Bloodlines

by Karen Traviss

  I’m really going to die this time.

  “You need this technology as much as we do,” said Koa Ne. “One million.”

  “I’ll find it. And it’s still three million if you want me to hand it back to you when I’ve taken the data that I need.” The most satisfying part of negotiation was knowing your walkaway point. He’d reached it now. “A professional’s worth his fee, Koa Ne. Take it or leave it. I’ll find someone able to pay a lot more than you can—just to cover my expenses, of course.”

  “But what use is your wealth to you now?”

  In a human, it would have been cruel mockery of a dying man. But Kaminoans didn’t have enough emotion in them for mockery.

  “I’ve always got a use for it.”

  Koa Ne was right. He didn’t need any more credits, or any more power and influence, either: politics really didn’t interest him. He’d served too many politicians, often in their machinations against each other, and he didn’t even relish being the Mand’alor, leader of the scattered Mandalorian community.

  So why do I care at all?

  He was the head of a ragbag of scattered Mando’ade. There were farmers and metalworkers and families scraping a living back on Mandalore, and there were any number of mercenaries, bounty hunters, and small communities in diaspora across the rest of the galaxy. It was hard to call them a nation. He wasn’t even a head of state, not in the way Corellians or Coruscanti understood it. In the wake of the Yuuzhan Vong war, he had just a hundred commandos to call on, but they were still doing what Mandalorians had done for generations: eking out a grim existence in the Mandalore sector, defending Mandalorian enclaves, or taking on the wars of others. He had no idea how many more people who thought of themselves as Mandalorians were spread across the galaxy.

  A hundred Mando warriors was still a force to be reckoned with, though. And every Mandalorian was still a warrior at heart, man and woman, boy and girl. They all still trained from childhood to fight.

  I’m going to be dead within two years. I’m seventy-one. I should have another thirty in me, at least.

  “Fett …”

  No.

  “Three million.”

  I’m not finished yet.

  “Two million credits, to find Taun We and bring her back. That is my best offer.”

  I’m my father’s son. Death is a risk, not a certainty. Not if you use your fear for focus.

  “I’m rebuilding your economy,” Fett said. Kao Ne might have been offended: it was hard to tell with Kaminoans. “Don’t insult me with small change.”

  “You talk as if you have no emotional attachment to Taun We at all.”

  “This is business. Even if I’m dying.”

  “Take the bounty, and we will give you all our intelligence on her.”

  And if you had enough of that, you wouldn’t need me. “Three million.”

  “Remember that even you cannot succeed alone.”

  “They always say that,” said Fett. This was where he walked away for good. “When I find Taun We, I’ll auction the data to cover my expenses. Start saving.”

  Fett expected Koa Ne to run after him onto the landing platform, like stubborn customers always did when they saw sense. But when he glanced back behind him, the platform was empty.

  Maybe that’s all he could afford. Too bad. This is either my last hunt, or it’s the start of a new fortune.

  He liked the odds. Yes, he felt he had a fighting chance. A year was a long time for a bounty hunter.

  He slid into Slave I’s cockpit and lowered the canopy. He’d spent a fortune restoring her for the third time—and adding modifications his father Jango would never have dreamed of. Sitting in her pilot’s seat looking out on an endless storm-locked ocean, he was a nine-year-old child again, delighted to be allowed to fly a mission with his father.

  This had once been his home. He’d been at his happiest here. He’d never been that happy since.

  They said your past flashed before you when you were dying. But then people said a lot of things, and he never took any notice of them unless it paid him to do so.

  Fett started up the drive and lifted Slave I into a standard escape trajectory. He needed to get on Taun We’s trail. But Koa Ne was right: what use would his wealth be to him now? Other men left empires: other men had families whose futures their wealth would protect.

  He checked his highly illegal and very reliable comm scanner and set it to watch for unusual share trading in bioengineering companies. Taun We had something to sell, and she would sell it … and the ripples would spread far enough for him to detect them sooner or later.

