Yavin was our childhood, Jacen thought. And the Yuuzhan Vong had taken that childhood away, and Yavin with it, and left Jaina a grown woman, hard and brittle and single-minded, with little patience for anything but leading her squadron against the enemy.
Sword of the Jedi. That’s what Uncle Luke had named her at the ceremony that had raised her to the rank of Jedi Knight. A burning brand to your enemies, a brilliant fire to your friends. That’s what Luke had said.
“I think it will be Hutt space myself,” Jaina said. “In Hutt space the Yuuzhan Vong have had their own way for too long.”
Yours is a restless life, and never shall you know peace, though you shall be blessed for the peace that you bring to others.
Luke had said that as well. Jacen felt an urge to comfort his sister, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t reject the touch, but she didn’t accept it either: he felt as if his arm were draped around a form made of hardened durasteel.
It didn’t matter, Jacen thought, if she accepted or rejected his help. He would make his aid available whether she wanted it or not. Luke had offered him a choice of assignments, and he had chosen the one that would place him near Jaina.
When Anakin had died, and Jacen had at the same time been made a prisoner of the Yuuzhan Vong, Jaina had allowed herself to be overcome by despair. The dark side had claimed her, and though she had fought her way out of that abyss, she was still more fragile than Jacen would have liked. She had grown fey, haunted by death, by the memories of Chewbacca and Anakin and Anni Capstan and all the many thousands who had died. To his horror Jaina had told him that she didn’t expect to survive the war.
It wasn’t despair, she insisted; she’d beaten despair when she conquered the dark side. It was just a realistic appraisal of the odds.
Jacen had wanted to protest that if you expect death, you won’t fight for life. And so he volunteered for duty with the fleet at Kashyyyk, determined that if Jaina wouldn’t fight her utmost to preserve her life, he would fight that battle on her behalf.
“I think Yavin is a good bet for the next strike,” another voice said. “We’ve had squadrons clearing Yuuzhan Vong raiders off the Hydian Way, as if they’re preparing a route for us. We might soon find ourselves moving in that direction.”
Corran Horn stepped to the viewport. The Rogue Squadron commander wore a battered colonel’s uniform that dated from the wars against the Empire.
“Yavin,” he said, “Bimmiel, Dathomir . . . somewhere out there.”
A polite hissing signaled a disagreement. “We forget the enemy are behind uz,” hissed Saba Sebatyne. “If we take Bimmisaari and Kessel the enemy will be cut in two.”
“That would bring on a major battle,” Corran said. “We don’t have the strength to fight one.”
“Yet . . .” Jaina said, and through their twin bond Jacen felt the fierce power of her calculation. She had probably reckoned to the day when the New Republic would have the power to shift to the offensive, and could hardly wait.
The Sword of the Jedi wanted to strike to the enemy’s heart.
The shuttle swept into Ralroost’s docking bay and settled onto its landing gear. The droid pilot, a metal head and torso wired onto the instrument console, opened the shuttle doors. Its head spun clean around on its shoulders to face them.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride, Masters. Please watch your step as you exit.”
The four Jedi stepped out of the shuttle onto Admiral Kre’fey’s pristine deck. Scores of people bustled about, rode hovercarts, or worked on starfighters. Most were furred Bothans, but among them were a fair number of humans and other species of the galaxy. Jacen was suddenly conscious that he was the only person present without a military uniform.
They stepped toward the bulkhead, with its open blast doors that led forward to the ship’s command center. Above the open doors was a sign:
how can i hurt the vong today?
This was what Admiral Kre’fey called his Question Number One, which everyone in his command was to ask her- or himself every day.
In a few moments, Jacen thought, he’d hear an answer to that question.
Jacen craned his head as he passed through the blast doors, and on the other side he saw Kre’fey’s Question Number Two.
how can i help my own side grow stronger?
The answer to that question was going to be a little harder to find.
