Dark Journey (18 page)

The older woman shook her head. “He’s still alive,” she stated, quietly but with implacable conviction.

For a moment Jaina was at a complete loss for words. She stepped aside so that Leia could confront at least one of the grim realities before her.

For a long moment the woman stood, gazing at the still, white-draped form of her youngest child. Her eyes welling with unshed tears, she reached out a shaking hand to fold down the drape covering Anakin’s face. One droplet traced a wet path down her cheek and she brushed it away, blinking hard. Han, his own eyes glistening, came to her side and took her hand. But when she looked up at Jaina, blinking back tears, Leia’s voice was steady.

“Was it hard?”

Jaina glanced at the bier. “Let’s just say he didn’t make it easy for them.”

“He wouldn’t,” Leia said with a faint, sad smile. “But I
was asking about you. I was among the Yuuzhan Vong briefly, so I have some idea of what you might have faced—what Jacen might still be facing. But I survived, and so did you. And so will Jacen. We have to believe that.”

Leia gazed at her fallen son for a long moment. Softly, she stroked his cheek, then bent to kiss his forehead. At last, she turned and began to walk ahead. Her husband and daughter exchanged a helpless glance and then fell into place on either side.

“About Jacen,” Han ventured, his voice shaking a little. “I don’t want to believe it, either, but … There’s got to be a way to make sure. Maybe Luke could—”

“No,” Leia said firmly. “He couldn’t. Jacen is alive. I know it. I just can’t explain why I know it, or how.”

“We all felt Jacen’s presence,” Jaina said. She added carefully, “It seemed like … a farewell.”

“I felt that, too. But there’s a difference between closing down and winking out. I felt Anakin’s death. Not Jacen’s.”

“Neither did I, and I’m his twin.” She took a deep breath. “Mom, I think you need to consider the possibility that you might be in denial. A mother’s intuition is a powerful thing, but so are the instincts of half a dozen fully trained Jedi.”

“Don’t start in on your mother,” Han cautioned. “Not again, and
especially
not now.”

Jaina sent him an incredulous stare.

“Don’t look at me like I just kicked an Ewok,” Han said. “I’ve heard about some of the comments you’ve made, about her not working at being a Jedi, not being there as a mother.” He stabbed a finger in her direction. “No more.”

For several moments, father and daughter faced each other wearing identical expressions of outrage. Then Jaina bobbed her head in a curt nod.

“All right, maybe I’ve said some things in the past
couple of years that I’m not proud of. But would
you
want to be judged on the three or four worst comments you’ve made since this war started?”

Han’s silence was more eloquent than words.

“Don’t judge me for a few stupid remarks,” she repeated softly. She and Leia locked stares. “Somehow, I doubt that Mom does.”

Her mother smiled faintly. “I was younger than you when I joined the Senate. Almost immediately I started using my position to cover my work with the Rebellion. Bail Organa tried to dissuade me. I called him a coward.”

“Well, there you go,” Jaina said, as if that settled everything.

Han’s gaze shifted from his wife to his daughter. Never had the resemblance between them been stronger than at this moment. He shook his head in bemusement. “And here I thought I was outnumbered by the Vong,” he muttered.

Jaina enfolded him in a quick, hard hug. “Take care of Mom,” she whispered.

Han held her off at arm’s length and glanced toward the group of solemn young Jedi gathering around Anakin’s bier. “You’re not staying?”

“I’ve said my good-byes.” Jaina pulled free, exchanged another look with her mother, then strode off without a backward glance.

It was pure instinct that sent Han after her. Leia stopped him abruptly, one hand on his chest.

“She’s your daughter,” Leia reminded him. “She has to deal with loss in her own way and in her own time.”

Han considered this. The expression on his face was that of a man who gazed into a mirror and disliked what he saw. He grimaced and passed one hand over his face.

“She’s my daughter,” he admitted, “and I’m an idiot.”

His eyes held apology for all he’d done and said in the
months following Chewbacca’s death. Leia manufactured a shaky smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” He fell silent, and his gaze shifted slowly, reluctantly toward the draped sled.

“I hope Anakin saw things the same way Jaina does,” he said at last. “I’d hate to think he judged me—or worse yet, himself—by the stupidest three or four things I’ve said since this war started.”

