CHAPTER FOUR

The hospital ship Mercy, an antiquated Dreadnaught, two assault frigates, a squadron of Corellian gun ships, and assorted support vessel orbited a recently devastated world. Cities of colored glass, now reduced to rubble, merged with plains of heat-fused earth. This was just one of the many planets laid to waste during the last few years.

The Mercy, which had been "liberated" while still under construction, was enormous. More than two kilometers long and a quarterkilometer across, she could accommodate up to five thousand patients plus the equipment, droids, and staff needed to operate and maintain her.

In spite of her considerable size however, the Mercy was badly overcrowded. More than six thousand Rebel casualties were crammed into her hull. They filled her wards and spilled out into the passageways, where they stood, sat, or lay on improvised beds. Even worse was the fact that patients who should have been immersed in one of the vessel's 4,250

bacta tanks were forced to wait.

It meant older, less effective medical procedures had to be brought into play. And that meant some of the wounded would suffer permanent disabilities since the longer bacta therapy was delayed the less effective it became.

Jan felt a lump in her throat as she threaded her way through packed corridors and caught glimpses of bodies cut in half, heads without faces, and beings so burned she couldn't determine whether they were human or members of another species.

The fact that she wasn't immortal, that she could have been one of them, made her stomach queasy. Jan knew she'd never forget the Mercy corridors, the sacrifices her fellow Rebels had made, or the true price of freedom.

It took fifteen minutes to reach bacta ward 114. Three replacement units had been pressed into service and placed out in the corridor. They contained what remained of a gun ship's twelve-person -crew. The ship, the GS-138, had been ambushed while on a top-secret raid. Debris and some life pods were all that remained when help arrived.

The survivors - including a man, a woman, and a male Mon Calamari were suspended in bacta and mercifully unconscious. Medals hung from the jury-rigged cables that connected their tanks to the ship's computerized monitoring systems. Notes, drawings, and snapshots were taped to the tanks. A tired-looking medic turned to greet her. He was balding and slightly overweight. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for a patient named Kyle Katarn."

Although there was no outward sign of its special status, ward 114

was reserved for members of the Alliance's Intelligence and Special Operations contingents. Though not especially nice to contemplate, the fact was that some casualties were considered more important than others, and Kyle - a proven if not completely trusted agent - was on the list of those slated to receive highpriority medical treatment. That being the case, certain security measures were in place.

The medic considered himself to be something of an expert where cloak and dagger types were concerned. The civilian flight suit, nonstandard sidearm, and haunted eyes all pointed to one conclusion: a spy come to see a spy. They were jumpy at times, so it paid to be careful. The medic kept his voice neutral. "May I see your I.D.?"

Jan produced her card and watched it pass through the reader. The medic checked the readout and nodded toward a hatch. "Your friend is in tank twenty-three. We'll pull him later today. That's good, you know.

He'll be up and around soon."

Jan thanked the medic, triggered the door, and stepped within. A maintenance droid was working on an empty tank, and aside from gentle tool noises, the ward was quiet. The air had a tangy smell which might have been pleasant if it weren't for the sights that went with it.

The tanks were numbered and contained things Jan didn't really want to see, things that floated like specimens in jars. Some appeared intact, but others bore obvious wounds. The agent was glad they were asleep.

Tank 23 looked like those around it except for the fact that no one had left any medals or notes on it. Kyle floated there, his body curled into the fetal position, his hair drifting like seaweed. He looked innocent, more boy than man.

The agent approached the unit and placed her hands on the tank's transparisteel surface. It was cool and damp, like recently showered skin or the hull of a starship. Something caught at the back of her throat as Jan remembered the three long days during which Kyle's condition had vacillated between good and bad. She had stabilized the shoulder wound, but the concussion led to vomiting and periods of unconsciousness, symptoms the ship's rather limited medical references flagged as serious.

But they made it to Rebel-held space, and while Kyle entered bacta tank 23, Jan collapsed on a cot. Twelve hours of sleep left her rested but concerned. She had no idea what Kyle had been up to in Nar Shaddaa or why he'd gone after the disk. This was not the sort of admission she wanted to make to their superiors. Especially when she was senior, and nominally in charge.

