by Troy Denning
And that, Wynn Dorvan could not allow.
Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Beloved Queen, is this what you really want? To win the battle … and lose the war?”
The Beloved Queen’s eyes blazed white. “Lose how? The people will obey the Sith.” She turned to Korelei. “Is that not so?”
Korelei dipped her chin. “We will make it so.”
Wynn shook his head. “The people will fight,” he said. “And they won’t stop until they’re dead.”
“Then we will oblige them,” Korelei said. “They will stop fighting when we have killed enough of them.”
Wynn was not surprised to see the Beloved Queen scowl in disapproval. She was a being who fed on fear and anguish, not on death, and anything that reduced the population of Coruscant also reduced her. He stepped to the viewport and peered out across the crowded plaza, trying to think of a way to use her dark hunger to prevent all those innocent beings from being drawn into the secret war between the Jedi and the Sith—or at least to keep them ignorant of it for a while longer.
“Those beings are Coruscanti,” Wynn said, touching a finger to the transparisteel. “They’re accustomed to being the masters of the galaxy, not its slaves—and if Korelei does not understand that about your subjects, she understands nothing.”
Korelei’s expression did not darken, nor did she hiss a curse or telegraph her attack by stepping toward Wynn. Her shikkar simply slipped from its sheath and sailed toward his belly in a glassy gleam so fast he barely had time to go cold inside.
But one of the Beloved Queen’s tentacles was already curling through the air in front of him, and in the next instant Wynn was not crying out in anguish, or gasping for breath—he was, in fact, still standing on his own two feet, not even bleeding and hardly even shaking.
He forced himself to meet Korelei’s hate-filled eyes. “You need to add some new problem-solving strategies to your repertoire, Lady Korelei,” he said. “Silencing the opposition is not always the best solution.”
Korelei’s face grew stormy, and she started to raise a hand to hit Wynn with some sort of Force blast.
“Not yet,” the Beloved Queen said, stopping Korelei’s attack with a glance. “If Chief Dorvan has a better idea, I wish to hear it.”
“I do,” Wynn said, forcing himself to breathe again. He and the Bwua’tus had discussed many times how to save Coruscant from the Sith without destroying it, and it had always come down to keeping the battle confined, to setting the fight someplace from which there could be no withdrawal … for either side. “If you want the people to remain docile, Beloved Queen, you must defeat the Jedi quietly. The people must never know what you have done.”
“That’s impossible,” Korelei protested. “The only way to kill the Jedi is to find them, and the only way to find them is to flush them into the open.”
“Forgive me, but you’re wrong.” Wynn glanced down at the shikkar still hanging in the tentacle in front of him, then turned to the Beloved Queen and said, “There is only one way to find the Jedi, and that is to bring them to us.”
“To us?” the Beloved Queen echoed. “Inside my Temple?”
“Exactly,” Wynn said. He waited for a dozen heartbeats as the shikkar continued to hang in front of him—then finally sighed in relief as the tentacle withdrew and returned the weapon to Korelei. “The Sith must withdraw into the Temple—and force the Jedi to come inside after them.”
THE MILLENNIUM FALCON SAT SHUDDERING IN THE HANGAR, A MILKY drop of durasteel resting on a deck so dark and expansive it looked like a drift of open space. The vessel’s rear corner sagged over a collapsed strut, her white hull armor was pocked from cannon strikes, and the ion drives were jetting hot coolant. Yellow smoke kept billowing from the exhaust vents, and every few seconds the upper turret would shake as though the power core were about to blow. And still, the battered transport was the most beautiful thing Queen Mother Tenel Ka had seen in a long time. It was hissing, pinging, carbon-scorched proof that Han and Leia Solo had survived another close call, that they had cheated death yet again and escaped an ambush that should have left their atoms flying in the Ossan winds.
Emergency sleds and fire carts started to float out of the hangar’s dark corners, and passengers began to stream down the ramp beneath the Falcon’s hull. Several were limping or holding their arms, but no one seemed seriously injured or in a hurry. Finally, the Solos themselves emerged from the ship, Han turning to speak to the service crew and Leia bending down to say a few words to the Jedi younglings, and Tenel Ka finally began to breathe again.
