STAR WARS - THE NEW JEDI ORDER - Destiny's Way

by Walter Jon Williams

  Alarm tingled along Luke's nerves. "How?" he asked.

  Karrde gave a private little smile. "It's best you don't know."

  "I don't want Cal Omas discredited," Luke said quickly. "If you get caught in something shady, no one will believe that Cal wasn't behind it."

  Lando put a reassuring hand on Luke's arm. "Not getting caught at something shady is our specialty."

  "There's always a first time."

  "Luke," Lando said, "we're just businessmen. We're trying to get government contracts. We have a perfectly legitimate reason for talking to anyone who could help us."

  "And we have sixteen ships full of supplies that we're donating to the refugees on Mon Calamari," Karrde added. "All courtesy of the Smugglers' Alliance. So we're going to be very, very popular for a while, and politicians will want to be seen with us."

  "I'm not sure I like what I'm hearing," Luke said.

  "Then we'll change the subject," Karrde said smoothly. He opened a locker and took out a metal container, which he thumped down onto the table and opened. "Like it?"

  Luke saw a boxy, wheeled droid, and gave a little shiver of distaste. "It looks like a mouse droid," he said. Millions of mouse droids were in existence, chittering and squeaking and running their obscure errands beneath the feet of annoyed citizens. Why anyone had chosen to model a droid on disease-carrying vermin was beyond him.

  "It's a mouse droid chassis," Lando said. "We get them cheap—people practically pay us to take them away. But this mouse droid now contains the sensor unit of one of our Yuuzhan Vong Hunter droids."

  "Ah," Luke said, understanding.

  "The Yuuzhan Vong Hunter units are better at sensing Yuuzhan Vong than they are at sensing humans," Karrde said. "But they are aggressive, and, well—"

  "Murderous," Lando said.

  Karrde gave him a sharp look. " Conspicuous was the word I was looking for." He tapped the mouse droid. "One of our YVH-M units can sniff out Yuuzhan Vong infiltrators and, unlike one of our Hunters, won't be tempted to immediately blow him to smithereens. Instead, it can be programmed to follow the infiltrator, record his movements, and take note of anyone that the infiltrator talks to."

  "Who ever notices a mouse droid?" Lando said. "Most people do their best to avoid noticing diem."

  "Our next model will feature a small repulsorlift. Flying Yuuzhan Vong Hunters—just think about it!"

  Luke had been making some quiet calculations while the others were involved with their sales pitch. "I don't think you should talk about your YVH-M models to just anybody," he said. "We want these to be a surprise, especially to the Yuuzhan Vong."

  Lando smiled and nodded. "Can you suggest who we should talk to?"

  "Dif Scaur and Ayddar Nylykerka, for two."

  "The head of New Republic Intelligence, and his military equivalent. That's very good."

  Luke reached out and gave the smooth plastic surface of the mouse droid a pat. "I have a feeling," he said, "this little critter is going to be very, very useful."

  Trickster was parked in orbit around Kashyyyk, and a group of Wookiee technicians descended on it, supervised by Lowbacca. Quarters for the Twin Suns Squadron and docking bay space for their X-wings had been found on the old Rendili Dreadnaught Starsider, which had been converted to a tender and supply depot for other ships. Jaina found her new cabin and threw herself down on a mattress that still smelled of the previous occupant's unwashed body.

  The first tiling she checked were the holomessages that had piled up waiting for her while she'd been on the Obroa-skai mission.

  Yes. There was a holomessage from Jacen. Her ringers trembled as she pressed the buttons that would play the recording.

  "Hi," Jacen said. "I'm back from the dead." And he looked it—he was ten or twelve kilos underweight, and the long hair and scraggly beard gave him the appearance of a hermit just rescued from a long period of fasting in the desert.

  He briefly explained that he'd been held prisoner by the Yuuzhan Vong, and rescued by a Jedi named Vergere, a Jedi of the Old Republic.

  "I'm sorry I didn't try to contact you through our twin bond," he said. "You were in my thoughts the whole time. But I knew that the Yuuzhan Vong wanted you to try to rescue me—they were ready for it. They wanted to sacrifice us both in a special ceremony. So my greatest chance of staying alive was to keep you as far away from me as possible.

