“Get out of there, Kyp,” Jaina warned.
“And leave you alone? I don’t think so.”
“Turn off the gravitic transmitter—lower left console, yellow dial. Find a ship about the Trickster’s size. Strafe it. I’ll be right behind you.”
A faint smile curved Kyp’s lips. He glanced at the screen and selected a target, then relayed its coordinates to Jaina.
The two X-wings swept toward the frigate analog. Kyp leaned on the splinter-shot trigger. Hundreds of underpowered bolts sprayed the coral ship. A small black hole swallowed most of them, but many of the small lasers found a mark.
So, too, did some of the small concussion missiles Jaina fired.
“The seed’s been planted,” Jaina said. “Let’s go.”
Kyp turned his X-wing into a rolling turn and then shot off toward the mists. The stars stretched into lines, echoing the smile that spread over his face.
The seed had been planted, all right.
Khalee Lah removed the cognition hood and nodded to his secondary pilot. He turned to Harrar and brought himself up at sharp, military attention.
“Eminence. The Ksstarr has been secured.”
The priest rose and followed the warrior to the large bay that filled the entire lower level of the priestship. Warriors ringed the captured ship.
“Open it,” the commander ordered.
Before anyone could respond, the hatch irised open and a small ramp lowered. The heavy tread of a warrior in vonduun crab armor thudded down the ramp.
“What is the meaning of this?” he thundered. His ire faded into slack astonishment as he found himself face-to-face with Khalee Lah.
He did not seem to notice that the commander was equally astonished. The warrior pilot fell to one knee, fists thumping his shoulders. “Command me. My life is yours.”
Harrar moved forward. “You will report to the coralskipper bay. A ship will be given you. This one requires the attention of the shapers.”
The pilot rose, saluted again, and strode away. Harrar dismissed the warriors with a single curt gesture.
The priest turned to Khalee Lah, suppressing an unholy impulse to gloat. “This is not the Ksstarr,” he said with what he thought to be admirable restraint. “Perhaps none of the ships we encountered was.”
“One of them will be,” the warrior snarled. He snapped his gaze up to Harrar’s. “We need more ships. Jaina Solo will be found, and she will be sacrificed. This I swear, by the goddess she blasphemes!”
Jaina adjusted the cognition hood and picked up the standard comm device Lowbacca had installed in the Trickster.
“Get ready,” she warned the pilots flying with her. “I’m sensing a small fleet coming out of hyperspace. They should be within firing range soon.”
“Too vapin’ soon,” another pilot retorted.
A faint, nervous chuckle wafted through the open comm, dying quickly as the Yuuzhan Vong fleet streaked out of the blackness of hyperspace.
Coralskippers veered swiftly away from larger corvette and frigate analogs, scattering into well-disciplined ranks. Behind them were three oddly shaped vessels that defied classification. Starlight gleamed off the polished black facets of a large, gemlike ship.
Jaina’s eyes narrowed. She remembered that ship from Myrkr. It had arrived just as she and the other Jedi escaped. This would be the priestship. Well, it was in for a few surprises.
“Just like in practice,” Kyp’s voice put in.
A metallic beep and whir came over the comm. “More advice from Zero-One?” one of the pilots guessed.
“You might say that. He observed that we can proceed as we did in practice—at least, until the inevitable variables occur.”
“I can live with that,” the pilot shot back. “One droid’s variable is another person’s luck.”
Jaina smiled faintly. In Rogue Squadron, prebattle chatter was strictly discouraged. Kyp maintained that it kept the pilots loose and ready to react. At any rate, it kept them from dwelling too darkly on the battle ahead.
“Why do you call your astromech droid Zero-One?” a low-pitched female voice asked.
The smile fell off Jaina’s face as she recognized Shawnkyr, the Chiss female who flew with Jag. The Chiss woman had maintained her distance, flying every mission and keeping to herself. But her strange red eyes seemed to follow Jaina, echoing and even magnifying Jag Fel’s dubious opinion of the “scruffy Rebel pilot.”
