from outside Jaden's window turned to laughter as an open-top speeder streaked past. He heard music booming from the speeder's speakers. The sounds faded as it flew away.

It took a moment for him to understand what had occurred.

Adolescents, he realized. Probably on a late-night thrill ride.

"Stang," he whispered, but he did not deactivate his lightsaber. Its hum filled the room, a comforting sound. The images from the vision remained sharp in his mind.

The whir of R6's servos announced the droid's entrance into the room. Seeing Jaden standing in his nightclothes with his lightsaber burning, R6 cut short his beeped greeting to whistle a concerned question. Jaden did not fully understand droidspeak, but he usually got the gist of R6's communications. Or perhaps he assumed R6 said or asked whatever Jaden wished him to say or ask.

"I guess that makes you my confessor," he said to the astromech. "Congratulations."

R6 beeped the question again, and Jaden smiled.

"Nothing. A bad joke. And I am fine. I had an… unusual dream."

But Jaden knew it had not been a dream. It had been a Force vision.

R6 hummed understanding and whistled out the first stanza of a lullaby.

Jaden smiled at the droid, though his mind was still on the vision. He had never before had one so vivid.

What had it meant?

Dead Jedi and Sith resurrected, an icy moon in the Unknown Regions, a rain of evil, and the repeated cry for help. He could not make sense of what he had seen, so he tried to recall what he had felt-the uncomfortably familiar touch of the dark side, his increasingly attenuated connection to the light side, and, bridging the two, his Master's words: the Force is a tool, neither light nor dark.

"How can that be? A tool? Nothing more than that?"

R6 beeped confusion.

Jaden waved a hand distractedly. "It cannot be," he said, answering his own question. The Force had been Jaden's moral compass for decades. Reducing it to a tool, mere potential, left him… rudderless. He looked at his hand, the hand from which he had discharged Force lightning.

"There be dragons," he muttered, deactivating his lightsaber.

R6 whirred a question.

"I am trying to discern the vision's meaning, but I am… uncertain."

He had been uncertain since the Battle of Centerpoint Station, though he had been struggling with doubt before that. His certainty had been one of the unrecorded casualties of the battle. He had… done things he regretted. The Corellians had simply wanted their independence. In hindsight, Jaden saw the whole affair as a political matter unworthy of Jedi involvement. He had killed over politics. The Jedi Order had killed over politics.

Where did that leave them as an Order? How were they different from the Sith? Hadn't they used the light side to engage in morally questionable acts? And where did that leave Jaden? He felt soiled by his participation in the battle.

"Once, we were guardians of the galaxy," he said to R6, and the droid stayed wisely silent.

Now the Jedi seemed guardians of particular politicians. What principles did they stand for anymore?

The Force is only a tool.

He shook his head as he pulled on his robes. The Force had to be more than that. Otherwise he had lived a lie for decades. His lightsaber was a tool. The Force was… something more. It had to be.

He feared the Jedi had come to think that because they used the light side of the Force, everything they did must therefore be good. Jaden saw that thinking as flawed; even dangerous.

Since the battle for Centerpoint, he had isolated himself from the Order, from Valin, from Kyle. He felt purposeless and unwelcome. He thought his doubt must be plain to them all. He knew he would be transparent to the Masters. He had no one with whom he could share his thoughts.

"No one but you," he said to R6.

His blaster and the small, one-handed hilt of his second lightsaber lay on his side table. He strapped on a holster, put the blaster to bed in it, and hooked his secondary saber to the clip at the small of his back. He did not know why he kept the old lightsaber, holding it close to him like a good-luck charm. He supposed its blade was the purple tether that connected him to a simpler past. He had crafted the blade when the Force had been nothing to him but a word. He had possessed no wisdom, yet he had utilized the Force to build a blade.

Didn't that mean that Kyle was right, that the Force was simply a tool, free-floating energy for anyone to use, no different from a loaded blaster? He shied away from the notion, because if it were true, then the light and dark side meant nothing in terms of moral and immoral, good and evil.

"I do not accept that," he said to R6. "I cannot."

Help us. Help us.

The voice from his vision echoed in his head, reminded him of who and what he was. He had stood on a frozen, dark moon in the Unknown Regions, communed with dead Jedi while evil had rained down, and someone had called to him for help. He would help. He must. Moral clarity lived in aid to others. He grabbed it like a lifeline.

What you seek can be found in the black hole on Fhost.

The words were nonsense. There was no black hole on Fhost or anywhere near it. But he had to learn what the words meant; because that would allow him to find what he sought.

"Arsix, link with the HoloNet."

