Destiny's Way

by Walter Jon Williams

  “I don’t sense anything wrong,” Mara said.

  “I don’t, either.”

  Without a word, Luke and Mara stepped between the battle droid and the docking bay hatch. Luke felt his nape hairs prickle at the thought of all that firepower directed at his back.

  “Sir—” the officer began.

  Luke made a gentle gesture. “We’ll be fine, Lieutenant,” he said.

  “You’ll be fine. Yes, sir.”

  There was a gentle tremor as tractor beams brought the pod to the hatch, and a hiss as the lock pressurized. Then lights blinked on the inner hatch and it swung open. Jacen stood in the open hatch.

  He was dressed in a kind of colorless poncho, clearly of Yuuzhan Vong origin, tied at the waist with what looked like a vine. He had lost weight, and his ropy muscles flexed plainly under pale, sickly skin that didn’t seem to hold an ounce of fat. Scars, healed but still vivid, striped his bare arms and legs.

  It was Jacen’s face, however, that showed the most change. Beneath an untrimmed mane of hair and a short, equally scruffy beard was a sharp, chiseled face, any remains of baby fat burned away, with brown eyes that showed an adult, restless, penetrating intelligence.

  When Jacen had left for Myrkr, he had been on the cusp of adulthood. It was clear that whatever else he may have left there, his boyhood was gone.

  The relentless eyes turned toward Luke and Mara and blossomed at once with warmth and recognition. Luke felt his heart surge with joy. He and Mara each took an involuntary step forward, and Jacen sped from the hatch, and his arms swept out to embrace them both. Laughter burst from all three at the joyous reunion.

  Tears stung Luke’s eyes. The turning point, he thought. Yes. From this point, we turn from sorrow toward joy.

  “My boy!” The words spilled from Luke. “My boy!”

  It was Mara who broke the embrace. She took a half step back, her hand gently placed on Jacen’s chest as if to touch the heart of him. “You’ve been injured.”

  “Yes.” The word was simple, accepting. Whatever had happened to him, Jacen seemed at peace with it.

  “Are you all right?” Mara continued. “Do you need a healer?”

  “No, I’m fine. Vergere healed me.”

  It was then that Mara and Luke turned to Jacen’s companion. The piebald little alien had taken a few steps into the station, and was looking at the ranks of armed soldiers with what seemed to be both skepticism and humor.

  “I owe Vergere thanks of my own, it seems,” Mara said.

  Vergere turned her wide, slanting eyes toward Mara. “My tears served you?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’m cured, apparently.”

  “Many years ago, Nom Anor poisoned you with a coomb spore. Did you know that?” Vergere’s words were precise, a little fussy.

  “Yes, I know.” She hesitated. “But—healing tears? How did you—how is it done?”

  Vergere’s feathery whiskers rippled in what may have been a slight smile. “It is a long story. Perhaps someday I will tell you.”

  Luke faced Jacen again and found the young man grinning at him. Luke grinned back. And then an idea struck him.

  “We’ve got to tell your parents you’re alive,” he said. “And your sister.”

  Jacen’s grin faded slightly. “Yes. I tried to contact them through the Force. But—yes—they should have official word, as well.”

  “Sir.” It was the lieutenant commanding the military detachment. “Master Skywalker, I have to take possession of the escape pod. If you’ll wait for a few minutes on the mezzanine, I’ll escort you to the communications center where you can send your message, and then on to Admiral Sovv.”

  “Certainly,” Luke said. An irresistible urge to grin struck him again, and he ruffled Jacen’s hair with his hand.

  With the young man between them, their arms around Jacen’s shoulders and waist, Luke and Mara walked past the battle droid to the mezzanine rail. Vergere followed in silence.

  Below, travelers moved back and forth from docking ports, all too busy to look up and see the strange reunion taking place on the balcony above them.

  “Welcome back,” Luke said. “Welcome back, young Jedi.”

  “I’m not the only one you should welcome back,” Jacen said, with a nod toward Vergere.

  Luke turned to Vergere. “Welcome, of course,” he said politely. “But I don’t know where you’re from, so I can’t be sure whether you’re back or not.”

  “That is a paradox without an easy answer,” Vergere said.

