Dark Disciple Page 3

  Everyone knew him here—even now, when he was often away for months, sometimes even a year, at a stretch. Vos grinned happily at seeing familiar faces and exchanged so many hugs, claps on the back, and handshakes that he was concerned he might be—

  “Late, as usual,” said Kenobi, in his usual put-upon tone.

  Vos glanced up and smirked, used the Force to leap a dozen stairs, and landed gracefully before the Jedi Master.

  “Nice to see you, too, Obi-Wan! I’m sure you’ve missed me.”

  “Not terribly,” Kenobi said, but he smiled as he said it. “I do not recall our last adventure with particular fondness. Unfortunately, I don’t think this next assignment will be nearly so pleasant, though I hope it is more successful.” The two Jedi Masters had last been paired together to track down an escaped Hutt named Ziro. Unfortunately, someone had beaten them to the Hutt, with fatal results for the unpleasant Ziro.

  Obi-Wan, as befitted a Jedi, was adept at concealing his feelings in the Force when he chose to. But now he did not, and even a non-Force-sensitive could have seen the concern in his gray-blue eyes.

  “This isn’t going to be good, is it?” Vos asked quietly.

  “No, old friend,” Kenobi said with a sigh. “It’s quite far from good, actually.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Kenobi shook his head. “No, I…think I’ll let the Council explain everything as they see fit.”

  Volumes were spoken in Kenobi’s demeanor and word choice, and Vos didn’t pry further. He had a bad feeling about this.

  —

  Kenobi found the hologram no easier to watch a second time. He instead concentrated on how Vos reacted. The other Jedi seldom opted to conceal his emotions, though he could when needed, and pain was in Vos’s dark-brown eyes as the tragedy unfolded. And as before, there was silence when the hologram finished.

  Vos exhaled and pressed his lips together. “Desh told me about the attack, but I had no idea this was why you asked me to come here. What does the Council wish of me?”

  “A course of action that we reluctantly deemed necessary,” said Mace. Vos’s gaze flickered to Yoda, doubtless curious as to why Windu spoke instead of the head of the Council. “There’s no way to phrase this other than bluntly. Master Vos—the Council wants you to assassinate Count Dooku.”

  For perhaps the first time since Kenobi had known Vos, the other Jedi was at an utter loss for words. He stared first at Windu, then at Yoda, then finally at Kenobi. He opened his mouth, possibly to protest or demand an explanation, then fell silent for a moment. When he spoke, he said quietly, “I think I understand. But…how do you propose I do this?”

  “Get close to him, you will,” said Yoda.

  “Close enough to kill him? How am I supposed to manage that? I can’t just walk into his palace.”

  “You have served the Republic well in previous undercover missions,” Windu said.

  “Well, sure—I’ve stopped some black-market shipments and blasted a few smugglers, but this…It’s not a one-man job.”

  “Correct, Master Vos is.”

  Kenobi raised an auburn eyebrow. The plan had been for this to be a solo endeavor, but Yoda looked tranquil as he spoke, as if they’d intended this all along.

  “Go alone, he will not. More than one it will take, to kill Dooku.”

  “Master Yoda, I volunteer to assist Master Vos,” Anakin said at once. Before Kenobi could protest—he well knew that putting Anakin and Quinlan together on a mission was simply asking for trouble—Yoda shook his own head.

  “One, there is, who has tried and failed,” the old Jedi Master said. “Yet closer has she come than any other to killing Count Dooku.”

  Now it was Kenobi’s turn to stare at the wizened Council leader. “You can’t possibly mean Ventress!”

  “Ventress?” Vos echoed. “Not Dooku’s apprentice Ventress? The one who’s been a thorn in our side for years?”

  Yoda nodded serenely.

  Asajj Ventress had indeed once been Count Dooku’s Sith apprentice—and pet assassin. Kenobi and Anakin had crossed lightsabers with her on more than one occasion. Tall, lithe, exceptionally skilled in the Force, the former Nightsister was a formidable foe. But if anyone hated Dooku, it was her; Ventress’s former Master had tried to kill her. Rumor had it she’d attempted more than once to return the favor.

