by Troy Denning
The backup team ambushed him at the foyer, foolishly yelling at him to surrender instead of opening fire. Ben simply leapt into a series of evasive Force flips, batting their blaster bolts aside and coming down in the apartment’s main entrance.
Rather than flee down the corridor to safety, Ben further astonished the security officers by stopping and spinning around. He batted aside a couple of more bolts, then switched to a one-handed grip and waved them after him.
“Come on!” he yelled. “I was too late—the whole place is about to blow!”
The confused officers looked from him into the apartment’s smoky interior, then back to their officer.
The officer lowered his blaster rifle and started after Ben, yelling, “Let’s go—he’s a Jedi, isn’t he?”
ten
The Confederation fleets were drifting slowly across the ultradef wall display, a cloud of ion-blue needles burning bright against the star-spangled velvet of space. After a moment, a corona of spacedocks emerged from the edge of the screen, glittering orange-silver in the light of the Kuati sun. Lines of energy too brilliant to have color began to stab out from the leading elements of the advance, sometimes touching the twinkling speck of a spacedock and changing it to a fading spray of sparkles.
Luke watched conscientiously—though not quite attentively—from the head of the ready room where he and his Jedi pilots were awaiting the call to their StealthXs. The battle would hinge on the mission they would soon be launching, and he knew his thoughts should have been on what he could do to ensure success—and on the many young Jedi Knights who would not be returning. But his mind kept drifting back to his son.
This war had forced Ben to grow up so fast that it was easy to think of him as an adult, yet Luke knew better. He had sensed enough guilt and self-loathing in Ben to know that his son held himself responsible for Mara’s death. Like so many children who lost parents, he seemed to believe deep down that he must have done something terrible to make her leave.
And those were the kind of thoughts that could lead a young Jedi to the dark side. Luke had seen it happen before—in Kyp Durron, temporarily, and more permanently in Alema Rar—and he would not allow it to happen to Ben.
Luke extended himself toward Coruscant, hoping to find his son and remind him that he still had one living parent—and that both his parents still loved him very much. But Ben was hiding from the Force again—one more thing Jacen should not have taught him so early—and Luke felt nothing in return except the anonymous mass of life that called the planet home. Not for the first time, he had the sense that he was failing his son in some way he did not quite understand.
Soon, Luke thought, promising himself as much as Ben. After this battle, the war will be over, and then we’ll have the time we need to figure things out.
The Confederation fleets reached the center of the wall display. Immediately they sent out swarms of scout ships, trying to locate the Alliance vessels that their sensor operators couldn’t separate clearly from the myriad spacedocks orbiting Kuat. The Alliance—following a strategy laid out by the First Fleet’s new vice admiral, Nek Bwua’tu—reacted by swarming the scouts with thousands of pre-positioned starfighters.
The Confederation lost its scouts without locating more than a handful of enemy vessels, but its tactical planners—drawing heavily on Bothan talent, no doubt—had gathered enough information to estimate their opposition’s strength. The Confederation began to advance more aggressively, concentrating its fire to clear a lane through the spacedocks.
The wall display shifted scales, and clouds of glittering flotsam filled the screen. Streaks of blazing energy flashed across the image in both directions, sometimes striking the ghostly double bars of a spacedock and blasting it into confetti. The Confederation fleets appeared along one edge of the display and began to penetrate the debris field, a thousand durasteel slivers riding long dashes of blue efflux.
Luke faced his Jedi, who had all turned their flowform chairs toward the battle display. Some were lounging comfortably with one arm propped on their squad tables. Others sat nervously on the edge of their seats. Despite the caf dispensers and snack platters in the center of each table, only Tahiri Veila had a dish or drinking vessel in front of her. Berthing the StealthX wing aboard the Anakin Solo might have been a military necessity, but that didn’t mean the Jedi had to accept Jacen’s hospitality.
“Exactly as Bwua’tu predicted,” Luke said. To the alarm of the Alliance’s senior tactical planners, the admiral had insisted that the Confederation would attack where the Kuati spacedocks were densest and thickest. “They’re gambling on catching us out of position.”
