Lekauf smiled, almost embarrassed. “My grandfather served under your grandfather in the Imperial Army, sir. He always talked about how Lord Vader put himself in the front line. Meant a lot to him, that did.”
Jacen patted Lekauf’s shoulder. It was humbling to see how loyalty could last generations. Whatever sins Anakin Skywalker had committed as Vader, there were still those who recognized his qualities as an inspirational commander. Jacen decided it might be safe to walk back in time and watch him again.
He wasn’t repeating his mistakes. He was simply building on Anakin Skywalker’s missed opportunities.
“Let’s make our grandfathers proud, then.”
DUR GEJJEN’S HOUSE, CORONET, CORELLIA.
That Gejjen kid didn’t seem quite so pleased to see Han this time.
“You going to invite us in?” Han filled his doorway, blaster held at his side, and Gejjen stared at it, wide-eyed. “We’re feeling kind of unwelcome out here.”
Gejjen stood back, eyes still on the blaster as Han and Leia slipped into his hallway. Han flicked on the safety.
“Where have you been?” asked Gejjen.
“We ran into a well-wisher and had to make a run for it,” said Leia. “And before you ask, yes, we know what’s happening on Coruscant.”
“Sal-Solo is having a field day with it.” Two small children emerged behind Gejjen, and he shooed them back into the room. “The Solos’ son imprisoning innocent Corellians. Inspiring headlines.”
Han snorted. “I’m glad I don’t shock easy. Does this mean he’s changed the contract on me to read extra dead?”
“Us,” Leia muttered.
Gejjen ushered them into his front room, and Han noted that the blinds were drawn.
“Where are you staying?”
Han didn’t sit down despite the mute offer of a chair. “That’s our little secret.”
“Okay.” Gejjen didn’t appear offended; paranoia seemed a normal part of political life. “My sources say there’s more than one taker for the contract.”
“Fett doesn’t play well with others.”
“Told you it wasn’t Fett,” said Leia.
“Fett or no Fett, Captain Solo, the threat is real. And while we’re appalled at what your son appears to be doing, Thrackan Sal-Solo is pursuing his line for his own ends, not Corellia’s, so as far as we’re concerned, we still have common cause.”
“Who’s we?”
“The Democratic Alliance. We understand how hard it is for you.”
“You think?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? We know you put Corellia first.”
“I’m going to deal with Thrackan myself, thanks.”
“We can’t be seen to do that, of course, but we can probably give you useful support.”
You load the blaster and I fire it. Yeah, I get the idea. “I just need times, locations, and access.”
Han was aware of Leia staring at his back, a kind of sixth sense that owed nothing to the Force and everything to more than thirty years of marriage. He turned slowly, expecting to see a weary frown of disapproval, and saw only wide-eyed resignation. Sometimes she looked just the way she had when he first met her.
“Just keep feeding me information about Thrackan’s location,” said Han. “Your party representatives have access to that, right?”
“When he’s taking part in government business, yes. Itineraries, meetings, that kind of detail.”
“Good.”
“So what’s your plan?”
Han gave him a slow, wary smile. “If I told you that, you wouldn’t be able to deny involvement, would you?”
Gejjen went to a desk in the corner of the room and took a datachip from a drawer. “Floor plans,” he said. “Government buildings. They’re not illegal, just only available for inspection in libraries and civic offices. They might be useful.”
“Consider me a librarian.”
“Dur,” said Leia. “If Thrackan Sal-Solo were to fall from power, would your party be in a position to form an emergency government?”
Gejjen was now focused totally on Leia: that was what really interested him, the seizure of power. Han chose not to be offended.
“With my colleagues, the Corellian Liberal Front, and those in the Centerpoint Party who’d like a change of leadership, yes.”
So that’s how a coup happens. In some guy’s living room while his kids are playing in another room. “Hey, you telling everyone my cousin’s days are numbered?”
