“What were you thinking, sir? We can’t handle prisoners like this. You’ve got to report it. If you don’t—”
“I’ve entered people’s minds before and they’ve always been fine afterward,” said Jacen. He seemed surprised that his Force technique had caused so much damage to Habuur, but not sorry. Ben noted that. Ben was forgotten in the brief panic, invisible once again to adults having a fight. “We have to know who she was working with.”
Shevu stood his ground. He didn’t seem in awe of Jacen at all. “You should have left this to me, sir.”
“Time is critical in assassination attempts. They could be out there now.”
“I know that, and I also know that you don’t let prisoners die during questioning. I have to report this.”
“You report it, then, Captain, but right now I have to find out who she was after, and my only lead is some woman called Mirta Gev.”
“There’s the Corellian agent, sir,” Girdun said, straightening up. “He doesn’t know who Habuur was after, only that Corellian Intelligence told him to give her a safe house and provide weapons.”
“Some agent, if he yielded that much.”
“I’m very persuasive, sir,” said Girdun.
Shevu rounded on him. “We don’t want another dead prisoner.”
Jacen looked through Shevu as if he weren’t there. “Get working on him, Girdun, just in case.”
I have to do something. Ben couldn’t bear to think of someone else dying like that woman had. He had an idea: work through the information again, just like the ex-CSF men had told him. It was stupid, because Jacen was smart enough to have spotted anything useful, and the World Brain’s network of Ferals—enslaved spies—knew plenty. If his Force powers couldn’t shake the information out of Habuur, then Ben stood little chance of doing any better. But he decided to use the tricks that ordinary people had to when sorting through information.
“Can I see the datapad, please?” Ben fought to stay calm. He had moved from disbelief to shock. He didn’t know why Jacen had done what he did, but he had to have a reason. It had to be that Ben just didn’t understand it yet. He had to stay calm. But he wanted to run back home to his mother and—yes, his father.
You can’t keep doing that. It’s not a game. You’ve grown up now. You can’t do the things you do and then run home when it gets scary.
Jacen handed him the datapad, suddenly all reason and concern. “You sure you’re all right, Ben?”
“I—I just never saw a dead body like that before.”
“It’s okay. You want to go home? I mean home to your mom. It’s okay if you want to.”
“I’m okay.”
Ben took the datapad and retreated to the nearest empty room. It was the cleaning droid’s station. He settled down on an upturned bucket and tried to look through the data in a sensible and rational way, but it was hard when you’d seen your hero do something terrible.
There. He’d dared think it. Jacen wasn’t perfect.
He flicked through the images in the datapad, hundreds of them, and they were all pictures of vessels just as Shevu had said. He had to scroll through them a number of times before the idea that was nagging away at the back of his mind suddenly became clear and he spotted what was in a lot of the pictures: not every one, but most of them. Sometimes it was just a detail, and sometimes it was almost half the ship, but it was the same class of ship.
It was a YT-1300, an old Corellian transport model that was still a common sight around the Core Worlds. They ran forever. Uncle Han’s Falcon seemed ready to run for eternity. Ben had a flash of insight.
Ben trotted down the corridor and approached Jacen cautiously, hoping that he was right—and hoping that the information might save the Corellian agent from Girdun.
“She was after Uncle Han, Jacen.” Ben handed back the datapad. “That’s the ship they were doing surveillance on. It’s in more than half of the images. They thought he was still here. She was looking for the Falcon.”
Jacen shut his eyes for a moment and swallowed. “I assumed she was in the right place. I assumed, Ben. That’s a lesson for all of us—never assume anything.” He concentrated, eyes closed, holding the datapad in his hands as if he was visioning something in the Force. “She didn’t feel focused on Dad, either.”
I thought you could do anything in the Force, Jacen. Why did you miss that? What blinded you to it?
Jacen opened his eyes again, looking as surprised by the oversight as Ben was.
