Dark Journey

by Elaine Cunningham

  EIGHT

  The lights on the pilot console of the Millennium Falcon blinked sporadically, like the solar glowsign on a low-rent cantina after a few days of cloudy weather. Han Solo scowled at the controls, then balled his fist and slammed a much-dented section of the console. The sensors flickered back to life. He sent a sidelong glance and a smug little smile toward his copilot.

  Leia shook her head, her brown eyes fixed on a small screen. “No good. The readouts from Artoo show we need more sophisticated repairs. And soon.”

  He leaned over and studied the technical data. “Yeah,” he admitted after a few moments. “The problem is finding a quiet place.”

  “The Hapes Cluster,” she suggested evenly, raising her eyes to her husband’s face.

  His eyes went cautious. “Last I heard, the Hapans weren’t real fond of visitors.”

  “True enough. Not long ago, though, Teneniel Djo sent a message to the senate suggesting that she might open Hapes to refugees. I understand your hesitation,” Leia said, referring to their unorthodox courtship and Han’s residual distrust for his former rival, Isolder, now Teneniel Djo’s husband. “But I made my choice, and so far, I haven’t regretted it. Too much.”

  She didn’t mention her last encounter with the former queen mother of Hapes, Prince Isolder’s mother, Ta’a Chume. She had made a point of mentioning her son’s marital troubles, and her wish that Isolder had chosen Princess Leia as his wife rather than Teneniel Djo, a warrior woman from remote Dathomir. Leia knew how manipulative Ta’a Chume could be, and she certainly didn’t want to add to a volatile situation. But at the moment, other considerations superseded these concerns.

  “Tenel Ka was a member of the Jedi strike force,” Leia reminded him. “That makes it possible, and perhaps likely, that Jaina will put the Yuuzhan Vong ship down on Hapes.”

  Han’s eyes lit up. “Makes sense. She’s a sensible kid, so you’re probably right.” The matter settled to his satisfaction, he began setting course for the Hapes Cluster.

  “Should we get Luke and Mara’s opinion?”

  “When it’s their ship we’re flying, sure.” He smiled briefly to take any possible sting from the words, then plotted their course and prepared for hyperspace.

  When the jump was completed, he added, “Face it, they’re not going to care where we put down. They’ll only be onworld long enough for Mara to buy, beg, or steal a ship to take them wherever Lando took Ben.”

  “True enough,” Leia agreed. She closed her eyes against the threat of sudden tears, and tried not to envy her brother and his wife their coming reunion with their son.

  There would be no reunion with her baby, her Anakin. She wouldn’t even have the grim comfort of seeing his body, of honoring the man he’d become with the solemn rites of a Jedi funeral.

  Han reached over and placed one hand over hers. “I love you, you know. You’re holding up great,” he said quietly. “You’re holding us both up.”

  She opened her eyes and turned toward her husband. “That’s not true. You’re the only reason I’m not curled up in a fetal position.”

  “That’s not true, either. You’re a fighter, always have been. You took one hell of a punch, but you got your feet back under you.” He unconsciously rubbed his jaw as the metaphor triggered countless memories. “Hurts though, doesn’t it?”

  “Only when I breathe.”

  He lowered his head, nodded. The grief was always there, a wound open to every touch, every breeze. After a few moments, he suggested that they both try to get some rest.

  “I couldn’t possibly sleep,” Leia said, but even as she spoke the words she realized how heavy her eyelids had become. The past day had spanned too many hours, held too many battles, brought too much grief. The weight of it all dragged Leia down into the copilot’s seat and a troubled sleep.

  She awoke suddenly as the old ship jolted and shook back into sublight speed. She glanced over at Han, and froze in midstretch.

  He was hunkered down over the controls, his face grim as he struggled with the ship. Several large, dark objects loomed ahead.

  Leia sat bolt upright. “Asteroid field?”

  A burst of laserfire came from the belly guns as Luke and Mara responded to the threat. The bright lines streamed unerringly toward their targets—and then simply disappeared.

