Sacrifice Page 6

  Alema lifted the hatch. It sprung away from the casing to form an awning. She peered inside.

  “She took everything from us.” Her voice was muffled by the hatchway. Then she pulled out again. “We’re alone. She’s made us solitary.”

  Oh, give me strength, she’s rambling again. “Who did?”

  “Leia Solo. She took our lekku, and so we can’t communicate fully with others. She caused the destruction of our nest, too. And she took what attracted others to us, our beauty.” Alema had been thinking, then: she’d chewed over Lumiya’s challenge and worked out what really drove her. “We’re lonely, and we can never touch the world properly again.”

  Lumiya had been trained never to drop her guard, and pity wasn’t something she was accustomed to feeling. She didn’t quite feel pity for Alema, but she did get a sudden and painful glimpse of her loss, and it must have been a particularly agonizing one for a Twi’lek; without both lekku intact, she would have difficulty communicating with others of her kind, feeling pleasure—even loving someone. The head-tails were part of her nervous system. And how much more in need of intimacy was she now, after becoming part of a close-knit Killik nest?

  Alema did have her reasons for wanting retribution, then. Lumiya was careful not to let that brief flood of pity start her thinking about what normality she, too, had lost.

  “I’m sorry,” Lumiya said, and meant it. “Now use that to remain focused, and to bide your time.”

  Alema looked at the courier shuttle and seemed to be somewhere else entirely. Then she gazed down at the deck of the hangar and began swaying a little as if listening to music. She raised one arm—the other hung limp, paralyzed by Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber—and seemed to be going through the motions of a dance, turning slowly and with difficulty on her crippled foot.

  For a moment Lumiya thought it was one of her affectations. Then she realized that it was quite genuine: Alema was remembering her past, and what she could no longer do.

  “We were a dancer,” she said wistfully, but she was talking to herself. “We loved to dance.”

  Lumiya tried to think of all the things she had once loved to do, in the days before she entered Imperial service, and remembered none of them. “Get a move on, dancer,” she said. “You can start by tracking the Anakin Solo.”

  The past didn’t matter, any of it. There was only the future.

  SANVIA VITAJUICE BAR, CORUSCANT

  Mara swirled the sediment of groundapple and dewflower juice around her glass and drank reluctantly as Kyp Durron watched. He clearly had something to say that he didn’t want to bring up in the Jedi Council Chamber—or in front of Luke.

  And Ben still hadn’t called in. The Anakin Solo had arrived back at Corsucant two days earlier and there was no sign of Ben. Somehow she’d hoped he would have made his way to Jacen even if he wasn’t feeling communicative. Just feeling that he was alive and unharmed wasn’t enough.

  He was her little boy. She didn’t care how many Centerpoints he could take out. This was her kid, and she couldn’t stand it. Sometimes, when she looked at their lives through the eyes of a normal mother for a brief moment, she was horrified.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Kyp said, “I’d think you were avoiding me. The whole Jedi Council, in fact.”

  “Just busy. But you called me here for a reason, and it wasn’t to boost my antioxidant levels.”

  “Well, maybe I’m just observant, but we have an out-of-control Jedi on the loose. Maybe the Council can help you with that. Y’know, combined efforts of the most experienced Jedi in the galaxy?”

  “What if I say Luke and I can handle it on our own?”

  “Oh, family business …”

  “That. And the fact that not all the Council is on the same side, so we don’t want to open a rift,” Mara said.

  “Been there—”

  “—done that. Put yourself in Corran’s position. Would you feel comfortable helping the chief of the GA’s bullyboy police after what he’s been doing to Corellians and even his own parents? Better we clear up our own family mess.”

  “I’m surprised that Luke’s tolerated Jacen this long,” Kyp commented. “I wasn’t entirely joking when I said we should make Jacen a Master. People tend to stop throwing rocks when they’re inside the tent.”

  “I think now might not be the best time.”

  “Is Luke embarrassed he’s got problems within his own family?”

