Star Wars - [New Jedi Order 10] - Dark Journey (by Elaine Cunningham)

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Han Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (male human)
Harrar; priest (male Yuuzhan Vong)
Isolder; Hapan prince (male human)
Jagged Fel; commander, Chiss squadron (male human)
Jaina Solo; Jedi Knight (female human)
Khalee Lah; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)
Kyp Durron; Jedi Master (male human)
Leia Organa Solo; Republic ambassador (female human)
Lowbacca; Jedi Knight (male Wookiee)
Ta'a Chume; former Hapan queen (female human)
Tenel Ka; Jedi Knight (female human)
Teneniel Djo; Hapan queen (female human)
Trisdin Gheer; courtesan (male human)
Tsavong Lah; warmaster (male Yuuzhan Vong)
Zekk; Jedi Knight (male human)
ONE
A sunrise corona limned one edge of the planet Myrkr, setting its vast northern forests alight with a
verdant glow. Viewed from space, the planet appeared as lush and green as Yuuzhan'tar, the long-lost
homeworld of Yuuzhan Vong legend.
Two Yuuzhan Vong males stood at the viewport of a priestship, deep in contemplation of the scene
before them. One was tall and gaunt, with a sloping forehead and sharp, aristocratic features scarred by
many acts of devotion. These marks, and his cunningly wrapped head cloth, identified him as a priest of
high rank. His companion was younger, broader, and so physically imposing that a first glance yielded no
perceptible boundaries between armor and weapons and the warrior who wore them. He struck the eye
in a single blow, leaving an indelible impression of a complex, living weapon. His countenance was
somber, and there was an intensity about him that suggested movement even though he stood at
respectful attention.
The priest swept a three-fingered hand toward the scene below. "Dawn bright death of mortal night," he
recited.
Harrar's words followed the well-worn path of proverb, but there was genuine reverence in his eyes as
he gazed upon the distant world. The young warrior touched two fingers to his forehead in a pious
gesture, but his attention
was absorbed less by the glowing vision of Myrkr than by the battle raging above it.
Silhouetted against the green world was a fist-sized lump of black yorik coral. This, an aging worldship
housing hundreds of Yuuzhan Vong and their slaves and creature-servants, looked to be nothing more
than lifeless rock. But as Harrar's priestship drew closer, he could make out signs of battle-tiny coral
fliers buzzing and stinging like fire gnats, plasma bolts surging in a frantic, erratic pulse. If life was pain,
then the worldship was very much alive.
"Our arrival is timely," the priest observed, glancing at the young warrior. "These young Jeedai seem
determined to prove themselves a worthy sacrifice!" "As you say, Eminence."
The words were polite, but distracted, as if the warrior gave scant attention. Harrar turned a measuring
gaze upon his companion. Discord between the priest and warrior castes was growing more common,
but he could discern nothing amiss in Khalee Lah.
The son of Warmaster Tsavong Lah stood tall among the Yuuzhan Vong. His skin's original gray hue was
visible only in the faint strips and whorls separating numerous black scars and tattoos. A cloak of
command flowed from hooks embedded in his shoulders. Other implants added spikes to his elbows and
to the knuckles on his hands. A single short, thick horn thrust out from the center of his forehead-a
difficult implant, and the mark of a truly worthy host.
Harrar knew himself honored when this promising warrior was assigned to his military escort, but he was
also wary and more than a little intrigued. Like any true priest of Yun-Harla, goddess of trickery, Harrar
relished games of deception and strategy. His old friend Tsavong Lah was a master of the multilayered
agenda, and Harrar expected nothing less from the young commander.
Khalee turned to meet the priest's scrutiny. His gaze was respectful, but direct. "May I speak freely,
Eminence?"
Harrar began to suspect Tsavong Lah's purpose in sending his son to a Trickster priest. Candor was a
weakness-a potentially fatal one.
"In this matter, consider the warmaster's judgment," he advised, hiding words of caution in seeming
assent.
The young male nodded solemnly. "Tsavong Lah entrusted you with the sacrifice of the twin Jeedai. The
success of his latest implant is still in the hands of the gods, and you are his chosen intercessor. What the
warmaster honors, I reverence." He concluded his words by dropping to one knee and lowering his head
in a respectful bow.
This was hardly the message Harrar intended to send, but Khalee Lah seemed content with their
exchange. He rose and directed his attention back to the worldship.
"In plain speech, then. It appears the battle is not going as well as anticipated. Perhaps not even as well
as Nom Anor reported."
Harrar's scarred forehead creased in a scowl. He himself held a dubious opinion of the Yuuzhan Vong
spy. But Nom Anor enjoyed the rank of executor and was not to be lightly criticized.
