Star Wars: Dark Nest I: Joiner King

by Denning, Troy

  Omas stayed silent, waiting for more of an explanation, but that was all Luke knew.

  Instead, Luke asked, “What did Mitt’swe’kleoni tell you?”

  Omas shrugged. “He demanded to know why the Galactic Alliance had sent its Jedi—his words—to interfere in a Chiss border dispute. When he saw how surprised I was, he demanded to speak to you.”

  “This is bad,” Mara said. “Very bad.”

  “I agree,” Omas said. “Either he thinks we’re all lying—”

  “Or he believez our Jedi Knightz have gone rogue,” Saba finished. “In either case, the result will be the same.”

  “They’ll try to solve the problem themselves,” Omas said. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “How hard will this be on them?”

  “Our Jedi Knights can take care of themselves,” Luke said.

  “I know that!” Omas snapped. “I’m asking about the Chiss.”

  Luke felt Mara’s ire rise, but she chose to overlook Omas’s tone and remain silent. Now was a poor time to remind him that the Jedi did not expect to be addressed as though they were unruly subordinates.

  “If the Chiss take action against them, Jaina and the others will attempt to defuse the situation…for a time,” Luke said. “After that, it depends on the nature of the conflict.”

  “But they won’t hesitate to meet force with force,” Mara clarified. “Nor would we ask them to. If the Chiss push things, sooner or later Jaina is going to bloody their noses.”

  Omas paled and turned to Luke. “You need to put a stop to this, and soon. We can’t let it come to killing.”

  Luke nodded. “We’ll certainly send someone to—”

  “No, I mean you personally.” Omas turned to the others. “I know the Jedi have their own way of doing things. But with Jaina Solo leading those young Jedi Knights, Luke is the only one who can be sure of bringing them home. That young woman is as headstrong as her father.”

  For once, nobody argued.

  TWO

  A silver splinter shot across the Falcon’s bow, three kilometers ahead and hanging just below the clouds, then disappeared into a fog bank almost before Han Solo realized what he had seen.

  “Did you see that?” As Han spoke, he kept both hands on the control yoke. With fangs of gray mist dangling beneath a low gray sky and spires of vine-covered yorik coral rising from a floor of undulating forest, Borao was a dangerous planet to map. Deadly, even. “What’s another ship doing here? You told me this planet was abandoned.”

  “It is abandoned, dear.” Leia glanced at the console in front of the copilot’s seat, then shook her head in disgust at the static-filled array. “The sensors can’t get a reading through these ionized clouds, but we know what kind of vessel that was.”

  “And you say I jump to conclusions!” Despite Han’s protest, his heart was sinking. Since the Derelict Planet Reclamation Act had passed, there seemed to be more survey ships in the galaxy than stars. “It could have been a smuggler or a pirate, you know. A place like this would make a good hideout.”

  Leia studied her display screen for a moment, then shook her head. “Not a chance. Have a look.”

  The view from the stern vidcam appeared on his display, showing the knobby little cone of a Koensayr mapping skiff. It was in the middle of his screen, dead center.

  “He’s following us!”

  “So it would seem,” Leia answered. “The good news is he hasn’t been there long, or I’d have seen him. With our longrange sensors blinded, I’ve had the exterior cam views rotating across my display.”

  “Good thinking.” Han smiled at Leia’s reflection in the cockpit canopy. She had thrown herself into her role as the Falcon’s second in command with the same devotion she brought to everything she did, and now a finer YT-1300 copilot could not be found anywhere. But there was an uneasy tension beneath her regal bearing, a restlessness in her big brown eyes that sometimes made the post seem too small for her. And Han understood. Any woman who had inspired a rebellion and shepherded a galactic government through its infancy might find life a little cramped aboard a tramp freighter—even if she had too much class to say so. “That’s what I love about you.”

  Leia smiled brightly. “Smart as well as beautiful?”

  Han shook his head. “You’re a really good copilot.” He pushed the throttles forward, and the forested ridges below began to flash past in a verdant blur. “Maximize the rear shields. Koensayr just delivered a fleet of armed mappers to RePlanetHab, so things might get rough.”

