Of course, then
Zekk
might get the wrong idea…
They completed the sweep without finding any other hints of Alema or her strange ship, then returned to the depression Jaina had noticed. The trees this low on the mountainside were primarily majestic kingwoods, with tall straight trunks and spreading crowns of giant heart-shaped leaves. Almost all the boughs within the circle appeared more barren than those outside it, and there were several gaps where huge limbs had snapped off and fallen away.
Through the gaps, Jaina could catch glimpses of yellow-white splinters and sharp crooks where branches had been only partially broken, then pushed back into place. These branches tended to sag a little, creating the small bowl-shaped depression that had first drawn her attention.
“Something definitely came down here,” Jaina observed.
“And not very fast,” Zekk agreed. “This was a descent, not an impact.”
“So we’ve found it?” Jag asked.
“Maybe,” Zekk said.
Jaina grabbed her electrobinoculars and, using the light-gathering function, peered down into the forest. For the most part she saw only leaves and branches, but when she
did
glimpse the ground, all she found was undergrowth and dead leaves. At the same time, she was reaching out through the Force, searching for even the tiniest hint of dark side energy. There was none. In fact, the entire area was remarkably still, almost devoid of any sort of Force presence at all.
She lowered her electrobinoculars, then turned to find Zekk’s dark eyes staring across the fuselage at her, looking as surprised as worried.
“Do you feel that?” he asked. “I mean, did you
not
feel that?”
Jaina nodded. “It’s hiding from us.”
“So it’s down there?” Jag sounded confused. “You’re sure?”
“Something’s down there,” Jaina said. “And it doesn’t want to be found. It’s hiding its presence in the Force.”
“The
ship
is hiding its presence?” Jag asked. “Can ships
do
that?”
“This one can,” Jaina answered.
Zekk unbuckled his crash webbing. “Hold us steady. I’ll drop through the belly hatch and disable the ship.”
Instead of doing as Zekk suggested, Jag swung away from the hiding place and resumed their search pattern.
“Uh, Jag, maybe you didn’t hear me?” Zekk asked. “I said I’d disable Alema’s ship.”
“I heard you,” Jag said. “But I want to leave it alone. There’s too much about this vessel we don’t know, and if it can warn Alema that it’s been found, she’ll disappear before we have a chance to catch her.”
“Good,” Jaina said. “The sooner we chase her off, the better. Whatever she’s doing here, I don’t want her doing it around these young ones.”
“What makes you think you’ll chase her off?” Jag countered. “This is
Alema Rar.
If she gave up that easily, she would never have survived Tenupe.”
“He’s got a point,” Zekk said. “We’d probably just set her off. We could get a lot of kids killed for no reason.”
Jaina sighed, knowing they were right. They had picked up Alema’s trail this last time only after hearing about the turmoil she had created at Roqoo Depot, a supply base on the fringes of the Hapan Consortium. Apparently, a freighter captain had made the mistake of remarking on her deformities, and she had responded by inflicting wounds similar to her own—not only on the captain, but on his entire crew, as well. The survivors had been unable to remember much of anything about the fight or their assailant, but Zekk had managed to locate a security holo confirming that Alema had been the attacker.
Jag seemed to interpret Jaina’s hesitation as disagreement. “We won’t get another chance like this,” he said. “If we let Alema get away, who will she target next? Your father? Your mother?”
“My brother?” Jaina suggested hopefully. When Jag and Zekk responded with only nervous silence, she rolled her eyes and said, “Never mind—we couldn’t get that lucky.”
“Then we’re decided,” Jag said. It wasn’t quite an order—though, as formal leader of their team, he could have made it one—just verification that they had reached a consensus. “We’ll try to trap Alema and end it here.”
“As long as we don’t put the younglings at risk,” Jaina said. “If there’s a choice—”
“We have to let her go,” Jag agreed. “But she won’t give us that choice—not Alema Rar.”
He swung around the mountain, placing its bulk between their Dactyl and the academy.
“Zekk, take your StealthX and sit on top of that ship.” Now Jag’s tone made clear he
was
issuing an order. “If Jaina and I don’t locate her, maybe we can flush her into an ambush.”