"Such words veer dangerously close to treason, my young friend."
"Truth is never treason," Khalee Lah stated.
The priest carefully weighed these words. To the priesthood of Yun-Harla and among certain other
factions, this proverb was an ironic jest, but there was no mistaking the ringing sincerity in the younger
male's tones.
Harrar schooled his face to match the warrior's earnest expression. "Explain."
Khalee Lah pointed to a small, dark shape hurtling away from the worldship at an oblique vector to the
priestship's approach. "That is the Ksstarr, the frigate that brought Nom Anor to Myrkr."
The priest leaned closer to the viewport, but his eyes were not nearly as keen as Khalee Lah's enhanced
implants. He tapped one hand against the portal. In response, a thin membrane nictitated from side to
side, cleaning the transparent surface. The living tissue reshaped, exaggerating the convex curve to
provide sharper focus and faint magnification.
"Yes," the priest murmured, noting the distinctive knobs and bumps on the underside of the approaching
ship. "And if the battle against the Jeedai is all but won, as Nom Anor reported, why does he flee? I must
speak to him at once!"
Khalee Lah turned toward the door and repeated Harrar's words as an order. The guards stationed there
thumped their fists to opposite shoulders and strode off to tend their commander's bidding.
The swift click of chitinous boots announced a subordinate's approach. A female warrior garishly
tattooed in green and yellow entered the room, a crenellated form cradled in her taloned hands. She
bowed, presented the villip to Harrar, and placed it on a small stand.
The priest dismissed her with an absent wave and began to stroke the sentient globe. The outer layer
peeled back, and the soft tissue within began to rearrange itself into a rough semblance of Nom Anor's
scarred visage. One eye socket was empty and sunken, and the bruised eyelid seemed to sag into the
blue crescent sack beneath. The venom-spitting plaeyrin bol that had once distinguished Nom Anor's
countenance was gone, and evidently he had not yet been permitted to replace it.
Harrar's eyes narrowed in satisfaction. Nom Anor had failed repeatedly, but never once had he accepted
responsibility for his actions. In a manner most unworthy a Yuu-zhan Vong, he had foisted blame upon
others. Harrar
had suffered a temporary demotion for his part in a failed espionage scheme; Nom Anor had merely
received a reprimand, even though his agents played a significant role in the plot's failure. In Harrar's
opinion, the blurred face testified that the gods' justice would, in time, be served.
The image of Nom Anor, imprecise though it was, nevertheless managed to convey a sense of
impatience, perhaps even anxiety.
"Your Eminence," Nom Anor began.
"Your report," Harrar broke in curtly.
Nom Anor's one eye narrowed, and for a moment Harrar thought the executor would protest. As a field
agent, Nom Anor was seldom required to answer to the priesthood. His silence stretched beyond the
bounds of pride, however, and Harrar began to fear that Khalee Lah's suspicions had fallen short of grim
truth.
"You have lost?"
"We have losses," Nom Anor corrected. "The voxyn queen and her spawn were destroyed. Two Jedi
prisoners held on the worldship were freed. They escaped, as did several of the others."
Harrar looked to Khalee Lah. "You have sighted the infidels' escape ship?"
The warrior's eyes widened, and for a moment his scarred face held horrified enlightenment-a fleeting
emotion that swiftly darkened to wrath.
"Ask who flies the Ksstarr the executor or the infidels?"
This possibility had not occurred to Harrar. He quickly relayed the question through the attuned villip.
"Some of the Jedi managed to commandeer the frigate," Nom Anor admitted. "We are pursuing, and feel
confident that we will add the capture of this ship to our other victories."
Capture. Harrar's gut tightened, for that single word confirmed the identity of the escaped Jedi.
"Capture!" Khalee Lah echoed derisively. "Better to reduce the defiled thing to coral dust! What
Yuuzhan Vong pilot would wish to enjoin with an infidel-tainted ship?"
"Several Jedi fell to our warriors," Nom Anor continued, oblivious to both the priest's epiphany and the
warrior's scorn. "The younger Solo brother was slain. The warmaster will be pleased to learn that Jacen
Solo is alive, and our captive."
"Jacen Solo," Harrar repeated. "What of Jaina Solo, his twin?"
The silence held for so long that the villip began to invert back to its original form.
"We are in pursuit," Nom Anor said at last. "The Jedi will not be able to fly a ship such as the Ksstarr
well or long."
"It is an outrage that they fly it at all!" Khalee Lah interjected.