“How does Bwua’tu do that?” asked Kyp Durron, who was seated at the head of the Shadow Saber squadron. “He must be Force-sensitive.”
“Better,” Saba answered. She was seated beside him, at the head of the Night Blades’ table. “He is prey-sensitive.”
Corran Horn asked, “Prey-sensitive?”
“He knowz how his prey thinkz,” Saba explained. “More, he knowz how they think we think.”
“Which is?” Corran asked.
“Rigid and unimaginative,” Kenth Hamner said. He was on the other side of Kyp, sitting at the head of the Dark Sword squadron. “Isn’t that how rebels always see their enemies?”
“With good reason,” Luke said, recalling when he had been one of the rebels. Had matters really been as simple as they had seemed then, an uncomplicated fight between good and evil? It was hard to believe now, when it was just as easy to see evil in the side he was fighting for as the one he was fighting against. “But let’s talk about this battle. Is everybody clear on how it’s supposed to develop?”
“What is there to be confused about?” Saba’s tone was polite but uninterested, a reflection of the general lack of enthusiasm on the Jedi Council for this mission. “Once the Fourth Fleet has our prey fully engaged among the dockz, the Hapan Home Fleet leaves Ronay’z sensor shadow and surprises the Confederation from behind.”
“Trapping them among the docks so the Seventh and Fifth fleets can open fire from the flanks,” Kyp added. “Assuming, of course, the Bothans don’t notice the Alliance has them surrounded before then.”
“Bwua’tu says no,” Luke said. He had to remind himself that Kyp was always this blunt—that he was merely expressing his own skepticism and not deliberately trying to sow doubt in anyone’s mind. “The Confederation commanders won’t believe we could have predicted where they would attack, so they won’t be looking for an ambush.”
“If you’ll think about it a moment, you’ll see they really can’t,” Kenth said, clearly appealing to Kyp to be reasonable. “The Confederation has already lost most of their scout craft, and we can all see what it’s like trying to get a sensor picture in there.”
“And their admirals aren’t going to send starfighters on recon missions.” Corran sounded a bit desperate, like a used-vehicle salesman eager to focus attention on an airspeeder’s sleek body instead of its worn-out hoverpads. “They barely have enough to screen their advance as it is.”
“Right,” Luke said, adding his voice to the sales effort. “So the Confederation is going to be trapped, just as Bwua’tu planned. Now, our objectives—”
“Are as clear as Vorsian crystal,” Kyp said. “We take a little pleasure flight through the middle of the Bothan fleet and unload all our shadow bombs on those nice new cruisers of theirs.”
When Kyp stopped there, Luke turned to Corran. “Then?”
“Then we rendezvous with the Megador and—”
“Hangar fifty-one,” Saba interrupted, turning a big Barabel eye on the pilots of her squadron. “That is very important.”
“Right,” Corran said. “We go to Hangar Fifty-one and rearm, then come back through the Corellian fleet.”
“Targeting capital ships only,” Luke reminded, grateful to Corran and Kenth for helping him return the conversation to the how of their mission. “Don’t waste your shadow bombs on
anything smaller.”
“And we keep going back and forth,” Kenth said. “Until the Confederation fleet finally collapses on itself like a canister full of vacuum.”
“And the Alliance wins the war in one big battle,” Kyp said, not sounding exactly enthused about the prospect. “Does it bother anyone else that we’re delivering the galaxy to Jacen on an aurodium platter?”
Someone unfamiliar with the Jedi Order might have interpreted the uneasy silence that greeted Kyp’s question as a rebuke—or at least a sign of polite disagreement. But Luke knew better. Had anyone—at least a Master—felt differently than Kyp, he or she would have said so. The fact that everyone remained quiet meant that they agreed with Kyp but were reluctant to upset Luke.
“The sooner this war is over,” Luke said, “the sooner Jacen and Admiral Niathal will resign as co-Chiefs and hold the elections they promised.”
“Jacen has made a lot of promises,” Kyp replied. “But he only keeps the convenient ones. The last I heard, Zekk was still reporting a GAG battalion camped at the Jedi academy on Ossus.”