  Leia only stared at the throttles. “Han, what the blazes are you doing?”

  “I’m tired of getting kicked around by these RePlanetHab pilots. It makes me look old.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Leia said. “You’re barely in your mid-sixties.”

  “That’s my point,” Han said. “Just because a guy goes a little gray at the temples, people think he’s slowing down. They think they can push him around—”

  “Han, nobody thinks you’re slowing down.” Leia’s voice grew soft. “You have at least forty good years left. Maybe even fifty, if you take care of yourself.”

  A prim electronic voice sounded from the comm station behind Leia. “And may I point out how difficult it would be to see the gray in your hair from another vessel?” C-3PO leaned forward, pushing his golden head into Han’s peripheral vision. “Whatever the reason other pilots have for thinking you’ve slowed down, sir, I’m quite sure your hair color has nothing to do with it.”

  “Thanks, Threepio,” Han growled. “Maybe you ought to disconnect those vocabulator circuits before someone probes them with a plasma torch.”

  “A plasma torch!” C-3PO cried. “Why would anyone do that?”

  Han ignored the droid and took the Falcon into a wisp of low-hanging cloud. Normally, he would have circled around it to avoid the small risk of hitting one of the strange spires the Yuuzhan Vong had left scattered across the planet. But that would have required a second mapping run around the other side, and they simply did not have the time—not if they wanted to beat these claim jumpers at their own game.

  When the Falcon came out the other side without crashing into anything, their passenger gasped in relief and pushed his T-shaped head between the seats.

  “Captain Solo, there is no sense placing your ship at risk.” Ezam Nhor spoke with the mouths on both sides of his arched neck, giving his Ithorian voice a mournful stereo quality. “DPRA regulations state that when two parties file simultaneous claims, the Reconstruction Authority must give preference to the one with greater resources. My people do not have the means to match even a small rehabitation conglomerate, much less one like RePlanetHab.”

  “You’re young, so maybe you don’t know this,” Han retorted. “But I don’t usually obey regulations.”

  An uneasy wheeze shot from both sides of the Ithorian’s throat.

  Leia laid her hand over Han’s. “Han, I hate losing to these world grabbers as much as you do, but Ezam is right. The Ithorians don’t have—”

  “Look, we can do this,” Han said. A vast fog bank appeared on the horizon, its misty hem dragging in the treetops. “Borao isn’t an easy world to map, and we have a big head start.”

  “And?”

  “And the Reconstruction Authority has to log every claim it receives.” Han eased the control yoke back and started to climb above the oncoming fog bank. Risking a small wisp of cloud was one thing, but even he would not fly blind through who-knew-how-many kilometers of dense fog. “If I can talk Lando into sponsoring us, we still have a chance. All we have to do is transmit our map first.”

  Leia remained silent.

  “Okay, so it’s a small chance,” Han said. “But it’s better than nothing. And it’s not like we haven’t bet on long-shots before.”

  “Han—”

  “Besides, maybe Luke can swing us some support from Cal Omas,” he added. “That would—”

  “Han!” Leia laid her hand on his and pushed the control yoke
forward again, ending their climb. “We don’t have time to waste recalibrating the terrain scanners.”

  “Are you crazy?” He studied the atmosphere ahead with a nervous eye. “You are. You’re crazy.”

  “I thought you wanted to win this thing?”

  “I do,” Han said. “And to do that, we need to stay alive.”

  “Captain Solo makes an excellent point,” C-3PO said. “Without our sensors working properly, our chances of hitting an abandoned watchtower in those clouds are approximately—”

  “Don’t quote me odds, Threepio,” Leia said. “I need to concentrate.”

  She focused her attention on the gray curtain ahead, and whorls of fog began to peel away from the center. Han started to make a wisecrack about having a weather-Jedi for a copilot, then recalled what Leia had said to C-3PO and thought better of it. Her training was still casual at best, and if she said she needed to concentrate, it was probably smart to believe her.

  By the time they reached the fog bank, Leia had opened a long channel down the center—a very narrow channel, not much wider than the Falcon itself.