  You’ve only got sooner. There won’t be a later for you, not unless you find the data.

  Even his father had wanted more than credits from the Kaminoans. He’d wanted a son.

  I had a wife and a daughter once. I should have taken better care of them.

  He’d have nothing to show for his life except a professional reputation, and a Mandalorian needed more than that. Being the Mandalore—halfhearted or otherwise—didn’t give you a clan.

  It was time to look up old contacts. Fett leaned back in the seat, removed his helmet, and stared at his reflection in the viewscreen as Slave I followed the course he had laid in for Taris.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Kamino.

  chapter two

  Is it me?

  Is it me?

  Am I deluding myself, Jaina? Am I making the same mistake as Grandfather? I have days—most days—when I’m as certain of this as I’ve ever been certain of anything. And then I have sleepless nights when I wonder if the path of the Sith is a lasting solution for peace in the galaxy, or if that’s my ego speaking for me. It terrifies me. But if I were motivated by ambition, then I wouldn’t suffer this doubt, would I? Jaina, I can’t tell you all this, not yet. You wouldn’t see it. But when you do, remember that you’re my sister, my heart, and that part of me will always love you, no matter what.

  Good night, Jaina.

  DELETE * DELETE * DELETE

  Jacen Solo’s private journal; entry deleted

  AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL FREIGHT LANE, CORONET AIRSPACE, CORELLIA.

  Han Solo would never get used to having to sneak into Corellian space like a criminal.

  It was one thing outrunning real enemies, but to crawl back to his homeworld in the Millennium Falcon under cover of a bogus transponder signal really rankled. He didn’t like the Galactic Alliance any better than the next Corellian; being howled down as a traitor and an Alliance stooge actually hurt. Now he understood what it felt like to be a double agent, always doomed to be seen as the bad guy, never free to boast what a bang-up heroic secret job you were doing for the home team.

  He wasn’t going to use Leia’s diplomatic status as a cover for his return, either. This was his home: he had a right to walk in anytime he liked. No, he wasn’t sneaking in. He was making a covert entry. It was all about discretion.

  Who was he kidding? Discretion. He fumed silently and banked the Falcon a little more sharply than he planned.

  “You need to learn to meditate,” said Leia.

  “I don’t like the sound of the coolant systems.”

  She adjusted them manually without being asked. “Time for some maintenance, then.” Han’s rough handling of the ship left Leia making silent but pointed safety adjustments that were as eloquent as a retort. “Before she blows a coolant line. Or you burst a major blood vessel.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “And Jacen’s left three messages.”

  Han jerked the Falcon hard to starboard, a little too hard. The stabilizing drive groaned in complaint. “I’m not rational enough to talk to him right now.”

  “Really? Never stopped you before.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll relax by asking Zekk what his intentions are towards Jaina.”

  “That would help matters a lot …”

  “I liked Kyp better. Whatever happened there?” Han asked. “And what about Jag?”r />
  “I shot him down. You know perfectly well I did.”

  “Oh, yeah. I do recall. And I intimidate her boyfriends, do I?”

  “You’d already shot down Jag long before I ever took a laser cannon to him, honey. I’ve got a list of intimidated exboyfriends somewhere. There’s just Zekk left to put through the grinder and then you’ve got the whole set.”

  Han wanted to let Leia prod him into a better mood with some well-aimed sarcasm, but for once it wasn’t working. Things had always been so clear before. He always knew who the enemies were, and they were good plain ones worth shooting: the Empire, the Yuuzhan Vong, and any number of aliens whose purpose and intent was obvious—to threaten him and all those he held dear.

  Now he was in conflict with those very people he’d fought to protect—his oldest friend and his own son—and regarded as a Galactic Alliance crony by his own people. It wasn’t so easy to be a hero now, even if he knew he was right. He’d never known what it felt like to be the bad guy before.

  Hey, I’m not the one who’s wrong here. It’s the Alliance.

