So did Tyris.
He stabbed his blade down through my chest. The azure blade melted flesh and boiled blood as it went, reducing my heart to sweet smoke and steam. On further it stabbed, exploding arteries and burning through my spine. The lower part of my body went numb, though I barely noticed because of the wave of agony surging up through me and into my brain. It threatened to overwhelm me, letting darkness nibble into my sight. I was dying and I knew it and regrets poured in with the pain.
But I was not dead yet.
I was a Halcyon. I was a Jedi.
Jedi do not know pain.
In an instant all physical agony ceased as effectively as if I’d flicked a switch and turned all my pain receptors off. All I was left with was an incredible clarity of mind and a singleness of purpose. I’d dedicated my life to the service of others, to the service of the Force. I would not go out without my duty being fulfilled. I concentrated and employed the greatest Halcyon gift against my enemy.
I sucked the energy out of the Anzati’s lightsaber and forced myself to smile as I did so. I tasted blood in my mouth, but that fact elicited no panic. It was inconsequential. More telling was the look of surprise on Tyris’ face as his blue blade flickered once, then twice, then went out. I’d drained it of every last joule and let him read in my eyes that he should suddenly be very afraid.
With the energy I’d pulled in I plucked him from the ground in a giant invisible fist. He screamed, I think; at least his mouth worked as if he was screaming. I made the fist convulse once and I felt no resistance as his bones shattered. I let him hang limp in the air for a moment, then hurled him back through the tents to slam him against the dome and a support. I felt a jolt through the Force and saw a blue flash of light, but by then my energy reserves had faded.
As did I. I felt spiky red torments racing in to fill my consciousness, but I slipped out of my fleshy prison before they could shackle me to this spot forever.
I sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring off my body. I felt for the burned, crusted hole in my chest but found nothing. My head pounded, but I found no torn scalp, no bump rising from a stone, no blood. A shiver ran down my spine and I realized that I actually could feel my lower body again.
I stumbled out of bed and staggered to my room’s refresher station. I started cold water running and splashed it on my face as the station’s glowpanels brightened. I drank from my cupped hands, quenching an intense thirst, then lowered my face into the catch basin and let the water flow over the back of my head.
Finally I brought my head up. As water trickled down over my back and chest, I glanced in the mirror and saw my grandfather’s face where mine should have been. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Opening them again, amid the tear-tracks water droplets left on the mirror, I saw Nejaa Halcyon’s features fade and mine return. I reached up and touched my own face, letting my fingers confirm what my eyes saw, and that sent a shoulder-shifting shudder through me.
I turned away from the mirror and buried my face in my hands. For the past ten weeks I’d been an idiot. I could have seen it, I would have seen it, but by going to the academy I’d cut myself off from the friends who would have helped make it all clear to me.
My father’s saying—“If you cannot recognize the man in the mirror, it is time to step back and see when you stopped being yourself.”—should have been my guide all the way along. In joining Luke I wasn’t being myself, I was trying to become my grandfather. And the dream made it abundantly clear that to do that was a disaster. Corran Horn was not a Jedi.
What Corran Horn was was an investigator, trained by CorSec, to deal with all manner of problems just like the Invids. If they’d been a pirate band working the Corellian sector, I’d have infiltrated them, ferreted out their secrets, and busted them up. I’d done that very thing dozens of times in my career. Granted, no organization I faced had been that big, powerful or elusive, but size works against efficiency with criminal organizations, and power allows for greed to be played off against greed, creating discord.
I’d spent ten weeks wasting my time when I could have been out there going after Mirax’s kidnappers the best way I knew how. That sort of investigation certainly would take time—months at the very least, but at least I’d be doing something that would get me closer to Mirax. The Jedi stuff I had learned was fine for saving the galaxy, but I only wanted to save one person, and save her I could.
I turned back toward the mirror and nodded to the man I saw there. “Good to see you again, Corran Horn. It’s time this Invid business is ended once and for all.”
