by Troy Denning
Knowing there was no time to protest, Han simply nodded, then shot a glower toward the little dome-shaped droid watching from just inside the gate. Its response modules must have detected his anger, because the droid expelled a cloud of steam cleanser and quickly spun its photoreceptor away.
Cursing under his breath, Han followed Jag around a tunnel bend into the hangar itself. Two apprentices stood at the entrance, looking worried and uncertain as to whether they should leave their duty stations. Han pushed Yaqeel’s shoulders into the arms of the closest guard, a red-furred Jenet, then stepped out of the way as Bazel Warv’s green bulk floated through the entrance behind him.
“Comm Master Cilghal and tell her we lost two more,” Han ordered. He pulled the tranquilizer pistol from his waistband and slapped it into the hands of the Jenet’s partner, a young Duros female whose dark eyes seemed about twice as bulging as normal. “And if either one twitches before someone gets here to take them off your hands, hit ’em both with a couple of tranquilizer darts.”
The Duros accepted the pistol with an air of bewilderment and fear. “They went sick? Both of them?”
“You have your orders, apprentice,” Jaina said, lowering Bazel into an empty speeder bay. “Just carry them out.”
With that, she started back up the tunnel, Han and Jag following close behind.
By the time they rounded the bend, Han could see Leia just inside the tunnel entrance, standing toe-to-toe with a blue-uniformed captain who had managed to position himself on the threshold before she could lower the gate. A couple of paces behind him were ten troopers in black assault armor. And ten paces beyond them, four more GAS agents had Jag’s driver, Baxton, at blasterpoint.
But what really bothered Han were the holocams. They were peering down from atop the adjacent safety wall, carefully recording every word and gesture that passed between Leia and the GAS captain.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain Atar,” Leia was saying. “Nothing has happened here that is any concern of yours.”
“I decide what my concerns are, Jedi Solo,” Atar spat back. He was a tall human with a dark mustache and shoulders as square as his chin, the kind of pushy officer who mistook his chest patch for a badge of entitlement. “And crazy Jedi are definitely at the top of my list.”
Leia shrugged. “We don’t have any of those here.”
“Yeah?” Atar pulled his datapad off its belt clip and spun the screen around to face Leia. “What’s that?”
Han, Jaina, and Jag were close enough now to see a green blob that could only be Bazel landing atop Jag’s limousine. A moment later Jaina rose into view beyond the front end of the speeder, staggering slightly and holding her torn dress closed. The cam panned to the top of the safety wall and showed both Solos peering down into the speeder lane, looking horrified and still holding their tranquilizer pistols.
Han’s gut began to tie itself in knots. Atar had them. And these weren’t even shots from one of the holocams. Somehow, he had caught the whole thing on a … Han remembered the cleaning droid and spun around, intending to stomp it back to its circuits.
Fortunately, Jag had a better idea and seized the initiative by going to stand nose-to-ear with Atar. “What have you done to my speeder limousine, Captain?”
Atar did not quite snap to attention—Jag wasn’t his Head of State, after all. But he reacted as any security officer would in such a situation, cringing almost visibly as he tried to weigh his assignment against the potential career recriminations of causing a diplomatic incident.
Finally, he said, “We didn’t do anything, Head of State.” He turned the datapad toward Jag. “If the Head of State cares to have a look—”
“I’m not interested in holodramas, Captain.” Jag plucked the data-pad from the captain’s hands and tossed it down the access tunnel, where it could be heard shattering into a dozen parts. “I can see that you’ve done something—unless those aren’t your men holding my driver at blasterpoint.”
“No, sir, they, uh, I mean yes, they are, sir.” Atar glanced back up the lane. “But we didn’t realize the limousine belonged to you.”
“You didn’t query the transponder?” Jag demanded. He stepped forward, purposely bumping the captain back away from the threshold. “Or did you just choose to ignore the diplomatic code?”
