Rebirth: Edge of Victory II

by Greg Keyes

  “Let them worry, then. I don’t care.”

  “But you just—”

  “Hush. You don’t understand anything after all.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. You want me to stay here with you?”

  “No, dummy,” Tahiri said. “I want you to take me with you.”

  “Oh.” He felt a profound confusion, and suddenly a lot of his father’s complaints about women made more sense. Or less, as the case might be. Tahiri had been his best friend for five years, since she was nine and he was eleven. They had a strong bond in the Force, and were together far more powerful than either was alone. The Jedi Master Ikrit had seen this long ago, and lately had been proven correct. Due to this bond, Anakin and Tahiri could communicate at a level far beyond language.

  So why did he spend more than half of his time bewildered in any conversation with her?

  “You’re sure you’re ready for that?” he asked.

  “For what? It’s just a supply run, right? Minimal danger? Nowhere near Yuuzhan Vong space?”

  “Right,” Anakin said cautiously. “But there’s always danger.”

  “Especially when you don’t trust everyone on your ship.”

  Anakin’s eyebrows dropped. “Okay, now you’re being dumb. You know I trust you.”

  “Really? I almost killed you back on Yavin Four, you know.”

  “I know. And I know that wasn’t really you.”

  “No?” Tahiri’s face went curiously blank. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Anakin put his hand on her shoulder. “I do,” he said. “You aren’t the same as you were before the Yuuzhan Vong captured you. Neither am I. But you’re still Tahiri.”

  “Whatever that means.”

  “If you want to go with us, I’ll talk to Corran. I honestly didn’t think you would want to get out so early.”

  Tahiri shook her head emphatically. “I’ve spent enough time crying and curled up in a ball. You think you’re the only one the walls are closing in on? Whoever I am, I’m not going to figure it out moping around here.” Her voice took on a softer, pleading note. “Let me go with you, Anakin.”

  He mussed her hair, the way he had done a hundred times. It suddenly seemed too familiar, and he felt his face warm. “Okay,” he said. “Next time, just ask, though. You don’t always have to come after me like I’ve done something wrong. We don’t have to fight everything out.”

  She smiled. “Sorry. You never mean to do anything wrong. But most times it just turns out that way.”

  SEVEN

  R2-D2 tootled and bleeped as he went about the task Jacen had assigned him. The little droid had extended his linkage and repair arms into one of the compact missiles floating near the narrow trash-exhaust tube. In the faint light of the glow stick, the squat, domed cylinder of the little droid looked very much the antique he was.

  A clumsy clank sounded behind Jacen as C-3PO struggled with weightlessness.

  “Oh dear,” C-3PO said excitedly. “I wasn’t built for this, you know. Zero gravity confuses my circuits.”

  “Just hang on to something,” Jacen muttered. “When Dad gets the power back on, we’ll have gravity again. Just make sure you’re on the floor and not the ceiling when that happens.”

  “Good heavens. Who can tell the difference? I’m going to need a good overhaul when this is all over. This will be all over soon, won’t it, Master Jacen?”

  “One way or the other.”

  “I almost wish you had left me deactivated.”

  “Just be thankful you’ve got good surge overload circuits, or you might have been deactivated permanently.” He closed the panel on the final missile. “Well, that will either work or it won’t,” he said philosophically.

  “I don’t understand,” C-3PO said. “What will work or won’t?”

  R2-D2 whistled something vaguely condescending and derisive.

  “Well, of course I shouldn’t be expected to understand, you little trash sweeper,” C-3PO retorted indignantly. “I’m a protocol droid, not a metal-grubbing screw turner. Oh! No offense to you, Master Jacen.”

  “None taken. I wish someone a little better at this than I were here—Anakin, for instance. If I’ve made a mistake, I may well blow us out of the sky.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Okay, time for your part, Threepio. I need you to cycle this lock manually.”

  “But, Master Jacen, all of the air will evacuate.”

  “True. But I won’t be here—I’ll be on the other side of the outer pressure lock. The vacuum won’t hurt you.”

