Outcast

by Aaron Allston

Several Masters, as well as both the Solos, raised voices in protest. Leia said, “Are they trying to cripple our effectiveness?”

  Hamner waved them down. “One observer will be assigned to each Master–apprentice pairing, and one to each Jedi operating solo—my apologies, Leia, Jaina, I mean each Jedi operating unpartnered. Their stated objective is to act as a gentle reminder to their Jedi of Alliance and local laws. They will not have access to the secure areas of the Temple, but will otherwise be able to accompany their Jedi most of the time, particularly outside the Temple.”

  Kyp Durron heaved a sigh. “There goes my social life.”

  Jaina’s expression was a fixed frown. “Please tell me that we’re not going to do this.”

  Hamner shrugged. “Actually, we are. For the time being. But I have retained the firm of the Grand Master’s advocate, Nawara Ven, to initiate a legal suit, intended to strike down this government measure. Until we have some progress there, though, we simply have to endure this inconvenience. Observers will be assigned in stages over the next several days, Masters first, beginning tomorrow.”

  As the assembly left the chamber, Jaina was still wearing her frown. “I’m too young to begin harping about the good old days.”

  Leia ruffled her daughter’s hair. “You’re getting there. Just wait, you’ll be talking about those blasted kids next.”

  “Mom …”

  SOLO FAMILY QUARTERS, CORUSCANT

  “I say, Master Han, Mistress Leia, I am so terribly sorry.”

  Han opened one eye. Though he was being awakened before his alarm had gone off, meaning it was too early by anyone’s standards, he had not yet decided to shoot the tormenter awakening him, C-3PO, and therefore he did not need both eyes yet.

  Directly beside him was Leia, rousing just as reluctantly from sleep, her hair a tangled mess splayed across her face and pillow.

  Han’s voice emerged as a hoarse rumble. “Where’s my blaster?”

  “Under your pillow, as usual.” Leia’s voice was almost as rough.

  “Sir, no.” C-3PO, standing by Leia’s side of the bed, framed by the curtained viewport that, when bared, offered a vista of Coruscant aerial traffic and skytower tops, waved awkwardly as if to placate Han. “You have a call from Master Calrissian.”

  Han rubbed between his eyes. “I’ll listen to the message in the morning.”

  “Sir, it’s a live holocomm transmission from offworld.”

  That got Han’s attention. He sat up; Leia did as well.

  Lando Calrissian was a rich man and a generous one, but he did not waste credits on stunts like holocomm calls just to show off his wealth. As far as Han knew, Lando was nowhere near Coruscant. This had to be important. “Tell him we’ll be right there.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. For not shooting me at this time of the morning, sir.”

  Moments later, wrapped in white robes but not yet fortified by caf, Han and Leia seated themselves at their quarters’ comm console and took the main display off hold. The picture snapped from grayness to full-color clarity. Lando sat in a high-backed office seat, industrial gray walls and a closed door behind him.

  Dark-skinned and well dressed—the image showed him wearing a maroon dress tunic and a black, sparkling hip cloak—Lando was, Han grudgingly admitted, aging nearly as well as Han himself. His hair had thinned and receded a bit but remained dark, and his features, though more lined, were still handsome and elegant—and still ideally suited to wear expressions of suave self-confidence or comic dismay.

  Looking to one side as the picture went live, Lando snapped his attention back to the holoscreen and smiled. “Han! Leia! Good to see you. Oh—is it morning there?”

  Leia, binding her hair back with an elastic band, glowered at him. “I’m not a gambler, but I’ll bet a thousand credits that you knew exactly what time it was before you called.”

  “And I am a gambler, so I won’t take that bet. You’d be right.” Lando gave her a look of apology. “I need help. Jedi help, I think, as well as friend help. That adds up to you and Han. And about the hour, after the last … event, we decided that there was no time to waste.”

  “What sort of event?” Han turned to C-3PO, standing attentively off to the side, and mouthed the word caf. Then he turned back to Lando. “And who’s we?”

