CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Admiral Gilad Pellaeon paused at the landing ramp on his shuttle, turned, and shook Admiral Kre’fey’s hand. As he did so, he felt a sense of profound loss. “You do know, Admiral, that I wish things could have turned out differently. I found working with you fascinating, even enlightening. Imperial Space will benefit from what I learned here.”

The Bothan nodded. “I know that, Admiral, and share your feelings. I also know, despite what others might whisper, that you harbor no antialien bias. I have never felt anything but respect from you, and have nothing but respect and admiration for you.”

“Thank you, Traest.” The Imperial officer broke his grip and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “Had we managed to defend Ithor, to save it, I am certain my people would not be recalling me. They are scared, of course. That weapon would have been tough to stop no matter what. I’m not sure having fleets orbiting worlds could prevent the Yuuzhan Vong from doing that to any world they choose. But if I don’t have the fleet at home, the civil population will panic, and we are as good as lost if that happens. We have, in microcosm, the problem you have in the New Republic.”

“I only wish it were as simple a problem as that suggests.” Kre’fey looked around the aft landing bay on the Ralroost and the knots of Ithorian refugees huddled here and there. “You don’t have the best hope for the New Republic being blamed for the loss of Ithor. You don’t have every little administrative sector deciding it has to defend itself. Ithor’s destruction has sent terror storming through the government. Some people want to appease the Yuuzhan Vong, others want to fight them, and I have no doubt, some would willingly ally with them if they were given the chance to destroy old enemies.”

Pellaeon nodded. “In some ways, victory over the Empire was the worst thing that could have happened to the New Republic. Your hatred of us united you. Now forces seek to divide you for their own gain. You are fortunate, though, because your role in all this has been nothing but praised.”

The Bothan sighed. “My cousin is being lauded for his brave action in the first encounter. He comes out looking like a hero. He finds it expedient to elevate me to his side, making him yet greater, which is what the people want.”

“It’s what they need: heroes to believe in.”

“I know, Gilad, and I would not deny them heroes, but I would rather they believed in you or the Jedi, instead of someone who made the best of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Traest scratched his head. “I feel sorriest for Corran Horn.”

Pellaeon nodded slowly. “Yes, the man who lost Ithor.”

“Oh, then you’ve only seen the early news holos. As the week has dragged on he’s become the man who killed Ithor.”

“Someone had to take the blame.” The Imperial admiral smiled. “You know, for the half hour between his victory and the planet’s death, I was proud of what he did, the stand he took. He’d won the day and managed to save countless lives. Now it is all for nothing.”

“Worse than nothing. The Jedi are being held up to ridicule; the military will have senatorial oversight.” Traest smiled. “Any chance Imperial Space is recruiting?”

Pellaeon laughed aloud. “And I was thinking I would ask you to save me a spot in that empire you’ll carve out of the Unknown Regions.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir.” The Bothan flashed teeth in a friendly smile. “I will keep you informed of how we are faring.”

“I’d appreciate that, and will reciprocate.” Pellaeon nodded, then looked at the other two men walking up to him. “General Antilles, Colonel Fel, what have you decided?”

Jagged Fel clasped his hands at the small of his back. “I’ll be sending one of my squadrons back with you, sir. They will carry a report back to my father. I’ll remain here with two squadrons, liaising with Rogue Squadron. I hope, sir, you understand my desire to stay here.”

“Understand, yes. Respect and envy, even.” Pellaeon offered the younger man his hand. They shook, then Pellaeon shook Wedge Antilles’s hand. “This is not the last you shall see of me, my friends. Right now, my people are afraid of helping you. There will come a time when they are more afraid of not helping you. I will return then. I just hope it won’t be too late.”

“That is our hope, as well.” Traest Kre’fey again shook Admiral Pellaeon’s hand. “May your course plots be easy and your orbits safe.”

“The same to you.” Pellaeon nodded and started up the ramp. He looked back once, just to make sure he would remember them because he was not certain at all that he would ever see them again. Then the landing ramp retracted, and his shuttle carried him home.

