by Greg Keyes
"I've come at a bad time," he said at last.
"That depends," she retorted. "If you're interested in having a shower, you're in luck. There's one on this ship and I just figured out how to start it."
"Ah," he observed.
Her brown eyes raked over him. "On second thought, the last thing you need is more spit and polish. And when I say 'spit,' you have no idea how literally I'm speaking."
A long-buried emotion stirred, one so unfamiliar that it took him a moment to find a name for it. Chiss, as a rule, did not get angry, and Jag had learned to model his
reactions accordingly. "And what is it, precisely, that I do need?"
His cool tone had a paradoxical effect on the young woman. Jaina's eyes flamed. "You tell me. You're the one who's barging in here and interrupting my work."
"I came to offer you a ship, and a place in the Vanguard Squadron."
"Thanks," she said flatly, "but I've got a ship. It just needs a few adjustments."
His eyes skimmed over her, taking in her disheveled appearance. Humor stirred, and his irritation receded. "And how is that going?" he inquired politely.
Her chin came up. "Great. No problems."
Fierce brown eyes dared him to contradict her. To his surprise, Jag wished he could linger and do precisely that. The prospect of fighting with Jaina Solo was surprisingly intriguing. His squadron, however, would soon be expecting him.
"I should leave you to your work."
"Fine. Good. You do that."
She looked as eager for him to leave as Jag was to linger. That stung. He inclined his head in a curt farewell, left at a crisp pace, and didn't look back.
Only one thing kept Jaina from scraping a handful of goo off herself and hurling it at the retreating pilot her dignity had suffered enough for one day.
She shrugged and turned back to the ship. Lowbacca stood just inside the door, a broad grin on his ginger-furred face.
"I don't see what's so amusing," she told him coldly.
He had the nerve to chuckle.
On impulse, she reached high and fisted both hands in the long fur on the Wookiee's head. Dragging his head down to her level, she planted a kiss on his forehead and then plastered herself against him in a quick, hard hug.
She backed away, considerably cleaner than she'd been only a moment before.
Lowbacca looked at her with puzzlement. A large gob of gel dripped from his chin and landed on the duracrete floor with an audible splat. He looked down at his goo-matted fur and yelped in outrage.
"Now that," Jaina told him, "is funny."
The planet known as Hapes had rotated twice since Harrar's priestship emerged from darkspace. During that time, the priest's commander and crew had worked without rest or pause to track the stolen ship.
When finally Khalee Lah came to the priest's chambers, Harrar suspected, quite correctly, that he had come to admit defeat.
"We have lost scouting ships," the warrior concluded, "and a number of the traitor-slaves."
"It surprises me that the Hapan infidels can still mount much of a defense," Harrar mused. "They were sacrificed at Fondor, yet they still fight and fight well. Our first duty is to retrieve Jaina Solo, but it appears that the Hapes Cluster might yet provide other worthy sacrifices."
"It seems unlikely," the warrior said in a dismissive tone. "The fighters are survivors from Coruscant. These might provide a few gifts for the gods, but not these Hapan cowards."
"We received reports that several ships were destroyed by a species known as the Chiss, a reclusive people who live on the edges of this galaxy."
"There are countless races in this galaxy," Khalee Lah said. "These ships are too few to make the Chiss a serious threat."
A surge of irritation coursed through the priest. Pride was a fine thing, but a wise leader was never blinded to the possibility of failure. Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps Khalee Lah's presence aboard Harrar's
priestship had more to do with penance than honor. "Perhaps these few are scouts?" he suggested.
The warrior considered this. "It is possible."
"If a few fight so well, what of a full-scale assault? It may be advantageous to learn more of these Chiss and why they've come."
Khalee Lah frowned. "Our first task is retrieving the Jedi twin. The Warmaster depends upon our success."
"And we will accomplish this task," Harrar said with as much patience as he could muster, "The Warmaster also relies upon priests of Yun-Harla to gather information that will be useful to the Yuuzhan Vong. Alert your warriors to make every effort to capture one of these Chiss."