Harrar sent him a stern glance and then turned back to the villip. "I assume that you will not take this
Jacen Solo with you as you pursue his twin. It is said the Jeedai can communicate with each oth er over
long distances, without either villips or mechanical abominations to aid them. If this is so, he will surely
warn his female counterpart of your approach."
Khalee Lah sniffed scornfully. "What manner of hunter hangs bells around the necks of his bissop pack?"
This remark, impolitic though it was, surprised a smirk from Harrar. In his opinion, Nom Anor had
become tainted by the infidels' decadence and weakness. The image of the executor plunging through
muck and swamp water on the heels of a pack of fierce lizard-hounds was both incongruous and
appealing.
The executor took time to consider Harrar's observation. "You have a military escort?"
"Twelve coralskippers accompany the priestship, yes. Do you wish us to break off in pursuit of Jaina
Solo?"
The villip face-shape rolled downward and back in a semblance of a nod. "As you rightly observed, the
risk of contact between these twin Jedi is considerable. I will take Jacen Solo directly to the warmaster."
"And so the glory goes to the executor, while his failure is thrust upon the priest," Khalee Lah said,
snarling.
Harrar turned away from the villip. "You are learning," he observed softly. "But for the moment, let us
disregard Nom Anor's ambitions. You were assigned to accompany me to Myrkr, no more. It is my task
to oversee the sacrifice of the twin Jeedai. I must pursue. You are not obligated to accompany me."
The warrior didn't require time to consider. "This Jeedai, this Jaina Solo, flies upon a living vessel. That
offends me. She escaped a worldship. That should not have been possible. She is a twin, which is rightly
reserved as the province of the gods, or a portent of greatness. That is blasphemy. I would pursue her to
the most wretched corner of this galaxy if it meant adhering myself to a pair of molting grutchins."
"Forcefully argued," Harrar said dryly. He turned back to the waiting executor. "We will retrieve Jaina
Solo."
"You hesitate. Are you certain you can succeed?" "It is the warmaster's command," Harrar said simply.
He glanced at Khalee Lah and added with a touch of asperity, "And a holy crusade."
His sarcasm was lost on Khalee Lah. The warrior inclined his head in grave agreement, and his face
shone with something Harrar had occasionally glimpsed, but never quite embraced.
A sudden chill shuddered down the priest's spine. Fervor such as Khalee Lah's had always struck Harrar
as
vaguely dangerous. The warrior's faith held a shaper's art, imbuing Harrar's facetious words with the sly
irony the priest had always associated with his goddess.
And was it not said that Yun-Harla reserved her most cunning tricks for those who served her best?
TWO
Anakin is dead. Jacen is gone.
These thoughts resounded through Jaina Solo's benumbed senses, echoing through an inner silence as
profound as that of the watchful stars.
These thoughts drowned out the sounds of battle, and the frantic, running commentary of the seven young
Jedi who struggled to fly the stolen Yuuzhan Vong ship. Like her companions, Jaina was battered and
filthy from days of captivity, and from a battle that had lasted too long and cost too much.
Only nine Jedi had fought their way out of the world-ship and onto this smaller ship, bringing with them
the body of their young leader. The survivors had taken the Yuuzhan Vong frigate analog quickly, with
astonishing ease. Jaina had a dim recollection of searing anger and killing light, of her friend Zekk pushing
her away from the pilot's seat and into the Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of a gunner's chair. She perched
there now on the edge of the too-large seat, firing missiles of molten rock at the coralskippers pursuing
the Jedi and their stolen ship.
Jaina watched with a strange sense of detachment as the alien ship released plasma at her command, as
the death of coralskippers and their Yuuzhan Vong pilots was painted in brief, brilliant splashes against
the dark canvas of space. All of this was a fever dream, nothing more, and Jaina was merely a character
caught in her own nightmare. Jacen is gone.
It didn't seem possible. It wasn't possible. Jacen was alive. He had to be. How could she be alive if
Jacen was not? Her twin brother had been a part of her, and she of him, since before their birth. What
they were could not be separated from what they were to each other.
Her thoughts tumbled like an X-wing in an out-of-control spiral. Jaina's pilot instincts kicked in, and she
eased herself out of the spin.
Reaching out through the Force, she strained beyond the boundaries of her power and training as she
sought her brother. Where Jacen had been was only blackness, as unfathomable as space. She went
deep within, frantically seeking the place within her that had always been Jacen's. That, too, was veiled.
Jacen was gone. Jaina did not feel bereft, but sundered.
A burst of plasma flared toward the stolen ship. Jaina responded with one of her own. It streamed
toward the incoming plasma bolt like a vengeful comet. The two missiles met like waves from opposing
oceans, casting sprays of bright plasma into the darkness.
