by James Luceno
Han pushed himself upright in the chair and favored him with a roguish grin. “What makes you think I haven’t?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Removed from the frenzied tempo of lofty Coruscant, deep in a vertical slice of the city-world known colloquially as the Abyss, a mixed-species dozen sat nervously at a long table in a windowless and otherwise secure chamber. The chamber resided at the heart of the entombed headquarters of the New Republic’s Intelligence division and was accessible to upper-echelon officers only. In a sterile realm of artificial illumination and sunlight purloined by shafts and mirrors, the big-leafed shrub lodged in a corner of the chamber stood out like a chance oasis, and so had been given the name Mirage.
Separate conversations came to an abrupt halt when an entry-granted tone sounded from the door and Director Dif Scaur stamped into the room, a sheaf of durasheet documents and optical prints under one arm and a gunmetal-gray modified protocol droid trailing in his wake. Everyone was standing by the time he reached the head of the table, but the obvious attempt at deference only deepened his scowl and he motioned brusquely for everyone to be seated. A former admiral with the Fourth Fleet, Scaur was tall and gaunt, with watery blue eyes and a pronounced widow’s peak.
“I’ve been in meetings with Defense Force command staff all morning,” he began on a sullen note, “and the advisory council is expecting a full report later this afternoon. So the sooner we get this done the better.”
Scaur glanced angrily at his deputy director of operations. “Colonel Kalenda, since you’ve been attached to this fiasco from the beginning, I’d like you to start by telling me which parts of Han Solo’s report can be considered fact and which parts can be dismissed as owing to an obvious case of space giddiness. Frankly, I’m not even clear on how the defectors wound up in his hands to begin with.”
Belindi Kalenda stirred in her chair. “Sir, after Major Showolter and his support team were ambushed by members of the Peace Brigade, Showolter and the defectors went in search of backup elements known to be aboard the Queen of Empire. When the major spotted Solo, he assumed that Solo was part of the operation—”
“When has Han Solo ever worked with this agency?”
Kalenda cleared her throat. “Well, sir, I did recruit his help during the Centerpoint Station crisis.”
Scaur’s nostrils flared. “That was seven years ago, Colonel.”
Kalenda returned the look. “Major Showolter was in bad shape, sir.”
The director’s expression softened. “How is he doing?”
“He took a nasty burn to the upper chest, but he’s coming along.”
Scaur nodded and glanced around the table. “My condolences to any of you who worked with officers Jode Tee and Saiga Bre’lya, or with Dr. Yintal of Fleet Intel. Their deaths and the deaths of Showolter’s backup agents, who were apparently tortured into revealing the countersign, add tragedy to this calamity.” He turned to Kalenda once more. “So the defectors became the property of Solo, who then proceeded to surrender them to the Peace Brigade.”
“The Peace Brigade had a means of identifying the one called Elan. They took her and her companion, Vergere, aboard their shuttle and were attempting to reach a Yuuzhan Vong warship when the entire crew was apparently poisoned by Elan.”
“By Elan’s exhalations, I take it.”
“Yes, sir. Solo retrieved her and Vergere, but was then convinced that both were part of an intricate plan to assassinate as many Jedi as possible. As you know, they had requested to meet with the Jedi to furnish details about an illness released by Yuuzhan Vong agents. We have since ascertained that Elan may have been referring to a molecular malady that has claimed some one hundred lives this past year—though just what the Jedi have to do with the malady is presently unknown.
“In any case, Solo considered the enticement to be part of the plot and was preparing to eject the defectors from his ship when he himself almost fell victim to Elan—to Elan’s exhalations, that is. Sir.”
Scaur stared at her for a long moment before replying. “On what basis did Solo determine them to be assassins rather than political fugitives?”
“As I say, sir, Solo became convinced that Elan had killed the members of the Peace Brigade to prevent them from returning her to the Yuuzhan Vong. The residue we collected from the Peace Brigade’s shuttle matches that found aboard Solo’s ship. Autopsies conducted on the men—including a Yuuzhan Vong operative—revealed that they died of hemorrhagic shock, induced by an inhaled vesicant toxin—a blood agent—of an unknown type.”
