Have you ever wondered what exactly Shawnkyr said to Jag after the famous commander exchange? Well, I have the answers. This vignette starts with the events of pages 274-275 of Elaine Cunningham's Dark Journey, then branches into a scene that is implied but never expressly shown in the book. Again some of the dialogue is not my own but directly from the book.


IMPRECISION


Jag dropped to the ground from his cockpit amid the clamor of excited pilots running past. They were all heading in one direction, toward the coral frigate Trickster. They had a good reason, too. The ragtag assortment of fighters he had led up into battle had earned a decisive victory over the Yuuzhan Vong solely because of a brilliant new tactic designed by Jaina Solo. Across the hangar, she was strutting down the ramp to the frigate analog, her face lit by a faint smile hinting at a certain satisfaction hidden beneath her usual ice-queen exterior.

Running gloved fingers through his short hair, Jag smoothed out the ridges left by the crush of his helmet, then set off to join the celebration. He watched enviously as Kyp Durron showed none of the restraint with which Jag felt so harnessed. The Jedi Master swept the petite pilot into his arms and spun her around in a high-spirited circle. His pride was unabashed as he set the younger Jedi down. Just once, Jag wished he could display his emotions with such carefree abandon.

Jag closed the distance as Jaina's feet hit the ground. "That was astonishing. If you ever feel in need of a title, you should consider 'commander.' I'd be happy to consider you in that light."

"Gee, a girl can't hear that too often," Jaina said dryly.

His initial reaction was confusion as Jag noted the deflection of the intended compliment. Before he could pursue the matter, Shawnkyr closed in on his location like a torpedo with a target lock.

"No Chiss would fly under this woman's command," the Chiss said sternly. "I am surprised, Colonel Fel, to hear you use words such as commander with such imprecision."

Pale green eyes shot first to Jaina to discern a reaction to the insult. Finding nothing more than a casual shrug before Jaina turned to join the revelry, Jag found his attention drawn to the fiery gaze of his friend and confidante. Shawnkyr's face was unusually drawn and cold, even for the emotionless Chiss.

"A moment of your time, sir."

The words were formed in the correct manner of a subordinate speaking to her commander, but there was no implied request; rather it was a not-so-subtle demand. His initial reaction was to turn on his heel and deny his second the privilege of demanding anything. Experience dictated to Jag that Shawnkyr chose her moments carefully, and he would be wise to hear her out.

Jag tipped his head. Together, the two Chiss pilots slipped off as the celebration headed for places other than the dank hangar. Taking care not to appear overly concerned, Jag studied the tall Chiss female out of the corner of his eye as she matched his stride. The fact that her blue face remained decidedly unreadable should not have surprised him.

In a curt gesture, Jag motioned silently with an upturned palm at the corridor leading to his tiny office supplied by the Hapans. The pair's rhythmic march sounded like the steady beating of a battle drum. The implication struck a chord deep in Jag's gut.

Shawnkyr entered the office first, taking a few steps in before turning abruptly to face her commander. Jag had barely heard the door swoosh close behind him, when she began to voice exactly what troubled her mind. "Permission to speak Chiss to Chiss, sir."

Jag drew up tall, trying to project the confident air of a Chiss commander, while at the same time not appearing too rigid. "Speak your mind, Shawnkyr." The last touch, using her name, indicated his regard for her as an equal and a friend. Otherwise, her words could have been used against her later. He had given her permission to take the safety mechanism off.

The pregnant pause spoke volumes to the weight Shawnkyr was giving to her words. Her red eyes found their focus, directly into the back of his retinas, and she began to speak in their native tongue. "I do not understand, in light of the current political undertones, how you could address Lieutenant Solo in such a manner. Your proclamation was akin to placing our squadron in her service when the political unrest comes to a head."

"I fail to see how the political situation on Hapes has anything to do with Lieutenant Solo. Sure, there is some degree of posturing among the royal family, but beyond the fact that she is a friend of Princess Tenel Ka, I do not see how using a well-deserved compliment can imply anyone is choosing sides in a power play among a bunch of nobles."

"Because Jaina Solo is obviously making a bid for the ruling position."

Jag could not stifle his snort. "You have got to be joking!"

Not so much as a blink crossed Shawnkyr's face. "When have you known me to jest?" Jag refused to offer a reply. "Perhaps your affinity to Jaina Solo has blinded you to what is plainly obvious to the casual observer. Do you deny that there is a lack of strong leadership here on Hapes at a critical juncture for the Cluster?"

"I have seen the condition of Queen Teneniel Djo with my own eyes. Her leadership presence is all but non-existent." He started to see where Shawnkyr's torpedo was targeting, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt, strictly out of friendship if for no other reason.

