Dark Journey (10 page)

“And what did you do then?”

“We fired a few shots at the frigate, at the underside like they told us. The ship dodged every vaping shot,” he said wonderingly. “I’ve seen better pilots than the Solo girl, but not many.”

Harrar glanced at Khalee Lah. As he expected, the warrior looked deeply disturbed by this testimony to the
Jeedai
twin’s skills and cunning.

“You will be suitably rewarded,” the priest told him.

He sent a meaningful look toward Neeka Sot. The warrior darted forward and leapt into the air. She landed on Vonce’s shoulders, her armored thighs clamped tightly against his neck.

The weight of her bore him down to his knees. Neeka Sot rode him to the floor. Her left boot touched down lightly, and she pivoted hard to that side. Vonce’s neck broke with an audible crackle as he fell. The warrior kept going, moving smoothly, not missing a step as she stalked toward the choking man.

By now Benwick’s face was taking on a purple hue. Neeka Sot kicked his hands away from his throat and
pressed her boot against the side of his neck. When she stepped back, the man dragged in air in a long, ragged gasp.

The female stooped and seized a handful of Benwick’s curly red hair. She dragged him up onto his knees and held him upright by his hair.

Still holding her grip, Neeka Sot circled around to face the human. She jerked his head to one side, and then nodded to the priest.

Harrar took a tiny box from the folds of his head cloth. In it was a bright green creature. He tipped the box and spilled the small servant into the human’s ear.

For several moments Benwick’s shrieks of protest filled the chamber. Harrar held his patience with difficulty. Humans were ridiculously reticent to join with helpful creatures, regarding the sovereignty of their pitifully inadequate bodies as a higher good than greater strength and efficiency.

Benwick struggled and protested as if his opinions might actually make some difference. Finally the process was complete, and the human struggled to his feet.

He clutched his ear and glared at his comrade’s body. “This is your idea of a reward?”

“We will be able to communicate with you more directly and efficiently,” Harrar said. “With this advantage, you will be more likely to capture Jaina Solo than any of your fellow pirates. Now go. Neeka Sot would be most displeased if she thought that my gift was unappreciated.”

The red-haired man sent a look of pure venom at the female warrior, but his bow to Harrar and Khalee Lah was acceptably respectful. He turned and strode down the corridor.

Neeka Sot bowed to Harrar and then dropped to one knee before Khalee Lah. Somewhat mollified by this show of respect, he gestured for her to rise and depart.

The priest turned to study the young warrior. “Your
convictions are as strong as the armor you wear, but not nearly as flexible. You are troubled when your notions are disrupted,” he noted. “But mark well what we have learned here. Jaina Solo may prove a more formidable adversary than we expected.”

“She is an infidel!”

“And we are not,” the priest said pointedly. “Because of our devotion, we should understand how powerful and potent a trickster can be.”

The warrior’s gaze snapped to Harrar’s face. “Surely you do not equate this human with Yun-Harla!”

“That would be blasphemy,” the priest agreed. “I am merely reminding you that Yun-Harla teaches us that all is never quite as it seems. As befits a Trickster, the goddess sends her lessons when they are least expected, and in the most unlikely of circumstances.”

As Harrar spoke, a shiver of premonition tingled through him. Fortunately the warrior seemed not to notice his unease.

“Unlikely indeed!” Khalee Lah agreed. “Nevertheless, only fools underestimate their enemies.”

He bowed and strode from the chamber, leaving Harrar to contemplate the heresy he had just denied.

It was whispered that the
Jeedai
had more in common with the Yuuzhan Vong gods than the warrior caste wished to admit. Rumors spoke softly of a heresy that originated on Yavin 4, where some of the Shamed Ones looked to the
Jeedai
for deliverance.

Harrar wandered over to the viewport and gazed with unseeing eyes at the stars beyond, at the countless worlds awaiting shape and purity. He considered his words to Khalee Lah, and measured his own devotion to the goddess against the warrior’s unwavering faith. And he wondered, as he often did, how one could worship without reservation a goddess who could never be trusted.

A lifetime of travel had spawned in him the longing for a homeworld. Perhaps a little heresy would bring another note of constancy to his life. And after all these many years as a priest, it might be a great relief to be able to believe in
something
.

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!”