Dark Journey (24 page)

She found Jaina inside the rocklike vessel, poking experimentally at a small, crenulated sphere.

“A familiar sight,” Leia commented with a smile. “You tinkering with a ship.”

Jaina pushed away the little globe. “Nothing works the way it should,” she complained. “No wires, no circuits, no cables. What’s on your mind?”

Leia placed her fingers on her temples to pantomime dizziness. “That was a rather abrupt change of topic.”

“Mom,” Jaina said wearily. “Just spill it.”

“All right. Prince Isolder came to see me.” She related his concerns in a few terse words.

“The Yuuzhan Vong are trying to round up all the Jedi,” Jaina reminded her. “My situation hasn’t gotten much worse than it was. Frankly, I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?” Leia looked startled, then her face cleared. “I see. You must have heard about my initial reaction to Anakin’s death. I felt him go, and something in me shattered. Without your father, I might not have found my way back. He has been a rock.”

“Like you were for him after Chewbacca died. It sounds like the two of you are even.”

Leia smiled faintly. “Depends who’s counting. Let’s get back to you.”

“Not exactly the usual graceful segue, Mom.”

“You want blunt?” Leia demanded. “Then how about this: I can’t feel you through the Force. I can sense when you’re nearby, but not much more.”

Jaina blew out a sigh. “Don’t take it personally. I’m shielding. A lot of things have happened recently that I wouldn’t share with anyone I liked, and half the people I despise.”

“That’s a lot to carry alone,” she said, gentle invitation in her tone.

The young woman shrugged.

Leia started to put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, then thought better of it. “So. Tell me about this ship.”

Jaina looked relieved at the change of topic. “We’re just starting to figure out the Yuuzhan Vong technology. I’ve been gathering all the information I can get about the blocking device Danni Quee used over Coruscant.”

“As I understand it, the block is a transmitter of sorts that effectively scrambles the signals sent by their yammosk.”

“That’s right. The yammosk communicates mind-to-mind. It’s hard to block that. The scrambler is a device that makes it difficult for the yammosk to think. A small but extremely powerful comm unit is affixed to a projectile weapon and embedded into the hull of the ship containing the yammosk. I hear Danni’s team prepared scores of these to make sure that one of them got through the shielding singularities and managed to adhere. The comm units were designed to receive an extremely high-frequency signal, one that would set up a vibration throughout the ship and prove impossible for the yammosk to ignore.”

“And that’s how you blocked the tracking capability of this ship?”

“No, there’s an important difference,” Jaina said. “The Yuuzhan Vong ships communicate mind-to-mind with their pilots, who in turn communicate with their commanders through villips. It’s the yammosk that coordinates everything. Although the yammosk communicates through mental projection, much of the incoming information comes in other forms. The yammosk tracks individual ships by their gravitic signatures.”

“Go on,” Leia urged.

“Gravitic signatures,” Jaina repeated. “The Yuuzhan Vong space technology is based on their manipulation of gravity. Small gravitic fluctuations provide motive force. The ships not only move through the use of gravity, but shield and even navigate. It’s incredibly sophisticated, how a ship gathers information about its surroundings.
And each Yuuzhan Vong ship can be identified by other ships through subtle variations in its pattern of gravitic fluctuations. I call that the gravitic signature. Since these ships are living things, I suspect that their signatures are like fingerprints, with no two alike. I haven’t had a chance to test that yet, but I will.”

“That sounds like a dangerous project.”

“Sure, but think how useful that information would be! Right now we can block their yammosk signals—at least, we can until the shapers figure out how to get around the high-frequency distraction. But consider how much more we could do if we could not only block their signals, but send them misinformation?”

“Enter the Trickster,” Leia murmured.

Jaina’s eyes turned feral. “You’ve got it.”

She regarded her daughter thoughtfully. “How do you propose to do this?”

“I’m still working on that,” Jaina admitted. Her gaze strayed to Lowbacca, who was hunched over what appeared to be an enormous villip.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

She caught her mother’s hand as she turned to go. “Thanks, Mom.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t bring up Kyp Durron.”

