Hero's Trial: Agents of Chaos I (6 page)

All at once the inhibition field began to teem with hundreds of spontaneously generated life-forms no larger than phosfleas. In crazed motion they scuttled over the prostrate bodies and massed along the edges of the field, as keen on finding some way out as the warrior had been.

Harrar motioned one of his acolytes forward. “Capture a specimen and bring it here—quickly!”

The acolyte bowed and rushed to the field. Reaching a gloved hand through the invisible barrier, he pinched one of the scurrying critters between his thumb and index finger and ran it to the command platform. Even before he had reached the steps, the frenetic activity in the field began to abate, as if the swarm had suddenly expended its energy and was dying.

The acolyte delivered his tiny hostage to Harrar, who pinched the jittery thing between the three fingers of his right hand and held it up for Elan’s inspection. Faintly opalescent, the creature was a flattened disk, from which sprouted three tiny pairs of articulated legs.

“Bo’tous,” Harrar explained. “Both carrier and byproduct of the toxin. Precipitated from the assassin’s breath. They grow rapidly in the presence of abundant oxygen, but are extremely short-lived.”

“Your weapon against the Jedi,” Elan said knowingly.

“A skilled host can manage up to four bo’tous exhalations. But in a sealed environment, there is no defense—even for the host. Do you understand?”

“I understand that a host runs the risk of dying with his victims.”

“The toxic effect of the exhalation is very brief,” Nom
Anor added. “A host must be in close proximity to her target.”

“
Her
target,” Elan said.

Harrar held her in his gaze. “We would like to arrange for you to be captured by New Republic forces. Commander Tla—while not entirely enthusiastic—has even agreed to afford them a victory in the process. Once in their custody you would ask for political asylum.”

Elan looked skeptical. “Why would they accept me?”

“Because we would convince them that you are a worthy prize,” Nom Anor answered.

Harrar confirmed it with a nod. “You would provide them with valuable information. Information regarding why we have come to their galaxy and what we have left in our wake. You would also tell them of dissension among our ranks—of disputes that prompted your flight—as well as information of some strategic merit.”

“Does Commander Tla know of all this?” Raff interjected uncertainly.

“Most of it,” Harrar replied.

“Then I must protest, Eminence. I fear this will become too costly an enterprise.”

“I will accept responsibility,” Harrar said. “Let us not have genuine dissension, tactician.”

Tactician Raff stood his ground. “Eminence, has not Executor Nom Anor just informed us that a Jedi Knight survived an earlier attempt at poisoning? Why, then, should bo’tous prove effective against any one of them, let alone a cadre of Jedi?” He glanced at Elan. “Notwithstanding the obvious sophistication of your designated delivery system.”

Momentary doubt clouded Harrar’s expression. “You do justice to your station, tactician. Your suggestions?”

Raff considered it. “At the very least, your infiltrator should be provided with accessory weapons—whatever Executor Nom Anor deems necessary to ensure success, should the bo’tous prove ineffectual.”

Harrar looked at Nom Anor, who motioned in dismissal. “Unnecessary. But easily accomplished. There is a species of amphistaff that can be modified and implanted in the body for just such a purpose.”

Satisfied, Harrar nodded. “Continue, Executor.”

Nom Anor placed himself in Elan’s view. “Unfortunately, I know of no accessories that will guarantee your success with New Republic Intelligence. That would depend on you. You would begin by claiming to have information regarding the coomb spores I introduced. You would, however, insist on delivering that information only to the Jedi. But be warned: the Jedi possess a kind of divining ability. They would be quick to discover deception—even in one trained since youth to beguile and mislead. Thus the need for a quick-acting toxin, carried by a quick-thinking host.”

Harrar extended the pinched creature to Elan. “Quickly, Elan, take it in your palm and clench your hand around it.”

Elan stared at him. “Should I do so, I am committed.”

Harrar gazed back at her. “I will not command you to accept this charge, Elan. The choice is yours.”

Elan looked to Vergere. “How would you counsel me?”

Vergere’s oblique eyes clouded over with sadness. “I would counsel you to refuse, Mistress. And yet you have long desired to be tested. To be given a mission worthy of
your talents. Sadly, I know of no more unswerving path to escalation.”

Harrar glanced at the priestess’s exotic pet. “Take her along if it pleases you, Elan. She may even prove to be of assistance.”