The four Jedi reported to Snayd, Admiral Kre’fey’s aide, who took them to a conference room. Jacen followed the others into the room, and in the dim light he first saw the Bothan admiral Traest Kre’fey, who stood out by virtue of the unusual color of his fur, the same brilliant white as Ralroost’s paint. As Jacen’s eyes adjusted to the room’s darkness he saw other military officers, including General Farlander, and another group of Jedi who were quartered on the cruiser. Alema Rar, Zekk, and Tahiri Veila. Jacen felt the welcoming presence of the others greeting him in the Force, and he sent his own warm reply.
“Greetings!” Kre’fey returned the salutes of the three military Jedi, and stepped forward to clasp Jacen’s hand. “Welcome to Ralroost, young Jedi.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” Unlike other military commanders, Kre’fey had been happy to work with Jedi in the past, and had sent a specific request to Luke Skywalker for more Jedi warriors.
“I hope you’ll be able to help us in this next mission,” the admiral said.
“That’s why we’re here, sir.”
“Fine! Fine.” Kre’fey turned to the others. “Please be seated. We’ll begin as soon as Master Durron joins us.”
Jacen seated himself in an armchair next to Tahiri Veila, the soft, smooth leather embracing his body. The little blond Jedi gave him a shy smile, her bare feet swinging clear of the carpet beneath her.
“How are you faring?” he asked.
Her wide eyes turned thoughtful as she considered the question. “I’m better,” she said. “The meld is helping a lot.”
The fierce, impulsive Tahiri had loved Jacen’s brother Anakin, and had been present at Myrkr when Anakin had met his hero’s death. Devastated by Anakin’s passing, her fiery character had come close to being snuffed out. She had withdrawn, and though she had continued to function as a Jedi, it was as if she were only going through the motions. Her impetuous personality had vanished into a subdued, ominously quiet young woman.
It had been Saba Sebatyne, the reptilian leader of the all-Jedi Wild Knights Squadron, who had suggested that Tahiri should be sent to join Admiral Kre’fey at Kashyyyk. Kre’fey wanted as many Jedi as possible under his command, to form a Jedi Force-meld in combat, all the Jedi linked together through the Force and acting as one. Saba insisted that the Force-meld would help a wounded mind heal, by drawing a Jedi in pain toward light and healing.
Apparently Saba had been right.
“I’m glad to know you’re doing better,” Jacen said. His own experience with the meld, on Myrkr, had been more ambiguous: if it amplified Jedi abilities, it also enlarged any disharmony that existed among them.
Tahiri gave Jacen a quick smile and patted his arm briefly. “I’m glad you’re here, Jacen.”
“Thank you. I wanted to be here. It seemed to be where I was needed.”
He wanted to experience the meld again. He thought it could teach him a great deal.
The doors slid open, Kyp Durron entered, and at once the mood of the room seemed to shift. Some people, Jacen thought, carried a kind of aura with them. If you met Cilghal, you knew at once you were in the presence of a compassionate healer, and Luke Skywalker radiated authority and wisdom.
When you looked at Kyp Durron, you knew you were seeing an enormously powerful weapon. If only Jacen didn’t know how erratic that weapon had been.
The dark-haired, older Jedi wore a New Republic–style uniform without any insignia, to show that he led an all-volunteer squadron that fought alongside the military forces but was not formally a part of them.
Kyp and his unit, the Dozen, had al
ways gone their own way. They flew with Kre’fey not because they were under orders, but because they chose to.
Kyp and the admiral exchanged salutes. “Sorry I’m late, Admiral,” Kyp said. He showed the datapad he carried in one hand. “I was getting the latest intelligence reports. And, uh—“ He hesitated. “—some of the data were kind of interesting.”
“Very good, Master Durron.” Kre’fey turned to the others. “Master Durron has submitted a plan for action against the enemy. As it’s fully in line with our operational goals as established by Admirals Sovv and Ackbar, I’ve given it my tentative approval. I thought I would place it before my senior commanders, and you squadron commanders, to see if you might have anything to add.”
Jacen looked at Tahiri, startled. She was a squadron commander? Her feet would barely reach the foot controls in a starfighter cockpit.
And then, as what he’d heard struck home, he exchanged a quick glance with his sister. Kyp Durron’s plans, in the past, had been aggressive in the extreme; at Sernpidal he’d tricked Jaina and the New Republic military into destroying a Yuuzhan Vong shipwomb, thus stranding untold numbers of Yuuzhan Vong in intergalactic space and dooming them to a cold, lingering death.