 

Jaina still felt numb, sitting there in the Ralroost’s meditation cabin. Anni’s death left a hole in her life, which both surprised and horrified Jaina. The surprise came from her having known the woman for only such a short time. Yes, we flew together and bunked together, but . . . Anni had liked to gamble, and no one in their right mind would gamble with a Jedi so Jaina had found other things to do in her off time. When they were together, they did get along wonderfully, and she knew Anni liked her, and she’d liked Anni.

That they had become closer than Jaina had thought during her stint with Rogue Squadron shocked her. That she had not known more about Anni came as an even bigger surprise. Colonel Darklighter had said he was recording a message to go to Anni’s family and asked if Jaina would like to send one at the same time. It was then that she realized she didn’t know Anni had a family. Anni had never talked about her life outside the squadron, and Jaina had been a bit closemouthed about her own family life, assuming that Anni already knew as much about it as she would care to.

She glanced at the data card in her hand. She’d sent off a message to Anni’s family and had quickly gotten a reply. The holovid transmission captured on the data card had shown an older woman, clearly Anni’s mother, eyes red from crying, doing her best not to break down. She told Jaina that Anni had enjoyed having her as a friend and wing mate, that Anni always talked about her in every message she’d sent home. Anni’s mother added that she had some things of her daughter’s that she wanted Jaina to have, and that she would like to meet her if Jaina ever made it to Corellia.

I didn’t know. I should have known. I . . . Jaina covered her eyes with her left hand. Tears leaked out between her fingers. A sense of guilt compounded the loss. Intellectually she knew that there was nothing she could have done to save Anni, but that didn’t stop her from feeling that she should have found a way to keep her friend alive. Now I know how Anakin feels about Chewie.

She sniffed and straightened up, swiping at tears as the cabin door opened. She glanced at the silhouette and managed a weak smile. “Did Mom send you?”

Anakin shrugged and sat down on the floor. “I kind of nudged her into it. She knew you wanted to be alone. She didn’t want you to be alone, but she didn’t want you to think she thought you were too much of a kid to get through it. I hinted and she suggested.”

“You must have somewhere else you’d rather be.”

He shook his head. “No, I wanted to talk to you. Figured this would be the best place. It’s the only place I’m not underfoot.”

Jaina frowned. “Plenty of Jedi here.”

“Sure, but they’re all wounded or caught up in what’s going on with Corran. A bunch of them, like Wurth, wonder how it is I manage to kill Yuuzhan Vong warriors without much more than a scratch and they get hurt.” He sighed. “I make them doubt themselves, and they’re not very good at controlling that idea.”

“I can understand that, I guess. Not that they should take it out on you.” She smiled at her little brother. “Why did you want to be here?”

“You lost a friend. I did, too.”

“And misery wanted company?”

He shook his head resolutely. “Nope. I thought, well, look, when Daeshara’cor died, she said some stuff that made me think. I thought, maybe, well . . .”

Jaina softened her voice. “What is it, Anakin?”

“Well, she let me know, let me see that for her, it wasn’t so . . . I mean, it was bad that she died, but . . . she wasn’t mad at me . . .” His voice broke, and he smeared tears across his face with a hand. “Your friend Anni had to know you were safe. She didn’t die hating you.”

“Anakin, thank you.” Jaina sniffed. “I want to hope you’re right. I just . . . I need to have my heart and my head and everything sort things out.”

“Yeah, that seems like the hard part.” He nodded slowly. “I’m flying that same course myself. If you want a wing . . . sorry.”

“No, Anakin, that’s okay.” She reached out and tousled his hair. “I’m glad you’re willing to fly on my wing. We can do this together, little brother. I think that would work out just fine.”

 

Corran let the door to his tiny cabin slide shut behind him, then leaned back against it. A little cough shook him, reigniting the pain in his abdomen. He’d already undergone two of the three bacta treatments the Emdee droids had prescribed for his wounds, and had ample evidence that the bacta had succeeded in helping his nerves to regenerate.

He rested with his back against the door, less because of true fatigue than a reluctance to do what he had come to do. Threading his way through the Ralroost’s passageways had been draining. Dodging groups of Ithorians in the narrow corridors made the journey hard, but it was not their physical presence alone that wore him down.

