by Troy Denning
Tito spread his mandibles in the buggish equivalent of a shrug. “Thought it would be fun.”
“Obviously,” Leia said. “We’re talking about the other reasons.”
“We know the Squibs put you up to this,” Han pressed.
Tito cocked his head to the side, turning one bulbous eye toward Han. “You know that, you know why.”
“Stop playing dumb,” Han said. “You understand what we’re asking. The Squibs want us dead for a reason. What are they trying to hide?”
The Flakax’s mandibles spread wide, and a yellow mass of regurgitated something shot out and covered Han’s chest. “Kill me now. Better than what the Directors will do, if I break my quiet swear.”
“Quiet swear?” Han repeated. “You mean like a vow of silence?”
Tito tried to raise his abdomen, straining to clear the plugged gas duct. Cakhmaim drove the point of his elbow down on the nerve bundle where the thorax connected, and the abdomen dropped to the deck again.
Leia turned to Han. “I thought those crime vows were supposed to be reciprocal?”
“They are,” Han said, seeing where Leia was headed. “But you know the Squibs.”
Tito’s head swung from Han to Leia and back again, and finally he could no longer resist asking, “The Directors?”
Han and Leia exchanged looks, then Han asked, “Should we tell him?”
Leia shook her head. “It would just be cruel, since we’re going to have to kill him anyway.”
“What would be cruel?” Tito asked.
Meewalh pressed her blaster to his head, but Tito seemed a lot more concerned about what they were keeping from him than the likelihood of being killed.
“Tell!”
Han frowned. “You’re sure you want to know? No one likes to die knowing they’ve been set up.”
Tito began to work his mandibles. “How?”
“You don’t want to know,” Leia said. She turned to Meewalh. “Go—”
“Wait!” Tito said. “You tell me, I tell you.”
Meewalh asked if she should fire.
“Not yet.” Leia frowned down at the prisoner. “You’re sure you want to know? It’ll just make you angry.”
“Really angry,” Han said. “You just can’t trust Squibs.”
“Flakax never get angry,” Tito said. “Never get anything. Have no useless feelings like humans.”
“Okay,” Han said. “I’ll give you a hint. Aren’t you curious about how we knew you were coming?”
Tito turned one eye toward Leia. “Squibs not tell you. They want you dead.”
“That’s right.” Leia made a small motion with her hand, then added, “And we’re not the only ones.”
Tito spread his antennae. “They want us dead, too?”
“That’s the way we hear it,” Han said. “Before the Verpines, the Squibs asked a couple of Fefze to help you, right?”
“How you know?”
“Because they’re the ones who sold us the warning about you,” Leia said. “And we’re not the only ones they were asked to kill.”
Tito clattered his mandibles. “Fefze kill Flakax? That is funny.” He turned to Meewalh. “I much amused. You pull trigger now.”
“It’s not that funny.” Leia made another motion with her hand. “Remember, you were going to be fighting us.”
“I don’t suppose you noticed the thermal detonator in the brot-rib crate?” Han asked. He had not found any thermal detonator when he stowed the weapons that had spilled from the crate, but that hardly mattered. Han could always produce one from their own stores and claim the Squibs had slipped it into the box when Tito was looking the other way. “Even a Fefze could set a detonator and take off while you were busy fighting us.”
“Though, of course, I think the Verpine were a much better choice,” Leia said, casting an eye at the unconscious insects. “They’re so much more technological.”
Tito considered this for a moment, then let out a long throat rattle. “The Directors broke their own swear!”
“That’s the way it looks, isn’t it?” Han replied.
Leia nodded. “And now that we’ve kept our part of the bargain—”
“The Directors want you dead because Lizil isn’t sending you to Tenupe, like they promise,” Tito said. “Lizil told them, ‘Two-legs are more use in Alliance. Send them with convoy.’ ”
Han’s jaw fell. “Wait a minute! You’re saying this convoy is headed for Alliance territory?”