Khalee Lah still looked doubtful, so the priest added, "Soon the Jedi twin will be ours. You will move on to new challenges, new glories. If these Chiss prove to be worthy adversaries, who better to lead the assault against their home worlds than Khalee Lab?"
"On that, we are in accord." The warrior smiled, and the fringes on his scarred lips seemed to separate into short, narrow fangs.
Harrar noted the birth of new ambition in Khalee Lah's eyes and was satisfied. If the young warrior looked upon every infidel as an opportunity for glory and advancement, he was less likely to dismiss them as "unworthy opponents." They had made that mistake with Jaina Solo before. Harrar suspected that she might be canny enough to exploit this.
Perhaps, he mused, this ersatz trickster was exactly what she claimed to be-a being subtle and powerful enough to warrant comparison with Yun-Harla. The thought both dismayed and intrigued him.
"You look troubled, Eminence," Khalee Lah observed.
"Thoughtful," Harrar corrected. He smiled faintly, obscuring his heresy beneath a masquer of cynical
amusement. "War is often replete with irony. I wonder what the commander of these far-traveling infidels might think if he knew that his every attack was not a deterrent to the Yuuzhan Vong, but an invitation!"
EIGHTEEN
Early the next morning Prince Isolder followed a guard into the refugee camp, trying to ignore the sharp-eyed warriors following closely behind him. Bodyguards were a necessity for someone in his position, and he could think of few times when he had been truly alone on his homeworld. But as he walked between rows of simple tents, he was keenly aware of how much these people had lost, and how grating the pomp of Hapan royalty must be to them.
His guide stopped before a tent no different from the others. "You may leave me here," Isolder announced. His blue-eyed gaze swept over his escort, including his bodyguards in this instruction. They bowed and retreated.
He tapped on the support post and received a noncommittal grunt in response. Sweeping aside the opening flap, he ducked into the first of two rooms.
Han and Leia Solo sat at a small folding table. They were both holding steaming mugs, and they looked up at him with weary but keenly measuring eyes.
Isolder was struck by the similarity between the two, something that went beyond any explanation of common experiences and their recent shared losses.
Han Solo fit the image of aging pirate down to the last centimeter. Stories gathered during years of adventuring were written in his collection of lines and scars. Two
days' worth of stubble roughened his face. He'd gotten a little thicker, a little grayer, a little tougher-nothing surprising there.
The change in Leia, however, was startling. Her short hair had begun to grow out and she wore a fitted flight suit. She was thinner than Isolder remembered, and her face looked pale and small without cosmetic enhancement. Despite her casual appearance, or perhaps because of it, she looked far younger than her years. But gone were the artful coils of brown hair, the softly draping gowns, the regal posture-everything that had caught his eye twenty years ago. She could have been any other tired warrior preparing to face another day's battle.
Then her face changed. Her chin came up, her lips curved in a welcoming smile, and the grief and weariness in her eyes receded behind a well-practiced mask. Princess and diplomat, she rose and circled the table to gre
et him, both hands outstretched.
"Prince Isolder," she said warmly. "Thank you for accepting us here. The people of the Hapes Cluster have already given so much."
He took her hands and raised them to his lips. "Fondor was my mistake, Princess. You tried to warn me about sending the fleet. Let's have no misunderstanding on this matter, or any other."
"Sounds like you've got things on your mind," Han observed as he hauled himself out of his chair.
"Stay, please," the prince told him. "What I have to say concerns you both."
Han shrugged and dragged a crate over to the table while Leia found another mug. They settled down and took sips of the thick, potent beverage. "How was your journey?" Leia asked. "Informative, and also disturbing. I learned several things that might be of importance to your family. Among the Yuuzhan Vong, twin births are considered a
portent. One twin battles the other, and the winner goes on to an important role in a pivotal event."
Han nudged Leia. "Don't worry, sweetheart. You can take Luke. You'll just have to fight dirty."
