“I haven’t asked my question yet.”
“I beg your pardon, but you asked a question about the Jedi Code. I answered.”
Luke sighed. “Very well. Though it seems to me that I’m conceding a great deal.”
“On the contrary. You are acting from serene self-knowledge.”
Luke laughed. “If you insist.”
“I do.” Vergere stroked her delicate whiskers and considered her next question. “It was my observation that on your last visit, you were angry with me. You believed that I had deliberately harmed your apprentice—which was accurate—though your anger was moderated somewhat when I explained my motivations.”
“That’s true,” Luke admitted.
“Now my question is, was that anger dark? Was it an evil passion that possessed you, such that the dark side might have taken you as a consequence?”
Luke chose his thoughts carefully. “It could have been. If I had used that anger to strike out at you, or harm you, particularly through the Force, then it would have been a dark passion.”
“Young Master, it is my contention that the anger you experienced was natural and useful. I caused deliberate harm—pain and anguish and suffering, over a period of weeks—to a young man for whom you had accepted responsibility and for whom you felt a measure of love. Naturally you felt anger. Naturally you wanted to break my thin little neck. It is absolutely natural, when you discover that a person has inflicted deliberate pain on a helpless victim, to feel angry with that person. It is equally as natural an emotion as to feel compassion for the victim.”
Vergere fell silent, and Luke let the silence build.
After a moment, Vergere bobbed her head. “Very well, young Master. You are correct when you said that if you had entered my cell and struck out at me with the Force, that such an action would have been dark. But you didn’t. Instead your anger prompted you to speak to me and find out the reasons for my actions. To that extent, your anger was not only natural but useful. It led to understanding on both our parts.”
She paused. “I’m about to ask a rhetorical question. You need not answer.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“My rhetorical question is: why wasn’t your anger dark? And my answer is: because you understood it. You understood the cause of the emotion, and therefore it did not seize power over you.”
Luke thought for a moment. “It is your contention, then,” he said, “that to understand an emotion is to prevent its being dark.”
“Unreasoning passion is the province of darkness,” Vergere said. “But an understood emotion is not unreasoning. That is why the route to mastery is through self-knowledge.” Her tilted eyes widened. “It’s not possible to suppress all emotion, nor is it desirable. An emotionless person is no more than a machine. But to understand the origin and nature of one’s feelings, that is possible.”
“When Darth Vader and the Emperor held me prisoner,” Luke said, “they kept urging me to surrender to my anger.”
“Your anger was a natural response to your captivity, and they wished to make use of it. They wished to fan your anger into a burning rage that would allow the darkness to enter. But any unreasoning passion would do. When anger becomes rage, fear becomes terror, love becomes obsession, self-esteem becomes vainglory, then a natural and useful emotion becomes an unreasoning compulsion and the darkness is.”
“I let the dark side take me,” Luke said. “I cut off my father’s hand.”
“Ahhh.” Vergere nodded. “Now I understand much.”
“When my rage took control, I felt invincible. I felt complete. I felt free.”
Vergere nodded again. “When you are in the grip of an irresistible compulsion, it is then that you feel most like yourself. But in reality it was you who were passive then. You let the feeling control you.”
“My turn for a question,” Luke said, and at that point a comm unit chimed.
“Master Skywalker.” Nylykerka’s voice. “A fleet has just arrived out of hyperspace, and they wish to contact you.”
Vergere blinked at him. “Next time,” she said.
Luke rose. “Next time,” he said.
Outside, Nylykerka met him with a bow. “Sixteen ships just arrived, mostly freighters or modified freighters, but including a Star Destroyer, Errant Venture. There are messages to you from Captain Karrde, and also from Lando Calrissian, who commands one of the ships.”
“Thank you.”
Nylykerka walked with him to the nearest comm unit. “I’m running out of questions to ask her,” the Tammarian said. “And I’m running out of reasons to hold her.”
“Keep her until I can talk to her one more time,” Luke said. “I’m still not convinced that she’s benign.”
