Star Wars 396 - The Dark Nest Trilogy III - The Swarm War

by Troy Denning

  For a moment, R2-D2’s hologram began to flitter, and everyone held their breath. Then the droid gave a click and a whir, and the scene continued.

  Padmé had stopped retreating from Anakin.

  “Obi-Wan was right,” she said. “You’ve changed.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about Obi-Wan!” Anakin started after her. “The Jedi turned against me. The Republic turned against me. Don’t you turn against me.”

  “I don’t know you anymore,” Padmé said. “Anakin, you’re breaking my heart. I’ll never stop loving you, but you’re going down a path I can’t follow.”

  Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Because of Obi-Wan?”

  “Because of what you’ve done! What you plan to do!” Padmé’s voice grew commanding. “Stop now.” She was silent for a moment, then her tone softened. “Come back. I love you.”

  Anakin’s gaze shifted, and he seemed to be looking over Padmé’s shoulder toward the cam. “Liar!”

  Padmé spun around, and for the first time it grew clear just how advanced her pregnancy was. Her jaw fell in dismay. “No!”

  “You’re with him!” Anakin’s gaze had returned to Padmé. “You’ve betrayed me!”

  “No, Anakin.” Padmé shook her head and started toward him again. “I swear…I—”

  Anakin extended his arm, his hand shaped into an arc. Padmé cried out, then grabbed her throat and began to make terrible gurgling sounds.

  Luke cried out in disbelief, and the Force grew heavy with grief and outrage. Even Jacen—whose time among the Yuuzhan Vong had taught him never to be surprised by the brutality one being could inflict on another—felt his stomach turn at the sight of his grandfather using the Force to choke the woman he supposedly loved.

  An ominous but barely audible whine arose somewhere inside R2-D2. The holo began to flicker again, and a familiar voice spoke from outside the holo frame.

  “Let her go, Anakin.”

  Arm still extended—and Padmé still choking—Anakin turned to sneer at the speaker. “What have you and she been up to?”

  Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped into view, wearing the sand-colored robes of a Jedi. Though his back was to the camera, his shape and bearded profile were clearly recognizable.

  “Let…her…go!”

  Anakin whipped his arm to one side, and Padmé flew out of the holo.

  Anakin started forward to meet Obi-Wan, saying, “You turned her—”

  A sharp pop sounded from R2-D2’s interior, and the holo dissolved into static.

  Ghent flipped his magnispecs down, then peered through R2-D2’s access panel and cried out as though a blaster bolt had pierced his heart. He lowered his micrograbbers through the opening and clicked something, then retrieved what appeared to the naked eye to be a smoking dust speck.

  “I knew this would happen!” the slicer cried. “It’s an omniash now!”

  No one answered. Luke was stiff and ashen, fighting back tears. Mara was staring at the spot where Padmé’s limp form had vanished from the holo. Jacen was trying to decide where his grandfather had gone wrong, trying to puzzle out what flaw had made him a slave to his temper. Even R2-D2 remained silent, continuing to project a column of holostatic onto the floor.

  After a moment, Ghent seemed to realize that the loss of the omnigate was not the most serious one of the day. He laid his hand on Luke’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

  “Well, at least we know it wasn’t Mara who killed your mother.”

  “Ghent!” Mara’s eyes looked ready to loose a flight of blaster bolts.

  “What’s wrong?” Ghent seemed genuinely confused. “Isn’t that what we were trying to find out?”

  “Drop it,” Mara ordered.

  Tears were escaping down Luke’s cheeks now, and Jacen could sense him struggling with the anger he felt toward his father. It left a fiery, bitter taste in the Force, all the more powerful because of the forgiveness that Luke had already granted Anakin Skywalker.

  Ghent remained entirely unaware of all this history, of course. “But now we know,” he insisted. “It wasn’t Mara!”

  Jacen sighed. “Ghent, we really don’t know that,” he explained. “We only saw Anakin throw Padmé. We don’t know that my grandmother actually died.”

  R2-D2 trilled a series of sad notes.

