Destiny's Way Page 19

“Then it’s not justified,” Kyp said. He sighed. “Look. You can go after the thief because you’re angry at him and you want to give him a good pounding, or you can go after the thief because you want to see justice done. There’s a difference. Anger is dark, but the love of justice is light.”

  “And perfect justice is impossible,” Jaina countered.

  “Perfect justice isn’t the issue. You’re setting too high a standard. We haven’t sworn oaths to be perfect.” He considered for a moment. “Look, it’s like when Luke was fighting Darth Vader, and the Emperor stood by urging him to strike out of anger. Fighting Darth Vader wasn’t the wrong thing to do! But fighting him out of anger was.”

  Jaina looked at him for a long while. “No offense, Kyp, but I wish it was Uncle Luke who was making this argument, not the greatest living expert on the dark side of the Force.”

  Kyp looked at her soberly. “So do I, Jaina. So do I.”

  When Winter opened the door, there was a slight hiss of changing pressure. She saw Luke, Mara, and Jacen, and stepped away from the door to let them inside.

  “Please. Come in.”

  Admiral Ackbar’s apartment was deep below sea level in Heurkea Floating City, and was filled with the scent of the ocean. The rooms were rounded and dimly lit, and echoed to the music of falling water. There were deep seawater pools in every room, connected by submerged tunnels or by channels spanned by small arched bridges. The walls and ceilings shimmered with golden light reflected by the waves, and the floors were tiled in colors that reflected the moods of the sea, green, blue, turquoise, and aquamarine.

  The door hissed shut behind them.

  Winter wore a long white gown and a necklace of sea-green jade. She greeted Luke and Mara with an embrace, and kissed Jacen on each cheek.

  “How is the admiral?” Luke asked. He pitched his voice low in the hope that these artificial caverns wouldn’t amplify his voice and carry it through the house.

  “His body is failing him,” Winter said. Her calm voice was matter-of-fact, but Luke could see the lines of sadness radiating from the corners of her eyes.

  “Can anything be done?” Mara asked.

  “As he told you the other day, there’s no single thing wrong,” Winter said. “The real problem is age, and the way he drove himself during the Rebellion. He wasn’t young even then, you know.”

  “I suppose not,” Luke said. “It never occurred to me to wonder how old he was. He seemed as young as—as he needed to be, I guess.”

  “You’ll find his mind is as supple as ever,” Winter said. “He can still work for ten hours at a stretch if he takes care of his body.”

  “Work?” Mara asked. “At what?”

  “I’ll let Ackbar tell you that.” Luke, Mara, and Jacen followed the tall, white-haired woman over a small bridge and across stepping-stones—actually the tops of tall pillars—set in a quiet pool. They came to a comfortable drawing room with a central pool set amid comfortable furniture. There Ackbar waited, bobbing in the pool. He waved one huge hand.

  “Luke!” he called. “Mara! Young Jacen! Welcome to my home!” His voice showed no sign of the slurred diction it had shown in Admiral Sovv’s office, and boomed out as vigorously as if he were shouting orders on the bridge of his flagship.

  “Thank you, sir,” Luke said.

  “Please seat yourselves. Forgive me for not joining you—I’m much more comfortable these days if I stay in water.”

  “Your home is lovely,” Mara said.

  “It suits me,” Ackbar said simply.

  Winter efficiently served refreshments while Ackbar and his guests chatted. Then Ackbar floated toward Jacen, and looked up at him with his goggle eyes.

  “Can you tell me of the Yuuzhan Vong, young Jacen?”

  “I’m willing,” Jacen said. “But it’s a large topic.”

  “You’re the only person I know who has any exposure to them. Tell me what you can.”

  Jacen spoke for a long time, of the Yuuzhan Vong and their castes, their leadership, their religion, the way they interacted with each other and their captives. He touched on his own experience only lightly. Luke was surprised and impressed that Jacen, in pain and in slavery and alone, had observed his captors so acutely, and was able to organize his material so well.

  Winter listened in silence, and after a while sat on the edge of the pool, pulled up her gown, and dangled her legs in the water. Ackbar floated next to her, and she rested an affectionate hand on his sloping glabrous shoulder.

