Authors: Troy Denning
“Of course.” Mara did not even blink. “I killed Beda’s husband and Eremay’s father, and condemned
them
to a life in exile. Naturally they want me dead.”
“They want you to suffer,” Raynar corrected. “
Then
they want you dead.”
“And you had to bring Mara and Luke all the way out here to tell them that?” Han asked. He could tell by their expressions that the Jedi—well, at least the
human
Jedi—were all convinced that Raynar was telling the truth. But something here smelled rotten to Han, and he had noticed the stench as soon as they arrived on the planet. “You couldn’t have sent a message?”
“We could have.” Raynar stared at Luke a moment, then turned and looked across the bog toward the froth-covered walls of the Garden Palace. “But we wanted be certain that Master Skywalker understood the urgency of our situation.”
“I see.” Luke followed Raynar’s gaze out across the bog, and his face slowly began to cloud with the same anger that
was welling up inside Han. “And Unu’s Will isn’t strong enough to change what Gorog feels?”
“We are sorry, Master Skywalker, but not yet.” Raynar tore his gaze off the Garden Hall and faced Luke coolly. “Perhaps later, after we have stopped the Fizz and are less concerned with our own problems.”
The interior of the hangar smelled of hamogoni wood and containment fluid, and the air was filled with the clatter and drone of Killik workers—mostly cargo handlers and maintenance crews—scurrying from one task to another. The
Falcon
sat a hundred meters down the way, looking deceptively clean in the opaline light, but berthed directly beneath one of the gray blemishes that were beginning to mar the hangar’s milky interior.
Luke took the lead and used the Force to gently nudge a path through the frenetic activity. The companions were hardly fleeing, but they did want to launch the
Falcon
before Raynar had time to reconsider the agreement Leia had negotiated after his veiled threat against Mara—and before the blemishes on the ceiling turned into the same gray froth spreading over the exterior of the hangar.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones eager to clear this bug hive,” Han said, moving up beside Luke. “That Fizz must be even faster than it looks.”
“This one does not think so,” Saba said. In her hands, she was holding a sealed stasis jar containing a thumb-sized sample of gray froth. “If it workz so fast, why would they stay to load their shipz?”
“I see you haven’t spent much time around smugglers,” Luke said. “They
never
leave without their cargo.”
The boarding ramp descended, and Leia’s longtime Noghri bodyguards, Meewalh and Cakhmaim, appeared at the top armed with T-21 repeating blasters.
“What a relief!” C-3PO clinked ahead and started up the ramp. “I can’t wait to step into the sterilizer booth. My circuits itch just holding a record of that Fizz.”
“Sorry, Threepio. Han and I need you and Artoo with us, to translate and look for patterns in the froth attacks.” Luke stopped at the foot of the ramp and turned to Han and Leia. “If that’s all right with you.”
“No problem,” Han said. He stepped closer and spoke in a whisper so low that Luke barely heard it. “We’ll just wait until the boarding ramp starts to go up, then jump on. Leia can cold-start the repulsor drives, and we’ll—”
“Han, we gave Raynar our word.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Han continued to whisper. “But we can do this. We’ll be out of here before—”
“We’re staying.” Luke spoke loudly enough so that the eavesdroppers he sensed watching them would have no trouble overhearing. “A Jedi Master’s promise should mean something.”
Han glanced at the Saras cargo handlers loading moirestone into the next ship over, and a glimmer of understanding came to his eyes. Each nest of Killiks shared a collective mind, so as long as there was a single Saras within sight of them, all of the Saras Killiks would know exactly what they were doing. And since the Unu included a delegate from the Saras nest, that meant
Raynar
would always know exactly what they were doing.
“I see your point,” Han said. “We wouldn’t want to double-cross
UnuThul
.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Han, you
don’t
see.”
The ease with which Alema Rar had fallen under the sway of the Dark Nest during the Qoribu crisis had
prompted Luke to do a lot of soul searching, and he had come to the conclusion that the Jedi had been injured by the war with the Yuuzhan Vong in ways even more serious than the deaths they had suffered. They had embraced a ruthless, anything-goes philosophy that left young Jedi Knights with no clear concept of who they were and what they stood for, that blurred the difference between right and wrong and made them far too susceptible to sinister influences. And so Luke had decided to rebuild a sense of principle in the Jedi order, to demonstrate to his followers that a Jedi Knight
was
a force for good in the galaxy.