  C-3PO’s electronic voice split the tense silence. “Oh, my!”

  “Quiet, Threepio!” Han barked. “Leia needs to concentrate.”

  “I’m aware of that, Captain Solo, but the route she is clearing has opened a small path through the ionic interference. We seem to be receiving an insystem comm transmission from Master Durron.”

  “Take a message,” Han ordered. In the canopy reflection, he saw a furrow crease Leia’s brow, and blankets of fog started to spill back into the channel. “And stop bothering us!”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Solo, that’s quite impossible. The ionic interference seems to be returning, and our reception is too distorted for me to record. If you were to climb a few hundred meters, I could use the static scrubbers to enhance the signal.”

  “Not now!” The fog closed in completely. Unable to see past the end of the cockpit anyway, Han looked over to Leia. “If this is too much—”

  “It’s not too much, if you’ll just leave me alone!” she snapped. “Do you want to win this thing or not?”

  “All right. No need to get touchy.”

  Han turned his gaze forward, and the fog parted again.

  “Much better,” C-3PO said. “Thank you, Princess Leia. Master Durron seems quite upset.”

  Kyp’s voice came over the comm speakers, scratchy and distorted. “…melt your circuits from the inside!”

  “Take it easy, kid. You’re on,” Han said. “And this had better be good.”

  “When are you going to stop calling me kid?” Kyp asked.

  “Soon,” Han promised. “Look, we’re kind of busy here, so if that’s all you need to know—”

  “Sorry,” Kyp said. “I wish this could wait, but I’m only passing through on my way to Ramodi.”

  “The baradium ring?” Han asked. “I thought Tesar Sebatyne was supposed to handle that.”

  “Supposed to is right.” Kyp paused a moment. “Something came up.”

  “Bigger than smuggling baradium?”

  “Hard to say,” Kyp said. “When you’re done here, the council needs you and Leia to take over in the Maltorian system.”

  “Nice of them to ask,” Han grumbled into the comm mike.

  “That’s what I’m doing now,” Kyp said. “The council doesn’t give orders—especially to you two.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Han said. “What happened to Zekk? Is he okay?”

  There was a long pause, and Han thought they might have lost the signal.

  “Kyp?”

  “Zekk’s fine,” Kyp said. “But something came up, and he had to leave.”

  Alarms started to go off inside Han’s head. Jaina had told them about the mysterious call that she and the other strike team members had been feeling from the Unknown Regions.

  “Listen”—Kyp’s voice crackled over the comm—“we didn’t want to ask you again, but this is important. RePlanetHab is about ready to start paying Three-Eye off.”

  “I’ll have to talk it over with Leia.” Given who was currently trying to steal Borao out from beneath them, Han was not sure either one of them would be eager to help RePlanetHab with its pirate problem. “Redstar’s tribunal ought to be just about over, and we were hoping to catch up with Jaina for a few days before she goes out again.”

  There was another long silence, and this time Han decided to wait Kyp out. A blurry sliver of green murk appeared at the end of the fog channel that Leia was holding open. Her gaze remained dead ahead. Han hoped that she was actually seeing; that she had not sunk so deeply into her trance, she would fail to notice the hazy stripe of darkness ahead.

  Finally, Kyp said, “Uh, seeing Jaina might be a problem.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Han said. “Something came up.” The hazy strip ahead thickened into a sharp, distinct streak. “Something in the Unknown Regions, I’ll bet.”

  “Well…yes.”

  “Thanks for letting us know,” Han snorted. Normally, he tried not to worry about Jaina’s assignments. As a top fighter pilot and leading Jedi Knight, his daughter could handle almost anything the galaxy threw her way. But the Unknown Regions were different. The Unknown Regions were home to a hundred terrors too terrible to imagine—or so he had been told. “What’s the situation?”

  “We don’t know, exactly,” Kyp said. “But there’s no reason to worry. Master Skywalker has taken Mara and Saba to investigate.”

  Now Han was worried. To draw three Masters away when the Jedi were already spread too thin, the problem had to be serious.