“I don’t see why you were so afraid,” Allana said. She had not left Tenel Ka’s side since Aegel Squadron had reported damage to the Falcon. “You said it would be a mistake to underestimate Han and Leia Solo.”
“As it would.” Tenel Ka flashed her daughter a reassuring smile. “But of course I’m still concerned. You know how fond I am of the Solos.”
Before answering, Allana glanced across the salon toward the command center, where Trista Zel was helping Kam and Tionne Solusar assemble a report on the evacuation’s outcome. Tenel Ka was fairly certain that both Masters had deduced her daughter’s true identity long ago, but no one had said as much to Allana herself, and so Allana continued to play the Solos’ adopted daughter even in their presence.
Seeing that both Masters were busy taking reports over their headsets, she took Tenel Ka’s hand. “Grandma and Grandpa worry about you, too,” she whispered. “And so do I.”
A pang of loneliness shot through Tenel Ka’s heart, and she found herself wishing she had not been born the daughter of a Hapan prince, that she were free to raise her own daughter in her own modest apartment. But any attempt to abdicate her responsibility would only get them both killed. Anyone taking Tenel Ka’s place would not feel secure on the throne until her agents had eliminated every possible rival—especially the child of a former Queen Mother. So there was nothing to be done except what Tenel Ka was doing, and that meant continuing to pretend that her daughter was someone else’s child until Allana grew old enough to defend herself from the daggers—political and actual—that were so much a part of life in the Hapan court.
Tenel Ka squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I have a whole army of secret friends keeping watch over me.”
Allana cocked an eyebrow. “Like Trista and Taryn?”
Tenel Ka nodded. “That’s right.”
A soft swoosh sounded from the back of the salon, and Tenel Ka turned to see Han Solo stepping out of the lift tube. He paused just long enough to scan the room and locate Allana, then spread his arms and started across the salon.
“See?” There was a forced cheerfulness to Han’s voice that betrayed the concern Tenel Ka sensed in his presence. “I told you we’d be fine!”
Allana stepped into Han’s hug and squeezed him hard. “I knew you would. I was just afraid that without me to keep watch on things, the Falcon would get all banged up.” She released him, then put her hands on her hips and turned toward the viewport. “And it looks like I was right!”
“You certainly were,” Leia said, joining them. She leaned down and kissed Allana’s cheek. “The way Han wobbled in, we’re lucky we only broke one strut.”
Han flashed a scowl, but it was more of a forced grin than a true frown. “Hey, after you let all those blastboats potshot us, I was doing good just to land right-side up.” He turned back to Allana. “Isn’t that right?”
“Sure,” Allana said, smiling. “If you call bouncing across the hangar deck a landing.”
Han dropped his jaw in feigned dejection, then returned her smile. “You got me there, kid. We did come in a little rough.” He ruffled her hair, then turned to Tenel Ka and allowed his expression to show the concern she had already sensed. “So, how bad is it?”
“The Masters Solusar only arrived a few minutes ago, and they are still assembling reports,” Tenel Ka said, pointing toward the comm
and center. “I’m sure they would be happy to give you a preview.”
Han nodded and started across the salon, but Allana caught Leia by a handful of robe and held her back. “Can you find Master Sebatyne in the Force?”
Leia stopped and said, “I can certainly try. But you know she’s probably very busy right now.”
“This is important,” Allana said. “You need to warn her about something.”
“Then of course I’ll do my best,” Leia said. “What am I warning her about?”
“The Sith. They’re going to find Tesar and the others.”
Leia’s expression grew confused. “What makes you think that?”
“Because I saw it happen,” Allana said. “In a viewport.”
Leia glanced at Tenel Ka, clearly looking for a hint.
“Another Force vision,” Tenel Ka explained. “Apparently, she saw Tesar and the other Barabels being discovered inside the Temple.”
A flicker of understanding came to Leia’s eyes. “I see.” When she turned back to Allana, there was a calm acceptance in her expression that suggested some stray bit of information had just fallen into place for her. “But you know I can’t actually talk to Master Sebatyne through the Force, right?”
