Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi II: Omen

by Christie Golden

  Leia kept her eyes on Hellin as she spoke to Jaina.

  “I’m glad you removed him from the medcenter. This feels better.”

  Jaina and Leia had commed Han right after the exquisitely uncomfortable Masters meeting and asked him to meet them here. Now Jaina stood between her parents, small and dark-haired like her mother, vitally energetic like her father, watching not the prisoner she had helped to bring down but Han’s and Leia’s reactions.

  “He’s a patient, not a prisoner, but of course we have to keep him contained. The incident with Valin Horn painfully demonstrated the need for that.”

  Han frowned. “Although I gotta say, I think the blue light would start to bug me. Hey—is that a PV-One-Eight-Seven holographic display unit?”

  “Dad,” Jaina said. She turned to her mother and continued. “The bedroom and the refresher are screened off to give him some amount of privacy, although we have the ability to check them if we feel there’s a need. We want to make him as comfortable as possible while making certain he’s absolutely confined. And we hoped the change of venue might calm him.”

  “Oh, he looks calm,” Han said. “Calm and contemplating how best to dismember us.”

  “Dad,” Jaina repeated.

  “I gotta say, I never thought we’d see this guy again,” Han said, smoothly shifting from acerbic humor to deadly seriousness. “And we’re not so glad about it, to be honest.”

  “You’re certain it’s the same man you saw?” Jaina asked, directing the question to both parents.

  “Yep. I recognize him.”

  Seff did not move.

  “And I recognize his feel in the Force,” Leia said quietly.

  “Has it changed at all?” Jaina inquired.

  Leia sighed, peering down at the tall, attractive young man whom she’d known since he was fourteen. She and Han had run across Seff Hellin just a few months before. He had alarmed their granddaughter, Allana, by how he felt to the girl in the Force. Allana had fled, screaming, to Leia, crying out Jacen’s name. The girl was perceptive … there was indeed something dark and dangerous in Seff Hellin’s energy.

  And about ten minutes after that encounter, Hellin had shocked everyone by tearing loose a dozen blasters from the hands of GA Intelligence, throwing them against the wall, and then paralyzing his enemies as if literally freezing them dead in their tracks. A neat little trick, one that he shouldn’t have been able to do.

  But one that Jacen Solo had.

  “It’s gotten more intense,” Leia said, wishing she had better news to report. “Stronger. Darker.”

  “Sounds like a cup of caf,” Han said. He ran a hand over his stub-bled face. “You know, I could use one.”

  They had left Kessel as soon as word had reached them about Seff’s capture, and little things like food, drink, and sleep had been pushed aside. Leia had to smile. “Me too. I think I’ve seen enough here. Let’s go upstairs, get some caf, and take it somewhere private, where we can talk.”

  They had all turned and were about to leave the prison via the catwalk that surrounded the cell block and led down to the main level when Seff spoke, startling them all.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice laced with hatred. “Pretend to be just like us. Drink your caf, eat your nerf steaks, swing your lightsabers like real Jedi. But we’ll stop you. We’ll stop you and get back the people you’ve stolen.”

  Leia fixed him with a compassionate gaze, her brown eyes soft. He stared back. And without another word, the Solo family turned as one to leave.

  “Han, you and I need to meet with the Horns. They could use some support now.”

  “After caf,” Han muttered, but his expression was troubled, and he added, “I can’t imagine how Corran and Mirax must be feeling.”

  The Solos had had to mourn the deaths of two of their three children: Anakin and Jacen. Jaina, who had been their only daughter, was now their only living child. Beside her, walking swiftly like her mother in order to keep pace with the longer strides of Han as they headed to the security door, Jaina frowned.

  “It’s been very hard on them. First Valin, now Jysella. And Daala’s comments didn’t help.” Her mouth was a thin line as she punched in a code and pressed her face to a small aperture for a retinal scan. She stepped back and let her parents emulate her.

  “Yes,” said Leia grimly. “We saw the newsvids.”