  “You see?” Ghent asked, as though everyone else could understand what the droid was saying, too. “Do you want to see it?”

  “See what?” Mara demanded.

  “Her death,” Ghent replied. “This is what Artoo has been trying to protect Luke from, but now that the secret is out—”

  “No—I’ve seen everything I need to.” Luke rose and wiped his face dry, then added, “We have a battle to prepare for.”

  Jacen did not like the hollowness in his uncle’s voice. Luke was retreating from his pain, avoiding that last file because he knew how devastating it would be to watch his mother die. And pain you feared was pain that could be used to control you. Luke was not ready to face Lomi Plo, would not be ready until he accepted the tragedy that had befallen his parents—until he embraced it.

  “Are you sure?” Jacen asked. “It couldn’t take long, and who knows when Artoo is going to be this cooperative—”

  “I’m sure!” Luke snapped. “Don’t you have some flight checks you should be doing?”

  Mara nodded toward the door, but Jacen remained where he was. “This is more important. We need to talk about it.”

  Luke sighed, then went over to a briefing chair and sat down. “Okay, Jacen. Let’s hear it.”

  Mara cringed, then closed her eyes and touched Jacen in the Force, urging him not to press the matter.

  Jacen took a deep breath, then said, “I’m not sure you’re ready to win this fight, Uncle Luke.”

  “That’s not your decision to make, Jacen.” Luke’s tone was stern. “But go ahead.”

  Jacen did not hesitate. “You haven’t committed yourself yet,” he said. “You’re afraid to look at the last file—”

  “I don’t need to look at it,” Luke said. “I know what happened. I knew the instant that I saw my…that we saw Darth Vader raise his hand to my mother.”

  “You’re afraid of the pain,” Jacen accused.

  “Pain isn’t always good, Jacen,” Mara said. “Sometimes it’s just distracting.”

  “And I don’t need to be distracted right now.” Luke pointedly started to rise. “What I need is to prepare myself for combat…and so do you, Jacen.”

  “It’s not only the file,” Jacen pressed. He was certain now that he should be the one to face Lomi Plo; that he was the only one who had no doubts about what they must do. “You’re not going to kill Raynar, either.”

  “I haven’t decided anything yet,” Luke said.

  “You may think you haven’t decided,” Jacen said. “But you’re not going to—and it’s a mistake.”

  Luke cocked his brow. “I see.” He fell silent for a moment, then returned to his chair. “I don’t know what you’ve foreseen, Jacen, but I can promise you this—regardless of Raynar’s fate, the Colony will be destroyed. The war in your vision won’t come to pass.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Luke, but promises aren’t good enough,” Jacen said. He would not trust Allana’s life to good intentions. “We must be sure the Colony dies—and that means we must act.”

  Mara came and sat beside Luke in front of Jacen, then asked, “So you’re going to kill a man—someone who was once your friend—just to be certain?”

  “I won’t enjoy it,” Jacen said. “But it’s necessary.”

  “I know you think so, Jacen,” Luke said. “But I’m not convinced. Not yet.”

  “We can’t afford to doubt ourselves,” Jacen insisted. “We must decide…and act.”

  Luke sighed in exasperation. “Vergere again.” He shook his head. “Look, I know her instruction saved your life—”

  “And helped us win the war with the Yuuzhan Vong,” Jacen pointed out.

&nb
sp; “And helped win the war against the Yuuzhan Vong,” Luke admitted patiently. “But I’m not sure we should embrace her ideas as the core of our Jedi philosophy—in fact, I’m sure we shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Jacen demanded.

  “Because we’re no longer at war with the Yuuzhan Vong, for one thing,” Mara said. She shook her head, then pointed at R2-D2’s holoprojector. “Didn’t you learn anything from what you just saw?”

  Jacen scowled, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Luke’s voice grew sharp. “There’s more to being a Jedi than being effective, Jacen.” He looked away, then continued in a gentler tone. “Since the war ended, I’ve been growing more and more troubled by Vergere’s teachings, and I think I finally understand why.”

  Jacen lifted his brow. “Why?”