Zekk threw himself to one side, straining the umbilical on the pilot's gloves in his attempt to pull the ship
aside from the killing spray.
Fortunately for the Jedi, their Yuuzhan Vong pursuers were also forced to turn aside. This bought them a
moment of relative peace-no immediate danger, no obvious target.
Jaina twisted in her seat until she could see the world-ship where Anakin had fallen, where Jacen had
been abandoned. It seemed odd, and somehow wrong, that such a terrible place could be reduced to a
small lump of black coral.
"We'll be back, Jacen," she promised. "You hold on, and we'll come for you."
/'// come for you, she added silently. She would go after Jacen alone, if it came down to that, as Anakin
had ; gone to Yavin 4 to rescue Tahiri.
Now Anakin was dead, and a battered and heartbroken Tahiri watched over his body. The small blond
girl blazed in the Force like a nova-Jaina couldn't help but feel her anguish. The bond between Anakin
and Tahiri was different from that shared by twins, but perhaps no less intense.
The realization hit her like a thud bug. Anakin and Tahiri. How strange-and yet it felt right and perfect.
Tears filled Jaina's eyes, refracting an incoming streak of molten gold into lethal rainbows. In the pilot's
seat, Zekk muttered a curse and wrenched the frigate's nose up and hard to port. The alien ship rose in a
sharp, gut-wrenching arc. Plasma scorched along the frigate's underside, sheering off the irregular coral
nodules with a shrill, ululating screech.
Jaina jerked her left hand from its living glove and fisted away her tears through the cognition hood that
covered her face. Meanwhile the fingers of her right hand slid and circled as she deftly brought her target
into focus. She jammed her left hand back into the glove and squeezed it into a fist, releasing a burst of
plasma at the attacking coralskipper-an instant before it launched a second plasma.
Jaina's missile struck the Yuuzhan Vong ship in that minuscule interval between shielding and attack.
Shards of black coral exploded from its hull, and the snout heated to an ominous red as molten rock
washed over it. Cracks fissured through the Yuuzhan Vong pilot's viewport.
Again Jaina fired, and again, timing the attacks with skill honed through two long years and too many
missions. The coralskipper's projected gravity well swallowed
A small voice nudged into Jaina's consciousness, barely audible over the screaming dive and the thrum
and groan of the abused ship. In some dim corner of her mind huddled a small figure, weeping in anguish
and indecision. Jaina slammed the door and silenced her broken heart.
"I need Ganner to take over for me," she said as soon as she could speak.
A look of concern crossed Tenel Ka's face, but she shrugged off her restraints and rose. In moments she
returned with the older Jedi.
"Someone has to take my place as gunner," Jaina explained. She stood up without removing either the
gloves or hood. "No time for a learning curve-better work with me until you get the feel of it. The seat's
big enough for both of us."
After a brief hesitation, Ganner slipped into the chair. Jaina quickly settled into his lap.
He chuckled and linked his hands around her waist. "This could get to be a habit."
"Hold that thought," Jaina told him as she sighted down an incoming skip. "It'll keep your hands busy."
A surge of annoyance came from Zekk, but Jaina understood Ganner's flirtation for what it was. Ganner
was tall, dark, and so absurdly handsome that he reminded Jaina of the old holovids of Prince Isolder.
The scar across one cheek only served to heighten the overall effect. When Ganner turned on the charm,
his pheromone count probably rivaled a Falleen's, but Jaina knew a shield when she saw one. Not long
ago, Jacen had disguised his thoughtful nature with labored jokes. Perhaps it was best to leave Ganner's
defenses safely intact.
"Put your hands in the gloves and rest your fingers on mine," she directed.
As Ganner wriggled his hands into the flexible gloves, Jaina reached out for him through the Force. She
lacked
Jacen's empathy, but could convey images to Ganner using her own Force talent.
As she aimed and fired, she formed mental pictures of what she saw-the battle as viewed through the
greatly expanded vision granted by the cognition hood, the blurry concentric circles that made up the
targeting device. Through the Force she felt the grim intensity of Ganner's concentration, sensed a mind
and will as focused as a laser. Soon his fingers began moving with hers in a precise duet. When she
thought him ready, she slid her hands free, then tugged off the hood as she eased out of his lap. She
pulled the hood down over Ganner's head. The Jedi jolted as he made direct connection with the ship.
He quickly collected himself and sent plasma hurtling to meet an incoming ball. The two missiles collided,
sending plasma splashing into space like festival fireworks.
Ganner's crow of triumph was swallowed by the ship's groan and shudder. Several bits of plasma had
splashed die frigate despite its shielding singularity and Zekk's attempts at evasion.