  Mara almost blurted out that she’d stopped Luke from acting more than once and now she bitterly regretted it, but that wasn’t wholly true. “If I tell you that I’ve identified the root cause and I’m going to deal with it, will you back off?”

  “I note the pronoun.”

  “Luke knows what I’m doing.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m going to kill Lumiya.”

  “That removes the threat to Ben, but how does it deal with Jacen?”

  “She’s infiltrated the GAG. I don’t know who her insiders are, but we have to assume she can get at Jacen, too. She might even influence him. She’s got to go.”

  “What took you so long? The old cyborg must be running low on lube oil by now. You could take her anytime.”

  “Luke tends to favor taking people alive and trying to talk them around.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Kyp that Luke had had a civilized chat with Lumiya on the resort satellite. Touched her—even when she had her lightwhip in the other hand. He said her intentions felt peaceful. What was he thinking? “But she’s not so decrepit, believe me. I won’t have an easy time of it.”

  “I’ll help you if you want backup.”

  “I don’t think I’ll need it, but thanks.” Mara couldn’t avoid the next question. “What are the rest of the Council members saying?”

  “That you need to get a grip on this. We talk, you know.”

  “So we have a Jedi Council with the Skywalkers, and a shadow Council meeting without them … sounds like a fault line’s forming.”

  “Well, you decided to go whack a Sith without consulting us …”

  Mara tried to see the double standard, spotted it easily, and ignored it. “If I’d stood up in Council and said, Hey, this lunatic is threatening my kid and keeps coming after my husband, so I’m going to take her head off—you really think the other members would have nodded politely and voted on it? There are folks who think like Luke does, that the Council doesn’t condone assassinations, and that would make that fault line into a big rift faster than a greased Podracer.”

  Kyp inspected the depths of his juice. He’d ordered something thick and opaquely orange that he didn’t seem to be enjoying. “So you’re saving us from the moral dilemma.”

  “If that’s the way you want to see it.”

  The vitajuice bar was quiet and smelled unappetizingly of wet raw greenery like a flower shop. Maybe that was why it was so quiet; it made it a good place to meet. Nobody knew them here. Most of the customers seemed to be Ementes, probably because they could guarantee getting totally fruit-based nourishment here, prepared right in front of their six eyes. Ementes weren’t big on trust, least of all in Coruscant’s catering industry.

  How much do I expect everyone to trust me?

  Mara struggled with not telling her husband the entire truth while she confided in a friend. That was the problem: they were all friends, the whole Jedi Council. The Galactic Alliance Senate could tear chunks out of itself and not feel it, because it was thousands of rivals and enemies and even strangers, but the Council—they’d grown up together in many cases. They’d fought together. They were family, and not just because they were Jedi.

  Cilghal often cited the ancient rule of no attachments, but the Council was one big attachment in its own right.

  Mara realized she didn’t like dewflower, mused on ways to get around a lightwhip, and then flinched as her comlink chirped. She pulled it from her belt and raised it to see Ben’s face.

  “Mom, I just landed,” he said. “I—”

&
nbsp; “Ben? Are you at the military port?”

  “No, the civilian one. Galactic City. Look, I’m sorry that—”

  “Stay right where you are. Don’t move, okay? I’ll meet you at Arrivals Seven-B, okay?”

  “Mom—”

  “No arguing this time. Be there.” Mara snapped the comlink closed and grabbed her jacket. “If you’re thinking of telling Luke, Kyp, give me a head start.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of getting involved,” he said, shrugging. “I’m glad Ben’s okay. Just remember that kids like clear limits. He’s still too young to set his own.”

  “Tried that,” Mara said, and strode for the doors. “And he set his own just fine.”

  She worked her way through the crowds at the spaceport, sensing Ben’s location. There were black-suited GAG personnel operating openly now, on foot patrol in the arrivals hall with blue-uniformed CSF officers. They were pretty conspicuous for secret police. Jacen was adept at hearts-and-minds operations; he seemed to like to have his deterrents visible. It certainly seemed to reassure the public, despite the black visors that gave the GAG troopers the facelessly dispassionate air of battle droids.