  “Because their ruthlessness reminds me so much of what my father believed.” Luke turned and looked into Jacen’s eyes. “Of what the Emperor taught him to believe.”

  Jacen was astounded. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I’m not saying Vergere’s teachings are immoral,” Luke replied. “In fact, they don’t concern themselves with morality at all. They provide no guidance.”

  “Exactly!” Jacen said. “They’re about ridding ourselves of illusions, about seeing that nothing is ever truly dark or light, completely good or evil.”

  “So a Jedi is free to take any action necessary to achieve his goal?” Luke asked. “His only duty is to be effective?”

  “His first duty is to choose,” Jacen said. “Everything follows from that.”

  Mara and Luke looked at each other, and something passed between them that Jacen barely perceived.

  Finally, Luke said, “But Jacen, that isn’t what a Jedi is.”

  Jacen frowned. He could not understand what his uncle was trying to tell him, except that it had to do with principles and responsibilities—with those ancient shackles that Vergere had taught him to open. Could Luke really be saying that the Jedi should don them again; that they should let the opinions of others dictate their actions?

  “Very well,” Jacen said cautiously. “What is a Jedi?”

  Luke smiled. “I suggest you spend some time meditating on that,” he said. “In the meantime, just remember that we aren’t bounty hunters, okay?”

  Jacen nodded. “Yes, Master.” He understood that he was being told in no uncertain terms not to assassinate Raynar—at least not without Luke’s permission. “I understand, but I sense that you still have doubts about the morality of your plan. Perhaps I should be the one to confront Lomi Plo.”

  Luke’s face showed his astonishment. “Is that what this was about?”

  “I might be the better choice,” Jacen said. “I don’t have any doubts about this plan—or anything else, for that matter.”

  Luke stood, a smile of relief spreading across his face, and clapped Jacen on the shoulder.

  “Jacen, you are a good Jedi,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Uh, you’re welcome.” Now Jacen was really confused. “Does that mean you agree with me?”

  “Not at all—you’re mistaking fairness for doubt,” Luke said. He motioned R2-D2 to follow, then pulled Jacen toward the door. “I am going to kill Lomi Plo.”

  SIXTEEN

  The Chiss survivors had withdrawn to a chain of islands in the great river, a defensible position but not an impregnable one. For days, the defoliated jungle had been reverberating with the crashing of the Colony’s field artillery. The trebuchets were flinging rough-edged boulders, the catapults hurling waxes filled with hanpat incendiary. Every now and then, the Killiks even sealed a few thousand of their smaller fellows into a flight of wax balls and cast them onto one of the islands.

  Nothing shook the Chiss. They remained hunkered down behind their breastworks, smothering the flames, tending to the wounded, picking off any Killik foolish enough to show itself outside the soilworks that shielded the field artillery. The Chiss still numbered nearly a hundred thousand, more than enough to prevent an assault across the river’s swift current. After so many weeks of constant, raging battle, even the Colony was beginning to run low on soldiers, and Jaina knew that any attempt to seize the islands would end in the destruction of her army.

  But a Chiss relief force might be arriving at any time, and UnuThul was growing impatient. He remained out of mind-touch with the ground forces and did not understand what was preventing the final push. His Will had become a constant dark pressure inside Jaina’s breast, urging her to press the attack and force the enemy’s hand. Soon, she feared, he would grow weary of waiting for her plan to work and simply exert his Will over the Killiks. She needed to find a way to dislodge the Chiss now.

  Jaina slipped a few meters down the muddy embankment, then spun around so she was facing the trebuchet it protected. Several dozen meter-tall Sotatos Killiks were crewing the piece, working the windlass with such coordination that the firing arm looked as though it were being retracted by a power winch. The weapon was being supplied with boulders by a long line of Mollom, who were quarrying the stones from a rare outcropping of stone, then carrying them two kilometers and loading them directly into the trebuchets. Despite being from two different nests, the two groups were so well coordinated that the trebuchet never sat idle, and no Mollom ever had to stand waiting to load a boulder.

