Invincible

by Troy Denning

  Jaina wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would have been enough to bring her brother back into the light. He had gone too far into darkness for that. But if she had just believed him, had not been so sure it was just a Sith trick, she might have given him the two seconds he needed to explain.

  And Allana might still be alive.

  A soft hiss sounded from the entrance to Jaina’s private convalescence suite. She glanced away from the ceiling mirror and saw her parents coming through the door, their eyes bright with joy and relief.

  “Hey, kid,” her father said. “Good to see you up.”

  “This isn’t really ‘up,’ Dad.” Jaina was floating in a sterile hoverest cabinet, suspended in midair with a nurturing bacta mist swirling over her burned flesh and an opaque modesty curtain draped over—but not touching—her bare skin. “Unless you’re comparing it with what’ll happen if there’s a power failure.”

  “At least you’re out of the tank,” her mother said, entering the cabin behind him. “Now we can actually talk instead of just smiling and waving.”

  “Smiling and waving wasn’t so bad. It was good to know you were out there.” Jaina grew quiet, then said, “But I do have a lot of questions.”

  Her father’s face turned somber. “Zekk?”

  Jaina nodded. “For starters. Any word?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “They’ve found a few StealthX pieces floating around, but there were several lost, so it’s impossible to know whether any of it came off his.”

  “What about his rescue beacon?”

  “There’s no sign that it was triggered,” her mother said. Unlike the rescue beacons of most starfighters, the StealthX beacon wasn’t automatic; it had to be activated by the pilot or his astromech when he went EV. “But the Mists are pretty thick around there.”

  “And no sign of him in the Force, of course,” Jaina surmised. That was actually the most likely way someone would find him—but only if he was conscious enough to reach out. “I sure haven’t felt anything.”

  “Luke said they’re going to keep looking.” Her mother stepped over next to the hoverest and looked as though she wanted to touch Jaina, but that was strictly forbidden, of course. “But Mirta Gev sends her thanks.”

  “She made it back to Mandalore okay, then?” Jaina asked.

  “Not exactly,” her father said. “She’s safe—”

  “And healing nicely,” her mother added. “So is her husband … Ghes Orade, I believe.”

  “Just not on Mandalore,” her father added. “Turns out Fett can’t go back there—ever. Neither can his granddaughter.”

  “What?” Jaina couldn’t imagine the force that would prevent either of the two from returning to their home. “Why not?”

  “The Moffs,” her father explained. “They were pretty mad about that commando raid on Nickel One, so they made a special strain of nanokiller just for Fett and dropped a few tons of it into Mandalore’s atmosphere. If he or Mirta ever go back there, it’s just a matter of time before it gets them.”

  “That’s terrible.” Jaina thought of Mirta and her plans with Ghes, and she felt terrible. “Are you sure?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” her mother said. “Tahiri reported it during her first questioning, and the Moffs confirmed it.”

  “They claim there’s no way to fix it,” Han said. “A Mand’alor who can never set foot on Mandalore—kind of poetic justice, isn’t it?”

  “It might be justice, but I wouldn’t call it poetic,” Jaina said. “It’s just sad … especially for Mirta.”

  A silence fell over the room just long enough for her mother to shoot her father a “be careful” look, then Leia said, “Well, we do have some good news.”

  “Jag is coming to see me?”

  “As soon as he can,” her father promised. “He’s pretty busy with the peace conference right now. The Moffs seem to keep getting the idea that they’re the ones who won this war.”

  “Won?” Jaina raised her brow. “The war is over? Completely?”

  Her mother nodded. “They’re having the ceremony now.” She retrieved the remote from its storage pocket in Jaina’s hoverest cabinet and pointed it at a vidscreen suspended near the ceiling. “We might be able to catch the last part.”

  As the screen activated, it showed the image of a large dais that had been erected in the vast main hangar of a Star Destroyer. At the front of the dais stood a podium and high table bearing a single sheet of flimsiplast covered in scrawls that appeared to be the signatures of the long row of dignitaries seated at the rear of the platform.

  A tall, regal-looking woman in a white admiral’s uniform, with green eyes and long copper hair going to gray, was taking the podium to tremendous applause, and a caption at the bottom of the screen read NEW ALLIANCE CHIEF OF STATE DAALA.

  “Daala?” Jaina gasped. She stared at the screen in disbelief for a moment, then finally snorted and looked back to her parents. “Very funny, guys, but I’m not really in the mood for practical jokes.”

  Her parents glanced nervously at each other, then her father said, “No joke, kid. That’s the only hitch with the peace deal. Bwua’tu wouldn’t take the job—he said he’s an admiral, not a liar—”

  “What he actually said was that he didn’t think he was cunning enough to last in the job,” her mother interrupted. “And then he recommended Admiral Daala instead.”

  “I think the old goat’s got a thing for her,” her father said.

  Her mother shot him a scowl of exasperation. “The admiral’s feelings are speculation, of course,” she said. “But Daala turned out to be the only universally acceptable choice.”

  “Universally?” Jaina asked. “Really?”