"Tenel Ka is right," Jaina said. "Let me have her, Zekk."
The pilot shook his hooded head and put the ship into
a rising turn. "Forget it. You're in no condition for this."
She planted her fists on her hips. "Yeah? Everyone
here could use a few days in a bacta tank, you included."
"That's not what I meant. No one could be expected
to fly after losing... after what happened down there,"
he concluded lamely.
Silence hung between them, heavy with loss and pain and raw, too-vivid memories.
Then Jaina caught a glimpse of the memory that most disturbed Zekk-an image of a small, disheveled
young woman in a tattered jumpsuit, hurling lightning at a Yuuzhan Vong warrior. A moment passed
before Jaina
recognized the furious, vengeful, bloodstained face as her own.
Suddenly she knew the truth of her old friend's concern. Zekk, who had trained at the Shadow Academy
and experienced the dark side firsthand, was as wary of it as Jacen had been. In taking the pilot's chair,
Zekk hadn't been considering her loss, her state of mind. He simply didn't trust her.
Jaina braced herself for the pain of this new betrayal, but none came. Perhaps losing Jacen had pushed
her to some place beyond pain.
She brought to mind an image of the molten lightning that had come so instinctively to her call. She
imbued it with so much power that the air nearly hummed with energy, and the metallic scent of a
thunderstorm seemed to lurk on the edge of sensory perception. She projected this image to her old
friend as forcefully as she could.
"Get out of the seat, Zekk," she said in cool, controlled tones. "I don't want to fry the controls."
He hesitated for only a moment, then he ripped off the hood and rose. His green eyes met hers, filled with
such a turmoil of sorrow and concern that Jaina slammed shut the Force connection between them. She
knew that expression-she'd seen it in her mother's eyes many times during the terrible months that
followed Chewbacca's death, when her father had been lost in grief and guilt. No time for this now.
Jaina slid into the pilot's seat and let herself join with the ship. Her fingers moved deftly over the organic
console, confirming the sensory impulses that flowed to her through the hood. Yes, this was the
hyperdrive analog. Here was the forward shield. The navigation center remained a mystery to her, but
during their captivity Lowbacca had tinkered a bit with one of the worldship's neural centers. The young
Wookiee had a history of taking
on impossible challenges, and this task lay right along his plotted coordinates.
Suddenly the shriek of warning sensors seared through Jaina's mind. A chorus of wordless voices came
at her from all over the ship.
The details of their situation engulfed her in a single swift flood. Several plasma bolts streamed toward
them, converging on the underside of the ship-so far, the favored target. Coralskippers had moved into
position aft and above, and others were closing in from below and on either side. Another ship came
straight on, still at a distance but closing fast.
No matter what she did, they could not evade the disabling barrage.
THREE
Jaina held course, flying straight toward the incoming plasma bolts. At the last possible moment, she
threw the vessel into a fast-rolling spiral. The plasma flurry skimmed along the whirling ship, not dealing
much damage to any one part. When the scream of plasma grating against living coral ceased, she fought
the ship out of the roll and kept heading straight toward the oncoming skip.
"Lowbacca, get up here," she shouted. "Clear me a lane, Ganner."
The Jedi gunner hurled plasma at the coralskipper directly in their path. As its dovin basal engulfed the
missile in a miniature black hole, Ganner released another. His timing was perfect, and the skip dissolved
in a brief, bright explosion.
Jaina quickly diverted the dovin basal to the front shield, and instinctively flinched away as a spray of
coral debris clattered over the hull. She glanced back over her shoulder in Zekk's general direction.
"Zekk, you play dejarik much?"
"Play what?"
"That's what I thought," she muttered. While Zekk had concentrated on avoiding each immediate attack,
the yammosk-coordinated fleet had been thinking several moves ahead, and had neatly maneuvered the
stolen ship into a trap. She'd never been fond of dejarik or any
of the other strategy games Chewbacca had insisted upon teaching her, but for the first time she saw the
Wookiee's point.
Lowbacca padded up and howled a query.
"Get on navigation," Jaina said, jerking her head toward a rounded, brainlike console. "Hyperspace jump.
Destination anywhere but Myrkr. Can you input coordinates?"
The Wookiee settled down and regarded the biological "computer," pensively scratching at the place on
one temple where a black streak ran through his ginger-colored fur.
"Now would be good," Ganner prompted.
Lowbacca growled a Wookiee insult and tugged the cognition hood down over his head. After a
moment, he extended one of his retracted climbing claws and carefully sliced through the thin upper
membrane. With astonishing delicacy, he began to touch neural clusters and rearrange slender, living
fibers, grunting in satisfaction with each new insight.
