Balance Point

by Kathy Tyers

  Luke raised his head.

  “Get out of Bburru. Your kind isn’t wanted here.”

  Luke spread his hands. “We will, as soon as we finish our business. One of your employees, there, remembers the woman I’m looking for.”

  “So you want to talk with him?”

  “He remembers seeing her dead.”

  The supervisor’s lips pulled back in a humorless smile. “Then kill him. Fair’s fair.”

  Luke shook his head. “I expect you to discipline your own staff. I will check back.”

  Again he turned on one heel and walked away. He felt Anakin follow, disappointed but alert.

  Anakin was young. He wanted to make a stand, just as Jacen wanted to make a difference.

  The image of Thrynni Vae’s bloodied body thrust itself back into his mind, and for one moment, Luke wondered how he ever would face his sister if any of her Jedi children met that fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Leia had barely stopped moving, or giving orders, since Mara had transmitted the information that Dassid Cree’Ar was actually Nom Anor, the unmasked firebrand from Rhommamool—and a Yuuzhan Vong. Breathless from running to the research building and back, she sank into a chair in her communication center, near the main gate and quarantine area. C-3PO stood at another terminal, running duplicate analyses of every lab result Cree’Ar had ever reported. How much of the reclamation had he sabotaged? she wondered. All that work, that sense of accomplishment—a future for exiled refugees! Had he planted destructive organisms out there? And—

  “There’s the source for our white-eyes,” Han’s voice said over the comlink. He’d hidden the Millennium Falcon in plain sight, on a nearby bluff. SELCORE had left a pile of anthracite out there for emergency fuel, and the Falcon—now matte black—all but vanished from view. According to the best current reports, the Yuuzhan Vong did not seem to have sensors that would detect it.

  “And we’ve still got over a thousand people in quarantine. You know,” she said, “the simple fact that Nom Anor’s here makes this world look more like a target than a haven.”

  “Don’t get excited yet, sweetheart—”

  “The Yuuzhan Vong didn’t invade Rhommamool,” Randa insisted.

  The Hutt pressed himself against a wall, cringing and flexing his little hands. She’d thought about locking him up permanently. It didn’t feel right, though. The Hutts were also refugees. She would never trust him again, but she wanted him where she could watch him. She was determined to accord him the same sympathy and respect she’d give, say, a Ranat. So she allowed him limited freedom, and an escort: Basbakhan.

  Han must’ve overheard. “They didn’t have to. They just stood back and watched the locals burn it to a cinder. And look how far he’s gotten with the Duros.”

  C-3PO bent over his console, silent—as ordered. He’d recited the odds of annihilation until she finally threatened to shut him down.

  “Going to talk to the Duros High House?” Han asked.

  “Soon as I can get a clear transmission to Coruscant. And after I make sure our people down here haven’t been talked into murdering each other. Last night I had three reports of Ryn out skulking.”

  “What kind of reports?”

  “Conflicting. I put out that they’re probably just rumors, somebody trying to start trouble.” She hesitated. “Where is Droma, anyway?”

  “He’s around.”

  Skulking, Leia concluded, and this time she was glad. “Han, we do need contingency plans for evacuation. We’re warehousing half a dozen ships that SELCORE didn’t want to risk taking up again. I don’t think Jaina finished checking them out. Tell Droma—”

  “If SELCORE mothballed ships here, they’re ours now.”

  C-3PO’s head swiveled. He pantomimed frantically with both hands.

  “It’s all right,” Leia told him sternly. “Good, Han. We’re down to saving as many lives as possible … already. Start putting people on board. Especially the Vors.”

  “And all the droids we can find,” he said. “If the Vong get here, they’re scrap. That includes Goldenrod. Get him over here. In pieces, if you have to.”

  Leia turned down the comlink. “Go on, Threepio,” she said gently. “Get shipboard before the Yuuzhan Vong show up. We need you.”

  He was already shuffling out the door.

  “So Admiral Wuht has a soft spot for injured military personnel?” Mara asked softly.

  “Seems to.”

  Jaina sounded fully awake again, lying on one of the hostel’s other cots. The moment Luke and Anakin had gone out on their reconnoiter, Jaina had fallen instantly and blissfully asleep. Fighter pilot’s habit.