  Jacen laughed. “That’s true. Haven’t you guessed?” And when Luke and Mara turned to him, Jacen laughed again.

  “Vergere is a Jedi. A Jedi of the Old Republic. She’s been living among the Yuuzhan Vong for more than fifty years.”

  Luke stared at Vergere in astonishment.

  “And you’re still alive?” Mara blurted.

  Vergere looked down at herself, and patted herself as if demonstrating her own existence. “Apparently so, young Masters,” she said.

  “How—” Mara began. How had she lived among the Yuuzhan Vong without having her Jedi powers unmasked by a yammosk?

  “Another long story,” Vergere said, “perhaps for another time.”

  “You keep your secrets, Vergere,” Luke observed.

  “I didn’t survive by offering my secrets to anyone who might be interested,” Vergere said. “My secrets shall remain mine alone, unless I see a reason to set them free.” She didn’t speak defiantly, but in a matter-of-fact tone, as if describing the color of the carpet.

  “We don’t want to pump you for information unnecessarily,” Luke said, “but I do hope we’ll be able to talk sooner or later.”

  Vergere’s feathers ruffled a bit, then smoothed. Perhaps it was her version of a shrug. “We may speak, certainly. But please recall what I told you earlier—I am not a partisan of your New Republic.”

  “What does hold your allegiance?” Luke asked.

  “The Jedi Code. And what you would call the ‘Old’ Republic.”

  “There is no Old Republic.” Luke tried to speak gently.

  “But there is.” Her eyes lifted to his, and he felt a shimmer of Vergere’s power and conviction, like a vibration in his bones.

  “As long as I draw breath,” she said, “the Old Republic lives.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Luke spoke. “Long may it live, Vergere,” he said.

  Vergere bobbed her head. “I thank you, young Master.” And then she fell silent and turned to look out over the concourse, her eyes sweeping left and right, gazing at the busy people and droids moving swiftly about their business, the ships, the cargo moving back and forth.

  It was a world, Luke thought, that Vergere had abandoned fifty years ago. She had lived among a people immeasurably strange, and Luke wondered how alien Vergere’s own native galaxy seemed to her now, with its many races, its bustle, and its humming, clicking, chattering machines.

  Sadness sifted through Luke’s veins. He had welcomed Jacen back to his home, but no such welcome was possible for Vergere—everything she had known was gone.

  The reunion did not end with the reappearance of Jacen.

  When Luke and his party were brought into Admiral Sovv’s suite, Luke found that Sovv wasn’t alone. Sitting on the long curved cream-colored sofa behind their Sullustan host were two familiar figures posed like a painterly study in white, a white-uniformed Mon Calamari and a white-haired human.

  “Admiral Ackbar! Winter!”

  The joy of reunion with his old friends died, however, as he saw Ackbar struggle to rise from the sofa, and he had to force the smile to remain on his face.

  Ackbar leaned heavily on Winter’s arm as he stood. The amphibian’s shiny pink skin had turned grayish and dull. When he spoke, his words were lisped out of a slack mouth that gasped for air.

  “Master Skywalker. Friends. I regret to say that living out of water is a burden for me these days.”

  “Please don’t stand, th
en,” Luke said.

  He went to Ackbar’s side, and with Winter’s help eased the admiral again onto the sofa. “Have you been ill?” he asked the admiral, but his eyes went to Winter.

  The white-haired woman looked at Luke and gave a brief nod, a quiet confirmation.

  “Ill?” Ackbar said. “Not exactly. What I am is old.” He gave a sigh from his slack lips. “Perhaps Fey’lya was right when he refused to let me return to the service.”

  “More likely he remembered the times you’d humiliated him in Council,” Mara said.

  Winter approached Jacen and wrapped him in a long, thorough, and powerful embrace. “Welcome back, Jacen,” she said simply. Winter had looked after the Solo children through much of the early days of the New Republic, when Han and Leia had been driven by the war from one end of the galaxy to the other, and over the years she had probably spent as much time with Jacen as his mother had.

  “Have you heard from Tycho?” Luke asked. While Winter’s husband, Tycho Celchu, was away with the military, Winter had returned to Ackbar’s side as his aide and companion, serving him as loyally as she’d once served Leia.

