CORUSCANT
JEDI TEMPLE, OFFICE OF THE ALEMA RAR TASK FORCE
Curiously, considering the rigid militarism of his background, jag Fel ran his task force very informally, and there were times when Jaina was quite pleased with the fact.
Such as now. The office Luke had assigned them was large enough for several desks, floor-to-ceiling displays, and other gear. There was even room for a speeder berth, had the office been equipped with a hatch to the outside, and Jag had filled it with exercise equipment. Today both he and Zekk were shirtless, doing chinups, while Jaina sat at a terminal and watched them surreptitiously.
The competition-and it was a competition, though neither man would ever have admitted it-was surprisingly even.
Zekk could draw on the Force to boost his reserves of vitality, but he was taller and, though lean, heavier than Jag-it took him a trifle more effort to perform each chinup. And he was still recovering from his wounds. Surgery, bacta, Jedi healing techniques, and simple rest had worked wonders, leaving a broad, facing scar on his torso the only visible evidence of his injury, but the damage was not entirely healed.
Jag, shorter and more compact, was in better shape, his muscles more clearly defined, and though he could not call upon the Force, he could call upon the stubbornness for which his ancestors, the Fel and Antilles clans, were both known.
Jag paused at the top of a chin-up. “So. Time has gone by and we’ve seen no sign of Alema. We’ve added our monitoring program to the security systems of the Temple, the portions of the Senate Building that would permit it, the building where the Skywalkers keep their civilian quarters, and other places where they are occasionally seen, and we haven’t seen a single flag drop. Zekk, we’re doing this all wrong.”
“We should be doing sit-ups instead?”
Jag scowled, then lowered himself and began another ten repetitions. “Jedi humor. No, that’s not what I mean.”
“He means,” Jaina said, “that Uncle Luke isn’t Alema’s current target; otherwise she’d have been detected. Meaning that Mom’s the target.”
“Ah.” Zekk finished his set, then dropped to the floor and reached for a towel. “So we track your mother down.”
Jaina shook her head. “If it were that easy, Alema would have done it already.”
Jag, grunting his way through one more group of tenwhich would put him, Jaina noted, exactly and deliberately ten ahead of Zekk-nodded, finished his set, and dropped to the floor. “We need to get the monitoring software installed in places where your parents might show up. Smugglers’ havens, casinos, and trouble spots-here, around the galaxy, even on Corellia.” He paused to consider that last possibility. “I wonder if Galactic Alliance Intelligence could swing that.”
A current from the vent on the far wall carried air to Jaina, and she wrinkled her nose. “It won’t take Intelligence to figure out where that smell comes from. You both need to head to the refresher for a sanisteam. Not to put it too delicately, you stink.”
Jag looked at Zekk and gestured toward the door. “After you “
“No, after you.”
“I’m smaller, so I stink less. A logical calculation. After you.”
Zekk frowned but-obviously seeing no way to slide past jag’s stubbornness or superior rank-wrapped the towel around his neck and left.
Jaina sighed to herself. Zekk had declared that he was over her, but as he’d recovered, he had grown increasingly reluctant to leave her alone in Jag’s company. He didn’t need to bother. Jag clearly tolerated her only because it was his job; he had as much told her so the day Luke had assigned her to him.
And yet, since the discomfort of their first couple of meetings, he had grown less icy, his words less punitive.
She wondered if he had begun to forgive her for her role in costing him-well, everything. About the only things he still possessed were his body and his skills - not that she hadn’t always admired both
She stomped on that intrusive thought as though it were a bug in the kitchen. Things were finished with Zekk except for friendship, partnership. Things were finished with Jag except for professional cooperation-and, she hoped, a respect that would someday overcome the resentment he felt.
She was done with men. She was lucky in war, unlucky in love. And she was the Sword of the Jedi. It might take her a lifetime to learn what that meant, what her destiny was, and she couldn’t afford to lose her focus just because she was tempted to jump into another doomed love affair.
She became aware that jag was still standing, waiting. “Was there something else, Colonel?” Inwardly, she winced. Even to her own ears her tone sounded dismissive-and she’d addressed him by the military rank that had been stripped from him, as if it had been her intent to rub salt into an injury.