Inferno

by Troy Denning

  “Let’s not be too disparaging, shall we?” Tenel Ka chided. She casually reached down and unfastened the thigh holster where she carried her lightsaber. “We did have to call on Colonel Solo to dispose of a few raches of our own recently.”

  “I didn’t mean anything negative about the colonel,” Aros said, practically cooing the reference to Jacen. After his recent heroics defending Tenel Ka against the traitors trying to usurp her throne, he had become something of a sex symbol to half the women in the Hapes Consortium … Tenel Ka included. “Quite the opposite. If not for Colonel Solo, I’m sure Coruscant would have sunk into anarchy by now.”

  “No doubt,” Tenel Ka said, casually shifting her grasp on the holster so that she held her lightsaber by its hilt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I can turn down my own sheets tonight.”

  Aros acknowledged the order with a bow and withdrew into the anteroom. Tenel Ka used her elbow to depress a tap pad on the wall. Half a dozen wall sconces glimmered to life, revealing a chamber as ridiculously opulent as the rest of the embassy’s Royal Wing. There were three separate seating areas, a life-sized HoloNet transceiver, and a huge hamogoni wood desk stocked with stacks of flimsiplast bearing the Hapan Royal Crest. On the far side of the chamber, a dreamsilk canopy shimmered above a float-rest bed large enough to sleep Tenel Ka and her ten closest friends.

  Despite the two sconces flanking it, the room’s farthest corner—the one near her refresher suite—remained ominously dark. Tenel Ka could not sense any sort of optical field keeping it that way, but then again, the only thing she could sense was … well, nothing. She reached out with the Force to make certain Aros was not eavesdropping from the other side of the door, then ignited her lightsaber and took a few steps toward the corner.

  “You would be wise to show yourself,” Tenel Ka said. “I have no patience for voyeurs … as you should well know by now.”

  “I’m a slow learner.” The darkness melted away, revealing a tall, shadow-eyed figure with a melancholy echo of his father’s famous lopsided grin. He was dressed in black GAG utilities and smelled faintly of hyperdrive fuel, as though he had come to her straight from a space hangar. “And I don’t usually get caught. My camouflage powers must be slipping.”

  “No, Jacen. I am just growing better at sensing your presence.” Tenel Ka deactivated her lightsaber and tossed it on the bed, then smiled warmly and opened her arms to him. “I was hoping you would find time to call.”

  Jacen cocked his brow, then let his gaze slide down her body. “So I see.”

  “Well?” Tenel Ka asked. “Are you just going to stand there gawking? Or are you going to do something about it?”

  Jacen chuckled, then stepped out of the corner and crossed to her. His Force presence remained undetectable—he was so accustomed to concealing himself that he did so even around Tenel Ka—but she could tell by the shine in his eyes how happy he was to see her. She slipped a hand behind his neck and drew his mouth to hers.

  Jacen obliged, but his kiss was warm rather than hot, and she could tell that tonight his heart was not entirely hers. She stepped back, embarrassed to realize how insensitive she was being.

  “Forgive me if I seem too joyful,” she said, able to perceive now the sadness that tinged his hard eyes, the grief that tainted his clenched jaw. “Tomorrow is Mara’s funeral. Of course you have other things on your mind.”

  Jacen’s snort was so gentle that Tenel Ka almost did not hear it.

  “It’s okay.” He took her hand, but the softness had vanished from his face, leaving in its place only the stoic, unreadable mask that he had worn since his escape from the yuuzhan Vong. “I wasn’t thinking about Mara.”

  Tenel Ka eyed him doubtfully.

  “Well, not exclusively,” Jacen admitted. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not offended,” Tenel Ka said. “Our thoughts should be on your aunt tonight. Have you found her killer yet?”

  Jacen’s face flickered with emotion—whether it was anger or resentment was impossible to say—and something like guilt flashed through the Force so quickly that Tenel Ka was still trying to identify it when Jacen closed down again.

  “We’re still working on that.” Jacen’s tone was defensive, and his gaze slid away in … could that be shame? “We don’t have many leads, and I don’t like the direction they’re going.”