  "They tell me you've played a big part in a victory." His brown eyes gazed mildly out of the holo. "I hope that means you've been all right while I've been away. It must have been bad enough knowing that An akin was dead without thinking that I was gone as well." He hesitated. "I know you're too sensible to get into anything really hurtful, but I hope you're well, and I hope we'll be able to talk soon. Tell Logic and everyone hi. Take care. I love you."

  The holographic image fizzled out. Jama's thoughts whirled. It seemed she was forgiven for not trying to contact Jacen through the twin bond they shared, but on the other hand Jacen seemed to have sensed, or perhaps heard about, her mad, angry brush with the dark side, her surrender to the fury that was her legacy through the blood of Vader.

  What could she tell Jacen? It had been bad enough confessing her actions to her mother.

  The next message was from Jagged Fel, reporting that he'd encountered her mother and father on the Hydian Way, and that Leia had told him Jacen had escaped the Yuuzhan Vong.

  Did everyone know before I did? she thought.

  "I've missed you," Jag said. "I wish I was with you. I wish I could see your reaction when you find out that Jacen is alive. I want to kiss you in celebration."

  Even though she wanted to bask in misery at this moment, Jag's words brightened her spirit. The memory of his arms around her, and the phantom taste of his lips on hers, whispered like a warm summer wind through her memory.

  She really couldn't, she thought. Being in love at a time like this was madness. Not when death reached out to her at every moment, when another person to love meant only another person to mourn when the time came.

  But Jacen had come back . . . perhaps that meant that things had changed.

  Her mind whirled. But one thing was clear: soon death would come for her.

  The fewer people to mourn then, the better.

  Jaina found Kyp Durron in the pilots' mess, chewing without enthusiasm on a reconstituted, freeze-dried iagoin steak that may have been in a storage locker since the days of Empress Teta. "Great One," he said, looking up, "please exercise your godly powers and summon real food. We're orbiting six hundred kilometers above the greenest planet in the New Republic, and the mess can't seem to find any fresh vegetables." He paused, then looked at her in surprise. "What's wrong, Sticks?"

  "Jacen's alive," she said. "He's on Mon Calamari with Uncle Luke and Mara."

  Kyp's expression cleared. "Wonderful!" he said. "Get yourself a plate of rehydrated salthia bean paste, and we'll have a feast and celebrate!"

  Jaina sat heavily on the seat opposite him. "What do I tell him I've been up to since he was captured?" she asked.

  Comprehension dawned. "I sec," Kyp said. "Well." He looked down at his plate and pushed the iagoin away with distaste, then looked at Jaina again. "You may as well tell him the truth."

  "There's more to it than that," Jaina said. "During his capture he made no attempt to contact me through the Force, for fear that I'd try to rescue him and run into a trap. So what do I tell him— that because he didn't contact me I ran amok? What's that going to do to him?"

  Kyp listened carefully and nodded. "I understand your concern," he said, "but I think Jacen can take care of himself. He always has. And besides, Anakin's death had as much to do with your going to the dark as Jacen's capture did."

  "Maybe so. But it's hard to know how he's going to take things. What if it sends him into another spiral of—of whatever it was that paralyzed him in the first place?"

  "You saw the hologram," Kyp said. "Did he look paralyzed?"

  Jaina found herself smiling. "No.
He looked like he'd been through a lot., but—he looked all right. And he was right enough to be concerned about me."

  Kyp nodded at her solemnly. "Then I think—when you sec him—you'll know what to say."

  Jaina looked at her hands. "I hope so."

  Kyp grinned. "Is there anything else that's going to keep you from celebrating?"

  Jaina smiled, but sobered quickly. "Admiral Kre'fey," she said. "He and the Bothans have gone mad—they've all decided they're going to wipe out the Yuuzhan Vong to the last germ cell. So now we have a commander who's bent on destroying a whole species." She looked at him. "Is that an invitation to the dark side, or what?"

  Kyp was impressed. "Even / never went that far," he said. He leaned across the table toward Jaina- "I think that the dark side can only take command when you're feeling certain emotions," he said. "In my case it was anger. In yours it was the desire for vengeance."

