Ganner swore softly. “What I wouldn’t give for a good ion cannon right about now. Something that would take out the controls, but not the ship.”
“Force lightning,” Jaina suggested.
“Oh, great,” Tahiri muttered. “How Sith is that?”
“I’m serious.” Jaina placed a hand on Zekk’s shoulder. “We could do this. You graduated from the Shadow Academy. They must have taught you how.”
He pulled the hood back and stared at her, as if he didn’t trust his ears to decode this message without further data. As he studied her, horror dawned in his green eyes. Even Lowbacca looked at her strangely. A burst of laserfire erupted from the Hapan ship, cutting off any reply either Jedi might have made.
Jaina cast her eyes toward the cockpit ceiling. “All right, then, I’ve got another idea. Move over.”
He quickly yielded the pilot’s seat. Jaina tugged on the hood and coaxed the dovin basal to abandon shielding in favor of exerting a slow, steady pull. The ship jarred and shuddered as the Hapan ship’s fire found its mark.
Alema Rar leaned over Jaina’s shoulder and peered at the approaching ship. “You’ve got it in a lock, but with no escape pod or vac suits, how are we going to get to Tenel Ka?”
“She’s coming to us,” Jaina announced, her eyes fixed firmly on the Hapan ship. “Brace!”
The Twi’lek promptly dropped to the floor, her lekku twitching with apprehension. The cargo ship slowed as it neared the Trickster, but the impact was still enough to rock the frigate and send a shower of black coral dust cascading over the console. Alema rose to her feet, sneezing violently and repeatedly.
“After this war is over, I’m taking a vacation on Mon Calamari,” she announced as she wiped her streaming eyes.
“Sounds nice,” Zekk said absently, his concerned gaze still fixed on the young pilot.
“I’m going to find the largest coral reef on that world,” Alema concluded grimly, “and then I’m going to blow it up.”
“Hold that thought,” Jaina suggested.
She mentally ordered the ship to breach the other vessel. On the wall just behind the cockpit, a viscous substance, similar in appearance to the Yuuzhan Vong’s blorash jelly, seeped from the coral and outlined an oval portal. Foul steam began to rise as the solvent worked its way through the living hull.
The Wookiee padded over to observe. He leapt back as a neat two-meter chunk of coral tipped into the corridor. The smoldering edges were now as smooth as transparisteel. Yellow goo still seeped from the ship’s walls and was swiftly eating through the ceramic and metal hull of the captured freighter. The melted substance hardened quickly, forming a solid, airtight bond between the two ships.
Once the steam subsided, Lowbacca poked experimentally at the portal. Roaring in satisfaction, he spun to one side and delivered a solid kick.
The “door” went in and fell hard, taking down two humans in red uniforms. Lowbacca strode over them, igniting his bronze lightsaber as he went. The other Jedi spilled through the portal, falling in on either side of the Wookiee.
A double ping sounded as blaster bolts greeted them. Tenel Ka’s turquoise blade picked off both of them before her “rescuers” could respond.
Jaina pushed forward, stepping over the prone forms of three red-clad mercenaries as she took in the battle. At least six humans were sprawled on the floor, some of them moaning softly. One of these stirred and tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees. Lowbacca planted a furry foot on the man’s rump with a force that sent him skidding facedown across the polished floor. His head struck a metal cabinet with a satisfying thunk.
Tenel Ka strode past the Wookiee without a glance, moving toward the last two men standing—tall, blond men in red uniforms and in fighting trim.
One of them tossed aside an empty blaster and pulled a stun baton from his weapons belt. The other fell into the ready stance of a Hapan kickboxer.
Jaina held out one hand to hold the others back. “Let her handle this. I’ve got a feeling she needs it. Sorry, Alema.”
The Twi’lek woman shrugged and stood down.
Tenel Ka brought her lightsaber into high guard position, and then switched it off. She tossed the weapon to Tahiri without looking back. The young Jedi deftly caught it, and her lips moved as she murmured silent encouragement.
The kickboxer spun toward Tenel Ka, delivering two quick, feinting jabs and then snapping a high kick to her head. She leaned and slapped aside the kick with the metal band that encircled the end of her truncated arm. She turned her body in to the blow to add strength to the parry and to put herself into position for a side kick. This she delivered, hard, to her opponent’s chest.
