Invincible

by Troy Denning

Nothing if not brave, Jag picked himself up and returned, moving more slowly now. This time, he didn’t try to take Jacen away from her. He simply knelt at her side and gave her a stim-shot, then took hold of her hand.

  “Help’s on the way, Jaina,” he said. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Jaina wasn’t sure she believed him, but she squeezed his hand anyway. As the stim-shot took hold and her head slowly cleared, she began to remember the things she would be leaving unfinished if she didn’t make it—and probably even if she did.

  “Do something … for me?” she asked.

  “You’re going to make it,” Jag said. “I promise.”

  “You can’t promise.” Jaina would have smiled, but her flayed-open cheek hurt too much, and her mouth—no, her entire face—didn’t really seem to be working right. “And I still … need you to …”

  “Of course,” Jag said. “Anything.”

  “Find … Zekk.”

  Jag’s face fell. “Okay,” he said. “As soon as the medics get here, I’ll go tell him—”

  “No,” Jaina gasped. “He’s missing. Hit during the StealthX raid.”

  “Oh.” Jag looked even more distressed, and Jaina loved him for that. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

  “Have to worry.”

  “I’ll make sure Master Skywalker knows, too,” Jag assured her. “We will find him.”

  If he can be found, Jaina thought, silently adding the unspoken condition of search-and-rescue missions. She squeezed his hand again. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks aren’t necessary,” Jag said. “Zekk is a good man.”

  “Not for … Zekk.” Jaina shook her head—and wished she hadn’t as her neck erupted into scalding pain. “For getting here first. Glad it was … you.”

  “Me, too.” Jag looked more worried than pleased. “But hold on. Help is coming.”

  Jaina nodded, but said, “Second thing … Mirta Gev.”

  Jag’s brow rose. “Yes?”

  “Upstairs.” Even with the stim-shot, Jaina found it an effort to talk, and her thoughts were beginning to grow hazy again. “Alive. Get her … out.”

  Jag nodded. “I’ll make sure.”

  “Not someone slow,” Jaina warned. “She has … blaster rifles.”

  “No surprise there,” said a familiar, cocky voice. “She’s Mandalorian, right?”

  Jaina looked up to see her parents rushing over. Their eyes were rimmed with red and their faces were pale, but her father was doing his best to look smug and confident, while her mother was trying—and failing—to hide her alarm behind a calm veneer.

  As they drew nearer and saw Jacen’s head resting in Jaina’s lap, they finally exhausted their last reserves of composure. Her father’s lip began to tremble and her mother’s brown eyes turned liquid with sadness. They knelt beside her, trying not to look at their son’s body but unable not to, and seemed helpless to speak around the lumps in their throats.

  After a couple of seconds, her mother pulled an airsplint from the medpac in her hands and immobilized Jaina’s broken arm, while her father found a canister of sterinumb and gingerly sprayed her burns. The tasks seemed to help them focus their thoughts, and they began to give her unscorched shoulder and unbroken arm tentative squeezes of affection.

  On some level, Jaina knew, they were probably trying to reassure her, to let her know that nothing had changed between them. But that was impossible, of course. Jaina had become the Sword of the Jedi, with everything that meant.

  Always you shall be in the front rank, a burning brand to your enemies, a brilliant fire to your friends. Yours is a restless life, and never shall you know peace, though you shall be blessed for the peace that you bring others. Take comfort in the fact that, though you stand tall and alone, others will take shelter in the shadow that you cast.

  So Luke had spoken when he made Jaina a Jedi Knight, and so Jaina had become. It wasn’t a destiny she would have chosen—but who ever truly chooses? She doubted that her brother had envisioned his destiny to end here, with him lying dead in his sister’s lap.

  Once her back was coated with sterinumb, her father finally seemed to find the strength to speak. “How are you doing, kid?”

  “How … I look,” Jaina replied. “And not just … the outside.”

  Her father nodded. “Yeah, me, too.” He looked back toward the door, where Cilghal had just arrived, leading a pair of young Jedi Knights with a hovergurney. “But you’ve got to pull through, okay? I don’t know if we can make it without you.”

