• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He chuckled and linked his hands around her waist. “This could get to be a habit.”

“Hold that thought,” Jaina told him as she sighted down an incoming skip. “It’ll keep your hands busy.”

A surge of annoyance came from Zekk, but Jaina understood Ganner’s flirtation for what it was. Ganner was tall, dark, and so absurdly handsome that he reminded Jaina of the old holovids of Prince Isolder. The scar across one cheek only served to heighten the overall effect. When Ganner turned on the charm, his pheromone count probably rivaled a Falleen’s, but Jaina knew a shield when she saw one. Not long ago, Jacen had disguised his thoughtful nature with labored jokes. Perhaps it was best to leave Ganner’s defenses safely intact.

“Put your hands in the gloves and rest your fingers on mine,” she directed.

As Ganner wriggled his hands into the flexible gloves, Jaina reached out for him through the Force. She lacked Jacen’s empathy, but could convey images to Ganner using her own Force talent.

As she aimed and fired, she formed mental pictures of what she saw—the battle as viewed through the greatly expanded vision granted by the cognition hood, the blurry concentric circles that made up the targeting device. Through the Force she felt the grim intensity of Ganner’s concentration, sensed a mind and will as focused as a laser. Soon his fingers began moving with hers in a precise duet. When she thought him ready, she slid her hands free, then tugged off the hood as she eased out of his lap. She pulled the hood down over Ganner’s head.

The Jedi jolted as he made direct connection with the ship. He quickly collected himself and sent plasma hurtling to meet an incoming ball. The two missiles collided, sending plasma splashing into space like festival fireworks.

Ganner’s crow of triumph was swallowed by the ship’s groan and shudder. Several bits of plasma had splashed the frigate despite its shielding singularity and Zekk’s attempts at evasion.

“Tenel Ka is right,” Jaina said. “Let me have her, Zekk.”

The pilot shook his hooded head and put the ship into a rising turn. “Forget it. You’re in no condition for this.”

She planted her fists on her hips. “Yeah? Everyone here could use a few days in a bacta tank, you included.”

“That’s not what I meant. No one could be expected to fly after losing … after what happened down there,” he concluded lamely.

Silence hung between them, heavy with loss and pain and raw, too-vivid memories.

Then Jaina caught a glimpse of the memory that most disturbed Zekk—an image of a small, disheveled young woman in a tattered jumpsuit, hurling lightning at a Yuuzhan Vong warrior. A moment passed before Jaina recognized the furious, vengeful, bloodstained face as her own.

Suddenly she knew the truth of her old friend’s concern. Zekk, who had trained at the Shadow Academy and experienced the dark side firsthand, was as wary of it as Jacen had been. In taking the pilot’s chair, Zekk hadn’t been considering her loss, her state of mind. He simply didn’t trust her.

Jaina braced herself for the pain of this new betrayal, but none came. Perhaps losing Jacen had pushed her to some place beyond pain.

She brought to mind an image of the molten lightning that had come so instinctively to her call. She imbued it with so much power that the air nearly hummed with energy, and the metallic scent of a thunderstorm seemed to lurk on the edge of sensory perception. She projected this image to her old friend as forcefully as she could.

“Get out of the seat, Zekk,” she said in cool, controlled tones. “I don’t want to fry the controls.”

He hesitated for only a moment, then he ripped off the hood and rose. His green eyes met hers, filled with such a turmoil of sorrow and concern that Jaina slammed shut the Force connection between them. She knew that expression—she’d seen it in her mother’s eyes many times during the terrible months that followed Chewbacca’s death, when her father had been lost in grief and guilt.

No time for this now.

Jaina