Traitor by Matthew Stover (chrome ebook reader txt) 📕

A Del Rey® Book

Published by The Random House Publishing Group

Copyright © 2002 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All rights reserved. Used under authorization. Excerpt from Destiny’s Way by Walter Jon Williams copyright © 2002 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All rights reserved. Used under authorization.

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

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eISBN: 978-0-307-79555-7

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DRAMATIS

PERSONAE

Ch’ Gang Hool; master shaper (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Ganner Rhysode; Jedi Knight (male human)

Jacen Solo; Jedi Knight (male human)

Nom Anor; executor (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Tsavong Lah; warmaster (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Vergere (female Fosh)

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Dramatis: Personae

Prologue: The Embrace of Pain

Part One: Descent

Chapter One: Cocoon

Chapter Two: The Nursery

Chapter Three: The Garden

Chapter Four: The Will of the Gods

Chapter Five: Seedfall

Part Two: The Cave

Chapter Six: Home

Chapter Seven: The Crater

Chapter Eight: Into the Dark

Chapter Nine: The Belly of the Beast

Chapter Ten: Home Free

Part Three: The Gates of Death

Chapter Eleven: Traitor

Chapter Twelve: The Light of the True Way

Chapter Thirteen: Glory Sickness

Chapter Fourteen: Path of Destiny

Epilogue: Lessons

About the Author

Also by this Author

Introduction to the Star Wars Expanded Universe

Excerpt from Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Destiny's Way

Introduction to the Old Republic Era

Introduction to the Rise of the Empire Era

Introduction to the Rebellion Era

Introduction to the New Republic Era

Introduction to the New Jedi Order Era

Introduction to the Legacy Era

Star Wars Legends Novels Timeline

PROLOGUE

THE EMBRACE OF PAIN

Outside the universe, there is nothing.

This nothing is called hyperspace.

A tiny bubble of existence hangs in the nothing. This bubble is called a ship.

The bubble has neither motion nor stillness, nor even orientation, since the nothing has no distance or direction. It hangs there forever, or for less than an instant, because in the nothing there is also no time. Time, distance, and direction have meaning only inside the bubble, and the bubble maintains the existence of these things only by an absolute separation of what is within from what is without.

The bubble is its own universe.

Outside the universe, there is nothing.

   Jacen Solo hangs in the white, exploring the spectrum of pain.

In the far infrared, he finds cinders of thirst that bake his throat. Higher, up in the visible wavelengths, gleam the crimson wire-stretched ligaments that sizzle within his shoulders; grinding glass-shard screams howl from his hip joints like the death shrieks of golden Ithorian starflowers. There is green here, too—bubbling tongues of acid hungrily lick his nerves—as well as lightning-blue shocks that spasm his overloaded body into convulsion.

And higher still, now far beyond the ultraviolet betrayal that brought him here—the betrayal that delivered him into the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong, the betrayal that gathered him into the Embrace of Pain, the betrayal by Vergere, whom he had trusted—he finds silent shattering gamma-ray bursts sleeting into his brain.

Those gamma-ray bursts are the color of his brother’s death.

Anakin, he moans, somewhere deep within himself. Anakin, how can you be dead?

He has faced deaths in his family before; more than once, he thought Jaina lost, or his father, or mother or Uncle Luke. He has grieved, mourned them—but it was always a mistake, it was a misunderstanding, sometimes even a deliberate trick … In the end, they always came back to him.

Until Chewbacca.

When the moon crashed on Sernpidal, it shattered not only Chewbacca’s life but also the magic charm that had always seemed to guard them all. Something in the universe has tilted to one side and opened a gap in reality; through that gap, death has slipped into his family.

Anakin …

Jacen saw him die. Felt him die, through the Force. Saw his lifeless body in the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong.

Anakin didn’t even fade.

He only died.

In one impossible instant, Anakin ceased to be the brother Jacen played with, teased, looked after, played tricks on, fought with, cared for, trained with, loved—and became … what? An object. Remains. Not a person, not anymore. Now, the only person who is Anakin is the image Jacen carries in his heart.

An image that Jacen cannot even let himself see.

Each flash of Anakin—his reckless grin so like their father’s, his eyes smoldering with fierce will mirroring their mother’s, his effortlessly athletic warrior’s grace, so much like Uncle Luke’s—these are the gamma bursts that burn the marrow of his bones, that cook his brain until its boil threatens to burst his skull.

But when he looks away from Anakin, there is nothing to see but pain.

He cannot remember if he is on a ship, or still planetbound. He finds a vague memory of capture aboard a Yuuzhan Vong worldship, but he’s not sure if that happened to him, or to someone else. He cannot remember if such distinctions mean anything. All he knows is the white.

He remembers that he’s been captured before. He remembers Belkadan, remembers his vain dream of freeing slaves, remembers the blank terror of discovering that his Force powers meant nothing against the Yuuzhan Vong; he remembers the Embrace of Pain, remembers his rescue by Uncle Luke—

Master Luke. Master Skywalker.

He remembers Vergere. Remembering Vergere brings him to the voxyn queen, and the voxyn queen sends him slithering back down a despair-greased slope to Anakin’s corpse. Anakin’s corpse floats on a burning lake of torment far deeper than anything that can happen to Jacen’s body.

Jacen knows—intellectually, distantly, abstractly—that once he lived outside the white. He knows that he once felt happiness, pleasure, regret, anger, even love. But these are only ghosts, shadows murmuring beneath the roar of pain that fills everything he is, everything he will ever be; the simple fact that the white had a beginning does not imply that it will have an end. Jacen exists beyond time.

Where Jacen is, there is only the white, and the Force.

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