Scaur located Solo’s report from among the documents he had brought with him, scanned it, then tapped it with the back of his fingertips. “Solo claims that what you refer to as residue was actually alive at one point. He describes the creatures as some sort of mites that appeared out of thin air.”
Kalenda compressed her lips. “Sir, I won’t pretend to understand the nature of the toxin or the mechanics of its delivery. I know only that Solo was clearly meant to die.”
“And instead, this Elan succumbed to the toxin herself.”
“Presumably. Inside an escape pod, which Elan’s companion subsequently employed to make her escape.”
“Do we know what became of the pod?”
“Not yet. We conducted a search of the planetoid, but nothing turned up. While it’s possible the pod is there somewhere, lodged in some crevasse or cave, it could just as easily have been recovered by the enemy frigate or destroyed during the firefight between the frigate and the cruiser-carrier Thurse.”
“I still don’t understand why Solo had to take it upon himself to send them back,” Scaur grumbled. “No, belay that. Knowing Solo as I do, those actions are entirely consistent with his brash character.”
“In defense of Solo’s actions, sir, he was being pursued by an enemy warship.”
“Yes, but the enemy obviously didn’t want the defectors returned.”
“Solo was convinced that Elan had already killed once and would do so again—perhaps even kill him to safeguard her secret, which in fact she attempted to do. Had Solo died and had Elan been brought into our midst, who knows what she might have done. In addition, sir, this defection has been suspect from the start. The commander of the cruiser Soothfast will attest to that.”
Scaur nodded at Kalenda. “Granted, Colonel. Assuming for the moment that Solo’s actions were justified, the New Republic’s success in the Meridian sector must be reassessed, along with the victory at Ord Mantell.” He shook his head regretfully. “We should have allowed military intelligence to handle this. Do you realize how this makes us look?”
“Sir?” Kalenda asked.
“The command staff is convinced that we bumbled the job. Despite the fact that Elan posed a threat, much could have been gained from having her in custody. What’s more, it’s apparent that someone with top secret clearance apprised the Peace Brigade of the plans to relocate Elan to Coruscant.”
Scaur extracted another durasheet document from the sheaf and glanced at it. “Six members of military intelligence, fourteen in-house officers, the half-dozen senators who make up the Security and Intelligence Council … Someone leaked the information—either directly to the Peace Brigade or to a third party who did so.” He looked around the table. “Do any of these individuals appear a likely source for a leak of this magnitude?”
“All of them had access to the same information,” Kalenda supplied. “But whoever it was not only made contact with the Peace Brigade, but also managed to slice into our network and discontinue surveillance on the group. Traces of that slicing are still being analyzed.”
“All well and good,” Scaur pronounced, “but the real question to ask is whether we have a traitor in our midst or a mole—an enemy agent?”
“Someone wearing an ooglith masquer?” a Mon Calamari officer asked from the far end of the table.
“Not necessarily. The Yuuzhan Vong probably bought the services of the Peace Brigade. The same could hold true for whoever
passed the information on to them. Members of the New Republic government could be in collusion with the enemy.”
“But returning Elan to the Yuuzhan Vong ran counter to the entire plan,” the Bothan deputy director of intelligence thought to point out.
Scaur plucked at his lower lip. “It’s possible our traitor wasn’t aware of the plan, only of the defection. Our seeming win at Ord Mantell convinced the traitor that Elan needed to be retrieved before further harm was done.”
“Could have been someone testing the waters,” Kalenda mused. “Reaching out to the Peace Brigade, without having any affiliation with the Yuuzhan Vong.”
“Perhaps the Peace Brigade had something on the traitor,” a human officer suggested. “The traitor may have been erasing a debt.”
Scaur put his elbows on the table. “Did we get anything from the captured Peace Brigade members?”
“Two of thirteen we have in custody maintain that the only person who had contact with the traitor was Reck Desh, who died aboard the Peace Brigade shuttle. They claim that the initial contact was made by comlink, and that the only meeting between Desh and the source took place on Kuat, where Desh apparently met with a telbun.”
Scaur grimaced. “A telbun?”