“It’s a bad joke based in old technology,” Kyp explained. “The droid belonged to a Mon Calamari philosopher who was some sort of expert in ancient cultures and technology. Apparently there was a computer system based on binary code, and the Mon Cal was fond of saying, ‘Simplicity can be achieved; life is all just zeros and ones.’ ”
“Binary code. That explains a few things about your droid,” Jaina quipped, and was rewarded with a rude, metallic buzz.
A flare of plasma scorched the sky, falling short of the Hapan fleet.
“First phase is yours, Colonel Fel,” she said.
Jag acknowledged with a double click. The two Chiss clawcraft vectored sharply away, and ten Hapan fighters followed them. They broke up into tight formations of four, each of which singled out a coralskipper for attack. They sent out a coordinated barrage of laserfire—as well as other, smaller projectiles that slipped between the dovin basal’s shielding bursts and embedded deep in the rough coral hull.
“Your turn, Kyp,” she prodded.
The rogue Jedi took three X-wings and peeled away, leaving Jaina’s frigate alone and apparently unprotected. Lowbacca moaned anxiously.
They watched as the coralskippers advanced, battling their way through Jag’s disciplined squadron.
“Most of them should have the repulsors by now. Get ready,” she said slowly, “and … now!”
The Wookiee broadcast a signal to the repulsor devices, and suddenly two-thirds of the attacking coralskippers whirled away, responding to the gravitic messages informing them that the Trickster was now behind them.
“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Jaina murmured.
She ordered the frigate to advance at maximum speed. As they soared into the midst of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet, Lowbacca prepared to activate the small repulsor units attached to the skips.
Streaks of disabling plasma flared toward Jaina—all of them aimed at the underside of her ship. By now she understood the Trickster well enough to follow this strategy. Nom Anor’s ship was heavily armored, with an extremely thick lower hull. Attacks to this section activated the dovin basal, allowing other ships to generate gravitic tractor beams to pull Jaina in.
But Jaina didn’t allow them to distract her dovin basal. She wove the frigate through the battle, twisting and dipping in the wildest and most reckless flight of her life, daring the enemy to follow and fire upon her.
In the confusion that followed, the Yuuzhan Vong ships relied upon their sensors—which in turn directed their fire to whatever ship was currently broadcasting the Trickster’s signal. Not every ship was as well armored as Jaina’s. Two coralskippers went up in bright, brief flames.
Suddenly Lowbacca howled in alarm.
“A glitch?” Jaina yelled back. “No glitches! You can’t broadcast the signal to more than one ship at one time!”
Even as she spoke, the Wookiee’s mistake led to a happy accident—the three Yuuzhan Vong skips receiving the signal converged on one another. A simultaneous eruption of plasma exploded from all three ships, followed by a secondary explosion that reduced them to a massive spray of coral shards.
“Glitches can be good,” Jaina conceded.
As the battle devolved from one level of chaos to another, Harrar’s growing superstition moved toward terrified belief.
The Jeedai twin was performing seemingly impossible feats of movement, strategy, and destruction. With one ship, she evaded their best pilots, destroying some of their swiftest skips. She was nowhere, and everywhere.
All around him, the crew members begi
n to murmur the name Yun-Harla in a mixture of awe and dread. The priest could not bring himself to chastise them for this heresy.
Khalee Lah strode into the control room, his scarred face grim. “How do you wish to proceed, Eminence?”
The priest considered only for a moment. This decision might end his career, but it was the only reasonable option.
“Order the retreat.”
The survivors returned to the Hapan dock, spilling out of their ships with cheers and hoots of laughter, falling into back-thumping embraces. Jaina smiled faintly as she strode down the Trickster’s ramp. The task she had in mind was far from finished, but they’d made a good start.
She was lifted off her feet and spun around in an exuberant circle. Kyp set her down, beaming.
Jaina felt Jag Fel’s approach. Her exuberance dimmed as she turned to face the young colonel.
