Balance Point

by Kathy Tyers

“By my agents. I scrupulously avoid their presence.”

  “Their names,” Tsavong ordered, relaxing.

  “Leia Organa Solo remains supervisor of this dome. My assistants alert me whenever she approaches the laboratory.”

  “Your assistants approach worthiness.”

  “I wish I could convey your compliments.”

  “When Duro is liberated, you may offer them yourself.”

  The villip showed Nom Anor’s head nod in gratitude. “You honor us all. The other two Jedi came to my attention only this morning. My agents on Bburru have monitored a number of outsystem calls from Settlement Thirty-two. They finally identified a passenger who arrived by medical evacuation ship as Organa Solo’s daughter, Jaina. CorDuro Shipping reports dealing with another, at Thirty-two—Jaina’s brother, the cowardly Jedi who went missing from Coruscant—”

  Perplexed, Tsavong Lah interrupted, “Is this family in blood feud? Avoiding one another, to prevent embarrassment?”

  “I find no evidence of either. It seems possible, though almost unbelievable—even for this godless race—that the offspring have no idea of the mother’s location, nor she of theirs. The coward’s name—”

  “Name me no coward. He is not worthy to be known.”

  “Then may I offer a suggestion?”

  Tsavong Lah nodded.

  “I have developed a new organism.”

  Tsavong Lah frowned. Nom Anor fancied himself a shaper, dabbling in others’ sanctified specialties.

  “When we need to break down these abominable domes and let in living atmosphere,” Anor continued, “it should be useful. Meanwhile, I would like to test it in the two younger Jedis’ dome. Bruk tukken nom canbintu.” He quoted the adage: to weaken the hinges of the enemy’s fort.

  “Why not your own?” It would be an honorable self-immolation.

  “Belek tiu, Warmaster.” Nom Anor apologized, and the warmaster let him continue. “This research complex serves our long-term purposes, and Jedi Organa Solo helps other workers make maximum use of resources. For that reason, this dome’s destruction should be delayed.”

  Tsavong Lah could not fault the executor’s reasoning. “Only so long as she remains ignorant of your presence. Somehow, these Jeedai recognize us through ooglith masquers. I have little faith that your new gablith masquer would deceive her.” Jedi magic worked without sacrifices to the Yuuzhan Vong gods, which made it almost as abominable as the infidels’ technology. “The priests,” he added dryly, “change their minds daily, whether the portents identify these Jeedai as abominations too evil to even sacrifice, or worthy enough to offer individually. But do not encounter her in person.”

  “I serve you with my life and death,” Nom Anor answered.

  Tsavong Lah touched his villip. Nom Anor’s face faded, shrank, and was sucked back into the villip’s interior.

  Tsavong Lah sat for another minute, stroking his frayed lip with a finger claw. Destroying Duro’s ship-crafting facility would deny his enemies warships and matériel. Cutting their trade routes again would wreak economic havoc.

  And at Duro, he would make an example that the galaxy’s surviving inhabitants would not dare to ignore.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mara sat with Luke at a long briefing table, in a sequestered room protected by sonic containment fields. At the table’s head, Ayddar Nylykerka—chief of Fleet Intelligence—stood beside a three-dimensional galactic map that gleamed over the table’s modulasers. Most of its star field shone faintly blue, but a substantial slice starting near Belkadan had been reprogrammed to shine red, those systems that had been taken by the Yuuzhan Vong.

  Nylykerka swept his laser pointer through that sector. “As you see, our hyperspace probes are returning limited information. Kalarba, Druckenwell, and Falleen are lost. Even if we could retain Rodia,” he said, glancing at Rodian Councilor Narik, “the Corellian Run is cut.” He swept his pointer through that hyperspace lane. “Our scouts report having found several more points seeded with dovin basal interdiction mines.”

  Councilor Narik’s ears swiveled toward Chief of State Fey’lya. “Once again, a Mid Rim world is sacrificed in the name of protecting the Core … or Bothawui,” Narik said angrily.

  Mara frowned. The Bothan chief of state had managed to keep the remains of the Fifth Fleet deployed at home, but he looked twitchy. Defensive. Ripples danced almost constantly across his furred face.