  Mara got up off her cot, feeling considerably less chipper, thinking about things she should’ve done before she rested. At that rate, of course, she never would lie down.

  “Artoo, get me a link to Admiral Wuht’s office.”

  R2-D2 whistled a smart salute. Shortly, an aide’s image appeared over the in-room holoboard.

  “You have a situation developing, Major.” Mara sketched out a warning.

  The military aide answered gruffly. “You may think our people are guilty of complicity with the Peace Brigade,” he said. “That is not true. We disliked being told to open our doors to refugees, but we would never conspire to sell their lives. We will call for a prompt investigation of CorDuro Shipping.”

  “There might not be time for that,” Mara said. “Get your battle group on alert.”

  Luke and Anakin returned shortly with the bad news about Thrynni Vae, and the quickly changing mood of Bburru City.

  And dinner. Mara dug in. “Then we’d better get Jacen and go for Anakin’s X-wing.”

  “Good.” Anakin said, half a nutrient bar muffling the word.

  Mara eyed Luke over a half-eaten kroyie drumstick. “Jaina and I can fire up the Shadow while you and Anakin spring Jacen.”

  Luke shook his head slowly. “They’re watching for me now, but they don’t know Jaina and Anakin quite so well.”

  Mara frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “You and I can create a diversion. There’ve been demonstrators outside Brarun’s home, down at the plaza. We’ll go talk with them … openly. While we do, Jaina and Anakin can slip in and pick up Jacen. We’ll rendezvous at the dock.”

  R2-D2 bleeped.

  “Okay,” Luke said, “we won’t leave you alone. You’re with Mara and me. Whatever happens,” he added softly, “no Duros are to be hurt unless it’s life and death for us. Anakin, Jaina—understand? You’ll follow about ten minutes behind us”

  They nodded.

  After washing up, Luke and Mara descended the lift.

  “How’s Jacen’s mental state?” Mara murmured. “Have you contacted him, since …” She let her voice trail off.

  “He didn’t answer when I comlinked half an hour ago. Brarun’s people might’ve taken it away.”

  And he wasn’t going to intrude on Jacen’s emotions from the distance? Mara nodded. All along, she’d advised Luke to use the Force cautiously. She’d never dreamed Jacen would take it this far.

  Again, they rode hoverbikes. Luke rented one with a sidecar. He helped R2-D2 wriggle into place before he climbed aboard.

  Mara rented a second bike, a two-seater with room to carry Jacen. “Ready,” she said, settling on the narrow forward saddle.

  She stayed half a length behind Luke, slightly to his right, flowing with inward traffic on the avenue.

  Under a bank of lights so high overhead that the illusion of daylight almost convinced Mara, Bburru’s central plaza was dominated by four tall housing stacks. The buildings rose as high as the diagonal braces, set up at midplaza like four long spokes of a wheel. A green park surrounded them. Along one building, a crowd had formed around a platform that was considerably taller than the one Mara saw at Port Duggan. From several directions, Duros were hurrying in on foot and by hoverbike.

  Luke swooped toward a parking stall near a pair of trees tha
t drooped from their weight of dangling moss and vines. Mara left him to scout the situation and found another stall some distance away.

  She hoped her guesses were wrong. If the Yuuzhan Vong struck here, these Duros were probably just as dead as the refugees.

  Luke strolled to meet her. The wind had disheveled his hair and put color in his cheeks. She liked the effect, and she let her stare linger just long enough to make sure he got the message. An answering warmth blossomed up from the Luke-place at the back of her mind.

  “Jacen’s up there, I take it?” She turned and eyed the building nearest the demonstrators. Obviously, their show was for his benefit.

  Now she recognized the Duros onstage: Brarun’s sister, Ducilla. “One, alone, is strength. One, alone, is unity.” Her voice, clearly audible as they walked out onto the plaza, fell silent. Duros backed out of Luke and Mara’s way, nodding their long heads and creating a path. Mara knew full well that she and Luke were letting themselves be surrounded, but she didn’t sense danger yet.