  Luke watched them and thought of the many tragedies contained in Winter’s mind. The white-haired woman possessed a holographic memory that recorded her entire life in perfect detail but would not permit her to forget. The grief she must have felt at the destruction of her home world of Alderaan, with her family and friends, was as fresh in her mind now as it had been twenty-seven years ago. The battles of the Rebellion, the struggles against Furgan and Joruus C’baoth, the kidnapping of the infant Anakin Solo … Winter could relive all these with the same intensity with which she’d first experienced them. Likewise, the years she had spent with Jacen when he was a child were as vivid as her experience of the adult Jacen himself, sitting near her.

  Winter’s mind was a hologram, Luke realized: it contained a complete template of her life. Birth, death, joy, tragedy, violence, triumph, despair. Seen that way, it wasn’t surprising that she’d joined Ackbar in his retirement: perhaps her mind contained more than enough severe experience by now, and she needed tranquil memories to place alongside those that were not in the least tranquil.

  But now, as Ackbar declined, Winter was going to acquire even more long, sad memories that she would never be able to forget.

  Ackbar listened to Jacen’s story, and then he and Winter asked a series of questions. Finally Ackbar sighed, and settled peacefully in the water.

  “Very good,” he said. “I know how to beat them now.”

  Luke looked at the admiral in surprise. “So that’s what you’ve been working on.”

  “Oh yes.” Ackbar looked up at Winter and gave her knee a pat. “With Winter as my memory and my invaluable assistant, I’ve been working very hard on a strategic plan for the war, and now Jacen has confirmed my ideas of the Yuuzhan Vong character. I think victory is now conceivable.”

  “Are you planning to come out of retirement?” Luke asked.

  Ackbar gave a burbling sigh. “I don’t know if that’s possible. Admiral Sovv is willing to take my counsel on this matter—but will anyone listen to poor Admiral Sovv?”

  “They’ll listen to you,” Luke said. “I can’t imagine anyone not listening.”

  “Borsk Fey’lya wouldn’t listen,” Ackbar said. “And Borsk Fey’lya had many friends.” He shook his huge head. “I truly miss Mon Mothma. We understood one another—our skills were so entirely complementary. She and I were a perfect team, she the great orator and politician, and I her sword. She was able to see the traps that I was blind to, and I saw the dangers that she could not see. Her wisdom saw the Rebellion to its conclusion and created the New Republic. And with my fleets I helped bring about the defeat of the Empire.” Again he shook his head. “She spoiled me!” he said. “She understood my methods, and I understood hers. Since her passing, I’ve had to deal with others who were not so understanding, and I lacked the skill for it—I had never needed it before.” He sighed, and for the first time he slurred his words, as he had the other day. “Mon Mothma. Perhaps I shouldn’t have outlived her.”

  Winter looked at Ackbar in concern. “Never say that.”

  “No,” Luke said. “You still have much to contribute. Your plan will prove that.”

  Ackbar sighed again. “But who will see this plan? It requires not only the cooperation of the military, but of the highest levels of government. And our government has no highest levels.”

  Ackbar was obviously tired, and the visitors didn’t stay long after that. As Winter saw them out, she paused and put a hand on Jacen’s shoulder. “I was so sorry to
hear about Anakin,” she said.

  Jacen nodded slowly. “He was always grateful to you,” he said. “He knew how you fought for him on Anoth.” His two hands took Winter’s between them. “If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have had the last fourteen years of his life. And it’s not just Anakin who was grateful for that, it’s Jaina and I and everyone who knew him.” He kissed Winter’s hand, and let it fall.

  Mara and Luke embraced Winter, and left the apartment. Perhaps, Luke thought, Winter’s holographic memory was not always a cause for sorrow. She would remember Anakin as an infant, as a growing boy, and those brilliant, undying memories might well be brighter than the more distant knowledge of his death.

  Somewhere at least memories of Anakin were preserved perfectly, Anakin as he was, alive and vital, unscarred by the tragedy that was his end.

  Luke took great comfort in the thought.

