Exile

by Aaron Allston

  Then he heard Mara’s warning hiss—more through the Force than with his ears—and when he turned back again, Lumiya stood before him.

  As Han and Leia approached, the nature of the battle before them changed in an instant. Abruptly Luke was drawing and igniting his second lightsaber, the half-length shoto, and using his primary lightsaber to deflect a weapon that looked oddly like Lumiya’s lightwhip.

  Han squinted. The wielder was Lumiya, though her skin was dark. He raised his blaster and fired, but Lumiya must have been aware of him; she simply twisted aside and the bolt caromed off the floor, then passed through the chest of the six-meter hologram of an admiral that dominated the center of the room.

  Mara, nearly surrounded by security agents, was batting their blasterfire back at them with her own lightsaber. Leia angled away from her, toward Luke—and then let out a surprised cry as a low table slid into her path, too suddenly for her to vault or sidestep. She tripped but came up on her feet and lit her lightsaber.

  She stopped abruptly and stared to the left. Han followed her gaze … to see Alema Rar emerging from wall-side shadows, an odd smile on her lips, her lit lightsaber in her hand.

  “Mine,” Leia said, and leapt forward.

  Han ignored her. He fired at the Twi’lek, but Alema casually caught the bolt with her lightsaber, then began spinning her blade in a defensive pattern as Leia reached her.

  “I guess this settles the question of whether you’re dead or not,” Luke said. He caught another crack of the lightwhip on his long blade, darted in close, slashed at Lumiya with the shoto. But with an exertion through the Force, she lifted a severed human head into the path of the blow, and Luke’s attack sent the head spinning through the air. It landed on a table stacked with food.

  “Of course,” Lumiya said. “I thought you knew. I am dead. I have been for decades.”

  “Then lie down and let us throw dirt on top of you.” With a similar telekinetic exertion, Luke whipped the tablecloth from beneath all the platters and hurled it at Lumiya. It swept upon her from behind, but she cracked her whip backward, cutting the tablecloth in two, then continued the maneuver into a forward stroke. Luke deflected separate lightwhip tendrils with his two blades.

  “You really do hate me, don’t you?” Lumiya asked.

  “You’ve given me plenty of reasons to. But no. I don’t reciprocate your hate.” Luke leapt over another sweep of tendrils, coming down atop a chair and leaping free of it as Lumiya’s follow-up attack disintegrated it. He landed lightly, poised.

  “I don’t hate.” She lowered her whip. “I’m sorry you think that of me. I haven’t hated for … a very long time. Yes, I’ve tried to kill you—but that was professional. Not personal.”

  Luke held up his own weapon long enough to deflect a stray blaster bolt, a security agent attack that merely strayed too near him, then lowered the lightsaber, matching Lumiya’s action. “You don’t hate. Somehow I don’t believe that.”

  “We belong to rival schools, Luke. That’s all. Shall I prove it?”

  “Sure.”

  Lumiya deactivated her lightwhip and wrapped it around her waist. She gestured, palms up. “Kill me now, if you want.”

  He took a step forward. “I don’t want. But you’re a never-ending threat to me and my family.”

  “Then take your shot. But first, for old times’ sake, take my hand.” She extended her right hand, palm still upward, a gesture of peace.

  Luke gave her an exasperated look. “I can’t believe you’d stoop to such a childish tactic.”

  “No tactic, Luke. Listen to my voice. Listen to my feelings. I’m not offering you poisoned fingers or Force lightning, just a touch.” Her voice became more sad. “If I’d wanted to hurt you tonight, I would have killed your nephew instead of letting him flee.”

  “Flee?” Careful to keep Lumiya in his peripheral vision, Luke scanned the chamber.

  Most of the actors had disappeared. Mara was dealing with an ever-decreasing number of security agents. Leia was backing Alema up across the main hall, with Han following, taking potshots to provide support to his wife. The giant hologram was gone, and so was Jacen.

  He left us.

  “And I could have attacked you just now.”

  Luke returned his attention to Lumiya. He felt no danger through the Force, none at all. From her there was only peaceful intent.

