Rebel Dream: Enemy Lines I (29 page)

He’d stare at her with an expression made up of analytical calculation and hard experience. He’d tell her what he thought of her. Then he’d turn and walk away. He’d find himself a unit to command, a unit that could be counted on to perform up to his professional standards.

A sharp pain sprang up in her gut, as though she’d inadvertently swallowed a vibroblade and her movements had finally switched it on. But she held herself straight. She had to be able to look him in the eye when he started in on the verbal beating she knew she deserved.

They reached the conference room, its door open, its interior cool and dark; Jag turned on the overhead lights, closed the door behind Jaina.

She faced him, hoping that what she was feeling wasn’t reflected in her expression. “I know what you’re going to say,” she told him.

“I don’t think you do.” Oddly, his face was not the stern mask she’d expected. If anything, he looked uncertain, unlike the Jag Fel she was used to.

“You’re going to tell me that I screwed up. You’re going to elaborate until you’re certain I can’t take it anymore. Then you’re going to leave.” Her throat, constricting, caused her to lose control of the last few words; they sounded high and hoarse to her.

“No. We both know that your command decisions were far afield of common sense and effective strategy. We don’t even have to discuss that. What I have to know …” He hesitated, and if anything looked even less sure of himself
than before, “What I
have
to know is this: Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know. You have to know. Nobody else but you
could
know.” He leaned in closer. It wasn’t a posture of intimidation; he stared into her eyes as if he hoped to find an answer, any answer, written in tiny letters on her pupils. “Answer me.”

“I … I …” Her voice hoarsened until she was sure she could no longer use it, but finally words emerged, words that seemed to be coming from a child. “Everyone is going away.” Tears blurred her vision. “They keep going away and I can’t stop it. I didn’t want you to go away.”

Then the tears did come, and Jag was transformed into a wavery block of black uniform with a wavery block of pale skin atop it. She could no longer read his expression but knew it had to be one of puzzlement or distaste or outright contempt—

Then he took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him, drawing her head against his chest, resting his own head atop hers, an embrace that startled her so much that she should have jumped away. But she didn’t. She leaned against him, a half collapse, her legs no longer willing or able to bear all her weight, and though she did not sob, her tears ran down her face and soaked into his uniform.

“I won’t go anywhere,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why won’t you go anywhere?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He tilted his head down and hers up, and suddenly she was kissing him, holding him tight enough to cause a vacuum weld.

Her confusion didn’t disappear, but it was joined by a
soaring sensation, as though she’d just taken off and left her X-wing behind. There was also an abrupt relief of pressure, unbearable pressure that she had never felt descending upon her, had never noticed until it was gone.

Gavin Darklighter departed Wedge’s office. Wedge and Tycho looked up as Jag entered and saluted.

“I’ve known Jaina Solo since she was tiny,” Wedge said. “You’re not her.”

Jag kept his attention fixed on the wall over Wedge’s head. “I came in her place, sir.”

“She asked you to do that?”

“No, sir. I told her to go get some rest. That I’d speak to you and get things sorted out.”

“Sorted out.” Wedge exchanged a glance with Tycho, but his second-in-command had retreated behind the safety of his sabacc face. “Do I need sorting out, Fel?”

“I believe so, sir, through no fault of your own. If I may answer a question with a question, how old were you before you first disagreed with a commanding officer—and later found out you were right?”

“Twenty. Which is when I first had a commanding officer.”

“I’m about the same age, sir, and I have something to recommend before you talk to Jaina Solo.”

“Very well. At ease. Sit down. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Jag did as he was told and finally met his uncle’s eyes. “Sir, I think that disciplining her now would be like hitting a bar of metal when it’s superheated.”

“Meaning that you’ll change its shape.”

“Yes, sir. And not for the better.”

“What about her reliability in combat? I need to take her off the line. She’s not rational.”

“That would be disciplining her, sir, probably with the results I predict. I recommend against it.”

“Despite the fact that she deliberately disobeyed orders and risked a high-priority mission to pursue a personal agenda.”