  "On behalf of a brother who turned out not to be dead," Jaina added bitterly.

  "As well as the one who was. Yes. That was wrong, and we're agreed on that. But I think we should try to make several distinctions here."

  "All right," Jaina said, though she felt cautious at the idea of too many shadings and distinctions between light and dark.

  "There's aggression for its own sake. Which is bad."

  "Yes."

  "There's defensive war, fighting against invaders on behalf of your own worlds or people or government. Which, if not necessarily good, is at least justified."

  Jaina nodded. "I'm following you."

  "And then there's a counterattack in an otherwise defensive war. Which was Obroa-skai."

  "And it's what?" Jaina asked. "Good? Bad? Justified?"

  "Justified," Kyp said. "I've been thinking hard about this, and I think justified." Then he saw Jaina's dubious look, and said, "Let me give you an analogy."

  "All right."

  "Say you have a friend who has something valuable, like a ring. And a thief attacks your friend and steals the ring, and for some reason you can't prevent it."

  "I'm following you."

  "And later, you meet the thief, and you see the thief wearing the ring. So is it aggression to bring the thief to justice, and return the ring to its rightful owner?"

  "So you're saying," Jaina said, "that the thief is like the Yuuzhan Vong, who have been stealing our worlds, and that it's not aggression to want our worlds back and the Yuuzhan Vong out of our hair?"

  "I'm not saying that there isn't a degree of aggression. But I'm saying it's justified."

  "But if your aggression lets in the dark?"

  "Then it's not justified," Kyp said. He sighed. "Look. You can go after the thief because you're angry at him and you want to give him a good pounding, or you can go after the thief because you want to see justice done. There's a difference. Anger is dark, but the love of justice is light."

  "And perfect justice is impossible," Jaina countered.

  "Perfect justice isn't the issue. You're setting too high a standard. We haven't sworn oaths to be perfect." He considered for a moment. "Look, it's like when Luke was fighting Darth Vader, and the Emperor stood by urging him to strike out of anger. Fighting Darth Vader wasn't the wrong thing to do! But fighting him out of anger was."

  Jaina looked at him for a long while. "No offense, Kyp, but I wish it was Uncle Luke who was making this argument, not the greatest living expert on the dark side of the Force."

  Kyp looked at her soberly. "So do I, Jaina. So do I."

  When Winter opened the door, there was a slight hiss of changing pressure. She saw Luke, Mara, and Jacen, and stepped away from the door to let them inside.

  "Please. Come in."

  Admiral Ackbar's apartment was deep below sea level in Heurkea Floating City, and was filled with the scent of the ocean. The rooms were rounded and dimly lit, and echoed to the music of falling water. There were deep seawater pools in every room, connected by submerged tunnels or by channels spanned by small arched bridges. The walls and ceilings shimmered with golden light reflected by the waves, and the floors were tiled in colors that reflected the moods of the sea, green, blue, turquoise, and aquamarine.

  The door hissed shut behind them.

  Winter wore a long white gown and a necklace of sea-green jade. She greeted Luke and Mara with an embrace, and kissed Jacen on each cheek.

  "How is the admiral?" Luke asked. He pitched his voice low in the hope that these artificial caverns wouldn't amplify his voice and carry it through the house.

  "His body is failing him," Winter said. Her calm voice was matter-of-fact, but Luke could see the lines of sadness radiating from the corners of her eyes.

  "Can anything be done?" Mara asked.

  "As he told you the other day, there's no single tiling wrong," Winter said. "The real problem is age, and the way he drove himself during the Rebellion. He wasn't young even then, you know."

  "I suppose not," Luke said. "It never occurred to me to wonder how old he was. He seemed as young as—as he needed to be, I guess."

  "You'll find his mind is as supple as ever," Winter said. "He can still work for ten hours at a stretch if he takes care of his body."

  "Work?" Mara asked. "At what?"

  "I'll let Ackbar tell you that." Luke, Mara, and Jacen followed the tall, white-haired woman over a small bridge and across stepping-stones—actually the tops of tall pillars—set in a quiet pool. They came to a comfortable drawing room with a central pool set amid comfortable furniture. There Ackbar waited, bobbing in the pool. He waved one huge hand.