“You’re right, Ben. I feel it. Well done. So this Mirta Gev might be connected. The woman who’s been trying to contact her.” He fumbled for his comlink, uncharacteristically shaken. “I can tell Dad we’ve got one of the assassins Thrackan sent after him. Now all he has to do is watch out for this Mirta Gev.”
Jacen hugged Ben with genuine relief. Ben could feel it wash over him. Shevu came out of the cell and gave Jacen a completely blank look that Ben could tell didn’t fit at all with what he was feeling, but Jacen was too tied up with calling Uncle Han to take any notice.
Ben knew what Shevu felt, and he felt a little of it, too.
Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like and kill people because you absolutely have to.
Jacen was right. But it was still horrible, and he didn’t think he would ever find it easy. He left Jacen to his call and decided it was time he faced his father.
CORELLIAN ASSEMBLY BUILDING. CORONET: OFFICE OF THE CORELLIAN PRESIDENT.
It was an awfully big office, and offices that big usually meant small-minded men occupied them. Fett remained dismayed by the ease with which the likes of Thrackan Sal-Solo bounced back from disgrace and even treason charges to hold high office again and again. The galaxy was a moral cesspit. It got what it deserved.
“You beat the blockade, then,” said Sal-Solo, leaning back in his splendid apocia chair and holding court in front of the opposition party representatives. He smiled charmingly at Mirta, who didn’t smile back. She didn’t charm easy, that girl. “How would you like to work for Corellia?”
“Specify your requirements regarding Centerpoint.”
“The Alliance sabotaged it but I’m embarking on repairs and it should be fully operational in a few months.” Sal-Solo used the pronoun I a great deal. Fett listened in vain for the word we. “Once it’s online, the Alliance won’t be able to make us disarm. Ever.”
“Then why do you need Mandalorian assistance?”
“Repair crews haven’t been able to land on the station.”
“Try recruiting on Nar Shaddaa. You need smugglers to run blockades, not soldiers.”
“But when we do land crews, we’ll need someone to defend the station. It’s the Alliance’s prime target.”
Fett didn’t care for Sal-Solo. He didn’t care much for anybody, but this man was what Mandalorians called a hut’uun, a coward, the lowest form of life. Mirta had taught Fett a few choice Mando’a words against his will, but it seemed to be a fine language to curse in. “How much?”
Sal-Solo’s eyes flickered as if he had to look to his colleagues for some mandate but was deeply unhappy about being seen to do so. “One million credits.”
“Per man.”
“Yes.”
“Per month.”
“That’s a ludicrous figure.”
“It’s dangerous work.”
“I was thinking of a flat fee. It’s only going to take a few months.”
“We don’t do open-ended contracts. Months turn into years on construction projects.” Fett really didn’t want the work at all, and he knew the commandos didn’t. “And no start date yet. Call me again when you put a crew on the station and we’ll talk. But it’s a million per man per month. If we do it, we’ll be bearing the brunt of Alliance attacks and they’ll probably cream your fleet first, which means we’ll be defending your interests on our own.”
“How many men?”
“That thing’s bigger than the Death Star. A hundred at least.”
F
ett watched Sal-Solo’s face fall ever so slightly. Two of the other three politicians looked grim. The third, Gejjen, seemed perfectly happy. Maybe he knew something about Corellia’s budget that they didn’t.
“I hope you didn’t mind my dragging you all this way for such a brief meeting,” said Sal-Solo, still directing the occasional insincere smile at Mirta. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Always worth visiting Corellia,” said Fett. Yes, always worth getting inside a government building and recording the layout and weak points. Always worth finding out what your opposition buddies want. Always worth tracking down Han Solo and waiting for my daughter to show up. “I might stay a few days.”
The politicians laughed politely.
But not for too long. I need to track down Ko Sai’s research and that clone with the gloves.
“Got time to show me around?” Fett asked. He figured he might as well record what he could. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Shall I do the honors, Mr. President?” Gejjen offered.