  “I do.” Jaina looked to her mother, then added, “You together … nothing can break … that.”

  Her mother smiled sadly. “Maybe not,” she said, stepping back so Cilghal and her assistants could start to work. “But I’m really tired of having that tested. So you listen to your father.”

  The Elite Guard stormtroopers probably knew that one platoon could not stand against so many Jedi Masters. But they had been ordered to hold the Anakin Solo’s Auxiliary Command Center at any cost, and brave men were born under every flag. So they tried.

  And they died.

  When it was done, the smoke hung in the corridor so thick that Han could barely see to pick his way over the body parts. His eyes were watering and his hands trembling, though that had more to do with the anger he felt than the acrid stench of melted armor and charred flesh. He did not need to look beneath any helmets to know that the men strewn across the deck had been in the prime of their lives, some of them just a little older than Anakin had been when he fell to the Yuuzhan Vong, many of them younger than Jaina … and Jacen.

  Han came to the end of the corridor, where Luke, Saba, Kyle, and the other Masters now stood before an enormous blast door. He stopped beside Jag Fel and ran a hand over his face. Leia had left the ship, heading to a Battle Dragon healing center with Jaina and Cilghal. So it was up to Han to calm himself. Once Cilghal had pronounced Jaina stable enough to move, he had insisted on staying with Luke to confront the men responsible for his granddaughter’s death.

  But Han was beginning to question that decision now. He was closer than usual to being dangerously out of control, and—despite

  Cilghal’s assurances that Jaina was no longer in any immediate danger—he could not keep his thoughts off her. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself with that Jedi breathing technique Leia had taught him.

  It didn’t work. His hands continued to tremble, and his eyes watered more than ever.

  Finally, he gave up and said, “This makes me sick.”

  Jag looked over, then pulled a small squeeze tube from a pouch on his equipment belt. “I have some stink-mask, if that would help.”

  “Not the smell.” Han waved a hand at the carpet of dead troopers behind them. “This. What’s the point? It’s not like there was anybody left to come save them.”

  Jag surveyed the carnage, contemplating. The ground assault on Shedu Maad had failed with Tahiri’s surrender to Ben, and the elements of the Anakin Solo’s crew that had not defected to the Jedi in the last half an hour were either dead or on their way to dirtside detention chambers. The Moffs did not even have a realistic chance of reinforcement from outside the ship; with Battle Dragons reverting to realspace every couple of minutes as they managed to disengage from the Megador, the space battle itself was clearly shifting in favor of the Jedi coalition.

  Finally, Jag nodded and said, “My father said it was easier to get a Moff to spend lives than money. That appears to be as true for the Remnant as it was for the Empire.”

  A series of tremendous bangs sounded from deep within the blast door. Han looked over to see Luke holding a hand out and the door slowly creeping open. Protruding up from the sill was the stub of one of the thirty-centimeter locking pins that had been holding the heavy door in place.

  “Unbelievable,” Jag gasped.

  “Yeah,” Han agreed. “Now you know who to call if you need a mountain moved.”

  As soon as the door had slid open far enough to permit
entrance, Saba dived through, with Kyp, Kyle, Corran, and the other Masters close behind. There followed a short flurry of blaster screeches and surprised cries, and by the time Han and Jag’s turn came, all had fallen silent inside.

  To Han’s disappointment, he did not find the Moffs lying dead in a row as he entered the chamber. They were all seated around a tactical display that currently showed nothing but Mist static. Some were holding their hands over scorch wounds on their shoulders, but most were staring at their laps with expressions ranging from fear to outrage. One—a young man with a black goatee and a shaved head—lay on the floor in two still-smoking parts.

  Saba, Kyp, and Kyle were standing around the table behind the Moffs, lightsabers in hand but not ignited. The rest of the Masters were busy taking Caedus’s command staff into custody. Han found himself squeezing his blaster grip so hard that he thought it might crack, but he resisted the temptation to raise his hand and start shooting. With all those Masters standing there, his bolts would just get batted away anyhow.

  Finally, Luke entered the room and went to the head of the table. “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Darth Caedus is dead.”