  “It’s disgusting,” Jaina blurted as the door opened and they headed toward the turbolift. “She all but declared that the reason Valin and Jysella went crazy is because of who their family is.”

  “Well, come on, honey, not everyone can be Solos,” Han said, reaching out a hand to squeeze his daughter’s slender shoulder as the turbolift doors opened.

  Being born a member of the Solo clan had never been easy, although it did have its privileges. Jaina offered Han a small grin, but her brow remained furrowed in righteous anger.

  “Seriously, Dad, if you saw it, you know what I’m talking about. And you know how steady Jysella and Valin are. Were. Now, I don’t know anything about Seff Hellin.”

  “I have to say, I was surprised at how Corran behaved in the meeting,” Leia said. “Han—you remember when we were aboard the Errant Venture a few years ago? How Wedge was grumbling about his daughter ‘seeing a boy’ and it was Corran who steered everything back on topic?”

  “I do. Lost it, did he?”

  Leia shook her head. Even now, her long hair was only slightly tinted with gray. “No. Not yet, anyway. But he’s taking it harder than I expected.”

  “It was bad enough with Valin, but when Jysella snapped—right in front of Cilghal and her two best friends—and got hauled off and ordered to be put in carbonite before Corran could even see her …” Jaina frowned. “It was like something broke in him.”

  Han said nothing, but his brows drew together. Leia slipped her hand into his and squeezed it reassuringly. She understood that there was a special bond between fathers and daughters. Whether the daughter needed sheltering and protecting, like Allana did right now, or was quite capable of handing said father his rear on a platter, as Jaina unquestionably was, didn’t matter in the slightest.

  Jysella Horn was a full-fledged Jedi Knight. She had been entrusted with dangerous missions that sent her all over the galaxy.

  She would also always be her father’s little girl, whatever happened to her.

  “Everyone’s fond of Valin and Jysella” was all Leia said. “Corran needs to keep hope alive. And so do we,” she added, glancing at her husband and daughter. “I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this.”

  “Hopefully Daala will agree to meet with you two. You did pretty well with the negotiations concerning Valin.”

  “Didn’t stop him from ending up in carbonite,” Han muttered.

  “We did what we could with Valin and we’ll do what we can with Jysella,” Leia told her daughter. “And we’ll see about that carbonite. For some reason, Daala does seem willing to talk to the two of us. Probably because even though she and I were on opposite sides fifty years ago, she respects the rank I once held as Senator.”

  “Your rank? Pssh. I think she agrees to meet with us because of my roguish charm,” Han quipped.

  “Sorry, only one strong and powerful woman in your life, flyboy,” Leia said.

  “Two,” Jaina interjected, slipping an arm around her father’s waist and squeezing briefly. Han brightened.

  “It’s Seff I’m worried about,” Leia continued, still thinking of the prisoner.

  “Yeah, me too,” Han said. “I know the Masters needed to know. But it shouldn’t go beyond that group. This guy needs to be protected. We’re the ones who need to study him and figure out what’s wrong with him and, presumably, Jysella and Valin. All the GA wants to do is slap him in carbonite, and that doesn’t help anything.”

  Jaina grimaced. “While I am delighted beyond belief that I no longer have an official observer practically following me into the refresher—particularly not one who looks like
my dead younger brother—that doesn’t mean we’re not all being watched. One journalist in particular seems very keen on chatting with Jag and me. Trying to ditch him is like trying to shake a mynock off the hull.”

  “Anyone I know? I’m so terribly fond of the press,” Leia said drily.

  “You might,” Jaina said. “Guy named Javis Tyrr. He’s gotten very popular recently and he’s been a total pain to Jag and me.”

  “Javis Tyrr,” Han said. “Average size, perfect hair, smirk that begs to be wiped off with a blaster?”

  “That’d be him. He was right across from the Temple when Jysella came tearing out of it and fought with Bazel Warv and Yaqeel Saav’etu. He got some very clear images before Yaqeel destroyed his cam droid in her fight with Jysella.” Jaina looked slightly pleased as she spoke.

