CHAPTER TWO
Luke kept his eyes closed. He had seen the bright streaks of lightspeed on hundreds of occasions in his life, and yet each time it still made his stomach queasy. So he would test himself by trying to keep them shut for the entire duration of the eleven-hour hyperspace jump from Gimna 3 to Sullust. He was five hours along and successful.
In the back of his consciousness he felt a simple push.
Oh, bantha poodoo. She had sensed his inability to clear his mind.
The push came again, this time accompanied by words. Did something happen, Luke?
No, Mara. I'm fine, he answered with as much insistence as he could muster. At lightspeed the communications equipment on their X-Wings could not function. So before the leap to hyperspace they had reached out into the Force and formed a small tether between their minds. They could stay in contact and respond immediately if either of them encountered any problems. The Force, after all, did not respect such notions as proximity and velocity and electromagnetic interference. It existed everywhere, flowing among all the suns and worlds and starships on countless orbits and paths in deep space. As long as they held their concentration, it was no different than if they sat in the same room.
You're not fine, she scolded. Don't pretend you are. Deal with your emotions; don't hide from them.
I don't need a lecture, and certainly not from you, he snapped back. I know what I'm doing. Show me a little more respect.
I'm sorry, Mara apologized, sending a sincere wave of sympathy to accompany her thought. I'm worried about Leia too. Unlike Luke, she had no idea who her parents were. In fact, the Order itself didn't know. After Anakin had slain Darth Sidious over two decades ago, a terse offhand note in one of his files had led the Jedi to a grimy orphanage in the slums of Kessel. Apparently Sidious had planned to train Mara in the dark side of the Force but never had the chance. In a supreme irony, she now was Padawan learner to the very Jedi who had killed him. And in the twelve years of her apprenticeship, Mara felt she had become a member of the Skywalker family. She was welcome on vacations, at birthday parties, and for simple dinners at the residence. Even when she and Luke were at each other's throats over some quarrel in the Temple, they always behaved themselves for family events. Leia was her sister in all the ways that mattered. But Mara wasn't her twin.
I know. Luke took a deep breath and blew it out very slowly through a tiny gap in his lips. He steeled his resolve and went ahead. Will you help me find her? It bothered him immensely to need her assistance. He was revealing weakness to the one Jedi who always had been most inclined to exploit any and all of his faults. The only reason she would be accommodating now, he decided, was her own concern for Leia. Were he to ask this of her in any other context, he would never hear the end of it.
And she knew it. Without meaning to, Mara let her surprise radiate back to Luke through the little umbilical cord in the Force. Of course I will. She let Luke take the lead. He knew his twin better than any other person in the galaxy did; better even than Leia's late husband Jarren Organa had. Luke's problem was not with his connection with Leia. It was with controlling his own feelings, knowing the grave dangers she faced. And Mara could help with that.
Luke did his best to clear his mind and push away his anxiety about Leia's seizure and his incipient antagonism toward her captors. He focused his thoughts solely on Leia: her Force signature, her brilliant strength of will, her power of personality. He stretched his feelings out into the Force, searching for her. Although really it didn't matter, it helped his concentration to think of her as being somewhere ahead of him, trapped on a Vyhrragian frigate probably located between Sullust and Gimna 3.
After a few minutes, he hadn't found her. His frustration began to build again. It's okay, Luke, came Mara's reassurance. We'll find her. He accepted her serenity and drew on that peace to calm himself.
It worked. With his emotions composed and controlled, he soon found Leia's presence in the Force, as sharp and clear as ever. He knew instantly she had not been harmed, at least so far. She was afraid, of course. Sad, a little, from thinking about Jarren. Angry, unusually so for her, at being taken prisoner in the first place. Mostly, though, she was afraid.
Luke pulled his feelings back to his mind and let go of his connection to his sister. There remained many dangers and many terrible things that could happen. For now, however, he could stop worrying about her. Thank you, he sent reluctantly to Mara.
You're welcome, came the plain reply, unadorned with any conceit or condescension. It didn't take long for that to change. So, shall we spar?
Luke chuckled aloud in his cockpit. Always the sparring with you, isn't it?
