Spears of ice hung in thickets from every overhang. Three-quarters of a communications tower jutted upward from the tundra like an accusatory finger blaming the sky for its fate. A faint, snow-blotted light at the tower's top flashed intermittently, keeping time with the beacon playing over Flotsam's cockpit speaker, keeping time with Jaden's heart. "Looks abandoned," Khedryn said. Jaden came back to himself, swallowed in a mouth gone dry. "Yes." "Definitely looks old enough to be Imperial," Khedryn said. Jaden forced a nod, though a sense of déjà vu gripped his gut. For an instant he lived in the dreamspace between his Force vision and his real senses and he was suddenly unsure that he wanted to set foot on the moon. Fighting down the doubt, he reached out through the Force, expecting to feel the bitter recoil of contact with the Sith from his vision. Nothing. He took his hand from the stick, made a claw of his fingers, looked at their tips, the fingertips that leaked Force lightning when he was overcome by anger or fear.