  “He’s helping Wedge Antilles organize the defense of Kuat and the establishment of resistance cells. And he’s well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Ackbar lifted his large head toward Mara. “I understand that I should offer congratulations. Did you receive my gift?”

  “We did, thank you. The toy holoprojector will do wonders for Ben’s vision and coordination.”

  “The child is well?”

  “Ben’s fine.” A shadow crossed Mara’s face. “He’s been sent to safety for as long as we’re in danger, which may be a while.”

  “The Solos did the same thing with their children,” Winter reminded them. She sent an affectionate look toward Jacen. “They turned out all right.”

  “Will you all please make yourselves comfortable?” Sien Sovv said in his nasal voice. “Shall I send for refreshment?”

  Luke turned to Sovv and felt mild embarrassment at having ignored the Supreme Commander of the New Republic Defense Force for so long. “I beg your pardon, Admiral,” he said. “I should—”

  The Sullustan made a dismissive gesture. “Since I asked you here to meet old friends, I can hardly object if you let them take precedence over me.” His black plate eyes turned to Admiral Ackbar. “For that matter, I wish the admiral would take precedence over me during this war.”

  He wasn’t alone in that wish, Luke knew. It couldn’t have been easy for Sien Sovv to be the successor to a legend like Ackbar, and Sovv’s modesty and hard work were hardly the sort of gifts to fill the void left by Ackbar’s genius and charisma. Sovv might have done better if his term had been blessed by peace, since his administrative talents were genuine and he could have kept the service running at high efficiency, but he’d been unlucky in being forced to fight the wrong war against an enemy for whom the New Republic had been completely unprepared.

  Unlucky. It was the worst thing you could say about a military commander. Soldiers trusted a commander’s luck much more than they trusted a commander’s intelligence.

  “I do not believe,” Sovv said gently, “that I have met all your party?”

  Luke apologized again, and introduced Jacen and Vergere. Sovv complimented them both on their survival skills.

  “And young Solo,” he added. “I am pleased to report that your sister is not only well, but has taken part in a major victory at Obroa-skai.”

  Apparently comfortable with his ragged, half-clothed appearance, Jacen had perched on a chair near Vergere. Honest relief broke across his face at the news.

  “I was worried,” he said. “I sensed she was in a—a situation.”

  “An entire Yuuzhan Vong fleet was attacked by our fleet combined with a squadron of Hapans. General Farlander was quite explicit in his praise of Jaina. It appears she was responsible for much of the operational plan.”

  Jacen listened to Sien Sovv with interest, then responded cautiously. “Jaina planned this offensive?” he asked.

  “Not all the details, of course, but yes, the attack was her inspiration. Two Yuuzhan Vong troopships were destroyed, with tens of thousands of warriors. Our first completely successful offensive battle.”

  Jacen nodded. “A good plan, then.” His lips smiled, but there was no smile in his eyes.

  A light began pulsing on Sovv’s comm unit, and he put a small listener to his ear for a private message.

  “Your pardon,” he said, “but I alerted Fleet Intelligence once I understood that Jacen and a—a defector were on their way. They would like to debrief the both of you.” His plate eyes turned to Jacen. “If you’re physically strong enough, of course.”

  Luke couldn’t help but notice that Vergere, unlike Jacen, was not being given a choice.

  “I’m willing.” Jacen rose from his chair, then turned to his avian companion. “Vergere?”

  “Certainly.” The feathered Jedi wore the same wry, skeptical expression she had worn when she’d first stepped out of the air lock and seen the soldiers with weapons at the ready.

  “I suppose this will go on for a while,” Jacen said to Luke. “Since I don’t know where I’ll be staying, may I have your comm code?”

  Luke assured Jacen that he was welcome to stay with him and Mara, and gave Jacen his code. Then, turning to Vergere, he repeated the offer.

  “Vergere may be detained a little longer than Jacen, unfortunately,” Sovv said, which only increased the cynical look in Vergere’s eye.

  Vergere padded ahead of Jacen as the two made their way out. Through the briefly open door Luke caught a glimpse of Ayddar Nylykerka, the Tammarian director of Fleet Intelligence, at the head of a group of guards; and then the door closed. He turned to Sien Sovv.

