Ruin: Dark Tide II

by Michael A. Stackpole

  She and Ganner slipped toward the front of the crowd as Luke and Mara Skywalker were welcomed. Polite but muted applause arose from the assembled dignitaries, with most of it coming from the Ithorians. They clearly welcomed a Jedi presence on their world, though Jaina sensed that Borsk Fey’lya would be perfectly happy if those Jedi died in the defense of Ithor.

  Next came the Imperial Remnant’s contingent. Admiral Pellaeon came first and moved down the long line of dignitaries with an economy of motion that suggested he wanted nothing but to be back planning Ithor’s defense. A wave of emotional warmth rolled off him as he greeted Admiral Kre’fey, Colonel Darklighter, Luke Skywalker, and Wedge Antilles. It lessened slightly as he shook hands with Jaina’s mother, then took his place beside her as the other Imperials were introduced.

  Several moffs had made the trip to Ithor, and all of them looked like tired functionaries save for Ephin Sarreti, the moff from Bastion. What impressed Jaina about him was the genuine sense of enthusiasm pouring off him as he greeted Borsk Fey’lya and the New Republic’s other ministers. He exchanged comments with each of them, apparently impressing them with his knowledge of their lives or homes. Shock exploded from most of them, with tendrils of suspicion snaking out in its wake.

  Ganner half smiled. “Well, now, there’s a plaything to keep Chief of State Fey’lya occupied.”

  “Good, give him less time to advise the military about the defense of Ithor.”

  Any comment Ganner might have been about to offer died as a new and strong presence sent ripples out through the Force. Jaina knew from having been around people like her father and Wedge Antilles that these ripples didn’t come from any conscious use of the Force; some people just so brimmed with life and confidence that they shone like a magnesium flare in darkest night. She rose up on tiptoes to see who it was, then felt a shock run through her.

  At the head of a dozen blue-skinned Chiss came a human walking along with a crisp formality to his step. Taller than she was, but not as tall as Ganner, he had a wiry muscularity about him that his black uniform could not hide. His black hair had been cut short, which showed off a white lock that traced the line of a scar that started at his right eyebrow and ran back into his hair. His pale green eyes seemed tinged with a chill that matched his manner. Only the red stripes along his pants legs and cuffing his sleeves seemed at odds with his solemnity.

  He mounted the dais at a step, leaving the Chiss in their white uniforms to file along the front of the platform and stand at attention. He bowed sharply to Relal Tawron and shook his hand. The Ithorian high priest turned to introduce him to Borsk Fey’lya, but the Chiss leader bypassed the chief of state and the rest of his cabinet. He marched along until he met Admiral Kre’fey, again executed a stiffly formal bow, and shook hands. He repeated this process with Colonel Darklighter and Luke Skywalker.

  As he moved down the line, gasps and hubbub began to rise in the crowd. It increased as he bowed before Wedge, then smiled and allowed the older man to enfold him in a hug. Before Jaina could figure out what was happening there, the Chiss leader greeted Admiral Pellaeon. Ignoring the Remnant moffs, the young man then stepped off the front of the dais.

  He’s coming straight at me!

  He drew himself up before her, straight of limb and muscularly taut, then snapped his head and upper body forward in a bow that was not as deep as that given the others, but was nonetheless respectful. “I am Jagged Fel.” He straightened, and she started to blush as his green-eyed gaze raked her over. “A Jedi, too. Fascinating.”

  Jaina blinked. “Too?”

  “In addition to being a superior pilot. You are a difficult kill.”

  She wasn’t sure why, but she smiled at him. “You meant that as a compliment.”

  Jag Fel nodded. “Among the Chiss it is high praise indeed. I was only a bit better than you at your age.”

  “Which was what, about two years ago?” Ganner asked mockingly.

  Neither Fel’s expression nor his sense in the Force betrayed any embarrassment at Ganner’s question. “Yes, just before I took command of my squadron.”

  Wedge Antilles stepped down from the dais and approached them. “Colonel Fel.”

  “Yes, Uncle?”

