by Timothy Zahn
“Only when they’re in large groups,” Hanan reminded him.
“Or else it’s only measurable in large groups,” Kosta said.
“I was just thinking about the High Senate,” Forsythe said meditatively. “All the straight-up trades and deals I watched them make, without any of the cautious maneuvering or self-serving manipulation that’s always been a staple of political life. Full cooperation, full willingness to compromise. No fear of looking foolish or being taken advantage of.”
Pirbazari shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t buy it,” he said firmly. “Even if this effect really exists, it’s not going to do much if the person in question doesn’t want to be a good boy.”
“In fact, it might even make it worse,” Hanan suggested. “Fear of getting caught is one of the things that’s supposed to slow criminals down.”
“Exactly,” Pirbazari agreed. “So why haven’t there been any High Senators like that?”
“There have,” Kosta said. “Seven of them over the past ten years.”
Pirbazari seemed taken aback. “Where did you hear that?”
“Director Podolak told me,” Kosta said. “She said it had been kept very quiet.”
“Well … all right, fine,” Pirbazari said. “But there should have been a lot more than just seven who went off the wagon. Unless you assume most people basically want to be good, which I don’t believe, either.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecies, Zar,” Forsythe said.
“What does that mean?” Chandris asked.
“Those are predictions that come true because everyone expects them too,” Forsythe explained. “Remember, everyone firmly believes that angels make you act ethically. Once that’s been accepted, only people who really want to serve the Empyrean will go after high office. Most of the self-serving types out to line their own pockets make very sure they stay away from anything having to do with angels.”
Pirbazari shook his head. “I still don’t like it.”
“I’m not saying this is a hundred percent correct,” Kosta conceded. “There’s probably more going on that I haven’t thought of. All I’m trying to do is find a theory that fits the behavior I’ve seen. Plus explaining Ronyon’s panic attack out at Angelmass.”
“Wait a minute,” Ornina said. “Are you saying that Angelmass was attacking hunterships because it was frightened of them?”
“Basically,” Kosta nodded. “If angels suppress fear, it follows that anti-angels are the essence of it.”
“What in the world did it have to be afraid of?” Chandris asked. “We weren’t going to hurt it. How could we hurt it?”
“Fear doesn’t have to be reasonable,” Forsythe said mildly. “In fact, for most of the fears Mr. Kosta listed earlier, it isn’t reasonable at all.”
“The point of all this is that we need to understand what the angels are actually doing,” Kosta said. “To especially understand their limitations.”
He hesitated. “Because I think you’re going to have to learn to live without them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pirbazari asked suspiciously.
“That’s right, you didn’t hear about that,” Forsythe said, gesturing toward Kosta. “Mr. Kosta thinks we should catapult Angelmass out into interstellar space where it won’t be a danger to us anymore.”
Pirbazari’s eyes narrowed. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, it seems to have settled down okay.”
“Only because it’s chased everyone out of its immediate neighborhood,” Kosta pointed out. “There’s nothing for it to be afraid of anymore. But suppose it happens to notice Seraph someday? No, we’ve got to deal with it before that, or at least have a plan ready.”
“We definitely need a plan.” Forsythe locked eyes with Kosta, an oddly intense look on his face. “The real question is whether kicking it out of the system will be enough.”
And the expression on Forsythe’s face … “Are we thinking along the same lines, High Senator?” Kosta asked quietly.
“If the interstellar void isn’t far enough, I can hardly wait to hear what is,” Hanan commented. “What do you want to do instead, give it to the Pax?”
“No,” Kosta said, still watching Forsythe. “We have to put it back to sleep. We have to put the angels back in.”
The stunned silence was broken by Hanan’s low whistle. “You do know how to uncork political bombshells, don’t you, Jereko?” he said. “You don’t really think the High Senate will go for this, do you?”
“We may have no choice,” Forsythe said quietly. “Catapulting Angelmass away postpones the problem, but it doesn’t solve it. We can’t take the risk of it popping up somewhere unannounced in the future.”