  SIXTEEN

  In the end Jaina decided to put aside any other considerations, and concentrate once again on being a good leader to the Twin Suns Squadron. Half her squadron had no combat experience beyond operating battle stations on Trickster, and that was hardly their normal line of work. They were starfighter pilots, and Jaina knew too well that even experienced pilots had a very short life expectancy when going up against the Yuuzhan Vong. She planned an ambitious training schedule, putting the pilots in their cockpits almost every day, battling against formations of A-wings, whose speed and combat characteristics most resembled the Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers. On the days when the squadrons weren’t in their X-wings, they would do classroom work on tactical theory and practice.

  Jaina’s ambitious schedule fell apart on the second day. Twin Suns Squadron was practicing hyperlight maneuvers, pursuing a squadron of A-wings under Colonel Ijix Harona. Harona and his Scimitar Squadron made repeated short hyperspace jumps while Twin Suns Squadron tried to both follow them through hyperspace and end their jumps in an advantageous tactical position relative to their quarry. The two squadrons were evenly matched: both were composed half of experienced pilots and half of rookies.

  The two squadrons had completed their second pursuit—a modest success, Jaina thought—when a distress signal flashed across their hyperspace comm units.

  “This is New Republic cruiser Far Thunder. We and the frigate Whip Hand are under attack by approximately sixty enemy coralskippers. Our hyperdrive engines are disabled. Coordinates follow. We request assistance from all nearby New Republic forces. I repeat …”

  Jaina’s blood ran chill. Far Thunder was the cruiser that had been disabled at Obroa-skai, and had been left under escort by the ex-Imperial Lancer-class frigate Whip Hand. Most of Far Thunder’s personnel had been evacuated, and there weren’t enough remaining to make up a fighting crew. Jaina thumbed the intership comm and signaled Major Harona.

  “Scimitar One, did you copy the distress message?”

  “I copy, Twin One.” Harona’s voice was slightly distracted. “Ask them for details. I’m going to query Fleet Command.”

  “Understood, Scimitar One.” Jaina triggered the hyperspace comm. “Far Thunder, this is Twin Suns Squadron. Can you give me an idea of your situation?”

  “Major Solo?” A new voice came on-line, and Jaina recognized Far Thunder’s Captain Hannser. “We have only damage control and bridge crew aboard. We’ve slaved the weapon systems to droid brains, but it’s not as effective as a real fighting crew. We’ve lost our tender. We’ve lost a lot of our shields and we’re getting hammered. Whip Hand is holding her own but is too hard-pressed to protect us.” Jaina heard quiet despair in the voice. “I just want to buy some time to evacuate my crew and scuttle the ship. That’s all I ask.”

  Her heart went out to him. Hannser had argued so forcefully against Farlander, who had wanted to scuttle the cruiser, and finally won his point … only to come to this.

  “Understood, Far Thunder,” Jaina said. “Stand by.”

  She switched to intership comm. “Scimitar One, Far Thunder reports—”

  “I heard,” Harona said shortly, and then added, “Fleet Command is concerned that it’s an ambush.”

  “The messages aren’t faked,” Jaina said. “I recognize the captain’s voice.”

  “Stand by, Twin One.” Jaina waited a long moment while Harona signaled headquarters. Then his voice returned. “Fleet Command has left the decision to me,” Harona reported. “If we don’t go, they’ll order Whip Hand to save herself and abandon the fight.”

  Jaina bit her lip. It would take a considerable effort for coralskippers to destroy even a disabled capital ship, but they could do it in time. The two reinforcing squadrons would go a long way toward evening the odds, but half the starfighter pilots were rookies who couldn’t be expected to hold their own against the Yuuzhan Vong, and the experienced pilots would be distracted by having to look after them.

  Plus, the Yuuzhan Vong themselves may have sent for reinforcements.

  She thought of shields falling, the hull being breached, death and slow-marching obliteration as Far Thunder was destroyed piece by piece, compartment by compartment.

  Jaina thumbed her comm button. “I’d risk it, Colonel,” she said. “If it’s too hairy, we can jump out.”

  There was a long silence before Harona’s voice returned. “Agreed, Twin One,” he said. “We’ll use the A-wing slash, so that puts you in the lead.”

  “Understood, Scimitar One.” Jaina spoke through clenched teeth—Harona’s plan would commit Jaina’s squadron first, and keep his own A-wings out of the battle until after the fight got nasty.