  “Well, some of the Moffs squirmed a bit,” her father admitted. “But then Jag worked out a deal where Daala promised to let bygones be bygones—as long as half of the new Moffs are female.”

  Jaina’s head was spinning. Female Moffs. Daala in charge of the Alliance. That wasn’t going to be good for the Jedi. But maybe it didn’t need to be, if it meant an end to the war.

  “Daala might not be that bad,” her father said. “Give her a chance.”

  “Okay.” Jaina turned her gaze back to the vidscreen, where the admiral was at the podium, waiting for the applause to fade. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

  Jaina’s mother turned up the volume. After a moment, Daala began to speak in a deep, cultured voice.

  “What can I add that has not already been said here today?” she began. “If this war has taught us anything, it is that we all lose when we fight. My friends, the time has come to try a new way—”

  Here, she had to stop and wait for the applause to die down again—and it took nearly a minute.

  When she was finally able to continue, she said, “The way of cooperation, so that we can all win together.”

  More thunderous applause.

  Daala motioned for quiet, then continued, “My friends, it is my promise to you here today that sometime in the not-too-distant future, we will live in a galaxy where our space navies exist to better our societies, not defend them—where we won’t need Jedi to sort out our differences and mete out justice, because we will be living under a government that is just.”

  The crowd rose to its feet, roaring and cheering, and Jaina realized with a cold shudder that Jacen had not failed. He had sacrificed everything—his name, his family, his reputation, his life—to unite the galaxy. And now here Jaina was, watching the birth of a galaxywide league of worlds dedicated to working together in peace.

  Had Jacen won after all?

  “Hey, take it easy, kid.” Her father stepped in front of the vidscreen. “Daala’s not that scary.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Jaina said, glad to be looking at his face instead of Daala’s. “It’s not Daala. I was just thinking of … of what Caedus sacrificed. At the end, there was a second when he just stopped fighting so he could warn Tenel Ka.”

  Jaina could not bring herself to lo
ok at her parents when she told them this next part, but she had to tell. They deserved to know.

  “I think he became Jacen again for a second before I … before I killed him.”

  “Jaina, it’s okay.” Her mother started to reach for her arm again, then barely caught herself. “If you had hesitated, you would be the dead one.”

  Jaina shook her head. “I could have given him a second,” she said. “If I had, maybe he could have made Tenel Ka understand in time to save Allana.”

  Jaina forced herself to look back to her parents and was amazed to see that they didn’t appear all that upset. In fact, they looked a little bit guilty.

  “Yeah, about that,” her father said. “There’s something we haven’t been able to tell you yet.”

  Jaina frowned. “What?”

  Her mother went the door and opened it, then said, “Amelia, would you come in here for a minute?”

  Jaina looked to her father. “Amelia?”

  “A war orphan,” he said. “Turns out the kid’s Force-sensitive. Your mother and I are going to be acting as guardians while she’s at the Jedi academy.”

  Jaina began to grow very suspicious. “An orphan?”

  “That’s how it was explained to us,” her mother said. “But it’s possible the mother just felt the Jedi academy would be a safer environment than she was able to provide.”

  She ushered a nervous-looking child of about four or five into the room. The girl had a swarthy complexion and short-cropped black hair, and for a minute, it actually fooled Jaina. But the button nose was a bit of a giveaway—as was the familiar hint of her brother and Tenel Ka in the girl’s Force presence.

  “Hello, Jaina,” Allana’s small voice said. “They tell me we’re going to be sisters now.”

  Jaina smiled, her heart suddenly filling with a joy she had not thought imaginable just ten seconds earlier. “I guess we are, Amelia. Welcome to the family.”

  For my parents

  Robert and Jane Denning

  and the rescue dogs

  of the

  Longears Ranch

  Many people contributed to this book in ways large and small. I would like to thank them all, especially the following: Andria Hayday for her support, critiques, and many fine suggestions; James Luceno, Leland Chee, Howard Roffman, Amy Gary, Pablo Hidalgo, and Keith Clayton for their valuable contributions during our brainstorming sessions; Shelly Shapiro and Sue Rostoni for their many wonderful ideas, for their patience and insight, and especially for being so much fun to work with; my fellow writers, Aaron Allston and Karen Traviss, for all their hard work and their myriad other contributions to this book and the series; Laura Jorstad, for her careful copyediting under pressure (with my apologies); all the people at Lucasfilm and Del Rey who make writing Star Wars so much fun; and, finally, George Lucas for letting us take his galaxy in this exciting new direction.

  Most of the jokes at the start of each chapter came from one of my favorite Star Wars collections, Kevin J. Anderson and Rebecca Moesta’s Young Jedi Knights series. Jokes were also contributed by Andria Hayday and Sue Rostoni.

