Dark Journey (19 page)

It would appear that the starched and polished Chiss commander had brought him out on a hunting expedition. This had possibilities.

A bolt of greenish light streaked toward Kyp. He dodged the missile and returned fire.

The agile Hornet rolled aside and came back with a second attack. Two more ships circled around behind Kyp as he and his first opponent dipped and spun in a deadly dance. He grimaced as a laser bolt exploded against his shields.

Even with the Force guiding him, Kyp was hard-pressed to match several faster, more agile ships. “Zero-One, get a lock on the forward ship’s maneuvering jet.”

Icons flashed onto the targeting screen and zoomed into tight focus. When the droid beeped a confirmation, Kyp fired.

A blue laser bolt leapt toward the Hornet, skimming past the hull and slipping just under the deflector-shield
projector. A brief spark announced the hit, and the Hornet listed heavily to one side.

Kyp spun away and came back at the damaged ship from above. He fired several laser streams at the ship’s insectoid head. The first few shots took out the Hornet’s shields. With half its maneuvering capability gone, the ship presented an easy target, and the pilot knew it.

The cockpit broke away as the pilot evacuated. The Hornet tumbled slowly away, as dead as the decapitated insect it resembled. Kyp pulled his X-wing into a sharp, rising circle, coming completely around and firing as he swooped down toward the remaining Hornets.

His attack sheared through one of the folded wings, and another ship went into a spiral. Kyp juked sharply to avoid return fire from one of the two surviving Interceptors.

With one hand he kept a steady barrage of laserfire pummeling the nearest ship, focusing on the Hornet’s starboard power generator. He sighted down the riveted joints where two curved segments met in the center of the ship. Still working the laser cannon, he launched a proton torpedo and then reached out with the Force.

The Hornet rolled sharply to port to evade—just as Kyp nudged the torpedo’s flight slightly aside. The missile struck the ship dead center and shattered the segment’s joinery. Centrifugal force and the evasive turn did the rest, and the rear half of the ship ripped away. From above, it appeared that a pair of gigantic, invisible hands had seized the ship and twisted it into two parts.

Kyp turned his attention to his fourth and final opponent. To his surprise, Jag Fel was already on it. The younger man’s clawcraft led the ship in a dizzying chase, openly taunting it to employ its turbocharged cannons. Several times the Hornet spat green fire. Each time Jag deftly evaded.

The Chiss ship spun away from the Hornet and began
to climb, positioning for a diving attack. Kyp realized the strategy and came in from the opposite side. The two ships dived toward the Hornet, showering the midsection with laserfire.

Red heat began to pulse through the rear fuselage. The two scouts veered aside as the ship exploded from within.

Smart move
, Kyp congratulated silently. Turbocharged laser cannons were as much a liability to the Hornets as they were an advantage—even a few shots could render the big guns unstable. Still, Jag Fel’s approach to the problem was as crazy as any airborne stunt Kyp had ever pulled.

But the young commander seemed unimpressed with his own daring. He was already on the comm, scanning for any ship close enough to pick up the evacuated pilots.

Once Jag had ensured retrieval of the surviving pirates, the two scouts fell into the side-by-side formation the Chiss-taught commander seemed to favor.

“So,” Kyp said conversationally, “is that your idea of practicing maneuvers?”

For several moments the only response to his rhetorical question was the faint crackle of an open comm. “You approached the Hornets without waiting for my command. Is this common practice?”

“For me? Absolutely.”

“I was referring to the New Republic in general. Gathering information is a vital function, but to whom should I report? I’m accustomed to clear chain of command, and the efficiency that results. While I understand that the fall of Coruscant dealt an enormous blow to the New Republic, the survivors seem fractured and contentious.”

“No argument here,” Kyp said, “but for the record, I haven’t been using the term
New Republic
for years. A government is like a fighter ship: after the first couple of decades it picks up a few dings and loses its shiny new look.”

“Point noted. Given my upbringing, I frequently have to remind myself not to refer to you as the Rebel Alliance,” Jag said with a touch of wry amusement. “I don’t wish to offend, but it’s a mystery to me that you managed to defeat the Empire.”