He staggered back, surprised by the unexpected power of the small woman’s kick. Tenel Ka advanced, dropping to the floor suddenly and spinning into a low leg sweep. Her opponent leapt over the attack, an easy, agile move. The Jedi flipped onto her side and kicked again, higher, catching him on the inside of the knee just as he landed. He stumbled and went down.
Tenel Ka rolled away twice to gain some distance and then rose smoothly. Meanwhile her opponent got his feet under him and lunged up into a running charge.
She darted to meet him, throwing herself into a leaping spin and slamming her right foot directly into his face. Her left foot shot straight out and caught him just below the rib cage. She twisted as she fell and kept rolling away. The Hapan fighter reeled back and hit the wall, then slowly slid down.
Tenel Ka came up in a crouch, and her gaze snapped toward her final opponent. He advanced swiftly, stun baton leading.
The Jedi extended her hand. Tahiri threw the lightsaber back to its owner. It spun twice, end over end, and then slapped into Tenel Ka’s waiting palm. A stream of turquoise light raced toward her attacker’s throat and stopped a breath away, halting him in midstride.
Instinctively he struck out at the beam with his stun baton. The metal end sheared neatly off, and sparks exploded from the severed weapon. His blond hair leapt into spikes about his head and his eyes glazed. The weapon fell from his violently shaking hand, and he stumbled back into a benumbed retreat. Tenel Ka rose and matched him step for step, her lightsaber still at his throat.
Jaina felt a collective surge of dismay from the other Jedi. Impatiently she swept it aside and willed Tenel Ka to get on with it, get it over with.
Her thought must have carried to Tenel Ka. The warrior stopped abruptly, and her gray eyes sought Jaina’s. Tenel Ka lifted her blade away from the man’s throat and switched it off, still holding her old friend’s gaze.
For a moment they were open to each other. Jaina felt the other woman’s wrath, but also her determination. Tenel Ka saw these men as traitors to Hapes, and her duty, as a Jedi Knight and as the daughter of Hapes’s queen, to see that they would be dealt with accordingly. Jaina had been sure that Tenel Ka simply needed to let off some steam; now she sensed how wrong she’d been.
She also sensed a question coming from Tenel Ka, a subtle seeking such as a Jedi might use to measure a stranger. And then, not even that. The warrior’s formidable shields were back in place.
Jaina’s own internal shields firmed, and she nodded in approval. “Good for you,” she said, and her gaze took in both Tenel Ka and the Twi’lek. “Why waste energy on helpless coral reefs and Hapan pirates?”
The weird light in the Twi’lek’s eyes flared. The look she sent Jaina was the sort that passed between kindred spirits, or perhaps conspirators.
“Save it for the Vong,” Alema said in complete agreement.
THIRTEEN
Kyp Durron followed the Millennium Falcon in its hiccuping voyage through the dovin basal mines and into the confusion of Hapan space. After weaving through the chaotic traffic, he finally gained landing clearance. The worst behind him, he quickly set down his fighter next to Han’s ship.
He swung out of his X-wing and gazed with dismay at the scene around him. The docking area outside of Hapes’s royal city stretched as far as his e
yes could see. Movable landing pads shifted to squeeze the ships together and make room for the scores of vessels still circling or hovering in the skies overhead. Refugees milled about, and their confusion was like a scent on the wind.
Then another, stronger wind swept through Kyp, a psychic blast of incredible power and pain. He staggered and caught hold of his battered ship as Jacen Solo’s agony swept through his veins like molten rock.
His own astonishment mingled with the younger man’s pain, for Kyp had no ties with Jacen Solo that would explain so powerful a connection. He didn’t even like the young Jedi. In his view, Han’s oldest son was a spoiled, self-absorbed brat who’d rather let the Yuuzhan Vong sweep across the galaxy like a plague of insects than sully his precious vision of the Jedi ideal.
Yet for some reason, Kyp was sharing what was certainly a final agony. He couldn’t imagine living through something like this firsthand. He wasn’t sure he’d want to.