“Yes, sir.” Jag cleared his throat. “Sir, I’d fly again with her tomorrow, and not out of gratitude. I think that what happened today was an anomaly. I don’t think it will happen again.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“No, sir.”

Wedge let a silence fall between them, let it stretch into long seconds. “You know, I would not, from a command point of view, be able to accommodate you on this, despite the fact that I do have appreciation for your views and experience. It’s the sort of thing that undermines discipline. But we already have orders in place that demonstrate that Jaina receives special treatment. This is a more extreme variety of special treatment than I’d prefer to accord her, but there you are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then. I’ll do as you recommend. And get my answers later.” Wedge leaned forward, his posture becoming more casual. “Let me take my rank insignia off for a second, Jag, and say how glad I am that you made it today.”

Jag managed a smile. “Thank you, sir—uh, Wedge.”

“Still difficult to address me informally, isn’t it? ”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Good. That gives me one more way to make a know-it-all nephew uncomfortable.” Wedge heaved a sigh. “Back to work for me, so I’ll let you get back to your duties, as well.”

“Sir.” All business again, Jag stood, saluted, and left.

When the door closed behind him, Tycho said, “That was interesting.”

“He deliberately countermanded one of my orders,” Wedge said.

“He was furtive.”

Wedge nodded. “Sneaky, even.”

“We’ll make a Rebellion-style pilot of him yet.”

Han navigated through the danger zone of the Maw with the grace, intuition, and delicate skill he could demonstrate whenever the need arose—but which he preferred to demonstrate only when no one was watching, as careful, meticulous flying of this sort ran counter to his image as a cocky and careless flyboy. Behind the
Millennium Falcon
, in single file, followed two X-wings and a freighter, each meticulously duplicating his course changes.

The Maw, from far away, was visible only as a big splotch of color with dark singularities sucking in colorful gasses. It was a convergence of black holes, their random placement almost completely enclosing within it an area of space. The extreme gravitational and light distortion caused by the overlapping fields of effect made it impossible for light within that space to escape and made it fatal for any ship to try to enter or depart along a straight path. The routes to the interior space were complicated and devious, skirting areas made impossibly dangerous by the black holes’ gravitational exertion. Only a very good pilot could navigate one of the known approaches. Only an extraordinary pilot could find a new one.

Today Han was playing it safe, traveling along one of the known approaches. Knowledge of those routes was
confined to a very few people. Leia knew Han could probably feel his way through a new approach, but now, with a ship full of children and teens aboard, with Yuuzhan Vong conducting activity at the nearby Kessel system, was not the time to explore.

Eventually Han made the final course correction and vectored toward Shelter, the space station growing at the center of the sheltered space of the Maw. He breathed out several minutes’ worth of tension and said, “There it is. Uglier than ever.”

Shelter was an ad-hoc collection of parts assembled by Lando Calrissian and a collection of advisers and patrons he trusted. Cobbled together into its structure were remains of the original Maw Installation, a collection of hollow planetoids that had housed the workers and technicians who had fabricated Imperial superweapons, plus components of old space stations, modules stripped from cargo vessels, and extrusions whose origins Leia couldn’t identify.

In minutes, they were docked at their designated berthing area, a domelike attachment—whose base was about four times the diameter of the
Millennium Falcon
, and whose surfaces, a matte silver decorated with patches of rust, hinted at similar antiquity—which had not been in place the last time they’d visited, several weeks before. Waiting for them as they descended the ramp was a tall woman whose elegance and expensive dark clothes spoke of aristocracy … and distant times and places where aristocrats might enjoy the benefits of their station.

Leia hurried ahead of the descending line of Jedi kids and embraced her. “Tendra! I didn’t know you were here.”

Lando’s wife gave her a return smile. “You almost missed me. I brought some matériel and I’ve spent the last few days making sure it was up and running.”

“What matériel? ” Han asked.

Tendra waved her hand, her gesture taking in the entire docking bay and, by extension, the rest of the dome. “This. It’s a deep-space habitat module used by worldshapers. It has its own gravity generator, even a crude old hyperdrive. It’s been in storage on a Corporate Sector scrap heap for generations. I was able to pick it up for, well, less than it’s worth.”