“We have our moments,” he said in a dry tone. “The Republic’s utter lack of direction is actually a clever ploy to confuse our enemies.”

“And that works?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, no.”

Jag lapsed into thoughtful silence. “I appreciate your candor, and your willingness to hear me out. Would you be offended by a personal question?”

“That seems unlikely. Go ahead.”

“Why is Jaina Solo so angry at you?”

An irrational flicker of irritation shimmered through the Jedi Master. “Oh, that. It’s a long story with a number of sordid chapters. Why not ask her yourself?”

“Two reasons. First, I don’t wish to intrude upon personal matters. Second, I suspect that you
did
resent that question,” observed Jag, “and I suspect that sending me to Jaina is your way of ensuring that I’m suitably punished for my presumption.”

This canny observation annoyed Kyp, and then amused him. “Depends what you consider personal. She helped me bring the Republic into a strike on a Yuuzhan Vong shipyard. The Vong were building new worldships there. I wanted her to believe they were superweapons. Once convinced, she was very convincing.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?” he repeated. “That’s it? You’re not going to lecture me on the evils of aggression?”

Jag considered this for a moment. “I was raised and trained among the Chiss. To them, first-strike tactics are unthinkable, dishonorable. We are defenders, not aggressors. But in this conflict, can we really argue that
carefully considered aggression is different from holding back until the enemy strikes first? We know from the onset that battle is inevitable.”

Another convincing voice
, Kyp mused. It was difficult to miss the spark of interest between Jag Fel and Jaina. The two of them, with a little guidance and a nudge or two in the right direction, could become a very potent force. He briefly pondered the possibilities of this, and the logistics.

“Your father’s a baron, right?”

“He is. Why do you ask?”

“Diplomatic vessels have been coming in from all over the cluster. Word has it there’s a state dinner at the palace this evening. If you want to talk to Jaina, that title might get you invited.”

“The palace?” Jag echoed incredulously. “She is not with her parents?”

“Not from what I hear.”

A long, astonished sigh hissed through the comm. “That, I do not understand. I also lost two siblings in battle. At such times, family provides much-needed support.”

“She has friends in the palace. Jedi,” Kyp specified. He let that remark lie where it fell.

“I see.”

Jag’s cool tone suggested that enough had been said on this subject. Kyp considered and discarded several nextstep remarks, searching for the words most likely to move the young pilot in the desired direction. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“If you mean the faithful development of inborn abilities and adherence to the duty at hand, then yes, I do.”

“Close enough. Have you considered the possibility that the people in this galaxy simply don’t know what to do about the Yuuzhan Vong, and never will? That perhaps the answer will come from an outsider’s perspective?”

“I hadn’t thought in quite those terms, no.”

Kyp considered the wreckage of the Hornet Interceptors and the skill and conviction of the young commander from the Unknown Regions. “Well, maybe you should.”

Tenel Ka made her way across the ridge of the palace armory’s steeply sloped roof, running lightly and in perfect balance. The sprawling inner courtyard lay below her, and from this vantage she commanded a clear view of the west gate. Several guards were stationed on either side of the portal, which was used only by members of the royal family. Her father was due to return shortly, and a strong premonition prompted Tenel Ka to set her own watch.

She sped up as she approached the end of the roof and hurled herself into the air. Soaring over the three-meter divide without benefit of her Jedi powers, she landed in a crouch on the lower, flatter roof of the palace kitchens.

As she sprinted toward the western edge of the roof, she scanned the gardens and pens below. Guards walked the parameters of the palace walls, vigilant against threats to the royal family, but from time to time they seemed to forget how many royals had fallen to members of their own household. Other than the garden maze, the kitchen wing offered the best potential ambush sites. It was also conveniently situated right next to the west bailey.

The brazen keening of dugglehorns cleaved the air, announcing Prince Isolder’s approach. Tenel Ka crouched and crept cautiously to the edge of the roof.

