[Legacy Of The Force] - 07(75)

Alert to presences in the Force. She felt them off to her left. Then they were closer, moving into the range of her glow rod: the flock of mynocks. The rearmost of them now towed Jag, who flailed helplessly.

The foremost of them came on, tail lashing, and struck at her as it passed. She dodged the blow with minimal effort. The other mynocks, strung out behind like a parade, wheeled in the first one’s wake, preparing for one attack after another.

Jaina snorted. “Jag, stick out a hand as you pass. I’ll pull you free.”

Jag didn’t respond. His helmet comlink was probably out…

That’s an assumption. Whenever I make an assumption like that, you two are free to mock me mercilessly. The words were Jag’s, but spoken long ago, during one of their many planning sessions.

And they were correct. She’d just made the sort of assumption that Jag himself routinely mocked.

As she dodged the second mynock attack, and the third, she cast out in the Force to sense the figure being towed by the last mynock. It was Jag, all right.

Jaina worked the vertical rail track as a gymnast would a set of exercise bars, swinging her wide of every tail attack, or interposing the rails between her and an incoming tail, until only the last mynock remained. Jag, in its grip, struggled and waved frantically at her. Jaina extended her hand to catch his…

Then yanked it back, allowing him to be towed past. As she did, Jag changed in form and dimension, becoming smaller, slighter. His outstretched hand suddenly had a blue-black lightsaber blade in it, and as Jaina pulled away the blade crossed the spot where her torso had been; it cut a gash in the front of her robe, but did not catch the skin beneath.

Abruptly it was Alema Rar being towed, the young, unmaimed Alema, and she stared angrily at Jaina as she and her mynock passed.

Jaina grinned at them. “Predictable, Alema, predictable.”

The other mynocks were suddenly gone, fading out of existence like the details of a dream in the moments after awakening.

Alema swung up onto the last mynock’s back, riding it as she would a tauntaun. The creature circled, keeping Jaina and Alema safely out of range of each another.

Alema’s reply was similarly lighthearted. “We wish to thank you for coming here and making it more convenient for us to kill you.”

Jaina shook her head. “That’s not what we’re here for. We’re going to end the threat you pose. You can die. Or you can surrender. The choice is yours.”

“You will never leave these chambers alive.”

Jaina shrugged. “Neither will you. I’m prepared to die. Are you?”





Chapter 26


ABOARD THE MILLENNIUM FALCON


Despite Han’s maddening maneuvers with the Falcon, despite his frequent swearing and the way the Falcon shuddered whenever her shields sustained a hit from the pursuing frigate, Leia kept her attention on the doorway to the access corridor at the rear of the cockpit. And when the walls of the corridor began to glow, illuminated by a blue-black lightsaber blade that had to be just around the corridor, Leia leapt from her seat, moved to stand in the doorway, and lit her own blade.

Alema stepped into view, again young and unmarred. She rushed Leia, throwing all her effort into a savage attack, all fourth-form technique without the added elements of acrobatics.

Leia withdrew half a pace so that the edges of the cockpit door were centimeters ahead of her. She blocked the first attack economically, offering no undue motion, extending her weapon not one centimeter forward more than she needed to, conserving her energy.

She also extended her awareness through the Force-not to Alema, but to her husband. Attuned to his moods and conceits as she always was, by experience and her nature, she now became almost a second set of eyes just behind him, anticipating his every move on the Falcon’s controls. When he began a sudden spiraling dive, Leia knew it was coming a fraction of a second in advance, enough forewarning that she could stabilize herself with a hand on the doorjamb. Alema was not so prescient; when the maneuver began, she was thrown off balance, and her next blow sizzled into the doorjamb.

Neither woman spoke, but their faces told the story of how the duel proceeded. Alema began with a mocking smile; within the time it took to throw a dozen failed blows, it had faded, replaced by anger. Leia had not bothered to hide her worry and determination; but as Alema grew angrier, Leia allowed a sweet, condescending smile to cross her features.

Baffled, Alema stepped back. “We are young. You are old. You will tire. Or the ship firing on you, whoever it is, will hit your ship, and you will watch your husband die.”

Leia nodded agreeably. “Yes, I keep hearing that sort of thing. Across forty years now, the same speech. One of the downsides of being ‘old.’ “