  He extinguished his lightsabers and hung them from his belt, then reached out with his left hand, his flesh hand. His fingers grazed hers, and then her hand closed on his.

  And nothing happened.

  “Sweetheart?”

  “Busy.” Leia swung an almost ceaseless flurry of blows at Alema, but the Twi’lek Jedi continued backing away, fighting a defensive action, never trying to attack. It was unlike her.

  “Jacen’s run off.”

  Han’s words created a tight knot in Leia’s chest. She had risked her life, and Han his, to save their son, and Jacen had just left them behind.

  But she couldn’t dwell on that. Alema was still a dangerous foe. Leia had to win here.

  “Sweetheart.”

  “Now what?”

  “Incoming.”

  Leia backflipped away from her enemy, and in mid-rotation saw that the view of Gilatter VIII was partially blocked—the same ship she’d seen Alema disappear in only days before was headed straight for them.

  As she landed, she saw that Alema had switched off her lightsaber and was donning a close-fitting, flexible helmet with a transparent faceplate—an emergency decompression helmet. Alema smiled at her.

  Luke felt the danger coming, but it was not coming from Lumiya. He turned away and looked up just in time to see the YV-666 contact the top of the dome.

  The dome, ancient transparisteel, did not shatter. It caved in, crumpling like a thin-walled metal can. The great mass of the ship hurtled to crash into the floor of the main hall, and a ripple like a tidal wave coursed through the floor.

  Luke leapt toward the exit. Mara was ahead of him. He saw the ripple effect from the impact bounce bodies up off the flooring, and the cargo ship, its speed hardly checked, continued plowing into the floor, punching a ragged hole through the axis of the space station. Beyond it, he thought he saw the relit tendrils of Lumiya’s whip lashing—against what? An enemy? A wall, to provide her with an escape path? Suddenly the whip was obscured by an expanding cloud of debris kicked up by the YV-666’s impact.

  The station’s atmosphere, with two huge holes to choose from, began fleeing into space, tugging at Luke as it went.

  Of those fleeing toward the exit, Leia was in the rear, Han just ahead of her. The ripple shock from the floor impact behind them took Han off his feet; nimble and determined, he was up again before Leia even reached him.

  Up, but moving slowly. Increasingly, to Leia’s eyes, Han’s feet seemed not to want to find purchase as he ran.

  Nor did hers. It wasn’t from the atmosphere escaping. The station’s artificial gravity had to have experienced a complete failure. As her ears popped and pain grew in her head and eyes, Leia knew that there was no way they could reach the exit—

  No way they both could reach it—

  She reached out through the Force and shoved Han’s back, propelling him forward through the door Luke and Mara had just reached.

  Leia took three more steps. But now, though her legs kept thrashing, she could make no headway at all. Her feet lifted clear of the floor. She had no forward momentum, no way to reach safety.

  She closed her eyes, determined to be peaceful in her last moments.

  Something wrapped around her ankle.

  She looked down. Attached to her leg was a line with a tiny hook and grapnel—Luke’s piece of stupid, preposterous, farmboy equipment, which he’d carried off and on since before she’d met him. He was at the far end of the line, braced against the door, hauling with all his strength, and as Leia watched Han joined him.

  In moments they had dragged her through the door and into
the shuttle access bay where they’d arrived minutes before. Han sealed the door. Dimly, in the reduced atmospheric pressure, she could hear a warning siren wailing. Leia lay on the floor, panting. “Thanks,” she said.

  “What’s family for?” Luke asked. “Hey, can Mara and I get a lift around to the other side of this station? Our StealthXs are over there.”

  GILATTER SYSTEM

  In the shuttle he’d seized, Jacen hurtled toward the Anakin Solo, broadcasting his identity as he went, demanding updates on the battle.

  He could see how it was progressing. The Confederation ships had been ready for the Alliance task force. But they hadn’t been ready for the Alliance vessels to muscle their way through the mine grid, throwing off time estimates and ruining carefully planned flanking maneuvers. What had resulted was a slugging match, and to his eyes, things were even.