Elan looked at Vergere once more. “You would accompany me?”

“When have I not?”

Elan took the minuscule creature into her hand and closed her long fingers around it. When she relaxed her hand, the thing had been absorbed.

“It will migrate to your lungs and there mature,” Nom Anor said, smiling. “You will know when the toxin has reached maximum potency. Then you will loose your four breaths against as many Jedi as you can arrange to be gathered in one place.”

Elan looked at Harrar. “What then, Eminence?”

“What’s to become of you, you mean?” Harrar took hold of her fine hand, examining the palm that had absorbed the carrier. “Nom Anor and I will do all we can to monitor your whereabouts, but I cannot promise you rescue, only exaltation. Should you succeed, you will either die with the Jedi or face execution afterwards.”

Elan grinned faintly. “That choice is also mine.”

Harrar patted her hand. “Look to the world beyond for recompense, Elan. I envy you your imminent departure.”

Cordoned off by kshyy vines and Wookiee security guards, the
Millennium Falcon
sat on landing platform Thiss, alongside the shuttle Luke, Jacen, Anakin, and Lowbacca had flown to Kashyyyk. What remained of a wroshyr limb horizontally pruned close to the trunk, the
fire-blackened platform at the edge of Rwookrrorro was large enough to accommodate passenger liners, but the
Falcon
and the sleek shuttle had the stage to themselves. Not since Chewbacca had piloted the
Falcon
to Kashyyyk during the Yevethan crisis had the city drawn so many well-wishers, tourists, and curiosity seekers. From Karryntora, Northaykk, the Wartaki Islands, and the distant Thikkiiana Peninsula they came, most in the hope of catching a glimpse of Luke, Han, or Leia, but many to have a look at the Corellian YT-1300 freighter Chewbacca and Han had made famous.

Like a taurill navigating a field of profligate shag ferns, Han edged his way through a throng of vociferous Wookiees intent on snapping his spine with backslapping blows or fracturing his ribs with crushing hugs. By the time he stumbled into the cordoned-off area surrounding the
Falcon
he looked as if he’d gone one too many rounds in a g-force simulator. Leia, Luke, the kids, and the droids were waiting at the foot of the extended boarding ramp.

“Dad, I thought we weren’t leaving until tomorrow,” Jaina said as Han approached.

“Change of plans,” he muttered. “Did you do a preflight?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then let’s get everyone aboard and raise ship.”

“Why the rush, Han?” Luke said, purposely stepping into his path. The cowl of his Jedi cloak was thrown back, and his lightsaber hung from the belt that cinched his black robes. “Are we running toward something or away from it?”

Han stopped short. Out of the corner of his eye he saw
Leia wince and turn to one side. “How’s that again?” he asked Luke.

Luke’s expression was unreadable. “Pressing concerns on Coruscant?”

Han worked his jaw. “Tomorrow, today, what difference does it make? But if you have to know, yeah, pressing concerns. A little matter called the Yuuzhan Vong and the fate of the galaxy.”

“Han—”

“Don’t!” Han interrupted. He bit back whatever he was going to say and began again in a more controlled voice. “Luke, it’s just that I’ve had my fill of sympathy. So let’s just drop it.”

“If that’s what you want, Han.”

Han started up the ramp, then stopped and whirled. “You know, I don’t know what’s worse, everybody’s fumbling attempts to make me feel better or your self-importance. You may think you have me figured out, pal, but you don’t. Not by a long shot. Oh, I know you’ve lost friends and family, and now, with Mara being sick and all, but Chewie gave his life for my son, and that makes it different. You can’t know about that, Luke.”

“I don’t pretend to know about that,” Luke said calmly. “But as you say, I do know something about grief.”

Han held up his hands. “Don’t talk to me about the Force—not now. I told you a long time ago I don’t believe in one power controlling everything, and maybe I was right, after all.”

“After all we’ve been through?”

“What we’ve been through,” Han said, pointing his
forefinger at Luke’s face, “had a lot more to do with blasterfire than swordplay, and you know it.”

“It was the Force that brought down the Empire.”