Zekk made no move to start aft. “
You
sit on the ship.” His voice was civil but firm. “I’ll go with Jaina. I know the academy a lot better than you do.”
“And I know
Alema.
” Jag’s tone assumed a sharp edge. “Besides, I’m the commander of this mission, so you’ll do as—”
“I’ll
do
what makes sense,” Zekk bristled. “I’m a Jedi Knight, not some brainbolted soldier who—”
“Boys!” Jaina was disgusted with both of them. It was as though they hadn’t been listening when she explained how Mara’s death had opened her eyes, how she needed to focus on being a good Jedi right now. “Whatever you’re
really
arguing about, I know it’s not me. You wouldn’t do that—not right now.”
Zekk’s face flushed with shame, and Jag bled embarrassment into the Force.
“Maybe Jaina should sit on the vessel,” Jag suggested. “She’s the better pilot anyway, and you and I will be just as effective on the ground.”
“No, you and Jaina wandering around the academy might make sense to Alema,” Zekk said, starting aft. “You and I won’t. If she sees the two of us here together, the first thing she’ll do is start looking for Jaina.”
“You’re right, of course,” Jag said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Zekk disappeared through the hatch into the aft cargo hold, and a few minutes later Jaina felt him open himself to the battle-meld that Jedi used to communicate while flying StealthXs. The Dactyl gave a little shudder as the rear cargo doors slid open, altering its atmospheric flight profile. She turned back to her observation blister and, a moment later, saw Zekk’s StealthX dropping away behind them.
Jaina sent him a good-hunting wish through the Force, then unbuckled her crash webbing and went aft to close the cargo door and prepare the Dactyl for landing. By the time she had finished, Jag was already flying through the hollowed-out cliff face that served as the entrance to the academy’s main hangar.
A hint of danger sense tickled Jaina between the shoulder blades, and she went forward to join Jag on the flight deck.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Of course.” Jag was sitting in the pilot’s seat in textbook posture, his back straight, both eyes forward, and both hands on the steering yoke. He slipped the ungainly Dactyl into the berthing area outlined by the green lights on the floor, and did not look over until the vessel had settled onto its landing struts. “Why do you ask?”
Jaina peered through the forward viewport. “Something feels wrong.”
Jag frowned, driving the scar on his brow downward like a lightning bolt. “Wrong how?”
Jaina only shrugged and continued to study the hangar floor. Like the rest of the academy, it was strangely deserted, packed with transports, skiffs, and trainers, but—save for a few droids going about their tasks in near darkness—devoid of the maintenance activity that usually kept such places bustling. Jaina stretched her Force-awareness to the far corners of the hangar and found no sentient presences in the vast cavern at all.
Finally, she said, “Just empty. Have you ever seen a hangar this quiet?”
“Not an active one.” Jag unbuckled his crash webbing, then stood and attached his blaster holster to his belt. “Do you think Alema could already have done something?”
Anything was possible, of course. But Jaina had seen no overt signs of violence, and she just didn’t see how a single Force-user—even one as crazy as Alema—could take control of the entire Jedi academy.
Her musings were interrupted by the crackle of the cockpit speaker.
“How long are you going to stay down there looking for gokobs?” asked a throaty female voice. “I’d like to hear what you found on your security sweep.”
Jag cocked a questioning brow in Jaina’s direction.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” She leaned down and opened a channel to reply. “Sorry, command. We’ll be right up.”
“Very well,” answered the flight control commander—a Duros woman named Orame. “Just watch out for the gokobs—the smell up here is bad enough.”
“Will do.” Jaina closed the channel, then frowned in confusion. “What is it with her and gokobs today?”
“What
are
gokobs?” Jag asked.
“I’ll explain on the way.” Jaina turned to leave the flight deck.
By the time they had left the Dactyl and reached the lift that would take them to the flight control bunker, Jag had heard more about gokobs than anyone would enjoy knowing.
“So Orame is telling us to watch out for overfriendly vermin?” Jag asked.
“Basically.” Jaina snapped the lightsaber off her belt and stepped into the lift, then motioned for Jag to follow. “Coming?”
“Of course.” He flicked the safety off his blaster, then asked, “Stun or kill?”
