by James Luceno
“Have you selected your next target?” he asked.
“Sernpidal,” Da’Gara replied. “Third planet of the Julevian system and the most heavily populated planet of the entire sector.”
“An ambitious step.”
“But the largest threat to us,” Da’Gara explained. “The yammosk has been watching them and is not secure in their too-common atmospheric breaches, nor in the multitude of communications transmissions emanating from the surface.”
“If you are to be discovered, it will likely come from there,” Nom Anor agreed.
“We will try to do it quietly,” Da’Gara explained. “Perhaps through plague—perhaps similar to the molecular disaster Yomin Carr exacted upon Belkadan, though defeating outgoing communications from a planet as advanced as Sernpidal will prove no easy task, nor will the task of keeping our enemies on world for the course of the destruction. The war coordinator’s own calculations put the former at seven-point-three to one against our success, and no better than one-to-one concerning the latter, even if we bring two full complements of coralskippers to bear.”
Nom Anor spent a long while considering those odds, and as he grew uneasy about the chances—though still agreeing that Sernpidal had to be dealt with promptly—he turned his thoughts in a different direction.
“It must be something that does not directly connect an invasion, and certainly that does not reveal the scope of even our portion of the invading force,” he said. He considered again the problems immediately facing the New Republic Advisory Council, and the firepower they would now have to employ close to the core of their galaxy to prevent complete catastrophe. “But not quiet,” he explained. “No, let us destroy Sernpidal and kill as many enemies as possible, but let us use this disaster to lure some our enemies’ warships out to us. Taken in full, the New Republic fleet could possibly cause trouble for the Praetorite Vong, but if we can bring them out, little by little, they will prove of no consequence.”
“Not quiet?” Prefect Da’Gara echoed skeptically.
“But not revealing,” Nom Anor replied.
Another long pause ensued, both considering the problem at hand. Then the villip in front of Nom Anor correctly reflected the eager light that came into the prefect’s eye.
“Yo’gand’s Core?” Da’Gara asked.
The suggestion caught Nom Anor by surprise, and he almost dismissed it out of hand as preposterous. But he took the time to think about it, honestly considering the possibility. Yo’gand was a legendary general among the Yuuzhan Vong, the one most often given credit for turning the tide in the Cremlevian War and thus uniting the various Yuuzhan Vong tribes in generations long past. His “core” tactic had proven a decisive blow in that long-ago conflict, destroying Ygziir, the home planet of the most powerful tribe, and killing nearly all of the obstinate leaders in one fell swoop. Yo’gand had utilized the power of a strong dovin basal, the same gravity-focusing creature now used to propel worldships and other craft, by dropping it to the surface of Ygziir, where it focused one beam to latch on to the planet’s core, the other to grab at the passing moon.
Since the destruction of Ygziir, Nom Anor’s people had learned to easily counter the tactic, but these infidels, without understanding of the extragalactic creatures, and without the countering powers of other dovin basals, would have no way to determine the source of impending disaster—and they would not have the firepower to defeat it.
Nor would New Republic investigative teams figure out the true source, or the power behind it. Not until it was far too late.
“Make your noise, Prefect Da’Gara,” Nom Anor said. “Destroy Sernpidal and plan your expansion. I will await your call.”
“What?” a bleary-eyed Shok Tinoktin asked, coming awake groggily.
Nom Anor’s villip inverted to its unremarkable state, and he replaced it in his bag.
“The call,” Nom Anor replied. “The call of the oppressed, begging mercy from the uncaring councilors of the New Republic.”
“Preparing your next speech?” Shok Tinoktin asked.
Nom Anor smiled. Indeed, he would soon be doing exactly that. His next speech to rouse the rabble, and then his next.
But soon, he knew, his speech would be one of conquest, an ultimatum to the New Republic to accede to the demands of their new masters or be utterly destroyed.