What? Know I'll beat you again?
There was no way he was going admit that. It amused him, though, that she always suggested sparring before he could suggest a contest of skill in starfighter piloting. Fair was fair; each of them naturally would pose the challenge to play to the other's comparative weakness. And she had asked first. Very well. Training Room 8?
Done.
A moment later an image of the wide, high-ceilinged space in the Jedi Temple formed in his mind with clarity and precision. Mara stood in front of him, lightsaber handle in her hand. The floor was the usual white tumbling matting. The walls and ceiling were wavering blue and green in distorted and fractious patterns.
8 is green, she barked.
Are you sure?
Yes, idiot. I'm sure.
Well, I don't think so, he sniped bitterly. But fine.
The walls popped into a solid green color when Luke conceded the point. His blue blade hissed to life in his right hand, and her purple blade shimmered into view as well.
Luke let Mara take the offensive. She charged straight ahead swinging high, then shifted to attack low, then whirled away before storming forward with graceful yet powerful two-handed swings. Unfortunately for him, she was becoming nearly as skilled with a lightsaber as his father.
Your mind still isn't settled, she taunted him.
Yes, it is, he insisted.
Oh really? With a quick adjustment in strategy, she struck rapidly five times to his right side, drawing him out of position. In a flash, her lightsaber impaled him through the abdomen.
The extremely life-like visualizations created by their Force-enhanced minds were just realistic enough that a small wince of actual pain stung in Luke's gut. She was right. Even after finding Leia, he had yet to find the calmness he needed. But there was no way he was going to let Mara find that out.
Luck. Pure luck. Best of seven? Next time he was going to hold out for an imagined starfighter duel.
Her response came as a bemused smirk in the Force. Whatever you say. You can have as many tries as you like. I'll still win.
---
Han stopped at the bottom of the Falcon's boarding ramp and let his eyes drift once more to the two maroon-and-white X-Wing starfighters across the gigantic docking bay of the destroyer Invictus. "Should have known," he grumbled.
Lando tugged at front of his own jacket, then reached over and corrected the shoulders on Han's. "Look, this isn't ordinary piracy. This is a Galactic Senator who's been kidnapped. It shouldn't surprise you there might be Jedi involvement." Once Chewie ambled down the ramp to join them, the trio started toward the open passageway on the far wall. The two human men wore their formal dress whites; the Wookiee had donned his equivalent, a white vest and a wide belt around his waist.
"Sure. It's just that Jedi always seem to make things more difficult than they have to be. And they always condescend to soldiers like us." He shook his head in frustration. "As if by not having the Force, we're somehow not capable of carrying out missions successfully. Well, I say the Republic Navy and Army function fine without any Jedi in them. So I don't see why we need any of them to assist with this either."
Chewie clapped Han on the back and wroofed in amusement.
"He's right, you know," Lando laughed. "It might be the other way around; maybe we're lucky the Jedi are letting anyone else participate at all. And why is it every time we serve with Jedi, you take it as a personal affront and make it your mission to show them up?"
"Because they deserve it. They need to be reminded they're not the only ones who matter." Han reached up and adjusted the fit of his jacket, reversing the change Lando had made. "Look, I'll bet you dinner at the Sleeping Bantha on Coruscant that this is what we'll find when we get up there," he sneered, pointing at the wide window of a conference room overlooking the docking bay. "A Jedi Master about fifty years old, gray hair, beard, wearing those ugly brown robes, grumpy and acting like he's the most intelligent and insightful guy in the galaxy. A Padawan learner, same ridiculous outfit, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, aloof and quiet, never saying a word, looking all nervous like he just wet his pants."
"You're on," Lando chuckled, and the three of them slapped hands to seal the wager.
When they walked through the conference room door, Lando and Chewie couldn't help themselves: they laughed out loud triumphantly. Han could not have been more wrong.
First of all, the two Jedi both were Padawan learners; the thin braids hanging down the right sides of their faces gave that away. And neither of them had the standard-issue tan robes. Instead, they wore maroon skin-tight flight suits comprised of pants and long-sleeved shirts. The only accessories were a lightsaber and a pair of gloves hanging from their respective belts.