  Jaina’s fragile Wuluw communications assistant joined her when she reached the bottom of the embankment. “Rubbur bu uubu,” she reported. “Urr buur rrububu.”

  “Tell Rekker to unmass,” Jaina ordered. “Even if they can jump over to the islands, now is no time for a leap-charge. We can’t get anyone there to support and exploit.”

  “Bur u buuur rrub,” Wuluw objected.

  “I am doing something!” Jaina snapped. “These aren’t Imperials we’re fighting, they’re Chiss! They’re not going to fall apart just because we throw a few million bugs at them!”

  A sudden silence fell over the jungle, and Jaina realized that every Killik in sight had turned to stare at her.

  “Blast it!” Jaina shook her head at the temperamental insect ego. “Don’t be so touchy—we’re fighting a war!”

  She went into the jungle behind the trebuchet, then slid down a muddy bank into a shallow stream beside the emplacement. Wuluw followed behind her, landing on all six limbs and never breaking the surface of the water.

  “Ruburu ubu?”

  Jaina started downstream, circling back around the trebuchet toward the Chiss islands. “Doing something.”

  An approving drone arose in the jungle, and Wuluw skated along on the surface of the stream beside her.

  “Ubu?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Jaina answered. “But it’ll be good.”

  As Jaina waded through the water, she was careful to keep her eyes level with the terrain next to the stream, her gaze always turned in the direction of the islands. The jungle floor was piled high with shriveled foliage and splintered mogo wood. Thousands of dead Killiks—perhaps tens of thousands—lay in the detritus, sometimes in twisted pieces and sometimes with their thin limbs reaching toward the sky, always stinking in the jungle heat, always with their insides spilling out through a huge burn hole in their body chitin.

  Finally, only a narrow spit of jungle floor separated Jaina from the great river. The Chiss islands lay on the other side of a fast-moving channel, beneath the still-constant hail of boulders and burnballs from the clacking catapults and booming trebuchets of the Killiks. At this distance, Jaina could barely make out the barricade of felled trees that the enemy had erected at the edge of the river. The island was too flat and smoke-swaddled to see the terrain beyond the breastworks, but Jaina knew the Chiss well enough to be certain that there would be a second and a third line of defense beyond the first—probably even a fourth.

  Still being careful not to show her head above the streambank, Jaina brought the electrobinoculars to her eyes and found a mass of red eyes and blue faces peering out fro
m between the mogo logs, scanning her side of the river for any hint of Killik activity. Here and there protruded the long barrel of a sniper rifle, surmounted by the dark rod of a sighting sensor. She continued to study the breastworks, wondering if Jag was out there somewhere, reaching out to see if she could sense his presence. She was not sure why she cared.

  Wherever he was, Jagged Fel certainly hated Jaina for taking the Colony’s side in this war—and for starting it in the first place. And truthfully, she could hardly blame him. Had he led a team of Chiss commandos against the Galactic Alliance, she would undoubtedly have hated him. That’s how humans—and Chiss—were. Only Killiks fought without hate.

  Jaina continued to study the Chiss defenses. She was not sure what she hoped to find—maybe someplace where the defensive lines did not have a clear view of the river channel, perhaps a cluster of mogo trunks that could be brought down atop the heads of the defenders. Twice, she thought she spotted weaknesses where the Chiss did not have clear fields of fire. They turned out to be traps, one designed to channel the attackers into a large expanse of quicksand, the other protected by the few pieces of field artillery that the Chiss had managed to salvage during their retreat.

  Jaina’s gaze reached the end of the first island. She turned her attention to the near riverbank, this time looking for a natural place to launch a crossing—then felt somebody looking back at her.

  “Cover!” Jaina warned.

  She pulled the electrobinoculars away from her face and dropped down behind the streambank—then saw a pair of bright flashes explode into the slope in front of her. The attack was coming from behind her.

  Jaina dropped underwater. Her ears filled with a fiery gurgling as blaster flashes lit the muddy stream around her, instantly superheating liters of water and sending it skyward in a thin cloud of steam. She pulled herself along the silty creek bed, moving upstream and reaching out in the Force in the direction of the attack.