by Troy Denning
Alema Rar.
But something was different. Her power seemed greatly magnified, far too ancient and somehow even darker than before.
Alema continued to pull at him, filling her presence with the promise of salvation and victory and, well, some other things in which he had no interest. It would be crazy to rush the Bothan fleet, as she was urging, and the Twi’lek was hardly someone to be trusted with one’s life—or destiny. But the maneuver would be the last thing the enemy expected … and what was there to lose?
Caedus dropped back into his chair. “Orlopp!”
“Yes, Colonel?” Orlopp stopped behind him. “Have you thought of a way for me to escape?”
“We’re all going to escape,” Caedus said. “Have Admiral Atoko turn on the Bothan fleet. He’s to confront it head-on, full acceleration. Any vessels too damaged to keep pace will act as our rear guard. Starfighters will jump to Rendezvous Alpha.”
“We’re attacking?”
“Now, Orlopp,” Caedus replied. “If Admiral Atoko gives that scuttle order, you won’t need an escape vessel.”
“At once, Colonel.” Orlopp scurried away.
As Caedus sank back into his battle meditation, a desperate craving for sleep rose inside him. His body was telling him that it needed to heal. Of course, Caedus had no time for rest. He expanded his Force-awareness again and found himself momentarily lost in the maelstrom of fear and bitterness that was the Fifth Fleet. He began to sift through the emotions, seeking out those who felt most calm, those who seemed to be in command, and started to brush them with his confidence and hope.
Soon small eddies of calm and composure began to swirl through the storm. Caedus turned his attention on the heart of the fleet, where he could feel Admiral Atoko’s defiant presence fuming over his orders, no doubt contemplating whether to issue the scuttle order anyway.
Caedus filled his thoughts with the conviction that they would escape—that it was his destiny to survive and unite the galaxy—then began to press down on Atoko’s presence. The admiral seemed startled at first, then confused, but his resistance quickly yielded to obedience, and Caedus continued to press.
A few moments later, a ripple of astonishment rolled through the Force, then quickly became determination as the fleet changed course. The brilliance outside seemed to slide across the observation bubble for a moment, then gradually broke into individual blossoms of energy as the enemy gunners began to worry about overshots hitting a friendly fleet.
Caedus began to glimpse individual bolts of turbolaser fire fanning out from the Bothan batteries. As the Fifth struck back, tiny blossoms of color erupted against the distant darkness. A shudder raced through Force as the Alliance cruiser Redma suddenly lost its shields and came apart, and whorls of panic and anguish enveloped other vessels as they took hits and began to spit beings and equipment into the void. But overall, the crews of the Fifth remained focused on the attack, too absorbed in their duties to fall prey to the fear and fatalism that had crippled them earlier.
Incredibly, the Bothans did not fall back. They simply held their position and continued to exchange fire with the Fifth, which—battered as it was—had them outgunned, outnumbered, and outclassed. Concerned the Bothans were laying a trap, Caedus extended his Force-awareness to their fleet—and was consumed by a rush of fiery pain as his body struggled to remain functional.
He opened himself completely to the Force, drawing it in through the power not of his anger or fear—he was too exhausted and sad to feel either—but through his faith in his destiny, through the love that gave him the strength to serve that destiny … through his love not only of Allana but also of Tenel Ka, of Luke and Ben and even Mara, of Jaina and his parents and all the others who had betrayed him, of his allies and enemies and his dead mentors. He drew the Force in through his love of them all, of the entire galaxy he was sacrificing himself to save.
The pain remained, but with it came the strength Caedus needed to remain conscious. When he focused his attention on the Bothan fleet again, he began to sense an odd uncertainty among the commanders—and a dark power behind it. Alema Rar was somehow influencing them, instilling in their minds an atypical indecision.
Caedus suspected they were thinking he was too smart to do this—that surely he knew all they had to do was fall back and let their allies catch the Fifth in a devastating crossfire. He began to press down on them, affirming that belief. Yes, he knew.
