Revelation

by Karen Traviss

  Fett hauled himself out of the top hatch and found that he was already thinking of ways to exploit the zero-power capability. You didn’t have to be dead in the water to make use of that.

  Ambush.

  Beauty wasn’t everything.

  A vhe’viin skittered across the floor, a high-speed scrap of tan fur that triggered Fett’s HUD sensors. The small rodents were also enjoying a prosperous time, gorging on the new fields of crops. Everyone was doing better; when Fett walked out of the rear hangar doors, he could see a snaking line of dark soil, excavations to lay a water pipeline to the new settlement five kilometers south. Being Mando, they were digging wells too, ret’lini—just in case, a Plan B.

  “So you paid for all that, too, Yomaget.”

  The MandalMotors boss stood beside him and took electrobinoculars from his belt. “Yeah. I ship in food for the workforce, too. Farm output isn’t keeping pace with the incoming settlers. It’ll catch up in time.”

  Fett was fascinated by the way that Mandalorians, who liked credits as much as any species in the galaxy, needed no law to make them share what they had with the community when times were good. It was a survival trait. It didn’t come naturally to Fett, but he’d finally learned it.

  “If Jaina Solo tells me what barbarians we are, I’ll show her all this.” Fett fired up his speeder bike’s drive. “Time for me to continue her higher education.”

  He was glad that Beviin had been willing to take her off his hands for a day. It gave him breathing space, something he needed with Sintas around. Mirta seemed to expect him to sit patiently by the bedside, but there was nothing he could usefully do. He could tell Sintas her life story, minus the years he hadn’t been around—most of them—but it wasn’t going to aid her recovery.

  What if the Jedi could heal her?

  Fett did most of his thinking on the speeder now. If he retreated to Slave I, laid up on spare land next to his drying-shed quarters, folks came by wanting to ask him things. If he was moving, they couldn’t. And there was something therapeutic about just swinging onto the saddle and heading randomly into the wilderness, the same as setting Slave I on a course and heading for the Outer Rim.

  They could still comm him via his helmet link, though. The amber icon pulsed in his HUD, and he blinked to activate it.

  “Been a long time, Fett.”

  It was a smoky patrician voice, one that got his attention a heartbeat before he put a name to it. Twelve years, more or less; she always resurfaced sooner or later.

  “Admiral,” he said. “Always a pleasure.”

  “So you’re not dead, and I’m not dead.”

  She rarely had jobs for him, but when she did, they were always interesting. “Want to add a Bes’uliik to your collection?”

  “You’re so commercial, Fett.”

  “Well?”

  “Good honest mercenary work.”

  That didn’t quite offer the relief of filling his time the way it used to; he’d have been reassured by the offer before, confirmation that he was on top of his game and in demand. Daala was still A-list clientele. But old habits died hard. “Maybe. What is it?”

  “Jacen Solo.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I heard about your daughter.”

  “What’s he done to you? Wouldn’t have thought he was in your circle.”

  “I’m back with the Imperial Remnant,” she said.

  Well, that would make every Moff’s day, Fett thought. He almost smiled. “For how long?”

  “Depends. Gil Pellaeon’s on his way to back up Solo at Fondor. I take it you know there’s going to be fleet action there.”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Want to help me out with your hundred finest?”

  “Depends what you want to do.”

  “Standby team. I’d like you backing me up for old times’ sake—I’m there in the wings in case things go badly for Pellaeon. The Moffs, of course, can rot, and so can the GA.”

  But Sintas is here. And Jaina Solo.

  Fett was quietly appalled at the thought. He’d never had to worry about things like that in his life. He had always been able to go where he wanted and do whatever paid him best because there was nobody else in his life, not even peripherally.

  “Fett? Are you there? Is it a fee issue? I can still pay.”

  “Just thinking. My—ex-wife was found alive.”

  Now it was Daala’s turn to fall silent.

  “I’m glad for you,” she said eventually.