  “You should return to the dais and greet those people you bypassed.” Wedge nodded toward Borsk Fey’lya and his confederates. “They’re fairly important.”

  Fel shook his head. “They’re politicians.”

  Wedge lowered his voice. “The impression is that you skipped them because they are not human.”

  Fel turned to face the dais and raised his voice. “If they believe I did not greet them because they are not human, they are stupid. I did not greet them because they are politicians.”

  A Sullustan senator stepped forward. “A convenient label behind which you hide your xenophobia.”

  Surprise stiffened Fel’s spine, and disbelief flooded his words. “You are accusing me of having an antialien bias?”

  Pwoe, A Quarren senator, opened his hands. “It floods from you, Colonel Fel. Your uniform is cut on Imperial lines, harkening back to the uniform of your father’s 181st Imperial fighter group, one of the most effective Imperial units at suppressing the Rebellion. Your formality. Greetings like that were last seen at the Imperial court. The disdain with which you bypassed us makes it more than obvious.”

  Fel shook his head. “Where I come from—”

  Borsk Fey’lya cut him off. “Where you come from is an archaeo-Imperial community. Grand Admiral Thrawn gathered his most staunch and reactionary followers and set them up like a pocket of infection. You’ve festered out there, hating every moment we have been in control of what was once your empire. You’ve inherited the attitudes that oppressed us for ages, and now, here you are, ready to resume control, all under the guise of helping us.”

  “Stop, please.” The Chiss leader held up a hand. “Don’t make even more of a fool of yourself.”

  Borsk Fey’lya’s violet eyes blazed. “How patronizing! You have to tell me what is best for me! You, born to privilege, have no idea what it is like to be discriminated against because of your species. You have no idea what it is like to sacrifice to win freedom.” He flicked a hand at the dozen Chiss before the dais. “You even dare parade your nonhuman subordinates before us, reminding us of how Imperials should always be in the lead.”

  Jaina felt a cold calm come over Jag Fel as his hands slowly unknotted. “Where I come from, Chief Fey’lya, I am in the minority. I am the alien. If you remember anything from the history of your precious Rebellion, it is that Thrawn was uncompromising, and that is a trait of his people. I was raised among them, raised with them, judged by their standards. I met those standards. I exceeded those standards.”

  He took a step forward and pointed at the Chiss men and women who had accompanied him. “I won command of my squadron. These people competed to join that squadron. They wanted to fly with me, not because I am a man or because I am an Imperial, but because I am a superior pilot and leader.

  “And as for fighting for my freedom, I’ve been doing that in the Unknown Regions for all my life. My mother gave birth to five children. My older brother died fighting, as did a younger sister. Why are we out there? Why are we fighting? A threat to the New Republic like the Yuuzhan Vong has long been anticipated. You remember the devastation of the Yevethan Great Purge? There were things in the Unknown Regions that would have made it look insignificant, save we were there and stopped them.”

  Fel pressed his hands together. “You accuse me of xenophobia, but you ignored the fact that I greeted my host, an Ithorian, and immediately greeted Admiral Kre’fey, a Bothan. You saw what you wanted to see. This is what you accuse me of, accuse Imperials of: that we saw only bestiality where there was sapience and nobility. I have come here to help defend you against the Yuuzhan Vong, and yet what you choose to see is some specter of the past.”

  He looked around the room. “That is why I bypassed you. I came to fight a war, not to p
lay political games. My mission is to help you maintain your freedom, not to help you gather more power to yourself, or to take it from you.”

  Leia Organa Solo stepped forward, holding a hand out to forestall any rebuttal by the New Republic’s Bothan leader. “We want that help. From you, from the Remnant, from all the peoples of the New Republic. Working together is the only way we will defeat the Yuuzhan Vong and save Ithor.”

  People began applauding her mother’s words, and Jaina joined them. With public agreement, the politicians retreated a bit, and it would have been easy to imagine the situation had been solved. Still, Jaina found herself haunted by what Fey’lya and the others had said. The vehemence in their words had previously been directed at her mother, with similar accusations of her desire to take power away from nonhumans. And whispers about the Jedi, blaming them for the loss of Garqi and Dubrillion, somehow suggesting the Jedi brought the Yuuzhan Vong down on the New Republic. They make me wonder if we’re not being positioned to take the blame if Ithor falls.