“It was … strange,” Jaina admitted to her brothers later on, as the three explored the wonders of Lando’s newest home, such as the transparent pneumatic tubes that shot them from one tower to another, and the windbreak open-drop chutes that got them from the thirtieth floor to the first in a harrowing plummet. For the latter, they basically buckled on helmets and stepped into a hole, falling, falling, against the wind of a giant fan that slowed them gently and put them down on the lowest floor.
“You found your peace,” Jacen replied.
“You practiced your piloting skills,” Anakin put in quickly, and he and Jacen glared at each other. They had been at it again, arguing the inner gains of the Force against the practical skills to which it could be applied, ever since Anakin, soon after his abrupt departure from Lando’s Folly, had found Jacen and the others in the control room, all of them standing quiet, stunned by Jaina’s performance and waiting for the confirmation that she was okay.
Jaina shook her head and chuckled at the ridiculous debate.
“Were you conscious of your movements?” Jacen asked.
“In navigating the field?” Jaina said. “I don’t even remember it.”
“Because you let yourself go with the Force,” Jacen reasoned, thinking that he had just scored a victory.
“Because she learned to apply the use of the Force as an addition to her physical piloting,” the persistent Anakin declared. “Her actions were so automatic because she practices her flying. All the time.”
“It’s more than that,” Jacen insisted.
“Then why didn’t you do better?” Anakin asked.
“I never found the level of meditation.”
“Because you don’t practice enough,” Anakin said. “That’s why I beat you.” He snapped his fingers in the air, as if tracking points. “I know how to apply the Force to practical tasks, not just sitting around in the dark, falling inward.”
“Then why don’t you ever win our sparring?” Jacen asked.
“I’ll beat you right now,” Anakin insisted, going for his lightsaber.
“You’re acting pretty stupid for a couple of supposed Jedi Knights,” Jaina said dryly.
“On the contrary,” came another voice, and the three turned as one to see a man approaching, a noticeable swagger to his walk, a lightsaber dangling from his belt.
“Kyp,” Anakin greeted.
Kyp Durron walked over, nodding to the boys and then dropping a long stare over Jaina. “Pretty good flying,” he said at length.
“Pretty good?” Jacen asked with a chuckle.
Kyp glanced at him, holding a stern look for just a moment before a wide smile spread over his face. “Okay,” he admitted. “Better than that. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I heard you were flying, Jaina. Now I’ll have to go run the belt all over again, just to take back the lead.”
“You going now?” Anakin asked, moving right before Kyp, obviously a bit in awe of the older Jedi.
“Not now,” Kyp explained. “I’m heading off world, out of the system, actually. Got some work to do. My squadron’s holding ready, waiting for me. But I wanted to find you guys and say hello.”
“Your squadron?” Jacen and Anakin asked together, Jacen skeptically and Anakin hopefully.
“Some friends who fly with me,” Kyp explained.
“Miko Reglia?” Jaina asked. “And others.”
“But no other Jedi,” Jacen asked more than stated.
“Just some friends,” Kyp explained. “If you three wanted to join in sometime—if your father and your uncle Luke would let you, I mean—you’d be more than welcome.”
“Join in what?”
Jacen had to ask.
“Work,” Kyp said.
“Work?” Jacen’s skepticism did not diminish.
“Stopping illegal trade, settling disputes,” Kyp explained. There was no bravado in his tone, just a grim determination, the stern set of his eyes more intense than anything the three kids had ever seen from him.
“Is that the role of the Jedi now?” Jacen asked. “Chasing smugglers?” Both Jaina and Anakin stared at him incredulously, stunned that he would challenge the older and more experienced Jedi Knight.
“Is it not?” Kyp returned with a snort.
“There was a time when the smugglers were considered friends of the Jedi,” Jacen dared to say.
“Like your father,” Kyp reasoned.
“That was a different time,” Jaina put in, physically moving between the two and trying to diffuse the tension. “A time when an illegitimate government ruled the galaxy.”
Jacen shook his head, hardly seeming convinced.