Each bacta tank had a small cupboard where personal items were kept. Jan knelt, tugged on the door, and pulled it open. Kyle's clothes were there along with his sidearm and boots. She rummaged through his pockets and came up with a wallet, a holo cube, and, yes, the mysterious disk.

Jan felt torn. It wasn't right to snoop through Kyle's belongings.

But agents weren't supposed to have any privacy - not where their partners were concerned. In spite of the fact that Jan had complete trust in Kyle, it was hard to convince others that they should feel the same way, especially at times like this.

She triggered the holo projector, watched Morgan Katarn bid his son good-bye, and bit her lower lip. The wallet came next. She had glanced through the contents and was about to return it when she saw something unexpected. The agent came across a 3-D snapshot of herself! How and when had Kyle obtained it? There was no way to know. But the fact that it was there meant a lot.

Tears trickled down Jan's cheeks as she slipped the disk into her pocket, restored the rest of Kyle's belongings to the cabinet, and got to her feet. Her fingers left outlines on the transparisteel casing. The prints faded when she removed her hands. "I'm sorry, Kyle - I love you."

Then, walking fast, so as to complete the chore as quickly possible, Jan left the ward. The medic watched her go, wished someone cared enough to cry over him, and returned to his work. There were charts to update, and Lieutenant Commander Nidifer would check to make sure they were done.

Jan spent the better part of two hours trying to access the disk's contents but finally gave up. The contents were encrypted, and she couldn't break through. She needed help, expert help, the kind of help resident on the flagship.

Rather than request clearance for the Crow and fly the relatively short distance to the New Hope Jan decided to take advantage of a regularly scheduled shuttle. The trip to the refurbished Dreadnaught took less than fifteen minutes. Once aboard, the agent went in search of an old acquaintance, a friend of her father's, presently in charge of the flagship's Electronic Counter Measures section. His name was Chief Warrant Officer Yiong Wong, "Chiefy" to his friends and "that miserable old geezer" to those who abused his equipment and were caught at it.

She found Chiefy the same way she always did, by asking his subordinates where the trouble was and descending into the bowels of the ship. After that, it was a simple matter to follow a trail of temporarily abandoned tools through a crawl space and into a floodlit equipment bay.

The Warrant Officer, along with two of his techs, was hard at work.

Cables squirmed into the space from five or six directions and converged on an open junction box.

Chiefy took one look at her, gave a whoop of joy, and offered to buy her lunch - a purely symbolic invitation, since anyone could enter the chow hall free of charge.

Jan accepted, ignored the stares, and followed Wong out. There was very little chance that he could access the disk. But he'd know people who could.

Kyle awoke between clean, crisp sheets. He remembered the bacta tank -

but it was nowhere to be seen. Sleep pulled him down. He dreamt of his father's home, of Jan staring at him through a window, of a man he'd never seen before. The man had dark skin and wore a plain white robe.

There was something about his voice, about the way that he spoke, that captured Kyle's attention.

"A crossroads lies before you .... The same man who murdered your father contemplates an even greater evil. His name is Jerec, and he seeks a place called the Valley of the Jedi, a place where thousands of Jedi spirits are trapped, a place of almost unbelievable power, a place he must never reach. Because if he does - the results could be catastrophic.

Imagine someone who could destroy a star with a whisper, eradicate a solar system with a snap of his fingers, or `think' a planet from its orbit.

"Your father gave his life to protect this place . . . and the power it contains. His destiny was linked with it . . . and your destiny is linked with his.

"Your apprenticeship has been underway for some time now. The disk will help you absorb the ways of the Jedi. Learn them well, and learn them quickly, for time is short."

Rahn faded from sight, strange-looking rock formations appeared, and Kyle struggled to see. The image steadied for a moment, slipped from focus, and faded away. The name Jerec meant something, but he couldn't remember what. Kyle was thinking about that, or trying to, when sleep pulled him down, again.

Chief Warrant Officer Xiong Wong used a hydrospanner to bang on the hatch. "Hey Wires, I know you're in there, so open up."