Allana nodded. “That’s okay, as long as you make sure she understands.”
“I’ll do my best,” Leia said. “But we’d have to use the HoloNet to be sure.”
“No, we can’t do that,” Allana said, shaking her head. “The Sith might intercept the message, and that would only make what I saw happen sooner. It would be like I made it happen.”
“Well then …” Leia glanced toward a pair of luxurious nerf-hide chairs flanking a low beverage table in the salon’s near corner. “I’d better see what I can do.”
“We’ll give you some quiet,” Tenel Ka said. Sensing a burst of joyful surprise in the Solusars’ Force aura, she took her daughter’s hand and started toward the command center. “Perhaps you and I should check the evacuation after-reports while Princess Leia reaches out to Master Sebatyne.”
“Okay,” Allana said, allowing herself to be drawn along. “But I already know the after-reports are good.”
“Because you felt it in the Force?” Tenel Ka asked.
“That,” Allana said, “and I haven’t heard any Corellian curse words.”
And good news it was. As they approached, Kam Solusar looked up from his station and touched a button on his headset. His face was as chiseled and ruggedly handsome as ever, but the wounds he had suffered defending the Jedi academy during the Second Civil War had left him a little thinner than before.
“We’re doing well,” Kam said, smiling. “We haven’t lost anyone so far.”
The news was even better than Tenel Ka had hoped—especially considering the difficult circumstances of the mission, and the enemy’s cleverness in attacking under cover of the Ossan fog.
“When you say anyone,” she asked, “do you mean transports or people?”
“Both,” Tionne clarified. With her silver hair and white eyes, she remained a woman of ethereal beauty—despite the subtle imperfections of the prosthetic arm and leg she wore in place of the limbs she had lost during the same incident that had wounded her husband. “Sharmok seven-eighteen took some heavy damage and has lost communications. But Volgh Squadron is escorting her in, and the leader is relaying visual now. It looks like seven-eighteen will make it, too.”
Tenel Ka smiled. “That is very good news.”
“It is.” Tionne’s face grew more somber. “Though I’m afraid your Miy’til pilots have taken some casualties, and two squadrons remain engaged.”
Tenel Ka felt her stomach knot, but nodded. “We expected that,” she said. “But this is more than a rescue mission, Master Solusar. It’s a chance for the Hapan Royal Navy to assess the enemy’s capabilities.”
“I’ll bet that wasn’t an easy sell with Lady Maluri and Ducha Luvalle in the room,” Han commented. “So thanks—and I mean for everything.”
“The Consortium appreciates your gratitude, Captain Solo,” Trista Zel said, looking up from her data display. “But I assure you, the Queen Mother has no need to sell anything.”
Han raised his hands as though to apologize, then scowled and suddenly turned back to Tionne. “Did you say seven-eighteen?”
She nodded. “That’s correct.”
“And we didn’t lose any other transports?” he asked. “You’re sure?”
“We’re sure, Han,” Kam said. “We’re Jedi Masters. We can count to twelve.”
“Yeah—but it shouldn’t have been this easy.” Han circled around to the back of the crescent-shaped console, then leaned over Trista’s shoulder to study the data display. “It was a mess down there, and seven-eighteen got jumped in front of us. She got jumped hard.”
Trista craned her neck to look up at him. “Captain Solo, are you suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Seven-eighteen launched ahead of the Falcon. Now she’s the straggler.” Han stabbed a finger at the display. “And it looks like she’s making for the flagship. You figure it out.”
Trista spoke into her throat-mike, then her face paled as she listened to the reply. A second later she began to snap orders.
“Have Volgh Leader signal seven-eighteen to veer off now,” she said. “And no excuses. Warn the pilot that if she’s still on this vector in sixty seconds, she will be vaped.”
“Vaped?” Allana looked up at Tenel Ka. “But she’s carrying academy students!”
“She’s supposed to be.” Tenel Ka extended her Force awareness in the transport’s direction, but there were fifteen Battle Dragons and close to a dozen clusters of Jedi students in the area, and it was impossible to tell whether the presences she sensed were aboard Sharmok 718. “But her behavior is suspicious. Something is very wrong.”