“Do you think it beneath us?” Kyp asked, and he moved, politely but forcefully, past Jaina to stand right before Jacen. “When innocent people are robbed of all their wealth, or taken captive, perhaps, and tortured, is it not the province of the Jedi to come to their aid?” he asked, his voice rising with each word.
“It is,” Anakin agreed.
“There is a difference between finding trouble in your path and going out of your way searching for it,” Jacen said. “We are not galactic police.”
“I’ve already heard all of this from your uncle,” Kyp replied.
“And is there a better source for wisdom for any Jedi in all the galaxy?” Jacen asked.
“And yet, he didn’t stop me from my self-appointed task,” Kyp was quick to add, poking his finger Jacen’s way to accentuate every word. “He asked me to temper my choices, but not to stop.” He finished with a nod, then turned his gaze upon Jaina. “Magnificent flying, Jaina,” he said. “I’ll be back to give your record a run, and then I expect you to go after mine.”
“You’ll never catch me,” Jaina said kiddingly.
Kyp patted her on the shoulder, his easy smile returning, and walked past. “Off we go,” he explained, and he turned back, though he kept on walking. “My offer holds, for all three of you when you get away from your aunt and uncle. I could use more Jedi to round out the squadron.”
He threw a wink their way and headed off toward the starport, where his X-wing waited. On Anakin’s suggestion—and Jaina’s insistence, for Jacen did not want to go—the three siblings climbed to the highest floor of the tower and moved out onto the skywalk balcony under the night sky to watch the departure. Somehow they knew that Kyp Durron wouldn’t disappoint.
It started as music, Dembaline’s Shwock Dubllon, or Crested Wake, the Mon Calamari composer’s most rousing tune, piped across the loudspeakers of all the starport pads. The opening peak of the piece faded to a mill of somewhat discordant notes, gradually, gradually coming together, gathering as Kyp’s squadron gathered in the air above, craft of all types, mostly older models: B-wings and A-wings, even a pair of Headhunters and a trio of older X-wings. A dozen starfighters wove red threads in the black sky with their plumes, a pilot’s dance to the ever-building music.
Then the two XJ X-wings, Kyp and Miko, blasted through the montage, just as Crested Wake hit its roaring crescendo, and their dozen minions set off in rapid and disciplined order.
Jacen looked over at Anakin, who was clearly impressed, staring unblinking at the receding plumes. His little brother’s thoughts were full of adventure and glory, Jacen knew, of hunting evil and furthering the cause of good.
Anakin didn’t understand that things were rarely that black and white.
“Kyp’s assembled quite a mix of fighters,” Jaina remarked as the music died away. She looked at her brothers and shook her head. “He does know how to make an exit.”
“And it’s exactly hero shows like that which will confirm to Uncle Luke that he needs to reassemble the Jedi Council,” Jacen replied.
“And a wise council will be pleased with shows just like that,” Anakin put in.
“To show the galaxy the glory of the Jedi?” Jacen asked skeptically.
“To bring fear to those who would oppose the New Republic, and hope to those who want to live in peace under the rule of law,” his brother answered.
“Enough!” Jaina pleaded with both of them.
And both heeded her request, and each shook his head and dutifully followed Jaina back into the tower, for neither was as certain of his viewpoint as he pretended.
“There they go,” Leia remarked, as she and Han, Mara and Luke, Lando, Chewie, and the two droids watched Kyp’s flashing departure from the balcony of Lando’s private quarters.
“Count on Kyp to leave with style,” Han said, and then, in a quieter voice, he added, “Probably still stinging from losing to Jaina.”
“Took a Jedi to beat a Jedi,” Lando observed, and he struck a pensive pose, staring at Luke. “I know another Jedi who’s a pretty fair pilot,” he said at length, slyly. At his words, the others also turned to regard Luke.
Luke smiled and shrugged. He wasn’t about to compete with the Solo kids. And Lando’s attempted baiting, trying to play Jedi against Jedi in competition, simply served to strengthen his resolve to reestablish the Jedi Council. A Jedi should be more interested in competing against himself, to Luke’s thinking. He could forgive the Solo kids their excitement and desire to compete for a spot on the board. Kyp, though, with more than ten years behind him, should understand better.