Silence.

Wong looked at Jan and winked. "Don't worry. I have a surefire way to get his attention." The spanner banged again.

"Okay, Wires. Have it your way. Lieutenant Commander Olifer seems like a reasonable man .... The fact that you have appropriated thirty-two percent of the tracking computer's excess capacity for your own personal gain won't bother him in the least."

The hatch jerked open, and a small man with a long, thin nose peered out. He had small, beady eyes. They ran the length of Jan's body and flicked to Wong. "What's the problem, Chiefy? I'm busy."

"Busy running a virtual gambling casino," Wong said equably. "Not that I care - as long as your computer's combat ready."

"So? You came to tell me that?"

"No," Chiefy replied calmly, "I came to get your help on this."

Wong held the disk between thumb and forefinger. Light winked off its surface. "It's read-protected, and my friend wants in."

Wires looked from the disk to the Warrant Officer's face. "I crack it, and you leave me alone?"

"Affirmative."

"And Olifer?"

"Remains blissfully ignorant until you get greedy and give yourself away."

"Done. Let's get on with it."

Jan spent the next two hours in the overcrowded storeroom which Wires had converted to his own nefarious purposes. There was little to nothing the agent could do to help, but she felt obliged to stay. Partly because Chiefy had, and partly because Wires was clearly untrustworthy.

The computer expert knew what he was doing, but it was slow going, nonetheless. First, he applied some off-the- shelf encryption software.

It didn't work. More than a little angry now, and a good deal more engaged, Wires tried again. The next program he ran made use of software he had written himself. Even that didn't work the first time through, although Jan did catch a glimpse of a middle-aged man who looked a lot like Morgan Katarn.

Finally, with a whoop of triumph, Wires made a partial breakthrough. It was like staring through a snowstorm, and the static made some of the words hard to hear, but there was no mistaking what was said.

Jan swore both men to secrecy, took the original and the partially decoded copy, and gave Chiefy a hug. Wires looked as though he would have enjoyed a hug, too, but was forced to settle for a handshake. The walk from the storeroom to the Dreadnaught's bridge was one of the longest Jan had ever made.

Like the Dreadnaught herself, the cabin dated back to preImperial days and was extremely spacious - fitting quarters for an admiral whose duties were mainly ceremonial.

The ship had been something of a fixture over Churba, where it had functioned as an orbital war museum until it was "liberated" by the Rebels and refitted. There were no resources to squander on decor, however, which explained why the same tapestries that had graced the bulkheads prior to the Rebellion still hung there, adding to the somewhat musty smell. Mon Mothma had grown used to the odor, but Leia Organa, formerly Princess Organa, hadn't. She sneezed, and her brother, Luke Skywalker, said, "Bless you."

Mon Mothma, who was deeply engaged in a logistical problem, took scant notice. Sneezes and what people said about them were less important than medical supplies and the systems used to distribute them. Mon Mothma wore her hair short so as to minimize maintenance and preferred loose-fitting robes - worn with a single clasp or pin - to the tunics and trousers that Leia favored. Perhaps it was a habit picked up during her years as a senator or - and this seemed more likely - it was a matter of comfort. Whatever the reason, the administrator's robes swished this way and that as she strode back and forth.

"And so," she continued, "the efficient distribution of medical supplies not only will save lives, it will signal the government's priorities and our ability to deliver on them."

Luke, who knew he should care about such matters, struggled to pay attention. The administrative and political matters that Mon Mothma and his sister found so fascinating often left him cold or, more accurately, bored. That being the case, he looked hopeful when one of Mon Mothma's aides slipped into the compartment and whispered something into the administrator's ear. Any sort of distraction would be welcome. The administrator listened, nodded, and said something in return.

The aide left, and Mon Mothma turned to her guests. "Excuse the interruption, but it seems as though something rather urgent has come up."

Leia and Luke rose as if to leave, and Mon Mothma gestured for them to stay. "No. I would appreciate your opinions on this."

The hatch opened, and a woman entered. Leia noticed she was pretty, though not self-consciously so, and dressed in a civilian flight suit.