“Neither, sir.” Finally seeming to realize that he was being manipulated, Atar stood his ground when Jag tried to bump him back again, then said, “Sir, we are in hot pursuit of two criminally insane Jedi Knights, and diplomatic immunity does not give you the right to interfere. If you insist—”
“By all means, feel free to continue your pursuit,” Jag said, “after you release my driver and vehicle.”
Jag continued to stand in front of Atar, who glared down at him for a moment before he finally turned and waved his men away from the limousine.
“Thank you,” Jag said. “I’ll be sure to mention your cooperation to Chief Daala when I meet with her in the morning.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” Atar replied with ice in his voice. “She’ll have a full report this evening. Now, if you’ll stand aside, I do have my duties to fulfill.”
“Certainly.”
Jag pivoted on one foot, taking pains to move aside without removing himself from the area. It wasn’t what Han would have done, but he had to admit that Fel knew how to be a major pain in the rear without breaking rules. As long as he was standing in the area, the GAS captain did not dare risk starting a firefight and endangering the Imperial Head of State.
When Atar finally accepted that Jag would not be moving any farther, he let out a snort of exasperation and pushed forward again. By then, of course, Han had slipped over to the gate controls, and Jaina and her mother were standing just in front of the threshold, lightsabers in hand. The blades were not ignited, but the message was clear—GAS would not be coming inside without a fight.
“Jedi Solo, I am going to arrest Jedi Knights Bazel Warv and Yaqeel Saav’etu. Will you stand aside, or do I have to move you?”
Leia did not flinch. “I don’t see anyone in imminent danger,” she said, “and that means you would need a warrant to arrest them. We’re not going anywhere unless I see one.”
The hint of a smile flashed beneath Atar’s thick mustache. “In that case …” He extended a hand behind him and called, “Karpette, front and center!”
A Rodian female stepped forward, her multifaceted eyes sparkling with far too much delight. “Yes, Captain?”
“The warrant.”
She was passing him a freshly printed flimsiplast even as he spoke. Han saw the miniature printer hanging from her equipment belt and felt his stomach go hollow.
Atar examined the document briefly, then nodded and passed it to Leia. “The print is a bit smaller than usual, but I believe you’ll find everything in order.”
Leia accepted the document, her impassive face betraying none of the shock that Han knew she was feeling. She examined it briefly, then said, “Very clever, Captain.”
“I really can’t take the credit, Jedi Solo,” Atar replied. “When it comes to the Jedi menace, Chief Daala has given the order to facilitate due process in every legal manner.”
“So I see.” Leia gestured Jaina to remain where she was, just outside the gate, then held the document out toward Han. “What do you think?”
Han took the warrant and squinted down at the tiny lines of legal text. It was a detention order rather than an actual arrest warrant, but that didn’t negate its validity. The names were spelled correctly, their species were identified properly, the justifying incident was described accurately, and the chronostamp—less than five minutes old—was certainly valid.
“I’m no expert, but everything seems right.” He looked over at Atar. “Who’s Judge … Lortle?”
“Arabelle Lorteli,” Atar corrected. “Designated judge for all matters Jedi.”
“Daala’s appointee?” Leia asked. “A new one?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, ma’am,” Atar replied. “Now, since even you agree that everything’s in order, we’ll be taking custody of Jedi Knights Warv and Saav’etu.”
He started to lead his squad across the threshold—until Leia raised a hand in his direction. “Wait.”
Atar stumbled back, and Leia turned to Han with one of those defiant gleams that always came to her eye when she smelled something rotten in the halls of power. “I don’t know, Han. How do we handle this?”
It was not a real question, of course, since Han was neither a Jedi nor a legal adviser. It was a signal. He watched as Jaina subtly checked to make sure she was clear of the gate’s drop path, and he knew she understood it, too.
“It looks like we don’t have any choice,” Han said. He shrugged and passed the warrant back to Leia, then turned to Atar. “Wait here. We’re gonna have to get Master Hamner involved in this.”
Atar scowled. “We’re not waiting anywhere,” he said. “You’ll bring those two Jedi out here at once.”