A murmur of agreement rustled through the ready room—and the swiftness with which the squadron leaders silenced it made Luke realize that, with the exception of Kyp Durron, the Masters were trying to protect his feelings. They didn’t want him to know just how disappointed the Jedi Knights—perhaps the entire Order—were in him for agreeing to support this attack while Jacen continued to hold the academy hostage.
“There’s no denying that we have problems with Jacen,” Luke said. “But we’re here for the Alliance, not Jacen. Let’s win this war. We’ll deal with Jacen if he doesn’t resign.”
“You mean when he doesn’t resign,” Kyp corrected. “We’d better go into this with our eyes open, Master Skywalker.”
Of all the Masters on the Jedi Council, only Saba turned to scowl at Kyp—and Luke knew she did so only because she felt Kyp had spoken too boldly. He was surprised to realize how hard the Masters were trying to protect his feelings, but he knew he shouldn’t have been. He’d won the Council’s support for Jedi involvement at Balmorra the week before only by arguing that it was the best way to make Jacen see he had more to gain by working with the Jedi than against them.
When GAG had remained at the academy after the battle—supposedly only until enough Jedi Knights were free from other duties to provide “proper” security—the entire Jedi Order had been outraged. And when Luke had suggested to the Council that they fly their StealthXs at Kuat anyway, he had not sensed any support at all, only consent. He saw now that it had been a mistake not to insist that the Masters express their own views so they could reach a decision together … especially when even he questioned the clarity of his judgment right now.
Fortunately, it was never too late to correct a mistake. Luke fixed his gaze on Corran, then said, “I appreciate everyone’s concern for my feelings, but that’s not what I need. It’s not what the Order needs.”
Corran managed to appear both guilty and confused. “I’m not sure I understand, Master Skywalker.”
“You think this mission is a mistake,” Luke said.
Corran’s eyes lit in understanding, and now the other Masters began to look guilty. “I don’t like it,” he admitted. “Jacen is playing us.”
“Probably—but what should we do about it?” Luke asked. “Change sides and support the insurrection?”
Corran flushed. “Nobody’s suggesting that, Master Skywalker.”
Knowing he had to involve all of the Masters in the consensus, Luke shifted his gaze to Kyp. “Maybe we should arrest Jacen for … well, I’m not exactly sure what law he’s violated—or how we could prove it,” he said. “But I’m serious. Should we go up to the bridge and arrest him on general suspicion?”
Kyp dropped his gaze. “Probably not a good idea,” he admitted. “The Alliance can’t stand any more chaos at the moment.”
Luke turned to Kenth next. “We could do nothing and see how the battle comes out. At least then we’d know we’re not doing the wrong thing.”
Kenth considered the suggestion for a moment, then shook his head. “The galaxy’s future is hanging on this—we’ve got to do something.” He looked at the other Masters. “Given the choice between a despot and utter lawlessness, I think we have to go with the despot. For now.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking, too,” Luke said. He turned to Saba. “But when do we decide Jacen has gone too far? Where do we draw the line?”
“You are asking this one?” Saba flattened her cheek scales in the Barabel equivalent of embarrassment. “Jacen is of the brood of your brood.”
“And he is the son of your apprentice,” Luke countered. “You’re as responsible for this decision as I am.”
“Leia has already turned away from him,” Saba pointed out. “Unless Military Intelligence was mistaken about her business on Kashyyyk.”
“Leia isn’t a Jedi Master,” Luke reminded her. “You are.”
Saba raised her dorsal spikes and studied Luke for a long time. Nobody wanted to be the one to suggest that the Jedi take arms against Jacen, but they all knew the time was coming … and that when it did, they would probably be taking arms against the government of the Galactic Alliance itself.
Finally, Saba half turned in her chair, looking away. “You are the longfang, Master Skywalker. We draw the line where you say to draw it.”
It wasn’t an answer that Luke particularly wanted, but it was the one he’d been expecting. Nothing would have pleased him more than being able to turn leadership of the Order over to someone else while he devoted himself to finding Mara’s killer and helping Ben come to terms with his grief. But he didn’t have the luxury right now. Jacen had made that much clear, at least.