“You’re never going to sell this to the people,” Pirbazari insisted. “They’ve gotten used to having ethical leaders.”
“No,” Kosta told him. “What they’ve gotten used to is being politically lazy. The angels have basically allowed them to let their government run on autopilot. Now, they’re going to have to keep an eye on it themselves.”
“Which in the long run may not be a bad thing,” Hanan said thoughtfully. “Even ethics-based decisions can be wrong, you know. Maybe it’s better to have a suspicious electorate looking over the government’s shoulder.”
“Fine, but don’t forget that if the angels go, so do your jobs,” Pirbazari warned, looking at Hanan and Ornina. “Yours too,” he added, shifting his gaze to Kosta.
“We’ll live,” Hanan said with a casual shrug. “I was getting tired of space flight anyway. Food all over the galley every time we have to maneuver. Yuck.”
“We’re certainly not going to make any final decisions today,” Forsythe said, starting to gather his various papers together. “But this gives us all something to think about.”
“So what happens next?” Hanan asked.
“Nothing too dramatic,” Forsythe told him. “I’ll have EmDef put together a group of catapult ships and send them out to the Komitadji. It’ll take them about a week to get there, and by the time they do Angelmass should have moved far enough away for it to be safe. Meanwhile, we’ll have someone dig up the coordinates for the Scintara system. I’ll talk to you later, Kosta, about recording a suitable message for them.”
“Maybe we should send one to Lorelei, too,” Pirbazari suggested. “In fact, we could send that one right now. Let the Pax forces know a pull-out order will be coming their way soon, and warn them not to mess with the planet and people until then.”
“I can write something up,” Kosta said. “We could also include a copy of the recording from Central’s cameras.”
‘That should keep them walking carefully until the Pax pulls them out,” Forsythe agreed. “Zar, you’re in charge of getting that organized.”
“Yes, sir.”
‘Then that should do it for now,” Forsythe said, glancing around the table. “I’m releasing you all on your own recognizance, pending a hearing before proper legal authorities.”
“Said hearing to take place after the Pax has run away with its tail between its legs?” Hanan suggested.
“We’ll fine-tune the schedule,” Forsythe assured him. “Thank you all for your time.”
Beside Kosta, Chandris cleared her throat. “There’s just one more thing, High Senator.”
Forsythe lifted his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“I was the one who helped Jereko destroy the Komitadji,” she reminded him. “In fact, if you follow the chain of events, you’ll see that if it wasn’t for me that ship would still be sitting over our heads.”
“You want a medal?” Pirbazari asked dryly.
“No,” Chandris said. “I want a reward.”
Pirbazari snorted under his breath. “I think your reward comes in the same box as Kosta’s,” he said. “Namely, you don’t get prosecuted for collaboration with a Pax spy.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Chandris said calmly. “See, I don’t think I ever knew anything about that. I’m pretty sure you can�
�t prove it, anyway.”
Pirbazari’s face darkened. “Look—”
Forsythe cut him off with a gesture. “What is it you want?” he asked.
“The Komitadji was a really big ship,” Chandris said. “A really big ship. I looked up some ancient privateer numbers in the old Earth history records, and the price for capture or destruction of something that size would have been right through the roof. In fact, salvage rights alone on what’s left of the hulk—”
“We get the point,” Forsythe interrupted her. “What is it you want?”
She looked him square in the eye. “I want an operation for Hanan,” she said flatly. “Complete repair and reconstruction of his nervous system.”
Hanan’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening with amazement. Pirbazari, for his part, actually sputtered. “You must be joking,” he insisted, clearly appalled. “You have any idea what that would cost?”
“At this point, two to three million ruya,” Chandris said. “I figure that’s around one and a half percent of what I could demand under privateer law.”
“The Empyrean doesn’t have any privateer law,” Pirbazari growled, throwing a black look at Hanan. “This is extortion.”