  “I suppose not. But why, Master Jacen?”

  “I need you to take each of these missiles to the end of the dump vent and give them a good shove in the direction of that Yuuzhan Vong interdictor.”

  “Me, handle a concussion missile?”

  “If it’s any comfort, if it exploded it wouldn’t make any difference to you if you were holding it or a meter away, like you are now. There still wouldn’t be enough of you left to plate a spoon with.”

  “But—but—what if I fall out of the ship?”

  Jacen smiled thinly. “Don’t,” he said. “Once all the missiles are away, you and Artoo seal the vent up, cycle the lock again, and get back inside. I’ll keep in touch by comm.”

  “Master Jacen, I am a protocol droid!”

  “And I would rather be meditating. C’mon, Threepio. You’ve done more dangerous things than this before.”

  “Not willingly, Master Jacen!”

  Jacen slapped the droid on his metal back. “Show me what you’re made of, Threepio.”

  “I will gladly submit to an internal inspection,” C-3PO said.

  “You know what I mean. Go.”

  “Yes, sir.” The droid had a noticeable quaver in his voice.

  Jacen pushed out, plugged in a portable power source, and cycled the inner lock. It closed under protest, its hydraulics used to a more robust diet of electrons.

  He made his way to where his mother was keeping watch from the cockpit.

  “All quiet?” he asked.

  “For now. Surely they must know something has gone wrong, though.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We don’t know what their procedures are in situations like this. Yuuzhan Vong warriors are proud—maybe they’re giving these first guys every chance to deal with the situation before sending reinforcements. Maybe they’re so confident we can’t get away they aren’t really paying attention. We’re about to see how closely they’re watching, anyway. I just sent some concussion missiles floating their way. With any luck, they’ll think it’s flotsam until it’s too late.” He concentrated briefly. “There. The first is away.”

  C-3PO was slow. It was a good five minutes before he got the next one out. The third took even longer. Jacen didn’t stay to watch. He went down and finished welding auxiliary plating over the holes the Yuuzhan Vong had cut into their ship. It was too thin to have a good chance of holding, but it was all they had at the moment that might do. It would at least give them a few minutes. If worse came to worst—and neither this nor his other plan worked—they could always seal off the cockpit or put on vac suits. Of course, then they had to find a habitable planet or space station, fast.

  His father came drifting up from beneath. “Are we ready?” he asked.

  “As we’ll be,” Jacen replied.

  “Let’s go forward and give it a try, then,” Han said. “The Yuuzhan Vong won’t wait on us forever.”

  When they rejoined Leia in the cockpit, however, the enemy ship was still quiet.

  Jacen activated the intercom. “How’s it going, Threepio?”

  “Dreadful, sir. I have two more to go.”

  “More coralskippers detaching,” Leia observed suddenly.

  “Negative, Threepio,” Jacen said. “Get out of there, now.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  “Ready, everyone?” Han asked.

  “Go,” Leia replied
.

  Han worked his fingers across the instruments, and with a sudden snap, gravity reasserted itself. Jacen’s stomach settled back where it was supposed to be, and he felt a wave of dizziness.

  “Hang on.” Han engaged maneuvering thrusters, and the Falcon began spinning like a coin on its side.

  Jacen craned for visibility. Below and above, at the extreme edge of his vision, he could make out the coralskippers, still stationary. The living couplings were cinched in the middle, like balloons twisted and tied, and they were still twisting.

  “Four times around is going to have to be good enough. Where are your missiles?” “The first one is ready to go.”

  “Good thing I had the launchers reinstalled, I guess. Send the detonation signal on three. One, two—”

  Jacen held his breath as he keyed the signal on three and blew it out when the distant concussion missile became a small white nova. At the same moment, Han kicked space with the ion drive, and they were going, as only the Millennium Falcon could go. The attached coralskippers whipped out behind them like braids, and Jacen couldn’t see them anymore.

  “They’re trying to get a lock with their dovin basals,” Leia reported.

  “Jacen!”