  “It’s not like that, Daala.” He reacted without thinking farther. Job. Business. You’re in control here. “Okay. Maybe not a hundred, but I’ll show with some handy hardware. Send me the data.”

  “I’ll need you in the next twenty-four hours.”

  Fierfek. “Deal. Usual terms.”

  Fett parked by the main entrance to Beviin’s farm, still working out how he was going to handle the logistics, nothing more. Thinking about the emotional wreckage was one step too far today. When the doors parted, the big main room where all the cooking and eating and wholly alien family stuff happened was like the arena at Geonosis: exposed to attacks from all sides. Mirta and Jaina sat at the battered wooden table with Sintas between them. Beviin and Medrit both had their boots up on the bench, arms folded, chatting idly.

  They all stopped and looked at him. The urge to retreat was almost too much.

  You’re seventy-one. You can’t keep running from this.

  Fett took off his helmet and nodded at Sintas, even though she couldn’t see him.

  “Sin,” he said, completely automatically. It was her pet name. He hadn’t used it in decades. It ambushed him, but he blundered right on, hoping she didn’t notice. “How are you doing today?”

  “You’re Boba Fett,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Here we go. The wheels are about to come off. He glanced at Jaina, because it was easier than looking at Mirta right then. “So you remember.”

  “You told me a day ago … or whenever.” She looked okay: she looked great, in fact, but then she always did. The heart-of-fire necklace hung around her neck. “I lost track of the last few days. But I’m not forgetting the things people tell me right away.”

  She pushed her chair back and stood up, tottering a little, feeling her way along the backs of chairs and around the table toward him. Mirta jumped up to guide her; Beviin and Medrit scrambled to get their legs out of the way. She managed to walk right up to Fett and grabbed him by his biceps as she almost fell against him.

  “Wow, you wear armor.”

  Fett could think of nothing except to deal with it as he dealt with combat. He followed the first impulse that came into his head. “Do you remember what I did to you?”

  Sintas stared up into his face. “No. All I know is that you found me after a long, long time. And that means you’re not going to look like I’d remember, anyway.”

  He couldn’t wait for the ax to fall any longer.

  “We split up, Sin. A year or two after Ailyn was born. I’m sorry.”

  Sintas had always been tough. She was a bounty hunter, for fierfek’s sake; she could take a lot in her stride. She was going to have to live the rest of her life, starting now. Lying to her was a lousy way to begin it.

  She frowned a little, creasing the top of her nose. “But you still came to rescue me,” she said at last. “You can’t be all that bad.”

  Fett had to switch off or run. He looked to Beviin, who always hauled him out of the mire at times like this, and got a discreet thumb gesture to step outside. Mirta caught Sintas’s arm and sat her down. Jaina followed Beviin outside, as if this mess was any of her Jedi business.

  “Bob’ika, Sintas can remember things from the time she was revived,” Beviin said quietly. “She’s got nothing from before then, although she knows she’s from Kiffu and that she had a daughter. Jaina thinks—”

  “What do you think, Jaina?” Fett asked. “Come on. Share that Jedi wisdom.”

  “I’m just trying
to help,” she said, taking a step back, hands spread. “My dad went through this, remember? Mom talked about how bad he was.”

  “I do recall, funnily enough.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. I just think someone could help her, at least restore her sight. Give her a chance to start again and not be dependent on—”

  “Me?”

  “Anyone.”

  Beviin stepped in. “At least hear her out. Jaina might be able to find her a Jedi healer. Someone who’s good at it.”

  Jaina flinched as if she was expecting Fett to erupt, but maybe she sensed the way his gut twisted at the dilemma. If Sintas got her memories back—if he just filled in the gaps for her—she had terrible things to relive. But how could he not try? What would she be if she was forced to live like this?

  It’s early days. She might get better anyway. So why’s it such a big deal for me? Do I want to keep her this way for the rest of her life, like some sick pet?

  “It’s me who’s avoiding it,” he said at last. “There’s no easy way. She’s got a family even if I’m not part of it, and she has to have her whole life back, even the painful bits. Get your healer, Jaina.”