  He needed more than his eyes. Even when he got data from the Anakin Solo, it was only as good as the ship’s instruments could provide, as good as harried, overburdened officers could analyze.

  He saw a Bothan Assault Cruiser lose power to its port-side batteries. Instantaneous response on the part of the Alliance starfighter squadrons could have exploited the situation, which could have resulted in the cruiser’s destruction. It didn’t happen.

  He saw starfighter squadrons circling, looking for an enemy, wasting precious minutes until the Galactic Voyager could direct them to a worthwhile target.

  He saw an Alliance frigate yield the field because its commander obviously felt the vessel was crippled, unaware that its Corellian corvette counterpart was even more badly damaged.

  He cursed and pounded on the arms of his pilot’s seat.

  Finally he found an opportunity to board Anakin Solo.

  Not long after, Lumiya reached him on his private comlink channel, reporting that she, too, had seized a vehicle—someone’s private transport, little more than an airspeeder fitted with improved engines and an atmospheric containment hull—and needed landing authorization for the Anakin Solo. Grudgingly—for he knew she would talk to him, and he didn’t wish to talk to anyone—he provided her the code she needed.

  In the final analysis, the Battle of Gilatter VIII was a draw, with both sides retiring the field after suffering moderate losses.

  The Confederation trumpeted it as a clear victory for Turr Phennir, its coolheaded new Supreme Commander.

  The Alliance noted the fact that, even with superior odds and the advantage of a treacherous ambush, the Confederation had accomplished nothing.

  EN ROUTE TO CORUSCANT

  GALACTIC VOYAGER

  Luke lay on the small sofa in the cramped quarters he and Mara had been assigned, looking at the ceiling. It was a neutral light blue, featureless but for glow rod banks around the edges, and the peaceful color helped soothe his thoughts.

  They needed soothing.

  “You’re very quiet,” Mara said. She occupied the chamber’s one chair.

  “Still nothing new abut Ben.” Luke offered a slight frown. “And Jacen’s actions worry me.”

  “Running out on Han and Leia, you mean?”

  He nodded.

  “They should. I think he’s getting even worse.” Mara returned her attention to her datapad.

  Ben’s continued absence and Jacen’s actions did weigh heavily on Luke, but lying to Mara added to the burden he felt, and he hoped she would not detect those lies through their Force bond. Luke didn’t consider Jacen’s actions to represent cowardice, but Jacen clearly considered the danger his parents experienced to be of less importance than his need to get to the major scene of the GA—Confederation battle. And that was a coldhearted choice for Jacen to have made.

  But it was not what weighed on Luke’s mind right now. Luke also had to ponder the meaning of Lumiya’s words to him, the gentleness with which she’d reached out to him. She hadn’t been hostile or vengeful. His instincts about people, his skill with sifting truth from lies through use of the Force told him so.

  Then he felt something new. He sat up and Mara gave him a close look. “What?”

  He smiled for the first time since they’d left the Gilatter system. “I can feel Ben,” he said.

  ANAKIN SOLO

  Jacen sat in his private office. The glow rods were dimmed, and the only illumination came from the corkscrewing streaks of hyperspace light outside his viewport.

  Whisper-quiet, the hidden panel in the corner of his office retracted and opened. Lumiya entered, her face devoid of makeup but wrapped against prying eyes.

  “I can feel your anger all the way to my quarters,” she said.

  “Are you admonishing or approving?”

  “I approve of the anger, of course. It strengthens you, and you need strength. But if I can feel it …”

  “There are no other Jedi aboard Anakin Solo.”

  “Prove it. And, while you’re at it, prove that there are no nascent Jedi, no Force-sensitives of any sort.”

  Jacen sighed. He did not relinquish his anger, but he did concentrate on diminishing his own presence in the Force.

  “Good.” Lumiya approached and seated herself opposite him. “Jacen, this was not a disaster.”

  “I was made to look like an idiot. I planned the mission. I bought into the trap.”