Several cooks stood at a long wooden table, transforming
a small mountain of game birds into the main course for the evening feast. The steady thump of the cleaver set a counterpoint to the chatter of the young boys who plucked the feathers. Beyond this scene of domestic slaughter lay the herb garden. Two men in loose Hapan tunics picked bitter herbs for salad. Both wore hoods to protect their skin from the bright afternoon sun. More servants went about other tasks—picking berries for pastries, lugging foaming pails of cream from the milk house, scything down clusters of nuts.

Tenel Ka’s cool gray eyes darted over gardens and outbuildings, looking for anything that seemed out of place. All appeared to be as it should be. She watched as one of the older men climbed the stairs to the blizcot, a large birdhouse that enticed the plump little bliz to enter and nest. Their tiny, pink-shelled eggs were a Hapan delicacy and would certainly be included on the evening menu. The old man climbed slowly, hauling himself along the railing with one hand and clutching an egg basket with the other.

A very large egg basket.

The Jedi warrior ripped a flat stone tile from the roof and rose to her feet. Three things happened in rapid succession:

The west gate opened to admit Isolder. The “old man” whipped a blaster from the oversized basket and pointed it at the prince. Tenel Ka hurled the tile with all her strength, sending it spinning toward the assassin.

Her aim held true, and the tile struck the arm holding the weapon with a force that spun the assassin around and sent him tumbling down the stairs. The shot went wild, pinging down into the orchards, sending golden fruit plummeting and launching birds into startled, squawking flight.

The palace guards were upon the assassin before he’d reached the bottom. Ubris, an impressive female warrior
who’d been with the prince since before Tenel Ka was born, hauled the assailant to his feet and jerked off the hood.

A hush fell over the courtyard. The assassin was a young woman, and her face was familiar to them all.

Tenel Ka climbed down a trellis and stalked toward the defiant woman. She stopped a few paces away and gazed into a face very like her own.

“Greetings, cousin,” she said coolly. “Aunt Chelik must be desperate for the throne if she is willing to sacrifice her own daughter to get it.” Without waiting for a response, she turned to the guard and nodded. Ubris hauled the traitor away.

Tenel Ka took a long breath, for she understood the sentence awaiting her blood kin. An attack against a member of the royal family was punishable by death, but recently this law had proved an insufficient deterrent. At this rate, the prison yards would soon rival the palace kitchens for legal carnage!

She turned away and went to greet her father. The prince stood inside the west bailey, listening to his bodyguard’s description of the near escape. He was a tall man with a fighter’s disciplined physique. Pale gold hair was pulled severely back into a single thick braid, framing a face that was exceptionally handsome even by Hapan standards. From a few paces away, he didn’t look much older than Ganner Rhysode. Only the fine lines around his eyes and the weariness in them suggested the weight of his years.

The gaze he turned upon Tenel Ka was both proud and somber. “Princess, they tell me that I owe you my life. Clear thinking, quick action—essential qualities for a ruler.”

Tenel Ka suppressed a sigh and turned up her cheek for her father’s kiss. “Welcome home. You had a profitable trip?”

“Walk with me, and I’ll tell you about it.” He smiled down at her. “But please—not on the rooftops.”

They left the kitchen area for the protected inner gardens. Even there, Tenel Ka kept alert, scanning the arbors and alcoves for signs of movement, comparing the length and shape of shadows to the objects that cast them.

“You know of course that your mother has opened Hapes to refugees,” Prince Isolder began.

Tenel Ka’s face clouded with dismay at her father’s formal, distant tone. Things between her parents had been strained for quite some time.

“The people displaced by war need a haven,” she observed.

“I don’t disagree. But the queen mother’s decision ensures that we will face the invaders. I’ve spent much of the last year finding and studying what information we have been able to amass. The more we understand these Yuuzhan Vong, the better our chances of survival.”

It was on the tip of the Jedi woman’s tongue to say that she knew far more about the invaders than she wished to.

“You were among them for a time,” he went on. “Tell me what you learned.”

One grim picture after another flashed into Tenel Ka’s mind: scenes from the terrible days of captivity in the Yuuzhan Vong worldship, the battle that followed, the agony of leaving behind the young man she had loved since girlhood. What could she tell her father of this?