The Last Jedi

PART TWO

Flight and Pursuit





Thirteen


Jax’s hands flew over the Laranth’s controls, seeming to go in two directions at once. Den felt as if his mind echoed the movements. The difference being that Jax’s hands were sure, methodical, swift; Den’s thoughts were frantic, chaotic, and just plain scared.

Did the Inquisitor’s presence mean that Darth Vader knew Jax Pavan was alive and on Coruscant? Knew what ship he flew? Knew, even, that he had paid a visit to the Security Bureau? Or was the Inquisitor merely on patrol, groping after Force adepts as Inquisitors always did, and had been drawn to Westport by Jax’s residual signature?

If Vader had known Jax was alive on Coruscant, Den told himself for the twentieth time, he would have done something. Maybe he still didn’t know … yet. But what would he make of his Inquisitor’s report that he had been fired at on Landing Stage 184Z at Westport? I-Five’s bit of playacting notwithstanding, anyone who fired at an Inquisitor was going to draw swift attention from the Imperials.

And so they fled … in a legal, orderly fashion so as not to draw further attention. Any thought of waiting out Vader’s departure was forgotten.

Den could see the agony of that decision on Jax’s tense face as they lifted off and executed a series of course adjustments that put them on a heading for the Hydian Way with an alleged cargo of machine parts. Moments ticked by as they sped out of the Coruscant system, their sensors sweeping surrounding space for pursuers, or an ambush, or anything out of the norm.

We’re just a tiny little freighter from Toprawa, Den thought, as if his brooding could have any possible effect on reality in their pocket of the galaxy. We’re not worth investigating. He kept repeating that in his mind like a sort of mantra, seeking to squeeze whatever comfort he could from the words.

Which wasn’t much …

They reached the threshold of the system’s gravity well without mishap, which—as much of a relief as it was to still be alive—left Den feeling limp with exhaustion. He looked at the star charts on the navicomp display, swallowed hard, and asked, “Where to, Jax?”

When the Jedi didn’t answer, I-Five prodded him. “Toprawa?”

“That’s my vote,” Den said. “We’ve got allies there, after all. A place to park and regroup, anyway.”

“That makes sense,” Jax agreed. “Except that it might make sense to Vader, too.”

“Really?” I-Five split his concentration between copiloting the ship and determining its course. “Do you think he has any idea that we’re still around? I rather imagine that his overweening self-assurance predisposes him toward believing we’re all dead. So much so, in fact, that I doubt he’d recognize evidence to the contrary.”

Jax turned and stared at the droid for a moment, as if examining the concept in his head.

“Y’know,” Den piped up, “I’ll bet Five’s right. Otherwise, he’d’ve been all over us. In fact, if he’d sent that Inquisitor after us, we wouldn’t be in space right now.”

“We need a course before we enter hyperspace, Jax,” I-Five pressed. “Is it Toprawa?”

“Have you forgotten that we might have a betrayer there?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I-Five said after a moment. “In point of fact, I never forget anything. And I suspect Den hasn’t forgotten, either, in this particular case, though his hippocampus is somewhat inferior to my memory chip.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Den.

I-Five ignored him. “Neither of us is denying the possibility that someone in Aren Folee’s organization might have leaked our course to Vader. But what else might we do? We’ve lost any chance of monitoring Vader’s shuttle as it leaves the system.”

Jax took his hands from the controls. “Because of me,” he murmured.

“Pardon?” The low, curving helm tilted askance and the oculus cycled as if to focus more tightly on the Jedi’s face.

“We’re unable to monitor Vader’s movements because of me,” Jax repeated. “Because I acted precipitously …”

“What else could you have done? It made sense that Vader would bring Yimmon back to Coruscant.”

Jax shook his head. “I don’t sense he was ever here. I think he was sent wherever that other contingent of ships was sent. Though I wonder why Vader came back here without him. Not that I’m complaining—it bought us more time.”

“Maybe,” Den said reluctantly, “he came back here because he’s already gotten the information he needed to bring down Whiplash.”