  Jag Fel turned and looked at her, and Jaina wondered if, somehow, he were reading her mind. She met his stare unflinchingly. “We will save Ithor.”

  He nodded. “We will win the battle for Ithor. Its salvation, well …” He spared a glance for the knot of New Republic politicians. “Its salvation is in other hands and, I am afraid, is beyond our ability to control.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jacen Solo clasped his hands at the small of his back. He’d answered his uncle’s call for the Jedi to assemble in a small grove on an upper level of the Tafanda Bay. Though he could still feel Jaina’s presence in the floating Ithorian city, he was a bit surprised that she had not come to the meeting. Given the impression he was getting from her, he knew she was simming again, and he momentarily resented how the squadron was keeping her separate from him and the Jedi.

  Standing there, between Ganner and Anakin, Jacen caught himself thinking negatively about his sister and probed his own feelings. He felt a tinge of jealousy because she clearly loved flying with Rogue Squadron, and Jacen was very proud of how well she had succeeded in her role as a fighter pilot. He knew she’d not abandoned her Jedi heritage or training, but was just finding another way to employ it. Following in Corran Horn’s tradition of serving the squadron. Jacen glanced down the line and saw Corran. Jacen had accepted the task of trying to be the sort of Jedi that Corran and Luke had become. He acknowledged doing good and necessary work on Belkadan and Garqi, but still he had a sense of dissatisfaction haunting him.

  Memories of the slaughter on Dantooine reminded him what the worst of that Jedi tradition could be. He knew that none of them had been given any choice by the Yuuzhan Vong: they had to kill soldiers, or many more people would have been killed. They had been acting as defenders there, so there had been no hint of the dark side attached to their actions. And yet many creatures died.

  Jacen found himself once again returned to a philosophical question that he could not see a way around. If the Force was something that bound all life together, could killing be in any way justified? The Jedi Code says there is no death, only the Force, but the death of billions on Alderaan and Carida was enough to send shock waves through the Force. If that was true, then didn’t lesser deaths also have an effect?

  As certain as he was that he didn’t have an answer for that basic paradox, he knew there was one out there. Anakin had suggested that in his search he was circling the answer, and he couldn’t fault his little brother’s insight. But in circling something, I know at the very least there is something to circle. Now I just have to find what it is I’m circling.

  Two things served to rock Jacen out of his internal journey. The first was the arrival of Relal Tawron, the Ithorian high priest, along with Luke. Until the Ithorian showed up, Jacen had no idea why they had been called together, and the solemnity with which the high priest and the Jedi Master moved suggested that the reason for the meeting was most serious.

  The entry of Daeshara’cor into the room, slipping through the hatchway after Luke and taking up a position beside Octa Ramis, likewise underscored the seriousness of the situation. Ever since Luke had arrived at Ithor, the Twi’lek Jedi had been kept secluded, at her request. He knew Luke had spent time with her, but he had offered no explanation for her search for superweapons.

  Luke Skywalker stood before the two dozen Jedi and inclined his head toward them. “Brothers and sisters, Relal Tawron is here to prepare us for what will be our part in the coming struggle. Listen well to what he has to say. Though we are here to save Ithor, we could, through negligence, destroy it. That cannot happen.”

  The Ithorian nodded acknowledgment of Luke’s words, then looked over the Jedi in silence for a moment. He interlaced his fingers and let his hands rest against his belly, then slowly began speaking in a voice that was as resonant as it was low.

  “We welcome you, the Jedi, here, and thank you for what you will do for us. I speak not just as myself, but for the Mother Jungle above which we drift and for the Ithorian people. We are one and wish for your communion with us.”

  He again studied the assembled Jedi. When his gaze fell upon Jacen, the young Jedi found a blush rising to his face. He knew of no reason he should feel ashamed, then realized that what embarrassed him was the sense of complete calm coming from the Ithorian. Jacen’s own wondering about his future ran smack up against a confidence in Tawron’s life and life choices. He feels about himself as I wish to feel about myself.