  “She did?” Han said. He looked impressed. “Good for her.”

  “The entire situation played straight into Daala’s hands, right down to the press being present,” Leia said. “It almost sounds orchestrated, but I don’t see how that could be possible.”

  “No, it’s just a really lousy coincidence.” Jaina sighed. “Like I said, Tyrr has been buzzing around me and Jag. He’s almost always either near the Temple or the Senate chamber.”

  “Ah, good old Jagged Fel. How is old Durasteel-For-A-Spine anyway?” Han asked.

  “He’s certainly got his hands full with the Moffs,” Jaina said.

  “I should have reduced the number of Moffs he has to worry about when I had the chance,” her father said.

  Shortly after Jacen’s death, Han, Luke, and several Jedi Masters had confronted the Moffs about their role in Allana’s supposed murder. Han, his heart full of grief and fury at the death of his son, even though brutal and bitter necessity had forced him to acknowledge that it had to be done, had placed the business end of a blaster to the head of the Moff who clearly had been tapped to take the fall. The Jedi present hadn’t stopped him from pulling the trigger. It was Han himself who made the decision to stand down, as the Masters had known he would.

  Now, as Han referenced the incident, his wife and daughter both knew he didn’t mean the words he spoke. Oh, he definitely wished he meant it, of that Leia was certain, but that was an entirely different thing.

  “He says it’s like babysitting evil intelligent children who take every advantage when the parent is away,” Jaina continued.

  Despite herself, Leia let out a snort of amusement. “How very apt,” she said.

  “Fortunately,” Jaina continued, “at least for the moment, they are also behaving like children. There seems to be enough snarling and sniping among themselves—and the mandatory inclusion of females didn’t help that, for sure—that Jag hasn’t had too many outward difficulties. But it’s a strain.” She shook her head. “This conflict between the GA and the Jedi …”

  The turbolift had reached its destination, one of the small cafeterias, and settled to a stop. Jaina leaned forward and touched a pad to prevent it from opening immediately in order to finish the conversation. She looked earnestly up at her parents.

  “Mom, Dad … it’s not helping anything. Not the Jedi who are having these … these problems, not the Imperial Remnant or the GA, not the public, not anyone or anything.”

  “Certainly not young love,” Leia said wryly.

  Jaina flushed slightly. “Well … okay, I admit, it isn’t really conducive to romance. But Jag and I are adults, and we know our duties. Neither of us begrudges the time and effort and diligence they demand. But the extra strain of dodging first observers and then reporters, the finger-pointing … well, it certainly doesn’t help.”

  Han slipped an arm around Leia’s narrow waist and squeezed. “I don’t know about that. I kinda miss the moments when your mother and I had to steal time together.” He winked at his wife.

  Jaina rolled her eyes and let the doors open as her parents kissed. An apprentice, a human boy about age five carrying a tray heaped with a disproportionate ratio of sweets to vegetables, gaped at them. Apparently Jaina did not want her romance to be a topic of conversation, but didn’t care if her parents’ was.

  Leia didn’t much care, either, and patted the blushing boy’s fair head as they stepped out.

  “Where’s the caf dispenser?” Han demanded. “And sterns, I’m starving.”

  “Men.” Leia sighed.

  KESH

  TWO YEARS EARLIER

  THE WINDOWS OF VESTARA’S CHAMBER WERE OPEN, ALLOWING A SOFT, cool breeze fragrant with the heady scent of dalsa flowers in bloom to waft congenially about the room. Vases containing other varieties of cut flowers were perched on pieces of furniture. Paintings from the finest artists around the world, both Keshiri and human, adorned the walls. Everything in the room bespoke beauty, calmness, and contentment.

  Everything except Vestara herself.

  She fidgeted on the chair, drawing a soft rebuke from her attendant, Muura.

  “If my lady wishes to appear beautiful, then she must be patient,” Muura said in the soft, lilting accent of her people. Even after millennia spent with humans among them, the Keshiri had not quite lost the rhythm of their native tongue. Vestara liked hearing it, although the vast majority of humans and the Keshiri themselves regarded it as a liability. Vestara thought it was soft and beautiful and perfect, like so much of the Keshiri.