  “With such grave damage to Fondor, we are equally concerned with protecting Kuat Drive Yards,” Councilor Triebakk of Kashyyyk said through his translator droid. He gestured toward the Advisory Council’s newest member, Senator Viqi Shesh of Kuat, who nodded acknowledgment.

  “Centerpoint Station,” Fyor Rodan of Commenor said, “is ideally positioned to defend Kuat. But what is Centerpoint’s current status? Can we count on Corellia?”

  Chelch Dravvad shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Mara didn’t envy him. Corellia had been used as a trap, a target to tempt the Yuuzhan Vong into Centerpoint’s range. Now the Corellians had back-blading in mind.

  “My report isn’t good,” Dravvad answered. “After Centerpoint was fired toward Fondor, there was some kind of interior malfunction, probably due to Sal-Solo’s mishandling. That information must not reach the Yuuzhan Vong, though. As long as they consider Centerpoint operational, it provides a deterrent for this entire region.”

  Mara sensed uneasiness around the table. Several heads nodded somberly.

  Fey’lya crossed his arms over his tunic. “And now Corellia threatens to act alone, making the Centerpoint weapon its rallying point.” He glanced aside at Councilor Dravvad.

  “Without Fondor’s shipyards,” the Corellian said, “New Republic forces could not have used Centerpoint as planned anyway. The HIMS devices, which would’ve allowed our forces to maneuver in and out of the interdiction field, were built there.”

  Admiral Sien Sovv, the Sullustan fulcrum of the New Republic Defense Force, had been threatened with a senatorial vote of no confidence after the Centerpoint catastrophe. He’d barely survived. “Chief Nylykerka,” he asked, “what news from Kubindi?”

  The burly Tammarian shook his head. “Our only communication has come courtesy of Jedi Kyp Durron. I’m sure you’ve seen that on HoloNet.”

  Sovv’s jowls quivered with distaste. “Who hasn’t? I suppose Jedi Corran Horn has returned to his usual heroics as well, by now,” he suggested, turning to Luke.

  Sitting next to Mara, Luke shook his head. “Corran is still in seclusion on Corellia.” Lying low, Mara knew, after the Ithor catastrophe.

  Sovv sniffed loudly.

  Cal Omas, formerly of Alderaan, said, “I find it interesting that the enemy took Kubindi without harassing either Fwillsving or Kessel.”

  “The biology people,” Nylykerka said, “believe that the Kubaz’s history of genetically engineering insect species made that world’s resources appeal to the Yuuzhan Vong.”

  “And the disinformation campaign?” Fey’lya turned to a tall, slender woman standing behind Chief Nylykerka.

  Mara knew Major Hallis Saper by sight. The former documentarian, now employed by NRI, opened her hands. “We know the Yuuzhan Vong are superstitious. Unfortunately, until we can get a better sense of what they consider good and bad portents, there’s little we can do to convince them they’re seeing bad ones.”

  Admiral Sovv slowly shook his head. “Thank you, Major Saper. We will inform you as information becomes available.”

  Fey’lya raised the room lights to a slightly brighter level, and Nylykerka deactivated his map as Major Saper left the chamber.

  Borsk Fey’lya cleared his throat, making a braying noise. “Councilor Pwoe?” He indicated the tentacle-faced Quarren seated across from him. “You requested a place on the agenda.”

  Councilor Pwoe lowered his head, resting his facial tentacles against his chest. “Master Skywalker,” he said, “I am glad that the topic of Jedi Horn and Jedi Durron was raised. Unless you can exercise a gre
ater measure of control over the Jedi, you must prepare for a new round of persecution.”

  Luke raised his head but didn’t speak.

  “Your nephews,” Pwoe continued, “allowed Sal-Solo to fire the Centerpoint weapon. True?”

  “Yes,” Luke said. Mara glared at the aging Squid Head. “At the New Republic’s request,” Luke reminded the council.

  “We are disturbed,” Pwoe said. “Jedi and other vigilante groups are becoming increasingly active. Justice must be meted out under the rule of law, not by petty tyrants in X-wing fighters.”

  Mara eyed Fyor Rodan, who’d made no secret of his opposition to forming any new Jedi council.

  Rodan stirred. “There was a time,” he said, “when the presence of twenty Jedi on Coruscant might have seemed like a guarantee of our safety. Now, it seems that you head an order of twenty vigilantes and eighty do-nothings.”