  Jaina didn’t say anything, and went back into the house. Beviin just waited, hands on hips, looking disappointed.

  “You won’t think so highly of your precious Mand’alor when you find out what I did to her,” Fett said.

  Beviin shrugged. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

  “I’ve got a job to do, anyway. Tomorrow. Daala called. Needs some backup for Pellaeon at Fondor.”

  “Shab.” Beviin looked angry now. It was rare for him to react that way. “She comes out of the woodwork now? Great timing. Go on. We’ll sort out Sintas. Go.”

  “Goran, stay with her, will you?”

  It was obvious Beviin would rather have gone on the mission. “Okay …”

  “I’m not blind. You think I’m running away from it.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Yes.” Beviin was about the only man whose respect Fett would regret losing. “Your opinion matters.”

  “Okay, then you get back in that room, and you tell Mirta and Sintas that you’re off fighting tomorrow, and you tell Jaina that her brother is in the lineup. Shab, Bob’ika, the Imperials are on Jacen Solo’s team now. The only reason I can think of for fronting up would be if you planned to take a crack at him. Am I right?”

  Fett steeled himself to go back into the room. He hadn’t thought it through that far. “I won’t be cheering him on, that’s for sure.”

  Mirta’s voice made Fett start. “I heard all that, you shabuir.” She stalked up to him and shoved him hard in the chest. “Don’t you ever learn? And if you’re going after Jacen Solo, I’m going, too. For my mother. And what about Jaina?”

  “You’re best buddies now …”

  “She’s been here a few days. We talked this morning, about Mama. About having family members we want to love, but who make it pretty well impossible for us.”

  Fett could comm Daala and tell her to forget it. But he’d said he’d do the job; he gave his word. And while he couldn’t change the past, he could see now who he needed to ally with to change the future.

  “Maybe the Jedi wants to come too,” he said. “It’ll be good training for when she has to do it for real. You happy, Mirta?” Fett rarely used her name. He wanted to love her, too, but he didn’t know where to start loving anyone. She could at least manage to love Orade. It made him feel relieved that she could, and that might just have been because he cared about her. “You think that’s the best compromise?”

  “Just do it,” she said.

  Fett walked back into the room. It was going to be a long day, and he’d take it a piece at a time. Now wasn’t the time to tell Sintas he might be in battle against the man who killed her daughter tomorrow. That could wait until he got back, assuming he did. Mirta took Sintas back to her room and Medrit went to sit with her while Fett faced Jaina.

  “Okay, Solo,” he said, standing over her at the table. She looked a different woman from the one who had strolled into Keldabe just days ago. Not disoriented or resentful, as he thought she might be by now, but with the expression of someone who was struggling to follow a complex explanation, watching faces intently for clues. “Got a training exercise for you. Tomorrow, we might pay your brother a visit. On the front line.”

  CAPTAIN’S DAY CABIN, ANAKIN SOLO; OFF FONDOR

  If I were them, I’d have blown me out of the sky by now.

  While Caedus waited for Niathal’s task force to show, he used the time to gather Force impressions of the Fondorian defenses. They were waiting. He could wait, too.

  I’m not omnipotent. I have to understand my limits. I still need people to carry out my plans.

  There was nothing moving between the planet and the orbital yards now, not even routine shuttle traffic, but that was to be expected if they were battened down against an imminent attack. And there was no sign of the Fondorian fleet.

  They’ll come out of hyperspace. They had a warning, like they had warning of the minelayers, so they jumped.

  And they’d be back when it was most inconvenient, but he’d be ready. He thought he could sense a great flurry of hyperspace activity, like the pressure he would often feel behind his eyes in the hours before a thunderstorm. There was movement out there, far more than just the elements of the Third Fleet or Pellaeon’s Imperials converging on this position.

  And she has to go.

