Free Crosscurrent by Paul Kemp Page A

in.”
    Predator
settled into orbit over Fhost and Kell took in the planet. It was covered in great swaths of desert; stretches of tan and brown bisected by gashes of reds and smudges of black made the surface look scarred, bruised, wounded. He hovered over it for a time, his ship invisible to the meager scanning technology available to those onworld. He studied the planet’s specs on his console a final time.
    Apart from a few isolated settlements on the edge of the deserts, the planet had only one main population center—Farpoint, with a transient population of perhaps thirty-five hundred sentients. He frowned, thinking that he would have to take care to keep his feeding discreet in such a small settlement. On the other hand, the small population limited the target of his inquiry. With his talents, he would be able to gather information rapidly.
    In his mind’s eye, he saw the image Wyyrlok had burned into his brain—the icy moon hanging against the backdrop of the blue gas giant, its sky on fire. He stared past Fhost out at the trackless systems of the Unknown Regions. The moon could be anywhere.
    Wyyrlok had demanded that he look for a sign. Kell had another idea. He intended to look for a Jedi. Thinking of the rich soup of a Jedi caused his feeders to roil intheir cheek sacs. Thinking of the soup of the one who would bring him revelation caused him to drool.
    He stared down at the planet as the line of night crept across its surface, swallowing the deserts in darkness.
    “I am a ghost,” he said.

THE PAST:
5,000 YEARS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF YAVIN
    H arbinger
’s bridge crackled with activity.
    “Forty-five seconds to jump,” said the helmsman to Dor, then, into his communicator, “Forty-five seconds. Confirm,
Omen.
”
    The speakers crackled with
Omen
’s answer. “Confirmed. Forty-five seconds. Forty-four.”
    Dor put his clawed hand on the weapons officer’s soft shoulder. “You have twenty-five seconds to destroy that Infiltrator. Or explain to the captain why you could not.”
    Saes’s blade spat a blurry shower of sparks as he unleashed a series of powerful blows. Relin allowed the strength of the attacks to move him backward as he dodged left, right, leapt, spun, and parried, biding his time. At last he deflected an overhand strike in a shower of energy, slid his blade free, and stabbed at Saes’s middle. His onetime Padawan slid left, spun, and drove Relin’s blade to the deck with an overhand strike. Saes threw a reverse elbow with his off arm, augmented with strength from the Force, but Relin anticipated the blow, parried with his forearm, lurched his blade free, anddrove a Force-augmented kick into Saes’s midsection. The impact lifted Saes from his feet and drove him fifteen paces across the room, though he flipped in flight and landed on his feet in a crouch.
    “Your skill with a lightsaber remains wanting,” Relin said, advancing. “You rely on strength over technique.”
    Anger tensed Saes’s body, darkened his visible skin from crimson to deep red. “It is well, then, that I’ve learned other methods.”
    Blue Force lightning gathered on the black claws of his fingertips, crackled a dire promise. Before Relin could respond, Saes gestured and the energy cut a jagged path across the room.
    Relin dodged too late and the energy struck him, put a cold spike into his heart, and threw him against the far wall. Despite the agony, he managed to use the Force to cushion the impact and fell to the floor, his breathing ragged as the last of the lightning crawled over him and expired.
    He climbed to his feet, lightsaber held low, and eyed Saes. His Padawan had grown in the Force since they had parted.
    As if reading his thoughts, Saes saluted him with his lightsaber. Relin imagined him grinning behind his mask. “More than you know, even.”
    The pitch of the hyperdrive’s hum changed, accelerated, took on the regular cadence of a rapidly beating heart. Relin felt the vaguely nauseating swirl in