One was a young man a bit shorter than Han, well muscled with short sandy-brown hair. His posture reflected confidence, maybe even a hint of arrogance. Yet the look in his eyes was sorrow and regret; it was anything but pompous.
The other was a young woman with long and unbound red-gold hair. She was about the same height as her colleague and stunningly beautiful. Han and Lando exchanged a brief glance that included a silent prayer of thanks for the Jedi pair's choice of attire, which accentuated the curves of her body with breathtaking accuracy.
The young man stepped forward and extended his hand to Han. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he offered respectfully. "I don't believe we've met, Captain…"
"Solo. Han Solo," he answered. At least the kid had started off on the right foot by bothering to glance at the insignia of rank on his uniform. He was the first Jedi Han had encountered to do so. "This is Commander Chewbacca," he indicated with his left hand, allowing Chewie and Luke to nod to each other.
Meanwhile, Lando had slid smoothly to the side and shook hands with the young woman. "Lieutenant Commander Lando Calrissian, Special Operations Division," he grinned. "And who might you be?"
In return he received a playful smirk. "Mara Jade," she answered, allowing the handshake to linger longer than Lando expected.
Han, of course, was not about to let Lando monopolize her attention and intervened immediately. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he smiled. Han thought he heard a not-very-subtle disapproving cough from Skywalker, but he couldn't be sure and didn't care in any case.
"It's a pleasure to meet you as well," she replied while shaking his hand firmly.
Just then the commanding officer of the Invictus stepped into the conference room to join them. "Welcome, everyone," he greeted the five. "I'm Admiral Mirkalla. Please have a seat." The admiral was a tall and thin man about fifty years old. The obsidian moustache and goatee on his olive-complexioned face contrasted sharply with the dress whites uniform.
After everyone was seated and all the necessary introductions were made, the admiral began to explain the situation. "As you all know, about fifteen standard hours ago the schooner Marigold was intercepted close to this location by a frigate from the Vyhrragian fleet. Galactic Senator Leia Organa was taken captive. We've been doing our best to track the frigate as it heads back toward Argis' territory."
"What am I missing?" Mara wondered aloud. "Why aren't they long gone?"
"We've been asking ourselves the same question," Mirkalla concurred. "Our best guess is this: they're worried that if they make a hyperspace jump, we'll be able to track the trajectory too easily. Then we would just send a strike team after them. It would be too simple for us to rescue the Senator."
"So instead they stay in realspace the entire way back," Han continued with the reasoning. "They try to blend in with other starships and won't leave any easily traceable patterns behind."
"Exactly," Admiral Mirkalla nodded as he reached up with his left hand to adjust the brim of his white cap.
"If that's true," Luke suggested, "then they must not be in any hurry to return to Vyhrrag space." He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "There's something more going on here."
Han rolled his eyes. "What makes you so sure?" he scoffed.
Luke could sense Han's derision, so he knew better than to ground his argument in the disturbances in the Force. "Consider the possibilities," he proposed calmly. "If her life were the issue, they simply would have destroyed her ship and killed her immediately. If having a hostage were important, we would have received a demand of some kind or another by now. If she is to be a bargaining chip to negotiate with the Senate, I would think they would want her in the most secure facility as soon as possible." Secretly he thought Master Obi-Wan would be pleased with his composure and analysis.
Han had to admit the kid had thought this through. "And yet they have done none of those," he agreed. "They have a putative prisoner but are taking their time to take her to prison. It doesn't make much sense."
"Unless," Lando reluctantly interposed, "they want us to track them. That, for now at least, a hunt is precisely what they seek."
"Escape may not be their plan," Admiral Mirkalla concluded the analysis with a thoughtful nod. "You may be right. Well, whatever the situation, our strategy will be the same. Your freighter and the two X-Wings will deploy along the last known path of the frigate. Do your best to determine its movements and, if possible, find its exact location and current flight trajectory. While we assemble a squadron to make a response, track the frigate wherever it travels. Once we're ready to do more, we will."
"So as of now," Han confirmed, "we are not to attempt any rescue of the Senator?"