Finally he turned to Jaina and woofed a question.
"Set course for Coruscant."
"Why Coruscant?" Alema Rar protested. Her head-tails, which were mottled with darkening bruises and
practically quilted together with bacta patches, began to twitch in agitation. "We'll be shot down by
Republic guards long before we reach the planet's atmosphere, unless the Peace Brigade gets to us first!"
"The Peace Brigaders are enemy collaborators. They have no reason to attack this ship," Ganner
countered. "On the other hand, the Republic has no reason not to."
Tenel Ka shook her head sharply, sending her disheveled red-gold braids swinging. "Sometimes a live
enemy is worth a hundred dead ones. A small ship like this offers no real threat. The patrol will escort us
in,
hoping to capture a live ship and curious to know the motives of the crew."
"That's my thinking," Jaina agreed. "Also, Rogue Squadron has a base on Coruscant, and there are
people in the control tower who know all the pilots' quirks. If I can put this rock through some distinctive
maneuvers, there's an outside chance that someone might recognize me. How's it coming, Lowbacca?"
The Wookiee made a couple of deft adjustments, then signaled readiness by bracing massive paws on
either side of the console and uttering a resigned groan.
Jaina kicked the ship into hyperdrive. The force of the jump threw her back into the oversized seat and
strained the umbilicals attaching her hood and gloves to the ship. Plasma bolts spread out into a golden
sunrise haze; stars elongated into brilliant lines.
Then silence and darkness engulfed the Jedi, and a floating sensation replaced the intense pressure of
sub-light acceleration. Jaina pulled off the hood and collapsed back into her seat. As the adrenaline surge
ebbed, Jaina felt the returning tide of grief.
She sternly willed it away and focused on her fellow survivors. The nervous twitching of Alema Rar's
head-tails slowed into the subtle, sinuous undulation common to Twi'lek females. Tenel Ka shook off her
flight restraints and began to prowl about the ship-a sign of restlessness in most people, but the Dathomiri
woman was most at ease when in motion. The Wookiee resumed his study of the navibrain. Ganner
pulled off the cognition hood and rose, smoothing his black hair carefully back into place. He headed
toward the back of the ship, most likely to check on Tahiri.
Jaina jerked her thoughts away from that path. She did not want to think about Tahiri, did not want to
envision the girl's vigil, or-
She sternly banished the grim image these thoughts evoked. When Zekk approached the pilot's seat, she
sent him a small, grateful smile. And why not? He was her oldest friend and a timely distraction-and he
was a lot easier to deal with than most distractions that came her way these days.
Then his green eyes lit up in a manner that had Jaina rethinking her last observation.
"For a while, I thought we'd never see home again," Zekk ventured. He settled down in the place Ganner
had vacated and sent Jaina a wink and a halfhearted grin. "Should have known better."
She nodded, accepting his tentative apology-and it was very tentative indeed. Her old friend tried to
shield his emotions, but his doubts and concerns sang through.
"Let's get this over with now, so we aren't tempted to break up into discussion groups during the next
crisis. You didn't want me to fly the ship because you don't trust me," she stated bluntly.
Zekk stared at her for a moment. Then he let out a long, low whistle and shook his head. "Same old
Jaina- subtle as a thermal detonator."
"If you really believed that I haven't changed, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Then let's not. This isn't the time."
"You're right," she retorted. "We should have settled this days ago-all of us. Maybe then we wouldn't
have come apart down there."
"What do you mean?" he said cautiously.
"Oh, come on. You were there. You heard Jacen obsessing over Anakin's motives and methods, trying
to make him question himself at every step and turn. You saw what happens when Jedi stop focusing on
what we're doing to quibble about how and why."
A small, humorless smile touched her face. "It's like
the old story about the millitile who could walk just fine until someone asked how he kept track of all
those legs. Once he started thinking about it, he couldn't walk at all. Most likely he ended up as some
hawk-bat's dinner."
"Jaina, you can't blame Jacen for what happened to Anakin!"
"I don't," she said quickly. Since this was Zekk, she added, "At least, not entirely."
"And you can't blame yourself for Jacen, either."
That, she wasn't ready to concede and didn't care to discuss.
"I was working my way toward a point," she told him. "Jacen was distracted by this nebulous vision of a
Jedi ideal. And you were distracted by your fear of the two Dark Jedi we freed."
"For good reason. They took off and left us. They hurt Lowbacca and kidnapped Raynar. For all we
know, they've killed him."
"They'll answer for all of that. Can I make my point?"
One corner of Zekk's lips quirked upward. "I was wondering when you'd get around to it."