Han sighed and turned to Leia. “I think we’d better do as he says, don’t you?”
Leia nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
She glanced over at the control panel, and the toggle button rocked to the CLOSED position. The gate started to descend so swiftly that she barely had time to look back and meet Atar’s puzzled gaze.
“Okay, Captain—you win,” she said. “We’ll be right back.”
“What? Wait!” he sputtered. “Why are you clos—”
The gate clanged shut, leaving Han and Leia alone together. Han hit the lockout switch to prevent it from being inadvertently opened by a returning Jedi Knight, and then turned to Leia.
“You know, sometimes I’m really glad I married you.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Oh, I’m glad all the time—but at times like this, I’m really glad.” He took her hand and started down the tunnel to check on the new patients. “How long do you suppose they’ll wait?”
“It’s going to take the good captain a few minutes to overcome his embarrassment and comm for new orders,” Leia said. “So we’ve got a while.”
“Good. Do you suppose Jaina’s going to be okay out there?”
“Of course.” Leia closed her eyes for a moment, and Han knew that she was reaching out to check on their daughter through the Force. “She’s with Jag, isn’t she?”
EVEN WITH THE ROOF BUCKLED DOWN INTO THE PASSENGER CABIN, THE Imperial limousine still had enough headroom for Jaina to sit upright. Jag was another story. Although he was not tall for a human male, he carried much of his height in his torso, an unfortunate trait that Jaina hoped would not be inflicted on any children who also happened to inherit her short legs … assuming, of course, they even wanted children. Like a lot of things regarding their coming marriage, starting a family wasn’t something they had found time to discuss yet, at least not in the way it needed be discussed.
At the moment, Jag’s long torso was forcing him to do one of the few things that Jagged Fel did not do well: slouch. He was hunched down next to Jaina, his head against the roof liner and his shoulders pressed to the back of the seat.
“Thanks for the getaway.” Jaina glanced out the back viewport at the still-confused GAS squad, several of whom were pounding their weapon butts against the closed gate and demanding that it be reopened. “Probably better for me not to be around when that gnakhead Atar finally decides he’s been had.”
“Probably,” Jag said. “But I am surprised your mother manipulated him so easily. One would think Daala would have more sense than to send a weak-minded commander to keep watch over the Jedi Temple.”
“Jag, that wasn’t a Force suggestion.” As Jaina spoke, Atar turned to watch the departing limousine. “It was the Sligh Slipper.”
“The Sligh Slipper?”
“A little trick my parents picked up before I was born,” Jaina explained. She gave Atar a parting wave. The captain’s face reddened, and he began to snap orders into his headset microphone. “Didn’t you see how Dad noobed Atar?”
Jag fell silent for a moment, his brow slowly rising. Finally, he let out an incredulous snort.
“It’s a good thing your father isn’t a Jedi,” he said. “Han Solo with Force powers would be very frightening thing.”
Jaina smiled and opened her mouth to agree—until she was nearly thrown from her seat as the limousine came to sudden stop. She looked up to see a GAS assault speeder blocking the exit less than five meters ahead, its cannon turret pointing down the lane. Whether it was targeting Jag’s limousine or the gate behind it was impossible to say.
“Those GAS guys are starting to get pushy,” Baxton observed from the driver’s seat. The privacy screen between them could not be raised because of the crumpled roof, so he didn’t need the vehicle intercom. “I can just float over them, sir. Even if they open fire, our armor can take it.”
Jag shook his head. “No, that would give them room to claim we intended them harm,” he said. “Just step out and ask them to let us pass.”
“And if they don’t?” Baxton asked.
“Be insistent,” Jag said. “Captain Atar is trying very hard to make us blink, but he’s not going to cause an intergalactic incident by attempting to remove Jedi Solo from a diplomatic vehicle.”
Baxton acknowledged the order, then stepped out and approached the assault speeder blocking their path. A young Duros officer popped out of the blaster turret, pointing at the limousine and making angry demands. Baxton stood his ground, shaking his head and pointing his own finger, insisting the speeder be removed. After a minute of shouting back and forth, the Duros suddenly jumped down to stand lip-to-nose with Baxton.