Kyp was said to have changed in the months since then, and had been appointed to the High Council that advised the Chief of State and oversaw Jedi activities. But Jacen was prepared to examine carefully any plan put forward by Kyp Durron before he could bring himself to approve it.
Kre’fey surrendered his place at the head of the room and seated himself on a thronelike armchair. Kyp nodded to the admiral, then swept the others with his dark eyes. Jacen sensed Kyp’s firmness of purpose, his conviction.
He also thought that it was a good idea to be wary of Kyp’s conviction.
“When the Vong struck at us,” Kyp said, “their way had been prepared for them. They had agents already in place, both disguised Yuuzhan Vong and traitors like Viqi Shesh. And after our first encounters with the Yuuzhan Vong, the enemy found there were tens of thousands of people who were willing to collaborate with them in attacking and enslaving their fellow galactic citizens.”
He gave a shrug. “I’m not willing to speculate why the Peace Brigade and their ilk chose to work with the invaders. Maybe some are simply cowards, maybe some were bought, maybe some were given no choice. I suppose most of them are opportunists who think they’re on the winning side. But I know this—up until now there’s been no real penalty for being willing to betray the New Republic and work with the invaders.” The amber room lights glowed in Kyp’s eyes. “I propose we inflict a penalty,” he said firmly. “I propose that we strike the Peace Brigade right in the center of their power. I say we raid Ylesia, their capital, destroy the collaborationist government, and show everyone in the galaxy that there is a penalty for collaboration with the Yuuzhan Vong, and that the penalty is a dire one.”
There was a moment of silence, and Jacen again turned to Jaina. You were right, he thought. Hutt space after all.
Corran Horn raised a hand. “What kind of opposition might we expect?”
Kyp pressed the datapad in his hand, and a number of surreptitiously taken holos were projected on the wall behind him. “We have no permanent intelligence presence on Ylesia,” he admitted, “but Ylesia’s most profitable export is glitterstim spice, and a number of New Republic agents have scouted the planet while posing as crew from the merchant ships. They report few Yuuzhan Vong warriors—most of the Vong on the ground seem to be members of the intendant class, who help the Peace Brigade run their government.
“There haven’t been any Yuuzhan Vong fleets in orbit since the original conquest, though sometimes Vong fleet elements, mostly coralskippers and their transports, transit the Ylesia system on their way to somewhere else. What we have instead is the Peace Brigade military itself—the Yuuzhan Vong are trying to build up the Brigaders as an ‘independent’ government, with their own fleet. They’re also using glitterstim revenues to hire mercenaries. Here are the agents’ estimates of what we might be up against.”
More figures flashed on the screen. “Mostly starfighters, a mixed bag,” Kyp continued. “There are a dozen or so capital ships—Intelligence thinks they were probably in dry dock in places like Gyndine and Obroa-skai when the Vong captured them. The Vong then completed the repairs with slave labor and handed the ships to their allies.”
“It looks easy,” Tahiri said softly in Jacen’s ear. “But I don’t believe in easy anymore.”
Jacen nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to believe in easy, either.
Kre’fey rose from his chair. “Excellent, Master Durron!” he boomed. “I will commit fleet resources to this, including interdictor ships—enough to assure that this so-called fleet can’t escape! Fifteen squadrons of starfighters! Three squadrons of capital ships—we’ll outnumber the enemy three to one!” He held up a white-furred hand and then drew the fingers together, as if capturing an enemy fleet in his fist. “And then we’ll sit above the enemy and obliterate their capital from orbit.”
Jacen felt a mental hesitation from every Jedi in the room. Even Kyp Durron’s face reflected uncertainty.
Tahiri’s voice piped up instantly. “What about civilian casualties?”
Kre’fey made a deprecatory gesture. “The population of Ylesia is very scattered,” he said. “The civilians were slaves of the Hutts, working in glitterstim packing plants scattered over the countryside, and now they’re slaves of the Vong—or of the Peace Brigade, it’s hard to say which. The town the Peace Brigaders are using as their capital used to be called Colony One, but now it’s Peace City, and there are few slaves there. Most of the city’s inhabitants are collaborators, and they’re guilty by definition.”
