Invincible (27 page)

“Sorry,” Ben said, pulling a twenty-credit chit out of his pocket. “I must look like a stowaway.”

“It makes no difference to me how you came.” The Twi’lek snatched the chit from Ben’s hand. “As long as you have credits.”

He went to make the Fogblaster. Ben had never tasted a Fogblaster—or any other recreational intoxicant—and he wouldn’t have known the difference between one that had been spun and one that had been mixed if his life depended on it. But he was almost tempted to see if it would dull the aching rawness of his emotions. He still felt sick about what Tahiri had done to Shevu—and his friend’s death had reawakened other, even more painful feelings. He kept suffering flashes of the same grief and despair he had experienced after his mother had died, and sometimes it was so bad that he had to reach out to his father for support.

Surprisingly, what Ben did
not
feel was rage. He didn’t hate Tahiri for what she had done, he didn’t even dislike her. The truth was, he mostly felt pity for her. He had been where she was, had done things that were nearly as terrible because Jacen had convinced him he was serving the galaxy. Now Ben really didn’t want to punish Tahiri—he wanted to
save
her.

The bartender returned, carrying an icy, long-stemmed glass the size of a soup bowl. He placed it on the coaster with both hands, as though he was afraid to spill, then stepped back and waited.

When Ben did not immediately reach for the drink, he asked, “Something wrong?”

Ben studied the drink warily. Inside the glass was a dark, bubbling concoction that steamed blue vapor into the air—and smelled like something a ronto would leave in the street.

“No—it looks fine, I guess,” Ben said. “Maybe I better have a glass of water, too.”

The Twi’lek’s head-tails shivered—a sign that he had been insulted—then he said, “Water costs extra.”

“Fine,” Ben said. “Take it out of that chit I gave you.”

The Twi’lek eyed Ben just as warily as Ben was eyeing the Fogblaster, then produced an empty pail from under the counter and sat it down next to the drink.

“If you have a problem, my friend…” He pointed at the pail.

“Uh, thanks,” Ben said, putting any thought of actually
trying
the Fogblaster out of his mind. “Could you make that water a large?”

The Twi’lek rolled his eyes and went to retrieve another glass. Ben took a straw from a holder on the counter and stuck it into the drink, then pretended to sip. His rescue instructions—relayed over a “borrowed” comlink by an anonymous Hapan Intelligence operative on Coruscant—had been to proceed to the Big Boom cantina in Nova Station, located in the Carida system. There, he was to order a Sapphire Fogblaster—spun, not mixed—and wait for “someone he recognized” to approach him. It was all very mysterious, but then agent-recovery operations usually were. Ben just wished he had been able to order something to eat.

As he waited, Ben swiveled around to watch the all-Bith band on the stage. They were playing some sort of flighty, outdated rill-music that his mom had loved but always made
him
wince, and now he found himself actually growing fond of it as he scanned the cantina’s other customers. He still had that feeling of being watched. With any luck, the watcher would be his contact, scrutinizing him from one of the cantina’s darker corners to make certain Ben hadn’t been followed.

Ben was still looking when the bartender returned. “Here’s your
water,
” he said, clunking the glass down. “Don’t get any in the Fogblaster—it’ll explode.”

“Thanks.” Ben turned to find a glass about a third the size of the Fogblaster sitting on the bar in front of him, along with four credits—his change from the twenty, he assumed. “How much
was
that water?”

“It’s good water,” the Twi’lek replied, turning away without really answering the question. “Let me know if you want a refill.”

Ben scowled and was considering dumping it into the Fogblaster when he sensed two beings approaching from behind. He turned on his stool and saw a pair of red-haired women whom he
sort
of recognized. They were obviously Hapan. He could tell that much by their striking beauty and the stylish synthatex flight suits—one gold, one maroon—that they wore. The pair were obviously twins, with broad full-lipped grins and high, sharp cheekbones.

What made Ben’s jaw drop, though—what made him
stare
—were their long straight noses and thin arcing eyebrows. Those he recognized perfectly, because they could have been on Tenel Ka’s face. The first woman—Gold Suit—noticed him staring and smiled. The second—Maroon Suit—simply rolled her eyes, then took the stool next to Ben’s and reached for the Fogblaster.