Caedus’s vision darkened around the edges, and he began to feel light-headed. Still, he continued to exert pressure, trying to build on the indecision Alema had instilled in them, hoping they would conclude that he wanted them to retreat.
That was all it took. The Bothan presences grew decisive, and the fans of their turbolaser fire started to expand as they accelerated toward the Fifth. Then Caedus’s vision closed in, and he felt himself sinking even deeper into his battle meditation, completely through it to a time not long in the future when this war would be over, when the galaxy would be safe and calm, when he would once again have his family and friends there beside him, helping him to rule in justice and peace.
epilogue
“That was the dumbest move I’ve ever seen,” Han declared to anyone listening—which, given his volume, was everyone in the Great Parley Chamber of Tenel Ka’s flagship, the Dragon Queen. “And I’ve seen some pretty dumb moves. What in the blazes made you advance when Jacen turned on you?”
Admiral Babo’s yellow eyes flashed gold, but he accepted the indignity with a polite smile that managed to bare only the tips of his Bothan fangs. Even Han realized that was pretty restrained, given present company. Sitting at the conference table with them were a couple of dozen brass hats from the impromptu coalition that had just tried to blast Jacen into a bad memory.
“We believed it was an Alliance feint.” Babo explained, far too patiently to be sincere. “It never dawned on us that he would intend to carry through with such a foolhardy attack.”
“It couldn’t have been that foolhardy—it worked.” Like nearly everyone else who had watched Jacen’s miraculous escape a few hours earlier, Han was still trying to figure out how the Bothans had let it happen. “All you had to do was fall back! We would’ve had him trapped.”
“Which the enemy certainly realized,” Babo replied. “Your son is a master tactician, Captain Solo. We had to account for that in our thinking.”
Han winced inside at the word son and felt Leia tense beside him, but neither of them corrected the admiral. Both their sons were dead to them now—but that was a private pain, to be acknowledged only in their solitude aboard the Falcon.
Leia laid a calming hand on Han’s arm, then said, “Jacen was lucky. He took a gamble, assuming you would over-think the situation, and you did exactly that.”
“There may also have been some Force pressure involved,” Luke added from the end of the table. With a bruised face, two black eyes, and half a dozen casts and bandages not quite hidden beneath his cloak, he looked like he had actually taken the beating that Leia and Jaina had threatened to give him if he ever faked his death again. “The colonel may be using ancient battle meditation techniques to confuse his opponents.”
Babo’s ears pricked up. “That would explain a lot,” he said. “And it would give the Confederation even more reason to invite Kashyyyk, the Hapan Consortium, and the Jedi Order into our coalition.”
Tenel Ka roused herself from her poised silence at the head of the table, then said, “I hope Bothawui hasn’t misinterpreted the actions of the Hapan Consortium here today.” She had used her Force talents to hide all indication of the tears she had shed after firing on Jacen, but the pain still showed in the restrained quality of her gestures. “In no way do we share or condone the Confederation’s recent aggression, and the Galactic Alliance retains our full support.”
Babo brought his bushy brows together. “But you attacked Colonel Solo.”
“Colonel Solo is not the Alliance,” Tenel Ka replied simply.
> “Thank you for clarifying that, Your Majesty.” Babo flattened his ears in disappointment, but he wasted no time in turning to Tojjelnoot, who was sitting at Luke’s right. “What about Kashyyyk? The Wookiees have good reason to support the Confederation—as the Confederation supported them.”
Tojjelnoot nodded in agreement, then rose and launched into a ten-minute groan in which he thanked each of the Confederation members for coming to Kashyyyk’s defense, then promised to repay the debt fivefold. Next, he listed an inventory of reservations about the Confederation’s defiance of Alliance law, and suggested that Corellia and Bothawui were both partially responsible for the attack on Kashyyyk because they had caused the war in the first place. He spent another five minutes praising the wisdom of Tenel Ka’s decision, but noted that Kashyyyk interests were very different from those of the Consortium. He ended with a long ramble about the wisdom of Master Skywalker, then explained that the Wookiees would like to hear all sides of the argument before making a decision.
