Legacy Of The Force_ Bloodlines Part 32

Jacen opened his eyes again, looking as surprised by the oversight as Ben was.

"You're right, Ben. I feel it. Well done. So this Mirta Gev might be connected. The woman who's been trying to contact her." He fumbled for his comlink, uncharacteristically shaken. "I can tell Dad we've got one of the a.s.sa.s.sins Thrackan sent after him. Now all he has to do is watch out for this Mirta Gev."

Jacen hugged Ben with genuine relief. Ben could feel it wash over him. Shevu came out of the cell and gave Jacen a completely blank look that Ben could tell didn't fit at all with what he was feeling, but Jacen was too tied up with calling Uncle Han to take any notice.

Ben knew what Shevu felt, and he felt a little of it, too.

Sometimes you have to do things you don't like and kill people because you absolutely have to.

Jacen was right. But it was still horrible, and he didn't think he would ever find it easy. He left Jacen to his call and decided it was time he faced his father.

CORELLIAN a.s.sEMBLY BUILDING, CORONET: OFFICE OF THE.

CORELLIAN PRESIDENT.

It was an awfully big office, and offices that big usually meant small-minded men occupied them. Fett remained dismayed by the ease with which the likes of Thrackan Sal-Solo bounced back from disgrace and even treason charges to hold high office again and again. The galaxy was a moral cesspit. It got what it deserved.

"You beat the blockade, then," said Sal-Solo, leaning back in his splendid apocia chair and holding court in front of the opposition party representatives. He smiled charmingly at Mirta, who didn't smile back. She didn't charm easy, that girl. "How would you like to work for Corellia?"

"Specify your requirements regarding Centerpoint."

"The Alliance sabotaged it but I'm embarking on repairs and it should be fully operational in a few months." Sal-Solo used the p.r.o.noun I a great deal. Fett listened in vain for the word we. "Once it's online, the Alliance won't be able to make us disarm. Ever."

"Then why do you need Mandalorian a.s.sistance?"

"Repair crews haven't been able to land on the station."

"Try recruiting on Nar Shaddaa. You need smugglers to run blockades, not soldiers."

"But when we do land crews, we'll need someone to defend the station. It's the Alliance's prime target."

Fett didn't care for Sal-Solo. He didn't care much for anybody, but this man was what Mandalorians called a hut'uun, a coward, the lowest form of life. Mirta had taught Fett a few choice Mando'a words against his will, but it seemed to be a fine language to curse in. "How much?"

Sal-Solo's eyes flickered as if he had to look to his colleagues for some mandate but was deeply unhappy about being seen to do so. "One million credits."

"Per man."

"Yes."

"Per month."

"That's a ludicrous figure."

"It's dangerous work."

"I was thinking of a flat fee. It's only going to take a few months."

"We don't do open-ended contracts. Months turn into years on construction projects." Fett really didn't want the work at all, and he knew the commandos didn't. "And no start date yet. Call me again when you put a crew on the station and we'll talk. But it's a million per man per month. If we do it, we'll be bearing the brunt of Alliance attacks and they'll probably cream your fleet first, which means we'll be defending your interests on our own."

"How many men?"

"That thing's bigger than the Death Star. A hundred at least."

Fett watched Sal-Solo's face fall ever so slightly. Two of the other three politicians looked grim. The third, Gejjen, seemed perfectly happy. Maybe he knew something about Corellia's budget that they didn't.

"I hope you didn't mind my dragging you all this way for such a brief meeting," said Sal-Solo, still directing the occasional insincere smile at Mirta. "I'll be in touch."

"Always worth visiting Corellia," said Fett. Yes, always worth getting inside a government building and recording the layout and weak points. Always worth finding out what your opposition buddies want. Always worth tracking down Han Solo and waiting for my daughter to show up. "I might stay a few days."

The politicians laughed politely.

But not for too long. I need to track down Ko Sai's research and that clone with the gloves.

"Got time to show me around?" Fett asked. He figured he might as well record what he could. "Nice place you've got here."

"Shall I do the honors, Mr. President?" Gejjen offered. That didn't surprise Fett one bit.

He beckoned to Mirta, who walked behind them with sullen disinterest as Gejjen showed Fett the fine state rooms-everything paneled in gilded apocia-and the offices. All the while, Fett's helmet and gauntlet sensors built up a handy plan of the whole Corellian government complex, even the parts that Gejjen didn't show him. That penetrating terahertz radar had been a very good investment.

The grounds were beautiful, too. Fett a.s.sessed the height of the walls and the nature of the security patrols while admiring a row of trees with pale blue blossoms whose crowns were trimmed into cubes.

"I realize you're a busy man, Fett," said Gejjen. "But may I make a proposal?"

Fett kept an eye on Mirta, who also seemed to be checking out the layout of the complex judging by her eye movements. Her Mandalorian father should have taught her the value of a helmet. "Wondered when you'd get around to it."

"Our President doesn't enjoy our full confidence. Would you remove him for us?"

I thought you'd never ask. "How permanent?"

