[Legacy Of The Force] - 02(4)

Ben’s Force-senses were a fraction of Jacen’s, trained in not much more than physical skills and the beginnings of true meditation. He closed his eyes. He felt the vague tingling at the back of his throat, the hint of something dangerous but far away. The slight breeze across the plaza swept scents of foliage with it. The protest continued, now a little noisier, but still peaceful.

“I can feel a threat, but it’s a long way away.” Ben opened his eyes, worried that he had answered the wrong question. “Like a really bad storm coming. Nothing more.”

“Exactly,” said Jacen. “Billions of unsettled, unhappy people ready to fight. People who want things to be settled. People who need peace.”

“And that’s our job, right?”

“Yes,” said Jacen. “That’s our job.”

“And I’ll be working with you.”

Ben wanted to make sure. He was learning his first lesson in what Jacen called expedience. A few weeks ago he had been a commando, a hero, a real soldier who had helped sabotage Centerpoint Station and enraged the Corellian government. Now he had to be quiet and speak when he was spoken to. He needed to know if Jacen would only treat him as an adult when it suited him, like his father did.

On some planets, you were a man at thirteen and that was that; no going back, and no worrying about what your parents would say. Mandalorian boys became warriors after trials at thirteen, supervised by their fathers. Jedi were trained from childhood, too, but trials took an awful lot longer than that. Ben knew he wouldn’t be a Jedi Knight until he was well into his twenties.

It seemed like a lifetime away. Suddenly he envied Mandalorian boys he would never meet.

“Yes,” said Jacen at last. “Of course you will. It’s not always going to be easy, but you can handle it. I know you can. Some of the things we’ll talk about have to be kept between us, but that’s the way with military matters. Are you ready for that?”

As if he would discuss anything with his father. He wasn’t even comfortable discussing some things with his mother these days. “Like Admiral Niathal?”

Jacen smiled. Ben had guessed right again. “Yes, like the admiral, who I think is going to be an ally of ours.”

“I understand, Jacen. I know this is serious.”

“Good. That’s what I needed to hear.”

Ben basked in Jacen’s approval but knew that wasn’t the right thing to feel when they were talking about war. He was now very clear about the huge gulf between practicing with his lightsaber—which was a game-and then having to fight for real. People had already died. More would die in the future. Once the excitement of battle had worn off, he had thought about that a lot.

Right then, he wanted to know what had really happened to Brisha, the strange woman he hadn’t much liked on first sight, and the Jedi called Nelani, whom they had traveled with. Jacen would say only that they had been killed-no details, no explanation-but Ben recalled none of it even though he was certain that he had been somewhere with them.

Did Jacen tell Dad, and not me?

It was eating at him. He hated not remembering things that felt important, and this did feel serious and worth remembering.

“Something’s bothering you,” said Jacen as they walked away, leaving the Coruscanti protest behind them.

Yes: Brisha and Nelani. But Ben decided that part of growing up was knowing when to do as you were told, not like a child who didn’t know any better, but as a soldier who understood that sometimes there were things you didn’t need to know.

“Nothing important,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

MINISTER KOA NE’S OFFICE,CLONING FACILITY, TIPOCA CITY, KAMINO, TEN STANDARD YEARS AFTER THE YUUZHAN VONG WAR.

“You’re dying,” said the physician.

Boba Fett could see the man’s reflection in the wall-wide sheet of transparisteel as he stared out over the choppy seas. Light beige coat, white-blond hair, ashen face: he must have wondered why Fett had summoned him all this way to carry out more tests.

Because I think I need the Kaminoans’ special medical expertise, not just yours. And I’m right.

Tipoca City was a sad ruin of the minimalist elegance that it had been in his father’s day, but its few crippled towers were still more of a haven for Fett than Coruscant would ever be. He concentrated hard on the dark surface of the sea and waited a few moments to see if the aiwhas were gathering in pods again, then took in the doctor’s words and digested them.

They tasted familiar, inevitable, and yet were a ball of ice in his stomach. He resisted all movement in his facial muscles and presented a mask to the doctor that was as impenetrable as his Mandalorian helmet.