"And from what you know of our studies of human culture specifically, what is the natural progression of events to come?"

His eyes drew to slits as Jag recalled the numerous lessons learned from their Nuruodo anthropological studies. "Another will seek power out of necessity, otherwise the downfall of Hapes is a certainty." He sighed, then threw out a desperate countermeasure for the torpedo speeding his way.  "I fail to see where this is going, Shawnkyr. Yes, I know someone will seek power and must seek power, but I fail to see how this relates to Jaina." He bit down on the inside of his cheek after realizing too late he had referred casually about the woman in question.

"Can you not see that the Queen Mother has chosen Jaina Solo for the natural replacement to the throne, bypassing her own granddaughter?"

"What?" Jag stormed past his second, trying to hide the breaking in his emotionless façade. "That idea is preposterous," he lied. He knew better; Tenel Ka had told him much the same thing.

Shawnkyr addressed the back of Jag's black flightsuit. "Is she not living with the Queen Mother in the palace?"

Jag refused to turn around for fear the Chiss pilot would see the growing dismay dawning across his face. "Yes," he muttered.

"And she is known to have been given certain privileges by the Queen Mother?" Shawnkyr was trying to thrust the horrible truth back on him.

"Yes." The vibrato in his voice gave away more than he cared to admit.

"So you agree that your declaration might have implied we were aligning with Lieutenant Solo in her upcoming bid for the throne."

Jag spun to face the accuser. "Jaina Solo is not trying to wrestle power of an entire system out from under her friend's nose." He struggled to keep the wicked bile in his mouth from making his words sound like an evil hiss. "I have spent time with her over the last several days. She is a scared young woman trying to grieve her brothers in the only way she knows how – to crush the enemy. I know exactly how she feels; I have been there myself."

"What better way to crush your enemy than have the fleet of an entire system at your beck and call?"

"Enough!" Jag held his hand up to ward off Shawnkyr's words. "I will not tolerate this line of slander anymore. Tenel Ka knows Jaina Solo better than most; she would sense a potential problem. She would have warned me by now…"

Shawnkyr's scarlet eyes closed into slits. "Why would Princess Tenel Ka have to warn you about anything concerning Lieutenant Solo? Are you involved beyond a professional relationship?"

Jag stepped forward so his nose was within mere inches of Shawnkyr's face. She was a hair taller, so he had to look up slightly. "If I was, it would be none of your concern, Lieutenant Nuruodo. This conversation is closed. Jaina Solo is not attempting to become Queen. There is too much honor in her to conceive of something as despicable as seizing power to satisfy her own lust for revenge. And I did not in any way imply we were attempting to back her in a coup attempt." The Chiss did not flinch under his assault. "This matter is closed."

Shawnkyr snapped to attention, acknowledging her commanding officer's final words. She waited in silence, unblinking. There was no hint of remorse or apology for the offense. Jag held her in place for many hammering heartbeats, the pounding of his pulse drowning all input to his ears. Finally, he tossed his head in a disgusted gesture.

"Go."

The familiar twitch along the corner of Shawnkyr's mouth told Jag she had more to say, but to her credit, the Chiss stepped back with one foot and swung in a perfectly executed about-face. As his friend's backside retreated to the door, Jag pondered the last unspoken words. Theirs had always been an open relationship as commander and second; never had Jag summarily shut Shawnkyr out or dismissed her off-hand.

Crossing the threshold, the Chiss right-faced, then snapped her feet together. She glanced over her shoulder, through the door separating the two friends like the vast expanse of space. The fire in her eyes revealed a moment before she spoke told Jag one thing - that if this were the end of their friendship, then Shawnkyr would leave satisfied she had stated her mind, fully.

"I wonder, if Jaina Solo is as honorable as you say that she would be able to refuse the crown once it was offered to her in such a time of crisis, even if the downfall of the Queen was not of her doing. The way I see it, her path may be decided either way."

Green eyes burned with an anger never before seen, and the red eyes knew they had seen how far was too far to push. Then, Jag turned his back to his friend, a fate worse than any words she could have expected. Shawnkyr dipped her head in failure, then picked it up again before walking off silently into the quiet bowels of the spaceport.

Flexing his fingers into balls of fury and back out again several times, Jag fought to release the terrible fury that caused his body to tremble. Loss of control was a new foe to the unflappable Fel, and he beat it back with a steely resolve, nostrils flaring in the struggle. These things spinning around in his brain, thoughts chasing each other in a tiring race, were impossible to grasp. Jag shut his eyes and squeezed them hard, but all he met was the vision of Jaina kneeling to accept a crown.

