Rebel Dream: Enemy Lines I Read online

  “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.”

  The Maw

  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 do
cking 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.”

  “What do we do instead? Take him back to Borleias, put him in front of the Vong? Ship him off to a refugee camp run by strangers? At least we know Kam and Tionne.”

  “I just don’t know, Han.”

  “But you know everything.”

  “Only by comparison with my husband.”

  “Ouch.” Han stopped whispering. “Hey, kid.”

  “What?” Tarc looked back over the arm at him.

  “Never get married.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means strap yourself in. You’re going back to Borleias for now.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Just for the time being, kid.” Han let real anger creep into his tone. “And don’t pull that because I look like Anakin skifter. Not ever again. Do you understand?”

  Tarc’s expression froze. “Yes, sir.”

  “Remember this face, kid. It’s telling you that I mean what I say.” Han drew Leia along with him toward the cockpit. “I’ll figure out how to convince him next time.”

  “I’ve got a thousand credits that say you don’t.”

  FIFTEEN

  Borleais Occupation, Day 47

  It was the dead of night, but the former biotics facility was never truly asleep. Tam could hear movement down side corridors, distant conversations, a rumble in the walls that signified the takeoff of a patrol of starfighters outside.

  But this corridor was comparatively still. Guarded day and night against entry by unauthorized personnel, it was empty of traffic at this hour.

  Tam paused outside the door to Danni Quee’s laboratories and felt himself rocking in place, moved by the racing of his heart.

  But pausing was failure to comply, and the faintest throbs of a new headache joined the rhythm of his heart.

  He cursed and moved to the wall opposite the doorway. Reaching up, he brushed his fingers along the wall’s surface, near the ceiling, until he found it—a slick patch as though someone had sprayed oil there.

  It wasn’t oil. It was a thing of the Yuuzhan Vong, another living apparatus that they had given him. It had a texture much like the villip—smooth, slick. He rubbed it until he found the crease that was its activation point, and he stroked that more deliberately. Then he wiped his hand on his shirt.

  That spot on the wall changed color. Though he knew it remained flat as a sheet of fine flimsiplast, it seemed to him as though it gained depth, transforming into a duplicate of the security keypad and blue readout beside Danni’s door.

  As though it were a holorecording, a hand came into view and punched numbers into the keypad. It was a woman’s hand, young, unlined, probably Danni’s. Tam watched the keys as they were depressed, memorizing the sequence, and glanced at the readout that showed the values of the keys.

  They weren’t the same. He repeated the letters and numbers he’d seen pressed, and they differed from the ones on the readout in two places.

  That meant—what? Either he’d misread the keys as they were being punched, or the readout played back an incorrect sequence.

  He nodded, satisfied. It was a security measure. A recording of the readout would yield a password that either wouldn’t work or would alert a security office of an intrusion in progress. Only Tam’s visual memory, very strong and accurate, one of the reasons he’d become a holocam operator in the first place, had saved him from being trapped by this subterfuge.

  He wished he’d been trapped. He wished he’d failed.

  The headache began to increase in intensity.

  He touched the Yuuzhan Vong recording apparatus and watched it fade away to transparency. Then he keyed the password—the correct password—into the keypad. The door slid aside.

  Tam froze. Inside the room, two meters from him, Danni Quee sat at her usual desk. But she was motionless, her head down, colors from the monitor before her playing across her hair.

  Danni didn’t move, other than from the rhythm of her breathing, and Tam forced himself to enter the office.

  It was dim, lit only by monitors and desk lights, and no one other than Danni was present. Tam moved around her station to stand beside her, taking great care not to brush against anything; if he moved slowly enough, he could compensate for his awkwardness. Awkwardness that had caused him to trip when he was being pursued on Coruscant. Awkwardness that had led to his capture. His enslavement.

  Danni’s monitor showed something, an object with facets like a gem. There was a lot of writing on the screen, technical terminology he couldn’t grasp, phrases like reflectivity index and refraction and power augmentation.

  He squinted at it. His eyes were fine, but he had to squint to alert the little creature now sharing his ocular orbit with his eye that now was the time for it to wake up and begin recording. He felt the thing twitch; then his stomach twitched as nausea rose within him.

  Tam moved through the laboratory, looking at each of the other screens in turn, looking at handwritten notes and da
tapad screens. At the station beside Danni’s lay a couple of data cards; slowly, silently, he brought out his own datapad, inserted the cards in it, copied off their contents, and returned them to their original positions.

  There was nothing more to do here.

  He felt his headache rise in strength. No, there was something more he could do here. His orders were to acquire information … and to aid the Yuuzhan Vong in general in any way he could that did not lead to his capture and exposure.

  Danni Quee was here. Tam could overpower her while she slept. She was an enemy of the Yuuzhan Vong, and eliminating her as a New Republic resource would definitely help his masters.

  There was no way he could smuggle her out of the biotics building, no way he could even smuggle her out of this hallway. No, to eliminate her as a threat, he’d have to kill her.

  He could do it, too, in such a way that there would be no likelihood of blame falling on him. In one of his pockets was a gob of material restraining a razor bug. He could pull it out, free the creature, fling it at Danni. It would chew her to pieces.

  And he’d go back to the shuttle and receive praise.

  He stood in place and his headache mounted. He cursed himself. Just by thinking of a way to help the Yuuzhan Vong, he’d obligated himself to do it, or suffer the consequences. Danni Quee had to die now.

  He stood behind her. He didn’t bother wondering what might have been, had they met in different circumstances. He was a big, clumsy, inarticulate thing and she was an intelligent, beautiful woman with the stamp of destiny on her. Had they been stranded together on an otherwise deserted planet, nothing would have happened between them. They would have ended up friends. Just good friends.

  Tam reached out a hand to brush it, ever so carefully, against one of her blond curls, now colored scarlet by light from the screen before her. Then he reached into his pocket and found the razor bug.

  He stood and did nothing. The pain increased until it affected his breathing, making it short and halting.

  The problem was, no matter how much he wanted the pain to end, he knew it would keep coming. He knew that Danni Quee deserved to live. He knew that he deserved to die.