  And suddenly there was Ben, sitting on the white marble pedestal of the ten-meter abstract statue of Prosperity that formed one of the supports for the central dome of the roof of the arrivals hall. Prosperity, Progress, Culture, and Peace.

  Peace. Fat chance.

  Ben looked like any other fourteen-year-old kid, drumming his heels idly against the marble, staring intently at his datapad and keying in something one-handed. A GAG trooper passed him. Ben looked up, nodded in acknowledgment, and got a respectful nod back.

  If Mara needed a reminder that Ben was anything but a normal teenager, that was it. He was a junior lieutenant. He commanded troopers like that. Her son helped run the secret police.

  But she’d learned the most silent and efficient ways to kill the Emperor’s enemies by Ben’s age, and Luke had been just five years older when he joined the Rebellion.

  What did we expect to give birth to, a librarian?

  “Hi, Mom.” Ben slid the datapad into his jacket pocket. He had that tight-lipped look that went with bracing for a dressing-down. “You’re mad at me, right?”

  Mara paused, wanting at the same time to yell at him for terrifying her and to grab him in a ferocious hug. She settled for swallowing both reactions and ruffling his hair. He’d never live it down back at the barracks otherwise.

  “You couldn’t call us?” she said. “You couldn’t even tell Jacen where you were?”

  Ben frowned slightly. “I’m sorry. I was on a mission and I didn’t want to give away my location.”

  “We can talk about it later. Let’s have lunch.” She gestured toward the exit. “It’s okay. Your dad will be happy just to see you back safe. No yelling. I promise.”

  Ben slid off the pedestal in uncharacteristic silence, and they walked to the speeder platforms. Mara kept a careful eye on the crowd, not entirely sure if she’d recognize or even sense Lumiya if she was around. Lumiya might even send one of her minions, and she had people within the GAG. The biggest threat might be one of Ben’s own troopers.

  “What are you frightened of, Mom?” Ben asked.

  Mara didn’t take her eyes off the crowds around them. She scanned constantly, as she had been trained to do. “Okay, you might as well know. Lumiya is trying to kill you.”

  Ben gave a little grunt that might have been disbelief and seemed to mull over the idea rather than show alarm. “Because she’s still got this vendetta with Dad?”

  “Mainly because you killed her daughter.”

  “Uh … okay, I’ll take her word for it.”

  Mara shielded Ben as he got into the speeder. It was always a vulnerable moment: she’d taken a few targets as they ducked into vehicles, caught off-balance for a moment. The hatches closed with a sigh of air, and she turned to look at him closely.

  “I mean it, Ben. She’s dangerous and she’s subtle, so until we neutralize her, you have to be on your guard. She’s got connections within the GAG. It could be anyone.”

  “If she was going to have this spy of hers in the Guard kill me, she’d have done it by now.” He slouched in the passenger’s seat. “But I’ll be careful. Wow, this is getting messy. What with Jacen on Fett’s list for killing his daughter, and me killing Lumiya’s … I suppose that’s what the job’s about, isn’t it? You collect enemies. Hey, the boys have got a bet going on when and how Fett’s going to come after Jacen.”

  Mara wasn’t sure if Ben was making light of the threat for her sake or just indulging in normal teenage dismissal. Fett was the least of her worries. “And … have you placed your bet?”

  “Oh, Jacen can take him. But it’s kind of weird that Fett hasn’t made a move. The longer he waits, the more people get freaked, I suppose.”

  “If Fett comes for Jacen,” she said, “let him handle it. Okay?”

  The speeder climbed into one of the automated skylanes and headed for the Rotunda Zone. Ben gazed out of the side screen in silence.

  “So can you tell me what this mission was?” Mara asked.

  Ben did that three-second pause that meant he was framing his words carefully. “I had to bring back a prototype vessel. I wasn’t in any more danger than I could comfortably handle.”

  That was a relief. It was just an errand, although why Jacen hadn’t known about it baffled her. “And you missed your birthday celebration.”