  “Nien Nunb and Tendra and me. Here, let me show you.” Lando reached forward, his hands disappearing to either side of the picture view, as he evidently grabbed his monitor. He turned it, swinging its holocam view off him. Han expected it to focus on Tendra, Lando’s wife, or Nien Nunb, his Sullustan manager, but instead it settled on a view of another gray wall, this one decorated with a holo of a shiny, skeletal YVH combat droid, which was manufactured by one of Lando’s companies, Tendrando Arms.

  But it was not the three-dimensional picture of the menacing droid that drew Han’s attention. It was the jagged crack in the wall behind it, stretching from upper right to lower left, passing beyond the holocomm’s field of view in either direction.

  Leia snorted. “What caused that? A Hutt sat on your roof?”

  Lando swung the monitor back to face him. “Quakes. Groundquakes, nasty ones. They’re increasing in strength and frequency, and the scientists I’ve brought in can’t figure out why.”

  Han frowned. Nien Nunb was the manager of Lando’s glitterstim spice mines, which strongly suggested where Lando must be now. “You’re on Kessel?”

  Lando nodded. “I’m in the auxiliary comm center of my main office building. The primary comm center was destroyed in the last quake.”

  Han grimaced. “Lando, let it go. Kessel is a doomed world.” Kessel, an undersized planet near the Maw, was notorious for many things. It was the origin of glitterstim, a drug with just as many illegal applications as legal ones, and the source of a great deal of smuggling activity. Its spice mines were infamous, having been operated by convict labor for so long that, decades after the system had changed, “going to the spice mines of Kessel” was still a fate promised to children to convince them to behave. The planet was also one of the marker points on the smuggler and race route that bore its name, the Kessel Run.

  Over time, the low-gravity planet was bleeding atmosphere into space. Ancient atmosphere generation plants increasingly struggled to keep up with the loss, but they were gradually failing. The world would eventually become a lifeless environment.

  Lando shook his head. “It’s still a profitable operation, and the only source of glitterstim anywhere. Efforts to transplant colonies of the energy spiders that produce the stuff haven’t been very successful.”

  Han sat upright. “You’re trying to get them to survive on other planets?”

  “Yes, but they just stop feeding and die—”

  “Good!”

  Lando waved his outburst away. “We need more time to work on the problem. Lots more time.”

  Han repressed a shudder. Once, back in his smuggler days, before he’d ever met Luke or Leia, he had dumped a load of glitterstim rather than be caught with it by Imperial investigators, a decision that had resulted in him being hunted for years by hirelings of the spice’s owner, Jabba the Hutt. Much later, he had spent time in those mines, among the convicts, and had been one of the first to survive an attack by an energy spider and reveal the species’ existence to the galaxy. The experience had left him with bad memories. “You do need a Jedi.” He gave Lando a helpful nod. “You need Kyp Durron. He’s a Master, he spent a lot more time in those mines than I did …”

  Lando mimicked his tone. “He’s impossible to deal with, he hates Kessel more than you do, he’s not my friend …”

  “Of course we’ll help,” Leia said.

  Han looked at her. “No, no, no. Wait until you’ve had some caf. Your reasoning centers will kick in—”

  “Hush.” She returned her attention to Lando. “We’ll launch today.”

  Lando sighed, relieved. In his impossibly smooth and gracious manner, he said, “Bless you, Leia. And you, too, Han.�
��

  Han managed to keep his teeth from clenching. “Think nothing of it. We’ll let you know when we’re en route, old buddy.” He switched off the holocomm connection.

  Then he turned to glare at his wife.

  She gave him a look that was all innocence. “What?”

  “Don’t you have to clear things like this through the Temple before you rush off?”

  “Theoretically, yes. But not this time. It’s better to help a friend and take your punishment than be refused permission and not be able to help.”

  “All right, how about this: Kessel?”

  “Innocent beings live on Kessel. Even the energy spiders don’t deserve to die just because they spooked you.”

  “Nothing spooks me.”

  “Then you won’t mind going back.”

  “I do mind. Did you forget about Allana?”