  “All right, kid,” Han said. The dark streak at the end of the fog channel had grown sharp enough to identify as a yorik coral spire. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Nothing.”

  Han remained silent, and finally Kyp asked, “Did I mention the Chiss?”

  To Leia’s credit, she did not look away from the forward viewport—but she did lose her concentration. The fog came rolling back into the channel ahead of the Falcon, and Han lost sight of the spire. He jerked back on the throttles…then felt a sudden stab of neck pain as something slammed the ship forward. A cacophony of damage alarms erupted from the control console. Han’s gaze flew to the status lights of the most critical systems.

  “What was that?” Nhor asked from behind him. “Did we crash?”

  “Not exactly,” Han answered. Over the comm, he said, “Stand by, kid. We’re a little distracted here.”

  “Copy.” Kyp sounded relieved to have a few moments to formulate his explanation. “Take your time.”

  Once Han had confirmed that all vital components were still operational, he called up the view from the stern vidcam and saw nothing but static.

  “Something hit us from behind.”

  “The mapping skiff?” Leia asked.

  “It was following us,” Han said. “I hate that.”

  “Oh, dear,” C-3PO said. “I hope there aren’t any casualties!”

  “It would serve them right,” Han growled. He activated the intercom and ordered Leia’s Noghri bodyguards, Cakhmaim and Meewalh, into the cannon turrets. “Don’t shoot anything. Just tell me what you see back there.”

  Han glanced over at Leia and saw by the tension in her lips that she had heard every word of the conversation between him and Kyp. He closed the intercom, then returned to his comm mike.

  “Okay, kid. Tell us about the Chiss.”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Kyp told them about Aristocra Tswek’s visit and Cal Omas’s “suggestion” that Luke handle the matter personally, and then said, “Master Skywalker knew you’d be worried, so he asked Cilghal to fill you in when you asked for the Maltorian dossier. I really wasn’t—”

  The Falcon shuddered, and another damage alarm sounded. Cakhmaim reported that, despite its damage, the mapping skiff was firing at them.

  “Then shoot back!” Han ordered. “Kyp, you’ll have to—”


  “Standing by,” Kyp acknowledged. “Be careful.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Han pushed the throttles forward and accelerated into the fog, then asked Leia, “Can you do that fog thing again?”

  “Yes,” Leia said. A low rumble reverberated through the Falcon as Meewalh and Cakhmaim unleashed the big laser cannons. “But why not climb out of here and fight where we can see?”

  Han allowed himself a sly grin. “Didn’t you see that spire up ahead?”

  “I saw it,” Leia said. A smile as sly as Han’s came to her lips. “I like the way you think, flyboy.”

  “How does he think?” Nhor asked. “What are we doing?”

  “You’ll see,” Han said. “Just hold on.”

  Leia turned her attention back to the fog, and soon the verdant finger of a vine-covered spire could be seen jutting up at the end of the channel. If Han did not break until the last second, the mapping skiff following them would have no time to avoid a crash.

  Nhor finally saw what they were planning.

  “No!” He shrieked the word with both mouths. “You mustn’t! Tell your gunners to stop firing!”

  “Stop firing?” Han repeated. The spire was as wide as his hand now, and he was beginning to see dark patches of coral showing through the curtains of vine. “Are you crazy? They’re shooting at us.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Nhor’s voice remained shrill with panic. “My people could never inhabit a planet won through murder.”

  “It’s not murder,” Han objected. “They started this. We’re just defending ourselves.”

  “There is a difference between defending and killing,” Nhor said.

  Han began to grow impatient. “Look, if that’s the way you feel, the Ithorians are never going to find a planet.” The spire had grown as large as his arm; another five seconds, and the mapping skiff wouldn’t have a chance. “In this galaxy, you’ve got to fight for what you need.”

  “My people believe there has been too much fighting already.” Nhor paused, then said, “This isn’t your choice to make, Captain Solo. If you kill our rivals, the Ithorians will not come anyway.”

  “Han, Ezam’s right,” Leia said. Her gaze remained fixed on the fog, but she reached over and gently clasped his arm. “We just can’t win this one.”