  “Wait, wait. I can’t have heard this right,” Vos said. “The Jedi Council wants me to work with a Sith?”

  Kenobi shifted uneasily in his chair. Ludicrous as the idea sounded, when one set aside its very unexpectedness, it actually made a great deal of sense.

  “Failed Sith,” Kenobi corrected. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call her trustworthy, but…it’s true that our desires do align, on this one point. And no one knows him as well as she does. I must concur with Master Yoda. Asajj Ventress would be a tremendous resource, and one that could prove vital to the success of this mission.”

  “Failed is an interesting choice of words, considering Ventress has failed at more than being the perfect Sith,” Windu snapped. He seemed surprised at Kenobi’s words. “She’s attempted to kill Dooku repeatedly and, obviously, not succeeded.”

  “She acted alone, before,” Kenobi said. He turned to Vos. “This time, she won’t be. She’ll have you.”

  Vos’s furrowed brow smoothed out and his dark eyes crinkled with their customary mischief above the yellow tattoo that crossed his face. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, Kenobi. Sure you won’t be jealous?” Turning more serious, he asked, “How much help could she be? She hasn’t been around Dooku for a while now. Why would she want to work with us, anyway? She won’t be eager to help Jedi.”

  “The same man, our enemy is,” Yoda said. “Aid us, she can—although she must not know she does so. His personality, his way of thinking, the places he knows and retreats to—knows all this, Ventress does.” He leaned forward, his large eyes peering at Vos from beneath his deeply wrinkled brow.

  “Ignorant of your pursuit, your quarry must be, of course. But ignorant also of her aid, must Asajj Ventress be.”

  “This is getting too complicated,” Vos said. “Maybe this is a one-man job. No disrespect—but if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it on my own, clean and simple. She’ll just get in the way.”

  Yoda’s face relaxed into a combination of gentleness and implacability. “Always know you to walk alone, the Council does,” he said. “Underestimate Ventress, you do. Skilled, she is. Her help you must take, or fail you will.”

  Kenobi felt a not-unpleasant chill as Yoda uttered the words. He knew what that meant. Few were stronger in the Force than Yoda, and while the diminutive green-skinned Master was always humble and cautioned that one could never predict the ever-changing future with complete accuracy, there were some things that he simply knew to be the right path. This was one of them.

  The rippling in the Force told Kenobi that his fellow Council members, all of whom were familiar with Yoda’s unique insight, had sensed this, as well.

  Picking up on the energetic shift in the room, Vos sighed. “All right—I accept the mission. I’ll find Ventress and get her cooperation…somehow. And I will assassinate Count Dooku. But I can’t promise that Ventress will survive this any more than Dooku will, once I’m through with him.”

  “See all ends, you cannot, young one,” Yoda said.

  “I can see the end of this session, Master Yoda,” Vos said, “and it ends with me bowing, getting a shower and a meal, and likely getting more details from, I’m guessing, Master Kenobi.”

  Some frowned at Vos’s impertinence, but Yoda’s green-gold eyes were warm with amusement. “Correct you are, on all counts,” he said. “Even the right order, have you determined.” He sobered. “Cheers the spirit, humor does, even at the darkest times. Yet grave, this task is, and fraught with peril. May the Force be with you, Quinlan Vos.”

  —

  The shower was welcome, the meal in the group dining hall even more so
. All Jedi Padawans began their training at young ages, with little or no recollection of their families. Vos, brought to the Temple even younger than most, felt that he had hundreds of brothers and sisters, and it seemed that whenever he went into the dining hall he ran into at least half of them.

  It was wonderful.

  Popularity. Adulation. A Jedi, as Yoda might have said, craved not those things. Nor did Vos, really. But it made him happy to see his companions, to meet the overly solemn Padawans and squirmy-puppy younglings, and it was with reluctance that he left to go on his next assignment. He often thought that it was his ability to enjoy wherever he was and the company of whomever he was with that made him—perhaps ironically—so successful in jobs that took him to the worst places and saw him in the company of the worst people.