Kyp Durron gave a solemn glance to his datapad. “The latest reports have slave barracks all over Colony One. They’re constructing palaces for the leaders of the Peace Brigade, and a building to house their Senate.” He paused. “And they were excavating one very large shelter, just in case someone tried orbital bombardment.”
“Destruction would be awfully random,” Tahiri said.
Kre’fey nodded, then stepped toward her and looked at her with what seemed to be great respect. “I esteem the Jedi traditions of compassion for the innocent, and of precise personal combat with an enemy,” he said. “But my own people don’t have your training. It would be too great a danger to send them to the planet to sort out the innocent from the guilty, and I don’t want to lose good troops in a ground fight when I could accomplish the mission from orbit in safety.” Kre’fey turned to Kyp. “All that shelter would require is increased firepower, and then we get all of them in one go.” His eyes traveled from one Jedi to the next. “Remember who we’re dealing with. They destroyed entire worlds by seeding alien life-forms from orbit. Just think what they did to Ithor. What we’re doing is merciful by comparison.” He shook his head sadly. “And those slaves would be dead anyway, within a year or two, just from overwork.”
Jacen could see the logic in Kre’fey’s argument—and he had to admire a powerful, important fleet admiral who would bother to engage in a serious debate with a fifteen-year-old—but he could also see the reverse of Kre’fey’s position. Killing civilians was something the enemy did. The fact that the civilians were slaves made their deaths even more unjust—the New Republic forces should be liberating the slaves, so that even if the Hutts returned they would have no workers for their wretched factories . . .
“Let’s capture the government instead,” Jacen said, the idea occurring to him even as he spoke it aloud.
Kre’fey looked at him in surprise. “Jacen?” he said.
Jacen turned his face up to Kre’fey. “If we captured the Brigaders’ government, and put them on trial and exiled them to some prison planet, wouldn’t that be more of a propaganda coup than simply bombing them?” He forced a smile. “They’ll all be in one shelter, right? As you say, that should make it easy.”
“Jacen has a point,” K
yp said, from over Kre’fey’s shoulder. “If we destroy Peace City, we make an announcement and then it’s forgotten. But if we put the traitors on trial, that would be on the HoloNet for weeks. Anyone thinking of switching sides would have to think twice, and any collaborators would be shaking in their boots.”
“Not only that,” Jacen said, “but a team could be landed in Peace City to become our permanent intelligence presence in the enemy capital, and perhaps to organize the underground there.”
Kre’fey’s long head turned from Jacen to Kyp and back again. He tugged at his white-furred chin in thought. “This requires a more elaborate mission—perhaps you do not realize how much more elaborate. With the original plan there’s very little that can go wrong. We transit to the system, engage, win our victory, and leave. If the enemy are too strong, we run without a fight. But with Jacen’s idea we’d need transports, drop ships, ground forces. If things go wrong on the ground, we’ll take a lot of casualties just getting our people away. If things go wrong above the planet, the forces on the ground may be stranded there.”
“Sir,” Jaina said, “I volunteer to lead the ground forces.”
The Sword of the Jedi, Jacen thought, thrusting straight to the heart.
Kyp turned to Jaina, his voice hesitant. “I, uh—“ For once in his life Jacen was privileged to watch Kyp Durron embarrassed. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea, Sticks.”
Jaina’s eyes flashed, but her voice was very controlled. “You don’t have to be so protective of me, Master Durron,” she said.
Surprise rose in Jacen. He sensed history here, something between Jaina and Kyp that he hadn’t known existed.
Now that’s interesting.
“Ah, that’s not it,” Kyp said hastily. “It’s just that—“ He looked at his datapad. “The latest news from Ylesia indicates that you have a personal relationship with, ah, one of our potential captives.” And, as Jaina’s indignation increased, Kyp turned to Jacen as his embarrassment deepened. “And Jacen, too, of course.”
Ylesia Page 2