As the pain began to recede, a strong hand grasped his elbow. “Hey, kid—exactly how long have you been cooped up in that flying ’fresher?”
Kyp quickly pulled away from his old friend, shielding his thoughts and manufacturing a wry smile. “Too long, apparently. Give me a minute to get my land legs back, and I’ll be fine.”
Han nodded absently and glanced over at the Millennium Falcon. Luke Skywalker emerged from the ship on the heels of his redheaded wife. His arm encircled his twin sister’s waist as they walked slowly down the ramp. Leia Organa Solo was pale but composed. Impatience crackled around Mara Jade Skywalker like sparks from a severed cable, only slightly muted by the sorrow that rose from them all.
Kyp bowed to the Jedi Master, but spoke to the Solos. “My sincere regrets over the loss of your son.”
Leia’s eyes drifted shut, and Han quickly moved to her side. “Thanks,” he said, speaking quickly as if to spare his wife the necessity of words. “I won’t deny it’s tough. Doesn’t seem right, outliving your youngest kid.”
“Your youngest?” Kyp echoed in dismay. Jacen he could shrug off without much trouble, but not Anakin. Anakin Solo’s star had been swiftly rising, making him the war’s most visible and attractive Jedi hero. Anakin could have made a difference.
Too late, Kyp realized what his words revealed. Han’s face turned gray, and he gripped Kyp’s arm with bone-crushing force.
“You were talking about Jacen. What did you hear? What do you know?”
Leia placed a gentling hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Kyp might have felt what I did—a sudden surge of Jacen’s presence, then a dimming.”
Dimming wasn’t the word Kyp would have chosen. He’d seen stars go nova with more subtlety. Concerned, he glanced toward Luke Skywalker. The Jedi Master’s lips were compressed in a tight line. Grief and concern mingled in his eyes as he regarded his sister. His gaze shifted to Kyp’s, drawn by the younger man’s unspoken question. His slight, almost imperceptible nod confirmed that he, too, had felt Jacen Solo’s death.
Mara stalked forward, her green eyes burning. Kyp didn’t need the Force to read the warning written there: leave Leia her protective illusions, let her deal with this in her own time.
“Surely you have no problems shading the truth,” Mara purred softly. “After all, you managed to deceive my apprentice. My apprentice,” she emphasized.
Obviously Mara hadn’t forgiven him for involving Jaina in his latest vendetta. Kyp had used his considerable Jedi powers to “nudge” Jaina into believing that an unfinished Yuuzhan Vong worldship was actually a superweapon. And yes, he’d asked the young pilot to become his apprentice, mostly as a means of putting her off stride and making her more receptive to his deception. Mostly.
“Warning me off?” he asked mildly.
She glanced toward Luke. “Only because he’s been a good influence.” Her eyes narrowed. “So far.”
Mara spun away from him. “We need to find a ship,” she said abruptly as she strode away. Luke followed, his eyes approving his wife’s hard-won restraint.
Leia caught her brother’s arm. “You’ll send word if you have any news of the twins?”
“You’ll know,” he said softly. “You have a Jedi’s instincts. You don’t need anyone to tell you about your own children.” His somber gaze sought Kyp’s, and his usually mild eyes echoed Mara’s warning.
Han’s puzzled gaze shifted from face to face. He squared his shoulders and moved on to something he could understand. Draping an arm around Kyp’s shoulders, he led him toward the Falcon. “C’mon, kid. Let’s make ourselves useful.”
“Flying?” Kyp said dubiously as he eyed the latest dings and creases on the venerable ship.
“Fixing,” Han retorted. He opened a compartment in the Falcon’s hull and removed a laser torch. With a single flick he coaxed a small beam from it, as easily as any Jedi might awaken his lightsaber. “This plating here needs to be replaced.”
The Jedi regarded the tool. “I’m not much of a mechanic,” he hedged. He took it from Han and switched it off, hoping the older man would get the hint.
“Just cut off those rivets. How hard could that be?” Han’s voice faded off as he disappeared into the hold.
Kyp shrugged and pulled out his lightsaber. He switched it on and removed the half-melted fasteners with a few deft flicks.
