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Leia gave him a slight smile. It seemed to Caedus to be a very sad one. “Oh, I’m not Mom anymore?”

“Not really, no. What do you need? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“I need to speak to you.”

“And without Father.” Caedus frowned. “Where is the Falcon?”

“Back on Kashyyyk, putting out fires. Fires you started.”

“Yes. Fires to punish an enemy of the Alliance. As I must point out, you are an enemy of the Alliance. Is there some reason I shouldn’t start a fire in that ridiculous yacht of Lando’s right now?”

“The same reason as before. I need to talk to you.”

“That’s your need, not mine.”

Leia simply stared at him, silent, implacable.

She had to be up to something. Caedus tried to detect what he could of her through the Force. He could sense her, a bright and distinctive presence, alone on the yacht.

Interesting. So Han wasn’t with her; nor were there any strangers present. No assassins who might be targeting him. No Hapans come to retrieve Allana.

Well, he’d simply take her aboard, listen to what she had to say, and then throw her in prison, ending the danger she posed to his administration. Han would come after her, and Caedus could throw Han in prison, too. Suddenly he felt cheered by his mother’s unexpected visit.

He sighed as if giving in. “Very well. Come aboard my personal hangar bay. You’ll be escorted to the Command Salon.”

“Understood.”

chapter fifteen

Minutes later, two security guards entered the Command Salon with Leia between them. They presented a ridiculous picture—two tall men in crisp uniforms, their buckles, buttons, visors, and blasters gleaming, flanking a diminutive graying woman in plain Jedi robes.

Still, Caedus didn’t think Leia looked diminished enough. She needed to be in restraints, her lightsaber missing from her belt, her expression crestfallen, her eyes defeated. She needed to be suffering for all her misbehavior since the conflict with Corellia began. Well, reality would match his imagination soon enough.

He gestured at the guards; they spun and left the salon. The door shut behind them.

He didn’t bother to keep impatience and indifference out of his voice. “Well?”

Leia looked him over. Clearly, the visual image he presented—a tall, dangerous Force-user in all-black garments and cloak—was again reminding her of her father more than her son, and Caedus enjoyed having discomfited her. But she didn’t let what she was feeling be reflected in her face or voice. “Jacen, it’s time for you to look at yourself.”

“I’m well aware of what I look like, Mother. I have to cultivate my image carefully for holonews appearances.”

“I’m not talking about your looks. I’m talking about your life.”

He sighed. “You know, I was actually hoping you had come up with some exciting, imaginative new argument to sway me from my path. Not that it has a chance of succeeding. But it would be more entertaining. Don’t you have some new heart-wrenching appeal? Some brilliant metaphor to hurl at me and cause me to double over in the anguish of guilt, to reevaluate my whole ethical structure?”

She shook her head, and there was no missing the sadness in her eyes. “All I have is the truth, and the memory of who you used to be.”

He pressed a button on the arm of his chair. The door behind Leia slid open. “You’re wasting my time. Leave now.”

She glanced at the button, and it clicked down without Caedus’s help. The door slid closed again. “You no longer have time for me?”

“Which you? The mother you used to be, or the interplanetary criminal you’ve become? I’m not the only one who’s changed.”

“History decides who’s a criminal, Jacen.”

Finally, real irritation began to stir within Caedus, and he rose to the argument. “No, the law decides who’s a criminal. History just forgives them, and for reasons as stupid as they are varied. Han Solo was a spice smuggler, an unapologetic lawbreaker. You, even when you were a teenager, were a traitor to the legitimate galactic government, a conspirator planning war and overthrow. The puppet government you put in place