“Finally,”
Maroon said, taking a long pull on the straw. “You have no idea how
long
I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Eight days?” Ben asked. That was how long ago he had received his instructions from the operative on Coruscant. He offered his hand. “Sorry to keep you—”

“Eight
days
? Are you kidding?” asked the other sister, the one in gold. She took a straw from the container and inserted it in the glass, then began to drink along with Maroon. “Try eight
hours,
handsome.”

“Uh, okay,” Ben said. He was pretty sure these were his contacts, because he sort of recognized them and they certainly seemed to think he was the one they were looking for. He extended his hand to Gold. “I’m Ben—”

“We
know
who you are,” said Maroon. Like Gold, she looked to be about ten years younger than Tenel Ka—though it was always difficult to tell with Hapan women. “I’m Trista. That’s Taryn.”

Taryn batted her eyelashes at him. “We’ve come to take you home.” She took another long sip of the still-bubbling Fogblaster. “Isn’t that just
luminous
?”

“Yeah…about that.” Ben glanced around the cantina again and saw that most eyes—especially human,
male
eyes—were openly staring in their direction. “I think we’re being watched.”

Trista rolled her eyes again. “
Of course
we are. If you’re going to travel with us, you’d better get used to it.”

“That’s not the kind of watching I mean, Trista,” Ben said. As the son of the most famous Jedi in the galaxy, he was no stranger to public attention himself. “I mean
watched,
as in being spied on.”

“Oh,
that.
” Taryn leaned in close to his ear, filling it with warm breath as she whispered. “That’s just our security team. We’re Tenel Ka’s cousins.”

Ben scowled, instantly growing suspicious. “I didn’t know she
had
cousins.”

“Nobody knows. That’s what makes us so useful.” Trista flicked a finger toward Ben’s water. “You going to drink that or not? They have nice water here.”

Ben left the water untouched—he was not about to drink
anything
around these two until he was certain of their credentials. “Prince Isolder is an only child.”

This caused both sisters to break into giggles.

“Pleaaase!” said Taryn. “Do you really believe Ta’a Chume accepted a male heir
willingly
? Isolder is the only
surviving
legitimate son, but you can be sure that if one of his half brothers had turned out to be a half sister,
she
would have been the heir.”

Ben had to admit they had a point—and they
did
look an awful lot like Tenel Ka. Taryn used her sister’s distraction to finish the Fogblaster, then put her arm through Ben’s and rose.

“Come on, handsome,” she said, pulling him up. “Let me show you our skiff.”

Trista scowled at the empty glass, then rose and joined them, wrinkling her nose at Ben’s tunic. “And let’s get you into some fresh clothes. Where have you been riding? The garbage hold?”

Ben raised his brow. “How did you—”

“I never should have asked.” Trista started toward the exit, speaking over her shoulder. “Would it have been too much trouble to steal a fresh set of clothes
before
you came to the Big Boom?”

Ben allowed them to lead him out of the cantina and down a long corridor lined by viewing ports. Outside the transparisteel hung wispy curtains of crimson gas, the still-cooling ejecta of the supernova that had flash-boiled the blood of billions of Caridans nearly two decades before Ben was born.

Recalling that the explosion had been a deliberate act of reprisal directed at the home of the Imperial military academy, Ben found himself wondering whether
any
war ever accomplished anything, whether all of sentient history was just a long chain of one sentient-made cataclysm after another. Certainly he had known far more war than peace during his fourteen years of life, and that was even more true for his cousins than it was for him. Ultimately, he thought,
that
was what had driven Jacen mad—not the lust for power, but the fear that nothing he did mattered, the sad conclusion that the only way to achieve total peace was through total control.

By the time they entered the private hangar bay where Taryn and Trista had docked their skiff, the prickling feeling was stronger than ever. Ben still had not seen any sign of the sisters’ security team—but then, if it was a good team and keeping a low profile, he
wouldn’t
have. Still, he stopped just inside the door, eyeing the sleek blue lines of a Batag needle ship and reaching out in the Force, searching for the source of his uneasiness.