“No. He would oversee that himself. We’d be seeing an explosion of activity around his headquarters. But it’s quiet as can be, and he’s leaving again.”

“Then perhaps our logical next move,” the droid suggested, “would be to head for Mandalore.”

“Mandalore,” Den repeated, his eyes widening. “You don’t think they’ll still be there?”

“No,” Jax said thoughtfully, “but I’m hopeful we might find out where they were going.”

“How? Are we just going to hang out in taverns and ask everyone we meet if they happened to know where the Imperials went? Rumor is rampant that Mandalore is a divided society these days. If that’s the case, whom do we go to for intel?”

“Whoever seems in the best position to have it.”

“On what excuse? We start asking questions all over the place, and any hope of keeping a low profile—”

“I seem to recall,” said I-Five, “that you used to be a journalist. One of the perks of having a memory chip,” he added drily. “Perhaps that would provide a suitable cover and a reason for asking questions all over the place.”

Den felt as if he’d just awakened from a deep sleep. A spark of something like hope—or at least not like panic—curled around his heart. “I … well, yeah. I guess that could be a good cover.”

“Indeed,” I-Five agreed. “And though it galls me to contemplate it, I can be your indispensable metal sidekick. Jax, meanwhile, can employ subtler methods of fact finding.”

“Or,” Jax said, “we could just be pirates.”

Den grinned. He liked the idea of being a pirate. Pirates ostensibly did much business on and around Mandalore’s ill-named moon, Concordia. And pirates would have every reason to be interested in the movement of Imperial ships and troops.

“All right. I like this plan. We can hit arms dealers, public houses and cantinas, ship repair yards—people in those places always have their eyes open for Imperial activity. What do you think, Jax?”

But Jax had risen and was on his way aft.

“Jax?”

“Sounds good, Den.” He turned. “I-Five, since you’ve already filed a flight plan for the Hydian Way, why don’t we make a quick jump in that direction, then adjust course? I’m going to change out of these clothes.”

“Consider it done.”

“Don’t you want to be up here to see the stars blur?” Den asked.

“No.” Jax disappeared into the fore-and-aft corridor.

Den stared after him for a moment. “I’m a little worried about him.”

“Only a little?”

He looked at I-Five. “He’s blaming himself for everything that’s happened—you realize that, right?”

“Yes.”

“I know that’s not justified, but …”

“But?”

“It struck me just now … what if that whole thing with Vader’s shuttle was a trap? A ploy to get Jax to reveal himself?”

“If it were, do you honestly think he’d have gotten out of the ISB unscathed? Or that this ship would still be in one piece?”

“Well, no. Unless Vader has some ulterior motive.”

“Vader has faced off against Jax often enough, with results disastrous enough, that I expect he would want to make certain of Jax’s destruction if he even half suspected he was still alive. He would hardly let him slip through his fingers again. Jax could easily just sail off into Wild Space or the Unknown Regions and never come back.”

“Yeah, he could. But he wouldn’t. And I’m pretty sure Vader knows that as well as we do.”

“Granted.” I-Five punched the hyperdrive controls. Space blurred, the stars becoming streamers of varicolored light. “And I suppose you could be right about Vader—perhaps he is toying with Jax. Or perhaps he’s simply wary of him. In either case, it begs a most interesting question.”

“That being?”

“Why?”

Den was quiet for a moment. “I don’t like that question.”

“Maybe you’ll like this one better, because it arises simultaneously: how well does Darth Vader know himself?”

Den was quiet for a longer time. At last he said, “It’s a good thing you opted for indispensable metal sidekick.”

“Yes? Why?”

“Because you suck at comedy relief.”



In his cabin, Jax walked back through their brief stay on Coruscant—realizing how close he’d come to giving up the whole mission by affording Vader a chance to recognize him. More than ever, he longed for his Master’s guiding hand, for Yimmon’s quiet strength, for Laranth’s cool, clean pragmatism. But as much as he hungered for their presence, he felt haunted by them.

He sat down before the miisai tree to steady himself, to work out their next steps, but his attempts to empty his mind of ghosts met with only limited success. He focused his awareness on the miisai tree—a fractal structure of pulsing light, shedding pale ribbons of Force energy into his small cabin. He reached out with his own awareness, touching the field generated by the tree, moving beyond it toward its Source.