“If we leave now, it will make solving other problems with the Colony more difficult,” Luke continued. He hated having to drag Han into his quest to revitalize the Jedi, but Raynar had agreed to allow Mara, Leia, and the others to leave peacefully only if Luke
and
Han remained on Woteba until the Jedi found a remedy for the Fizz. “We have to build some trust, or we’ll only have
more
pirates and black membrosia coming out of these nests.”
Han scowled. “Luke, you just don’t understand bugs,” he said. “Trust isn’t that big in their way of seeing things.”
“Captain Solo is quite correct.” C-3PO remained halfway up the ramp. “I haven’t been able to identify a word for ‘trust’ or ‘honor’ in any of their native languages. It really would be wiser to flee.”
“Nice try, Threepio,” Mara said, stepping to Luke’s side. “But you may as well come back down here. We’re staying.”
As the droid clanked reluctantly down the ramp, Luke turned to Mara. He knew she could sense his unspoken plan as clearly as
he
sensed her anxiety, but this was one time he would truly be better off without her at his side.
“Mara, I think—”
“I’m not leaving here without you, Luke.”
Leia touched Mara’s elbow. “Mara, the Dark Nest wants you
dead
. Staying on Woteba will only make Luke and Han targets along with you.”
Mara’s eyes grew narrow and angry, but she dropped her chin and sighed. “I hate this,” she said. “It makes me feel like a coward.”
“Coward? Mara Jade Skywalker?” Saba snorted. “That is just rockheaded. Leaving is the best thing you can do for Master Skywalker and Han.”
“Yeah, but before you go, I want to know who this Daxar Ies was,” Han said. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have. He was one of Palpatine’s private accountants,” Mara answered. “He embezzled two billion credits from the Emperor’s personal funds and stashed it in accounts all over the galaxy.”
Han whistled. “Brave guy.”
“Foolish guy,” Saba corrected. “He believed he could deceive the Emperor?”
Mara shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people believed that,” she said. “And Daxar Ies was a strange man. All that money, and I found him living in a shabby twilight-level apartment on Coruscant. He never left the planet.”
“Maybe he lost the list of accounts, or couldn’t get to it,” Leia suggested. “That would explain why you couldn’t find it.”
“Maybe,” Mara said. “But the Emperor didn’t think so. Ies knew where one of the accounts was. He made a withdrawal, and that’s how I tracked him down.”
Though Mara showed no outward sign of her feelings, Luke could sense how much she disliked talking about that part of her life, how angry she grew when she thought of how the Emperor had manipulated her trust—and how sad it made her to recall her victims. He took her in his arms,
silently reminding her that that part of her life was long over, and kissed her.
“Go back to the academy,” Luke said. “Cilghal will need you on Ossus, to tell her everything you can remember about the Fizz. Han and I will be fine.”
Mara pulled herself back and forced a smile. “You’d better be telling the truth, Skywalker.”
“This one will make sure of it.” Saba passed the stasis jar to Mara. “She is also staying.”
“No way,” Han said. “You’ll make the bugs think we’re up to something. Raynar picked me to stay with Luke because he figured one Jedi Master would be more than enough to watch.”
“And because he knowz you are disturbed by insectz,” Saba said. “This one does not like the way this feelz, Han. Raynar is showing a cruel streak.”
“So it seems,” Luke said. He reached out with the Force, urging the Barabel to board the
Falcon
with the others. “But Han’s right—we don’t want to make the Killiks suspicious of us.”
“If you wish, Master Skywalker,” Saba said. “You are the longfang here.”
Saba took the stasis jar back from Mara, then turned and ascended the ramp with no further comment. In any other species, the abruptness might have indicated anger or hurt feelings. In a Barabel, it just meant she was ready to go.
Luke kissed Mara again and watched her start up the ramp.
Han hugged and kissed Leia, then stepped back with an overly casual air. “Be careful with my ship,” he said to Leia. “I’ve finally got that hyperdrive adjusted just right.”
Leia rolled her eyes. “Sure you do.” She gave him a wistful
smile, then said good-bye to Luke and started up the ramp. “I’ll send Cakhmaim out with your bags.”