“Don’t be shy,” Taryn said, pulling him toward the little skiff. “There’s plenty of room for three.”

“And it has a sanisteam,” Trista added.

“Give me a second,” Ben said, stopping three paces from the hatch. The docking bay was a typical mini hangar, a steel cavern with a small jungle of feed hoses hanging from the ceiling, and there weren’t many places to hide—even if he
had
felt any living presences inside. “Has your security team cleared this hangar?”

“Of course,” Trista said. “That’s what security teams
do.
”

Ben ignored her sarcasm. “And they’re watching us now?”

“They’d better be,” Taryn said. “But I promise no one will peek at your sanisteam, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

“Uh, thanks.” It hadn’t even occurred to Ben that someone
might
peek. “Can you ask them to stand down for a couple of seconds?”

Trista frowned. “Why?”

“Jedi stuff,” Ben said. “I need to check something out.”

Trista looked to Taryn, who simply shrugged. “The prince seems to trust him.”

“The prince?” Ben asked. “Isolder?”

Taryn shook her head in disbelief. “There’s only
one
prince right now, Ben,” she said. “And he’s the only one Her Majesty would trust to return you to the secret Jedi base.”

“All I need is to borrow a decent craft,” Ben said, bristling at the idea that he needed to be
returned
anywhere. “I
can
get there on my own.”

“
Of course
you can,” Taryn said. “But Her Majesty didn’t know what condition you’d be in.”

“Oh—I guess that makes sense,” Ben said, feeling a little foolish for being defensive. He turned to Trista. “What about your security team?”

Trista sighed, then fished a comlink from a utility pocket and opened a channel. “Gentlemen, we need you to turn your backs for a minute.”

No acknowledgment came, and Ben continued to feel as though they were being watched.

Both sisters frowned, and Taryn asked, “Bad signal?”

“Bad
something,
” Trista answered. Into the comlink, she said, “Acknowledge!”

A moment later, a static-scrambled voice said, “Sorry…in a…zone.”

Taryn and Trista exchanged puzzled glances, then Taryn said, “That explains it…sort of.”

Trista nodded. “We’ll be careful,” she said, reaching into a utility pocket. “Let’s get our package inside.”

She pulled a remote out and pointed it at the skiff. Ben did not sense any danger, but he signaled her to wait and reached for the lightsaber he had taken from Tahiri.

“Let me check it out first,” he said.

The sisters looked at each other, then snorted in amusement.

“You check out
that
skiff and we’ll deliver you to the prince on a stretcher,” Trista said. She depressed one of the remote’s controls, and blue forks of current began to dance over the hull. “If anyone had touched the
Blue Slipper,
they’d be lying on the deck beside it.”

“It’s the
latest
in antitheft systems,” Taryn added. “Not even on the market yet. It makes those time-consuming entanglements with local law enforcement
so
not necessary.”

Ben flushed, feeling a little foolish for trying to play the gallant. Hapan women knew how to take care of themselves, and they were accustomed to being the ones in charge—and that would be even more true for intelligence operatives. He shrugged and followed them toward the
Blue Slipper.

Even if there
was
a problem with the security team, the skiff itself seemed safe enough. The interior was tidy, spotless, and elegantly snug. It had gray leather lounge seating arranged around a level-float table that could be height-adjusted for any occasion or stowed out of the way on the ceiling. To the aft was a sleeping cabin with a deluxe refresher unit. But it was what lay forward that interested Ben the most—a small galley with an AgiMuud processing unit and over a thousand items on the menu.

Trista saw him eyeing the galley. “
After
your sanisteam,” she said, shooing him toward the refresher compartment. “You’ll find fresh undergarments and a clean robe in the sleeping cabin.”

“Compliments of Her Majesty herself,” Taryn added, smiling. “She seems quite fond of you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Ben assured her. “I’ve admired Tenel Ka—er,
Her Majesty
pretty much my whole life.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that in our report,” Trista said. “It will be awhile before we depart. I want to do a complete sweep and systems check before launch.”