  From the way Leia froze, it was clear that she had forgotten Allana, perhaps only because Leia was sleep-fogged. Allana—known to everyone but Han and Leia as Amelia and never referred to by her real name except in the utmost privacy—was the daughter of Jacen Solo and Tenel Ka, conceived before Jacen’s recent efforts to gain mastery over the galaxy. She was Han and Leia’s granddaughter, raised for her first five years by Tenel Ka, Queen Mother of the Hapes Consortium. At the end of the war between the Alliance and the Confederation, Tenel Ka falsely announced Allana’s death to protect her from those who might kill her to gain the Hapan throne. Tenel Ka had sorrowfully given the care of her daughter to Han and Leia. The girl, now seven, lived these days under the guise of Amelia, adopted daughter of the Solos.

  If Han and Leia raced off to Kessel, they’d have to take her along or leave her behind with near strangers. Allana’s aunt Jaina was no stranger, but her life as a Jedi was an active and dangerous one. Luke and Ben were gone. There was no one else left whom they could entrust with Allana.

  “We take her with us.” Leia’s voice was decisive.

  “Don’t get mad at me to cover up the fact that you forgot.” Han pointed an accusing finger at her. “We agreed to settle down—as much as possible—for her sake. We agreed that we couldn’t drag a little girl around the galaxy as we stupidly try to fix other stupid people’s stupid problems.”

  “That’s just it.” There was a note of desperation in Leia’s voice. “We weren’t able to do anything for Luke. We can’t do anything to stop the bureaucratic catastrophe that’s descending on the Jedi Order right now. But we might be able to help a friend.”

  Han considered. When she put it like that … he’d never regretted marrying a woman who could out-argue him on just about every issue, but he was often inconvenienced by it. “Of course, if we just take off this morning without telling anyone where, you won’t get assigned your own government spy.”

  “Observer. And you’re right. We wouldn’t be accompanied by a nosy intruder who inconveniences you as much as me.”

  “And Allana wouldn’t have to put up with a stranger.”

  “Also correct.”

  “We already lose a lot of private time raising a little girl. Add a government spy and we lose the rest.”

  Leia nodded, encouraging him to continue down that line of reasoning.

  “And it could be put off even longer if the Falcon’s hyperdrive were to fail somewhere out there—”

  “It’s happened before.”

  “Sabotage, always sabotage.” He grinned at her. “You’re going to be in such trouble with Kenth Hamner when you get back.”

  “That’s what I keep you around for. To drag me into trouble.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.” Han leaned forward for a kiss.

  “Master Han, your caf. Master Han? Mistress Leia? Oh, dear.”

  RESIDENTIAL DISTRICT NEAR THE JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

  “How did you manage to get free of your Head of State duties? And bodyguards?” Jaina asked.

  Jag leaned against the door frame where they’d just arrived. This was one hallway of a residential high-rise; the passageway, its walls decorated with brown rhombuses against a tan background, spoke of a decorative style several years old, but was meticulously clean. Even now, a mouse droid affixed atop a circular cleaning attachment was gliding down the hallway, buffing dirt up out of the carpet and sending a faint, sweet smell of cleanser into the air.

  “Most of what my delegation does is negotiate insanely minute points.” Jag looked as though he found that prospect about as attractive as a bowlful of worms. “I let my advisers and advocates do that, and at the end of the day I veto every decision they’ve made. Thus is the balance of power between ruler and bureaucrat maintained. In the meantime, I get to spend my day with you. And I tell my bodyguard that you’re protecting me. That’s where your ferocious Jedi reputation helps me.”

  Jaina shook her head. “The system is unimaginably broken.” She pressed the button beside the door. Beyond the door, a chime faintly sounded.

  “But fun,” Jag said.

  The door slid open but no one stood there. There was only a short green hallway beyond, a door open and brightly illuminated at the far end. Jaina caught the scent of freshly cut grass, if her nose did not deceive her. She gave Jag a quizzical look and preceded him in. The door slid shut behind them.

  The hallway opened into a large chamber that had probably been intended as a living or family room. But where overhead glow rods would normally shine comfortably and placidly, there were brighter light fixtures, emitting, Jaina suspected, the exact frequencies of sunlight. Where comfortable, padded furniture should sit, instead rested weatherproof outdoor furnishings of light, foamed durasteel supports and colorful strapping—there were chairs, lounges, even a patio table with a large umbrella overhead. One picture viewport, as tall as an adult human and twice as long, admitted light and a view of buildings fifty meters away, stretching upward and downward as far as the eye could see from Jaina’s position; streams of airspeeder traffic at just the altitude of this apartment added a dash of fast-moving color.