“If you think you’re the first person this year to come up with the idea of neutralizing him, you’d be very much mistaken,” said Gejjen. “Corellia doesn’t want to be his personal toolbox any longer.”
“We’ll keep contact to a minimum,” Leia interrupted. “And we’ll keep changing our comlink code. I hope the next time we meet is when the crisis has passed.”
Leia herded Han out into the street and they walked a tortuous path to the center of Coronet, doubling back on themselves to check that they weren’t being followed. There was a lot of air traffic heading into the spaceport and a general buzz of tension in the city itself. It felt like a world bracing itself for the worst.
They came into the main boulevard where the apartment rental office was located. They’d lease something small and anonymous in the center of town, Han decided. Something nobody would expect the Solos to want to live in.
It’s just like old times again. Living on the edge.
“Do you think Gejjen’s cronies are setting me up to do their dirty work?” he asked.
“What, that the assassination contract is a ruse?” Leia shook her head. “You heard Jacen, you saw the holonews, and there’s the small business of the guy we shoved out the air lock.”
“Oh, yeah, him.”
“I’m not encouraging you to do this.”
“But you haven’t told me not to.”
“I’m not making your decisions for you, Han. I’m your wife, not your mother,” Leia said.
“But you’re a Jedi, too …”
“It sounds like a case of self-defense to me.”
“Not a coup?”
“That’s a separate issue.”
“Diplomacy’s a fascinating spectator sport,” Han said.
“It’s about managing the inevitable with minimum loss of life.”
“Yeah, ours.”
Han cared about Corellia in that abstract way people did when their home—even their unhappy home—was being attacked by outsiders. He’d never thought of himself as a patriot; he simply felt Corellian to the core. But there was one thing that still drove him above all others, and that was Leia and the kids.
“Thrackan doesn’t stand a chance of taking three Jedi,” said Leia, as if she did a little telepathy on the side. “It’s you I’m worried for.”
“Jedi have been known to get killed.”
“It’s not very gracious of me, but I kind of wish Jacen had shot him after all.”
“You and me both.”
The rental agency office was crowded when Han and Leia reached it. There was a line of people, some with young children, some elderly, waiting with bags and cases of varying sizes.
“You just arrived from Coruscant, too?” said the harassed-looking woman at the main desk.
“Well—” Han didn’t get the impression that she recognized him as Public Enemy Number One. “Yeah, we just got in.”
“You’re ahead of the rush, then.” She handed him a datapad. “Register your details. We’ve only got one-bedroom apartments left. Will that be okay?”
Han glanced at Leia.
“We just want a roof over our heads,” she told the woman.
“We’re all shocked at what’s happening on Coruscant, ma’am. But you’re safe now. Who’d have thought it? Han Solo’s son, too.”
“Yeah, we’re shocked, too,” said Han, and meant it.
They signed a lease as Jav and Lora Kabadi and found themselves disguised quite by accident as just one couple in the first wave
of Corellians fleeing Coruscant to avoid internment. The irony wasn’t lost on them.
“Nice timing, son,” Han muttered.
SENATE CHAMBER, CORUSCANT: EMERGENCY DEBATE ON INTERNMENT POLICY.
Jacen sat next to Niathal on the Mon Calamari delegates’ platform and listened to Corellia’s Senator Charr haranguing Chief Omas about the abuse of human rights on Coruscant and the lack of consultation with the Senate.
“We have no option but to withdraw our ambassador,” said Charr.
“Is that Coruscant or the Alliance we’re talking about?” Omas asked.
Charr hesitated. “Isn’t that one and the same, Chief of State?”
“I think the honorable representative for Corellia understands that the action I took was to ensure the safety of Coruscant citizens, which is a responsibility given to me by the Coruscanti local authority, and so does not require sanction by the Senate. So which entity do you wish to withdraw representation from?”
There was a general murmur of support but significant scoffing from some of the Outer Rim delegates. Omas stood his ground. At the moment, Corellia’s allies were a minority, but that would change unless they were given a good reason not to line up behind her.