  Niathal. The leaked intelligence had to be one of Niathal’s cronies—none of his own crew would be so careless or treacherous. It had to be one of her Mon Cal or Quarren buddies undermining him to shake his crew’s faith in him, or even set him up for a defeat that would enable Niathal to take sole control.

  Endex, Admiral. I just have to work out the least damaging way to get you out of my hair.

  Caedus still expected her to try to oust him every time he left Coruscant, but she never had. Either she wanted the war won before she moved in to take credit for it, or she was waiting for him to get killed. That’s your single biggest mistake. If you’d seized sole power in my absence, I’d have had a hard time retaking Coruscant. Not hard militarily, but a counterattack on my own capital, on top of the fragile recovery from the last war … no, Coruscant wouldn’t recover psychologically from that. It’s the heart of my new empire. I need that heart unbroken.

  Niathal was a fleet officer to her core. She could never think like a galactic leader. She’d want to do things by the naval rules riveted deep in her psyche, to engage him from the bridge of a battleship as if that somehow sanctified her actions. Her and Pellaeon, both: he trusted neither. They went along with him because the pressure from beneath them, the rank and file, the Moffs, the crews, kept them from openly opposing him.

  Tebut … yes, I wish I had done things differently. Was her destiny to show me that a Sith’s true anger is meant for larger targets? I have to think she had a purpose. I set out on this path for all the Tebuts in the galaxy, the mass of ordinary beings crushed by the badly used power of a handful. I’d never waste a life like that … would I?

  Caedus had dreaded discovering that he might be sliding down his grandfather’s disastrous path. Every day, though, he saw confirmation that he wasn’t; there had been plenty killed like Tebut in Vader’s day, people said, not just one shocking act. But Vader had been crippled by love, and his command tainted by a demented fool of an Emperor. In Caedus’s here and now, there was neither distracting love nor any higher authority stifling him.

  Yes. Tebut’s death had been a wake-up call from the Force, he was sure of that.

  Death? Say it. I killed her. Face it. Learn from it.

  The past couldn’t be changed, just observed. Watching history was pointless unless lessons were learned from it and used to shape what could be changed—the next moment, and the next, because that was all the future was, a series of decisions taken differently. Tahiri hadn’t quite accepted tha
t, even if her rational mind told her Anakin was gone forever, and that each backward glance paralyzed her life in the present; but he would wean her off that dependency on regret for her own sake, as much as for his.

  Niathal is coming. It’s not a threat. It’s an opportunity. How do I take the chance that’s offered to me? What have I learned?

  In any war, officers died too.

  He would recognize the chance when he saw it. No need to alienate Niathal’s crews by making her look a martyr. I need them on my side. I can’t do it all on my own, and fear doesn’t keep order forever.

  “Sir?”

  Tahiri’s voice filtered through. He’d known she was approaching—he was sure, he thought—but let it wash over him. “Yes, Tahiri?”

  “Something’s bothering me.”

  If it was about Anakin, he’d be disappointed. She appeared like a sharp edge in the Force sometimes. “Go ahead.”

  “When Niathal arrives, how can this assault possibly work? How are you going to be able to continue working with her after this?”

  Not Anakin, then. The future; good. “That’s rhetorical.”

  “No.” Tahiri seemed to be making an active effort to learn as much as she could on this mission. “I don’t understand what options are open to you. You can’t get rid of her.”

  “Why?”

  “Even you can’t control the whole fleet, all the time, every day, because even a Sith has finite time. So you need as many loyal officers as you can get. If anything happens to Niathal, they’ll worry that nobody’s safe from you.”

  “You’re impressing me these days, Tahiri.” And you’ll want my job. And there I was worrying where I might find a worthy replacement for Ben Skywalker. “I think Niathal is going to make a mistake. I’m just giving her the proverbial cord with which to hang herself.”

  Tahiri looked as if she were chewing the words and then digesting them, but not enjoying the taste.

  “The landings on the orbital yards … the assault force commanders are getting anxious. I can hear them on the bridge comlinks nagging Captain Nevil. They need the reassurance of times and coordinates.”