  By Troy Denning

  Waterdeep

  Dragonwall

  The Parched Sea

  The Verdant Passage

  The Crimson Legion

  The Amber Enchantress

  The Obsidian Oracle

  The Cerulean Storm

  The Ogre’s Pact

  The Giant Among Us

  The Titan of Twilight

  The Veiled Dragon

  Pages of Pain

  Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad

  The Oath of Stonekeep

  Faces of Deception

  Beyond the High Road

  Death of the Dragon (with Ed Greenwood)

  The Summoning

  The Siege

  The Sorcerer

  Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star

  Star Wars: Tatooine Ghost

  Star Wars: Dark Nest I: The Joiner King

  Star Wars: Dark Nest II: The Unseen Queen

  Star Wars: Dark Nest III: The Swarm War

  Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Tempest

  Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Inferno

  Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Invincible

  Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Abyss

  Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Vortex

  about the author

  Troy Denning is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Tatooine Ghost, Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star, the Star Wars: Dark Nest trilogy: The Joiner King, The Unseen Queen, and The Swarm War, and Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Tempest and Inferno, as well as Pages of Pain, Beyond the High Road, The Summoning, and many other novels. A former game designer and editor, he lives in western Wisconsin with his wife, Andria.

  STAR WARS—LEGENDS

  What is a legend? According to the Random House Dictionary, a legend is “a nonhistorical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical.” Merriam-Webster defines it as “a story from the past that is believed by many people but cannot be proved to be true.” And Wikipedia says, “Legends are tales that, because of the tie to a historical event or location, are believable, though not necessarily believed.” Because of this inherent believability, legends tend to live on in a culture, told and retold even though they are generally regarded as fiction.

  Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a legend was born: The story of Luke Skywalker and his fellow heroes, Princess Leia and Han Solo. Three blockbuster movies introduced these characters and their stories to millions of people who embraced these tales and began to build upon them, as is done with myths everywhere. And thus novels, short stories, and comic books were published, expanding the Star Wars universe introduced in the original trilogy and later enhanced by the prequel movies and the animated TV series The Clone Wars. The enormous body of work that grew around the films and The Clone Wars came to be known as The Expanded Universe.

  Now, as new movies, television shows, and books move into the realm of the official canon, The Expanded Universe must take its place firmly in the realm of legends. But, like all great legends, the fact that we can’t prove the veracity of every detail doesn’t make the stories any less entertaining or worthy of being read. These legends remain true to the spirit of Star Wars and in that way are another avenue through which we can get to know and understand our beloved heroes in that galaxy far, far away.

  —Del Rey Books, May 2014

  Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars Legends novels to learn more.

  The first time Han laid eyes on her, standing with Lando on one of Nar Shaddaa’s permacrete landing platforms a few short years before he had thrown in with the Rebel Alliance, he saw the battered old freighter not only for all she was but for all that she might one day become.

  Staring at her like some lovesick cub. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Then quickly trying to get hold of himself so that Lando wouldn’t know what he was thinking. Dismissing the ship as a hunk of junk. But Lando was no fool, and by then he knew all of Han’s tells. One of the best gamblers that side of Coruscant, he knew when he was being bluffed. “She’s fast,” he had said, a twinkle in his eye.

  Han didn’t doubt it.

  Even that far back it was easy to envy Lando all he already possessed, his extraordinary good fortune to begin with. But luck had little to do with it. Lando just didn’t deserve this ship. He could barely handle a skimmer, let alone a light-fast freighter best flown by a pair of able pilots. He just wasn’t worthy of her.

  Han had never thought of himself as the covetous or acquisitive type, but suddenly he wanted the ship more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. After all the years of servitude and wandering, of close calls and failed partnerships, in and out of love, in and out of the Academy, victim of as many tricks as he’d played on others … perhaps he saw the ship as a chance for permanence.

  Circling her, fairly o
rbiting her, he nursed sinister designs. The old freighter drew him to her gravity, as she clearly had all who had piloted her and added their own touches to the YT’s hull, mandibles, the varied techno-terrain of her surface. He took the smell of the ship into his nostrils.

  The closer he looked, the more evidence he found of attempts to preserve her from the ravages of time and of spaceflight. Dents hammered out, cracks filled with epoxatal, paint smeared over areas of carbon scoring. Aftermarket parts socked down with inappropriate fasteners or secured by less-than-professional welds. She was rashed with rust, bandaged with strips of durasteel, leaking grease and other lubricants, smudged with crud. She had seen action, this ship, long before Lando’s luck at sabacc had made her his property. But in service to who or what, Han had no idea. Criminals, smugglers, pirates, mercenaries … certainly all of those and more.

  When Lando fired her up for Han’s inspection, his heart skipped a beat. And minutes later, seated at the controls, savoring the response of the sublight engines, taking her through the paces and nearly frightening Lando to death, he knew he was fated to own her. He would get the Hutts to buy her for him, or pirate her if he had to. He’d add a military-grade rectenna and swap out the light laser cannons for quads. He’d plant a retractable repeating blaster in her belly to provide cover fire for quick getaways. He’d install a couple of concussion missile launchers between the boxy forks of her prow …

  Not once did it occur to him that he would win her from Lando. Much less that Lando would lose her on a bluff.

  Piloting the modified SoroSuub he and Chewie leased from Lando had only added to his longing for the ship. He imagined her origins and the adventures she had been through. It struck him that he was so accepting of her from the start, he had never asked Lando how or when she had acquired the name Millennium Falcon.