“You’re the ace pilot, Jedi.” Fett jerked his head in the direction of the aft bulkhead, as if there was something behind them. “Spare Bes’uliik in the carrier. Up for it?”
Jaina felt a pang of excitement and then instantly guilty. It seemed wrong to find any small pleasure in life so soon after Mara’s death. She’d been the same after her brother Anakin was killed, as if feeling anything other than permanent grief was somehow betraying him. I’d hate to think anyone I left behind couldn’t live fully again. I have to get past this. She thought of Mara having a good laugh about Jaina edging past five-year-olds with blasters, and seized the chance.
“Can I at least get a look at the controls first?” she asked. “It’s hard learning on the job in combat.”
“We can test cross-decking to the carrier at the same time.”
Fett wasn’t joking. The Tra’kad pilot brought the vessel down on the deck of the carrier and settled it flush against a hatch. The Tra’kad’s belly hatch opened; Jaina, feeling like a bug tipped out of a box, jumped down to the deck five meters below, easing her landing with the Force. Four dark gray wedge-shaped fighters sat on the hangar deck, a tight fit, and the familiar scent of hot drive, lube oil, and coolant was reassuring. She stood admiring their lines; it was a pilot’s machine, all right. Fett climbed down rungs set in the bulkhead, boots clanging as the spikes in the toe caps caught the metal.
“Mirta?” Fett never raised his voice, not even when he called out to someone. “You, too.”
“Leave her to me, Ba’buir.” Mirta walked up to a Bes’uliik and pressed something on her forearm plate to open the canopy. “Have we got time to get aloft for a few minutes?”
“Knock yourself out, “Fett said, and climbed back up the rungs to vanish into the belly of the Tra’kad.
“Two-seater, “Mirta said. “Up you get. You’re driving.”
“You’re qualified on these?”
“If you mean can I fly one, yes.” Mirta was remarkably agile even in armor, and was up on the airframe and lower-ing herself into the copilot’s seat before Jaina had a chance to worry. “Only qualification is not killing yourself. We’re not great form-fillers in Keldabe.”
The canopy clicked into closed position and the cockpit was suddenly muffled against the sounds outside. Mirta, wedged right behind Jaina’s seat, pointed out the drive ignition button.
“Push it.”
Jaina pressed the button carefully with a cautious fingertip. The Bes’uliik made a little ack like a living animal’s cough, and then the airframe shivered as the initial throaty rumble of the drive rose in pitch to a steady, singing, pure note.
“If you’re nervous, Jaina, “Mirta said, “remember I’m the one putting all my faith in you.’”
Yeah. No pressure.
Jaina followed the hand signals of a Mandalorian in bronze armor to roll back, and moved the yoke intuitively, surprised when the fighter responded as she expected. The hangar deck turbolift lifted; she watched the cross sections of decks pass the cockpit as they rose, and heard airtight hatches hiss and snap closed beneath them. Eventually she was looking up at star-dappled space; she was ready to take off.
“Nothing to crash into, “Mirta said. Her arm snaked past Jaina’s cheek and pointed at the various instruments. “Almost X-wing panel layout, except the weapons systems are this side. Take her out, Jaina.”
I’m a Jedi. I can fly anything.
“Full domestic spec?” Jaina asked.
“Export, and that still beats what you fly at home…”
Jaina let vague familiarity take over her hands, and her Force ability to sense position and every little nuance of the Bes’uliik’s handling did the rest. She was clear of the small flotilla before she realized it and getting a sense of how tight the turns could be. It felt wonderful. It was like any well-designed, lovingly crafted tool: it felt like an extension of her body, not a platform designed around the weapons with grudging space left for the being who had to deliver them.
“Easy to be seduced by it, isn’t it?” Mirta said.
She meant the Bes’uliik, that was clear, but Jaina thought of the ease with which she slid toward darkness, and how easy it was starting to feel among these people, how natural to be learning to treat her brother like a bounty; she wondered where the line lay between being open to new ideas and too easily betraying the old.
“It’s perfect, “Jaina said.
Mirta wasn’t as hard to read in the Force as her grandfather. The sense of agitation hung in the cockpit. “You think a Jedi healer would really be able help my grandmother?”