“How do you feel about that blockade, Admiral?” Jacen asked quietly. Senatorial platforms detached from the walls of the massive chamber and hovered into the void between them for delegates to deliver impassioned but noncommittal speeches against terrorism and the need for unity.
“Are you asking if I could mount one now?”
“I’m assuming you can. Do you still favor one?”
“Yes, because that’s the most robust stance I can persuade the Senate to allow. And blockades are very flexible responses,” Niathal said.
“If it were carried out on behalf of the Alliance, that is.”
“We live in a world of blurred lines.”
The debate was remarkably subdued, all things considered. Jacen began to wonder if the backlash he had expected was actually his fear of the Jedi council’s opinion. If anything, he appeared to be … popular.
That didn’t make him comfortable. He wanted to remain aloof from anything that might sway him, and even a Jedi could enjoy being liked a little too much.
Jacen and Niathal joined Omas in the Chief of State’s cabinet room, where Senator G’Sil was already waiting. Omas didn’t look happy and sat down at the head of the lapis-inlaid table with slow deliberation.
“Well, let’s be grateful today’s events went as well as they did.”
G’Sil looked up. “Where are we housing the internees?”
“Just over half of them had Corellian passports in the end, so we’ve put them in an old barracks block for the time being,” said Niathal. “The rest were allowed to return to their homes. The question is how far we plan to go with this, because we have a lot of Corellian citizens resident here, and if we have to intern them all by force it’s going to be a labor-intensive job.”
“Immigration reports growing numbers looking to leave.”
“I’m getting very uneasy about this, Admiral,” said Omas. “The images on HNE might have played well to the jingoistic element on Coruscant, but it reminded a lot of us of Imperial excesses.”
“You authorized the action.” Niathal fixed Omas with that head-tilted stare. “What did you expect it to remind you of?”
Jacen cut in. Niathal had dispensed with any pretense of disinterest in Omas’s job the moment she had been appointed Supreme Commander. She was going for broke.
“We’re simply doing the same as the terrorists, except we caused no serious casualties,” said Jacen. “A small action creating a disproportionately large impact. This is as much a propaganda war as anything.”
“You planned to scare Corellians out?”
Niathal lowered her voice. “No, we planned to make it clear we would deal with threats to the population of Coruscant.”
“And that’s why you go in and do your own sleight of hand, is it?” Omas was addressing his remarks to Niathal even though it had been Jacen’s operation. “One massive overreaction makes it look as if you have the whole situation under control?”
“If that’s how you want to see it, Chief Omas, yes.” Jacen answered. It’s me you’re dealing with, not Niathal. “No deaths. A reassured public. A clear statement to any who want to kill and maim civilians that they won’t be tolerated. Removing truly dangerous individuals from our streets. And also sending a message that if Corellia can be stopped from pursuing a destructive path at the expense of the common good, then any world can. Or would you rather let the enemies within erode our society? These are people who are happy to accept the benefits of being a Coruscant resident, an Alliance citizen, but don’t want the effort of being loyal to it. If that’s my sleight of hand, then I’ll sleep soundly tonight.”
Omas looked about to speak but simply glanced down at his hands as if making a conscious effort not to respond. He was too wily a politician to take on both Jacen and Niathal in front of G’Sil. If he lost, G’Sil would smell blood.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to the Corellian embassy.” Omas stood up and walked to the doors. “I’d appreciate a schedule of your next operations in advance.”
G’Sil watched him go. “It’s always a shame when HNE isn’t here to record a really great speech.”
No, Senator, that’s not the game I’m playing. You have no idea, do you? No idea at all. “You might be surprised to know I meant every word,” said Jacen. “I know what a war looks like and I want this one to be the last one.”