Through the Force he could feel their anguish. After his wounding he’d slipped into a Jedi trance and had been transferred immediately to a bacta tank. He had been floating there, barely conscious, when the Yuuzhan Vong attacked Ithor. He could feel life on the planet being extinguished, as if something were blotting out all the stars in the sky one by one.

He’d been out of the bacta when the atmosphere ignited. The stunned shock of the Ralroost’s crew had hit him first, then the flood of grief from the distant city-ships slammed hard into him. The Mother Jungle, the living entity that had created the Ithorians, that had nurtured and sustained them, the entity they loved and dedicated their lives to preserving, had been destroyed. From their ships they saw the atmosphere burn like a solar corona around the planet, leaving in its wake a charred, sterile cinder.

That wave of horror and grief retreated, leaving every Ithorian feeling as hollow inside as Corran had when . . . He glanced at the Yuuzhan Vong shell lying on the bunk in the small cabin. He took one step toward it, then sank to his knees. He touched a finger to the latch-creature, ignoring the sting of the needle as it drew his blood.

The shell slowly opened. Bioluminescent tissue shed a pale green light that glowed softly from Elegos’ bones. It danced a bit in the gems that replaced his eyes, but in no way conveyed any of the life Corran had seen in what they imitated. Elegos’ skeleton peered down at him, and Corran fervently wished he could catch at least the hint of a smile there.

The Jedi sank back on his heels and looked up into the jeweled eyes of what had once been his friend. From inside his robe he drew the mask Shedao Shai had worn. He rubbed a sleeve over its black surface, erasing a smudge, then reverently set it in Elegos’ lap.

“Your murderer is dead.”

Corran wanted to say more, but his throat closed and the glowing image before him blurred. He covered his eyes with a hand, smearing tears against his cheeks, then swallowed hard. He wiped away more tears, then took a deep breath and set his shoulders.

“His death was supposed to save Ithor. It didn’t. I know you’d be horrified to think I killed him for you. I didn’t. I did it for Ithor.”

The gold skeleton stared down at him, cold mercilessness glinting from the gems in its eye-sockets.

Never any fooling you, was there, my friend? Corran screwed his eyes shut against more tears, then opened them again. He looked away, unable to stand Elegos’ dead gaze.

“That’s what I told myself. It was for Ithor. That’s what I told everyone. Managed to fool some of them—most of them, I think. Not Master Skywalker. I think he knew the truth, but the chance to save Ithor had to be taken.”

He glanced down at his right hand and could again feel the weight of his lightsaber in it. “I had myself convinced, I really did, until . . . There was a point in the fight. I’d turned my lightsaber off; Shedao Shai had overbalanced himself. His staff was buried in the turf. I shoved my lightsaber’s hilt against his stomach.”

A shudder quaked through Corran. “There was a moment there. A nanosecond. I hesitated. Not because I thought of life as sacred and that taking any life was horrible—the way you would have, my friend. No . . . No, I hesitated because I wanted Shedao Shai to know he was dead. I wanted him to know I knew he was dead. If he was going to see his life flash before his eyes, I wanted him to take a good look at it. I wanted him to have a nice long look at it. I wanted him to know it was all for nothing.”

Corran’s right hand curled into a fist. He hammered it against his thigh to loosen it, then flexed his fingers as wide open and straight as he could.

“In that one moment, Elegos, I dishonored your sacrifice. I betrayed you. I betrayed the Jedi. I betrayed myself.” Corran sighed. “In that one moment I crossed the line. I walked on the dark side.”

He raised his head and met Elegos’ bejeweled stare. “You Caamasi had a saying: If the wind no longer calls to you, it is time to see if you have forgotten your name. The problem I have, my friend, is that I heard the dark side calling to me. Without your help, without your guidance, I’m not sure how I can deal with that.”

 

Jacen Solo studied Corran Horn as the elder Jedi sat gathered into a tight ball in a chair. Bacta had healed the physical wound the Corellian had suffered, but a certain amount of psychic agony still poured from him. As far as Jacen could see, Corran had done everything right, hadn’t been out of control or acting like a rogue Jedi, and yet that was how he was being portrayed in the news reports about Ithor.

