Apocalypse by Troy Denning Read Free Book Online Page A

occurred only moments ago, during a live holocast in front of billions of viewers …”
    Octa Ramis removed the sound bud from her ear and tossed it on the mixing console, then turned to her three Jedi assistants. “And that’s a wrap,” she said. “Let’s move on to our next target.”
    When the alarm began to blare down from the coffered ceiling of the High Court Chamber, Grand Justice Tela Rovas did not reach for the lightsaber beneath her robes. She simply unfolded the flimsi that her clerk had just passed her, read the ominous note, and frowned at the signature line— THE JEDI ORDER —then turned to herfellow High Justices, seated beside her along the elegant hamogoniwood bench.
    “It seems the alarm is genuine,” she announced calmly. “Court is adjourned for evacuation.”
    The chamber erupted in panic, with spectators and litigants alike boiling toward the exits. Rovas, in contrast, calmly rose from her seat and started toward the justices’ private exit, all the while shielding herself from attack by drawing her fellow judges into a tight knot of conversation around her. As they crossed the threshold, she took the arm of Justice Robr Selvi and pulled him close, being careful to keep him between her and the sliding door.
    Jaina cursed beneath her breath, then reluctantly released the hidden trigger that would have sent the heavy door shooting out to crush the pair. Corrupt as he was, Selvi was no Sith—and that made him safe from the Jedi. Jaina glanced across the broad central aisle to her two companions and nodded toward the exit.
    Valin returned her nod and rose instantly, but Jysella—carrying a datapad and wearing her brown hair in a tight bun—scowled.
    “We’re just going to let her
GO
?” Jysella asked. She was speaking in a Force whisper so soft that her voice was a mere rustle in Jaina’s ears. “A
Sith Lord
?”
    Jaina shrugged and nodded toward the exit more firmly. Their orders were clear: No attack until the target reaches for a weapon. And no civilian casualties—even if it means letting a Sith Lord escape.
    By the time Vestara and Ben were finally ushered in to meet High Lord Ivaar Workan—better known to the Galactic Alliance as Senator Kameron Suldar—there was no longer enough time to set up the cafasho steamer. Only two minutes remained before the first attacks of the battle were scheduled to begin, and that meant they had drifted completely into the sphere of combat improvisation. That was just fine with Vestara. She had been trained to be unpredictable when she fought, and sometimes the only way to do that was to toss the plan aside.
    Vestara was surprised to see the Senator’s private office furnished sparely but elegantly in blatant Keshiri style, with sculptures of ropyglass resting on display tables throughout the room. The pieces were done in a new style known as flying storm back on Kesh, and they usually depicted a hurricane or cyclone rolling over an alien landscape.
    To the initiated, at least, the conquest symbology was clear, and Vestara found herself shaking her head at its open display. It was the kind of arrogance that would be the Sith’s greatest vulnerability in the coming war. Her people simply did not understand how dangerous the Jedi truly were—or how determined the Masters were to destroy the Lost Tribe of the Sith.
    Workan’s redheaded assistant motioned Vestara and Ben toward a clear spot in the center of the room, then followed close behind as Ben pushed the float pallet forward. When two more red-caped guards stepped out of a corner and fell in behind them, Vestara knew it had been her ploy—the silent
I’m Vestara Khai
she had secretly mouthed to the guard in the pages’ closet—that had finally won them admittance. She was taking a terrible risk exposing her identity like that, but she wanted to be sure that Luke Skywalker killed Workan, and that meant getting herself and Ben into the High Lord’s office.
    Ben stopped the float pallet at