  “You know how folks say that you get to a point in life when birthdays don’t matter? That’s how it felt.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s only when you get a lot older. Not fourteen.” If anything could break Mara’s heart, it was that: Ben’s childhood had passed him by. “Next year, I promise, we’ll have a family get-together. Really mark the day.”

  “You think the war will be over by then?”

  “If it’s not, we’ll still have a party. All of us.”

  “Uncle Han and Aunt Leia, too? Even after I tried to arrest Uncle Han?”

  And that was the bizarre reality of a civil war: a teenage boy sent to detain his aunt and uncle, and then fretting over whether they’d attend his next birthday party. Mara sometimes tried to add up the days she’d lived that weren’t about killing and warfare, and there were so very, very few. She wanted a different future for Ben.

  “Yes, even after that,” she said. “Ben, does Jacen know you’re back?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t volunteer any more. “It’s okay. I report back for duty at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. I haven’t gone AWOL.”

  “I’ll have one last try, then. Ben, I worry about you. Your dad and I would really sleep a lot better if you left the GAG and came on missions with us.”

  Mara braced for incoming. But Ben thought visibly for a while, and when he spoke his tone was soft and unsettlingly adult—unsettlingly old.

  “Mom, have you ever had to do something you didn’t want to do, but knew you had to?”

  Mara certainly had, so many times that she took it for granted. And at any given time, whether working for the Empire or for the New Republic, or whatever the stang her paymaster called itself, she’d always thought it was right.

  “Yes, sweetheart, I have,” she said, and knew she now had no moral high ground from which to look down upon her son, or anyone else for that matter. “And the problem was that when I looked back, I found I’d done the wrong thing sometimes. But it’ll be years before I’ll know if what I’m doing now is right.”

  “You have to go with the best data you have at the time.”

  It was a weary man’s statement, not a boy’s. Ben was a soldier. He was what she and Luke had made him. She’d wanted a Jedi son, and now she had one.

  “Next year,” she said. “Next year, we’ll have that party, come what may.”

  chapter three

  Mishuk gotal’u meshuroke, pako kyore.

  (Pressure makes gems, ease makes decay.)

  —Mandalorian pro
verb

  SLAVE I, EN ROUTE TO BADOR, KUAT SYSTEM

  Mirta Gev had settled for being tolerated by her grandfather, and although she made an effort to love him, it was hard.

  Part of her still wanted to make him pay for the life her mother—and grandmother—had endured. And part saw a man who had every form of regard shown him except love, and pitied him. Overall, she saw a man who put up duracrete barriers and defied anyone to breach them. As he took the Firespray out of Mandalore’s orbit and prepared to jump to hyperspace, his expression was set in apparent blank disdain for the everyday world. She decided his helmet presented the softer face of the two.

  At least she got to sit in the copilot’s seat. That seemed to be the nearest that Boba Fett could ever get to approving of her as his own flesh and blood.

  “Your clone’s not an active bounty hunter,” said Fett. There was never any preamble in his conversations, no small talk, no intimacy. He was all business. “I checked every bounty hunter and wannabe on the books, but none is called Skirata. Plenty of people on Mandalore knew Kal Skirata, and then—gone. Vanished.”

  “But he was on a hunt, I know that. He told me to get out of his way.” Did Fett believe her? She’d stitched him up and tried to lure him to his death, so she could hardly blame him if he was having second thoughts about the clone. The man was real, all right. “So we’re retracing his steps?”

  “Yours.”

  “How are you going to pass yourself off as a client looking to hire a bounty hunter?”

  “I’m not. You are.”

  Mirta suddenly realized why he’d agreed to let her ride along. “My, I do come in handy, don’t I?”

  “Earn your keep. Rules of any partnership.”

  Mirta thought that sounded remarkably like her dead mother. Ailyn Vel was more a chip from the granite block of Fett than she’d ever admit, but that was impossible. She’d been a baby when Fett had left her grandmother, too young to pick up his callous ways.