"Oh, Shawnkyr, buotan mo anu," he cursed his second's brutal words.

Pain, so much pain. And so many terrible possibilities and consequences. He knew Jaina was not capable of such treachery; he knew it in his heart. There was only one answer. Shawnkyr had forced him to acknowledge a terrifying possibility. Someone really was maneuvering Jaina into taking the throne, someone powerful and cunning, and she truly might have no other choice.  It was a possibility neither he nor Tenel Ka had foreseen. His mind went back to a memory, a moment that had been telling, if only he had seen the signs – Jaina spinning across the hall, laughter filling her eyes, a smile only for him until one woman had come between them.

Ta'a Chume. The Queen Mother had to be behind this just as Tenel Ka had suspected. He sensed it with that same keen ability he had to perceive a sideshot milliseconds before he needed to avoid it.

Jag charged to the door, ripping the zipper open on his flightsuit and slapped the controls. As the door slid shut, he was already freeing his shoulders and arms of the sweat-stained garment. With the open suit hanging from his hips, he sauntered over to the locker in the corner of the small office and yanked out a change of clothes. Normally, Jag would have hit the showers and settled in to write his report. In the state he was in, though, there was no way he could focus on the task at hand.

After tossing the fresh cloths on the desk, he shimmied free of the flightsuit and whipped his tank off. Jag quickly stepped into the pair of casual black slacks while considering his options. As the collarless short-sleeved shirt settled snugly against his torso, Shawnkyr's last words echoed in his mind. Her path may be decided either way.

He pondered all possible angles Ta'a Chume would use to exploit Jaina. Years before the Queen Mother had tried to manipulate Jaina's mother into marrying Prince Isolder. If Ta'a Chume truly had her sights set on Jaina, thinking she might be more tractable, then that would mean the fight in the Solo tent really had been over a request for the Solo daughter to marry Isolder and not the mother. Either way there was little doubt now that someone in the palace wanted to usurp Teneniel Djo's power.

There was only one way to find out what truly had happened that day in the refugee camp, and Jag wanted answers. If Jaina was going to be manipulated in some sordid game of Hapan intrigue and power plays, Jag was going to make sure she knew exactly what she was up against. He rushed to the door with a solid idea of where he needed to go and whom he needed to find, the first part being the easier of the two, the latter requiring a stroke of luck.

Making his way through the streets, Jag mentally honed his plan as he neared the palace. Thankfully, the same guard was in place at the private residence gate from the night before, when he had escorted Jaina home from their tactics planning session. Jag played it cool as he intimated to the impressionable man that he was invited over by Jaina for a late night rendezvous. A passed cred note and an undeniable threat ensured the Hapan would never repeat to others of the Chiss colonel's passing.

Passing through the palace, Jag remained as unobtrusive as possible, while maintaining his guard. Green eyes casually scanned each person he crossed along the gilded corridors of the palace. He recognized the hall heading to Jaina's suite to which the guard had graciously directed him. An overwhelming urge struck Jag to turn down the hall and just take a peek. His feet faltered for a moment in indecision.

Just then, in his second of hesitation, two voices drifted around the corner, coming closer with every second. Jag ducked into the side hall, walking purposefully away before pivoting on his heel to walk back as if he were meant to be leaving Jaina's suites. The two voices continued their discussion, and the owners walked slowly past the side hall moments before Jag reached them. They never gave him a second glance, but one of the men, the taller one dressed in a Hapan uniform caught Jag's eye instantly. He was the man who had been fighting Han Solo in the refugee camp. There is that stroke of luck.

Turning into the main corridor, Jag tailed the Hapan pair, a task made easy by their animated conversation. They twisted and wound their way deeper into the bowels of the palace, unaware of the shadow stalking their movement. Jag found that the farther they went the darker and more insipid his surroundings became.

The taller man, reaching over to slap his companion on the back, must have caught a glimpse of his stalker for he performed a double take, craning his neck to see what lay behind him. He stopped, swinging around to confront Jag, followed by his partner. The tall Hapan eyed Jag suspiciously.

"Hey, what are doing down here?"

Jag feigned ignorance, shrugging his shoulders casually as he met the man's hard stare. Face to face, there was little doubt this was the man who had fought with Han Solo. A glint of recognition sparkled in the Hapan's eyes about the same moment. He marched directly into Jag's path and thereby into his trap.

"Don't I know…"

The speed with which Jag struck was so swift that the tall man never even had a chance to defend himself as a fist flashed up to meet the meaty flesh of his nose. The tall Hapan fell back from the sheer force of the blow as Jag stepped past the first opponent felled. The other man was prepared, charging with the usual aggressive style employed by Hapan fighters.