Ganner paced impatiently. “I just can’t believe it. Corran puts his own life on the line, nearly dies to save Ithor, and has been transformed into ‘yet another world-killing Jedi.’ Vader to Kyp to Corran. I’m surprised they didn’t build a link to Caamas in there.”

Luke pressed his hands together. “People are giving in to their fear. They’re not thinking clearly at all. We need calm.”

“Calm isn’t all we need, Master. You will need something more.” Corran blinked slowly and looked up. “You have to disassociate the Jedi from me.”

Ganner’s surprise pulsed out. “Abandon you?”

Corran nodded slowly. “Borsk Fey’lya has already managed to point out a number of things. I was not an officer in the New Republic Armed Forces when on my rogue mission to Ithor. He’s noted my presence there was counter to Ithorian custom and law. He has made me complicit in desecrating Ithor because I invited Shedao Shai to meet me there.”

Ganner frowned. “I’ve seen one report that suggests you should have known that a fallen Yuuzhan Vong leader is always immolated, so that by killing Shedao Shai there, you guaranteed the death of the world.”

Mara snorted disgustedly. “That little bit of Vong cultural lore, that’s from that supposed holojournal of Elegos A’Kla? The one he was supposed to have recorded while with the Vong, even though they would have smashed every bit of technology he took with him?”

The Jedi Master held a hand up. “We know that is a fraud. Someone did it and is publishing it to make money.”

Jacen snarled. “And is making a bunch of it, too. That thing is selling wildly. It’s because people are afraid.”

“And morbidly curious.” Ganner shook his head. “There is no doubt about it, the death of Ithor is a serious shock. Dubrillion, Belkadan, even Sernpidal—hardly anyone recognized those worlds. Ithor, on the other hand, is as well known as Coruscant.”

Corran sighed. “And now is a sister world to Alderaan.”

“Which takes us back to Uncle Luke’s first point. People are giving in to their fear. We can’t do that. If we abandon you, Corran, that’s what the Jedi will be doing.”

The Corellian Jedi managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Jacen, but it’s not really a question of giving in to the fear of others, it’s a question of being overwhelmed by it. Master, you must repudiate me. Borsk Fey’lya is looking to avert a disaster. He can do it only by laying the blame on someone else. Right now he’s playing off memories of Carida and Alderaan. He’s dropping the blame on the Jedi. You have to let it land on me.”

Luke shook his head adamantly. “The Jedi are not going to abandon you to political maneuvering.”

“Luke.” Mara leaned toward her husband from her chair and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I love you dearly, but this is a fight we can’t win.”

“Yes, we can, Mara.”

“Okay, perhaps we can, but the effort we expend in doing it is going to detract from our ability to help people.” She sighed. “If we’re waging public opinion wars when we should be fighting the Yuuzhan Vong, we will lose horribly. Right now Borsk Fey’lya has given us a way out of this mess, and that’s to let Corran shoulder the blame for the loss of Ithor. All it will take is for you to issue a statement saying Corran’s actions were undertaken without your consultation or consent.”

Luke’s face closed up. “That’s not true.”

Corran sighed. “From a certain point of view it is. You had reservations all along about the duel. You had concerns over what fighting the duel would do to me. In fact, you noted many times that the Jedi are not warriors.”

“Corran, I was your second in that fight.”

“You chose to support me despite my errors because the opportunity offered through the duel was one that protected many.”

A sense of resignation rolled off Luke Skywalker and surprised Jacen. “Uncle Luke, are you going to agree to this?”

The Jedi Master looked up. “I can’t fault their logic.”

“I can! They’re saying that lies told by Borsk Fey’lya and others are enough to destroy the reputation of a Jedi Knight. For the sake of making our lives a little easier, you’re going to pitch Corran aside. It isn’t right. I won’t stand for it.”

“Yes, you will, Jacen.” Corran nodded wearily. “This is what has to be done.”

“You’re letting the ends justify the means.” Jacen blinked his eyes in amazement. “Can’t you see that? To save us some pain, you become as evil as Darth Vader or Thrawn.”