She sent her husband a subtly quelling glance. He held up both hands in mock defense, and his teasing grin brought a spark of mingled amusement and exasperation to her eyes. Isolder thought he much preferred that response to the calm, practiced warmth she turned upon him.
"Please excuse the digression," she murmured.
"Of course. Tsavong Lah has stated, publicly and unequivocally, his intentions for your son Jacen. It is likely that this ire will now shift to Jacen's twin sister."
The warmth faded from Leia's eyes. "Jacen is still alive," she stated firmly.
Isolder sent a puzzled glance at Han. "You've probably been told otherwise," Han said. "So have we. But Leia says no, and I'm putting my credits on her."
She shot him a quick, grateful look and then turned back to Isolder. "Your point is understood, nonetheless. The Yuuzhan Vong seem obsessed with the notion of sacrifice. If twins have so much power in their eyes, they'd probably see a twin sacrifice as an especially potent offering to their gods."
"There is more," the prince said. "I have spoken with Tenel Ka, and observed Jaina at work on the Yuuzhan Vong ship. She has named this ship the Trickster, referring both to Yun-Harla, the Trickster goddess, and to herself. She did this to mock a Yuuzhan Vong priest in pursuit of her and the other young Jedi. Immediately thereafter, she confounded their ability to track the stolen ship. It seems possible that she is laying down a challenge, perhaps even goading them on by taking on the role played by their Trickster goddess."
Han's eyebrows rose, and a lopsided grin spread over his weathered face. "A goddess, huh?"
Leia sent him an incredulous stare, leaving no doubt that she didn't share his skewed pride in their daughter's methods.
He quickly squelched his smile. "You can't say the kid lacks ambition."
With a sigh, Leia pushed back from the table. "I'll talk to my daughter. Jaina has always been impulsive."
"Not to mention stubborn," Han pointed out.
"I'm not going to argue with her. I'm going to encourage her to put her plans-whatever they are-on the table. Then we'll discuss them, with the intention of focusing and refining her logic."
Han turned a wry look toward bolder. "Not going to argue," he repeated. "Do me a favor-make sure this 'discussion' takes place in an open space, with no flammable materials around."
"You're not coming?" Leia asked.
"I've got some work to do on the Falcon. You two go ahead."
He spoke easily, with none of the competitive tone that had characterized his previous dealings with Isolder. The prince was not surprised. The look that passed between the two suggested a tie no former suitor could threaten, much less sever. Han gave his wife a quick kiss and then poured himself another cup of sludge.
But as Isolder moved the flap aside for Leia to pass, he heard Han's softly spoken advice "Watch your back, sweetheart."
The prince understood that Han was not referring to the dangers implied by a former suitor. And knowing Ta'a Chume as he did, he found himself in complete agreement.
Leia Organa Solo understood that even during difficult times, certain protocols were inviolate. She could not go anywhere in the palace complex without paying her respects to the reigning queen mother.
She gave her name at the gate and was quickly led to Teneniel Djo's domain. The uniformed guards took her to a sleeping chamber rather than an audience room. For a moment, Leia didn't recognize the woman who rose haltingly from a chair to greet her.
When Teneniel Djo first came to Hapes as a young woman, she'd been something of an oddity a forthright warrior among scheming patricians, a moderately attractive woman in a land whose people were renowned for beauty. Her short, compact build set her apart from the lithe Hapans, as did her ability to sense and use the Force. Leia sensed at once that this ability had weakened to almost nothing.
Teneniel Djo's reddish brown hair was dull and thinning, and her skin had faded to an unhealthy sallow hue. She was far too thin. Her eyes were deeply shadowed and so devoid of expression that she might have been mistaken for a blind woman. The constant intrigue of the Hapan court must have been a slow poison to the Dathomiri warrior. Leia suspected that the defeat at Fondor and the loss of her unborn child had been merely the final blows.
They exchanged a careful embrace. Teneniel Djo pushed Leia off to arm's length and regarded her with dull resignation. "You have been chosen?"
Leia hesitated, unsure how to answer, or what to ask. "I came to Hapes with the refugees," she said, considering this path as safe as any. "Han and I plan to leave shortly."