Tito clacked his mandibles shut, then looked from Han to Leia. “Maybe.”
Leia’s brow rose, now with shreds of Falleen disguise hanging from it after the fierce fight. “No wonder they want us dead!”
“Yeah,” Han said. If this convoy was headed for Alliance space, there could only be one purpose for all the war cargo they had seen being loaded. “The Colony is supporting a coup—maybe a whole string of them!”
“I think so.” Leia’s gaze grew troubled, and she slowly turned to Han. “Somebody has to warn Luke.”
Han nodded. “I know. Maybe we can find—”
He caught himself and stopped short of saying Juun and Tarfang, then took Leia by the elbow and led her away from their prisoner.
Leia did not even wait until they reached the front of the hold. “Han, we have to do this ourselves.”
“We’re busy,” Han said.
“Think about all the Alliance insects we’ve seen here,” Leia pressed. “Verpine, Flakax, Fefze, Vratix, Huk.”
“I have been thinking about them,” Han said. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot.”
“If those governments fall, the Defense Force will be so busy in Alliance territory that it won’t be able to keep the pressure on in Utegetu—much less carry the war to the rest of the Colony.” Leia stopped and turned him to face her. “You know we can’t trust this to Juun and Tarfang, Han.”
“Of course we can!” Han said. “You heard Juun. Bwua’tu believes in those two.”
“But do we?” Leia asked. “Even assuming they would be willing to disregard their orders on our say-so, are you ready to place the Alliance in their hands?”
“It’d serve the Alliance right,” Han grumbled. “The rehab conglomerates are claim-jumping everything anyway.”
“At least the rehab conglomerates aren’t spreading the war,” Leia said. “And that’s what will happen if we let the Colony overthrow the Alliance’s insect governments.”
Han let his chin drop to his chest, wondering why it always came down to him and Leia, why they always had to be the ones in the right place at the wrong time.
“Well, I guess there was never any doubt,” Han said.
Leia frowned. “Doubt?”
“About going back,” Han said. “You still have to do the right thing. You just can’t help yourself.”
Leia thought about this a moment, then nodded. “I guess that’s true. I just couldn’t live with myself if we let the Colony topple those governments.”
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said. “With a Squib death mark on our heads and the Killiks determined to send us back to the Alliance, we didn’t have much chance of reaching Tenupe anyway.”
“Not this time,” Leia agreed. “But we’ll be back.”
“Yeah, there’s always next time.” Han allowed himself a moment to curse the universe, then nodded toward Tito and the Verpine. “What about them?”
“We can’t take them back as prisoners,” she said. “Especially not Tito. He’s not all that psychopathic for a homeless Flakax, but that will change now that his buddy is dead. We just can’t take the chance.”
“Then I guess there’s only one thing to do,” Han said, starting back toward the insect.
Leia caught him by the arm. “Han, you’re not going to—”
“Yeah, I am.” Han disengaged his arm. “I’m going to send him back to the Squibs.”
NINE
With an artificial waterfall purling in the corner and a school of go
ldies swimming laps in the catch pond, the conversation area of Luke’s outer office was designed to encourage a peaceful, relaxed exchange. The lighting was soft and warm, the floor was sunken to separate it from the rest of the office, and the padded benches were arranged at an oblique angle so that any negative energy arising from a discussion would not fly directly at the conversers.
All of this was, unfortunately, wasted on the current situation. Jacen had chosen to remain standing, feet spread and arms crossed in front of him, facing off against Luke and Mara both. Sensing that Jacen knew exactly why he had been summoned, Luke wasted no time coming to the point.
“Jacen, your fellow Jedi Knights had some very disturbing things to say about the raid on the Chiss supply depot.”
Jacen nodded, his expression unreadable. “I imagine.”
“They claim that it was very clear the Chiss weren’t preparing for a surprise attack,” Luke pressed. “They believe you started the war unnecessarily.”
“They’re wrong.”
When Jacen did not elaborate, Mara asked, “Okay—what do you know that they don’t?”