The Tammarian’s air sac pulsed meditatively. “Then why would she rescue Jacen?”
“To gain access to the Jedi, perhaps so she can destroy us.”
Air whistled from Nylykerka’s sac. “No wonder you want her held.”
The problem, Luke thought, was that if Vergere was as powerful as he thought, she wouldn’t be in Nylykerka’s cell any longer than she wanted to be there.
Luke stepped aboard Wild Karrde to a salute from a double row of skull-headed, glowing-eyed droids with massive physiques and sloping foreheads. The ship smelled of machine oil. Luke returned the salute and marched down the line to be embraced by Lando Calrissian and to have his hand pumped by Talon Karrde.
“I see your droid factory is thriving,” Luke told Lando.
“Everything you see,” Lando said with a grin, “is for sale to the government for a very reasonable price.”
Luke frowned at his friend’s flippant remark. “That strongly depends on whether we get a government,” he said.
Karrde looked serious and tugged his small goatee. “You’d better tell us about that,” he said.
Karrde took Luke to his cabin, and Luke told Lando and Karrde of the latest developments in the Senate. “There have always been rumors about Fyor Rodan,” he said finally. “Rumors that he’s connected with smuggling operations on the Rim. If either of you know any of the details, perhaps you can help us …”
“Discredit Rodan by associating him with us,” Karrde said, and laughed.
“No offense,” Luke said.
“None taken,” Karrde said. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. It’s not Fyor Rodan who’s the smuggler, it’s his older brother Tormak.”
“Tormak Rodan used to fly out of Nar Shaddaa for Jabba the Hutt,” Lando said. “After Jabba had his, ah, accident, Tormak went independent and set up on the Rim.”
“He and his brother hate each other,” Karrde added. “Tormak was into anything shady, and little brother Fyor grew up as straitlaced as they come, probably in reaction to how big brother Tormak behaved. If Fyor’s sensitive on the subject of smuggling, I guess that’s why. Still,” he added, stroking his goatee. “I think Lando and I can help your candidate along.”
Alarm tingled along Luke’s nerves. “How?” he asked.
Karrde gave a private little smile. “It’s best you don’t know.”
“I don’t want Cal Omas discredited,” Luke said quickly. “If you get caught in something shady, no one will believe that Cal wasn’t behind it.”
Lando put a reassuring hand on Luke’s arm. “Not getting caught at something shady is our specialty.”
“There’s always a first time.”
“Luke,” Lando said, “we’re just businessmen. We’re trying to get government contracts. We have a perfectly legitimate reason for talking to anyone who could help us.”
“And we have sixteen ships full of supplies that we’re donating to the refugees on Mon Calamari,” Karrde added. “All courtesy of the Smugglers’ Alliance. So we’re going to be very, very popular for a while, and politicians will want to be seen with us.”
“I’m not sure I like what I’m hearing,” Luke said.
“Then we’ll change the subject,” Karrde said smoothly. He op
ened a locker and took out a metal container, which he thumped down onto the table and opened. “Like it?”
Luke saw a boxy, wheeled droid, and gave a little shiver of distaste. “It looks like a mouse droid,” he said. Millions of mouse droids were in existence, chittering and squeaking and running their obscure errands beneath the feet of annoyed citizens. Why anyone had chosen to model a droid on disease-carrying vermin was beyond him.
“It’s a mouse droid chassis,” Lando said. “We get them cheap—people practically pay us to take them away. But this mouse droid now contains the sensor unit of one of our Yuuzhan Vong Hunter droids.”
“Ah,” Luke said, understanding.
“The Yuuzhan Vong Hunter units are better at sensing Yuuzhan Vong than they are at sensing humans,” Karrde said. “But they are aggressive, and, well—”
“Murderous,” Lando said.