Tenel Ka stepped around behind the console, and her heart fell when she saw the display. One of the screens showed a close-up image of a Sharmok transport gliding through a starry drift of space. With a line of scorch holes angling up her stern quarter, a pair of jagged rings where the cannon turrets used to be, and a hull crumple behind her main hatch, the vessel had clearly seen some savage close-quarters combat.
A dot of white light appeared against the flight deck viewport and began to blink on and off in the staccato rhythm of the Hapan military’s flash code.
“Any sign they were boarded?” Tenel Ka asked.
“None reported,” Trista replied.
“There wouldn’t be,” Han said. “Sharmok air locks use a standard two-stage touch pad, right?”
Tenel Ka considered the hull-crumple behind the hatch and, realizing that it looked more like collision damage than a missile strike, saw what Han was saying.
“You’re suggesting the Sith used the Force to open the air lock?” She glanced at the identification strip at the bottom of the display and saw that the image was coming to them from the battle cam of Volgh Leader. “I must agree. Trista, instruct Volgh Leader to open fire on Sharmok seven-eighteen’s ion drives immediately.”
Tenel Ka felt the Force shudder with the shock of her companions, but the precision of the command left no opportunity to question its wisdom. Han gave her a quick, tight-lipped nod, and Trista spoke into her throat-mike, relaying the order. The Solusars merely exchanged a wide-eyed glance—no doubt checking with each other to see if either thought Tenel might be overreacting.
“But what if there are still academy students aboard?” Allana objected. “They could be killed!”
“That’s why Volgh Leader is targeting the ion drives.” Han took Allana by the shoulders and pulled her close. “If that Sharmok is being flown by Sith, no way can we let her get near the flagship. So we’re going to disable her and send a boarding party to take control.” He looked back to Tenel Ka. “Right, Your Majesty?”
“Correct.” Tenel Ka smiled a silent thanks to Han, then checked the tactical display to find the Battle Dragon closest to the tr
ansport. “Trista, have the Daphoros execute a tractor beam capture of Sharmok seven-eighteen as soon as the engines have been disabled, then send a boarding company to retake—”
“If I may, Your Majesty,” Kam said, interrupting as politely as possible. “Given the Sith involvement, it might be wise for me to take some Jedi along.”
“Excellent point, Master Solusar,” Tenel Ka said, feeling a pang of regret that she could not join the Jedi Knights going to fight the Sith. “Trista, inform the Daphoros that Master Solusar will be joining the boarding company as its commander. And suggest to the Lady Commander that she send her best assault team on this mission.”
As Tenel Ka spoke, she kept one eye on the tactical display, watching as Volgh Leader and her wingmate came in for their attack run. Rather than dropping back behind the target and risking an engine detonation by firing directly up the thrust nozzles, the Miy’tils were swinging in from the flank. For a moment, as the Sharmok continued toward the Dragon Queen II without altering her vector, Tenel Ka began to think Han might be wrong, that perhaps 718 had merely lost her Hapan crew and was now being piloted by some terrified Jedi apprentice.
But half a second before the Miy’tils opened fire, the transport’s designator symbol jerked left as the pilot took evasive action. The first Miy’til symbol flashed white as the starfighter opened fire, then shot past without a hit. The wingmate opened fire in the next heartbeat, and the Sharmok’s color changed to yellow, for “damaged.” Sighing in relief, Tenel Ka switched her attention to the visual display and saw only whirling stars as Volgh Leader wheeled back around toward the target.
“Report,” Tenel Ka ordered. “Did they disable the engines?”
“Patience, Majesty,” Trista said. “They need time to evaluate.”
Taking her cousin’s gentle chide in stride—someone had to keep her humble, after all—Tenel Ka fixed her gaze on the visual display, hardly daring to breathe as stars whirled past. Finally, the Sharmok’s ion tail drifted into view, flickering and flashing as her sublight drives flamed out. By the time the entire stern appeared, the last engine had stopped, and the image showed only a trio of red-hot exhaust nozzles.