"That's correct, Captain Solo," the admiral nodded. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
"No, sir," Han shook his head. He didn't need to look at Chewie and Lando to know they were concealing their disappoint too. This would not be the first reconnaissance or spy mission the trio had performed together. Some of those prior operations had become rescues, usually but not always in conformance with orders. With two Jedi on hand, however, there would be no breaking with procedure this time.
"We are pleased to have your ship available," Mirkalla explained. "None of the craft we have on the Invictus has a private-vessel signal transponder, and it should be quite helpful to your mission that scanners will not register you as military."
Mara looked over at Han. "Our X-wings are customized for transponder silence. We'll be sending no signals at all. I trust you can avoid crashing into us?"
Han chuckled. "Count on it." He started to lean back in his chair, then sat forward again. "I don't mean to be rude, but there is an issue we should resolve now. What's the command structure on this mission?"
Before the admiral could answer, Luke spoke up from his reclined pose. "Don't worry, Captain Solo. Jedi Padawans have a rank equivalent that is inferior to naval captains." He tossed Han a sly grin. "Our Masters wouldn't be, but they're not here. So we follow your lead."
"Sounds fine. I doubt it'll even come up." Once again, Han found himself pleasantly surprised by this pair of apprentices. They were unlike any Jedi he had met before. In a good way. Maybe working with them wouldn't be so terrible after all.
Admiral Mirkalla looked around the table. "Are there any other questions?" When none were raised, he pushed back his chair and stood. "Grab dinner in the mess. If anything else arises or we learn any useful new information, I'll brief you again before you go."
---
Senator Leia Skywalker Organa of Naboo lay on her back on the cold, hard tile floor of the barren detention cell. She guessed it probably had been close to a standard day since the Marigold had been attacked. Exhaustion was beginning to take over her body, but she dreaded the possibility of falling asleep. Against her will, her eyes closed and her mind drifted toward slumber. Then the images began to replay themselves again.
The two black-clothed figures with red lightsabers stood in the small conference room on the schooner. They did not speak a word to her and she could not see their faces. Finally the shorter one, the one Leia thought was a woman, had motioned to the door with the tip of her blade. Leia rose from her seat and followed the taller figure, which appeared to be a man, while the woman trailed behind with the four Vyhrragian soldiers. As they walked to the rear of the starship to exit, Leia saw the corpses of all twelve Naboo guards. She saw no evidence they had inflicted any harm on their attackers. The number of blaster wounds on each body seemed excessive, especially on Captain Wayland. Argis' troops were not known for their mercy. The shocktroops the Holonet had dubbed the "brownshirts" were vicious and cruel.
She was led out into the large docking bay of the Vyhrragian frigate. Two rows of brownshirts were lined up on either side as they passed. At the end of the formation, the two dark figures deactivated their lightsabers and signaled to a squad of a dozen more brownshirts. Still without speaking a single word, the figures walked away toward the rear of the docking bay. The sergeant of the squad did speak. "If you will follow me voluntarily, I would be willing not to use restraints."
"Thank you," she acknowledged diplomatically. The soldiers led her through several passageways and up several turbolifts until they arrived at the detention cell.
As the cell door slid down behind her in her memory, Leia's eyes snapped open. She pulled herself up from the prone position and propped her back against the wall. She hugged her knees to her chest with both arms as tears began to trace down her cheeks again.
She didn't know how many more times she could relive those scenes before she went mad. In particular, the pale dead face of Captain Wayland haunted her. She didn't know how she was going to tell his widow and young son. Then again, she had a model to follow. Somehow her mother had been able to gather herself together and keep her composure when she had come to tell Leia that Jarren was dead.
That was another image that visited Leia constantly in her dreams. Even with her eyes open, she could see exactly the way Padmé's face had looked in that moment. The redness in her eyes, the slight tilt of her head, the locks of her usually immaculate hair that were out of place, the grim expression of her frown.
Leia couldn't believe Jarren had been gone six months already. That was half as long as they had been married, a quarter of the length of their relationship from their first date until his death. She shuddered at the concept that before she knew it, she would reach the point when she had been without him as long as she had been with him.
