Anja snorted in disbelief. “There was more to it than that. My father was working for the Corporate Sector Authority to break a slaving ring. Slavers you were involved with, Solo.”
“I didn’t know!” Han said. “Anyway, I’m the one that got all the records the Corporate Sector needed to convict the ringleaders.”
“But then you overwhelmed my father, humiliated him, and fled justice so you couldn’t be charged for the crimes you had committed.”
Han looked at his children, who stared back with questions in their eyes. “Hey, that was a long time ago—and I didn’t really do anything wrong.”
Anja laughed bitterly. “Nothing wrong? How about when you killed my father?”
“But,” Han insisted, “I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t even there. He had stunned me, and then went off—”
“Hah. You were in the buried derelict Queen of Rangoon, searching for the lost treasure of Xim the Despot. My father and you had agreed to work together to find the hoard that had been hidden thousands of years before the rise of the Old Republic. But when you finally discovered the treasure vaults, you double-crossed him. Shot him in the back, from what I hear.”
“No. That’s not true,” Han Solo said, his face drawn and angry now.
Jacen looked back and forth, from the stern, troubled anger of the young woman to his father’s baffled yet clearly guilt-ridden denial.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Han said.
“And a few years later, I was left an orphan on war-torn Anobis. My father had come through Ord Mantell many times. He met my mother on nearby Anobis just as the civil war was starting. They fell in love, but he wasn’t home much because he had his missions to accomplish. My father did great work as an agent for the Corporate Sector.
“But from one mission he never returned home. My mother was devastated. My planet was being ripped apart by a civil war caused by the Imperials and the Rebellion—and she died in despair, a widow. You took my father away.”
“Hey, I didn’t kill your father. Gallandro was responsible for his own death. He made a choice, and let down his guard…… Han struggled to find the right words. “He set himself up for what happened.”
“Yeah. And you shot him,” Anja replied.
Han Solo spread his hands but seemed to see the futility of making any further protestations. Jacen wondered why his father couldn’t just convince her, why he didn’t haul out proof of what had actually happened, why he didn’t even explain himself fully. What did he have to hide?
Anja sniffed the recirculated air inside the Falcon’s enclosed spaces.
Jacen suddenly noticed the sour smell of lubricants, old upholstery, numerous meals from Corellian food packs, and the metallic tang from air that had gone too many times through the oxygen scrubbers.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Solo,” Anja said, her eyes huge and tired. “Married to the New Republic’s Chief of State, three kids training to be Jedi, Grand Marshal of the Blockade Runners Derby. I’ll bet you’re pretty proud. But at what price did you gain all this? Everyone you stepped on along the way can see full well how you got where you are.” Anja abruptly turned and marched toward the boarding ramp. “This isn’t what I expected. I had hoped for a fight. I wanted you to argue. But you, Han Solo… you’re nothing. Compared to my father, what he was and what he did, you’re too insignificant for me to kill.”
“Wait!” Han Solo said with no conviction in his voice whatsoever. “There’s a lot I can tell you about your father. He and I weren’t always enemies, you know. More like rivals, just competitors.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Solo. Especially not from you.” She strode out. The young Jedi Knights followed her to the boarding ramp, and Han Solo joined them as Anja stalked away from the ship.
Outside, the Ord Mantell guards and cleanup crew had nearly finished restoring the docking bay to a reasonably tidy appearance. They paid no attention to the angry young woman who hurried away from the battered spaceship.
Suddenly Anja stopped, as if gathering her nerve, and turned around to flash another angry glance at Han. “If you’re such a champion of goodness and righteousness, Solo,” Anja said, her voice laced with venom, “and if you and the New Republic really have the best interests of the galaxy in mind, why is it that for about twenty-five years—throughout the Rebellion and now during the growth of the New Republic—you have simply ignored my war-torn world? Why has Anobis been completely passed over by all of your peacekeeping and reparation efforts? Why have we received no help?” Her voice was choked with emotion.
Jaina turned to her father. “I never even heard of Anobis before we came to Ord Mantell,” she said.
Anja continued, hurling the words at him like weapons. “Anobis began to fight with itself in the last days of the Empire when the agricultural plains villages took up the cause of the Rebellion, hoping to overthrow Imperial rule. The mountain mining villages, though, required interstellar trade to survive and wanted to maintain the stability of the Empire. Thus a civil war began, with Rebel sympathizers and Imperial sympathizers tearing each other apart. It’s never stopped, and our world is now one big scar.”
“But the Rebellion’s been over for decades,” Jacen said. “How could it still be an issue? The Emperor’s long dead.”
“And my people are still fighting. Only now they’re fighting for a cause rather than for reality. You should go to Anobis, Solo. Take a good look at what’s happening there. If you can tear yourself away from such important diplomatic duties as watching space races or waving banners in the winner’s circle.”
She glanced one more time over her shoulder. “Why don’t you find out where your help is really needed? If you’re brave enough to accept the challenge.” Then Anja marched away, leaving Han Solo and the young Jedi Knights behind, flustered and disturbed.
8
Putting the despised Han Solo behind her, Anja hurried away from the docking bay, moving faster than she had expected. Emotions surged through her, and adrenaline flooded her body. She had been warned that the encounter might affect her strongly, but she now found herself relishing the moment she had anticipated all her life.
The setup had been perfect, and Solo’s reaction was priceless. Guilt had been written like a brilliant holographic billboard across his face.
Even his own children would have to doubt him now.
Oh, how she hated the man. Anja gripped the lightsaber hilt that hung at her waist. Her fingers spasmed. She stretched out her hand in front of her and watched her fingers tremble until she forced a calm upon them.
Calm … calm.
She stepped into a turbolift that took her down to the lower levels of the tall, nondescript warehouses. She paced inside the enclosed lift, feeling like a trapped animal. With a clenched fist she pounded on the metal wall, but the slow repulsor engines took no notice of her frustration. She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply, but the cold air held a tart and metallic smell. Sweat trickled down her temples and leaked out from under the leather headband.
Han Solo’s face kept flashing in front of her mind’s eye, taunting her with the thought of all the unfair advantages he had in his life—his three delightful children, his beautiful quarters at the old Imperial Palace…
After an eternity, the lift doors opened, and Anja dashed out onto the midlevel connecting walkways. She glanced at her wrist chronometer.
It was late. She would miss her meeting unless she ran. A feral grin spread across her face. She could handle it. She had plenty of excess energy to burn off, so she sprinted. Her small feet made light clanging sounds on the metal walkways as she turned, descended a hollow-sounding staircase, and ran between a pair of large buildings in search of the right entrance.