“He knows,” she said. “And he doesn’t.”

He looked at her, his expression wistful. “You sound so sure. You’re sure about Jacen, too, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Han considered this, nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

Leia’s heart overflowed. She went into Han’s arms—the last sure haven in the galaxy—and turned her face into his chest to hide the tears she could no longer contain.

Jaina’s pace quickened as she left the docks at a dead run, as if she could outpace the memory of her father’s face when he’d realized that both his sons were gone. Before she knew it, she was churning along, weaving mindlessly through the turmoil of ships, overworked officials, and confused refugees. She paused only long enough to duck into one of the public refreshers most docking areas provided as a convenience to pilots—and then only long enough to sonic off the worst of the grime.

Feeling somewhat calmer, she set a direct course for the palace. Its labyrinthine marble halls were the best place she could think of to lose herself for a while.

Ta’a Chume’s efficiency confronted her at every turn. Palace guards ushered her through; servants offered refreshment and then quietly withdrew when she waved them away.

Moving on autopilot, she found her way into a courtyard garden and down shaded paths that seemed designed with solitude and secrecy in mind. She slumped down on the moss-covered rocks artfully piled beside a carved bench and finally allowed herself to feel.

What she felt, mostly, was numb.

Since leaving Myrkr, her path had seemed clear. The first order of business was to survive, to finish the task Anakin had passed to Jacen, to bring the other young Jedi to a place of safety. And after that, to rescue Jacen.

Jaina hadn’t allowed herself to think of anything else, to feel anything that might distract her from these goals. Her headlong progress had been stopped short, and she felt as dazed as if she’d flown a landspeeder into a tree.

She felt the approach of a powerful presence, and glanced up as a tall, graceful woman emerged from the shadows of a fruit arbor and glided purposefully down the path toward her. The woman wore a softly draping gown, and her russet hair gleamed above the scarlet veil covering the lower half of her face. Feeling resigned but not at all surprised, Jaina rose and dipped into a bow.

Ta’a Chume waved away the formalities. The former queen mother settled down on the bench and motioned for Jaina to join her. She removed her veil, revealing a still-elegant face distinguished by fine, sharp bones. “It is good to see you alive and well, Jaina. I heard about your brothers.”

Jaina took the offered place beside Ta’a Chume and braced herself for yet another round of meaningless condolences.

This response seemed to amuse the former queen. “I take it you’ve had your fill of platitudes and exhortations?”

“You might say that.”

“Then let’s get to the heart of the matter. Your brothers are dead, and those responsible still live. The only reasonable question is, what are you going to do about it?”

There was something refreshing about plain speech, and even an odd sort of comfort. “That’s the question, all right.”

The older woman patted her shoulder. “You will find your way to an answer soon, of that I am certain. And tonight will be an excellent time to start. There will be a diplomatic dinner at the palace, and you would do well to attend. Now, then,” she said briskly, “I suggest that we find you a suitable gown and gems.” Her eyes slid
quickly over Jaina’s stringy brown hair. “And perhaps a hair stylist.”

Jaina shrugged this off. “I’m a pilot. Appearances aren’t important to what I do.”

“That’s quite apparent,” Ta’a Chume murmured. But her eyes slid over the young woman, taking stock, measuring potential. A speculative gleam entered her eyes. “Tell me, do you wish to avenge your brothers?”

Jaina attempted to plot a direct path between these two topics but quickly gave up the effort. “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yes, I suppose I do.”

As she said the words, Jaina realized the truth of them. All her life she’d heard that anger and revenge were paths to the dark side. At this moment, that hardly seemed to matter—in fact, such concerns struck her as petty and self-indulgent. The galaxy was fighting for survival, and the Jedi weren’t doing much better on that score than anyone else.

She realized that Ta’a Chume had been speaking for several moments and focused her attention back to the former queen.

“In order to achieve this, you will need to win support from the Hapan military,” Ta’a Chume concluded. “Beauty is a tool to be used, just like intelligence or talent or power or even this Force of yours. Don’t disdain it.”

“It’s more important on Hapes than in most places. More common, too.” Jaina shrugged. “No matter what I do, I’d fall short of your world’s standards.”

“Nonsense, on all counts. I suspect that you possess many resources you have not yet considered.”