She looked down to see the front of her simple long-sleeved white shirt soaked with tears. It occurred to her, though, that now Jarren was very much on her mind. She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the innumerable happy memories she had of him. Although she was not a Jedi, she had acquired a power of concentration not so different from what her twin brother possessed. She instructed herself to dwell only on those wonderful recollections. And after a few more minutes Leia finally was able to achieve enough peace to sleep for a while. It didn't matter that her captors had not provided a cot or even a sleepsack.
---
In a small meditation room in the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat cross-legged atop a large round cushioned stool. He had been chairman of the Jedi Council for almost seven years and held the unquestioning respect and loyalty of his eleven colleagues and the entire Jedi Order. Yet enough was troubling him that he had resolved not to act without consulting the two retired Jedi Masters whose judgment he trusted even more than Anakin's or his own.
The door to the room slid up and Mace Windu stepped through. The towering dark-skinned man was over seventy years old now; a dozen years had passed since his retirement from the Council. With only a slight groan, he matched Obi-Wan's pose on the adjacent stool. "Greetings, Obi-Wan," he smiled. "Were it not for the circumstances, I would say it is good to see you again."
"No, Mace," Obi-Wan chuckled, "it is good to see you regardless." He tipped his head toward the small holoprojector on the floor between them. "Shall we?" When Mace nodded, Obi-Wan directed his words at the device. "Scramble code six to the Outer Rim, destination Tropical Resort."
A few moments later the flickering blue image of Yoda appeared in front of them. It was two decades ago that he had stepped down from the Council. Several years after that, he also had completed his service as the principal tutor of the younglings. Now rotating teams of Jedi Masters did their best to replace the legendary diminutive Master, the greatest teacher of them all.
Mace and Obi-Wan shared a quick wink; Yoda was small enough as it was, so the half-size proportion of the holographic representation was almost comical.
"Forget so quickly, you do," the image teased. "Read your thoughts, I can. Supposed, I did, that by now such humor would have lost its novelty, hmm?"
"Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan laughed. "Size does not matter."
"Yes, yes," Yoda grinned. "Taught you well, I have. But contact me to share jokes, you did not."
"Not this time, unfortunately." Obi-Wan took a deep breath and ran the fingers of his right hand through his short white beard. "The Council is unanimous on its conclusion, but I nevertheless desire your guidance. Matters are so grave that we can afford no missteps. After I summarize the facts we know, I would like to share with you the vision in the Force Anakin received from his daughter Leia."
"Very well, Obi-Wan," Yoda agreed. "Help as much as I can, I will."
"And I too," Mace nodded.
When Obi-Wan concluded his brief report on the Vyhrragian crisis generally and the capture of Leia in particular, he closed his eyes and opened his mind to his two friends. Before his departure from Coruscant, Anakin had projected Leia's frantic message into Obi-Wan's thoughts. Now he was imparting it to Mace and Yoda. After a few minutes of reflection and meditation, the three Masters returned to their conversation.
"I join in your assessment, Obi-Wan," Mace said. "Considering all of this together, there can be little doubt the Sith have returned." He let out a deep sigh. "We always knew this was possible." Almost twenty-three years ago when Anakin had slain Darth Tyranus and Darth Sidious, the Jedi had been able to locate only one of the two Sith holocrons. An exhaustive search of every known Sith lair or storage facility, including all the ones Sidious' files had revealed, had turned up nothing. "It is most unfortunate. I also agree with you that until we have more solid proof, we cannot make any meaningful report to the Senate. Sooner or later we will have some substantial evidence, some actual corroboration, and only then it would be appropriate to inform them."
"How feels Anakin? Disappointed he must be, no?" Yoda's question was simply concern for a dear friend. It lacked any apprehension or unease about the profoundly serene and balanced Jedi Master who had proven himself so many times since the year they all believed he had fulfilled his destiny.
"He's certainly disappointed. Saddened, even. We thought it was over, that the Sith were gone forever. But he believes in his destiny. He believes in the prophecy." Obi-Wan smiled reassuringly. "He has full confidence in his ability to fulfill it once and for all this time."