“The telbun could have been an intermediary for the one we’re actually looking for,” Kalenda said.
Scaur snorted. “So what you’re really telling me is that we’re without leads.”
Kalenda nodded. “Thanks to Elan, Reck Desh took his secret to the grave.”
In lofty Coruscant—though not so high up that the skyscraping spires, obelisks, and towers of the nucleus didn’t defy perspective and boggle the mind—the Mon Calamari Jedi Cilghal, the Ithorian healer Tomla El, and the Ho’Din physician Ism Oolos waited expectantly for the MD-1 technician to complete its analysis of the tears Vergere had allegedly shed into a drink bulb aboard the Millennium Falcon.
Shortly, the vaguely humanlike droid projected the results as animated holograms of the liquid’s chemical composition and its interaction with cells scraped from the inside of Mara Jade Skywalker’s cheek.
“The chemical structure reflects what might be expected from tears,” Tomla El said, leaning forward on his great buttressed feet, “but we’ve no way of determining whether they are indeed characteristic of Vergere’s species.”
“Yes, but look here,” Oolos said excitedly, gesturing to the interaction hologram. “See how the substance is being drawn into the cells, almost as if being sponged up. And look how the cell reacts! Like an infusion of nutrient!”
Taller than a Wookiee, though rail-thin, Oolos had a broad, lipless mouth and a serpentine crown of stubby tresses, brilliant with red and violet scales. Like Tomla El, he wore a long white coat, which set the pair apart from Cilghal, whose homespun tunic and trousers were the color of fine sand.
“I’m encouraged,” Oolos said to the laboratory’s other two occupants. “Come, see for yourselves.”
Hand in hand, Luke and Mara stepped closer to the droid’s holographic projections and made a pretense of regarding them with the same scientific captivation demonstrated by the Ithorian and the Ho’Din. Luke was keenly aware that one of Cilghal’s bulbous eyes was trained on Mara rather than on the displays.
Tomla El turned his sinuous head toward Luke and said out of both mouths, “I’m uneasy.”
Everyone waited for him to continue.
“The priestess Elan was a weapon, dispatched by the Yuuzhan Vong to assassinate the Jedi. Why think that Vergere wasn’t an accomplice, equally involved? Han Solo obviously believed that she was, or he wouldn’t have sought to return her to the enemy.”
“Han wasn’t sure about Vergere,” Cilghal said, answering for Luke.
“Why would Elan be harboring a deadly toxin, while her own familiar harbored an antidote to Mara’s illness?”
“Perhaps Vergere was not what she seemed,” Luke said, “even to Elan.” He paused briefly, then added, “Han admits that he was tempted to destroy the drink bulb, until he began to think about what Vergere said to him before she jettisoned in the escape pod. She thanked him for giving her the chance to return to her own people.”
“Naturally,” Tomla El said, in a kind of lilting stereo. “The Yuuzhan Vong.”
“But Han said that earlier Vergere had reacted to hearing my name. And Droma claimed that he once encountered a member of Vergere’s species in the Corporate Sector.”
“That means little,” Tomla El argued. “Yuuzhan Vong agents infiltrated our galaxy as far back as fifty standard years. Vergere’s species could be an extragalactic client race of the Yuuzhan Vong.”
“Tomla El is correct about one thing,” Oolos said, turning from the holograms. “We can’t be sure this ostensible gift isn’t part of a plan to instill us with false confidence and inadvertently do greater harm to Mara.”
All eyes fell on her. As wan as she had become over the course of only a few weeks, she continued to reveal boundless grit and defiance. “I’m finding it pretty hard to swallow that the Yuuzhan Vong would go to all this trouble to kill one Jedi—namely, me—when Elan was out to assassinate all of us.”
Oolos told the MD droid to deactivate the holograms; then he spent a moment in deep contemplation. “We should proceed cautiously.” He looked at the drinking bulb. “We don’t even know whether the liquid is supposed to be injected, ingested, or applied.”
“We do have a clue,” Luke said. “Vergere used her tears to mend a blaster wound suffered by an intelligence officer aboard the Queen of Empire. She applied them by hand.”
