章 7: PRECIPICE - Chapter 7
"You're out of it."
Korsin climbed into a hallway and began rummaging through cabinets, looking for something that would help those below. Unfortunately, Omen had been outfitted for a deep-space mission. Sith provisioners were sparing. No portable generators at all. Another compartment held clothes. That would help tonight, but they wouldn't be staying.
"We have to stay," Devore said, as if he had read Korsin's thought.
"What?"
"We have to stay," Devore repeated. Standing alone, a tombstone in the shadows of the hallway, he spoke with a voice that quaked. "It's been two days. You don't understand. It's been two days."
Korsin didn't stop his search, passing in front of his brother to another door, jammed by the damage.
"It's been two days, Yaru. Naga Sadow will think we ran away. To take the Lignan crystals for ourselves!"
"He'll blame Saes," Korsin said, remembering. Naga Sadow hadn't fully trusted the fallen Jedi who captained the Harbinger. He'd asked Korsin to keep an eye on Saes, to report back. When he did—if he did—Korsin fully intended to explain how the Harbinger had lost control, how the Harbinger had struck the Omen. With any luck, Sadow had Harbinger already—
Korsin released the door handle. He hadn't seen what happened to Harbinger after the collision, but it was a safe bet that Sadow would have the crippled Harbinger already. And Saes, sitting there with only half the shipment of Lignan crystals and unable to deliver, would be bargaining for his life, saying anything about the Omen. He would sing harmonies the Khil would be proud of.
Korsin looked down the hallway. "Back at Primus Goluud. On the station. You met with Sadow, didn't you?"
Devore shuffled. "To discuss the Lignan operation."
"You weren't discussing something else? Like who should command this mission?"
Devore glared at him with bloodshot eyes. That look again.
"You were discussing who should command this mission," Korsin pressed, surprised at his own calm. "What did you say when Sadow refused to put you in charge?"
The captain's blood froze. He knew how things always went with Devore—how things must have gone. Sadow had rejected his half brother, and Devore had said something. What? Not enough to offend Sadow—no, Devore was still here in the wreck, drawing labored breaths. But Sadow would have reason to suspect Devore's loyalty, would have cause to wonder whether his crystals were safe. The one thing Yaru Korsin had was his reputation for playing it straight—but now at a minimum, Sadow would know that Korsin was not the absolute master of his own vessel. And if he wasn't …
Devore's hand shook—and his lightsaber flew into it. The weapon that had killed Boyle Marcom ignited in his hand.
"What did I tell you?" Korsin yelled, approaching him anyway. "No games on my ship!"
Shaken, Devore darted back toward the bridge. Korsin followed. "The only way we come out of this is if we're completely clean, Devore! Sadow can't think we did this on purpose!" He reached the doorway. "No games on my ship!"
Korsin walked into a hurricane. Devore stood atop the command chair, calling forth all the debris of the bridge like a deity on a mountaintop. Korsin rolled, fragments of transparisteel raking his face and ripping into his uniform. Reaching Gloyd's station, he mounted his own defense, cocooning himself in the Force against the onslaught. Devore was as strong as any in his family—and now he was riding chemicals Korsin didn't understand.
A beam slammed against the bulkhead—and Omen shivered. A second strike, and the bridge tipped forward, knocking Devore off his perch. Korsin didn't let him get up again. The moment Devore's head appeared behind the chair, Korsin Force-flung him out through the ruined viewport. He had to get this outside, before everything was lost.
Korsin bolted uphill through the hallway to the airlock, huffing as he did. Fighting a spice-crazed assailant on a teetering deathtrap? I must be the crazy one! The step down from the portal was now a leap. His boot sank into a soft patch as he hit, wrenching his ankle and sending him tumbling down the scree-covered slope. Biting his lip, he tried to clamber back from the brink toward Omen's crushed nose. A shadow was falling on him. He lit his lightsaber—
Suddenly he saw it—or it saw him. Another winged creature, high over the near ridge, circling and watching. Watching him. Korsin blinked sand from his eyes as the creature soared away. It was the same as the one from the descent—almost. The difference was …
Thoom! Korsin felt himself lifted into the air and before he could register what was happening, he slammed into the wreck of Omen. Devore marched into view, pebbles rolling before him as if propelled by a magnet. Trapped against the crumpled frame, Korsin struggled to stand. His father's familiar look was gone from Devore's face, replaced by a bleak nothingness.
"It's over, Yaru," Devore said, raising his lightsaber high. "We should have done this before. It's been decided. I'm the Korsin that should be in command."
It's been decided? The thought flashed through Yaru Korsin's mind even as the lightsaber flashed past his ear. It sparked against the Omen's battered armor. The commander raised his weapon to parry the next stroke—and the next, and the next. Devore hammered away. No style, just fury. Korsin found nowhere to go, except along the side of the ship, sliding backward toward the port-side torpedo tubes. Three of the doors had been opened in the descent. The fourth—
Korsin spotted the control box, just like the one he'd remotely manipulated in the descent. He flexed toward it through the Force, and ducked. The firing pin activated, bulleting forward and catching Devore in the shoulder of his lightsaber arm. The torpedo door tried to cycle open, but pinned against the ground it only dug into the strata, sending a stream of rocks flooding beneath the ship. Omen lurched forward again, with Devore sliding in front of it toward the edge and the ocean below.
It took a minute for Korsin to get loose from the handhold he'd found on the ship, and another for the dust to clear. Finding Omen surprisingly still, he gingerly stepped away on the crushed slate. Omen's bow had impaled itself on a razor rise on the promontory, just meters from the edge.
Ahead of it, partially buried in rubble, lay his brother. His golden uniform shredded, his shoulder bloodied, Devore writhed on the precipice. He tried to kneel, shrugging off the surrounding rocks, only to collapse again.
Devore still gripped his lightsaber. How he could still be holding on to it with the whole world falling down, Korsin didn't know. The captain fastened his own lightsaber to his belt.
"Yaru?" Devore said. It was a whimper now. "Yaru—I can't see." His face was tearstained, but intact. Then his lightsaber rolled free, plummeting out of sight over the cliff's edge and revealing the oily pink stain on his hand. Red Rage. That was what had been in the vials, Korsin thought. That was what had given Devore his manic power, and that was what was stealing from him now.
The shoulder wound wasn't bad, Korsin saw, lifting his brother to his feet. Devore was young; with Seelah tending to him, he might even survive out here, presuming he could live without the spice. But … what then? What could be said that wasn't already said?
It's been decided.
A helpful hold became a tighter grip—and Yaru Korsin turned his brother to face the setting sun over the ocean. "I will complete my mission," he said, looking over the side to the ocean yawning far below. "And I will protect my crew."
He let go.
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