The fact that she had passed through a security check and still wore a sidearm testified to her clearance. Mon Mothma gave the newcomer a hug and turned to her guests. "Jan, this is Leia Organa and her brother Luke Skywalker... Leia, Luke, this is Jan Ors. It was Jan who, along with an agent named Kyle Katarn, stole the Death Star plans from the lab on Danuta."

Jan felt blood rush to her cheeks. Leia Organa? As in Princess Leia Organa? And Luke Skywalker? The Jedi Knight? Both were famous. She wasn't sure what kind of reception she would get.

But there was no mistaking their enthusiasm, the warmth of Leia's handshake, or the grin on Skywalker's face as they circled the table to greet her. "This is a real pleasure .... What you did took guts. And it saved a lot of lives. Thank you."

Jan blushed all over again, stammered something about how Kyle had carried out the most difficult part of the mission, and was glad when Mon Mothma brought the conversation back to the present. "You have something to report? Something about a valley?"

Jan nodded. "It's called the Valley of the Jedi."

Luke sat up straight. "What did you say? The Valley of what?"

Alarmed and somewhat taken aback, Jan repeated the name. "The Valley of the Jedi . . . Why? Have you heard of it?"

Luke looked thoughtful. "Yes, I've heard of it. First from Yoda.

And then from others. None of them had actually seen it, though . . . and that makes me wonder."

Jan shrugged and held the disk up for them to see. "Well, Kyle's father thought it was real and left a message to that effect."

Leia frowned. "Thought it was real? What happened to him?"

Jan remembered the holo she and Kyle had seen on board the Star of Empire and winced. "The Imperials murdered Morgan Katarn and placed his head on a spike." Luke raised an eyebrow. "He was beheaded? That's how they killed him?" "I guess so. Does it make a difference?"

The Jedi's bionic hand strayed to the lightsaber at his side.

"Maybe, and maybe not," he replied vaguely. "But it's my observation that beheadings are as rare as the weapons used to carry them out."

Jan was just starting to consider the implications of that when Mon Mothma gestured toward the disk. "Let's see what Katarn has to say."

Jan apologized for the quality and dropped the disk into a player.

What looked like a snowstorm swirled, static crackled, and an image appeared. The man had gray, almost white hair, and a full growth of beard. His eyes were kindly but tired. A workshop or similar area appeared in the background.

"This message is intended for my son Kyle Katarn -" crackle . . .

pop, . . . crackle. . . "- Kyle, I have left two very important items for you. The first is a map to the Valley of the Jedi, which is embedded in the stone ceiling above this room. The other is a lightsaber that once belonged to a Jedi named Rahn. Use it well. Use it for good."

Mon Mothma knew Rahn and wondered where he was. Luke had heard of the Jedi from Yoda.

Leia broke the silence. "No offense to you or the Katarn family, but so what? Why should the Alliance get involved? Resources are scarce.

They must be allocated with care." Mon Mothma nodded in agreement.

Jan felt defensive and tried to conceal it. "The Imperials care, so we should care. They tried to keep the disk, lost it to Kyle, and fought to get it back. That's the best answer I can give."

Luke intervened before Leia could reply. "Listen to the legend, and you will understand."

Mon Mothma started to say something and thought better of it. Luke continued. "Hundreds and hundreds of years ago a Jedi named Kaan turned away from the light and formed the Brotherhood of Darkness. The Brotherhood used the dark side of the Force to build an empire and were well on their way toward expanding it when an army was raised to oppose them.

"The army of opposition consisted of beings from many species and planets, representing all walks of life. But they had one thing in common. They were Jedi.

"The two sides came together on a remote and little- known world.

Salvos of pure energy were exchanged, storms raged across the land, and lightning flashed from the skies. Entire cities were destroyed, a species was pushed to the edge of extermination, and spirits separated from their bodies.

"Finally, after days of mortal combat, the Brotherhood was defeated. Knowing that he had lost but unwilling to accept defeat, Kaan lured his opponents into a valley. And it was there that the Brotherhood of Darkness committed suicide, taking good Jedi with them. Not to the freedom of death but into a state of suspended animation where they remain trapped.