“That was astonishing. If you ever feel in need of a title, you should consider ‘commander.’ I’d be happy to consider you in that light.”
“Gee, a girl can’t hear that too often,” Jaina said dryly.
A flicker of puzzlement entered Jag’s eyes. Before he could ask, a tall, blue-skinned female strode over.
“No Chiss would fly under this woman’s command,” the Chiss said sternly. “I am surprised, Colonel Fel, to hear you use words such as commander with such imprecision.”
In Jaina’s current mood of dark exhilaration, it was easy to shrug off the Chiss’s comments. It wouldn’t be the first time the Chiss female—not to mention her human commander—had revealed a deeply inbred arrogance. So she didn’t think much of it when Shawnkyr pulled Jag aside to give him a private earful.
Later that night, the pilots were celebrated as heroes in the vast city square. Jag Fel did not attend the ceremony. Jaina smiled and danced, but all the while she wondered what the Chiss pilot had said—and why she cared about any of it.
Far away, in the Skywalker quarters on the hidden Jedi base, Luke settled his sleeping son carefully into his cot. He stood for a long moment, gazing into the tiny face.
A nameless dread seized him, a fear for this child that went beyond any concern he’d ever had over his own life. Luke searched his feeling through the Force, and found that his Jedi instincts on this matter were almost neutral. Ben was in no immediate danger, and the aura of the future did not hang over Luke’s sudden fear. The surge was something different, something that any parent, and perhaps every parent, might experience.
Han and Leia entered the room. Luke’s sister came up beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Parenting is the most terrifying thing I can imagine, even under the best of circumstances,” she said softly. “When you bring a child into dangerous times, it’s even worse.”
Luke felt the grief and guilt lurking beneath her calm tones. No response came to him—what words could mend the loss of two children? So he merely returned her embrace, trusting his brother-in-law to find a way to lighten the moment.
Han cleared his throat and manufactured a wry grin. “I don’t know what you’re worried about, Luke. Anything that wants to get near Ben has to go through Mara.”
“Me?” Mara retorted in kind. “I can just imagine how you’d react if someone intruded on Jaina’s space.”
Han’s face suddenly went blank. His wife pushed away from Luke and rushed over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I remember starting that fight,” he said slowly, “and I remember why. Ta’a Chume’s ambassadors made an offer of marriage on Isolder’s behalf—not for you, Leia, but for Jaina.”
Leia’s eyes flew into rounded moons. “Well, that would certainly explain the mess you made of your knuckles! What did they offer?”
“A trade. We don’t try to talk Jaina out of marrying Isolder, they don’t hand over the refugees.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mara put in. “Jaina would never agree to a trade.”
Now that the first jolt of surprise had passed, Leia wasn’t so sure. “I almost did.”
“What about Teneniel Djo?” Han demanded.
The three Jedi exchanged a concerned look. Mara fielded the question. “Unless her left hook is a lot better than yours, I’d say she’s in trouble.”
TWENTY-SIX
After the ceremony, Ta’a Chume called Jaina aside for a private meeting.
“You’ve done extremely well, but the Yuuzhan Vong will be back. It’s time that you knew my mind. I want Teneniel Djo off the throne, and Isolder to marry a queen capable of ruling during war.”
Jaina shrugged. “Unless you want me to help Teneniel Djo pack, I have no idea why you’re telling me this.”
The old queen sent her an arch, sidelong look. “I’ve often thought of how frustrating it must have been to always labor in the shadow of a famous mother.”
“A torpedo is launched, but no target is in sight,” Jaina observed.
“The target is very obvious. This is a common concern for young women in your position.”
“It’s the sort of thing that crosses your mind, sure, but war has a way of making adolescent angst seem petty.”
“But pettiness does not end with adolescence,” Ta’a Chume went on. “No doubt you’ve noticed Tenel Ka’s recent hostility toward you.”
“We’ve had our differences. There’s a lot of that going around among the Jedi.”
“When did my granddaughter become concerned with philosophy? No, Tenel Ka is prompted by a fear of being displaced by someone more worthy.”