“Chandris, you don’t have to do this,” Hanan protested urgently.
“Shut up, Hanan,” Chandris told him. “Look, High Senator. Like it or not, Kosta and I are the closest thing you’ve got to war heroes coming out of this. We could command a lot of public attention if we wanted to.”
“Except that I hardly think you would want to,” Forsythe pointed out mildly. “Certainly not considering your past and Mr. Kosta’s current situation.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’d prefer to keep a low profile,” Chandris agreed. “Whether we actually do so is up to you.”
Forsythe smiled faintly. “You would have made a wonderful politician of the old school, Miss Lalasha. Very well. Mr. Daviee will have his operation.”
“Sir—” Pirbazari said urgently.
“But.” Forsythe leveled a warning finger at her. “Not because you’ve pressured me into it. Because you’re right: you and Mr. Kosta have earned it.”
He looked around the table. “Then unless there’s anything else, this meeting is adjourned.”
With a final nod to each of them, he stood up, and he and Pirbazari strode side by side from the room. Ronyon paused long enough to grin and wave a hand in farewell, then followed.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ornina said, reaching past Kosta and half pulling Chandris out of her chair. Standing up with her, she enveloped the girl in a massive bear hug. “But thank you. Thank you so much.”
“For me, too,” Hanan said, stepping over and wrapping his arms around both of them. “Group hug, Jereko,” he added, winking down at Kosta. “Want to join in?”
Kosta smiled. “Another time, thanks.”
“You young people,” Hanan said, mock sorrowfully. “Missing out on all the good things of life.”
“Oh, be quiet, Hanan,” Ornina chided as the hug broke up.
“Story of my life,” Hanan said, mock-sorrowfully. ‘That was a brilliant analysis, by the way, Jereko. I’m with Mr. Pirbazari—I’m not sure I buy a single word of it. But it was brilliant nevertheless.”
“You were wrong about one thing, though,” Chandris said. “The angels do affect danger-type fear, at least a little. When Trilling attacked us, I was a lot calmer than I should have been.”
“Come to think of it, so was I,” Kosta agreed, frowning as he thought back over that incident. The adrenaline had been pumping, all right, but his mind had still been clear to function. Unnaturally clear. “Out at Angelmass, too. You’re right, it does have an effect there.”
“Maybe why the High Senate has always seemed so calm in the face of Pax threats,” Hanan rumbled. “Even though they never seemed to be doing anything.”
“They were, though,” Kosta said. ‘That net-and-catapult setup of theirs is a terrific defense. They got that in place, then just refused to keep worrying about it.”
“I wonder how the Pax got through,” Chandris said.
“I don’t know,” Kosta said. “I imagine we’ll find out once they’ve pulled their ships out and we can talk to Lorelei again.”
“What will you do now, Jereko?” Ornina asked. “Do you need a place to stay?”
“No, I should be fine,” Kosta said. “I’ve still got my room at the Institute.”
“At least for another week or two,” Hanan said.
“Oh, longer than that,” Kosta assured him. “Mr. Pirbazari’s dire predictions aside, the Institute isn’t going out of business any time soon. Maybe not at all. Even if they agree to dump the angels back in, we’ll certainly want to keep a few out to study.”
“Will that be safe?” Ornina asked.
“I’m sure it will,” Kosta assured her. “After all, it took an imbalance of several thousand anti-angels to make Angelmass what it is. A few or even a few dozen shouldn’t be a problem.”
“The question is, what will you do?” Chandris asked, looking at Hanan and Ornina.
“What do you mean ‘you’?” Hanan countered. “Don’t you mean ‘we’?”
“You are staying with us, aren’t you?” Ornina added.
“Well …” Chandris flashed a look at Kosta. “I’d like to, sure. But if there isn’t any work, how can you afford to keep me on?”
“You mean how can we afford not to keep you on,” Hanan said firmly. “Face it, Chandris, you’re part of the team now.”