Leia’s smile took on a sardonic edge. “I never thought you were serious about becoming his apprentice. When your father mentioned in Kyp’s hearing that you weren’t planning to attend Anakin’s funeral, he took after you with all the subtlety of an avenging Gamorrean. I’d assumed the apprentice comment was meant as a jab at him, prompted by his heavy-handedness.”

“Something like that,” she said absently. “Is Dad upset that I almost didn’t go to Anakin’s funeral?”

“Since I nearly had to use a stun baton on him to get
him to attend Chewbacca’s memorial, I think he understands. Just make sure that you do.” She started to add something to that, then changed her mind. “I’d hoped to bring you back to the camp, but I can see that’s not going to happen. You’ve got work to do here. Be careful.”

Jaina promised she would, and held on to her impatient sigh until the brisk click of Leia’s footsteps faded away. She picked up the villip and resumed her attempts to attune it.

A tapping at the open portal distracted her. Muttering imprecations, she stomped toward the door. She was momentarily nonplused to learn that her visitor was Jag.

“I came for an apology,” he said without preamble.

Jaina folded her arms. “Fine, but make it quick. I’m busy.”

“Actually, I came prepared to listen.”

Her eyebrows leapt up. “Then I hope your schedule is wide open, because you’re likely to be standing there for a very long time. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You deliberately tried to provoke an argument.”

“Yeah? So?”

He stared at her for a moment, shoved a hand through his short black hair. “How did an Alderaanian princess end up with such a daughter?”

Jaina’s temper flared. “Do you want the short answer, or do you need someone to explain the details to you with charts and diagrams?”

Spots of color appeared high on his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant, as I’m sure you know.”

His discomfiture was oddly satisfying. If this had been a fencing match, Jaina would have awarded herself a point. Scenting victory, she reached out with the Force and considered the emotions she perceived in the young man’s powerful presence. He was angry, more than a little embarrassed, and not entirely certain about his purpose in coming here.

Uncertainty
, she decided. Of all the emotions she sensed coming from Jag Fel, that one would bother him the most. So she envisioned a thick fog, then sent it toward Jag like a psychic shove. His brow furrowed, and he glanced around in puzzlement.

“Why are you here, Jag?” she asked, just to twist the knife a bit.

He composed himself quickly. “Tenel Ka told me that you will be training with Kyp Durron. Since Kyp flies under my command, may I assume that you’ll be joining the Vanguard Squadron?”

“Tenel Ka was misinformed. So are you, if you think that Kyp does anything for anyone unless it suits him.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Assuming you’re right, I get the impression that Kyp is not the only one playing some sort of game.”

“And winning,” she added smugly.

“Since that perception gives you such apparent satisfaction, I hope the rules of engagement can be modified for solitaire.” He executed a deep and extremely formal bow and strode off.

To her surprise, Jaina realized she was grinning like a well-fed Hutt. Baiting the Chiss commander was the first truly enjoyable thing she had experienced in a long time. Watching his retreat was satisfying, for more reasons than one. Jag Fel was one of those people who looked good from every angle.

She felt Lowbacca’s presence approaching. He came up beside her and grumbled a question.

“I don’t have anything against Jag Fel,” she commented. “He can be a lot of fun, whether he means to be or not.”

Lowbacca made a derisive comment about her idea of fun.

Her bright mood tarnished as she perceived the likely
source of Lowbacca’s concern. “Stow it,” she snapped. “I am in no mood for more dark-side dithering.”

She spun away into the ship. The Wookiee’s furred forehead pulled down in puzzlement as he considered his friend’s outburst. After a moment he shrugged. His uncle Chewbacca had often warned him that humans tended to make everything more difficult than it had to be.

From what he’d observed pass between Jaina Solo and the black-haired pilot, Lowbacca was inclined to agree.

“I don’t believe we finally got this Sith-spawned monstrosity to sit up and say hello,” Jaina murmured, gazing in fascination at the villip she’d finally managed to attune.

Her image stared back at her, twisted a bit and looking as she might appear if viewed through a dense fog and after several shots of Corellian brandy. The lips moved in sync with hers, and the voice, sounding deeper and smoky and somehow menacing, spoke in precise duet with her own. Jaina looked up at Lowbacca and grinned. The Yuuzhan Vong creature twisted the gesture into something distinctly sinister.