  "Luke!" he called. "Mara! Young Jacen! Welcome to my home!" His voice showed no sign of the slurred diction it had shown in Admiral Sow's office, and boomed out as vigorously as if he were shouting orders on the bridge of his flagship.

  "Thank you, sir," Luke said.

  "Please seat yourselves. Forgive me for not joining you—I'm much more comfortable these days if I stay in water."

  "Your home is lovely," Mara said.

  "It suits me," Ackbar said simply.

  Winter efficiently served refreshments while Ackbar and his guests chatted. Then Ackbar floated toward Jacen, and looked up at him with his goggle eyes.

  "Can you tell me of the Yuuzhan Vong, young Jacen?"

  "I'm willing," Jacen said. "But it's a large topic."

  "You're the only person I know who has any exposure to them. Tell me what you can."

  Jacen spoke for a long time, of the Yuuzhan Vong and their castes, their leadership, their religion, the way they interacted with each other and their captives. He touched on his own experience only lightly. Luke was surprised and impressed that Jacen, in pain and in slavery and alone, had observed his captors so acutely, and was able to organize his material so well.

  Winter listened in silence, and after a while sat on the edge of the pool, pulled up her gown, and dangled her legs in the water. Ackbar floated next to her, and she rested an affectionate hand on his sloping glabrous shoulder.

  Luke watched them and thought of the many tragedies contained in Winter's mind. The white-haired woman possessed a holographic memory that recorded her entire life in perfect detail but would not permit her to forget. The grief she must have felt at the destruction of her home world of Alderaan, with her family and friends, was as fresh in her mind now as it had been twenty-seven years ago. The battles of the Rebellion, the struggles against Furgan and Joruus C'baoth, the kidnapping of the infant Anakin Solo . . . Winter could relive all these with the same intensity with which she'd first experienced them. Likewise, the years she had spent with Jacen when he was a child were as vivid as her experience of the adult Jacen himself, sitting near her.

  Winter's mind was a hologram, Luke realized: it contained a complete template of her life. Birth, death, joy, tragedy, violence, triumph, despair. Seen that way, it wasn't surprising that she'd joined Ackbar in his retirement: perhaps her mind contained more than enough severe experience by now, and she needed tranquil memories to place alongside those
that were not in the least tranquil.

  But now, as Ackbar declined, Winter was going to acquire even more long, sad memories that she would never be able to forget.

  Ackbar listened to Jacen's story, and then he and Winter asked a series of questions. Finally Ackbar sighed, and settled peacefully in the water.

  "Very good," he said. "I know how to beat them now." Luke looked at the admiral in surprise. "So that's what you've been working on."

  "Oh yes." Ackbar looked up at Winter and gave her knee a pat. "With Winter as my memory and my invaluable assistant, I've been working very hard on a strategic plan for the war, and now Jacen has confirmed my ideas of the Yuuzhan Vong character. I think victory is now conceivable."

  "Are you planning to come out of retirement?" Luke asked. Ackbar gave a burbling sigh. "I don't know if that's possible, Admiral Sow is willing to take my counsel on this matter—but will anyone listen to poor Admiral Sow?"

  "They'll listen to you" Luke said. "I can't imagine anyone not listening."

  "Borsk Fey'lya wouldn't listen," Ackbar said. "And Borsk Fey'lya had many friends." He shook his huge head. "I truly miss Mon Mothma. We understood one another—our skills were so entirely complementary. She and I were a perfect team, she the great orator and politician, and I her sword. She was able to sec the traps that I was blind to, and I saw the dangers that she could not see. Her wisdom saw the Rebellion to its conclusion and created the New Republic. And with my fleets I helped bring about the defeat of the Empire." Again he shook his head. "She spoiled me!" he said. "She understood my methods, and I understood hers. Since her passing, I've had to deal with others who were not so understanding, and I lacked the skill for it—I had never needed it before." He sighed, and for the first time he slurred his words, as he had the other day. "Mon Mothma. Perhaps I shouldn't have outlived her."

  Whiter looked at Ackbar in concern. "Never say that."