  Not that Harona’s plan didn’t make sense. The A-wings were little more than a pair of giant Novaldex engines with weapons and a pilot strapped on—they couldn’t take punishment like an X-wing, and were best at hit-and-run fighting.

  “Stand by to receive jump coordinates. Prepare to jump on my mark.”

  “I copy, Scimitar One.”

  Jaina switched to the channel she used for communication with her squadron. “We have received a distress call from two capital ships under attack,” she said. “We’re going in to help them. This is no drill.” She paused a moment to let that sink in. “I want wingmates to stick close to their leaders. You are not to go off on a Vong hunt on your own. Each flight is to form single file with two kilometers between ships. Twin Five, I want your flight twenty kilometers astern of my flight and to right.” Lowie howled an acknowledgment. “Twin Nine, your flight will fly cover twenty kilometers astern of Twin Five.”

  “Acknowledged,” Tesar said.

  She wanted her squadron in single file because it was easier for the rookies to keep up. They had all been assigned as wingmates to more experienced pilots, so all they had to do was follow the ship ahead of them and shoot at any enemy that got in the way. If the wingmates themselves got bounced, they’d have a veteran pilot behind them who might be able to keep their tails from being waxed.

  Jaina watched the displays as her squadron settled into the assigned formation. Not a whole lot of bumping and weaving, which was good.

  “We won’t know the full picture until we get in,” she said, “so be prepared to maneuver the second we get into realspace. Any questions?”

  No questions. Everyone in her squadron, she thought, was either very smart or very stupid. Jaina knew which way she wanted to bet.

  “Extend your foils. Arm and test weapons now.”

  Laser bolts flew past Jaina’s cockpit as weapons were tested. At least her rookies hadn’t blown her tail off, which under these conditions had to count as a success.

  Her navigational computer lit as Ijix Harona fed her coordinates. “Jump on the colonel’s mark,” Jaina said, and switched to the “all ships” frequency to hear Harona’s voice.

  “On my mark,” he repeated. “Five. Four. Three. Two. Mark.”

  The starlight streamed away around the cockpit, and Twin Suns Squadron was on its way.

  It was a twenty-minute hyperspace jump, which gave Jaina far too much time to
think about what was going to happen. Plans and contingencies swarmed through her mind. Most of them ended with the New Republic forces getting splattered.

  She thought of plasma cannon projectiles shredding her rookies. Or Lowbacca. Or herself. She knew that if the war went on, it was only a matter of time before it happened. Sooner or later the death lottery would call her number, just as it had called so many others.

  With an act of resolute will she banished the dead from her mind. She had to think of ways to survive, not brood on the long list of the lost. Her mental armor slatted into place around her. She would concentrate only on the outcome, on a successful resolution of the fight.

  It was not until her nav computer gave her the two-minute warning that she thought to call on the Force. She had been neglecting her daily Force exercises and meditations, and not just because she was busy. Opening to the Force meant opening to the totality of life, and that included the emotions she was denying herself—grief, terror, panic, horror. It meant being vulnerable, and she couldn’t afford vulnerability right now. She had to keep focused on the outcome, and anything that didn’t lead directly to the survival of her squadron was irrelevant.

  Nevertheless she called on the Force, calling only on its strength to refresh her, its vigor to keep her mind alert. She knew she could do that, for short periods at least, and not be distracted by all the other things to which the Force connected.

  Distantly, in her Force awareness, she could sense Lowbacca and Tesar, and they sent her a burst of fierce warrior joy. She absorbed it, felt its keen anticipation of the coming combat, and tried to use it to give herself strength. She wished she had other Jedi here, Jedi who could form the linked Force-meld they had called into being at Obroa-skai, but she and Lowie and Tesar were the only three present, and three really weren’t enough.

  The X-wing nav computer gave its chiming warning, and suddenly the stars hurled themselves against the black backdrop of space and stuck there. Jaina scanned her displays and saw at once the two New Republic capital ships, big vessels surrounded by swarms of swift-flying gnats. Energies flashed on the displays: it was clear that the two big ships were still fighting. Far in the distance, standing off, were a pair of tender analogues, unarmed coral craft that had brought the coralskippers to the battle.