  “Master Skywalker, apologies,” Cal Omas said. “But you see how controversial the Jedi have become.”

  Rodan narrowed his dark eyes. “Master Skywalker,” he said, managing to make that title sound demeaning, “it is increasingly obvious that the Jedi choose to help some peoples, but not others. Why?”

  Luke shook his head, and Mara felt his mood turn deadly sober. “Jedi are responsible to the Force, not to me. I’ve tried to coordinate them. I’ve tried,” he added, shooting another side glance toward Councilor Rodan, “to reestablish some semblance of organization. But there are people who feel that if we were better organized, we’d be a danger to the New Republic.”

  “Can you blame them?” Rodan asked. “We are determined to keep the Jedi and their quaint philosophy separate from this government.”

  “To the extent of refusing to sanction us, Councilor? Of threatening persecution?”

  Chief of State Fey’lya’s cream-colored fur rippled again. “Your agents misinformed us concerning the dangers to Corellia and Fondor. That failure contributed gravely to the Centerpoint catastrophe.”

  “The Yuuzhan Vong planted misinformation by altering the Hutts’ shipping patterns,” Luke answered. “We won’t be fooled next time. And we won’t be able to observe Hutt smuggling behavior anytime soon.”

  Point, Mara observed. The Hutts were mired in the fight of their lives.

  Fey’lya sat stroking his beard.

  “When peace and justice are threatened,” Luke said, “our mandate to rescue becomes a mandate to defend whole worlds. It’s true that some Jedi have used that mandate to rationalize extreme behavior. Despite what some of you think, I’ve done my best to correct them. Their freedom to make choices means they are free to make wrong ones.”

  Commodore Brand, silent until now, spoke up at last. “Hear, hear.”

  “It’s never easy to use power,” Luke said, shaking his head and giving Rodan a long look. “You’ve all dealt with that problem, and with the ethics of spending other beings’ lives in battle.”

  “That is why governments have high councils,” Rodan said. “To check powerful individuals.”

  Mara finally heard some tension in Luke’s voice as he said, “And this body, Councilor Rodan, certainly has chosen to defend some systems at the expense of others.”

  Rodan, of Commenor, glowered.

  Luke rested one elbow on the table. “Some Jedi have stepped back from using the Force almost entirely, for fear of misusing it. My nephew Jacen, for one.”

  Mara happened to be looking at Viqi Shesh at that moment. The Kuati senator raised one manicured eyebrow.

  “The Jedi are scattered,” Luke went on. “They’re my commitment. We’re all answerable to you—”

  “Is that so?” Narik of Rodia muttered.

  Luke turned to the Rodian. “Yes,” he said, “it is. For as long as this body represents peace and justice.”

  Mara clapped a lid on her urge to give Narik a saccharine smile.

  Narik clasped his hands over the table. “My homeworld is about to suffer the most terrible depredations—”

  “And mine,” Luke said, “is probably next.”

  True enough. Tatooine was just Rimward from Rodia.

  Narik’s green hide darkened. “That is not my concern.”

  “All worlds are my concern,” Luke said.

  In a lounge on one of Coruscant’s floating docks, Mara sank into a cushioned repulsor chair and blew out a breath. This divisiveness could bring down the New Republic, without requiring the Yuuzhan Vong to bring in a single ship.

  At one edge of the floating dock, a local shuttle pulled away. Mara’s eye caught movement on the lounge’s far side. A tall female with short, wheat-blond hair walked toward them. Mara opened herself to the Force—and before she could reach toward the woman, she felt something primitive but alive, clinging to her body near her hip-hugging belt. She brushed at it with one hand.

  “Tresina Lobi,” Luke murmured to Mara.

  Mara had met the woman, the first of her people—the Chevs—to show Force talent. Tresina had a charming knack for melting into mixed crowds.

  “Were you expecting her?” Mara asked.

  She brushed her stomach again. Granite slugs often sloughed off walls, and maybe a small one had rolled down under her long vest. She held back her disgust, trying not to distract Luke. Granite slugs were Hutt-ugly but harmless.

  Luke raised an eyebrow. “For the last few minutes, anyway.”

  The Chev woman halted about two meters from him. “Master Skywalker, and Mara.” Her voice was low and musical. “Forgive me for coming with urgent business.”