That didn’t surprise Fett one bit. He beckoned to Mirta, who walked behind them with sullen disinterest as Gejjen showed Fett the fine state rooms—everything paneled in gilded apocia—and the offices. All the while, Fett’s helmet and gauntlet sensors built up a handy plan of the whole Corellian government complex, even the parts that Gejjen didn’t show him. That penetrating terahertz radar had been a very good investment.
The grounds were beautiful, too. Fett assessed the height of the walls and the nature of the security patrols while admiring a row of trees with pale blue blossoms whose crowns were trimmed into cubes.
“I realize you’re a busy man, Fett,” said Gejjen. “But may I make a proposal?”
Fett kept an eye on Mirta, who also seemed to be checking out the layout of the complex judging by her eye movements. Her Mandalorian father should have taught her the value of a helmet. “Wondered when you’d get around to it.”
“Our President doesn’t enjoy our full confidence. Would you remove him for us?”
I thought you’d never ask. “How permanent?”
“Totally.”
“Who’s paying?”
“All the opposition parties. Together, we can outvote the Centerpoint Party, and without Sal-Solo they can be quite sensible.”
Fett considered the contract. Timing was the issue. He wanted to pursue Ko Sai’s data as soon as he could. And after you see your daughter. Last time you saw her, she was too young to talk. “When?”
Gejjen handed him a tiny datachip. “When can you complete the task?”
“When I’ve checked you out.” Fett tapped the datapad link on his forearm. Yes, the chip was valid. “One million.”
“You people deal in round numbers.”
“I could make it three million. Yes or no?”
“Yes.” Gejjen tapped his own datapad. “There. Half a million up front. Balance on completion. Can we offer you a room? A speeder back to your ship?”
“It’s a nice day,” said Fett. “I’ll walk.”
Mirta matched his pace along the broad boulevard leading from the government building. She had been commendably silent. She was agitated, though: she sneaked a glance at her comlink.
Ailyn still hasn’t responded to her. “Say it,” said Fett.
“What?”
“That I should stay out of Corellian politics.”
“For a million? If you don’t do it, I will. Sal-Solo gives me the creeps.” She slipped the comlink back into her pocket. “When are you going to do it?”
“More pressing business first.”
“What’s more pressing than a million credits?”
Okay, girl. It’s time.
They were on Corellia, and so was Han Solo. Solo was the bait for Ailyn. And one thing Fett could always do was find Han Solo. He could almost think like the man now.
And he was getting tired of a kid thinking she could fool him.
“I’m here to find Han Solo.” He could see her expression even though he wasn’t looking directly at her; the helmet display could take an image from a wide angle. She blinked rapidly, but the rest of her face was utterly composed. “Because Ailyn’s looking for him, and when I find him, I find her.”
Fett didn’t break his stride. His joints ached and he wanted to sit down and rest, but he kept walking.
“So I don’t get paid,” she said.
“I’ll pay you because I said I would. But don’t play me for a fool.”
She shrugged unconvincingly. “So shoot me.”
“You’ve still got your uses.”
“How’d you know Solo is here?”
“I know Solo. And my sources are better than anyone’s. He’s here.”
“Ah,” said Mirta. “Ah.”
She’d get paid. Felt couldn’t understand what was worrying her. He always kept his word.
chapter sixteen
Mom, Dad, please don’t ignore this message. We’ve caught Thrackan’s assassin because she made the mistake of looking for you on Coruscant. Her name is Ailyn Habuur and she isn’t going to trouble you any longer. But she might have a female accomplice called Mirta Gev. That’s all we know right now, but stay sharp. Mom, Dad, I love you. Please try to understand what I have to do.
—Jacen Solo, encrypted comlink message to his parents
JACEN SOLO’S APARTMENT, ROTUNDA ZONE.
“I came as soon as you called.”
Lumiya was waiting for Jacen, looking for all the world like an insurance saleswoman with a taste for couture clothes rather than a Sith adept.