  But Quinlan Vos had always ventured into stuffy, close rooms, darkened alleys, and isolated outposts alone. No one else to keep track of, to be beholden to, or to worry about. Once you realized that everyone with whom you associated was, potentially, happy to literally stab you in the back, all the wondering just…went away. Simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.

  From everything he’d heard, Asajj Ventress was about as complicated as anyone could get. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Yoda had all gone toe-to-toe with her. There was clearly something about the woman that, on some level, they respected.

  “Well, you’re here long enough to shower and eat,” Desh said as he plunked down a tray and sat across from Vos.

  “Maybe even sleep!” Vos said, smiling as he sliced open a white-striped purple jogan fruit.

  “Such luxury!” Desh winked and dived into a generous slice of steak. “Don’t get used to it.”

  “I never do,” said Vos.

  “Don’t suppose you can talk about it?”

  “Can I ever?”

  Desh thought about it, chewing, then shook his head. “Usually not. But there’s something about it that concerns you.”

  “The perils of old friends,” Vos said with a sigh. “I’m to have a partner.”

  “I know you prefer to work alone, but Jedi often work in pairs,” Desh replied.

  “That’s just it. She’s not a Jedi, and she’s not even supposed to know that I’m one. Plus,” Vos added, “this mission we’re supposed to undertake together—it’s extremely delicate and dangerous. I don’t like wondering if my partner’s more of a threat than the actual target.”

  “Well,” Desh said, “the Temple can’t prepare us for everything. That’s part of the fun.”

  “And in what area is the Temple failing you at this moment, Master Vos?” It was Kenobi, smiling pleasantly as he joined them.

  “You know, I’m glad you asked,” Vos said.

  “Oh, dear.” Kenobi sighed.

  “I know how to work with my fellow Jedi, and with civilians,” Vos said. “I know how to deal with underworld scum and their hangers-on. But you know and I know that this ‘partner’ is unique, and I need to know what sort of interaction she’s going to expect.”

  “Ah,” said Kenobi. “Desh, can you excuse us? Vos will need to depart for his mission early tomorrow, and there are some…” He hesitated. “…things he should know about it.”

  “Of course, Master Kenobi,” Desh said. “Later, Vos!” He picked up his tray and left them to it.

  Kenobi turned to Vos. “Rather like you, Ventress appears to work alone. Frankly, we don’t know how she’ll react,” Kenobi said. “But there are a few things about her personality I’ve learned. She’s driven, focused, and hates Dooku. Once you’ve gained her trust, and she sees a real chance at killing her former Master, I think you’ll be able to depend on her completely.”

  “Well, that’s good. But how do I get to that part?”

  “Asajj Ventress is highly intelligent and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Skill and competence impress her.” Kenobi hesitated. “She’s also a very striking woman, physically. It might tip her off if you, er, don’t…notice her. And…she likes to trade barbs.”

  Vos snagged a fried kajaka root from Obi-Wan’s plate and popped it into his mouth. “You were fighting her and chatting at the same time?”

  Kenobi nodded. “It’s…” He searched for the word. “Banter.”

  “You flirted with her?”

  “Come now, Vos, you can’t tell me you managed to go undercover in all sorts of shady places without flirting yourself. With Ventress, it’s a power play, a way for her to exert control. It will serve you best if you engage in it with her.”

  Vos tapped his chest. “Je-di,” he said exaggeratedly. “No attachments, remember? How far is too far?”

  “Be a little rough around the edges. Leer a bit. She’ll make it plain enough she’s not interested and take satisfaction in telling you so. She’ll see it as a win.”

  Vos sighed. “I think,” he said, taking another one of Kenobi’s fried root strips, “that killing Dooku is going to be the easy part.”

  Kenobi did not contradict him.