  She gazed at her image in the mirror as Muura’s clever fingers braided and pinned her long, light brown hair. The intricate vor’shandi face markings had already been painted on. Their history predated the Sith presence on Kesh. Each mark of the brush dipped in the dark brown nectar of the s’rai plant had deep significance and was bestowed with heavy ritual. Vestara admired the delicate tracery of a dalsa flower and its trademark thorns trailing up her neck and across her cheek, then frowned a little as the leaves merged with the scar on her mouth. She always ordered the artists to disguise her scar with a design whenever possible. At least this way she could minimize her disfigurement.

  She distracted herself from her self-criticism by wondering for the thousandth time why she was being summoned before the Circle of Lords. At first, when the summons had come to her and her parents yesterday, borne by no lesser a figure than a Sith Master in full formal robes, she had thought it had something to do with her application to become an apprentice. But then the summons had stipulated that she appear, alone, at the High Seat in Tahv. If it had been something as traditional as taking on the role of apprentice, she would have been summoned to the Sith Temple.

  Her father, Gavar Khai, himself a Sith Saber, exuded surprise and puzzlement in the Force. Lahka, her mother, wasn’t Force-sensitive at all, but even she couldn’t miss the tension and mystery. She glanced worriedly from husband to daughter, but held her tongue. This was Sith business, and not for her to know about.

  Vestara’s father had questioned her at length that night, his presence affectionate but concerned. Had she said anything to displease anyone of significance? Had she broken any of the rules Tyros vowed to obey? Perhaps slacked on her training or studies?

  Mute with apprehension, Vestara had shaken her head. She had done none of these things.

  She did not mention the conversation she’d had two days previously with Ship.

  In fact, the subject of Ship had not been mentioned at all, by anyone. Shortly after Ship’s arrival at the Temple, security had taken to the air and demanded that everyone clear the skies around the area. All training had been postponed, and the Temple was closed until further notice, save to those who lived there. No doubt, the Circle of Lords was discussing the strange vessel and what it meant for them, but ordinary Sith had no idea as to what was going on. It was all as mysterious as Ship itself.

  Vestara shivered, even though the air circulating through the room was warm. She extended a hand, and a glass of water floated into it. She sipped the cool liquid from a straw so as not to mar the vor’shandi markings so close to her mouth while Muura finished up.

  “There,” Muura s
aid, smiling, meeting Vestara’s eyes in the mirror. “You look lovely, mistress!”

  Vestara did not answer. She turned her head this way and that, then rose to view the formfitting green dress that was slit up the side to showcase her long, lean legs. Her arms, sleek with muscle, were also adorned with vor’shandi markings, and every finger on her hands sported a ring of some sort. The markings, painted on by artists who had studied for years under their masters as Vestara would study under hers, would wash off tonight in the bath, leaving her skin pristine and undamaged. The jewelry that dangled from her ears was draped around them, not inserted in the lobes.

  Vestara was a member of the Tribe, and as such she would never dream of deliberately disfiguring herself. Her hand again went up to touch the scar on her mouth, then she clenched her fist and deliberately brought it down. All that could be done to remove the scar had been done, and she would simply need to become accustomed to it.

  And make sure that every opportunity she got, she covered it up with beautiful artwork.

  She glanced over at Muura, who beamed up at her happily from her shorter height, and sighed. Unadorned with jewelry or cosmetics, and wearing only the simplest of clothing, the Keshiri girl seemed to Vestara to outshine her own beauty as the sun did the moon. That, like her scar, was a simple and unchangeable fact that must be endured.

  Vestara glanced around at the room. Where was—ah. She extended a hand, and her training lightsaber sprang to it. She had just finished fastening it to her jeweled belt when a knock came at the door.

  The knock was for Muura’s benefit, not that of Vestara, who could sense at once who was on the other side of the door.