The droid whistled acquiescence, extended a wireless antenna, and connected.

"Call up mapped or partially mapped sectors in the Unknown Regions," Jaden said.

R6's projector showed three-dimensional images of various sectors in the air between the droid and Jaden. There were only a few. The information was woefully thin.

"Search for any charted system with a gas giant that appears blue to the human eye, ringed, with at least one frozen moon whose atmosphere would support a human."

R6's processors whirred through the information he pulled from the HoloNet. Holographic planets appeared and disappeared so quickly in the space between them that Jaden soon felt dizzy. In a quarter hour, R6 had shuffled through a catalog of thousands of planets. None squared with Jaden's vision. Jaden was unsurprised. Most of the Unknown Regions were unmapped on Galactic Alliance star charts. The Chiss were out there. The remnants of the Yuuzhan Vong were out there. Who knew what else he would find in those uncharted systems?

"An answer, perhaps," he said. But first he had to form the question, first he had to articulate what he sought. He felt the thin edge of a blade under his feet, felt himself wobbling on it. He was off balance.

R6 beeped a query.

The Force had sent Jaden a vision, this he knew. He would follow it.

"Show me Fhost, Arsix."

The images of various systems in the Unknown Regions blinked out, gave way to a magnified image of a dusty world, one half in its sun's light, one half in darkness. He stared at the line separating the two hemispheres. It looked as thin as thread, as thin as the edge of a blade.

"Info on Fhost," he said, and R6 scrolled a readout of the planet in the air before Jaden's eyes. What little information existed was more than three decades old and came from an Imperial survey team.

Fhost was the only world in the system occupied by sentients, though none was native, and its itinerant population wouldn't have filled a sports stadium on Coruscant. Its largest population center, Farpoint, had been built on the ruins of a crashed starship of unknown origin. Jaden imagined the place to be a haven for adventurers, criminals, and other undesirables who preferred to live at the edge of known space, all of them crowded into ad hoc shelters built on the bones of a derelict ship.

But Fhost was his only lead. If he credited the Force vision at all-and how could he not?-he would have to follow it to his answer.

"Get the Z-Ninety-five ready and prepare a course to Fhost," he said to the droid. He paused, then added, "And do not file a flight plan with the Order."

R6 beeped a mildly alarmed tone.

"Do as I ask, Arsix."

The droid whirred agreement and wheeled out of the room.

Whatever the vision wished to teach him, it would teach to him. He did not want other Jedi involved, did not even want the Order to know where he'd gone.

This was to be his lesson, and his alone. He would find what he sought, get his question answered for himself.

"Darth Wyyrlok," Kell said as he turned. The honorific came with difficulty to his lips. Both Wyyrlok and Krayt had adopted a title once carried by beings of greater stature.

The Chagrian Sith Lord's mouth formed a tight smile, as if he sensed the meat of Kell's thoughts. Wyyrlok stood as tall as Kell, and the left horn on his head extended half a meter more; the right horn, lost some time ago to accident or battle, was a jagged stump only a few centimeters long. To Kell, it looked like a rotted tooth. The line of a scar extended the length of the Chagrian's face, a seam connecting the ruined horn to the corner of his mouth. Wyyrlok's robe, as black as a singularity and soaked with rain, hung heavily from his broad shoulders. The hilt of a lightsaber at his belt peeked out from under the folds.

Kell imagined the insight he could gain by devouring a soup so rich as Wyyrlok's. A cyclone of daen nosi whirled around the Chagrian. The feeders within Kell's cheeks squirmed reflexively.

"Anzat," the Sith said, with a faint nod.

"The droid led me to believe I might see Darth Krayt himself. The message I received purported to come from him."

Wyyrlok's eyes never left Kell's. "The Master walks in dreams. This you know, Kell Douro. What you achieve only when feeding, he achieves at will. Past, present, and future are as one to him. Therefore, I am his voice while he sleeps. This, too, you know."

Kell tilted his head as if to acknowledge the point, but he knew better. What he experienced while feeding could be experienced only by him. The Sith, like the Jedi, conceptualized the galaxy through the lens of the Force. But Kell knew the Force to be but one aspect of the greater skein of Fate. Neither the Sith nor the Jedi saw reality's truth. Kell would, when he fed on the one whose soup held revelation.

"So you say, Darth Wyyrlok."

"So I say," Wyyrlok said. Again that smile, as if he could read Kell's mind.

Thunder rumbled. Kell felt others in the darkness around them. More Sith. Servants of Wyyrlok.