  Level 1313 was so named because it was one thousand, three hundred, and thirteen levels from the core of the planet. Vos suspected it was easier to think of it that way rather than focusing on the weight of almost four thousand other levels between oneself and the surface. The difference between Coruscant’s literal and figurative “underworld” and the one that saw the sun was sufficiently stark that they might as well be located in two different systems. Crimes that would be viewed as appalling above were everyday occurrences here. The Jedi wondered, not for the first time, how many would be born, live, and die here, never having glimpsed the sun, let alone the stars. He strode past shivering figures with hands outstretched to small fires burning in metal drums. Voices called out to him: Please, sir, got anything to eat, or some credits to spare? Hey, handsome, I know what you want. Right this way, we’ve got what you’re looking for, exotic items from across the galaxy…

  With a gentle brush of the Force, a flick of a finger, and a noncommittal smile, Vos caused each inquirer to forget they had seen him, focusing on his goal: a bar that looked—well, pretty much like every other bar Vos had patronized in the last few years.

  He loved this part of a mission: when anything and everything could happen, when it was all new and exciting and hadn’t yet devolved into something dirty, complicated, and usually far too banal.

  The door hissed open to admit him. Though the air was hazy with the smoke of various substances being burned, Vos could nonetheless make out the forms of females of various species gyrating to the thump of loud, primal music. Quickly he scanned the place, looking for the individuals he had come to find.

  One, a green-skinned, reptilian Trandoshan dressed in a yellow flight suit, sat at the bar. Vos spotted the others, nestled farther in the darker corners of the establishment, but they would come later.

  Most of the patrons were huddled deep in conversation, but there was an empty space near the Trandoshan. Vos strode up, getting the server droid’s attention and, gesturing to what appeared to be the drink of choice for the establishment, said cheerily to no one in particular, “Hey, how’s it going?”

  A couple of the patrons gave him sidelong glances, but no one replied. Undaunted, Vos took a seat, nodding to the droid who slid a cup filled with something thick and dark in his direction, and continued. “You gentlemen have any leads on any jobs?”

  The Trandoshan (Bossk, Vos recalled: known for hunting Wookiees with a viciousness and thoroughness that surpassed even that of most Trandoshans; member of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild) hissed in either amusement or annoyance—or perhaps both.

  “This ain’t no hospitality service, buddy. You’re either in the know, or you ain’t. And clearly…you ain’t.” With this pithy comment, he turned back to his drink, clearly feeling he had said all that needed to be said.

  Vos gave it a beat, knocked back his drink as if he welcomed the horrible acidic taste, then said casually, “I guess the bald banshee is stealing everybody’s gigs these days.”

  The constant murmur of voic
es and the clanking of ceramic ware and cutlery paused among those within earshot. Bossk turned to regard Vos again, stared at him stonily for a moment, then laughed.

  “That woman is trouble!” He clapped Vos on the shoulder with a three-fingered, clawed hand, and gestured at the server droid. “Give my new friend another one of whatever he’s drinking. On me.”

  Vos nodded his thanks. “So,” pressed Bossk, “she stole a job from you, huh?”

  Instead of answering directly, Vos inquired, “Where is she these days?”

  The Trandoshan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No idea.”

  Gently, subtly, Vos extended a sense of camaraderie into the Force as he spoke. “I’d like to get a little payback. Know what I mean?”

  Bossk regarded him for a moment longer, then seemed to make a decision. “I know someone who might know where she is. Come on.”

  He rose and started across the room, shoving his way through the crowd with no finesse and a great deal of confidence. Vos followed his new best friend to a booth back in one of the darkest corners of the bar. An anooba, its long tail curled almost twice around its pale-striped canine form, dozed under the table. It awoke at Vos’s approach and started to snarl.

  With a slight wave of his hand, Vos calmed it just enough. It wouldn’t do for the beast to suddenly become overly friendly, but an attack wouldn’t help his mission, either. It sniffed the air and its growl turned into a whine as it relaxed, though its ears and eyes showed that it remained alert.

  Seated in the booth were a Theelin bounty hunter with strawberry-blond hair styled in deceptively innocent-looking pigtails (Latts Razzi: preferred weapon the grappling boa), a male Kyuzo with an enormous and doubtless heavy metallic hat (Embo, utilizes the “hat” as both weapon and transportation; held in high regard among his fellow bounty hunters, owner of the anooba Marrok), a droid (Highsinger: extremely effective bounty hunter, believed to be unique), and an earnest-looking, shaved-headed young man who had to be—

  “Hey, Boba,” said Bossk, “this guy is looking for No Name, the rookie.”