  Tahiri Veila, former Jedi, former Sith apprentice, stood up from a piece of lounging furniture as they entered. Blond and attractive, she wore a simple, tight-fitting jumpsuit in gray. She was, as usual, barefoot. Her lightsaber was not at hand but lay nearby, on the patio table. Her expression was just a touch uncertain. The scars on her forehead, earned during the Yuuzhan Vong War, were not visible; Jaina doubted that they could have faded in just the few months since she had last seen Tahiri, so they were probably concealed by makeup.

  Tahiri nodded to them. “Jedi Solo, Colonel—I mean, Head of State Fel.”

  Jag spoke, his manner brusque: “Tahiri.”

  “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Caf, water—”

  “No, thank you.” Jaina took one of the lightweight chairs and sat facing Tahiri; Jag did likewise. Tahiri settled again on her lounger.

  Jaina gestured at the grass. “Please tell me that your refresher doesn’t have a dirt floor.”

  That broke through Tahiri’s discomfort and she grinned. “No, perfectly normal tile.” She looked over her living green carpet. “I’ve always preferred being barefoot to wearing shoes … but most places just aren’t that comfortable. Overheated permacrete, carpets where they glare at you for tracking in dirt … Now that I have some credits to spend, I decided I wanted a home where I could be comfortable. And this is much nicer than Tatooine desert sand.”

  “Now that you have credits and aren’t living by anyone else’s rules,” Jaina amended.

  “That’s right.”

  Jag leaned forward. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about Jacen Solo.”

  Tahiri’s uncertain look returned. “You really don’t need to say Jacen Solo. When his sister comes to talk to his former apprentice and Jacen is mentioned, I’m not going to suppose you mean some Jacen who waits tables.”

  “Of course.” Jag gave Jaina a pained look. “In informal circumstances, I really am redundant and stuffy, aren’t I?”

  Jain
a nodded. “Yes, but you’re pretty.” She returned her attention to Tahiri. “You’ve heard about the Grand Master and his sentence.”

  Tahiri nodded. “I heard about his farewell. I thought about going, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be welcome.”

  “Not by everyone … We’re trying to get a better handle on Jacen’s thought processes. What made him turn. When he turned. It’s all part of an effort to help the Grand Master—to help Uncle Luke—make his case for his return to Coruscant.”

  “People have been trying to understand Jacen for two years.” Tahiri shrugged as if the task were hopeless. “No, people have been trying to understand him since we were apprentices. Since you two and Anakin were children together. They’ve been coming to me since he died. Jedi and government investigators and doctors and the press.”

  Jaina gave her a sympathetic look. “Any friends among them?”

  Tahiri hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m not sure I have any friends. Not that I blame anyone for that. Anyone but Jacen and myself.”

  Jaina resisted the urge to join in with Tahiri’s critics and give the younger woman a verbal beating. It wouldn’t help in this situation. “You’re not likely to make any, either, as a bounty hunter. You need to come back to the Order, Tahiri.”

  “Not until I know who I am. What I am.” Tahiri smoothed an errant strand of blond hair back from her cheek. “I’ve been more things than I can count. Tatooine girl, adopted Tusken Raider, Jedi, Yuuzhan Vong hybrid, Sith apprentice, addict … I’ve got to get rid of all of them for a while. Learn how to hear myself think.”

  Jag nodded. “So think about Jacen. What have you figured out about him that you haven’t told anyone? Details too subtle or seemingly inconsequential, information that nobody ever asked about.”

  “I can’t tell you when he became a Sith.” Tahiri’s expression became unfocused. “Only that it might not be important when he did, or even that he did. I think Sith was just another thing, another set of armor and weapons and disguises, that he put on top of Jacen. Like ‘Jedi,’ or ‘Solo.’ He was always Jacen … until he rejected that, too, and became Caedus.”