  “That is very cryptic,” Tenel Ka observed. “Can you—”

  “Not yet,” Jacen said, shaking his head. “It’s still early in the investigation, and I don’t want to taint anyone’s reputation.”

  Tenel Ka frowned at the implication. “You think it was someone inside the GA?”

  Jacen flashed a mock scowl. “Did I say that?”

  “Yes.” Tenel Ka looped her hand through the elbow of his black utilities and changed the subject. “But it was thoughtless of me to ask about the investigation, especially with the funeral tomorrow. I hope you’ll—”

  “Don’t apologize.” Jacen detached himself and moved to the nearest couch, then sat on the arm. “The truth is, I haven’t been doing very much to find her killer. The Alliance has higher priorities at the moment.”

  “The war?”

  Jacen nodded. “I’m sure you’re receiving the military’s briefing holos.”

  “Of course.” In fact, the holos had been arriving twice a day for nearly a week now, along with urgent requests for Hapan reinforcements, which Tenel Ka could not provide. “Don’t tell me that Admiral Niathal has prevailed on you to talk me out of my last fleet?”

  Instead of answering, Jacen slipped over the couch arm onto a cushion, then sat staring into the flame tube that was the focal point of the seating area.

  “I see,” Tenel Ka said, astonished that Jacen would agree to even attempt such a thing. He knew as well as she did that granting the Alliance request would place both their daughter and her throne in profound danger. “There is nothing to send, Jacen. As it is, the Home Fleet is barely enough to secure the Consortium from my own nobles.”

  “You still need to hear this.” Jacen continued to stare into the swirling tongues of blue inside the flame tube. “You’re aware that Corellia and Bothawui are moving against Kuat, right?”

  Tenel Ka nodded. “While the Hutts and Commenor make preparations to attack Balmorra.” She retrieved her dressing gown from inside the refresher, then added, “I do watch those holos they keep sending me.”

  “Sorry—just making sure,” Jacen said. “But what the briefings don’t say—what they can’t say—is that after the battle at Balmorra, the Confederation is going to mass its fleets at Kuat. Whoever wins there wins the war.”

  “Military planners always think the next big space battle will end the war.” Tenel Ka slipped the dressing gown over her shoulders and returned to the seating area. “They’re usually wrong.”

  “This doesn’t come from the planners,” Jacen said. “I’ve seen it …in the Force.”

  “Oh.” Tenel Ka dropped into a chair adjacent to Jacen’s, stunned by the implications of what she had just heard. If Jacen’s Force-vision was accurate—and she knew enough about his Force powers to think it would be—the Confederation would soon have a massive force in position to threaten Coruscant herself. “I see why you are worried.”

  “Worried might be an understatement,” Jacen replied. “So would terrified. The Alliance just doesn’t have the strength to stop them yet.”

  “Yet?” Tenel Ka asked. “Are you telling me that Thrackan Sal-Solo wasn’t the only one building secret fleets?”

  Jacen shook his head. “Sorry. I’m talking about the Wookiees. Kashyyyk is certain to assign their assault fleet to our command, and that will tip the balance back in the Alliance’s favor.”

  “I doubt the Confederation is going to wait that long,” Tenel Ka said, almost bitterly. Alliance holochannels were filled with impatient speculation about the endless debate on Kashyyyk, with the commentary ranging from simple impatience to accusat
ions of cowardice. “Are you telling me the public reports are misdirection?”

  “Not a bad idea, but no,” Jacen said. “I’m telling you that our agents assure us it’s a matter of when, not if.”

  “In this instance, when is if,” Tenel Ka said. “Wookiees are very stubborn. By the time they finish their deliberations, the Confederation will be storming Coruscant.”

  “I hope you’re wrong.” Jacen tore his eyes from the flame tube, then met Tenel Ka’s gaze. For once, she could sense his emotions through the Force, could feel how frightened and worried he truly was. “But I just don’t know.”

  “I see,” Tenel Ka said, finally starting to realize what Jacen was trying to tell her. “And you didn’t come to ask for the Home Fleet?”

  Jacen shook his head. “Not really.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Tenel Ka sank back in her chair, calling on the Force to keep her heart rate under control, her thoughts focused. “So you only came to warn me that the Galactic Alliance is about to collapse.”