Of course, Babo understood none of what Tojjelnoot said and looked to C-3PO for a translation.
“Tojjelnoot thanks admirals Babo, Kre’fey, and For’o and their fleet and the entire Bothan navy for their help today,” the droid began, reciting the Wookiee’s long speech from memory. “He also thanks Queen Mother Tenel Ka and Prince Isolder—”
Han noticed Babo’s eyes glazing over and raised a hand to silence the droid. “Here’s the short version,” he said. “The Wookiees want to hear what Luke says.”
All eyes swung toward Tojjelnoot, who gave a single affirming growl.
“Very well,” Babo said. “What is the Jedi position?”
Luke thought for a moment, then shifted forward in his chair. “Our position is this: As long as Jacen controls the Alliance, there is no Alliance.”
Babo’s grin spread wide across his face. “So we are in agreement.”
“About that much, yes.” As Luke said this, he met the gazes of both Han and Leia, silently acknowledging the pain his words were causing them all. “But the Jedi can only support the Confederation if it suspends its aggression into the Core. We can bring Jacen down by more subtle means. Once he’s no longer in charge of the Alliance, I’m confident all parties will work out their differences in a more amicable manner.”
Babo’s grin vanished. “So you would allow the Alliance to regroup?” He shook his head vehemently. “That’s unacceptable.”
Luke nodded politely and rose. “I thought you might feel that way,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I really should be in the infirmary with my son.”
Babo’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving? Without talking?”
“I’ve made the Jedi position quite clear,” Luke said. “What could there possibly be to talk about?”
Babo snapped his snout shut, and Han realized that the meeting was about to come to a pointless end that would add years to the war. He glanced over at Leia and tipped his head in Luke’s direction, scowling for her to do something.
She scowled back. “What do you expect me to say?” she whispered. “Luke’s the Grand Master. I’m just a Jedi Knight.”
Across the table, Babo rose, causing a general stir as the rest of the Confederation officers followed his lead.
“Perhaps you’re right, Master Skywalker,” the Bothan said. “It appears we truly don’t have any interests in common.”
“Does that have to make us enemies?” Han asked, pointedly not rising from his chair. “I mean, at least right now?”
Babo’s gaze slid over to Han. “Do you have a proposal, Captain Solo?”
“Sure,” Han said. “Why don’t we just, uh, sort of ignore each other for a while?”
“Ignore?” Babo asked. “That’s a vague term, Captain Solo. Vagueness leads to misunderstandings—and misunderstandings have a terrible way of fostering tragedy.”
“I think what Han is trying to suggest is that we consider each other neutral,” Leia said. “We won’t interfere with each other’s operations, and we won’t have to expend resources watching each other—resources that might be better deployed against Jacen.”
Babo nodded. “I’m sure the Confederation would approve of that arrangement. But the Alliance would have to agree not to interfere in any of our operations, even those that might be considered … extralegal by the normal standards of warfare.”
“Extralegal?” Han asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the Bothans are sending assassins after Jacen,” Leia said, keeping her gaze on Babo. “And they want us to sanction it.”
“Your son did order the murder of thousands of Coruscanti Bothans,” Babo reminded them. “If you’re sincere about stopping him, you shouldn’t have a problem with that.”
Luke glanced at Han and Leia again, his eyes filled with apology and despair. “The Jedi will be pursuing our own plans for Jacen, but if you actually think your assassins can eliminate him, we won’t interfere.”
Leia nodded. “We won’t stop you from trying.”
Babo turned to Han. “Captain Solo?”
“Yeah, fine. Just make sure nobody gets caught in the crossfire.” Han took Leia’s hand and rose. It was one thing to consider Jacen already dead, another to give permission to target him. “Knock yourselves out.”
It wasn’t until later, after they had left the meeting and rushed back to the Falcon to shed their tears in private, that Leia stretched her arms across the galley table and took Han’s hands, then asked the question that had been on both their minds since the day they had decided to speak against Jacen at the Rock Council, the question that had been growing more troublesome each time a new outrage compelled them to take a stand against what their son had become.