  They approached the chest-high platform. Two larger, heavier Duros stood behind Ducilla, sporting brand-new Merr-Sonn blasters.

  No wonder Duros were backing away from her. Amused, Mara kept several paces’ distance from Luke. They might both need room to swing lightsabers.

  Close by, Duros made shushing noises as Luke stepped into an open space below the platform.

  “An individual, alone, can be strong,” he called back, and Mara was surprised by how well his voice carried. Ducilla must’ve set up a transmission field so she could work the crowd. “But how much stronger are two,” Luke asked, “who can watch out for each other?”

  Ducilla’s lipless smile broadened. “The Jedi,” she said, mocking him with a singsong. “The ultimate disciples of interdependence. You are weak because of your diversity. You pull in too many directions.”

  Mara would’ve challenged that statement, but Luke used it as a launch point. “There are people all over the New Republic, diverse people, who desperately need help. Won’t you set aside your frustrations for a little while, and lend a hand to people weaker than yourself?”

  Behind Mara, there was a chorus of shouts. “SELCORE had no business—”

  “Refugees in our system make us bait for a Yuuzhan Vong strike—”

  “If you’ve come to Duro hoping to bring us back in line,” Ducilla said, spreading her hands, “I think you can see you made a mistake.”

  “No mistake,” Luke insisted. “SELCORE has offered your home planet back, in exchange for your help shuttling goods down to its surface … for which your brother’s shipping concern is being well compensated.”

  Her gray cheeks flushed darker.

  Luke went on. “SELCORE is too thinly spread to set up its own shuttle ships. It’s easier to bring in big freighters, and count on your distribution network—”

  The Duros whistled him down.

  Mara glanced up at the housing stack, trying to sense Jacen’s presence behind any of the large round windows. He was there, all right, but she couldn’t pinpoint the spot. R2-D2 stood where Luke had left him, between the sidecar bike and a blocky automated street cleaning unit, its massive sweeper arms folded up alongside the bulky digester. Jaina and Anakin were just arriving from separate directions. Jaina parked her bike and disappeared into the housing stack. Anakin slipped into the crowd and started pressing forward.

  Mara frowned. Those were not his orders.

  Ducilla raised her head. “Jedi,” she called, “have preached their philosophy of light and darkness, of knowledge and wisdom, and what have they given us? Violence and fear!”

  Murmurs surrounded Mara.

  “Domination, suppression.”

  The murmurs grew louder.

  Luke’s glance flickered sideways. He undoubtedly sensed Anakin coming, and that odd, elated determination the boy was broadcasting. Luke’s chin firmed, making him look irritated—but just for a moment. Then his lips twitched.

  “How many of the New Republic’s problems—right now—could be traced to the Jedi?” Ducilla called.

  And how much of what you’re saying, Mara wondered, could be traced to Nom Anor?

  Anakin reached the platform, set both hands on its edge, and vaulted into a Force-boosted somersault. He came down between Ducilla’s bodyguards, who reached for their blasters. Almost casually, Anakin swept one of the Duros off balance with his left foot. The other guard fired, but Anakin’s lightsaber was already out. He diverted the shot, then swept in and sliced the blaster in two.

  Stang the kid, anyway! What was he trying?

  Luke vaulted onto the platform, shouting, “That’s not what we came here to do.”

  To Mara’s utter shock, Anakin spun around and dropped into a dueler’s crouch. “That’s right,” he shouted. “This is what we came to do.”

  As Luke drew his lightsaber, Anakin smiled sardonically.

  Mara backstepped. They were both out of their minds!

  Luke stepped in, sweeping his lightsaber in a wide arc, slow and flashy. Anakin parried gracefully, locked blades, and held the pose.

  Then she understood. Anakin was challenging Luke to stage a demonstration, taking advantage of people’s fascination with lightsabers. She tended to forget that most citizens of the New Republic went their lifetime without seeing even one—let alone two at once, expertly handled. As Luke’s green blade crossed Anakin’s faint purple, she half smiled. Duros all around her pushed toward the platform.

  She wondered if Luke would make a speech while he had their full attention. As Luke lightly pushed Anakin away, a Duros woman standing near Mara nudged her companion, smiled, and then turned back to watch. Mara sent out a Force flicker herself, launching the second guard’s Merr-Sonn out of his hands into a vine-draped tree. She ached to join them on the platform, but that would be pointless. She could accomplish more here as a sentry.