Dodging the charge with his shoulders first, Jag took a glancing blow to the chest, but the man's momentum sent him tumbling past. A well-placed elbow to the back of the undefended head rendered the unsuspecting man a limp heap on the floor with alarming proficiency. Without even breaking a sweat, Jag had taken out the two Hapans.

He fought a satisfied smile as he turned to the moaning form of the taller Hapan, propped against the wall holding his nose. Bending over, Jag grasped the man by the shirt and hoisted him unceremoniously to his feet. The feral satisfaction he felt as the bigger man tried to shrivel into the wall empowered Jag to finish his task. This man before him held all the answers.

Jag crossed his forearm over the man's throat, cutting off his airflow considerably. "You were the one sent to Han Solo's tent to make the offer of marriage."

The man sputtered as blood oozed from his nose into his mouth. "I will tell you n…"

The crush of the well-placed arm silenced the protest. "You will tell me what I want to know," Jag hissed.

Lips baring teeth tainted red were the only answer Jag received. Undaunted, the Chiss colonel spun his subject, ramming him into the wall with excessive force before rendering him senseless with the pain of an expertly applied Neroban handhold. The man howled in agony.

"So are you having a change of heart, friend, or would you like to see the other wonderful methods of subjugation my Chiss brothers have taught me?" There was no mercy from the captor.

"Yea…" came the croak. Jag tightened his hold. The man moaned. "Yes. I was there."

Inhaling sharply, Jag realized he was dangerously close to the truth. There was no turning back now. He steeled his resolve. I am doing this for Jaina. "Who was the offer for?"

The man hesitated, and Jag reminded him swiftly of the pain. "Okay," the tall Hapan protested. "The offer was for the Solo girl. You don't really think the Prince was going to settle for the old broad when he could have a nice piece of…AHHHH!"

"Mind your tongue!" Jag snapped as he cranked the offended wrist even farther away from its natural position. "So the Prince sent you?"

"No."

"No?" The answers were so near Jag could taste them. He twisted a little harder. The man lifted off his toes trying to alleviate the pain. "No. Ta'a Chume. It was Ta'a Chume."

Jag's shoulders dropped. He had been right. The Queen Mother was behind it all. She was playing Jaina like fool. In his relief, Jag shoved the man down, leaving him a writhing mess on the floor next to his unconscious companion. Turning away, he began walking, lost in thought. He was barely aware of the muttered curses and threats thrown his way, but he harbored no fear. Neither man would rise up against him again today.

Out of habit, Jag reached up to run the fingers of his right hand through his black hair. He stopped with his hand before his face, noticing the other man's blood on his palm. He drew his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand again. Anger swelled in his belly anew.

Jaina was being played in an unsuspecting game of political intrigue, caught in the wily snares of a wizened Queen Mother. Ta'a Chume had sent her lieges to make an offer for Jaina's hand in marriage, knowing full well that the father would fight back. Obviously the aim had been two-fold – paybacks for Han Solo stealing Princess Leia out from Isolder's nose years ago and at the same time convenient elimination of an obstacle, putting a more tractable Queen in power.  Back then, his interference was all that had prevented Ta'a Chume from succeeding.  Maybe he was meant to be Jaina's savior after all.

Ta'a Chume had been playing nice to Jaina, all the while plotting to yank her world apart, hoping to be her guide and counsel when everything came crashing down around Jaina. Shawnkyr had been right on some points, Tenel Ka on others. Jaina would never refuse the crown if it were offered to her, not with so many lives in the balance, but with the failed marriage offer, the question still remained as to how Ta'a Chume would go about pushing Jaina to such an end. A divorce for Prince Isolder would be too slow and not provide the instant drama required.

In a flash, the horrible truth hit Jag. Ta'a Chume would have Teneniel Djo murdered.  And she would do it soon.

With renewed purpose, Jag made up his mind about where he needed to go next. There was only one person who could help him and that he could trust. Otherwise, Jaina and Teneniel Djo would both meet horrible fates. Jag took off at a run, set on finding Tenel Ka as soon as possible. He had taken only a few steps when a squad of uniformed Hapan guards burst around the corner.

"There he is," one shouted as he pointed in Jag's direction.

Jag skidded to a stop, quickly scanning his options. He grabbed for his blaster when a searing pain radiated out from Jag's chest. His hand tried to reach for the source of the pain, but would not move. Then, Jag felt himself falling and falling, the ground rushing up to meet him.

His last thought before the blankness consumed him was only of one thing. I have failed you, Jaina.