  Leia caught her breath, let it out on a sigh. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Dovin basal mines,” Han said tersely. The Falcon finally slowed to maneuverable speed, and the scene beyond sharpened into focus. Dozens of large, rocklike objects, each shaped like the heart of some giant creature, floated in space—black holes against the bright backdrop of stars.

  Han deftly maneuvered through the field of living asteroids. When they were clear, he glanced at the navigational controls. “Those things pulled us out of hyperspace. Must work like an interdiction field.”

  Leia was already at work finding their new coordinates and resetting the hyperspace jump. “How many times can the Falcon get yanked out like that before she falls apart?”

  He shrugged. “Five or six.”

  “Which is it?” she demanded. “Five or six?”

  He glanced at Leia, and his expression instantly turned sober. “You’re serious.”

  She grimaced and reached for the controls. “I like to start with the worst-case scenario and work down.”

  They were pulled from hyperspace twice more before emerging in the Transitory Mists, an eerie cloud surrounding the Hapes system. “That wasn’t so bad,” Han observed as they left the Mists behind. “Didn’t even slow us down much.”

  “It makes you wonder why they bother,” Leia mused. “Unless …”

  Han glanced at her sharply. “Unless those things have a way of recording what went by. The Vong could be tracking movement. Chances are, they know we’re here.”

  “And them, as well,” she replied, nodding to the scene stretched out before them.

  The Falcon limped into a space lane nearly as busy as those surrounding Coruscant. Ships of all shapes and sizes streamed toward the ports of the royal city of Hapes, passing through a lane defined by two Hapan Battle Dragons. Several smaller ships buzzed here and there, cutting off the occasional vessel that tried to bypass the security point.

  “Corellian freighter,” Han noted, nodding toward a large cargo ship. “That one over there is a Republic diplomatic vessel. Chances are we’ll see a lot of familiar faces on Hapes.”

  Leia just shook her head, both stunned and aghast at the scene before her. The time she’d spent shepherding refugees from one world to another had taught her some grim facts. The Yuuzhan Vong did not respect refugee sites; in fact, they targeted worlds that offered a haven to people displaced by war. Given Hapes’s reclusive history, and the recent devastation of its fleet, this new course seemed not only strange, but suicidal. There was no way the decimated Hapan fleet could hold off even a minor Yuuzhan Vong attack.

  “How long do you think it will take to complete repairs on the Falcon?” she asked.

  “Hard to say. Why?”

  She turned troubled eyes to his face. “Whether Teneniel Djo realizes it or not, she’s made Hapes the next target for the Yuuzhan Vong.”

  “That base-born rycrit will be the last of the queen mothers, and the death of us all!” Ta’a Chume fumed as she paced the priceless mosaic covering the floor of her chamber.

  A comely young man reclined on a settee, watching the tall, red-veiled woman with a mixture of concern and resignation.

  To his way of thinking, Ta’a Chume was difficult to please and dangerous to cross, but she was also exceedingly powerful, and wealthy, and indulgent toward her favorites. No one could deny that the former queen mother was getting on in years, but she was still remarkably beautiful—straight and shapely, with elegant facial bones that defied the slackness and softening of age, and abundant red-gold hair only slightly silvered by time. All things considered, Trisdin was quite content with his lot.

 
; “Teneniel Djo has ruled for nearly twenty years, despite her obvious limitations,” he pointed out. “Surely that proves the strength and security of the royal house.”

  Ta’a Chume shot a venomous glare at her favorite. “You go among the common folk. What are they saying of Prince Isolder?”

  His throat suddenly went dry. “He is greatly loved by his people—”

  She cut him off with an impatient, imperious gesture. “Don’t insult me with placating lies! My son committed a large Consortium fleet to the battle that destroyed it. Since the disaster at Fondor, there have been no fewer than seven attempts on his life. Some of them from members of the royal family!”

  Most of them initiated by Alyssia, niece to Ta’a Chume and strikingly like her in appearance and temperament. Trisdin liked to think of the two women as morning and evening, and whenever possible, he divided his time accordingly.

  “Where is the prince now?” he asked as casually as he could. “In safety, I would hope?”