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” He hated himself when he took it out on her. “I just get mad when he won’t see history repeating itself here. Y’know, big empire making decisions for the galaxy, whether it wants it to or not?”

  “Now, is that about Luke or Jacen?”

  “Okay. Both.”

  How could Luke not see it? Didn’t he see the warning signals? Didn’t he see how much like the old Empire the Alliance was becoming?

  You got a short memory, kid.

  “I’ll keep talking to Luke,” said Leia. “But you talk to Jacen, okay? I’m worried about him.”

  “Will do.”

  “Promise?”

  “Would I argue with you, Princess?”

  “Yes. You always do.”

  “So … promise me this will never come between us.”

  Leia laid her hand on his as he grasped the steering yoke, and squeezed harder than he thought she ever could. It almost hurt. “We’ve come through a lot worse than this.”

  “That’s true.”

  “It’s just a few more gray hairs.” She grinned again. “And I like you better with gray hair, actually.”

  That was all he needed. She always put the galaxy back together for him. She was solid and certain, and she was usually right. He sometimes wondered what his life would be like today if he hadn’t met her—if he hadn’t met Luke. A space bum, and an old, tired one at that. Leia had given him a sense of purpose beyond himself and the energy that went with it.

  She’d also given him three kids who were his heart and soul, and he had no intention of seeing his only surviving son sucked further into the Alliance’s drive for galactic control.

  Han took the Falcon on a high approach path over Coronet, looking down the green patchwork of parks, public gardens, and farmland beyond that made it so very different from the Coruscant landscape. He set the ship down on the civic landing strip, merging among a variety of vessels of all sizes and states of repair, and shut down the drives.

  “Okay, time to be ordinary,” he said.

  They split up to walk the distance to the apartment they’d secretly rented a few days earlier, just two middle-aged people who weren’t together and who were merely faces in the city crowd. No hidden passages or disguises were needed. It was all about looking casual: ordinary clothes, ordinary apartment, ordinary people just going about their business, and not the Solos in the middle of a war at all. They walked along the tree-lined street, idly glancing at shops like everyone else. Han stayed twenty meters behind Leia. She could sense where he was but he needed to keep his eyes on her, even though she was well able to look after herself if she was spotted by the wrong people.

  But who are the wrong people? Apart from my own cousin, the biggest risk is political embarrassment to my in-laws. There’s no real danger here.

  He kept Leia in sight, sometimes losing her chestnut braid in the sea of people. It had come to Han as a surprise that the Solo family could be anonymous in public, but nobody seemed to recognize public figures unless they were holovid stars. Chief Omas could probably walk around here without anyone thinking he was more than just a vaguely familiar face they couldn’t quite put a name to. Maybe he was the guy who read the evening holonews bulletin.

  Han slipped into the lobby of the apartment building a little behind Leia and found her waiting at the turbolift. It was seedy compared with the apartment back on Coruscant. Seedy was just fine right now.

  “Now, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get in?” she said.

  “Call Jacen.”

  “Good. You catch on fast. Don’t shout at him, okay?”

  The lift doors opened onto the fifty-sixth floor and a dull beige-carpeted hall with a few stained patches. Leia took three strides toward their apartment door and paused, left hand held out to her side to stop Han in his tracks. The fact that her other hand slid into her tunic and emerged holding her lightsaber prompted him into drawing his blaster.

  “Hear something?” he whispered, confused.

  They approached the apartment door with slow, careful steps.

  “Felt something,” said Leia.

  “Threat?”

  “No, but something isn’t right.”

  They stood to either side of the door and looked at each other, sharing a thought: Who knows we’re here? Leia ran her palm down the door frame, not quite touching it, and shook her head.

  “Nobody inside.”

  “Stand clear.”

  “But somebody’s been here …”

  “Booby trap?”

  “I can’t sense any immediate danger, just a feeling that someone was very nervous when they came here.”

  Han touched the entry pad, blaster ready. “Maybe they knew what a warm welcome we give uninvited visitors.”