Jaina regarded the older woman. The former queen was a powerful presence in the Force, yet she possessed formidable shields. Jaina could get no sense of what she was thinking, but she took what she knew of Ta’a Chume and made some assumptions.

“You want something from me,” she said bluntly. “Forgive me, but I’m running short on time and illusions.”

Ta’a Chume smiled, not at all offended. “All I ask is that you keep your mind open to all possibilities. These are strange times, and you may find yourself in a position to accomplish things you never dreamed possible. Now, about that gown.”

She rose and headed for the palace. After a moment, Jaina followed. Ta’a Chume had access to ships, fuel, and ammunition—all the things Jaina would need to take the fight to the Yuuzhan Vong—and apparently the former queen was willing to trade.

Jaina had no idea what currency Ta’a Chume had in mind, but that didn’t particularly worry her. She almost looked forward to matching wits with someone who’d made an art form of deception and intrigue. Like lightsaber practice, it might serve to sharpen her wits and skills in preparation for a real battle.

And unlike Ta’a Chume, Jaina had the Force with her. Light or dark—it didn’t matter. Those distinctions seemed artificial to her, half-understood concepts whose time was done. As Kyp Durron had said, this was their time, their war. The younger Jedi needed to decide what to do and how to do it, and then live with the results.

For the first time a tinge of unease darkened Jaina’s thoughts. “Hurling black lightning is one thing,” she muttered, “but quoting Kyp Durron puts me lower than I ever expected to get.”

   The comm unit in Kyp Durron’s X-wing crackled. “Vanguard Three, acknowledge.”

The calm, emotionless tone of Jag Fel’s voice set the Jedi’s teeth on edge, but he clicked the channel open. “Sir,” he said in ironic imitation of the Chiss woman’s stern military manner.

If Jag picked up on Kyp’s tone, he didn’t let on. “The
squadron is preparing to make the jump to Gallinore. By all reports, this world is rich in unusual plant and animal life, just the sort of planet likely to draw the Yuuzhan Vong’s interest.”

As far as Kyp could tell, the invaders were not particularly discriminating. Ithor had been a forested paradise, and they’d burned it to ash and rock. Duro, on the other hand, was a foul slag heap. That planet they chose to rebuild.

It occurred to him to wonder how the Yuuzhan Vong might transform Coruscant. He decided he didn’t want to know.

“Setting coordinates,” he said, reaching for the controls that would relay this request to Zero-One.

“Belay that,” Jag told him. “The others will go ahead with Shawnkyr. We two will stay behind to practice maneuvers.”

An amused beep came from the astromech droid, but Kyp was too astounded to respond.
Practice maneuvers
? Exactly who and what did this kid think he was, and more important, to whom should Kyp send his body?

“Vanguard Three?” the commander prompted.

“Acknowledged,” Kyp said through gritted teeth.

He watched the other four ships disappear into the blackness of hyperspace. Six ships total, half the number he himself had commanded, and all of them reduced to skulking around the Hapes Cluster watching for signs of an invasion that, in Kyp’s opinion, was a foregone conclusion.

“You think our efforts here are wasted,” Jag observed.

“Let’s just say that I’m accustomed to a more proactive approach. Hello,” he said abruptly, glancing down at flashing sensors. “What have we got, Zero-One?”

SEVEN SMALL CRAFT. ALL ARE ARMING WEAPONS.

“Looks like today was worth waking up for after all.
Let’s strike up an acquaintance.” Without bothering to defer to his “commander,” Kyp accelerated and swept toward the small fleet.

As he neared, he made out the distinctive wasp shape of the ships, the single dark viewport that from the side resembled an insect’s eye. The triangular wings were folded down close to the crescent hull for sublight flight, lowered from the upright V they assumed in atmosphere. In either flying condition, these ships could be deadly foes.

“Hornet Interceptors,” Jag observed. “Quite likely the same fighters that scattered when we approached Lieutenant Solo’s captured pirate ship.”

A sardonic smile tugged at one corner of Kyp’s mouth, and his irritation changed to interest. Of course they were the same ships—the Hornets weren’t equipped with hyperdrives, and their base ship was sitting on the Hapan docks with a two-meter hole burned into its hull.