“Just what I saw in my vision,” Jacen said. “I couldn’t let the Chiss attack on their own terms. I had to force their hand.”
Luke could not sense a lie in his nephew’s words—in fact, he could not sense anything at all because Jacen had closed himself off from the Force. He was trying to hide something.
“Jacen, I’ve never liked being lied to,” Luke said, acting on instinct. “And I absolutely refuse to tolerate it now. Tell me the truth or leave the order.”
Jacen recoiled visibly, then seemed to realize he had betrayed himself and began to study Luke in slack-jawed surprise.
“Don’t think about it,” Mara ordered. “Just do it.”
Jacen’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze shifted to the pool at the base of the waterfall. “It doesn’t change what had to be done, but I did have to alter one detail of my vision to persuade Jaina and the others to help me.”
Luke had a sinking feeling inside, more disappointment than anger. “Which detail?”
Jacen hesitated, then said, “In my vision, I didn’t see who attacked first. I just saw the war spreading, until it had consumed the entire galaxy.”
“So you thought you would just go ahead and get things started?” Mara asked, incredulous. “What were you thinking?”
“That the war was already started!” Jacen retorted. “The Colony had been attacking us—the Jedi and the Alliance—for months. All I did was wake everyone up to the fact.”
Given what he and Han had discovered on their trip to Woteba, Luke could hardly argue the point. In addition to the fleet of nest ships the Colony had been constructing inside the Utegetu Nebula, it was now clear that the Killiks had caused many of the problems plaguing the Galactic Alliance, by harboring pirates, providing a market for the Tibanna tappers, and aiding the smugglers of black membrosia.
But that was hardly an excuse for provoking the Chiss into an attack.
“Jacen, what you did was wrong,” Luke said. “And I suspect you know it, or you wouldn’t have needed to trick your sister and the others into helping you.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Jacen demanded, turning on Luke with heat in his eyes. “You were trapped on Woteba, Mom and Mara were stuck in the Murgo Choke, and Masters Durron and Horn had the entire Jedi order locked in a contest of wills.”
The reply hurt because it was so true—and because the breakdown had been Luke’s failure.
“I understand, but that’s never going to happen again.” Luke locked eyes with his nephew and put some durasteel in his voice. “And neither will something like the trick you pulled on your sister and the others. Is that clear?”
Jacen let out a breath of exasperation, but nodded. “The next time, I’ll come to you.”
“And if Luke’s not available?” Mara asked.
“I’m sure he’ll have designated someone to oversee the order in his absence.” Jacen gave Luke a wry smile. “I’m not the only one who learns from his mistakes.”
“Let’s hope not.” Luke reached out and was unhappy to find his nephew still closed off from the Force. “Now, what else are you hiding?”
Jacen was not surprised this time. He merely nodded, then said, “It has nothing to do with the Jedi—and I wouldn’t be hiding it if it wasn’t very important.”
“Does it explain why you want to kill Raynar so badly?” Luke pressed.
Jacen smirked. “That’s no secret,” he said. “I want to kill Raynar because it’s the only way to stop the war. Lowie and Tesar don’t want to because he was our friend at the academy.”
“You don’t think they’re being influenced by Raynar?” Mara asked.
Jacen considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “If Raynar had known what we were considering, sure. But they’re not complete Joiners, so it’s hard to believe they would’ve been in close enough contact for him to know that the Masters were discussing his death.”
Luke nodded. Raynar had already proven—when he originally summoned Jaina and the others to the Colony’s aid—that he could use the Force to exert his will over non-Joiners. But Cilghal’s experiments had established that he was not able to read minds—even Joiner minds—over long distances any better than Jedi could communicate through the Force. It was all feelings and notions; at the most, Raynar would have felt a vague sense of danger and unease.
“Good,” Luke said, relieved Jacen had not seized such an obvious opportunity to cast doubts on the judgment of his rivals. At least he was still trying to be fair and balanced in his actions. “That’s the way I understood the situation, too.”