"Their spirits should be released and allowed to merge with the Force, but there are those who would tap the energy they represent and use it for evil. Assuming the stories are true, assuming such a place exists, it would be well worth fighting for."

There was momentary silence as the rest of the group took the story in. Jan was the first to speak. "Kyle will be up and around soon. We'll find the map."

Mon Mothma shook her head. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Jan. Kyle needs time to heal."

Leia saw the way Jan's eyes narrowed, the manner in which her mouth formed a hard, straight line, and knew the agent disagreed. What she didn't know was the extent to which Jan had matured over the last year or so, giving her the courage to challenge Mon Mothma's authority.

"With all due respect, agents are wounded all the time and thrown into action the moment they can walk. If this is about Kyle and the fact that he was an Imperial officer, then say so."

The fact that the agent in question had been a member of the Imperial military forces was news to Leia and Luke. They exchanged glances but remained silent. Mon Mothma felt no such compunction. "All right, it may not be fair, but I don't trust him. He's a graduate of the Imperial Military Academy. How can we be sure of his loyalty?"

Leia looked from one woman to the other and said what she felt.

"Han was a smuggler, and some say worse. He graduated from the Academy, yet you trust him. People can and do change."

Jan shot Leia a grateful look. It confirmed what Leia had suspected all along. Jan Ors was in love with Kyle Katarn - for better or worse.

If Mon Mothma was annoyed, she gave no sign of it. "So, Luke, you've heard both sides of the issue. What do you think?"

The Jedi stared at the floor, lost in thought. His words came slowly, as if from a distance. "I think the second part of the message bears on the first. What did Katarn say? Something about a lightsaber that belonged to Rahn? The gift implies talent - talent and something more connections that I sense but can't put into words. I believe we can trust Kyle. The real question is whether he can trust himself. A self-taught Jedi? A great deal could go wrong. Still, the path is his, and he must walk it."

Mon Mothma looked thoughtful for a moment and turned to Jan. "Say nothing of this meeting. Allow Kyle to do as he will. If he's even half the man you say he is, all will be well. If he turns on us - kill him.

Agreed?"

Kyle? Jedi? Was such a thing possible? And what about Mon Mothma's orders? Jan remembered Danuta - and the moment when she had pointed her blaster at Kyle's head. She hadn't been able to do it then. Could she do it now? Probably not. But she nodded anyway. "Agreed."

Leia saw the lie and allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. Life had never been, and never would be, simple.

Kyle hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He heard the medic enter the room, watched her through carefully slitted eyes, and maintained his silence. The shoulder wound felt better, much better, but he was in no mood to talk.

The medic glanced in his direction as if to make sure that the agent was all right and turned her attention to the officer in the next bed. Tubes snaked in and out of his body, and the respirator made a gentle wheezing sound as it pushed oxygen into his lungs. The medic checked to make sure everything was operating properly, tapped some readings into a datapad, and left the compartment.

Kyle allowed himself to drift and was just about to take still another nap when someone entered. The medic? Back already? He peered through half-closed eyes.

Jan came in, looked around, and approached the foot of his bed. She looked just plain wonderful - pretty in spite of the coveralls she wore, yet pensive, as if she was worried about something.

Kyle was about to greet Jan, to tell her he felt better, when she turned away. Two lockers, one for each patient, were bolted to the bulkhead. Jan opened Kyle's, removed his trousers, and slipped her hand into a pocket. Then, after placing a kiss on his forehead, she left.

Kyle waited to make sure she wouldn't return, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and got to his feet. The deck was cold and hard. He opened the locker, grabbed his pants, and checked the pockets.

Everything, including the all- important disk, was just as he'd left it.

Or was it? What was Jan doing anyway? And if she had removed something -

only to replace it - what had it been? His wallet? The disk? The holo cube? And why?

The agent frowned, shucked his gown, and started to dress. The disk, the dream, and Jan. The pieces were in front of him. But how did they fit? The answer was out there - and he would find it.