  “Well, that’s not the only reason.” Jacen grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

  Tenel Ka groaned. “This is no time for jokes, Jacen. Your timing is worse than when we were teenagers.”

  “Okay, then I could use some advice instead,” Jacen said, accepting the rebuff as gracefully as he had when they were younger. “Have any?”

  Tenel Ka’s answer was immediate. “The Jedi could do something. Perhaps they could launch a StealthX raid, or perhaps Master Skywalker could speak to—”

  “I asked for advice, not wishful thinking.” Jacen’s voice was suddenly sharp. “The Jedi won’t lift a finger to help us. They’re practically traitors themselves.”

  “Jacen, that’s not true,” Tenel Ka said, refusing to be intimidated. “The Jedi have supported the Galactic Alliance since its inception, and Master Skywalker is on the same side you are. If the Alliance is to be saved, you two must put aside your differences and work together.”

  A flash of fear flickered through Jacen’s eyes, then he looked away, reminding Tenel Ka of some petulant courtier refusing to acknowledge a rebuke.

  “And if we can’t?” he asked.

  “Can you stop the enemy’s advance without the Jedi?”

  Jacen shook his head. “Not at the moment—and maybe not with them.”

  “Then what choice is there?” Tenel Ka made the question a command. “The Jedi Council is unhappy about your coup, but the Masters will not stand idle while the Alliance falls—especially not if you grant concessions.”

  Jacen fell silent a moment, then turned to face Tenel Ka. “It’s more complicated than that. Luke hasn’t been himself since Mara died.” His dark brows arched in concern. “He barely talks to anyone, and he’s drawn in on himself so far he’s practically cut off from the Force.”

  “Surely you don’t expect him to remain unaffected by his wife’s death?”

  “It’s more than grief,” Jacen said. “You heard about Lumiya?”

  “I heard that he truly killed her this time.” Tenel Ka’s answer was cautious, for the ’Net had been full of reports linking Lumiya’s death to Mara’s—until the Jedi Council had issued a terse statement asserting that Lumiya’s demise involved other matters. “It’s hard to believe the timing was purely coincidental.”

  “It wasn’t,” Jacen said. “I’m afraid it was a vengeance killing.”

  “A vengeance killing?” Tenel Ka shook her head in disbelief. “Even if Master Skywalker would do such a thing, it doesn’t make sense. The Jedi Council itself said that Lumiya had nothing to do with Mara’s death.”

  “Luke didn’t discover that until after he killed Lumiya—and that’s when he began to draw in on himself.” Jacen leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and staring at the polished larmalstone between his boots. “I think he’s having a crisis of confidence, Tenel Ka. I think he’s stopped trusting himself … and the Force.”

  Tenel Ka frowned. She had the feeling that Jacen was forcing his emotions; that he was merely trying to be concerned while secretly relishing his uncle’s mistake. And who could blame him? Master Skywalker had accused Jacen of some fairly terrible things lately—such as collaborating with a Sith and staging an illegal coup—so it would only be natural to gloat when his denouncer did something even worse.

  After a moment, she said, “Perhaps you’re right, Jacen. That would explain why Master Sebatyne turned me away when I tried to call on your uncle.”

  “Luke wouldn’t see you?” Jacen was incredulous. “Then matters are worse than I thought. He can’t be up to his duties.”

  “That is more than understandable.” While it saddened Tenel Ka to think of Master Skywalker’s pain—and Ben’s—she shared Jacen’s alarm. Now was a disastrous time for the Alliance to be without its Jedi. “But Master Skywalker is not the only member of the Jedi Council. You can still ask for their help.”

  “I can try,” Jacen countered. “But I’ve already reached out to individual Masters.”

  “And?”

  “They’re all against me.” Jacen spoke matter-of-factly, merely reporting the truth as he saw it. “They think I’m trying to take advantage of the situation. Until I have Luke’s support, I can talk myself breathless. The Jedi are not going to cooperate.”

  Tenel Ka felt a sudden deflation as she realized just how correct Jacen was. It only made sense for the Masters to close ranks at a time like this, and the growing gulf of suspicion and ill will between Master Skywalker and Jacen was hardly a secret. Of course they would be suspicious of any attempt to press the Jedi into service—especially while their leader remained incapacitated.