The wry comment was so familiar, so normal. For a fleeting moment, Jaina remembered who they'd been
just a few years ago-a fearless, confident survivor and a girl who ran toward adventure with heedless joy.
Two more casualties of the Yuuzhan Vong.
"It's like this," she said quietly. "For the last two years I've listened to Anakin and Jacen debate the role
of the Jedi and our relationship to the Force. In the end, what did any of that amount to?"
Zekk leaned forward and rested one hand on her shoulder. She shook him off before he could speak
empty words of consolation, or repeat cyclic arguments she'd heard too many times between Kyp
Durron and her uncle Luke.
"Anakin started to figure it out," she went on. "I sensed it in him after Yavin Four. He learned something
there the rest of us don't know, something that could have made all the difference, if only he'd had time to
figure it all out. If there is such a thing as destiny, I think that was Anakin's. He has always been different.
Special."
"Of course. He was your brother."
"He is-" She broke off abruptly, shook off the stab of grief, and made the necessary adjustment. "He was
more than that."
Jaina took time to consider her next words. She wasn't introspective by nature; this had been in her mind
since Anakin's exploits on Yavin 4, and she still couldn't get her hands around it.
"With Anakin's death I lost a brother, but the Jedi lost something I can't begin to define. My feelings tell
me it's something important, something we lost a very long time ago."
For a long moment Zekk was silent. "Maybe so. But we have the Force, and each other."
Simple words, but with a layer of personal meaning offered like a gift, if only Jaina chose to take it.
"Each other," she echoed softly. "But for how long, Zekk? If the Jedi keep having 'successes' like this last
mission, pretty soon there won't be any of us left."
He nodded, accepting her evasion as if he'd expected it. "At least we're going home."
She managed a faint smile, and privately marked yet another difference between her friend's perceptions
and her own. Zekk had been born on Ennta and was brought to Coruscant when he was eight years old.
He made his own way in the rough lower levels of the city-planet. Jaina's parents had kept living quarters
in the city's prestigious towers for most of her life, but she had spent sur-
prisingly little of her eighteen years amid Coruscant's artificial stars.
To Jaina, Coruscant wasn't home. It was merely the next logical move on the dejarik board.
FOUR
Within the confines of his XJX-wing, Kyp Durron stretched his lanky form as best he could. He settled
back into the groove he'd worn into the seat over the course of two years and more battles than he
would ever admit to fighting.
"How many has it been?" he wondered aloud.
A light on his console flashed, signaling a communication from Zero-One, the battered Q9 droid Kyp had
recently bought cheap from the estate of a Mon Calamari philosopher.
IS THIS A REQUEST FOR DATA OR A RHETORICAL QUESTION?
Kyp smiled briefly and shoved a hand through his too-long dark hair. "Great. Now even droids are
questioning my motives."
NOT AT ALL. IN GENERAL, THE DISCUSSION OF PHILOSOPHY IS READILY
DISCERNIBLE FROM A CALL TO ACTION.
"I've noticed that," he said dryly.
TO AVOID FUTURE MISUNDERSTANDING, HOWEVER, PERHAPS YOU SHOULD GIVE
DIRECT ORDERS IN SECOND PERSON IMPERATIVE; FOR EXAMPLE, "SET
COORDINATES FOR THE ABRE-GADO SYSTEM," OR "DIVERT POWER TO THE REAR
SHIELDS."
"How about 'Report to the maintenance bay for a personality graft?' " Kyp supplied helpfully.
A moment passed. IS THAT AN ORDER OR AN INSULT?
"Whatever works."
Kyp left Zero-One to ponder this and turned his attention to the task ahead. He took point position. On
either side of his X-wing flew six pristine XJ fighters. These were Kyp's Dozen, the newest members of
an ever-shifting fellowship of heroes or rogues or villains, depending upon whom you asked.
Kyp checked the navigation screen for their bearings. "Still playing philosopher, Zero-One?"
I FAIL TO COMPREHEND THE UNDERLYING SEMANTIC MEANING OF YOUR QUERY.
"It was what you might call 'a hint.' Stop gazing at your... central interface terminal and tend to
astronavigation. We should be coming up on our hyperspace coordinates before long."
AS I AM WELL AWARE. IT IS POSSIBLE TO THINK AND ACT AT THE SAME TIME, the
droid responded.
"Apparently you haven't attended any of the recent Jedi meetings," Kyp said.
YOU ARE THE ONLY JEDI WITH WHOM I INTERFACE. UNFORTUNATELY, I WAS NOT
PROGRAMMED TO EXPERIENCE GRATITUDE.
Kyp grinned fleetingly. "Was that a non sequitur or an insult?"