  “As did everyone, including Admiral Niathal, the mission commander. When the full report of the battle reaches the holonews, it will be cast as a dramatic Galactic Alliance success—the forces of good beating back a treacherous ambush, all with negligible losses—and you will probably find your popularity has grown. As for blame behind the closed doors of government—your information was independently verified, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. All right, then, I was made to feel like an idiot.”

  “Ah. There I cannot reassure you.”

  He shot her a glare but said nothing.

  “Would you like to avoid this in the future? To be matchless, undefeatable in strategic engagements?”

  “No one is undefeatable.”

  “Perhaps not … but the commander who knows exactly where all the battlefield’s forces are, who does not need to depend solely on limited sensors and fallible analysts, will be defeated much less often.”

  “You’re talking about battle meditation. You’ve mentioned it before.”

  “No. Battle meditation is something many very accomplished Force-users, Jedi and Sith, can do. Consider battle meditation to be the learner. The technique I’m talking about is the master. It is the capacity to sense, to coordinate, just by the power of the mind and the will. This is the ability that comes with the assumption of the title of Master of the Sith.”

  He continued to stare at her. “You aren’t the Master. So you can’t teach it to me.”

  “I’m not, but I can. A blind woman who was once sighted can still experience colors in her memory. I learned everything there was to learn about this power … I can just never wield it.” Lumiya stared down at her limbs. Her expression did not suggest that she felt betrayed by them, by their robotic nature—only that they were a bit disappointing.

  Jacen considered it. “Am I ready?”

  “In all other ways, yes. But you have to make the sacrifice of love. And then you must take your Sith name, to reforge yourself.”

  “Who must I sacrifice?” The question put a chill through him. If she were to say, The one you love most, he would be unable to do it. He would never sacrifice Allana. He would never sacrifice Tenel Ka.

  “One you love. One who will leave a void in your heart.”

  “Anyone?”

  “Anyone.”

  Jacen stared off into the distance. “Then it will be my father. Or mother. Or both.”

  “Or perhaps not.”

  Jacen stared at her, curious. “Do you have a sudden affection for them I should know about?”

  Lumiya laughed. “No. I have forgiven Leia for what she has done to me, and Han was never that much of a nuisance. But it may be that you can’t sacrifice your parents
.”

  “Why?”

  “You must sacrifice one you love. Are you certain you still love them? Search your feelings.”

  Jacen thought, and then reluctantly abandoned thinking to open himself to his emotions. He let images of Han and Leia float in his mind’s eye.

  He saw them as they had been when he was a toddler, as a teenager, as a man. He saw them in the ever-changing light of his own experiences, as he came to realize that they could not be ordinary parents, as he discovered that they were willing to abandon him and his siblings to surrogate parents for weeks or months at a time, as he learned that they had to. He felt again the wash of pain that all those separations had caused, that all those reunions had never healed.

  All he could feel was pain and anger—pain they had caused, anger he bore against them.

  But had the anger replaced the love, or did anger simply mask it? As hard as he sought an answer, he could not find one.

  Lumiya whispered in his ear. “You don’t know because you have trained yourself to feel too little, to analyze too much. That is not the Sith way. You must do both.”

  Jacen shook his head. “Emotion weakens you.”

  “Yet anger, an emotion, gives you strength. Emotion doesn’t weaken you, Jacen. It scares you. You specifically.”

  He stared at her, suddenly furious. “Nothing scares me.”

  He could not see her face beneath her scarf, but he knew that she was smiling.

  “Liar,” she said. Before he could formulate an answer, she rose and returned to the secret passage. “I was wrong,” she said. “You’re not quite ready. You don’t know yourself as well as you must. Find yourself, Jacen. Then make your sacrifice and take your Sith name. I’ll be waiting.” She departed, and the door slid closed behind her.

  Jacen stared after her, feeling ill—ill that he had a weakness, that Lumiya had detected it, that he was confused. And now he could not even begin the process of choosing his sacrifice until he knew where his heart lay.

  Until he knew whether he loved his parents.

  In one way, though, both answers to that question were similar. If he loved them, he should sacrifice one—and kill the other, to prevent retaliation. If he did not love them, he should consider eliminating them and the potential trouble they represented. Either way, both he and the galaxy would be better off without them.