“I see you’ve found yet another appropriate use for your Jedi abilities,” a caustic female voice observed.
He turned to face Leia. The older woman was still lovely, despite the weight of grief and worry in her eyes. Her brown hair was thick and glossy, and she wore it in a straight, simple style that made her look remarkably like her eighteen-year-old daughter.
Kyp produced his most disarming smile and enhanced it with the subtle nudge that had so disconcerted Jaina. He got the vivid impression of his effort striking an invisible wall and splattering like a mynock colliding with a Star Destroyer.
The Princess sniffed and spun on her heel. For no reason that Kyp could fathom, he fell into step with her.
Leia ignored him as she waded into the crowd of refugees, dispensing comfort. In a remarkably short time, the crowd had been herded through the initial registration and dispersed into small groups. Hapan landspeeders glided off toward the parklands beyond the city. The refugees who’d been injured during the escape from Coruscant lay on narrow white pallets. Medical droids rolled with quiet efficiency between the rows.
The collective suffering rolled over Kyp in waves. He fought back the memories—his home destroyed, his family dispersed, his childhood lost to slavery.
He noticed Leia watching him, her dark eyes narrowed in speculation. “There’s a need here,” she said. “One you understand better than most. Maybe you could make yourself useful for a change.”
Kyp smiled faintly, but shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not here, at least. Not this way.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “For some people, doubt can be dangerous. On you, it’s an improvement. So what will you do next?”
He considered the question, and the answer that came to him was not the one he’d expected. Kyp had assumed responsibility for fighting this war—and not just fighting, but fighting in a way that set the direction for his fellow Jedi. He’d even told Jaina that their generation needed to establish a new order, a new relationship with the Force. Perhaps on some level he’d been envisioning himself in this role. With Jedi certainty, Kyp realized that this task would fall to another.
Yet there was a place for him, an important one. “No change comes without conflict,” he said slowly. “Perhaps my destiny is to be the irritant that forces the discussion, the blister that lets you know your boots don’t fit.”
To his surprise, Leia burst into laughter. She sobered quickly and fixed him with a challenging stare. “Not a bad analogy, but keep in mind the difference between a blister and a cancer. You’re a young man, and already you’ve been given more chances than most people get in a lifetime. A lot of people wonder why you’re still alive. The answer to that can
be given in two words.”
“Luke Skywalker,” Kyp supplied without hesitation. “I understand how much I owe your brother.”
“Really? You have a strange way of repaying your debts,” Leia retorted. “You’ve done nothing to support him, and everything you can to spread dissension among the Jedi.”
The whir of repulsor engines made further speech impossible. They watched as two strangely designed vehicles lowered skillfully onto the crowded docks—round cockpits reminiscent of the old TIE fighters, and four movable arms that at present were spread like the limbs of crouching beasts.
“Chiss vessels,” Leia mused. Her face brightened as a familiar, dark-haired young man leapt from the cockpit.
“Jag Fel,” Kyp observed flatly.
“Colonel Jag Fel,” Leia added thoughtfully. Her face took on the inscrutable but pleasant expression that Han often referred to as her “diplomat face.”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she murmured, and then headed toward the young commander.
Kyp chose not to take the hint. He matched his pace to Leia’s. Whatever came next, they would need pilots—and even if Kyp didn’t like to admit it, pilots didn’t come much better than the young man emerging from the Chiss clawcraft.
Colonel Jagged Fel’s face lit with pleasure as he recognized Leia. A faint shadow entered his eyes when he noted Kyp at her side. That Kyp could understand. Their first meeting had been more cordial than a bar brawl, but that was the only positive thing Kyp could think to say about it.
The pilot drew himself up and greeted Leia with a crisp, formal bow. He introduced his wingmate, a Chiss woman who stood nearly half a head taller than either Jag or Kyp.
“Is your presence here a portent of things to come?” Leia asked, a touch of hope in her voice.
Jag inclined his head in a bow of apology. “I regret to report that it is not. Shawnkyr and I are scouts for the Chiss, no more.”
“Pretty impressive arsenal for a pair of scouts,” Kyp observed, tapping one hand against the proton torpedo launcher.
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