  Relal Tawron opened his hands and spread his arms. “You all have heard that no one is allowed to set foot on Ithor. This statement is materially correct in its translation into Basic, but not absolutely true. We have pilgrims who do go down into our world, tending the forests, visiting sacred places from before technology allowed us to build floating cities, and to survey damage done after storms or fires. Before they make such journeys, they prepare themselves spiritually.

  “You will journey to the surface if needs be. We wish, then, to prepare you, so you will accept the world as your mother, and the world will accept you as its children.” The high priest’s eyes blinked slowly. “In order to do this you need to become other than yourself. No one is allowed on the surface; those who are allowed are not themselves.”

  Jacen frowned for a second, but caught a glimpse of Corran nodding to himself, so he assumed the mystery was not impenetrable. He recalled some of his early training in which he was required to open himself to the Force, to let go of himself so the Force could fill him. To become one with the Force, I had to become more than I had been before, but that meant casting off the image of who I thought I was.

  “Each pilgrim, in making the journey to the Mother Jungle, wishes to become closer to the jungle. To facilitate change and growth, the pilgrim looks at pruning aspects of herself that keep her from being one with the world below. So it shall be with you. You must think upon that part of yourself that closes you in, and that is the part of yourself you need to modify. You will share those things.”

  “Out loud?” Wurth Skidder, over next to Kyp Durron, shook his head. “This is a waste of time. We should be getting ready to fight the Vong.”

  Luke frowned. “This is more important than that, Wurth.”

  The Ithorian high priest pressed his hands together. “If you feel we are wasting your time, you may be excused.”

  “What?!” Wurth folded his arms across his chest. “We’re here to save your world.”

  “You need to save yourself first, Jedi.” The Ithorian spoke quietly from both sides of his mouth. “Until you wish to be saved, the Mother Jungle can do you no good.”

  “I don’t under—”

  Kyp laid his left hand against Wurth’s folded arms. “The confusion is ours. We understand, Relal Tawron, and will respect your customs.”

  The Ithorian nodded assent, then spread his hands again. “The public declaration is meant to enlist everyone in aiding the pilgrim in making the transition toward unity with the jungle. In shar
ing the burden we, as diverse a community as the plants and creatures that make up the Mother Jungle, function together in a complex ecosystem. It is only through functioning together that we can succeed.”

  Luke Skywalker turned toward the Ithorian. “If it would be permitted, I would like to go first.”

  “We would be honored, Master Skywalker.”

  “I renounce responsibility.” Luke’s eyes narrowed, and Jacen could feel shock rise from some of the other Jedi. “For a long time, I’ve felt weighed down by being sole heir to a Jedi tradition. I’ve cheated you. You’re all my coheirs. I know you’ll accept shares of the responsibility I’ve carried around with me. I have every confidence in you.”

  A chill ran down Jacen’s spine. He’d never had any doubt that his uncle trusted him, but their relationship was more than student and Master. A lot of the trust bled over from the family ties. For the first time he caught a sense of what it might have been like to be Ganner or Corran or Daeshara’cor. Luke’s renunciation was a gift to them all, one that bound them together and tied them to the jungle.

  The other Jedi began to make their own declarations. They came in no particular order, but were voiced as each person felt his time had come. Jacen listened to them, less trying to understand their words than marveling in the sense of peace their declarations seemed to kindle in them. He desperately sought that aspect of himself that locked him away from such peace, so he could feel inside how they felt.

  Anakin surprised him by stepping forward fairly quickly. His little brother’s shoulders straightened, and his voice did not waver. “I give up self-assuredness. I want so much to be right, to do the right thing, that I don’t look to see if another answer would be a better answer. Judging yourself right is a destination. I’m just on a journey.”

  At the far end of the line, Daeshara’cor looped one lekku back over her shoulder. “I renounce hatred. The description of the Yuuzhan Vong taking slaves made me hate them as I hated those who had enslaved my mother. That hatred made me do stupid things. No more. I will stop the Yuuzhan Vong because they must be stopped, but I will not hate them.”