He was forced to banish Laranth from his thoughts repeatedly, but finally succeeded in emptying himself into the Force, stretching his awareness out to sense, to listen, to feel. He let his consciousness float in the Force eddies—an island, both disconnected and connected. In this state, he fixed his mind on Thi Xon Yimmon. If he reached out to the Cerean’s powerful intellect, he might be able to sense him—the epicenter of tiny ripples in the fabric of the Force. But it made more sense—dangerous as it might be—to seek Vader. As a powerful Force-user, Darth Vader inhabited the Force in a way that Jax could detect quickly and easily; a much more noticeable presence than Yimmon, like a planet-sized dent in the space–time continuum as opposed to a small asteroid.

Anger—hot, swift, and unreasoning—swelled momentarily in his breast. Why? Why was Vader what he was? How had Anakin become the enemy?

If you touch him with that much rage in your heart, he’ll know, the voice within him, thin and small and low-key, reminded him. Or with fear consuming you. He’ll know you’re alive. He’ll know how much he’s hurt you. And he’ll know he can reel you in.

It was true. The clarity of the knowledge, the certainty of it, all but stopped Jax’s breath in his throat. He was trapped by the rawness of his own emotions, for he could not go anywhere near Vader with either fear or anger dominating him. Somehow, between now and the time they reached Mandalore, he had to armor himself. He had to be able to sense Darth Vader without Vader sensing him—until it was too late.

He needed time. And he needed help. Whiplash was out, and he’d already jeopardized the resistance fighters on Toprawa more than he ought to have—never mind that there was a chance betrayal had come from that quarter. Something bothered him about that idea, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

Jax shook off the vague unease and tried to think ahead to Mandalore. Even with his Force sensitivity in play, their chances of being able to scare up any real intelligence with a haphazard approach could prove to be a time-consuming exercise in futility.

Where could they get such help? They were cut off. Cut off from the resistance and from Whiplash.

He felt a sudden kinship with Tuden Sal. The Sakiyan must have felt something like this when he was first expelled from his entrepreneurial support network. When he’d lost his family, his business holdings, his contacts—

Jax felt as if the universe had paused in its ceaseless movement, waiting for him to catch up.

Sal’s contacts.

Jax knew the Sakiyan hadn’t lost touch with all of them. In fact, he occasionally used them to provide information, to distract attention, to misdirect black-market arms shipments.

Jax rose and went forward to the bridge. He found his companions right where he’d left them, though now Den was staring moodily out of the forward viewport.

“How soon can we drop out of hyperspace?” Jax asked I-Five.

“I’d planned on it in approximately fifteen minutes and … four seconds. That way we’ll seem to be adhering to our flight plan—if anyone’s watching. Why do you ask?”

“I need to talk to Sal. Let him know where we’re going. What we’re doing.”

“Isn’t that rather risky?”

“We can encrypt the message. We can even bounce the signal and make it seem to be coming from somewhere else. If we take those precautions, we should be all right. It won’t be much—just a quick exchange of information.”

“As you wish.”

“Good.” Jax reached out and touched the droid’s helm briefly. Then he sat down in the jump seat behind the pilot’s station and joined Den in staring out the viewport.

“You okay?” the Sullustan asked him. “You seem … edgy.”

“I’m fine. Just … I know what I need to do.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Den smiled at him, relief all but oozing from his pores.

At I-Five’s precise mark, they dropped out of hyperspace and adjusted their course to point them into Mandalorian space.

The droid looked over at Jax. “We’re parked. You can talk to Sal anytime.”

“Good.” Jax slid out of the seat and headed aft. “I’ll use the comm console in engineering.”

He saw Den’s head swivel toward him as he slipped from the bridge. He felt … strange. He was being secretive, and they all knew it. And he suspected that neither Den nor I-Five would approve of what he was about to do. He doubted Laranth would, either.

Well, he’d deal with all that later. Every action carried risk, but he had to act.