Jaina massaged her temples with both hands, feeling a bit dazed by this surreal conversation. “Someone like my mother, I suppose. Is that what you’re preparing me for? If so, I don’t follow the logic. Instead of Princess Leia’s daughter, I’d be Queen Leia’s heir. Not exactly coming out of the shadows, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
The queen smiled like a sabacc player about to place a winning hand on the table. “You misunderstand, my dear. In these brutal times, Hapes needs a warrior queen—not Teneniel, not Tenel Ka, not Princess Leia. A queen who seeks to understand the enemy, and attack boldly.”
Her meaning hit Jaina like a Yuuzhan Vong thud bug. Unaccountably, she began to giggle. “I can just picture my father’s reaction to this idea. We’re talking about Han Solo here—I’m surprised your ambassadors didn’t have to kill him in self-defense!”
“This is quite serious,” Ta’a Chume insisted.
With difficulty, Jaina composed her expression. “I can see that. I didn’t mean to offend—really, even the suggestion is an enormous honor. But I’m just not interested.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” she echoed. “For starters, I’m too young.”
“Nonsense. You’re eighteen, about the age your mother was when she set her heart on an older man.”
“Speaking of my father, how many days did your ambassadors spend in a bacta tank?” she said pointedly.
“I’m sure he’ll come around to the idea. He is a reasonable man.”
“He’s never been accused of that before,” Jaina retorted. “But that’s neither here nor there. I don’t know about Hapan customs, but no one tells me who to marry. Not my parents, not my friends.”
“And not me,” Ta’a Chume concluded with a faint smile. “At least consider it.”
Jaina promised she would and went to look for Jag Fel, intending to question him about the fight he’d interrupted.
Her initial certainty had faded. She hoped that her father had just been acting predictably, but her danger senses prickled. What if he did not “respond reasonably”? What if Teneniel Djo did not step aside? How far would Ta’a Chume go to get her way?
Since landing on Hapes, Jaina had been convinced that Ta’a Chume had a plan in mind for her. She didn’t want to believe this of Ta’a Chume, despite all she knew and sensed of the older woman.
She couldn’t find Jag anywhere, though she eventually tracked his ship to an extremely inconspicuous corner of the city docks. Nor could she f
ind anyone who had seen him recently.
She considered, briefly, reaching out with the Force to find him. Jacen had gone into deep meditation to find Corran Horn after the attack on Yavin 4, but this had never been her strong suit, and even those Jedi gifted with perception had difficulty finding specific people—unless, of course, they had some deep connection.
She decided instead to seek answers in a Jedi trance, and made her way to the quiet of her palace room.
As she sank deep into thought and out into the current of the Force, an image began to emerge as if from a dark mist. Jaina saw a small, slim girl in a brown flight suit. The girl’s shoulders were hunched in tense anticipation, and she clasped an unfamiliar lightsaber in both hands.
Jaina’s heart jolted as she recognized herself, and understood the context of this vision. And then she was swept deeper, leaving the detachment of the spectator behind as she entered fully into the Force-inspired memory.
A tall, black-clad figure strode toward her, his red lightsaber ready for attack.
The image of Darth Vader did not inspire the fear her infamous grandfather had earned, but a very different sort of terror.
Once again she relived the moment of horrified realization that she’d fought Jacen, cloaked in a holographic disguise.
“Jacen?” she whispered.
The specter advanced. She rose to her feet, reluctantly, and switched on the blade the Shadow Academy Masters had given her. The battle swept over her on dark wings, fierce and fast and desperate. Jaina threw all her skill into parrying the blows and landing none. The nascent skill Jacen had possessed from an early age made this a difficult task.
In this vision, however, she was not a trained Jedi Knight, but a young girl torn from her home by a group of Dark Jedi, forced to fight untrained. Jaina fought not as she now was, but as she had been. In the end, she struck without intending to.
The Dark Lord staggered and went down, his gloved hands grasping at the smoking line Jaina’s lightsaber had seared across his throat.
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