“We wouldn’t know what to do without you, dear,” Ornina added gently.
“I wouldn’t know what to do without you, either,” Chandris confessed in a low voice. “But if there isn’t any work—”
“There’ll be plenty of work,” Hanan insisted. “Shipping, transport, tourist rides—we’ll find something.”
“Actually, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Kosta spoke up. “Forsythe strikes me as the persuasive type; and if he talks the High Senate into dumping the angels, they’re going to need people like you for the job.”
“What do you mean, people like us?” Ornina asked, frowning.
“Well, you can’t just drop them in front of Angelmass like a row of space pops and expect it to gobble them up,” Kosta pointed out. “All the outward radiation pressure will be pushing them away, especially if Angelmass is smart enough to figure out what’s going on. They’ll have to be basically force-fed down its throat.”
“And the only ships that can get close enough to do that will be hunterships,” Hanan said, his face brightening. “How wonderfully convenient.”
“Don’t get too excited about it,” Kosta warned. “You won’t be heroes any more, creating a better world for the ordinary people of the Empyrean. You’ll be busily taking that better world away for reasons half the people won’t believe in the first place.”
“We all do what we have to,” Ornina said quietly. “Besides, we didn’t go into this business to be heroes.”
“No,” Kosta agreed. “I guess for some people it just happens that way.” He stood up. “I’d better get back to the Institute and start working up a nicely threatening letter to send to Lorelei.”
“We’ll see you later?” Chandris asked.
Kosta reached out and took her hand. He’d always rather been afraid of Chandris, he realized suddenly. For that matter, he’d always rather been afraid of all women. Part of his general social ineptitude, he’d always thought, and had cursed the awkwardness and nagging fears of youth.
But that was before he’d faced death, out there at Angelmass, and suddenly all the fears of saying or doing the wrong thing had become utterly trivial. Maybe that had matured him. Maybe he had finally grown up.
“Sure,” he told her. “Count on it.”
Or maybe, the thought whispered through his mind, it was only the angels.
A Biography of Timothy Zahn
Timothy Zahn is a New York Times bestselling and award-winning
science-fiction author of more than forty novels, as well as dozens of novellas and short stories. He is best known for his Star Wars novels, which have been widely credited with rejuvenating the Star Wars book franchise. Zahn is known for his engaging writing style, pithy dialogue, compelling plot lines, intricately detailed alien cultures, inventive alien technology, and the complex morality of his characters.
Born in 1951, in Chicago, Illinois, Zahn holds a bachelor’s degree in physics from Michigan State University and a master’s degree in physics from the University of Illinois. It was while working toward his PhD in the late 1970s that Zahn began focusing on writing science fiction. He sold his first story in 1978 and, two years later, began to write fulltime.
In 1984, Zahn won a Hugo Award for his short story “Cascade Point.” That same year he also published Blackcollar, the first installment of his Blackcollar series. He launched the Cobra series two years later with Cobra (1985), and published the celebrated Thrawn trilogy, which gave the Star Wars narrative new life, throughout the 1990s. His YA Dragonback series, of which Dragon and Thief (2003) was named an ALA Best Book for Young Adults, includes six books published between 2003 and 2008.
Zahn is especially beloved among the Star Wars fan community for his contributions to the Star Wars books. His best-known Star Wars titles, the Thrawn trilogy, were voted onto NPR’s list of the top 100 science-fiction and fantasy books of all time.
Zahn lives in Oregon with his family.
Zahn’s school portrait from 1957, when he was six years old.
A yearbook photo of Zahn playing the cello in his high school orchestra in 1969.
Zahn’s high school senior class picture from 1969.
Zahn and his wife, Anna, on their wedding day in August 1979.
Zahn poses with his wife, Anna, and their son Corwin, 1983.
Zahn takes the podium at the Hugo Award ceremonies, September 1984.
Zahn with his agent Russell Galen, September 1984.
Zahn with fellow authors David B. Coe and Jim Frenkel, March 2002.