  Luke and Anakin moved through a half-dozen basic drills in order, trading the lead, dropping in and out of deep stances, rising into dramatic blocks. The upstaged Duros orator and her bodyguards backed away. One guard pulled out a comlink and turned his back. Mara didn’t like that.

  Abruptly, Luke broke out of the classic sequence. Making a surprise rush, he swung low. To parry in place would send Anakin off balance.

  Instead, Anakin hopped back, locked blades, and stayed on his feet.

  Mara saw pride and praise in Luke’s slight, somber nod.

  Anakin pressed the unchoreographed attack, following slashes with short, chopping strikes. Mara was struck by the intensity, the balance, the sheer accuracy of Anakin’s use of the Force to anticipate Luke, pressing his attack beyond obvious blocks and parries. When Luke mounted a wild, sparkling offense, pushing Anakin past anything the young Jedi had faced before, Mara knew he, too, was impressed.

  She’d worried about the Solo brothers’ rivalry. Now she saw that practicing against Jacen—so similar in style, so different in execution—had matured Anakin tremendously.

  Only one problem. The crowd was growing, and as Ducilla’s bodyguard returned his comlink to his belt, Mara guessed Luke’s audience wouldn’t remain unarmed for long.

  Jacen was watching the crowd watch the practice duel when a faint tapping caught his attention.

  He pushed away from the transparisteel window. He’d never deactivated the listening devices in here, but now he had a hunch—not the Force, just a hunch—that with Luke, Anakin, and Mara in plain sight, twelve floors down, this could be Jaina.

  He made a fast circuit, gathering the snoops before he touched the door’s interior opening panel.

  It slid open, and his sister slipped through. “Hey,” she said.

  He poked his head out the door, glanced left and right, and spotted his guards, slumped comfortably against the wall. Shaking his head, he tossed the snoops onto one guard’s lap, then stepped back into his room and sent the door shut.

  “Hey,” he answered. “Nice of you to visit.” She’d thrown on a vest over he
r brown flight suit and black utility belt. He also noticed the close-fitting cap. “Great hair.”

  She glared at him. He’d left his own cap on the bedside. “Speak for yourself. What are you doing here, waiting for Hoth to melt?”

  “Vice-Director Brarun did send down a message that Uncle Luke had been spotted, out at the docks. He wants to talk with us all. Want some cold kroyie?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Jaina strode across to his window. Instead of looking out, she stood alongside it and cautiously peered up, down, and to both sides.

  “The only guards are in the hall. Were in the hall,” he corrected himself. “Doesn’t look like they gave you any trouble.”

  “As guards go, they weren’t real impressive.”

  “I think,” he confessed, “that their only real job is to let Brarun know if I decide to leave.”

  Jaina pointed down at the platform. He could plainly see the green and amethyst spark and flash of lightsabers engaging. “See that?” she demanded. “That’s going on in your honor—a distraction, so I can get you out. We’re headed back down to Gateway.”

  “Is it necessary? I’m waiting to talk to the Vice-Director—”

  She whirled around. “Are you even marginally aware of what’s going on around you?”

  “How about you?” he asked softly. “How’s the vision coming back?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’d forgotten how big your nose and chin are getting.”

  He snorted softly. His features had matured, this year. Hers had looked womanlike for three or four years—one of the temporary injustices of having a female twin.

  “Listen,” she said. “Aunt Mara and I just exposed a Yuuzhan Vong agent down at Gateway, and he nearly killed us both.” She snatched off her cap to reveal a synthflesh strip above her right ear. “And Uncle Luke just found connections between your precious vicedirector and the Peace Brigade.”

  Jacen felt his insides shrink. “That’s why Brarun’s anxious to get a Jedi in custody? Because the Peace Brigade has figured out that the Yuuzhan Vong want to neutralize us?”

  “Give the boy a medal. And meanwhile, you’re just sitting here, blind to it all. Aren’t you listening to the Force at all? Can’t you tell? Something’s about to happen. Again.”