  “Yes, sir!” Jacen sent another signal, and the remaining missiles surged to life, burning their propellant cores and hurling their noses at the Yuuzhan Vong ship. Gravitic anomalies appeared and sucked all but one in, but the fourth impacted in a brilliant display.

  “They blinked!” Leia whooped. “They missed their lock. Han, get us out of here!”

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  The ship suddenly shuddered and yawed.

  “What was that? What hit us?” Han demanded, just as it happened again.

  “The coralskippers tearing loose,” Jacen replied. “And speaking of coralskippers, there are a couple headed our way. I’m going down to the turbolaser.”

  “Forget it. If those patches go, I want you up here. We’ll outrun the skips.”

  “They’re gaining.”

  “As soon as we’re out of the interdictor’s mass shadow, I’m going to lightspeed.”

  Jacen considered. “They’ll catch us before that. I’m going down.”

  “Jacen—”

  He left his father’s protest behind him.

  C-3PO was just returning to the safe, enclosed ship when the acceleration slapped him against the side of the waste chute. The last missile, which he had been pushing ahead of him back into the ship, suddenly tripled its weight and, as the vector of the force changed, went hurtling out into open space. It banged against C-3PO as it went by, and with a soundless cry of terror he realized he was going to follow it. Clawing desperately, he managed a handhold on the lock mechanism, but his golden legs dangled out into open space. Looking between them, he saw the stars churn around his feet.

  “Artoo!” he broadcast frantically.

  His digits were slipping.

  Well, he thought to himself. This hasn’t turned out to be a good day at all. If only I had stayed on Coruscant with Master Luke.

  EIGHT

  Mara had slipped into unconsciousness by the time the island’s MD-10 medical droid had been activated. Luke gripped her hand as she lay on the grass near their table. Around them the cool air was fragrant with night perfumes and the gentle music of insects. Kenth Hamner stood by, restless but silent.

  Luke summoned Master Yoda’s voice. A Jedi knows not fear.

  It helped, a little, but the fear didn’t lurk far under the skin. He couldn’t lose Mara, not now. Not ever.

  He tried to push that away, as well. There was danger in thoughts like that. And yet the harder he tried, the more difficult it was, and all of his Jedi training seemed suddenly pale before the force of unfamiliar emotions.

  Hang in there, Mara. I love you.

  He felt her stir. She was in pain, but the Force told him she was still strong. And yet beneath that vitality was the undeniable feeling of wrongness. Not like when she had been so terribly ill with her Yuuzhan Vong–created disease, exactly. Could the organism have mutated again? Had her long, hopeful remission ended?

  He watched, taut, as the medical droid dispassionately checked her vitals, using sensors to probe into his wife’s body.

  In the midst of it, her eyes fluttered open again, and he saw his own helpless fear reflected there.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll be okay. What happened?”

  “It’s the baby,” she said. “It’s our baby. Luke, I can’t—”

  “And you won’t,” he promised firmly. “It’s going to be fine.”

  The MD droid reached a diagnosis a moment later.

  “Toxic shock reaction in the placenta,” it burred. “Indicates four cc’s of cardinex.”

  “Do it,” Luke commanded.

  He watched as the hypo delivered the dosage. Within seconds, Mara’s breathing calmed and her color began to return.

  “What caused it?” Luke demanded of the droid.

  “Unknown chemical agent.”

  “Poison?”

  “Negative. Placental reaction unusual. The substance is not otherwise toxic. Substance is complex saline compound, partial analysis …” It listed a sequence of chemicals.

  “Vergere’s tears,” Mara said softly. She tried to sit up.

  “Just hang on. Stay down for a minute.”

  “I’m feeling better. Let me up, Skywalker.”

  “Tears?” Kenth Hamner said, confused.

  “The Yuuzhan Vong infected me with some sort of biotic weapon,” Mara explained. “It tried pretty hard to kill me. It would have, too, except that that creature with the Yuuzhan Vong assassin—”

  “The one who pretended to defect?”