“And please don’t forget my cleaning kit,” C-3PO called after her. “This planet is unsanitary. I feel contaminated already.”
“Who doesn’t?” Han asked.
Being careful to do nothing that would make the Killiks think they intended to flee, Luke and Han waited at the foot of the ramp until Cakhmaim returned with their bags and C-3PO’s cleaning kit. Though Luke had not yet had a chance to outline his plan, he was fairly certain that Han had guessed it. He was going to search out the Dark Nest, determine how big a threat it posed to Mara and the Galactic Alliance, and find a way to destroy it for good.
Once Cakhmaim had passed them their bags, Leia raised the ramp and sounded the departure alarm. Luke, Han, and the droids backed away to a safe distance, then watched in silence as the
Falcon
lifted off without them and glided over the bustling floor. When it reached the hangar mouth, it paused briefly and flashed its landing lights in a complicated sequence of flashes and blinks.
R2-D2 let out an astonished whistle.
“I don’t know why that should surprise you,” C-3PO said. “Of course they’re concerned about us.”
“What did they say?” Luke asked.
“Be careful,” C-3PO translated. “And don’t let anything drip on the droids.”
“Drip on the …?” Han looked up. “Uh, maybe we’d better get out of here.”
Luke followed Han’s gaze and found the gray blemish on the ceiling beginning to blister. There was no froth yet, but a long shadow down the center suggested the surface would soon start bubbling.
Luke was about to turn toward the exit when his danger
sense made the hairs on his neck stand upright. He did not sense anything unusual from the eavesdroppers who had been watching them—no hardening of resolve, no cresting wave of anger or gathering lump of fear. He remained where he was, pretending to study the blemish on the ceiling as he opened himself more fully to the Force.
But instead of expanding his awareness as he would normally do when searching for an unseen threat, Luke waited quietly, patiently, without motion. He was trying to feel not the threat itself, but the ripples it created in the Force around it. The technique was one he had developed—with his nephew, Jacen—to search for beings who could hide their presences in the Force.
“Uh, Luke?” Han had already taken a dozen steps toward the exit and was standing in the middle of a long column of Saras porters. The insects were swinging their line around him, rushing a load of five-meter hamogoni logs into the hold of a boxy Damorian SpaceBantha freighter. “You coming?”
“Not yet,” Luke said. “Why don’t you go on ahead and ask about a place to stay? I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Han frowned, then shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
“Perhaps Artoo and I should go with Captain Solo.” C-3PO was two steps ahead of Han. “He’s sure to need a translator.”
But R2-D2 remained behind. Luke had been forced to remove a motivation module to preserve a secret memory cache that had surfaced last year, and now the little droid refused to leave his side.
As Han departed, Luke worked to quiet his mind, to shut out the booming and banging and whirring of the busy hangar, the swirling mad efficiency of the Killiks and filmy hot weight of the dank air, to sense nothing but the Force itself, holding him in its liquid grasp, lapping at him
from all sides, and soon he felt one set of ripples that seemed to come out of nowhere, from an emptiness where he sensed only a vague uneasiness in the Force, where he felt nothing except a cold, empty hole.
Luke turned toward the emptiness and found himself looking under an old Gallofree Star Barge that was listing toward a collapsed strut. The shadows beneath its belly were so thick and gray that it took a moment to find the source of the ripples he’d felt, but finally he noticed a pair of almond-shaped eyes watching him from near the stern. They had green irises surrounded by yellow sclera, and they were set in a slender blue face with high cheeks and a thin straight nose. The thick tendrils of a pair of lekku curled back from the top of the forehead, arching over the shoulders and vanishing behind a lithe female body.
“Alema Rar.” Luke let his hand drop to the hilt of his lightsaber. “I’m glad to see you survived the trouble at Kr.”
“ ‘Trouble,’ Master Skywalker?” The Twi’lek scuttled forward into the light. “That’s a pretty word for it.”
Alema was dressed in a Killik-silk bodysuit, the color of midnight and as close fitting as a coat of paint. The cloth was semitransparent, save for an opaque triangle that covered the sagging, misshaped shoulder above a dangling arm. Luke’s danger sense had formed an icy ball between his shoulder blades, but both of the Twi’lek’s hands were visible and empty, and the only weapon she carried was the new lightsaber hanging from the belt angled across her hips.