THIRTY-ONE
The flight attendant on the shuttle smiled at me and leaned down so her lowered voice would not carry very far. It really didn’t matter, since my seatmate and I were the only people who had boarded and were in the Premier cabin on the shuttle. “Forgive me for being so forward, sir, but your pass has an ultraviolet flag on it, and on Tinta Lines, we like to afford such honored customers some privileges. The captain isn’t yet on board, but he was wondering if you would care to join him in the cockpit for the release and transit over to the Tinta Rainbow?”
I smiled, and would have refused, but Jenos Idanian, who I had become for my trip away from Corellia, never would have. “I would be delighted to join him.”
A tone sounded from the back. The flight attendant, rather resplendent in her blue and gold Tinta Lines uniform, glanced back into the main passenger cabin. There a Kuati woman was doing her best to stuff a huge carryall into a starboard, over-seat storage compartment and close the door. The flight attendant sighed. “You, of course, know your way around a Luxury-class shuttle, so you can head forward whenever you want.”
“Thanks.”
My seatmate, a young man whose more prominent features were a big larynx and bigger nose, beamed at me. “Do you really know your way around on one of these ships? I’ve studied them at tech-school and know they have the Astronav P127 Course Plotter, but of course, we’re not going to use it since we’re just going on an in-system jump, but it’s a beauty and can come up with courses very fast, even multiple jumps, and when I’ve used the one at school I could plot a tough course in seconds.”
I held a hand up. “Slow down, breathe.”
“Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly at me. “It’s just that forever and ever and ever I’ve wanted to fly. Ever since I’ve been a little kid, I mean, really little, I’ve heard stories about the Rebellion—well, the New Republic now—and Rogue Squadron and all them and I’ve wanted to fly just like them. And when Grand Admiral Thrawn showed up I volunteered for service to fight him, but I didn’t test out very good, so I went to tech-school to learn how to fix ships and then they found I could do good navigation, so they trained me for that, but then Thrawn was gone and forces got demobilized and so I was looking for a civilian job with the Tinta line.…”
“Really, look, just breathe.” I offered him my hand because Jenos would do that sort of thing. “Jenos Idanian.”
“Keevy Spart.” He wiped sweat from his forehead with a long-fingered hand. Freckles covered him. He wore his red hair shorter than mine and was slender enough that he almost reminded me of Kirtan Loor, but this kid wasn’t that stupid or mean. “So, do you fly one of these things?”
“I have, Keevy, the military variant. Back during the Rebellion some.” I looked around the Premier cabin. “Those shuttles didn’t have the accommodations this one does, and we packed soldiers in fairly tightly. And our navicomp wasn’t as sophisticated as the one you describe.”
“Oh, this is so exciting.”
I smiled. “Tell me about it.”
“Okay …” he began.
I sank back in my seat and kept a smile on my face because that’s what Jenos would have done. The morning after the nightmare I had joined my grandfather in the greenhouse and told him what I had resolved to do: to leave Corellia and infiltrate the Invids. He applauded the plan and immediately set about getting me squared away to do so. He took a look at the identific
ation Booster had provided me and while pronouncing it “marginally adequate,” he got on the comlink and soon had documents for me that appeared quite genuine.
“They are, Corran, quite genuine.” My grandfather smiled at me. “They will pass the most rigorous inspection.”
I looked at the identification card with my holograph on it. “Who is Jenos Idanian?”
“Originally? He was a small-time crook a bit older than you. He vanished, but his record was still on file. I adjusted details and the age to fit you better. You now have some youthful indiscretions in your background, including some ship-theft related problems and some smuggling arrests. Not enough to mark you well-known, but enough to suggest you know what you are doing. For your purposes, Jenos has since reformed, partially because of his participation in the Rebellion, and now works as a broker selling used starships.”