“And just how does that help me?” Han glanced around at Leia, their three children, Lowbacca, C-3PO, and R2-D2, all of whom looked uncomfortable. “I don’t have the abilities of a Jedi or the delete functions of a droid. I’m just a normal guy with normal feelings and maybe more than his share of shortcomings. I don’t
see
Chewie, Luke. Not the way you claim to have seen Obi-Wan, Yoda, and your father. I don’t have the Force at my back.”

“But you do, Han. That’s all I’m trying to tell you. Let go of your anger and bitterness and you will see Chewie.”

Han opened his mouth and closed it. He spun on his heels and hurried up the ramp only to stop and reverse directions again. “I’m not ready to walk this plank,” he grated as he passed Luke.

“Han!” Leia shouted.

He turned, but looked through her at Jaina. “Take the
Falcon
back to Coruscant.”

Jaina’s eyes widened. She swallowed hard and stammered, “But what about you?”

“I’ll find my own way back,” he yelled over his shoulder as he marched off.

In the command center of Harrar’s faceted ship, a bio-engineered quadruped the size of an Ewok was meandering about the confines of the inhibition field, employing its long snout as a vacuum to rid the area of the carcasses of the carriers birthed by the assassin’s toxic exhalation.
The dead captives—along with the body of their assassin—had yet to be removed.

Harrar and Nom Anor stood at the perimeter of the field, watching the creature at work. Elan and Vergere had left the compartment.

“Much hinges on the success of this plan,” Harrar remarked.

“More than you know,” Nom Anor agreed. “Ever since Prefect Da’Gara’s failure at Helska, I am not held in the esteem I once was.”

“I have faith in you, Executor.”

Nom Anor inclined his head in thanks. “Do you think Elan will elect to die with the Jedi, or take her chances that the New Republic will spare her life?”

“I suspect she will die with the Jedi.”

“And that doesn’t trouble you? After all, her domain is very powerful. Her father has the ear of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, does he not?”

“He is a high priest,” Harrar said, then sighed with purpose. “Only Elan can carry this task to fruition. I will lament her death. But it’s often necessary to sacrifice the bait to ensnare the quarry.”

The
Millennium Falcon
put verdant Kashyyyk behind her. Jaina and Leia sat side by side in the outrigger cockpit, with C-3PO, quieter than usual, behind them in the navigator’s chair. At Streen’s unexpected request, Luke was taking everyone else to Yavin 4. Jaina might have gone along, but Leia had said she didn’t want to pilot the
Falcon
home alone.

While the navicomputer calculated lightspeed coordinates for the jump to Coruscant, Jaina glanced at her mother, who looked small and fragile in the oversize seat Chewie had occupied for so many years. She had scarcely said a word since lifting off from platform Thiss.

“Not often I get to fly Dad’s ship,” Jaina said casually, hoping to open a conversation.

Leia reacted as if she had been yanked from a trance. “What?”

“I said I was surprised Dad asked me to fly the
Falcon
home.”

Leia smiled at her. “Record holder at Lando’s Folly … Rogue Squadron pilot … Your father thinks very highly of your skills.”

Jaina was quiet for a moment. “I hope he gets home all right.”

Leia laughed. “Don’t worry, he’ll hop a freighter or a trader’s ship and probably beat us back to Coruscant. He doesn’t need help in that area.”

“Or any other area,” Jaina said, frowning.

Leia made her lips a thin line and took her daughter’s hand. “Don’t confuse refusing help with not needing it.”

“Why is he like that?”

“How much time do we have?” Leia joked. “The short answer is that your father wasn’t raised the way you and I were. He didn’t have the support of a family or the comfort of a stable home.” She shook her head. “He’s been so many things—a swoop racer, a pilot, an officer in the Imperial Navy, a smuggler—but all those occupations have one thing in common: they require extreme self-reliance and a certain amount of aloofness. He didn’t grow up accustomed to getting help, so he’s certainly not about to ask for it.”

“But he’s been acting like he’s the only one who misses Chewie.”

“He knows that isn’t true, and he’s aware of how he’s been acting. When he and I returned to Sernpidal after Chewie died, he told me he suddenly felt that the world had become unsafe—that he’d always thought of our family and close friends as almost immune to tragedy, living in a kind of bubble. How all of us have managed to survive the things we’ve been through is nothing short of astonishing. But all the narrow escapes, the flirting with death, only made Han feel more invulnerable. Chewie’s death changed that. Your father even included Mara’s illness
as evidence of how insecure and unpredictable everything has become.”