Zekk thought of the extraordinary care with which he had built his new lightsaber. Master Skywalker himself had approved. He took a deep breath, nodding confidently. “Then my weapon won’t fail.”
Jacen, Zekk, Tenel Ka, Anja, and Cilghal finished suiting up, then took turns going through the force-field doorway into the deep, cold ocean. Jacen inhaled deeply. The membrane that covered his face produced a warm flow of breathable air.
Still, he hesitated at the portal. Anja, standing next to him, gave him an inquiring look. Finally, Jacen stepped through the shimmering hatch and out into a world of liquid ice.
Pulsing lightsaber blades blazed through the water like colorful torches, attracting tiny darting fish that somehow lived and flourished in the inhospitable arctic environment. Stalactites of clear blue ice lurked around them like massive fangs. Broken icebergs trapped the insignificant minisub. The lightsabers shimmered in the murky water, cutting an underwater channel through the frozen mountains.
With her one arm—the other sleeve snubbed tightly and knotted so it would be waterproof—Tenel Ka wielded her turquoise blade. She slashed, severing a slab of ice. Steam and bubbles erupted as the chunk slowly drifted away, freeing one of the fins of the minisub.
Jacen hacked and chopped at the prison of ice. His lungs heaved, drawing tendrils of air through the membrane. All around him the water felt like a smothering blanket of carbonite. The slicksuit fought off most of the deadly chill, but the cold eventually seeped through. Jacen found his arms and legs growing sluggish. His mind felt lethargic and stupid, as if he were thinking in slow motion.
Cilghal, better adapted for underwater work even in the arctic seas, swam ahead, using her throbbing lightsaber to hack her way forward. Bubbles churned upward until they were trapped by the ice ceiling. Cilghal cleared a narrow channel, then moved along the fresh passageway, rolling with her lightsaber.
Zekk swam directly behind her, widening the channel with his energy blade.
Jacen, Tenel Ka, and Anja worked closer to the Elfa. When the last of the frozen jaws were sheared away, the small craft settled slightly and drifted loose. Jacen felt the cold growing more and more intense all around his body. His arms and legs seemed heavy. Too heavy.
Tenel Ka watched him with a look of concern. They were both good swimmers. Together they had spent many days swimming in the river on Yavin 4. But this was cold, infinitely colder….
Jacen forced his hand to give a thumbs-up sign, and Tenel Ka nodded. Together they swam back toward the minisub’s force-field hatch. Jacen waved for Anja, who floated in place close to the Elfa holding her acid-yellow lightsaber. She signaled that she would be behind them in a moment. Jacen and Tenel Ka rapidly stroked toward the hatch, toward warmth.
Up ahead, Cilghal and Zekk had nearly finished with their labors as well.
Anja had worked as hard as she could manage. She had no strength in the Force, and her only special abilities with a lightsaber had come from having her body pumped up with andris spice. She was free of that addiction now, however. She would never use the spice again … but that also meant she would never feel the same rush again, the energy she had once considered a part of her strength.
The lightsaber in her hand was a fraud, nothing more than an antique she had purchased from a peddler who specialized in Jedi artifacts. Anja knew how hard Zekk had worked to build his own sleek and simple weapon—and its hilt looked nothing like the heavy, ornate design of her energy blade.
However, Zekk’s lightsaber was real. He had earned his, and he knew how to use it. The Force guided him. Anja’s didn’t belong to her, no matter what she had paid for it. It was a Jedi weapon, and she was not—nor would she ever be—a Jedi. Perhaps the lightsaber was itself a symbol of her addiction—her willingness to rely on something that was not a part of her.
Caught up in her restless thoughts, she swam around the fin of the minisub and saw something trapped between two struts in the support casing that held the rudder in place: a single remaining vial of andris spice, glittering and preserved in the frigid water. It must have caught there when they broke open the containers hidden under the ice caps, or when the sea monster had attacked them and consumed the rest of the stash.
As if drawn by a magnet, Anja swam forward and plucked out the vial. It was pure andris.
Anja hesitated. She could take it … treat herself to one last dose.
She felt the yearning return inside her, a longing for that familiar surge of energy that made her feel so intensely alive. She knew it was more mental than physical. If she succumbed now, if she kept this dose for herself … it would be like voluntarily placing her hands into a set of stun-cuffs. She might as well lock herself up and become a prisoner of her own addiction once more.
But Anja didn’t want that. She didn’t want it ever again.
She let the vial drift out of her hand. The small object floated there in front of her, taunting her, daring her to change her mind.
Anja locked her acid-yellow lightsaber on and, with an effort, swept down, slicing through the offensive vial. It disintegrated in a puff of seared materials.
Then, as she stared down at the Jedi relic in her grasp, Anja knew she could never use it again. Deep inside, she felt a calm finality at this knowledge.
Anja’s cold fingers released their grip on the hilt and let the lightsaber drift away. Then, with a feeling of satisfaction, Anja swam back to the warmth and companionship that waited for her aboard the minisub.
19
Czethros was on the run. He could see no way out of his situation.
If he managed to escape Kessel and elude the young Jedi Knights and Nien Nunb’s security team, he might be even worse off … because then he would have to explain this failure to his brutal superiors in Black Sun. Czethros was certain those people could think of much more imaginative punishments than any New Republic justice organization could. Even his old nemesis, Han Solo, would probably be more kind.
With the signal generator destroyed, Czethros had no way to rally his scattered forces around the galaxy. The few operatives he had planted in appropriate positions of power controlled key systems—but unless everything happened simultaneously at Czethros’s command, it would all come to naught. The few isolated emergencies would easily be dealt with by the New Republic.
His chance had now been lost. Even his grasp on the spice mines of Kessel had slipped. Instead of orchestrating the sudden overthrow of industries and minor governments across what remained of the Empire, Czethros found himself running for his life. Hiding in the dark mines. Humiliated.
The tide had turned. Nien Nunb and his security troops controlled the catacombs. Second Administrator Kymn and the other infiltrators Czethros had planted here had either been captured or otherwise neutralized.
Perhaps if he could get to a docking bay, he could steal a ship and get away. Perhaps Czethros could make a new life for himself, hiding somewhere in the Outer Rim. He didn’t seem to have much of a chance, but it was better than waiting here. And it was better than letting himself get caught by Black Sun.
As silently as possible, he crawled up ladders, rung by rung. He wasn’t used to such physical exertion. During all the many years he had been running the show on Ord Mantell, he hadn’t had to fend for himself much. He’d always had droids or henchmen.
But now Czethros was alone. He knew he could trust no one.
Furtively, he consulted one of the electronic wall maps of the spice mines. The projection grids were frequently out of date, since new shafts were always being drilled and new excavations dug. But the main docking bays were permanent structures, and so most of the directions remained valid.