“Han, what have we done?”
Han slid around and took her in his arms. “The same thing we always have, Princess,” he said. “What we had to.”
ROUND-ROBIN INTERVIEW
Featuring Star Wars Legacy of the Force authors: Aaron Allston (Betrayal, Exile, Fury); Karen Traviss (Bloodlines, Sacrifice, Revelation); and Troy Denning (Tempest, Inferno, Invincible).
Random House: Okay, let’s cut to the chase: the death of Mara Jade at the hands of Jacen Solo. Who came up with this idea, and how was it received by everyone in the initial story conferences?
Troy Denning: That’s your first question? You make us sound like a hit squad.
Aaron Allston: The idea came up at our late 2004 meeting at Big Rock Ranch, but I resist saying who brought up the idea first. I’m not going there.
Karen Traviss: I’m afraid it was me who suggested that Jacen had to kill someone he loved. But I’m the Brit, remember. We’re always the bad guys.
AA: The idea was, if I recall correctly, met with mixed feelings. Everybody recognized the dramatic possibilities surrounding Mara’s death. But not everybody was happy with the thought of seeing her go.
TD: But there were no fistfights, nothing like a deadlocked jury. We knew the storyline demanded a crisis that would shock Ben to the core and really make him think about what he was becoming. Nobody killed Mara just for the heck of it.
KT: I mentioned a test that the German SS (or it might have been the Gestapo) used: trainees were each given a puppy—a German Shepherd, I think—and were encouraged to bond with the dog, compete it against other cadets’ dogs, and generally love it. Then, once they were totally devoted to the dog, they were told to strangle it. If they couldn’t obey that order, they were out. I said that would be a typical Sith test—to be so loyal to the Sith ideal that you’d obey orders and kill someone you loved to prove you could put the job first. There’s even an allusion to that in Sacrifice, where Jacen thinks about the nosito pups.
RH: Given fan response to the deaths of Chewbacca and Anakin, did you feel any hesitation about killing off another popular character?
AA: Definitely. For that reason and others, it’s the event I’ve looked forward to least out of the entire series.
KT: Well, nobody
lives forever. In fiction, it’s often better that they go out in a blaze of glory than incontinent and senile in the Coruscant Old Folks’ Home. Readers are sad to see much-loved characters die—we wouldn’t be doing our jobs right if those deaths left them unmoved—but very few fans resort to threats and abuse.
TD: Good stories have tragedy as well as triumph. My first concern when writing is always to build a story that’s both suspenseful and logical (so I’d never terminate a character arbitrarily). Overall, the reaction I received after I wrote Anakin’s death was fine. People were sad (so was I)—and a few were angry—but most readers agreed that Anakin’s death was the kind of thing that has made the NJO a powerful and engaging story.
KT: Fiction should make us feel strong emotions. It enables us as readers to “rehearse” difficult emotional events in a safe environment, so deaths in fiction have a real function in human psychology. And, frankly, the idea that heroes can never die isn’t good storytelling as far as I’m concerned. If the reader knows nothing can ever happen to them, where’s the drama, the risk?
RH: One objection I’ve heard to the deaths of popular characters is that if readers want realism, they’ll pick up a book by Updike. How do you respond to this?
AA: A lot of fans have that reaction, and a lot don’t. It’s not a universal thing. Those who object to the deaths do tend to be more vocal about it.
TD: You wouldn’t be trying to stir up some controversy, would you?
AA: I keenly remember, as a kid, reading a novel about Robin Hood in which he dies. I was shocked. “Robin Hood can’t die. The story can’t end.” But the truth is, putting characters in danger and then never killing any of them, or at least any of the important ones, robs a series of any tension. Oh, dear, Luke is in danger again, ho-hum.
And sure, we could have tension by threatening to make characters unhappy without actually killing them. But note that I said “putting them in danger.” Physical danger, danger of imminent death, has been a part of the Star Wars series since A New Hope. So either we have characters in danger, and make that danger meaningful, or we don’t have danger at all, which constitutes a major change to the way the universe is portrayed.