“We’ve got a completely different chart for the two-seaters,” Lando explained. “No Jedi on that board.”
Luke looked to Mara doubtfully. He had no desire to run the belt—he needed no challenge to prove his skills, as pilot or Jedi. But he understood that Mara might be seeing things differently. Perhaps she needed personal reassurance that she could still perform optimally despite her physical condition. Perhaps a run through the belt would give her the confidence that her decision to continue to play a vital role in their affairs, particularly those of Jaina, was in no way compromising the safety of any of those she loved.
“Do you want to give it a run?” Luke asked her, and Lando leaned in eagerly for the reply.
“I already did,” Mara answered quietly, so that only Luke could hear, and he sensed that she was truly at peace, that she had garnered all the confidence she needed through Jaina’s magnificent trial.
Luke marveled at how well she had read him, at how she had known that he didn’t have any pressing need to go, but that he would have gone, willingly, if she had so desired. He stared at Mara for a long time, admiring her.
He always seemed to be doing that.
“I think we’ll pass up the offer,” Mara told Lando.
Lando started to protest, to spout the possibilities that the two of them might score the highest ever, a record no other pair of pilots would come close to touching. But then he glanced Han and Leia’s way and saw them shaking their heads, ever so slightly, a signal for him to back off, a reminder of Mara’s condition.
“Well, if you ever change your mind …,” he remarked with some regret.
It made sense to Luke when he considered it. Wouldn’t Lando love to have the names Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker at the top of his dual-run board, as he now had the names of two Jedi Knights at the top of his single-run board! What fine advertising that would prove for the enterprising man, what notoriety for his reworked planet. And even more important, the gain in legitimacy for Lando’s operation would be considerable indeed.
“What about you two?” Lando asked, turning to Han and Leia.
“I do enough steering through council meetings,” Leia responded instantly, shaking her head, holding up her hand, and showing that she had no interest whatsoever in the challenge of the asteroid belt.
“Han and Chewie, then!” Lando said exuberantly. “They always bragged they were the best pilot pair in the galaxy. Let them pr
ove it!”
“I’m too old and slow,” Han replied, draping an arm across Leia’s shoulders.
Chewie just gave a howl.
Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin entered the room.
“Did you see Kyp leave?” Anakin asked excitedly, moving quickly to Luke’s side. “The music, the tight formation.”
Luke nodded.
Jaina looked around curiously, focusing on Lando and her parents, then on Chewie, who seemed rather agitated, and then, finally, settling her gaze on her aunt.
“Lando wants Chewie and Han to take a run at the belt in a two-seater,” Mara explained. “It sounds like a good idea to me.”
Leia pulled away from her husband, who gave her one of his typical plaintive smirks. In truth, she wasn’t crazy about the idea of Han running into a such a game—even if Lando had guaranteed that there would be minimal danger. Her protective instincts couldn’t stand up against that smirk, though. Han obviously didn’t want to go, or didn’t care enough to bother, and she was unable to resist the urge to prod him. “Me, too,” she agreed.
Chewie issued a series of howls this time, telling them that he was intrigued by the idea.
“That’s a kid’s game,” Han replied with a snort. “I’m too old and too slow and too sore.”
“And too pocket hare,” Anakin was quick to add, drawing a laugh from everyone—except, of course, Han.
“Moss Deevers and Twingo hold the current lead,” Lando said, referring to a couple of two-bit smugglers, known for carrying bigger payloads in their drinking glasses than in their holds. It was often said of Moss, a Bothan, and Twingo, his Sullustan sidekick, that if they carried one-hundredth the cargo they had boasted about, they would be the richest rogues in the galaxy, and if they had dodged, shot down, or otherwise evaded one-hundredth the number of Imperial ships they had claimed, the Emperor would have been without a fleet long before the Rebel Alliance defeated him.