  The Moffs gave an affirming murmur; some looked worried, but none appeared sad.

  “Good. That leaves you with two choices,” Luke said. “The first is this: you become Hapan prisoners of war and face a war crimes trial for your nanokiller attack against the royal family.”

  Several Moffs paled visibly, but one—a grim-faced man with short, steel-gray hair, actually looked relieved.

  “That doesn’t sound like a very attractive option,” he said. “What is your other proposal?”

  Luke turned and studied the man for a moment, then said, “Frankly, Moff Lecersen, my other proposal sickens me. But we need the Remnant’s support—and its fleets—to end this war. The easiest way to achieve that is to invite the Moff Council to join us in reestablishing the Galactic Alliance.”

  A murmur of relief rounded the table, but now Lecersen looked worried, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  “That seems more than generous, Master Skywalker,” he said. “What’s the drawback?”

  Luke waved Jag forward, then pushed him toward the front of the table. “Him,” he said. “I can hand you over to the Hapans, or I can hand you over to someone who will let you live—as long as you stay in line.”

  Most of the Moffs frowned in confusion, but Lecersen leaned forward and studied Jag’s face for a moment. “Aren’t you one of Soontir Fel’s sons?”

  “That’s correct,” Jag said. “I’m Jagged Fel.”

  “I see.” Lecersen leaned back, contemplating Luke, then contemplating Jag. Finally, he asked, “Do you think you’re up to it, son?”

  Jag frowned. “Up to what, sir?”

  It was Luke who answered. “Taking Pellaeon’s place,” he said. “Administering the Moff Council, at least until the current crisis is resolved.”

  “You’d be doing us a favor, Commander Fel. You have good Imperial blood, and the alternative is …” Lecersen paused and glanced around the table, directing the rest of his comment to his fellow Moffs. “… well, most likely a long unpleasant incarceration, followed by an even more unpleasant death.”

  A light seemed to come on in the eyes of several of the other Moffs, and they began to nod their enthusiastic agreement. But Jag seemed to be as stunned by the whole thing as Han, and he simply stood at the table frowning, trying to sort through the implications of what Luke was proposing.

  Finally, he turned to Luke. “Why are you springing this on me now?” he asked. “It would have been good to have some time to think it over.”

  “For you,” Luke said, nodding. “But I wanted it to be clear to the Moffs that this isn’t something you arranged—that you’re doing them a service, not making a power play.”

  “And doing the galaxy a service, as well,” added a round-faced Moff with beady eyes and two chins. “Without our support, the Jedi coalition will have a difficult time convincing Bwua’tu and his fellow admirals that they’ve rejoined the Galactic Alliance.”

  “And with our fleets, the Alliance will have the power it needs to force the Confederation to the bargaining table,” another Moff added. “You could end the war, Commander Fel.”

  Jag sighed, and Han’s insides began to twist into an angry knot.

  “Seen in that light,” Jag said, his voice strong but lacking enthusiasm, “I really have no choice.”

  Lecersen smiled, then stood and started to offer his hand to Jag, and this was too much for Han. He quickly stepped between them, then whirled around to face Luke.

  “That’s it?” he demanded. “You’re just going to let them change sides?”

  “It’s the best thing for the galaxy, Han,” Luke said. While there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes, his face remained composed. “But if there’s something you want addressed—”

  “You’re blasted right there’s something I want addressed.” Han turned toward the table, blaster still in hand. “Whose idea was it to sneak the nanokiller aboard Tenel Ka’s flagship?”

  Most of the Moffs’ faces went from shocked or frightened to relieved. But one, a square-jawed Moff with a military bearing and cold blue eyes, began to look worried—especially when the others nodded toward him.

  Han stepped to the table and pressed his blaster barrel to the man’s head.

  “What’s your name?” Han didn’t know why he cared. Maybe he was just stalling because he didn’t want to blast a man—even a child-murderer—in cold blood, or maybe because he didn’t want to sidetrack the peace deal for his personal vengeance. But how could he let this man—or any of the Moffs—get away with what they had done to Allana? “Was it your idea?”