“It’s been a difficult day,” he said, and grabbed his holdall to pack a few things. That much of him was still Jedi: he owned almost nothing except the kit he needed as a pilot and a colonel. “I need to discuss some things with you.”
“I could sense your anxiety.”
“Luke is aware you’re here. He doesn’t know where you are exactly, but he feels some echo of your presence.”
“You mustn’t be alarmed for me. But we have to accelerate your progress toward full Sith knowledge in case Luke finds me and prevents me guiding you.”
“Are there techniques to teach me?”
“Not techniques so much as awareness.” Lumiya spread her arms and the room was suddenly both calm and charged with dark energy. It felt to Jacen like sitting in the company of dangerous men in a beautifully appointed office, a veneer of grace over savagery. “Technique is for apprentices. You know all you need to know. It’s within you. You only have to become aware of it and embrace it.”
“You make it sound like pain.”
“It will be.”
“You know what it is, then. Tell me. Or warn me.”
“No, I don’t. I can only guide you toward awareness and encourage you to step across the line. It’s a different rite of passage for everyone who attempts it, because it’s about breaking their own personal limits.”
The room was soothing, an illusion that was almost a meditation chamber. The light around them was deep blue and distorted as if filtered through water. Jacen thought it was ironic that her power and energy could only find an expression in illusion, useful though that was. She could change nothing permanently.
He could, though.
“I killed someone today.”
“You’re a soldier. Soldiers have to be prepared to kill.”
“I killed in a way I didn’t think I ever could. I’m appalled at what I can do. I don’t enjoy this.”
“If you enjoyed it, Jacen, you would not be the one destined to become the Sith Lord.”
The logic was both seductive and horribly true. He was now on a path of pain; he had to do what he dreaded most. That was why it was becoming easier each day, although it hurt so much. It was right. It was exactly what Vergere had taught him when he was in the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong. He had to suffer to become the “glorious creature,” the shadowmoth who had to struggle and panic to emerge strong from its cocoon, to be changed—into what he needed to be. A
Sith Lord.
There had never been an easy path destined for him to fulfill this prophecy. Vergere had known that. She had known, even then.
“You knew my grandfather. Did he have to pass this way?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he succeed?”
“He wanted power. Not political power, but the power to shape reality for those he loved. It diverted him and it flawed a great man. He also lacked your breadth of education in the Force. That’s my belief.”
Jacen thought of his astonishing lapse in failing to spot the simple truth that Ailyn Habuur had been sent to assassinate his parents, not Cal Omas. It was the kind of thing he should have been able to divine from the Force through a number of techniques, and yet he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen it coming.
I’ve been blinded by personal preoccupations, by family ties. That must be the reason.
“Sith lore teaches that we shouldn’t avoid love and anger,” said Jacen. “How can that be true if it was Anakin Skywalker’s flaw?”
“You don’t have to avoid it. You have to be able to pass through it and draw strength from it. Look at the Jedi now, all with their families and children, all fettered by them. Luke’s little wife ignores what she feels about you and looks for any excuse not to believe it because she puts her son’s happiness first. Luke doesn’t confront you because he fears alienating his wife and son. If they faced those fears and drew on them, they might well thwart our plans. But they won’t.”
Jacen knew she was right. “And Ben?”
“Ben will make a fine apprentice for you once he stops being defined by his father’s name and resenting it. He’s already on the path.” Lumiya lowered her voice as if afraid to make the next suggestion. “You must become a Jedi Master.”
“Isn’t that what I don’t need?”
“Ben needs you to be his Master so he knows he’s made the break from his father’s control. The Jedi council needs to show it values what you do for the Galactic Alliance if it doesn’t want to be seen as undermining government, because there are always those who will use that against them.” She paused. “Besides, why shouldn’t you be a Master? If what you’ve learned over the last few years doesn’t qualify you, what does?”