"Naga Sadow walked this ground," Wyyrlok said, his clawed hand gesturing at the brick walkway. "And Exar Kun after him. Then, no crippling Rule of Two limited the power of the Sith. Wisely, Darth Krayt has undone the mistake of Bane. Therefore no Rule of Two limits the One Sith today."

Kell said nothing. He cared little for the intricacies of the Sith religion. And the Chagrian's incessant use of therefore drove Kell to distraction.

"Why have I been summoned?" Kell asked.

Wyyrlok took a step closer to Kell. The Sith around them in the darkness drew closer, too. Kell felt as if he were standing in the middle of a tightening knot. He muffled his presence, quelling his daen nosi, deflecting perception. Between his psychic camouflage and his mimetic suit, he would be nearly invisible to those around him.

Wyyrlok blinked, looked past and through him for a moment, before his eyes refocused on Kell's.

"Clever, Anzat. He gestured with his chin out into the darkness, causing his lethorns to sway. "But they will not harm you except at my command. Therefore, you have nothing to fear."

Kell nodded, but nevertheless maintained his psychic deflection.

"An opportunity has been revealed to the Master," Wyyrlok said, and took another step closer.

Kell held his ground while lightning lit up the sky. "What kind of opportunity?"

"I will show you," Wyyrlok said, and offered his fanged smile.

Concentration furrowed Wyyrlok's brow. Their daen nosi intertwined. An itch formed behind Kell's eyes, then a stabbing pain. He screamed as images exploded in his mind: an icebound moon in orbit around a blue, ringed gas giant, a night sky exploding in a rain of power.

He clutched his head and sagged as the images burned themselves into his memory. He lost control of his muscles and his feeders emerged from his face, squirmed like cut power conduits. Fighting through the pain, he wrapped his fingers around one of his vibroblades, drew it.

The mental intrusion ceased, as did the pain. He snarled, brandished his blade, drew its twin.

Wyyrlok made no move for his lightsaber. He stared into Kell's eyes.

"I do not require a lightsaber to kill you. Therefore, an attack would be foolish. Are you foolish, Kell Douro?"

Kell considered, calmed himself, and sheathed his blades. "What is the meaning of the vision?"

The Chagrian gave his false smile. "That is what you will determine. The vision portends something important, Anzat. And the Master has concluded that it will begin on Fhost. There, a sign will be given to you. Perhaps even the sign you have long sought."

Kell tried to hide the excitement birthed by Wyyrlok's words. He imagined lines of fate coalescing around Fhost, catching it up in a net of destiny. "I know its location."

"You will, therefore, travel there. Watch for the sign. Learn what there is to learn. And, perhaps, take what there is to take."

Kell rubbed his eyes, as if erasing them of the remembrance of pain. "Why me?" He gestured out into the darkness. "Why not one of them?"

"Because it is the Master's will that the One Sith remain quiescent. Therefore, we must use intermediaries."

Kell had had enough of Wyyrlok's therefores. "To whom shall I report what I learn?"

"You will report back to me," Wyyrlok said. He frowned, as if struck with a thought, and said, "The Master believes it likely that the Jedi have received a similar vision. The Force is moving in this matter. They may, therefore, interfere. You should not allow interference."

Kell put his hands on the hilts of his blades. "I understand. What form will the sign take?"

Wyyrlok shrugged. "The Master believes you will know it when you see it. He believes in your ingenuity. And your desire to find the one that you seek."

Kell licked his lips, knowing he would get nothing more, though he had been given precious little. "Is that all, then?"

Wyyrlok held out his hands, as if to show himself harmless. "You are free to go."

Kell backed away from Wyyrlok, down the stairs, and toward his ship. He checked his chrono as he walked. He had last fed only half a standard hour earlier, yet he felt the need to feed again, to recapture the certainty that feeding brought him. Wyyrlok's words had poked holes in that certainty. They always did. The Chagrian left him ill at ease.

From behind, Wyyrlok called out above the rain. "Why do you serve the Master, Kell Douro?"

The question confused Kell, halted his steps. He shook his head, his mind suddenly jumbled, his thoughts inchoate. "What? What did you say?"

"Consider the answer to that question, Anzat." Kell could see the Chagrian's fangs bared in a smile, even through the rain, and there was nothing false in it. "Then consider anew who sees reality's truths. You are not the only one who can shape perception."

Thunder boomed; lightning ripped the sky. Kell shook his head to clear it, started to answer Wyyrlok, but saw that he had gone. His head felt muddled. A headache nested at the root of his skull. Out of habit, he checked his chrono again.

He had lost a quarter of a standard hour since he'd last checked it moments ago. He had no idea how.