I thought for a moment, then nodded. The background was not so improbable that I couldn’t slip into it. I add a run of bad luck that becomes bitterness about rich folks who have stolen my commissions, and I become a likely pirate candidate with skills they need. “You sure this Jenos isn’t going to come looking for me?”
“Jenos hasn’t been heard from for over twenty years. If he had surfaced, your father would have gotten him, since Hal was close to arresting him back then.” Rostek Horn’s smile diminished only slightly. “I also have arranged for transport for you on the Tinta Lines Starship Tinta Palette. You will transfer in the Bormea system to the Tinta Rainbow and make your way to Coruscant. From there I suspect you can find your way to the Errant Venture and the Invids.”
I frowned. “The Tinta ships are luxury liners and have their cruises booked months in advance.”
“Siolle Tinta loves flowers, Corran.” He plucked a bud from a small seedling. “She was happy to see to it that a friend of yours would be treated like family.”
“While you might have gotten the death warrants for me quashed, there are still Imperial sympathizers here who wouldn’t mind capturing me and selling me to High Admiral Teradoc or any other self-styled warlord. Shouldn’t I be keeping a lower profile than shipping on a luxury liner?”
My grandfather laughed easily. “My dear boy, two things you must remember about Imperial sympathizers on Corellia: they would never believe any Rebel stupid enough to come to Corellia in the first place, and, second, they would find it impossible to believe any Rebel would be able to afford luxury passage on a starliner. Imperial sympathizers here live in a fantasy world twenty years old. They think of the days of Moff Vorru as a golden age. Aside from a few CorSec officials, I doubt anyone knows you are a Rebel, and those officials would never lay a hand on you.”
“Afraid of flowers?”
“A few. More remember your father very well.”
“I see.” I sighed. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your doing this for me. I’ve been a fool and I think you know it. I’d like to thank you for not having bashed me over the head with it.”
He watched me closely, his grey eyes cooling off. “What have you been a fool about?”
“Becoming a Jedi in order to save Mirax. I’ve wasted so much time.”
Rostek brushed his hands off, then posted his fists on his hips. “I should make this very clear for you, Corran. I don’t think you’ve been a fool. What you’ve learned is what you needed to learn. It may well be that not everything you studied at the academy will help you find and save Mirax, but you could not have known that before. I saw Nejaa do many things to solve cases that had nothing at all to do with the Force or his training as a Jedi—except where that training made him a better person. Going through that training and being able to make the decision you are to abandon it takes a maturity I’ve never seen in you before. Granted, your adventures with Rogue Squadron and your marriage to Mirax probably imparted much of the maturity to you; but you shouldn’t devalue your training. Just because it did not take you where you wanted to go does not mean the journey was not good for you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t. I hold memories of Nejaa Halcyon very dear. I consider my work here, preserving his knowledge of the Force, to be the greatest thing I could have done with my life; and I am glad that you will have access to it all. I’ll even share it with your Luke Skywalker, if you wish.”
“Please.”
He nodded. “Consider it done. I am very proud of you, Corran, and whatever course you take in your life. Times may not have changed much here on Corellia, but your ability to survive in the maelstrom of the civil war amazes me.”
I walked over and gave him a hug. “Again, thank you.”
He smiled as we parted. “Oh, in your document package, along with the journal datacards I gave you, I included a copy of the CorSec files on that smuggler you asked about, Jorj Car’das. Files were old—he disappeared almost as long ago as Jenos Idanian. I hope they are useful.”
“Me, too. They’ll pay off a debt.”
“Good.” He glanced at his chronometer. “You’d best finish packing. Tosruk will speed you to the spaceport.”
“One other thing I need to do, first.” I reached back and opened the small satchel I’d set on the potting bench nearest the door. I drew out Nejaa Halcyon’s lightsaber and presented the hilt to my grandfather. “A lightsaber is a Jedi’s most prized possession—after his friends. I cannot take it with me because very few pirates wear them these days and, to be honest, I’ve not earned the right to wear it. I’m not Nejaa Halcyon. I’m not really a Jedi Knight. I want you to keep it, keep it safe, as you have his knowledge and his memory.”