"Hmm," Yoda nodded. "Fulfill it, he will. Prevented from his destiny, he cannot be." He grunted as he adjusted himself in his chair on the other end of the transmission feed. "Nevertheless, much sorrow I feel for him. Deserve this, he does not. Yet in agreement we all are. In balance, the Force is not. Fulfilled a second time, the prophecy must be."
---
Admiral Mirkalla stood at the tall and broad window of the conference room, arms crossed over his chest. Far below in the docking bay, the two maroon-clad Jedi were climbing into their X-Wings and the three naval officers were boarding their run-down and aging Corellian freighter.
He had to admit to himself that he was a bit reassured by the two brief meetings with the youngsters. He never had met any of them before, but by reputation he had been quite concerned.
He knew Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker fairly well from various missions and operations over his thirty-year career. In fact, during the brief period of conflict that had accompanied the Separatist insurrection two decades ago, a young Lieutenant Mirkalla had been part of a fighter wing that had flown alongside a unit of Jedi starfighters commanded by then-Knight Skywalker. If the son was half as good a pilot as the father, the Vyhrragians would be in for quite a shock if they chose confrontation.
Nonetheless, he had heard many stories about these two Padawans. Some probably were true, others almost certainly were not. Yet he had no doubt Luke had inherited much of the impatience and over-enthusiasm his father had possessed at his age, and if anything Mara was even more willful than that. Mirkalla could only hope that the men he respected so much had trained them well.
And the officers were even more of a conundrum for him. Captain Solo was a good man and brave beyond compare. His abilities and strategic judgment were highly regarded throughout the Navy. For some unknowable reason, however, the man was incapable of conforming to the expectations of the military hierarchy. Three times already he had been promoted to commodore, only subsequently to engage in some act of insubordination or take some incomprehensibly excessive risk that left the Admirals no choice but to demote him to captain again. Mirkalla thought perhaps Solo had missed his true calling in life. Had he become a smuggler for a Hutt criminal syndicate, he would be uncatchable.
His two companions provided some confidence – but not much. Years ago, one of Solo's unauthorized actions had been to ignore orders to abort a failed counter-piracy assault on the Outer Rim world of Sernpidal. Nearly a dozen commandos would have been left behind to die. By the time Solo found them, only the Wookiee was still alive. From that day forward, the Navy had agreed to pair Solo and Chewbacca together on all assignments. Partly this was to honor and respect the Wookiee sacrament of a life-debt, but mostly it was because the Commander seemed to be the only individual who consistently could reason with Solo. So if there was any hope for reining in the headstrong Corellian, the Wookiee seemed to be it.
And then there was Lieutenant Commander Calrissian. The man was a master slicer. The Navy and Army tested the security of their command networks by seeing how long it took Calrissian to intrude into them. Any time longer than four hours was considered foolproof. Even though he was older than Solo by several years, his lower rank was due to his persistent failure to follow procedure. Mirkalla had read a dossier on Calrissian several years ago for another mission. Like Solo, the man had a heart of gold and no maliciousness anywhere in his spirit. Each violation of regulations had been in good faith and had occurred only when absolutely necessary to complete his operation successfully. But of course the Navy could not tolerate such disregard for authority, no matter how well-meaning, and Calrissian always was punished anyway. Perhaps the present crisis finally would benefit the man. He had been born and raised on Vyhrrag. Although he had left his homeworld many years before Argis' recent rise to power, no doubt his special affinity for the planet would aid him somehow.
Beyond the pane of transparisteel, the two X-Wings boosted off their landing gear and rose slowly in the air. With quick arcs they spun their pointed tips around and flew out the enormous aperture of the docking bay. The Millennium Falcon, already facing toward space, lifted vertically before its engines engaged and it swooped away to follow the two starfighters.
Admiral Mirkalla wasn't sure what to think about these five. It seemed to him there were two possibilities: either the mission would be a tremendous success or the youngsters would provoke an all-out war. At this point, the alternatives seemed equally likely. So he let out a deep sigh and whispered a benediction under his breath.
"May the Force be with you."