[Legacy Of The Force] - 07(88)

Wedge’s forefinger dug into Tycho’s ribs. “No tricks.”

Tycho grinned and passed Luke a datacard. “In our ongoing effort to maintain cordial relations with the Jedi Order, and thus effect your rapid return to the Galactic Alliance, I present you with our special envoy, Captain Syal Antilles, who will remain with you and communicate with my office whenever you permit.”

Syal’s jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”

Tycho fixed her with a stern look. “This assignment is no milk run, Antilles. This is a tricky diplomatic mission with a lot at stake, and just trying to keep up with the Jedi can get you killed. But if you help keep the Alliance and the Jedi in touch, if you keep them talking, you’ll be making a big difference in this war.”

Wedge looked proud and reflective. “I was years older than you when I became an ambassador for the first time. Remember that, Tycho? How did we get through that assignment, anyway?”

“Pretty much, we opened fire on everyone who disagreed with us.”

Wedge nodded and turned to his daughter. “When all else fails, just do that.”





Chapter 30


SANCTUARY MOON OF ENDOR, JEDI OUTPOST

Jag lay on the medical ward bed. He might have been mistaken for a dead man but for the very slow rise and fall of his chest.

Jaina, sitting on a chair near the foot of the bed, had a good sense of how nearly dead Jag had been. He’d had damage to his neck, a fracture to his left elbow, multiple breaks in his left thigh, internal injuries. … Since he would never have survived a direct jump from the asteroid system to Endor in the cockpit of a starfighter, they had made a short jump to Bimmiel, transferred Jag to the Falcon, and left his X-wing covered by camouflage sheets and sand in a chilly tundra valley.

But now, after time in a restorative bacta tank, after medicines and rest, the medics said he was much improved; he would soon recover fully.

Jaina wasn’t sure. In the Force, Jag didn’t feel like a man struggling back toward health and vitality.

Jag opened his eyes. He didn’t move, not even to turn his head, until he’d seen everything he could from his position-a survival trait, Jaina decided, possibly one he learned while stranded on Tenupe.

Finally he turned his head and saw her. He offered no smile, but he did speak. “Hello.”

“Hello yourself. Remember much?”

“Yes.” He started to nod, thought the better of it as half-healed injuries pulled. “I remember everything. Except where we are.”

“Endor. You were unconscious when we got here.”

“Ah. And Zekk?”

“Better. He was kind of a mess coming out of the asteroid. He took the same amount of damage you did. … but emotional, not physical.”

“Too bad. Physical scars are much better conversation starters at parties.” He turned his attention to the ceiling and studied it for long moments. “Well. Mission accomplished.”

“That’s right, mission accomplished. And you’ve done what you needed to. To help restore your family honor.”

“Yes.” There was no pleasure in that word, just acknowledgment.

Jaina wished she hadn’t brought up the subject of his family. The Pels, though a human family of Corellian ancestry-Jag’s mother was Wedge’s older sister, the first Syal Antilles-now lived in the Chiss Ascendancy, by the rules of that blue-skinned folk.

And those rules dictated that, because of mistakes and decisions made by other people-Jaina among them-Jag could never go home. Hunting down Alema Rar had been the last task assigned to him by his clan. In accomplishing it, he had severed his last ties with them.

In fact-the realization struck Jaina like a blow in com-bat practice-the act of ending the threat posed by Alema had perhaps severed his last ties with everyone.

She made her voice gentle, an unaccustomed task for her. “What’s next for you?”

He shrugged, wincing as the action pulled at some of his injuries. “There’s a war on. I’m sure someone needs a pilot.”

“Stay with the Jedi.”

“Sure.”

Suddenly she was impatient with him. “I don’t mean as a civilian employee. I mean as a friend.”

He finally looked at her again. “I haven’t done a very good job of making friends. I would rate my success at nearly zero.”

“Zekk looks on you as a friend.”

“Yes. Well, without him, my rate of success would be exactly zero. And truth be told, for reasons I’m sure you understand, he would probably prefer that I not be around too much.”

“I’m your friend.”

“Are you?”

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Oh, we’re not having this conversation again.”