Karrde gave him a sharp look. “Conspicuous was the word I was looking for.” He tapped the mouse droid. “One of our YVH-M units can sniff out Yuuzhan Vong infiltrators and, unlike one of our Hunters, won’t be tempted to immediately blow him to smithereens. Instead, it can be programmed to follow the infiltrator, record his movements, and take note of anyone that the infiltrator talks to.”
“Who ever notices a mouse droid?” Lando said. “Most people do their best to avoid noticing them.”
“Our next model will feature a small repulsorlift. Flying Yuuzhan Vong Hunters—just think about it!”
Luke had been making some quiet calculations while the others were involved with their sales pitch. “I don’t think you should talk about your YVH-M models to just anybody,” he said. “We want these to be a surprise, especially to the Yuuzhan Vong.”
Lando smiled and nodded. “Can you suggest who we should talk to?”
“Dif Scaur and Ayddar Nylykerka, for two.”
“The head of New Republic Intelligence, and his military equivalent. That’s very good.”
Luke reached out and gave the smooth plastic surface of the mouse droid a pat. “I have a feeling,” he said, “this little critter is going to be very, very useful.”
Trickster was parked in orbit around Kashyyyk, and a group of Wookiee technicians descended on it, supervised by Lowbacca. Quarters for the Twin Suns Squadron and docking bay space for their X-wings had been found on the old Rendili Dreadnaught Starsider, which had been converted to a tender and supply depot for other ships. Jaina found her new cabin and threw herself down on a mattress that still smelled of the previous occupant’s unwashed body.
The first thing she checked were the holomessages that had piled up waiting for her while she’d been on the Obroa-skai mission.
Yes. There was a holomessage from Jacen. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the buttons that would play the recording.
“Hi,” Jacen said. “I’m back from the dead.” And he looked it—he was ten or twelve kilos underweight, and the long hair and scraggly beard gave him the appearance of a hermit just rescued from a long period of fasting in the desert.
He briefly explained that he’d been held prisoner by the Yuuzhan Vong, and rescued by a Jedi named Vergere, a Jedi of the Old Republic.
“I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact you through our twin bond,” he said. “You were in my thoughts the whole time. But I knew that the Yuuzhan Vong wanted you to try to rescue me—they were ready for it. They wanted to sacrifice us both in a special ceremony. So my greatest chance of staying alive was to keep you as far away from me as possible.
“They tell me you’ve played a big part in a victory.” His brown eyes gazed mildly out of the holo. “I hope that means you’ve been all right while I’ve been away. It must have been bad enough knowing that Anakin was dead without thinking that I was gone as well.” He hesitated. “I know you’re too sensible to get into anything really hurtful, but I hope you’re well, and I hope we’ll be able to talk soon. Tell Lowie and everyone hi. Take care. I love you.”
The holographic image fizzled out. Jaina’s thoughts whirled. It seemed she was forgiven for not trying to contact Jacen through the twin bond they shared, but on the other hand Jacen seemed to have sensed, or perhaps heard about, her mad, angry brush with the dark side, her surrender to the fury that was her legacy through the blood of Vader.
What could she tell Jacen? It had been bad enough confessing her actions to her mother.
The next message was from Jagged Fel, reporting that he’d encountered her mother and father on the Hydian Way, and that Leia had told him Jacen had escaped the Yuuzhan Vong.
Did everyone know before I did? she thought.
“I’ve missed you,” Jag said. “I wish I was with you. I wish I could see your reaction when you find out that Jacen is alive. I want to kiss you in celebration.”
Even though she wanted to bask in misery at this moment, Jag’s words brightened her spirit. The memory of his arms around her, and the phantom taste of his lips on hers, whispered like a warm summer wind through her memory.
She really couldn’t, she thought. Being in love at a time like this was madness. Not when death reached out to her at every moment, when another person to love meant only another person to mourn when the time came.
But Jacen had come back … perhaps that meant that things had changed.
Her mind whirled. But one thing was clear: soon death would come for her.
The fewer people to mourn then, the better.