WHATEVER WORKS.
"I take less abuse from the Vong," Kyp complained as he switched his comm to the designated open
channel.
"Not long now, Dozen. Our primary mission is to protect the ship carrying the Jedi scientists. We're flying
in groups of four. Each lieutenant will name command targets. I'll assess the situation once we emerge in
Coruscant space and revise our strategy as needed."
"Hard to believe that Skywalker's Jedi are finally getting off their thumbs," observed Lan Rim, Kyp's
latest lieutenant.
"You're forgetting about Anakin Solo," put in Veema, a plump and pretty woman who was edging into
her fifth decade of life. Kyp liked her-at least, as much as he allowed himself to care personally about any
of his pilots. Her sense of fun was legendary among certain circles, and her warm, inviting smile had
probably started more tavern brawls than a bad-tempered Gamorrean. Anyone who crossed Veema,
however, soon realized that she had dimples of duracrete and a talent for holding grudges that a Hutt
might envy.
"Last I heard, Anakin went to the Yavin system, alone, against orders from Skywalker and Borsk
Fey'lya," Veema continued. She let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a purr. "Young, handsome,
reckless, and maybe a little stupid-definitely my kind of man! Care to introduce us, Kyp?"
"Why should I? I've nothing against the kid."
"He's not the only one taking action," observed Octa Ramis, the only other Jedi in Kyp's group. A
somber woman whose solid frame spoke of her origin on a high-gravity world, Octa had been shifting to
an increasingly militant position for some time. She was the first Jedi to join forces with Kyp-that is, if you
didn't count Jaina Solo's temporary and Force-assisted cooperation at Sernpidal.
"I heard about a few hotheaded Jedi who take, shall we say, a very proactive approach to the Peace
Brigade," Lan Rim said.
"What if they do?" Octa said, snarling. "Who cares what happens to those Sith-spawned cowards? Jedi
for Jedi-I've no quarrel with that!"
"But others do," Kyp observed with a sigh. "I know
the three Lan's talking about. Maybe I should try to reel them in a bit."
He switched off the comm and addressed his astromech droid. "What would that make me,
Zero-One-the voice of reason?"
I AM NOT PROGRAMMED TO APPRECIATE IRONY.
"Bring on the Vong," Kyp muttered as he switched back to his squadron.
"Talk to me, Dozen."
"For highest kill count, I've got two credits on Veema," Lan Rim offered. "No one can go through males
of any species like she can!"
The woman's laughter tinkled, but Kyp heard the edge beneath the shimmering sound. "Better plan on
using some of your winnings to buy me a drink."
"You're on. Anyone else want to get in on this?"
The chatter flowed over Kyp, fading into perceived static as he reached out with the Force, trusting his
instincts and emotions to take him through the coming battle, as they had so many times before.
"You're pretty quiet, Kyp," a disembodied voice observed.
"Only on the outside."
He spoke without thinking. His comment was met with a moment's silence, then some uncertain laughter.
None of the pilots had actually seen Kyp's darker side unleashed, but all of them had heard stories. No
one dared speak of what he'd been, and what he'd done.
But it was always there.
"Five credits on Octa," Kyp said lightly. "And if you beat Veema's score by more than three, Octa, I'll
throw in Zero-One as a bonus."
"I'll keep the margin down to two," Octa said somberly.
The Q9 unit let out an indignant bleep. This drew a burst of genuine laughter-partly because Octa's
riposte
broke the sudden tension, and partly because every pilot in the squadron recognized her humor as
unintentional.
Most commanders Kyp knew wanted their pilots silent and focused as they approached battle. Kyp
encouraged banter. It kept their minds occupied and allowed emotions to rise to the surface. He didn't
know of any pilots-not live ones, anyway-who thought their way through a battle. The speed and ferocity
of ship-to-ship combat was a matter of instinct, reflex, and luck. No one would ever mistake Han Solo
for a philosopher, and he'd been flying longer and better than anyone Kyp knew.
When it came right down to it, what was there to think about? The Yuuzhan Vong had to be stopped it
was that simple. After today's fight was over, let the dithering old folks debate how the enemy had
managed to move on Coruscant. He'd be off fighting the next battle .
摘要：

DRAMATISPERSONAEHanSolo;captain,MillenniumFalcon(malehuman)Harrar;priest(maleYuuzhanVong)Isolder;Hapanprince(malehuman)JaggedFel;commander,Chisssquadron(malehuman)JainaSolo;JediKnight(femalehuman)KhaleeLah;warrior(maleYuuzhanVong)KypDurron;JediMaster(malehuman)LeiaOrganaSolo;Republicambassador(femal...

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