"Totally."

"Who's paying?"

"All the opposition parties. Together, we can outvote the Centerpoint Party, and without Sal-Solo they can be quite sensible."

Fett considered the contract. Timing was the issue. He wanted to pursue Ko Sai's data as soon as he could. And after you see your daughter. Last time you saw her, she was too young to talk. "When?"

Gejjen handed him a tiny datachip. "When can you complete the task?"

"When I've checked you out." Fett tapped the datapad link on his forearm. Yes, the chip was valid. "One million."

"You people deal in round numbers."

"I could make it three million. Yes or no?"

"Yes." Gejjen tapped his own datapad. "There. Half a million up front. Balance on completion. Can we offer you a room? A speeder back to your s.h.i.+p?"

"It's a nice day," said Fett. "I'll walk."

Mirta matched his pace along the broad boulevard leading from the government building. She had been commendably silent. She was agitated, though: she sneaked a glance at her comlink.

Ailyn still hasn't responded to her. "Say it," said Fett.

"What?"

"That I should stay out of Corellian politics."

"For a million? If you don't do it, I will. Sal-Solo gives me the creeps." She slipped the comlink back into her pocket. "When are you going to do it?"

"More pressing business first."

"What's more pressing than a million credits?"

Okay, girl. It's time.

They were on Corellia, and so was Han Solo. Solo was the bait for Ailyn. And one thing Fett could always do was find Han Solo. He could almost think like the man now.

And he was getting tired of a kid thinking she could fool him.

"I'm here to find Han Solo." He could see her expression even though he wasn't looking directly at her; the helmet display could take an image from a wide angle. She blinked rapidly, but the rest of her face was utterly composed. "Because Ailyn's looking for him, and when I find him, I find her."

Fett didn't break his stride. His joints ached and he wanted to sit down and rest, but he kept walking.

"So I don't get paid," she said.

"I'll pay you because I said I would. But don't play me for a fool."

She shrugged unconvincingly. "So shoot me."

"You've still got your uses."

"How'd you know Solo is here?"

"I know Solo. And my sources are better than anyone's. He's here."

"Ah," said Mirta. "Ah."

She'd get paid. Felt couldn't understand what was worrying her. He always kept his word.

Chapter Sixteen.

Mom, Dad, please don't ignore this message. We've caught Thrackan's a.s.sa.s.sin because she made the mistake of looking for you on Coruscant. Her name is Ailyn Habuur and she isn't going to trouble you any longer. But she might have a female accomplice called Mirta Gev.

That's all we know right now, but stay sharp. Mom, Dad, I love you. Please try to understand what I have to do.

-Jacen Solo, encrypted comlink message to his parents JACEN SOLO'S APARTMENT, ROTUNDA ZONE.

"I came as soon as you called."

Lumiya was waiting for Jacen, looking for all the world like an insurance saleswoman with a taste for couture clothes rather than a Sith adept.

"It's been a difficult day," he said, and grabbed his holdall to pack a few things. That much of him was still Jedi: he owned almost nothing except the kit he needed as a pilot and a colonel. "I need to discuss some things with you."

"I could sense your anxiety."

"Luke is aware you're here. He doesn't know where you are exactly, but he feels some echo of your presence."

"You mustn't be alarmed for me. But we have to accelerate your progress toward full Sith knowledge in case Luke finds me and prevents me guiding you."

"Are there techniques to teach me?"

"Not techniques so much as awareness." Lumiya spread her arms and the room was suddenly both calm and charged with dark energy. It felt to Jacen like sitting in the company of dangerous men in a beautifully appointed office, a veneer of grace over savagery.

"Technique is for apprentices. You know all you need to know. It's within you. You only have to become aware of it and embrace it."

"You make it sound like pain."

"It will be."

"You know what it is, then. Tell me. Or warn me."

"No, I don't. I can only guide you toward awareness and encourage you to step across the line. It's a different rite of pa.s.sage for everyone who attempts it, because it's about breaking their own personal limits."

The room was soothing, an illusion that was almost a meditation chamber. The light around them was deep blue and distorted as if filtered through water. Jacen thought it was ironic that her power and energy could only find an expression in illusion, useful though that was. She could change nothing permanently.

He could, though.

"I killed someone today."

"You're a soldier. Soldiers have to be prepared to kill."

"I killed in a way I didn't think I ever could. I'm appalled at what I can do. I don't enjoy this."

"If you enjoyed it, Jacen, you would not be the one destined to become the Sith Lord."

The logic was both seductive and horribly true. He was now on a path of pain; he had to do what he dreaded most. That was why it was becoming easier each day, although it hurt so much. It was right. It was exactly what Vergere had taught him when he was in the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong. He had to suffer to become the "glorious creature," the shadowmoth who had to struggle and panic to emerge strong from its coc.o.o.n, to be changed-into what he needed to be. A Sith Lord.

There had never been an easy path destined for him to fulfill this prophecy. Vergere had known that. She had known, even then.

"You knew my grandfather. Did he have to pa.s.s this way?"

"Yes."