  The doors slid open and they paused at the entrance, seeing only the apartment as they had left it days before, and hearing nothing except the faint sounds of the environment controls. Leia looked down and bent to pick up something from the carpet.

  “That’s nice,” she said, examining it, and then handed it to Han. “Nothing like a happy family reunion.”

  It was a small sheet of flimsi. Someone must have slipped it through the gap under the doors, and that took some doing. A strange way to leave a message: but it was one that could never be traced electronically. Just a few words, scrawled on a surface that was rippled as if someone had struggled to force it through the gap.

  Han stared at it.

  SAL-SOLO HAS PUT OUT A CONTRACT ON YOU IN REPRISAL FOR YOUR SON’S ACTIONS AT CENTERPOINT. CALL ME.

  GEJJEN.

  Leia raised an eyebrow. “Has your cousin threatened to kill you before? Formally, I mean. Random acts of violence don’t count.”

  She always made light of things. Han knew that the cooler she became, the more worried she was. He joined in the mutual reassurance. His cousin was to be loathed and avoided, but he refused to fear him.

  “Thrackan hasn’t got what it takes, Princess. He’s all talk.” But Han’s stomach still churned. It wasn’t the prospect of assassination that worried him: he reckoned he could handle that. It was realizing that they were being watched by someone, and not knowing how and where. “And I don’t know any Gejjen.”

  “So how does anyone know we’re here?” Leia took the flimsi from his fingers and smoothed it out between her palms as if she was trying to sense echoes of whoever had written it. “Different names, new ID, no droids, no Noghri … are you sure you don’t remember the name?”

  “Should I?”

  “Maybe not. I knew a man called Nov Gejjen who was very active against the Human League. He loathed Sal-Solo.” She referred to Thrackan as she would a total stranger. It was touchingly diplomatic. “But he’d be long dead now.”

  “He had kids?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s time I found out. Gejjen didn’t bother to include his contact details, so
he thinks one of us will know where to find him.”

  “Or her.”

  “Okay, or her. I’ll see what I can find out while you call Jacen.”

  Life used to be so clear-cut. Han missed clarity. He opened his comlink, entered a code to conceal the origin of the signal—for all the good it had done—and waited for Jacen to answer.

  Another contract out on me. I thought I was done with Thrackan but he just keeps popping back up.

  Sometimes he almost missed Boba Fett. Fett, at least, had no family axes to grind. It was just business.

  Thrackan would send Fett. Han just knew it.

  CORUSCANT: THE SKYWALKERS’ APARTMENT.

  The shrouded man wouldn’t leave Luke alone now.

  The image of the man—cloaked, hooded, anonymous, intent on evil—intruded on his dreams more frequently, not in the way of normal nightmares but as a clear vision in the Force; and that was worse than any nightmare.

  It had the potential to be real, if it wasn’t already.

  He couldn’t see the man’s face. In his dream, he was chasing him, trying to grab that hood from his face, but he always woke up at the point where he felt his fingers close on the fabric. It felt like lightweight bantha wool.

  His fingers clutched again. Both the robe and the man dissolved, and Luke woke, heart pounding, fighting a feeling of overwhelming despair and anger at himself for not seeing what was close enough to touch.

  He decided he wasn’t going to get back to sleep and got up as quietly as he could to avoid waking Mara. With the light that spilled from Galactic City’s twenty-four-hour activity and his own Force-sense, he didn’t need to switch on the lights to pour himself a glass of water.

  There were messages on the comm board—the routine fretting of C-3PO informing him that Mistress Leia and Master Han were well, and that the Noghri were becoming most agitated at the separation, and was it really necessary for the droids to remain at the Solos’ Coruscant apartment when they might be needed … elsewhere?

  Luke managed a smile, something he was finding increasingly hard to do lately. He had long suspected that droids had something in them far beyond their programming. C-3PO was as anxious and protective as any human relation would be of his family members, and it always gave him pause when anyone said, “just a droid.”