“Let’s stick with stun until we know what’s going on,” Jaina replied. “If it’s Alema, we can always switch it back to kill and blast her after she’s already down.”
Jag glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re joking, right?”
Jaina shook her head. “Not if she’s done anything to the young ones.” She placed her thumb over a pad on the control panel. “Ready?”
Jag nodded, and a few moments later, the turbolift delivered them to the flight control level. Jaina didn’t sense anyone lurking in the corridor—but if Alema was out there, she wouldn’t. She left the turbolift in a diving roll and came up with her lightsaber ready to ignite.
She found only Jag facing her, holding his blaster with both hands and looking slightly amused.
“Gokobs?” he asked.
“Very funny.”
Jaina led the way down the corridor to the flight control bunker. She could sense the usual dozen Force presences inside, all calm and seemingly focused on the task at hand. Still, she kept her lightsaber ready as the door hissed aside to reveal a huge holodisplay ringed by individual control stations. Floating above the display was an image of the planet Ossus and its moons, along with numerical designators for dozens of artificial satellites.
A tall Duros woman—the flight control commander, Orame—motioned to Jaina from the other side of the holodisplay. “Come in. There’s something I need to—”
Jaina’s spine nettled with danger sense, and she sprang into a high, arcing Force flip that carried her into the heart of the planetary hologram. Several of the flight controllers cried out in alarm and sprang to their feet, their hands rising from their laps holding blaster pistols they hadn’t had time to draw. Jaina ignited her lightsaber and batted half a dozen stun bolts back at the men who had fired them, then came down next to Orame.
“Jaina, no!” Orame cried. “You don’t understand!”
“I understand—” Jaina paused to return a stun bolt into the chest of a “flight controller.” “—that they’re shooting at me!”
On the opposite side of the holodisplay, two men fell convulsing, their tunics smoking where Jag’s stun bolts had struck them from behind. Jaina Force-jerked the feet from beneath one of her attackers, then pointed at another and Force-hurled him across two control stations into the last man holding a weapon.
She pointed the tip of her lightsaber at this last pair of attackers, then ordered, “Don’t move.”
They fell motionless, as did everyone else in the chamber except Jag, who secured the door behind him and set about collecting weapons. Keeping her lightsaber ignited to emphasize the peril any resisters would face, Jaina helped by using the Force to slide blasters away from a few semiconscious attackers.
Without looking away from the men—whoever they were—Jaina tipped her head toward Orame and asked, “Gokobs?”
“You might say that,” she replied. “I was
trying
to tell you the situation stinks, but they’re friendly.”
“Don’t seem very friendly,” Jag said. He was pressing a knee into the back of one of the men he had stunned, binding the fellow’s hands while making certain his prisoner could not attack. “Friendlies don’t fire blasters at you.”
A deep voice spoke from several meters to the right, almost behind Jaina. “They were stun bolts—and Jedi Solo
did
make a rather alarming entrance.”
Jaina looked toward the voice and found a tall human ducking through the doorway from Orame’s private office. He had a long face with sunken eyes and a blade-like nose, and he was wearing the black uniform of a GAG major. He stopped a pace outside the office and spread his hands, palms out, to show he was unarmed.
“Now I would appreciate it if you would allow my men to resume their duties.”
Jaina continued to hold her lightsaber at middle guard. “I don’t think so.” She cocked her head toward Orame. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”
Orame waved a blue, long-fingered hand toward the major. “Allow me to present Major Serpa,” she said. “Apparently, he’s here to protect us.”
Serpa spread a smile that made ice seem warm. “You never know what those terrorists might attack next.”
A dark storm boiled through Jaina’s veins, and she very nearly didn’t stop herself from Force-hurling the smug major through the nearest durasteel wall. “Jacen is holding the academy
hostage
?”
Serpa continued to smirk in her direction. “There’s no need to look at it that way.” He held his hand out toward her lightsaber. “But it would be wise to surrender your weapons before there are any more…misunderstandings.”
“Not going to happen,” Jaina said. “But I
will
give you an hour to take your men and clear out of here.”
Serpa’s smile vanished. “I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen, either. The colonel entrusted the safety of this facility and everyone in it to my battalion, and I
won’t
abandon that duty—no matter who gets caught in the crossfire.”