[Legacy Of The Force] - 02(102)

“Ailyn’s my daughter,” he said quietly, in a voice that sounded as if it belonged to a totally different man. “Real name’s Ailyn Vel. So your son’s got her, has he? I think I know the kind of job he does.”

“She was cannoned up and ready to kill me, pal.”

“I need to see her.”

“Well, let me go and sort Thrackan and I’ll put in a good word for you with my boy. Maybe he can arrange visiting rights.”

“And maybe I’ll tell your boy that he can pick his dad up in a body bag if he lays a finger on my daughter. Maybe I’ll finish the job for her, because you’re no use to me as bait now.”

Mirta was staring at Fett as if she wasn’t sure what was happening. He’d certainly said something she wasn’t expecting.

“Looks like we’re all stuck,” said Han.

“No Sal-Solo, no contract on you.”

“Well, that’s a win-win situation if ever I heard one.”

“Get your Jedi son to release my daughter.”

“If you let me have a crack at Thrackan,” Han said.

“I’m not splitting the bounty.”

“Just let me split his skull.”

“Deal.”

“Okay. Deal.”

Fett held out his hand to Mirta for her communicator. “Call your wife and tell her you’ve run into an old friend and that you’re going to be late getting home.”

“She’ll sense there’s something wrong. She’s got this Jedi danger sense.”

Mirta Gev raised her blaster and held it to Han’s head. “Can she bring people back from the dead, too?”

“Okay, point taken. I’ll make it convincing.”

“Move it,” said Fett. “Don’t want to miss the President’s news conference. It’s going to be his last.”





Chapter Seventeen


Jedi are seldom public figures and rarely risk controversy. But Jacen Solo’s extraordinary record in recent weeks-leading the war on terrorism, even flying combat missions in the Corellian blockade-marks him out as a man less concerned with the esoteric spiritual preoccupations of the Jedi order than with doing his bit for the Galactic Alliance. He’s the perfect counter to those critics who demand to know what taxpayers get for their credits from the Jedi order. But, ironically, he still has almost no status within the order itself. He doesn’t even hold the rank of Master.

-HNE’s Week in Focus, political commentary

THE JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT: 2215 HOURS.

Even the Jedi council had its business hours. Jacen always found that amusingly unspiritual. He could enter the Temple at any time, but he needed to be in the council chamber itself, and that required a little deception.

It also needed a massive Force effort from him, because he had to make himself invisible at the same time as shutting down his Force presence and flow-walking back in time. He doubted he could hold all three elements together for long. He had to enter the chamber, listen and look into the past, and leave no trace of his visit.

Jacen, back in his traditional robes again, wandered around the Temple archives room browsing the datafiles until there were only a few Jedi left reading at the terminals. They would hardly notice that he had disappeared among the shelves and not walked past them again. Concentrating on his body as if it were a shell, he used the Fallanassi skills he had learned to project an illusion of being nothing, of having transparency, and drew his Force presence so far inside himself that he vanished to all Jedi senses. A woman lost in thought while she stared unblinking at a screen took no notice of him when he sat down next to her. Now he could walk into the council chamber itself, unseen-he hoped.

The Temple, whose rebuilding had struck Jacen as a needlessly expensive statement of power, was now working in his favor. He had marshaled the courage to look into his grandfather’s past again, and this was the place he needed to be to do that, on the site of the very chamber where Anakin Skywalker’s fate had been decided. He slipped through the doors and stood within the circle.

The inlaid marble floor was said to be identical to the one on which Anakin would have walked. Jacen stared at it, wondering if he might see the floor through Anakin’s eyes. He had felt his emotions. And he had seen through his own mother’s eyes; it might be possible to do both at once.

Listen.

He felt the soles of his boots become part of the marble as if he were growing into the polished slabs like a tree. His head buzzed. Snatches of conversation washed over him until-like picking out the sound of his own name in the crowded, noisy room-he heard Anakin.

He felt as if he were braking on a long slide down a hillside. He felt the jolt in his mind, and the sounds in his head became clear. He didn’t recognize the voices, but he could easily work out who some of them were.