  Ta’a Chume stopped pacing and fixed a speculative look at the young man. “I persuaded him to go offworld.”

  “That must have been difficult. The prince is not one to run from trouble.”

  “To the contrary; he inevitably runs toward it! But even Isolder is capable of learning. Fondor proved that taking action before gathering adequate information can prove fatal. It was not difficult to convince him of the value of a fact-finding mission. He knows how vulnerable Hapes now is, and he wishes to learn as much about the invaders as possible. Thanks to Teneniel Djo, he’ll soon have opportunity to test this knowledge!”

  “I don’t see why he allowed Teneniel Djo to open Hapes to refugees.”

  The woman’s eyes flamed above her veil. “He has no right to gainsay her, and no power to do so. She is the queen mother.”

  “And as such, she should be honored … for as long as she can manage to hold the throne,” Trisdin said, understanding his role. Ta’a Chume hated her daughter-in-law, but she was protective of the title and its power. She might wish to see the younger woman dead—she might even arrange it—but she would hear no slight upon the royal office.

  Trisdin unfolded his long limbs and strolled over to Ta’a Chume. He stood behind her and began to massage her shoulders with practiced skill. “So many burdens,” he crooned. “The Yuuzhan Vong, the debacle at Fondor, the issue of succession.” Ta’a Chume went tense beneath his hands. “That has not yet been resolved?”

  “No,” she said shortly.

  His arms came around her. “It’s a pity your royal consort was only capable of fathering sons. What a queen any daughter of yours might make! Indeed, you are still young …”

  Her mocking laughter cut him short. “Ambitious, aren’t you? I’ve no desire to take another royal consort, and while you may flatter me all you wish, please keep your praise within the bounds of possibility!”

  Trisdin shrugged this off. “It’s a shame that Isolder’s daughter favors her mother’s culture.”

  “Culture!” Ta’a Chume echoed derisively. “You do the Dathomiri witch too much honor. Still, Tenel Ka is capable enough.”

  “But she has no sense of duty! She refuses to serve Hapes, as you have done—and continue to do.”

  Ta’a Chume resumed her pacing. “The issue of royal succession has become a point of contention between my son and his wife. Isolder grows ever more traditional, and he wants his daughter to reign, as is right and proper. Teneniel Djo insists that Tenel Ka remain free to choose her own path.”

  “At least Teneniel Djo was willing to bear another child.”

  “Willing? She insisted upon another child! And that has created another problem. My son is proud, and he knows full well the attitude of Dathomir’s Witches toward males. Teneniel Djo and her ilk treat men as little more than slaves and breeding stock!”

  It occurred to Trisdin to wonder how this differed substantially from the Hapan matriarchal view, but he quickly squelched an impulse he knew to be suicidal.

  “No doubt Isolder’s frustration led him to commit the Consortium to battle. I would not be surprised if the resulting failure left him more sensitive to perceived slights and insults than he otherwise would be. Perhaps the trouble between the prince and his queen will pass as his wounded pride heals.”

  “Unlikely,” the former queen said darkly. “Isolder respects women of strength. What can he appreciate in a barbarian like Teneniel Djo? How can he willingly accept a subordinate role to someone so obviously unworthy?”

  “Then the solution is to find him a worthy queen.”

  These words were treason, punishable by swift and certain death, but Ta’a Chume merely nodded.

  “Therein lies the problem,” she mused. “War is coming. There is no avoiding it now. We need a woman with ruthless intelligence, someone experienced in leadership.”

  “You alone fit that description.”

  She shook her head. “Once a queen mother has abdicated in favor of a successor, it is exceedingly difficult to take back power. The people need a warrior queen, and Teneniel Djo, for all her faults, fills that image.”

  “So does Princess Leia,” he observed, suspecting where her thoughts might be headed.

  “Leia has the breeding, the training, and the experience,” Ta’a Chume agreed, “but she is more diplomat than warrior. And quite frankly, a new set of marital problems would inevitably arise. My son would swiftly come to resent her. She is simply too much woman for him.”