Jaina found Kyp Durron in the pilots’ mess, chewing without enthusiasm on a reconstituted, freeze-dried iagoin steak that may have been in a storage locker since the days of Empress Teta. “Great One,” he said, looking up, “please exercise your godly powers and summon real food. We’re orbiting six hundred kilometers above the greenest planet in the New Republic, and the mess can’t seem to find any fresh vegetables.” He paused, then looked at her in surprise. “What’s wrong, Sticks?”
“Jacen’s alive,” she said. “He’s on Mon Calamari with Uncle Luke and Mara.”
Kyp’s expression cleared. “Wonderful!” he said. “Get yourself a plate of rehydrated salthia bean paste, and we’ll have a feast and celebrate!”
Jaina sat heavily on the seat opposite him. “What do I tell him I’ve been up to since he was captured?” she asked.
Comprehension dawned. “I see,” Kyp said. “Well.” He looked down at his plate and pushed the iagoin away with distaste, then looked at Jaina again. “You may as well tell him the truth.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Jaina said. “During his capture he made no attempt to contact me through the Force, for fear that I’d try to rescue him and run into a trap. So what do I tell him—that because he didn’t contact me I ran amok? What’s that going to do to him?”
Kyp listened carefully and nodded. “I understand your concern,” he said, “but I think Jacen can take care of himself. He always has. And besides, Anakin’s death had as much to do with your going to the dark as Jacen’s capture did.”
“Maybe so. But it’s hard to know how he’s going to take things. What if it sends him into another spiral of—of whatever it was that paralyzed him in the first place?”
“You saw the hologram,” Kyp said. “Did he look paralyzed?”
Jaina found herself smiling. “No. He looked like he’d been through a lot, but—he looked all right. And he was right enough to be concerned about me.”
Kyp nodded at her solemnly. “Then I think—when you see him—you’ll know what to say.”
Jaina looked at her hands. “I hope so.”
Kyp grinned. “Is there anything else that’s going to keep you from celebrating?”
Jaina smiled, but sobered quickly. “Admiral Kre’fey,” she said. “He and the Bothans have gone mad—they’ve all decided they’re going to wipe out the Yuuzhan Vong to the last germ cell. So now we have a commander who’s bent on destroying a whole species.” She looked at him. “Is that an invitation to the dark side, or what?”
Kyp was impressed. “Even I never went that f
ar,” he said. He leaned across the table toward Jaina. “I think that the dark side can only take command when you’re feeling certain emotions,” he said. “In my case it was anger. In yours it was the desire for vengeance.”
“On behalf of a brother who turned out not to be dead,” Jaina added bitterly.
“As well as the one who was. Yes. That was wrong, and we’re agreed on that. But I think we should try to make several distinctions here.”
“All right,” Jaina said, though she felt cautious at the idea of too many shadings and distinctions between light and dark.
“There’s aggression for its own sake. Which is bad.”
“Yes.”
“There’s defensive war, fighting against invaders on behalf of your own worlds or people or government. Which, if not necessarily good, is at least justified.”
Jaina nodded. “I’m following you.”
“And then there’s a counterattack in an otherwise defensive war. Which was Obroa-skai.”
“And it’s what?” Jaina asked. “Good? Bad? Justified?”
“Justified,” Kyp said. “I’ve been thinking hard about this, and I think justified.” Then he saw Jaina’s dubious look, and said, “Let me give you an analogy.”
“All right.”
“Say you have a friend who has something valuable, like a ring. And a thief attacks your friend and steals the ring, and for some reason you can’t prevent it.”
“I’m following you.”
“And later, you meet the thief, and you see the thief wearing the ring. So is it aggression to bring the thief to justice, and return the ring to its rightful owner?”
“So you’re saying,” Jaina said, “that the thief is like the Yuuzhan Vong, who have been stealing our worlds, and that it’s not aggression to want our worlds back and the Yuuzhan Vong out of our hair?”
“I’m not saying that there isn’t a degree of aggression. But I’m saying it’s justified.”
“But if your aggression lets in the dark?”
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