  “Why do you care?” Considering that there was a very angry man holding a blaster to his head, the Moff was surprisingly calm. “My ‘friends’ have appointed me to take the blame. So go ahead—if you must.”

  Han thumbed the safety off. When no one tried to stop him from pulling the trigger, he glanced around the table at the Masters, who all stood watching him with folded hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Are you just going to let me blast this guy?”

  “It is your choice,” Saba said. “This one does not think it will interfere with our peace deal. We have plenty of Moffz. Blast two.”

  Han began to feel more foolish than angry. He looked over at Luke. “You, too?”

  Luke shrugged. “Nobody is going to miss one Moff, not after all the killing that has happened here already,” he said. “So do it—if it’s going to make you feel better.”

  That was just the trouble, of course. It wouldn’t make him feel better. It wasn’t one Moff who was guilty of sending the nanokiller after Tenel Ka, it was all of them. And the soldiers who had sneaked it aboard the Dragon Queen. And the scientists who had developed the blasted stuff in the first place.

  Han contemplated this for a moment, then looked back to Luke. “I don’t think one is going to do it for me,” he said. “How many can you let me have?”

  That caused an uneasy stirring around the table—especially when Luke considered the question for a moment, then asked, “Well, how many do you think it would take?”

  Han saw by the twinkle that came to the eyes of Saba, Kyle, and Kyp that they knew as well as he did that Luke wasn’t going to let him blast any of the Moffs—that they had known all along he wasn’t going to kill anyone and had just been giving him the room to reach that conclusion himself.

  Han let the Moffs squirm a little longer, then finally lowered the blaster. “Probably more than you can spare.” He turned to Jag. “But they’ve got to pay for what they did. Maybe set up a mission to help out worlds in poverty or something—a real generous mission.”

  Lecersen scowled. “I don’t know if we have the resources for—”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” interrupted the Moff whom Han had been threatening. “And I hope you’ll join me in being one of
the largest contributors, Moff Lecersen—considering that you’re the one who suggested the delivery method.”

  Lecersen’s face paled. “You make a persuasive argument.”

  “Good,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “I’m sure Allana would be honored to have such a mission undertaken in her memory.”

  Along with everyone else, Han turned to find Tenel Ka striding into the room. She was dressed as a warrior queen, wearing an opalescent eletrotex flight suit and carrying a lightsaber in her hand. There was a barely contained fury in her that even Han could sense, but she seemed to have her emotions under far better control than he did.

  Tenel Ka stopped at Han’s side and acknowledged the bows she received from everyone—except the Moffs—then said, “Thank you, Captain Solo, for suggesting it—and for not spoiling a rare chance to end this war.”

  Han’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re okay with letting them off?”

  “No, I am not ‘okay’ with their treachery, and I never will be. But I am a queen. I cannot put the desire for personal vengeance before my duty to end this war.” Tenel Ka turned an icy glare on the Moffs. “And that, gentlemen, is the only reason you will be permitted to live. I suggest you never test my forbearance again.”

  The Moffs all nodded their understanding, and Lecersen even bowed. “We won’t, Your Majesty,” he said. “The council sincerely apologizes for its indiscretion.”

  “It was not an indiscretion, Moff,” Tenel Ka said. “And if anything like that ever happens again, it won’t be the council we come hunting.”

  Tenel Ka spun on her heel, her face still clouded with anger, and started toward the door.

  “Come with me, Captain Solo,” she said, motioning for him to follow. “There is something I really must tell you.”

  How did the Empire capture Gamorr without firing a cannon bolt? They landed backward, and the Gamorreans thought they were retreating!

  —Jacen Solo, age 15

  The crimson stains left by her brother’s blood had finally faded from Jaina’s face and throat, but perhaps not from her heart. Why hadn’t she believed him when he said he was trying to save Tenel Ka and Allana? She should have sensed that he was telling the truth, or at least realized that he would know better than to ask for quarter to save himself. They had, after all, been twins, and had she only been willing to look for the little goodness that remained in him—the little bit of Jacen that had not died—she would have found it.