  “You’re taking every precaution,” he said.

  “Yuuzhan Vong use of defectors and infiltrators is very effective,” the Sullustan said. “Before I free her to go where she wishes, I want to make sure that Vergere is what she claims to be.”

  “I know what she claims to be,” Luke said. “I just wonder how she can be expected to prove it.”

  TWELVE

  “Now remember,” Leia said, “we call it the Remnant, but to these people it’s still the Empire.”

  “An Empire without an Emperor,” Han commented.

  She patted his hand. “For which we may be thankful, my dear.” She sighed as a darker thought intruded. “And the New Republic is something of a remnant these days, as well.”

  The Millennium Falcon had finally completed its long, dangerous crossing of enemy-dominated space to the Imperial capital of Bastion. A squadron of Imperial Star Destroyers flew escort close alongside, their long, wide hulls almost walling off the stars. Their destination wasn’t the planet at all but a Super Star Destroyer that stretched a full four kilometers left and right from the docking port, and which carried a crew larger than the population of cities. In the docking bay, a military escort met Leia, officers quivering at the salute. Behind them was a military band that drummed and thumped them the fifty or so meters to their shuttle, a deluxe Lambda-class vehicle that featured a passenger compartment with fixtures of solid gold and a soft-spoken military aide who offered drinks and refreshments to fortify Leia and Han for the ten-standard-minute trip to the world’s surface.

  “The Empire hasn’t changed its style much,” Han said. He tugged at the collar of his general’s uniform. Leia had made him wear full dress on the theory that Imperials were conditioned to defer automatically to anyone wearing a uniform with sufficient badges of rank. Leia herself had chosen for the occasion a gown that was as uniformlike as possible, with a high collar and a double row of jeweled buttons down the front.

  “Did you notice when Vana Dorja left us?” Leia asked.

  Han gave a startled look over one shoulder. The only person to share the compartment with them was the aide, who had perched on a chair a tactful distance away, far enough t
o permit them to speak in lowered voices without being overheard.

  “No,” Han answered.

  “I’ll lay you a wager that Grand Admiral Pellaeon is listening to her report right now,” Leia said.

  “I don’t take sucker bets.”

  The Lambda-class shuttle dropped close to the planet’s surface and sailed low down a long avenue, past formations of thousands of stormtroopers and uniformed fleet personnel, all bracing into a salute as the shuttle drifted past. The late-afternoon sun stretched the soldiers’ long shadows across the pavement, producing the illusion that each ranked formation was followed by a dark legion of ghosts.

  “Quite a welcome,” Han said.

  “They’re trying to show us what valuable allies they’d make. Troops galore, a Super Star Destroyer, precious metals plating the furniture …”

  “And what do they expect us to give them in return for all this?”

  Leia gave her husband a significant look. “They’ll tell us, I’m sure.”

  The shuttle began to float upward as it approached Imperial Headquarters, a stupendous monolith of polished black marble, gleaming bronze, and dark reflective windows, with shield generators and turbolaser installations perched on a series of stepped-back ledges from which emerged a final, slim pinnacle that stretched upward to a bright crystalline starburst at the very top. It was as if a giant black fist had raised a single finger to indicate that the galaxy could have only one law, one government, and one absolute ruler.

  It was toward the starburst that the shuttle rose. It lined up on one of the long crystal rays of the starburst, then brought its docking arm to its tip and hovered there effortlessly on its repulsorlifts.

  The aide rose from his seat and stepped to the hatch. “I hope you enjoyed your flight,” he said, and at a touch of his fingers the hatch hissed open. The crystal ray, fragile-seeming from the ground, was actually a quite sturdy docking arm, transparent crystal supported by a strong silver-alloy skeleton.

  Leia thanked the aide, straightened her shoulders, and marched down the tube, with Han one pace behind and off her right shoulder. After about sixty meters the docking arm ended in a large glittering room roofed with faceted crystal. To Leia’s surprise she realized it was an arboretum, filled with thousands of bright exotic blossoms spilling out of their neat rows. Their fragrance perfumed the air. The setting sun set their petals aflame.