Jaina blinked, impressed by the transformation. “Wow. Let’s hope the Yuuzhan Vong see me that way,” she said to Lowbacca, nodding to her villip.

The Wookiee glanced from the reflection to the original and tipped his head quizzically to one side. He shrugged, not seeing much of a difference.

Jaina didn’t take offense, since Wookiee perceptions of individual humans were usually expressed in terms of scent. She smoothed a hand over her villip. When it inverted back into a formless blob, she pushed back from the table and stretched.

“We’ll get back to this tomorrow. I’ve got some arrangements to make before we can take the next steps.”

Lowbacca tipped his head to one side again and grumbled a question.

“I’ll tell you all about it in the morning,” she said as she rose. “Why don’t you get some sleep, pack your gear. If all goes well, we’ll be leaving early. On a completely artificial ship,” she added, knowing what the Wookiee’s next question was likely to be. “Complete with metal and ceramics and computers and all those other lovely abominations.”

The Wookiee whuffed contentedly and picked up the inverted villip. Jaina patted his shoulder affectionately, then hurried from the docking bay to her room in the palace. She could hardly approach the former queen of Hapes seeking a favor wearing a patched mechanic’s jumpsuit. Ta’a Chume had made a point of commenting on Jaina’s appearance, and the way Jaina saw it, showing that she took the older woman’s advice to heart might lubricate the negotiations.

Later, scrubbed and brushed and cinched into a borrowed Hapan gown, Jaina set out to find Ta’a Chume. Gaining audience was far easier than she’d anticipated—the first palace servants she ran into took her directly to the former queen’s residence.

As Jaina followed the servants through gleaming marble halls, she considered the probable significance of their response. Ta’a Chume might not be the reigning queen, but surely there were many demands on her time. The servants would not take Jaina directly to their mistress unless they’d been instructed to do so.

Yes, Ta’a Chume was definitely up to something.

A little smile of anticipation touched Jaina’s face, and a feeling not unlike the surge she experienced when powering up her X-wing for a mission.

That analogy didn’t fade when she entered Ta’a Chume’s chamber. Jaina knew a command post when she saw
one, despite the silks and glitter and art that decorated this one.

The older woman reclined gracefully on a settee, surrounded by perhaps a dozen people. Some wore the uniforms of the royal guard; others scribbled notes onto small datapads. Servants moved quietly about the room, bringing what was needed before they were asked. One of them slipped the cape from Jaina’s shoulders and indicated with a nod that she should approach.

Jaina tilted her chin up and moved into the room. Ta’a Chume noticed her and glanced at a dignified servant.

Apparently that was some sort of signal well known to the retainers, for all bowed deeply and left the room at once. All but one—an extremely handsome, fair-haired young man Jaina remembered seeing at the palace dinner two nights past, never far from the former queen’s elbow. He sent her a long, slow smile and strode over to a side table for a bottle of wine and three goblets.

Ta’a Chume removed her scarlet veil and smiled up at Jaina. “You look lovely, my dear, as I knew you would. Not many young people are willing to take advice. And you came at an excellent time, as I was about to pause for refreshment. You will join me, of course?”

Jaina took the indicated seat and accepted a glass of what appeared to be liquid gold. Small, shining flecks swirled through the effervescent wine. She took a tentative sip.

“Not like that,” the young man objected with a smile. “Let me show you.” He sat down beside Jaina and enfolded her hand and the goblet she held with both of his. “You swirl it around, like so,” he said, moving their enjoined hands in a slow circle. “The art is to awaken it gently and coax warmth into it. Only then is the sweetness revealed.”

Jaina stared at his too-close, too-handsome face for a
startled moment. Her first impulse was to burst out laughing—she’d seen more subtle and convincing performances from Mos Eisley street performers. A glance at Ta’a Chume convinced her that this wouldn’t be wise. The older woman was watching with a faint smile and sharp, measuring eyes.

So Jaina guided the cup down to the table and tugged her hand free. “Thanks, but I never developed a taste for this sort of thing.”

A quick, wry lift to Ta’a Chume’s lips suggested that the vaguely dismissive comment had hit the right note. “You were introduced to Trisdin?”