Luke waited until each of the Jedi Masters and Knights had signaled their assent, then nodded.
“Thank you. We won’t let Jacen push us much farther, I promise.” He returned his attention to the wall display, where the image had disintegrated into a glittering blizzard of flotsam webbed by bolts of turbolaser fire. “In the meantime, we have a mission to complete—and it doesn’t look like it will be long before we’re called to it.”
As Luke spoke, he grew aware of Cilghal’s presence rushing across the corridor from the direction of the infirmary. An instant later, the hatch in the back of the room hissed open, and the Mon Calamari healer slipped into the room. Her bulbous eyes were bulging even more than usual, and her skin had gone gray and dry with shock.
“Switch to HNE!” she cried. “Chief Omas has been murdered—and they’re saying Ben was there!”
eleven
Caedus knew now that the path he had chosen—the path of the Sith—was the right one. Despite the bewildering snarl of glitter and light flashing beyond his observation bubble, he could sense through the Force that the battle was all but won. As soon as Admiral Bwua’tu brought the Hapan Home Fleet out of hiding, the traitors’ doom would be sealed.
The Corellians were carrying the brunt of the fighting, of course, throwing their battle cruisers and assault frigates against the Star Destroyers of the Fourth Fleet. But Jacen could sense that the Bothans were having trouble, too: the ambushes and minefields they kept encountering were making it impossible for their light cruisers and corvettes to flank the Alliance defenders. And the Commenorians and Hutts weren’t even factors. The few vessels they had been able to contribute after the Battle of Balmorra were being relegated to rear defense, along with the flotillas from the Confederation’s minor partners.
So Caedus did not understand what Bwua’tu was waiting for, why he had not yet asked for the Hapan Home Fleet. Surely, the admiral could see that everything was going according to plan; all he need do was make this one request and the Alliance would be saved. Caedus only hoped that it had not been a mistake to trust the Bothan. He had been the one who insisted—on Gavin Darklighter’s recommendation—that Bwua’tu be given command of the battle, and he had sensed no deception when the vice admir
al assured him that his vow of krevi demanded that he remain loyal to the Alliance.
But with Bothans, one could never be sure. For all Caedus knew, the krevi might have been a cultural fiction that Bothans maintained to take advantage of situations like this.
Caedus turned to the little tactical display near the entrance to his observation bubble, then fixed his gaze on the transponder code of the Welmo Darb. Although the Star Destroyer was hardly the largest in the First Fleet, Bwua’tu had selected it as his new flagship so that he would have the option of putting his heaviest firepower in the forefront without risking his command structure. Caedus didn’t sense anything amiss aboard the Darb, only a calm Bothan presence pondering options while the vessel’s harried crew struggled to defend their ship.
Caedus touched a pad on the arm of his meditation chair, then asked, “Is the Darb reporting a sensor malfunction? Or data-streaming problems?”
A moment later, the voice of Lieutenant Krova—his personal communications officer—came over the speaker. “They’re reporting all systems optimal, Colonel. I could ask them to confirm.”
“No,” Caedus said quickly. “I wouldn’t want Bwua’tu to think I’m impatient.”
“The vice admiral is a perceptive being, Colonel Solo,” Krova replied. “I’m sure he knows.”
Caedus was in too good a mood to be irritated by her sarcasm—at least until his comlink chimed with a special two-tone alert assigned to one of the few people for whom he always needed to make time. He flipped open the device and opened the channel.
“Shouldn’t you be in the ready room?”
“I’m in the refresher,” Tahiri replied. “And we’re not launching anytime soon. Master Skywalker is on his way up to see you.”
“What for?”
Tahiri paused, then asked, “When can we go back again?”
“That depends on how long you take to answer my question,” Caedus replied. Since their return to the voxyn cloning lab on Baanu Rass, they had already flow-walked back to two more time-locations to visit Anakin, and each time Caedus had managed to end the trip leaving Tahiri desperate for more. “I’m very busy right now, as I’m sure you realize.”