“Of course,” Jacen added, “now that Tesar and Lowie have told Madame Thul about the debate, we can assume Raynar has been informed via more conventional means.”
Luke frowned. “How do you know about that?”
“Tesar and Lowie?” Jacen’s gaze flicked away, and he could not quite hide his frustration with himself. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret.”
“We haven’t told anyone about it,” Luke said. “And since I sent the three of them to Dagobah to consider whether they truly want—”
“You sent Tahiri, too?” Jacen gasped. “But she didn’t tell Madame Thul anything!”
It was Mara’s turn to frown. “And how would you know that?”
Jacen hesitated a fraction of a second, then seemed to realize he had made a mistake and said, “Tahiri and I still talk.”
“About what Lowie and Tesar are doing?” Mara demanded. “Is she spying for you?”
“We talk,” Jacen insisted. “Sometimes their names come up.”
“I can’t believe this!” Luke rolled his head back and shook it in despair. Had matters really gotten so out of hand that the order’s Jedi were spying on one another? “Maybe I should send you to Dagobah to join them.”
“I didn’t betray the Masters’ confidence,” Jacen replied evenly. “But if that’s your decision, of course I’ll go.”
“I’ll think about it,” Luke said darkly. “In the meantime, no more spying. If we can’t trust each other, we don’t have a chance of pulling together.”
“Actually, spying builds trust.” Jacen was quoting a maxim that Luke had often heard Leia use as the New Republic’s Chief of State. He must have sensed Luke’s displeasure, because he quickly added, “But it looks like I won’t be talking to Tahiri anytime soon, anyway.”
“Thank you,” Luke said.
“You’re welcome,” Jacen said. He glanced toward the exit. “If that’s all, I really should be—”
“Nice try,” Mara said, blocking Jacen’s exit. “I still want to know what you’re hiding.”
Jacen did not even pause before he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”
“Does it involve what you did to Ben?” Mara’s voice grew as sharp as a vibroblade, for she had been even more alarmed than Luke when he reported what Lowie and
Tesar had told him. “Blocking his memories?”
Jacen did not seem as surprised as he should have. “Not at all,” he said. “I did that to protect him.”
“From what?” Mara demanded.
“We were sleeping near an Ewok village when a Gorax attacked,” he explained. “Before we could get there, it had wiped out half the village and was heading home.”
Luke felt Mara’s ire fading. Gorax were primate behemoths, standing as tall as the trees on the forest moon, and they were well known for their brutal natures. “I see. You were afraid the memory would traumatize him.”
“No, actually not,” Jacen said. “Ben knows better than most kids his age that the galaxy is filled with monsters, so I’m sure he could have handled what he saw with a little adult guidance.”
“You’re more confident of that than I am,” Luke said. “Did he feel their deaths in the Force?”
Jacen nodded. “And he sensed what the Gorax’s captives were feeling, too.”
Mara’s hand went to her mouth.
Luke asked, “So that’s why you blocked—”
“No,” Jacen said. “I blocked Ben’s memory to keep him from recalling what I did.”
“What you did?” Luke asked.
“Ben started to scream that I had to save the Ewoks, and that drew the Gorax’s attention,” Jacen explained. “But I couldn’t take him into the fight with me, and I could sense another Gorax in the forest behind me—”
“So you couldn’t leave him alone,” Mara finished.
Jacen nodded. “I used the Force to hide us.”
When Jacen remained silent, Luke prompted, “And?”
“And Ben was very sensitive that night,” Jacen continued. “He felt what happened to the prisoners in the cave.”
“That’s what you didn’t want him to remember,” Mara said.
“By morning, he was already beginning to withdraw from the Force again,” Jacen said. “He’s still young; I think he blames it for the bad things he feels in it.”
“I think he does,” Luke said. He and Mara had postulated a similar theory themselves, shortly after the war, when it began to grow clear that Ben was withdrawing from the Force. “And how, exactly, did you block this memory?”