My grandfather accepted it carefully, as if it weighed fifty kilos. “It may seem odd, but this was the missing piece. For the time I knew him, this lightsaber was part of him, an instrument of justice. When he died and the lightsaber never came back with him, I felt justice had also vanished. Now, perhaps, it has returned.”
A single tear rolled down his cheek. “You may be right that now is not the time for you to accept the Halcyon mantle, but when it is, this shall be waiting for you.”
I left him there, alone in the greenhouse with his memories and the memories he had stored in the plants. Tosruk took me to the spaceport where I shipped out on the Tinta Palette, and now found myself, several days later, seated next to Keevy Spart, listening to the dismal story of his life. “You don’t say,” I said.
“Yes, yes, it’s all true. I’ve collected every story I can find about Rogue Squadron and want to put together a history of the unit. I know all of the pilots’ profiles, how many kills they had, where they came from.…”
“What they look like …”
“Of course.” He stared at me intently. “Have you ever met any of them?”
“Me? No, not even in passing.” I nodded toward the external viewport. “See the Rainbow yet?”
Keevy shut up and pressed his face against the viewport transparisteel. The shuttle, Tinta Blue Seven, had docked on the outside of the Palette, securely linked to the bigger ship by a docking collar. The shuttle’s gangway extended down into the ship allowing the passengers to move up into the passenger compartments while ship’s crew transferred our luggage to the shuttle’s hold. Once everyone was aboard and the shuttle was ready to travel, we’d head over to the Tinta Rainbow and offload ourselves through a similar docking arrangement. Rainbow passengers that wanted to join the Palette would be sent over on a different shuttle and both ships would proceed on their courses with a minimum of delay.
“I don’t see anything yet.” His position at the viewport added nasal tones to his voice. “Ship should be showing up soon, though.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll take the opportunity to visit the cockpit.”
Keevy turned back and grabbed my arm. “Take me with you, please?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please?” He looked at me with pitifully large and sad brown eyes. “This is probably the only chance I’ll get to see an AP127CP in a real
shuttle.”
I frowned at him. “You wouldn’t touch anything, would you?”
His voice got small. “Nope.”
“Maybe I’ll talk to the captain for you. He should be getting on board soon.” I twisted in my seat to get out and caught a flash of white in space outside. “In fact, I wonder what’s keeping him. Is that the Rainbow?”
Keevy looked back outside. “Nope, looks like a Mark II Imperial Star Destroyer, and a lot of little ships with it. Coming this way.”
I got up from my seat and turned toward the flight attendant, but as I did so two men came running up the gangway and appeared in the front of the main cabin. Both wore blasters holstered on their hips and one, the bigger one, brandished a huge vibroblade. “Stay calm,” the smaller one urged with upraised hands. “Stay calm and no one will get hurt.”
The flight attendant quieted two people as the smaller man waved me from the Premier cabin back with the rest of the passengers. Apparently he missed Keevy. “Glad you could join us. We’re from the Invidious and we’re here to relieve you of your wealth.”
An older man pointed a palsied finger at the leader. “You were Laanars, my cabin steward.”
Laanars took a quick step around to the starboard aisle, approached the man and slapped him. “I was, you cheap pile of nerf-dirt. I did your scutwork because I knew this day was coming.”
“You don’t need to hurt anyone else.” I kept my voice cool as I met his brown-eyed gaze. I stood in the portside aisle, looking at him across a block of three seats. “You’re in control. You can take what you want.”
“That’s right, I am in control.” Laanars’ larger companion slipped past him and stood near the head of the starboard aisle. Laanars held up a hand and waggled his fingers. “Let’s go, off with the jewelry. You don’t surrender it, Biril here will show you why they don’t let him work as a manicurist anymore.”