“Jacen, if you look at the short-term ends, that’s how you can read it. I get hammered, but at least the Jedi won’t. That means you are still free to do the jobs that need to be done. If I didn’t do this, I’d deserve the reputation for being evil.”

Corran sighed heavily and unfolded himself from within the chair. With elbows planted on knees, he held his head in his hands. “I’m not totally innocent here. Far from it. Some of the things Master Skywalker feared, some of the things you feared, Jacen, about vengeance and the dark side, they were true. I’m going to need time to sort them out. My being disowned, well, we get some good out of it. For the Jedi. For me.”

Concern washed over Luke’s face and flooded his voice. “Corran, whatever you need . . .”

“I know, Master, thank you. I think, I hope, it’s just time.”

Ganner scratched at the scar on the left side of his face. “What will you do if you leave the Jedi?”

Corran shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Well, Coruscant isn’t home anymore. I have exchanged messages with Mirax. We’ll return to Corellia. I can do things there. My grandfather still has enough pull with politicians that I can have asylum. Maybe Corellia can be motivated to do some positive things concerning the refugees created by the Vong. Worse comes to worst and I hook up with Booster to use the Errant Venture to help out.”

He looked at Luke. “You know, despite problems I may be having, I’ll be there if you need help. It’s just, right now, I think this is the best thing I can do for the Jedi all the way around.”

“I think you’re right, Corran.” Luke reached up and patted Mara’s hand. “You’re making a tough decision much easier.”

Jacen just shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. The Jedi had done exactly what they were supposed to do at Ithor. They had helped whisk refugees away, evacuating the entire planet. They opposed the Yuuzhan Vong, putting themselves at risk to discourage the invaders. They’d suffered casualties and fatalities and had even won a duel that should have guaranteed the safety of the world. Their efforts had prevented countless deaths, and yet enemy treachery and political manipulation resulted in a Jedi being blamed for a disaster he had done all he could to prevent.

And my uncle is accepting that this is what must happen. Jacen had long known that the heroic mold in which Luke and Corran had cast themselves as Jedi was not to his liking. It seemed a poor fit, and that fit worsened as the Jedi bowed to political considerations. If we serve life and the Force, how can we let politics turn one of us, all of us away from that duty? We can’t! There has to be another way.

He sighed. I have to find that other way.

“Jacen.”

The young Jedi straightened. “Yes, Corran?”

“You’re idealistic, and that’s good. I know this doesn’t sit well with you. I can see that in your eyes. Yours, too, Ganner. I appreciate that, but I need the both of you to do something for me. Something I can’t do.”

Ganner nodded. “Name it.”

Corran looked at the both of them, and when his green-eyed gaze met Jacen’s eyes, the younger Jedi felt a jolt. “Some Jedi, like Kyp and Wurth, will take my leaving as a good sign. They’ll consider the sort of discussion we’ve had here just a display of weakness. When I leave, they’ll think they’ve won some sort of victory. No persuasion on your part will change their minds. It will just lower you in their estimation. It will make their plays for power that much more effective.”

He glanced at Luke. “You have to support Master Skywalker. If the Jedi aren’t together in opposing the Vong, Ithor will be just one more tragedy in what’s going to be a very long list.”

“I’ll do it.” Ganner smiled. “Thanks for providing me an example to follow.”

“Don’t follow it too closely, Ganner. Be yourself. Set an example for others.”

Corran shifted his gaze to Jacen. “What about you?”

Jacen started to open his mouth, then closed it. Thoughts and emotions ran rampant through him. He wanted to agree, but it meant committing himself to a direction he wasn’t certain was for him. A direction that will take me away from where I need to be. Yet, despite his ambivalence, he nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure that will be more than enough.” Corran straightened up, momentarily shaking off his weariness. “I’m sorry to abandon you. My ability to help . . . There are things I have to do. I just hope you are able to handle the Vong. If there ever comes a time when folks look forward to the return of the man who killed Ithor, well, we know that means the invasion is completely out of hand and things are truly beyond saving.”