“Topically,” Oolos clarified.
Cilghal studied him with one eye. “But Mara’s illness isn’t topical, it’s systemic.”
All at once Luke called the bulb to his hand with the Force. Inverting it, he brought it to his mouth, prepared to squeeze a drop onto his tongue. But Mara just as quickly snatched it from him and took a few drops into her own mouth before Luke could stop her.
“Mara!” Oolos and Tomla El said in unison.
But Mara wasn’t in distress. She inhaled sharply, then opened her eyes wide. “Oh, Luke,” she said, as if in awe. “I can’t explain exactly how I feel, but it’s like water after days of going without it.” She looked at her hands—first the palms, then the backs—and touched her face. “My fingers and my face are tingling.”
Gently, Luke took the bulb from her and squeezed a drop onto his tongue. “I don’t feel anything,” he said after a moment.
Mara took the bulb back and held it close to her heart. “There’s no reason you should feel anything.”
Luke looked his wife in the eye. “Mara, there’s one more thing you need to hear: Showolter said that the healing effect was temporary. Vergere told him as much when she came to his aid. He was already going into shock when he found Han.”
“That doesn’t mean it will work that way on me,” Mara said firmly. “Besides, at this point, I’ll accept temporary.” She forced a breath and took Luke’s hand in hers. “You have to let me do this, Luke. I know that you and Cilghal have been trying to heal me through the Force, and I know that I haven’t made it easy for you by withdrawing into myself. But this illness has been part of me for over a year now. It’s been my challenge, and I’ve fought it every way I know how. But it’s winning, Luke. It’s winning.”
She lifted the bulb to eye level. “If this makes things worse, then I’ll just have to fight even harder. But everything in me tells me that won’t happen. Do you understand?”
“At least let us monitor you,” Tomla El advised. “If something begins to go wrong, there are steps we may be able to take.”
“No,” Luke said, holding Mara’s gaze. “We’ll do this Mara’s way.”
She gave his hand a squeeze, then moved to a nearby countertop and carefully dribbled some of the tears into her cupped right hand. Before she could bring the transparent liquid to her lips or face, however, it vanished.
“My hand absorbed it,” she said in amaze
ment, showing her palm.
Oolos approached, looking down at her from his towering height. “Mara, at least tell us what you’re feeling.”
She took a stuttering breath. “I’m not sure. Lightheaded, flushed. Everything is suddenly so bright—” She gave a start. “It’s triggering something inside me! I can—”
Mara’s arms and legs began to tremble. She put her head back, as if fighting for breath. She might have fallen if Luke had not hurried to her side.
“Quickly, Luke, convey her to the table,” Oolos said.
Luke carried her to the diagnostic table and set her down on her back. Eyes tightly shut, Mara groaned and hugged her trembling torso.
“We’ll have readouts momentarily,” Tomla El said from the table’s control console.
Luke’s eyes didn’t move from Mara. “Mara,” Luke whispered, close to her ear. “Mara …”
She groaned once more and then gave a start, staring wide-eyed at Luke. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper. “I can’t explain what I’m feeling. Did I make the wrong choice, my love?” Her expression became imploring. “Look at me, Luke. Look at me …”
Her voice trailed off and she lapsed into a state of semiconsciousness. Luke searched for encouragement in the eyes of Cilghal, Tomla El, and Oolos, but found none. He returned his gaze to Mara and reached for her in the Force.
As he did, the spastic movements of her limbs began to subside and her entire countenance began to change. Her face relaxed and tears leaked from the outside corners of her eyes. Luke’s face grew warm, and his eyes grew moist with relief and vigilant joy.
Mara’s eyes blinked open and she smiled weakly. “I think it’s working,” she said softly, wetting her lips with her tongue. She closed her eyes once more, as if luxuriating in what she was experiencing. “I can feel it coursing through me. It’s as if every cell in my body were being bathed in light.” She groped blindly for Luke’s hand and drew it to her breast. “I think I’m healing, Luke. I’m sure I’m healing.”
“Oh, Mara,” Cilghal said tearfully, coming to the table to lay her webbed hand on Mara’s shoulder.