  “I see.” Tenel Ka rose and stood staring into the flame tube. “Perhaps if I talked to the Council—”

  “And convince them you’re part of my plan?” Jacen stood behind her. “The Council is blinded by their suspicions. They refuse to see that I’m only doing what is best for the Alliance. Anything you say will be viewed as repayment for my help against Lady AlGray and the Corellians.”

  Tenel Ka nodded. “You’re right, of course.” The true nature of their relationship remained a closely guarded secret, and only they knew that Jacen was the father of her daughter. But he had saved her throne, and Jedi Masters were not fools. Even if they believed she was sincere, they would suspect her judgment of being influenced by gratitude. She shook her head in despair and turned to Jacen. “What are you going to do?”

  “We’ve given Admiral Bwua’tu command of the First and Sixth fleets, so maybe he can do something brilliant to stop the Corellians and Bothans before they reach Kuat.” Jacen tightened his lips, then said, “But honestly, our best hope is still the Wookiees—and that’s almost no hope at all.”

  Tenel Ka nodded. “The briefing holo mentioned that they have rebuffed all attempts to hurry things.”

  “They have.” He looked away for a long time, then finally met her gaze again. “If we can’t stop the Confederation, what happens to you?”

  Tenel Ka answered immediately, for it was a question to which she had been giving much thought lately. “I’ll continue to hold my throne until the rebels consolidate their victory and turn their attention to Hapes. I’ll put up a hard fight at first, to see if I can force a peace negotiation—but I won’t subject my people to an invasion I have no hope of stopping.”

  “I know you’ll do the best thing for Hapes,” Jacen said, sounding slightly amused. “I was asking about you and Allana.”

  “About us?” Tenel Ka was surprised by the question, for the answer was as obvious as it was painful. “You must know the answer to that already.”

  The color drained from Jacen’s face. “What about hiding? I could ask the Fallanassi to take you in.”

  Tenel Ka smiled sadly. “That will work for a time, Jacen—perhaps even until the Confederation grows tired of looking for us. But no invader can rule Hapes without Hapan blood on the throne, and whoever Confederation installs as their puppet won’t tire. The pretender will b
e too frightened of me or Allana trying to return, and she’ll keep looking until we’re dead.”

  Jacen’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped back onto the couch and cradled his head. “Then we have no choice.”

  “About what?” Tenel Ka asked, alarmed by the desperation in his voice. “Jacen, if you are considering using something like Alpha Red—”

  “We don’t have anything like that—at least nothing that wouldn’t kill us, too.” He took his head out of his hands and looked up. “What I mean, Tenel Ka, is that you have to give me the Home Fleet.”

  Tenel Ka felt her jaw drop. “Jacen, you know what will happen—”

  “It will take even Hapan nobles time to organize a rebellion,” he said. “And the Alliance only needs your fleet until the Wookiees commit.”

  Tenel Ka shook her head. “Jacen, I can’t risk a rebellion.”

  “You can—and you must.” He rose and took her by the arm. “You said yourself that any pretender to your throne would never stop looking for you.”

  “I don’t matter,” Tenel Ka said. Jacen was squeezing her arm so hard it hurt, but she didn’t want to appear frightened or angry by trying to pull free. “I won’t put my subjects through another civil war.”

  “I don’t care about your subjects. I care about you and Allana.” Jacen pulled her closer. “And I won’t take chances with your lives.”

  “The decision isn’t yours to make.” Tenel Ka wondered how much of the conversation Jacen had planned before coming here—if he had deliberately linked her fate and Allana’s to the Alliance’s in a bid to talk her out of her last fleet. “I must look after my subjects first, my family second.”

  “Then look after your subjects,” he insisted. “The Confederation isn’t interested in a unity government. What do you think they’ll do with the galaxy if they win the war?”

  Jacen had thought this conversation out in advance, Tenel Ka realized, and it made her heart sink to see just how carefully. The Confederation would redraw the galactic map, probably with the Hutts or the Corellians claiming control of Hapes. She glared down at Jacen’s hand and did not look away until he removed it.