None of this information seemed to register in the qu een's eyes. "Tenel Ka has the ring."
"Of course," Leia agreed.
The small woman turned away and resumed her sightless study of the garden. Leia tried several times to engage Teneniel Djo in conversation, but nothing pierced the strange fog that surrounded her.
Finally she abandoned the effort and walked quietly from the room. She shut the door behind her and nodded to the two guards who stood watch. They returned her salute, but Leia noticed the irritated expression in one man's eyes. She tracked his gaze over her shoulder.
A young man sauntered toward them, wearing the bright red color of the royal house and an expression of extreme self-satisfaction. He swept into an extravagant bow.
"An honor, Princess Leia. Ta'a Chume wishes to speak with you."
From the way he said this, Leia wasn't sure whether the honor was being expressed or conferred. "And you are?"
"Trisdin Gheer, companion to Ta'a Chume."
A mottled flush rose in the faces of the guards. Leia felt both anger and embarrassment coming from them and understood that she had just been insulted. Apparently sending a courtesan to fetch her was offensive in the extreme.
This left Leia with two choices ignore the insult and appear ignorant of Hapan custom, or acknowledge it and appear ungracious. Ta'a Chume, it would seem, was in rare form today.
"Ambassador Gheer," she repeated pleasantly but pointedly. "I must apologize-your name is unfamiliar to me. I haven't seen it on the diplomatic rolls, or heard you speak in the senate. Perhaps you're new to Ta'a Chume's service?"
His smirk faded. "I joined her household recently."
"Well, I'm certain we'll see more of you in the near future. Ta'a Chume's diplomatic envoys always seem to move on quickly." She smiled. "Shall we?"
The guards' silent mirth followed them down the hall. Trisdin set a brisk pace and made no further attempt at conversation. He delivered her to a small audience room and then flounced off.
Ta'a Chume rose to greet Leia, offering no comment on Trisdin. "It was good of you to visit Teneniel Djo. A sad thing, is it not?"
"These are difficult times," Leia pointed out.
"But there are others who bear greater burdens with grace, you yourself among them." The older woman inclined her head. "Our condolences for the loss of your sons."
"Of course," Ta'a Chume said smoothly and without conviction. "You must find great consolation in your daughter. I wish Teneniel Djo had been able to convey a similar sense of duty to her own daughter, but that is perhaps the least of our queen's failures. But enough of Hapan woes. I assume you'd like to see Jaina." She began to walk down the corridor. Leia fell into step.
"Have you any idea of Jaina's future plans?" Ta'a Chume asked.
Warning sensors hummed in the back of Leia's mind. "In times such as these, how far ahead can any of us plan?" she responded. "Our best efforts need to focus on survival. Jaina is a fighter pilot, an exceptional one. That requires her complete attention right now."
"She is a squadron leader, I assume?"
"No. She's in Rogue Squadron, and feels lucky to be there. Most of the commanders are legends."
"No doubt she's creating her own. Wars build legends, even if they accomplish little else."
"Why this sudden interest in my daughter?"
The queen mother spread her hands. "I lost my oldest son, and as you know, Isolder is deeply involved in this conflict. It is far more difficult for us to see our children fight than it would be to go into danger ourselves."
It stuck Leia as odd that Ta'a Chume was speaking to her as if they were contemporaries. Before this, she had always endeavored to impress upon Leia her relative youth and inferior status.
"Jaina is no longer a child," Leia observed. "Neither is Isolder."
Ta'a Chume's eyes crinkled in amusement. "You placed those comments in proper order. Isolder has many fine qualities, but the path to wisdom is longer for men. No woman finds an equal in a man her own age."
"An interesting view."
"One you apparently share. Han Solo is several years older than you, I believe."
"He has a running start on that path to wisdom," Leia responded dryly.
They emerged from the main palace building into bright sunshine. Ta'a Chume nodded toward an enclosed landspeeder, a larger-than-usual vehicle piloted by a well-armed driver.