And where he'd seen Mara surrounded by craggy rock and floating motionlessly in a pool of water. Her eyes closed; her arms and legs limp. As if in death.
He gazed down at her again, a quiet ache in his heart. Perhaps that was her destiny, an end to her life that he could do nothing to prevent. But until that was proved, he would tear his own life apart if necessary to prevent it from happening. And if part of that sacrifice was to keep her out of the shadow of destructive dark side influence he had had on so many others, then that was a sacrifice he would have to make.
But for now what she needed most was to be healed. And that would take no sacrifice, merely time and attention. 'Good night,' he said again, knowing she couldn't hear him. On impulse, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. Then, stretching out on the cold stone next to her, he rested his head beside hers on a corner of his folded jacket and laid his arm across her chest where his fingertips could touch the area around her burned shoulder. Easing himself into a sort of half trance to aid in concentration, he stretched out to the Force and set to work.
CHAPTER
18
It took a few minutes' searching, but Wedge finally found the others at a small, open-air tapcafe half a block down from the space traffic registration office. 'There you are,' he said a little accusingly as he dropped into the third seat at the table.
'What's the problem?' Moranda asked, sipping at the pale blue-green liqueur that had been her constant tapcafe companion ever since they'd met her. 'I told you we'd be down the street here.'
'You're right—I should have guessed where exactly down the street you meant,' Wedge countered, throwing a sour look at her drink. 'Aren't you starting a little early in the day?'
'What, this?' Moranda asked, lifting the glass and turning it this way and that in the morning sunlight. 'This is nothing. Anyway, you wouldn't be so heartless as to deny an old woman one of the last remaining pleasures of her declining years, would you?'
'That 'old woman' excuse is starting to wear a little thin.' Wedge shifted his attention to Corran and the aromatic mug he was cradling. 'And what's
'It didn't go at all,' Wedge growled, glaring at Corran's mug. Now that he thought about it, a drink actually sounded pretty good. But after that rather self-righteous tirade he could hardly beckon a droid over and order something himself—
There was a movement at his side, and a mechanical hand set a mug down on the table in front of him, spilling a few drops first in the ancient annoying Bothan custom. 'What's this?' he asked.
'We ordered it when we saw you coming down the street,' Moranda said. 'Figured that after dealing with Bothan bureaucracy you'd want something a little stronger than hot chocolate.' Wedge grimaced. So much for the grand mystique of command. 'Thanks,' he said, taking a sip.
'So what happened?' Moranda asked. 'They wouldn't let you look at the records for incoming ships?'
'Not without fifteen forms of authorization,' Wedge told her. 'It's crazy. Doubly crazy given that everything on those lists is technically a matter of public record. If I wanted to sit at the spaceport and write down the names of every ship as it came in, I could do it.'
'They're getting nervous,' Corran murmured, swirling his mug. 'Worried that Vengeance might start taking potshots at their best customers.'
'Whatever, there's no point in kicking against a bureaucracy,' Moranda said. 'Let's think this through logically.'
Wedge waved a hand in invitation. 'We're listening.'
'All right.' Moranda took a sip of her drink. 'I think we can all agree that if someone is after the Drev'starn shield generator, a frontal assault is out. Unless they brought a portable proton torpedo launcher with them, that building is far too well protected.'
'Which means they'll have to rely on subterfuge,' Corran agreed. 'Fairly obvious so far.'
'Don't rush me,' Moranda admonished him. 'Now, we can also assume they won't be able to suborn any of the techs or other people who work inside. But how about planting something on one of them?'
'You mean like a bomb?' Wedge asked doubtfully. 'I doubt it. That's a big area down there. Any bomb strong enough to do any serious damage would be easily detected.'
'Besides, if they have any brains at all, they have the workers change clothes before they go into the actual generator areas,' Corran added. 'That also protects against spy monitors being slipped onto anyone.'