G’Sil seemed to take his comment as youthful sincerity. “Now, there’s a wish with a lot of meanings,” he said. “Let me go and calm Omas down. He’s finding it hard to adjust to Jedi who aren’t nice, tidy parts of the high council. Funny how we can attack Corellian territory without turning a hair, but we lose our nerve when we kick down a few doors on our home turf.”
I never wanted to take on the Jedi council. But nobody here can see anything except in terms of personal ambition.
“Are we both after the same job?” Niathal asked Jacen. It was always hard to tell if a Mon Calamari was joking. Jacen sensed that there was a tinge of amusement in her mind, but not much.
“I don’t want to be a politician,” he said. “You’d make a fine Chief of State, but I wouldn’t.”
Niathal’s mood changed like the sun coming out and Jacen felt relaxed goodwill and … respect. He’d meant what he said; she’d taken it as a deal struck between them.
“What job do you want, then? Jedi council?”
Oh, not that. She was already seeing him as a rival to Luke. From a political point of view, it had its own inevitability, but she couldn’t have known that the Jedi didn’t feature in his plans at all.
“I’m not even a Master.” He had a moment of cold clarity in which he saw exactly what he wanted, and it stood outside him, a vision to observe and not be part of. “What I want is for the trillions of ordinary people in the galaxy to be able to get on with their lives knowing that it’s being run by a stable form of government. The vast majority of folk just get smashed by the fallout from the power struggles of a handful. I want to see that stop. I want to see power meaning duty, service, not a prize.”
Niathal adjusted her tunic, straightening the braid fastening. “Well said. For someone whose whole family is an elite, you have a refreshingly military take on the exercise of power.”
Jacen had cut free from his attachment to a heroic reputation, but it was comforting to be reassured that he wasn’t deluding himself. He savored a small moment of relief, and dreamed of a secure galaxy for Tenel Ka and Allana.
chapter eleven
Chief of State Cal Omas today authorized new emergency measures to crack down on continuing unrest in Galactic City. Corel-Man passport holders now have forty-eight hours to report to their local CSF precinct and opt for repatriation or face internment. The move has been condemned by Senate representatives from Altyr Fiv
e, Obreedan, and Katraasii. Meanwhile, anti-terrorist squads raided homes in the Adur quarter overnight and seized explosives and blasters. Ten men and three women have been charged with conspiracy to cause explosions.
—HNE lunchtime news bulletin
ARKANIAN MICROTECHNOLOGIES HEADQUARTERS, VOHAI.
If there was a weak point in any perimeter, Boba Fett would find it. And he had.
He watched a small bird—a hummer, bright scarlet—perch on the top of the four-meter-high perimeter fence that ran for six kilometers around Arkanian Micro’s headquarters and noted that there was no reaction from the guards in the gatehouse.
There was no point having a security system so sensitive that birds could set it off. And if a bird could get over that fence, then so could Fett.
Security cams didn’t cover much beyond a hundred meters around each guarded gate. It all depended on the sensors that detected entry at any unsupervised point along or over the fence, and that was a weak point for a man with a custom disrupter.
The sensors projected a slim movement-sensitive ellipse along the entire cross section of the fence, generated from ground level and extending two meters on either side of it and—if the sweep from orbit by Slave I’s scanners was correct—two hundred meters above it to thwart aerial incursions.
Or intruders with jet packs, of course. Fett didn’t take that personally.
But the sensors didn’t react to small objects. Fett stood back from the two-meter line and took two long wires with gription clips. He cast one like an angler, looping it out from shoulder height just as he had when fishing for devees from the landing pad of his Tipoca City home as a kid. The clip snapped on to the mesh of the fence, insubstantial as a hummer. Then Fett cast the other wire two meters along the fence, attaching a second gription clip.
He now had two long lines that enabled him to attach his disrupter without breaching the sensor field. Standing inside the bight of the wires, he plugged them into the casing of the disrupter and pressed the key. He was now as good as inside. As far as the detection system could tell, there was an unbreached perimeter; the wires were effectively a loop in the fence, and the bypassed section of fence itself didn’t exist.
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