“And now it’s the core of the Jedi portion of Shelter? ” Leia asked.

“Yes. I’ve made sure some of the areas originally intended for worldshaping materials have been restructured for training halls. It’s pretty short on supplies—”

“We brought supplies,” Han said. “In the other freighter, as well as the
Falcon
. Food, fabrication machinery, energy cells and fuel, recordings …” His gaze fell on the Jedi children spreading out through the docking bay, looking at the cargo loaders and Tendra’s ship, the
Gentleman Caller
. “And brats.”

“Hey.” Valin Horn, Corran’s son, stopped a couple of meters away and gave him a scowl. “I’m not a brat.”

“No, your dad’s the brat in the Horn family.”

Valin smirked. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“You do that. Scoot, kid. Go beat up a rancor or something.” Han returned his attention to Tendra. “If you’re about to leave, you can wait just long enough for us to give the
Falcon
a check-over and then we’ll escort you out.”

“You’re not staying?”

“Too much to do at Borleias. Keeping your husband out of trouble, watching our daughter get
in
trouble …” He exchanged a long-suffering look with Leia. “So we’re going right back.”

“I’ll be ready in half an hour.” Tendra gave him another smile and headed back to her ship, her heels ringing on the metal floor of the docking bay.

Leia sighed after her. “What I would have given to be that tall.”

“I’ve got a thousand credits that say she’s always wished she was petite. And another thousand that if you two got together to talk about how much you envied each other’s height, the conversation would devolve into what pains your husbands are.”

“No bet. Our husbands
are
pains.”

“Well, they were Imperial credits anyway. Ready to help me go over the
Falcon
?”

“No, first I need to say good-bye to …” Leia looked around the docking bay, identifying each of the people moving about. “Where
is
Tarc, anyway?”

“I’ve got a thousand credits that say he’s hiding on board the
Falcon
.”

“Stop that.”

Han gave her a smile he knew to be insufferable and thumbed his comlink. “Goldenrod, where is Tarc now?”

C-3PO’s voice, sounding distinctly aggrieved, came back a moment later: “He’s in the upper quadlaser cupola, huddling in the seat so he can’t be seen. And sir, I do have a name.”

Moments later, they stood at the bottom of the access into the turbolaser shaft. “Tarc?” Leia said. “You want to come down?”

“No,” the boy said. He didn’t even lean over so his face could be seen.

“It’s time, Tarc.” Leia made her voice gentle. “If you get in line early you may get better quarters.”

“And then I’ll be stuck with
them
. The Jedi.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Jedi. I’m a Jedi.”

“Yeah, but you’re different. You’re not creepy. I want to go back to Borleias with you.”

Han said, “It’s safer here, Tarc.”

The boy finally did look over the arm of his chair. He
stared down at Han with an expression that combined pity with condescension, a forceful
you have no idea what you’re talking about
look. “No, it’s not,” he said. “The scarheads are looking for Jedi. If they come here and find the Jedi, they’ll get me, too.”

“Don’t say ‘scarheads,’ ” Leia said. “It’s not nice.”

“Besides,” Tarc added, pulling back out of sight, “if they don’t come, and people come for these Jedi kids, no one will come for me.”

“Of course we will,” Han said.

“No, you won’t. The only reason I’m still alive is ’cause I look like Anakin Solo. And it hurts your feelings every time you see me. I can tell.”

Han looked at Leia. She paled and started to fold over. Han moved to put his arms around her, and slowly she straightened.

Han whispered, “Did you teach him to argue?”

“Nobody had to teach him to argue,” she whispered back. “All kids argue like senior politicians. Except that not all senior politicians can cry on cue.”

“So what do we do?”

She shrugged. “Maybe we
shouldn’t
leave him here. In a place where all the other children have powers he can’t compete with. Except for Wedge’s kids, who’ll probably just subvert the administrators here to get whatever they want.”