  “That’s never a problem,” Luke said graciously. “Sit down, Tresina. Get your breath.” Again he glanced at Mara.

  Mara shook her head. It’s nothing, she thought at him. She eyed the Chev woman.

  “I’m all right,” Tresina said. Despite the woman’s Jedi discipline, Mara remembered her as someone who usually smiled—but not today. “I just got back from Duro,” she said. “I went out with my apprentice, Thrynni Vae.”

  Mara nodded. In the last year, Luke had assigned Jedi listening teams to most major systems and some critical minor ones. She crossed her hands over her vest, just below her belt line, and pressed gently. She felt nothing through the vest—no lump, no defensive wriggle.

  That was not good.

  “Thrynni and I have been keeping watch on several Duros shipping concerns,” Tresina said. “The situation there has been quietly getting … complicated.”

  “In what way?” Mara asked. This couldn’t be her disease, flaring up again. It couldn’t …

  “Well, I hardly know where to start.” Tresina shook her head. “The Duros High House wasn’t at all thrilled by SELCORE’s reclamation proposal. Evidently their shipping concerns bought out a few representatives, and then SELCORE carried the vote.”

  “Why would the shipping concerns do that?” Luke asked.

  Meanwhile, Mara ran a fast physical inventory. She did feel oddly tired, infinitesimally wearier than listening to pompous councilors ought to make her. She’d never been able to sense the disease itself through the Force, but she did feel an odd thickening of her own cells, below the pit of her stomach.

  It had attacked her reproductive system before. Not this time, she vowed. Back at their rooms, she still had a few precious drops of Vergere’s tears.

  Luke frowned. Again Mara shook her head slightly, then stared at Tresina.

  The Chev woman’s wheat-blond hair caught a gleam of the sunset light. “Thrynni and I thought we had a lead,” she said. “SELCORE’s contractor for outsystem goods, CorDuro Shipping, has been intercepting shipments. They’re letting out tapcaf talk that they’re reselling to other refugee groups, but there are quieter rumors of goods being stockpiled in another orbital city.”

  “Interesting ruse,” Mara said, determined to concentrate. You stick to business, too, Skywalker!

  “Then Thrynni heard a mechanic claim he’d been working on one city’s drive and steering unit. They’ve multiplied its drive power by factors of sev
eral hundred.”

  “They want to be able to take it out of orbit,” Mara concluded. “They could retreat, if the Yuuzhan Vong attacked the refugees down on the planet.” Including Han, Jacen, and Leia. And now Jaina, according to a flagged medical report sent directly to Luke. “What are Duro’s defenses like?”

  “There’s a Mon Cal light cruiser, Poesy. Fighter complement of E-wings and B-wings, and some local police craft they call Dagger-Ds, divided among Poesy and some of the cities.” Tresina finally sat down. “Thrynni and I were collecting information in the capital city, the one the Duros call Bburru. We traced some of the intercepted goods from one shipyard arm to another, where it left for another habitat—Urrdorf, the one that’s supposedly being modified.”

  “And?” Mara prompted gently.

  Tresina’s hands had tightened on the arms of her chair.

  “Eleven days before I left Bburru,” Tresina answered, “Thrynni vanished.”

  Luke didn’t look pleased when Mara left him with Tresina at NRI, nor when she claimed she needed to do something back at the suite, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. She knew he’d get there as quickly as possible.

  As she entered, R2-D2 rolled away from his post at the local-data feed in the kitchen and whistled a query.

  “No, thanks, Artoo. I don’t need you at the moment.”

  He wheeled around and retreated.

  Mara took a chair with her back to the broad window, sank down, and withdrew deep into herself. Before she used the last of Vergere’s miraculous healing dose, she’d better know what she was up against. She was determined to do whatever she could, on her own. She and Cilghal had experimented with self-examination techniques, the only possible way to deal with a disease that continually mutated.

  Focusing the Force finely, she confirmed that the odd sense focused deep in her uterus, on one side. It was a thickening of cells, almost like a tumor, multiplying more quickly than her normal cells. She probed deeper, for their cellular essence. Shifting her grip on the Force, she poised to destroy their blood flow.

  Then she sensed something weirdly familiar. Besides the tumorlike echo of her own cellular essence—completely familiar, after fighting her disease for this long—she sensed another human life-signature.