  And perhaps, Trisdin thought, too much for Ta’a Chume as well! The former queen’s resentment of Teneniel Djo came in large part from the younger woman’s refusal to be advised, much less controlled.

  “You obviously would not wish to see a weak woman on the throne of Hapes,” Trisdin observed. “But Isolder might be more content with a very young woman. No matter how competent she otherwise might be, he is more likely to feel himself in control of the situation. Naturally, a young queen would require advice from a wise and experienced mentor, and a woman of sense would not look to her husband for council.”

  Ta’a Chume stared at him for several moments. Her eyes crinkled, giving evidence to the smile spreading beneath her veil.

  “I was not granted a daughter of my blood, but you’re saying that perhaps I might yet train a successor, and mold a promising young woman into my own image.”

  “And keep Isolder happy and out of the way while you’re doing it.”

  Laughter bubbled up from behind the crimson veil. “Trisdin, you are priceless! Now go and prepare yourself for the evening festivities.”

  He sauntered off, well pleased with himself. Ta’a Chume’s smile held until the door shut behind her current favorite. Then she walked to the settee and sank down with a deep and troubled sigh.

  There were more storms brewing across Hapes than Trisdin knew or could begin to imagine. Though not technically in power, Ta’a Chume had her resources, and forces loyal to her. One of these factions, a large and powerful group started by her mother before her, was anti-Jedi at heart and becoming more virulently so by the day. Matters were coming to the point that she had to reward them or risk losing their support. She could not risk such a loss—they were too powerful for her to allow them to take their strength elsewhere. This faction must either be placated or destroyed.

  And although murderous attempts on the royal family were certainly nothing new, Ta’a Chume was growing burdened by the level of paranoia required to keep herself and her household alive.

  Teneniel Djo was doing nothing to help. This troublesome Force had carried shockwaves from the Fondor debacle, causing Teneniel to lose her long-awaited, unborn second child. This was not yet known outside the palace; Ta’a Chume had kept it quiet under the guise of giving her daughter-in-law time to heal and grieve before making the announcement.

  In truth, Ta’a Chume viewed such grief as a self-indulgent weakness, a luxury that Hapes could not afford. She had endured Teneniel Djo this long simply because the alternative—a coup by one
of her nieces—was even less desirable. Alyssia was a venal little wretch, but she was also a practical woman. Her first act as queen mother would be to destroy Ta’a Chume and her descendants. Of this, Ta’a Chume was certain, for that was exactly the course she herself would take.

  But Trisdin’s suggestion offered new possibilities. With a curt nod, Ta’a Chume sealed the fate of her son, his wife, and all of Hapes.

  Now all that remained was to find a promising young woman of whom Isolder might approve, and the lamentable Teneniel Djo would go.

  NINE

  Jaina came awake suddenly, though no sound disturbed her trancelike state. She sat up, senses alert for whatever had roused her.

  But the ship was quiet, eerily so. For someone accustomed to the hum and roar of engines, the silence of the Yuuzhan Vong frigate was disconcerting. Jaina wasn’t sure exactly why she’d expected anything different; after all, what sound did gravity make when it bent? Would a black hole make a giant slurping noise whenever a dovin basal sucked up a proton torpedo?

  She rubbed the nape of her neck with one hand and then stretched, drawing in a long breath. And realized why she’d awoken.

  A faint, sharp odor filled the air, a scent she couldn’t equate with any other she knew. Jaina pushed herself off the coral bench and hurried to the cockpit.

  Starlines spun into view as the ship came out of its hyperspace flight. The odd scent must have been some sort of sensor.

  The stars focused into sharp points, but faint lines remained—starlight refracted from some metallic, as-yet-unseen object.

  In the pilot’s seat, Zekk sat bolt upright, leaning toward the viewport. “Incoming!” he snapped.

  Jaina spun toward the pilot’s seat and leaned down to peer over Zekk’s shoulder. A motley collection of ships—some of them Hapan vessels, some more suited to pirates and smugglers—sped purposefully toward them.

  Ganner slipped into the gunner’s chair, his handsome face grim at the prospect of firing upon allies.

  Zekk touched his hooded head to Jaina’s. “You want to take this?”