“For the first time in many years, I felt accepted and needed. Not only did I have a place where I felt I belonged, but I was doing good for others. With each individual I helped, I saw a pattern emerging. In one way or another, they all had been taken advantage of or harmed by humans … like Hethrir.” She spat the name.
Jaina blinked in surprise, leaving her food untouched. She wasn’t sure what she had expected of Lusa’s story, but it hadn’t been this. The tone reminded her of some of the things Raaba had told Lowie back on Kuar.
“My new friends showed me how human domination had caused our problems. It was so clear, I wondered why I hadn’t seen it before,” Lusa continued. She seemed distant, as if talking in a dream.
Jaina felt her stomach tie itself into a knot, and she exchanged glances with her brother. Certainly Hethrir had been human … but so was Jaina, and so were the people who had rescued the children from him. How could the Centaur girl have blindly accepted such a pernicious generalization about humans? With a sinking heart, Jaina waited to hear what Lusa would say next.
“The more I understood how humans had trampled my species and the other aliens I was helping, the greater responsibilities I was given in our group. Our leader began sending me on covert missions. I saved alien lives, rescued slaves, helped to overthrow tyrants. I knew I was doing good work, and for a good reason.
“Then, about ten days ago, our leader gave me an assignment to wipe the navicomputers of a geological survey ship. Through carelessness and neglect, its crew had destroyed a forest on the planet Kaisa and had caused the extinction of the Buro, a species of ethereally beautiful sentient insects. My job was to make sure that the survey ship’s navicomputer would never again guide its geologists to a new world they could destroy.
“I eagerly took the assignment. I had been so indoctrinated by the group that I cringed at the very sight of the humans whose computer I had been sent to sabotage. But for some reason—maybe because one of the geologists had a daughter who was the same age as you were when I knew you, Jaina … I—”
Lusa’s voice broke, and she paused before going on. “As I watched the geologists boarding their craft, whose computer I had just sabotaged, I realized that after their very first hyperspace jump no one aboard would have any idea where they were. When they emerged from hyperspace it was entirely possible that they would be lost in uncharted territory—or worse yet, that they might come out at the center of a star or at the edge of a black hole. I could be responsible for killing all of them.”
Lusa’s body went rigid, and she shuddered at the memory. “I had never stopped to think exactly what I was willing to do for the cause I believed in. Was I willing to kill? And if so, what must the victim’s crime be to deserve that death? Should I judge each one, or could I trust my leader to judge them for me?” She shuddered again and tossed her mane of glossy cinnamon curls. Her crystal horns glinted in the light.
“I couldn’t go through with it. I stopped the geologists and told them what I had done. I planned to surrender myself to the proper authorities. I was shocked when, instead of hating me. they were grateful. After their navicomputer was repaired, the geologists offered to take me anywhere I needed to go. I went with them to Coruscant. I was afraid to contact the Chief of State of the New Republic—or you—directly, but I recalled that Master Skywalker had suggested that I consider studying at the Jedi academy someday. I sent him an urgent message, and he came to Coruscant to get me.” Lusa fell silent.
Luke Skywalker nodded. “I think Yavin 4 will be a good place for you to recover and to get a sense of perspective, to let your mind heal.”
“You are welcome among us,” Tenel Ka said.
Jaina reached out to touch her friend’s arm. “I’m glad you remembered we’re your friends, Lusa,” she said. “I’m happy you’re here.”
Raynar said in a bemused voice, “I never knew anyone could hate us so much …just because we’re humans.”
Jaina bit her lower lip. A memory tickled at the edges of her mind and she asked, “This group that you were a part of, Lusa—did it have a name?”
The Centaur girl sighed. “A silly, idealistic name. One that sounds like it includes everyone. But that would be a false assumption.” She shook her mane. “We called ourselves the Diversity Alliance.”
Jacen yelped. “Hey, Lowie’s friend Raaba is part of the Diversity Alliance.”
Luke Skywalker looked at them in alarm.
Jaina swallowed hard. “And Lowie left here with her. Alone.”
6
Zekk brought the Lightning Rod down through the atmosphere, confident that no one would disturb him … at least not here. This planet was the farthest place from anywhere he could possibly find.
The charts called the bleak world Ziost. Glaciers covered much of what had once been a towering outpost of the fallen Sith Empire, so that only a few broken turrets still protruded from the landscape of ice. Frozen tundra crackled blue under the shimmering auroras dancing above in the sky.
Ziost was too inhospitable to harbor any sort of colony and the Sith ruins too decayed to shelter pirates or other refugees who might seek to hide from the scrutiny of authorities.
It was, however, a good place for Zekk to do his work, undisturbed and alone. Without risk of detection.
The disguised man on Borgo Prime—whom Zekk was certain must be Bornan Thul himself— had commissioned him to transmit a coded message to the Bornaryn merchant fleet. In the wake of Thul’s disappearance and the kidnapping of his brother Tyko, the fleet had gone into hiding and now hopped at random through hyperspace to keep from being found.
Zekk had to communicate with them somehow. His bounty depended on it. “Master Wary” had offered suggestions, places from which he might attempt to send his message—and Zekk intended to try them all. He would not give up easily.
The Lightning Rod headed toward a broad shelf of ice under a twilit sky. Fissures ran across the frozen plain, and slushy water burst through the cracks, propelled by tidal pressure. Trusting his instincts, Zekk found a safe place to land and shut down all systems: he would leave no bright sensor traces for spying eyes, however unlikely their presence might be.
Working in silence, he rigged up his transmitter, fed in power from the engines to give his signal a spectacular boost—and began sending Bornan Thul’s message.
Zekk wasn’t sure what the coded burst said, but now he could hazard a guess: Thul would most likely explain his disappearance, announce that he was still alive, or perhaps estimate when he expected to come home.
He first sent the signal to the Bornaryn headquarters on Coruscant, on the chance that Aryn Dro Thul might check in for urgent news. It only made sense that she would have made arrangements to learn if her missing husband reappeared.
Zekk didn’t know why the man was so desperately hiding, but Thul was obviously frightened. He did understand why Thul might go to Shanko’s Hive in disguise to hire a bounty hunter—a little known bounty hunter like Zekk. Since Thul had such a high price on his own head, he would be foolish to send the message himself. Any glory-seeking bounty hunter might spot the signal and race to its source fast enough to capture him.
Being a bounty hunter himself, Zekk was paid to assume such risks. Even so, he did not intend to be easy prey for his competitors.
Everyone in the galaxy seemed to be looking for Bornan Thul—including Zekk … until he had unwittingly been hired by the very quarry he sought. On the other hand, Thul had already set up another meeting with him, so perhaps when the time came, Zekk could capture the wanted man after all and take the whole bounty. Then he would prove himself a bounty hunter to be reckoned with.