  “Elan. Yes. She had a sort of pet or familiar who gave Han a vial of her tears—or at least that’s what she said they were. She told him I should take them, and it felt right to me, so I did. My disease went into remission.”

  Hamner’s long face looked thoughtful. “And you think the tears caused what just happened to you?”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Luke protested.

  “I ran out of the tears a few months ago,” Mara said. “I’ve been taking a synthesized version. Luke, it’s killing our son.”

  “You can’t know that,” Luke said. “The MD droid isn’t equipped to do the kind of analysis that would prove that.”

  “I know,” Mara said shakily.

  Her certainty felt like ferrocrete. Luke sat down, pushing his fingers back through his hair, trying to think. He nearly jumped at the sound of a distant sonic boom—probably just some hotshot pilot practicing atmospheric maneuvers over the sea.

  “I can have you at a medical facility in ten minutes,” Hamner told Mara.

  “No!” Mara nearly shouted. “Then we’d lose our chance to escape Fey’lya.”

  “Mara, we don’t have a choice,” Luke said.

  She sat up again. This time Luke didn’t try to stop her. “We do,” she insisted. “I won’t have my child born under house arrest. If I don’t take the tears, I should be fine. Isn’t that right, Emdee?”

  The droid whirred and nodded. “Present danger has passed. Avoidance of the substance will prevent recurrence.”

  “What if it wasn’t the tears at all?” Luke said, exasperation escaping with his words.

  “It is,” Mara replied. “I know it is.”

  “Then there was something wrong with the synthetic drug. If we’re to synthesize a new one, we need to be here, on Coruscant.”

  “If we stay, they’ll button us in so tight we’ll never be able to escape. We’ll be at their mercy, and what then? Suppose Fey’lya changes his mind and decides to give us to the Yuuzhan Vong? We’ll be trapped, and how am I supposed to fight in this condition? Or worse, with an infant? Luke, it’s time. You know it; I know it. So we have do this.”

  Luke closed his eyes and searched the back of his lids for options. He found none.

 
“Okay,” he said finally. “Kenth, if you could be so kind as to take us to our apartments.”

  “Absolutely,” Hamner said. “I am at your command.”

  In moments they were airborne. So far as Luke could tell, Mara was fine now. He himself was shaken to the core.

  He activated the comm unit and placed two calls—one to Cilghal, the Mon Calamari Jedi healer, the other to Ism Oolos, a Ho’Din physician of great renown. Both agreed to meet him at their apartments. A third call—to the Ithorian Tomla El—revealed the healer was offplanet, working to aid refugees from his destroyed homeworld.

  Hamner deposited them on the landing area of their roof. Cilghal was already there, and the reptilian Ism Oolos arrived shortly thereafter.

  Luke and Mara thanked Hamner. The liaison wished them luck and departed.

  “You pack, Skywalker,” Mara said, once they were inside. “We have to be gone in two hours.”

  “A thorough examination will take much longer than that,” Oolos complained. “Some analyses I must do in my laboratory, to be certain of my results.”

  “You have to think of your child now,” Cilghal agreed softly.

  “No one needs to remind me of that,” Mara said gruffly. “Get on with it.”

  Meanwhile, Luke reluctantly began preparation for their flight, but each step he took in that direction felt heavier. Coruscant had the best medical facilities in the galaxy. How could he deny his wife and child that?

  He could feel Cilghal, concentrating, reading Mara in the Force, trying to glean information from its generation and interaction in her cells. He caught glimpses of Oolos taking skin and blood samples and sonic readings and feeding the data into his medical datapad.

  Mara gave them an hour, then cut them off. Luke stopped what he was doing and came back into the room.

  “Conclusions?” Mara asked.

  Oolos sighed. “The MD droid was correct. The synthesized tears are having an unforeseen effect on the placenta. The actual attack was triggered by stress, but continuing to take them might well lead to the death of the child.”

  Cilghal nodded her bulbous head in agreement. “I concur,” the Mon Calamarian said.

  “Can you resynthesize them?” Luke asked. “Reconfigure the substance so it won’t have that effect?”