“Looks like Atar’s orders were firm,” Jaina observed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have rubbed it in.”
Jag turned to peer at her beneath the crumpled roof. “Rubbed it in how?”
“It was no big deal,” Jaina said. “I just waved at him.”
Jag closed his eyes in exasperation. “You waved at him?” he repeated. “As we were leaving?”
“of course as we were leaving,” Jaina retorted. “When do you think I’d wave at him?”
Jag let his chin drop. “You have got to stop antagonizing Daala’s people.” He looked away, and the dirty haze of a secret came to his Force aura. “This situation is getting out of hand.”
Jaina spun to face him. “What situation is that?”
“The whole situation.” Jag continued to look away. “Between the Jedi and Daala. It’s not doing the order any good.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jaina replied. “Like, whatever you’re holding back.”
Jag’s nostrils flared, and he turned to meet her gaze with obvious effort. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Jag …” Jaina opened her borrowed raincoat just enough to show the lightsaber hanging from the belt of her torn dress. “Jedi, remember? I know when you’re lying.”
Jag sighed. “I heard something that I shouldn’t have—and that I definitely shouldn’t be repeating to a Jedi.”
“Jag, I’m your fiancee,” Jaina said. “And I happen to be a Jedi. If that means you’re going to try to keep secrets from me, maybe we need to reevaluate—”
“All right, I surrender,” Jag said, raising his hands. “But if you get to play the fiancee chit, so do I. This has to stay between us.”
Jaina nodded. “That’s fair, I guess.”
“No guessing,” Jag replied. “This can’t be like Qoribu.”
Jaina winced. It was a low blow, but maybe one she deserved. During the Killik crisis, she had made a promise to Jag that she had later broken. Ultimately, her failure to honor her word had resulted in Jag’s exile from the Chiss Ascendency.
“Okay,” she said. “This is locker stuff. I won’t tell anyone.”
“No matter what,” Jag insisted.
Jaina’s only reply was a stony silence. She had given him her word, and it was really starting to scorch her that he continue
d to question it. She looked forward and noticed the rim of something metallic lodged behind the beverage locker in front of her, between the two rear-facing seats. Maybe a glow rod or something had been knocked out of its storage slot when Bazel hit the roof.
As Jaina shifted forward to retrieve the object, Jag let out a sharp breath. “Shall I accept your silence as a yes?”
More irritated than ever, Jaina forgot about the glow rod and turned to scowl. “Accept it however you like.”
“Fine.” Jag took a breath, then said, “I overheard something alarming when I was in Daala’s office yesterday. She’s thinking of hiring a company of Mandalorians.”
“Mandalorians?” Jaina repeated. “What the blazes for?”
Now it was Jag’s turn to be silent, and Jaina quickly realized how ridiculous her question was. She had spent a couple of very sad months training with Mandalorians when she was preparing to hunt down her brother, Darth Caedus, and she could think of half a dozen reasons Daala might hire a company of Mandalorian commandos. But only one of them would make Jag nervous about telling her.
“For us?” Jaina gasped.
Jag nodded. “She’s been inquiring as to how many supercommandos it might take to handle the Jedi,” he confirmed. “Exactly what she’s considering, I don’t know. But it can’t be good.”
Jaina didn’t know whether to be angrier at him or at Daala. “And you thought you were going to keep this from me?”
“of course,” Jag said. “I didn’t want to put you in this position.”
Jaina frowned. “What position?”
“Of having to keep my secret,” Jag said. “It’s a burden you shouldn’t have to carry.”
Jaina fell back in her seat, her anger changing to shock as she began to understand. “You expect me to keep this news to myself?”
Jag remained silent, studying her with his steely eyes, searching for a hint as to which duty she would honor—the promise she had just made to him, or the oath she had sworn to the order, swearing to always put the Jedi first.
“Stang … this isn’t fair, Jag.”
“I’m sorry.”
