by Troy Denning
The security squad guided Leia and Saba to the near end of the table, then took up positions behind them. Wurf’al and Darklighter stood behind chairs on the opposite sides.
A gritty Bothan voice spoke from behind the chair. “Please forgive the stun cuffs, but with you Jedi, we must do what we can to make an escape attempt inconvenient.”
The chair spun around, revealing a dignified-looking Bothan with a weather-creased snout and graying chin fur. He was dressed in an immaculate white uniform draped in medals and gold braid, and he held his shoulders square without appearing rigid or tense. He acknowledged Leia with a glance and a nod, then addressed himself to Saba.
“We can remove them, if you’ll give me your word as Jedi that you won’t attempt to escape. I’m sure Chief Omas will instruct me to release you shortly.”
“You are very trusting,” Saba rasped, “for a Bothan.”
Bwua’tu flashed a canine-baring smile. “Not really. It would be far easier for us to rely on your honor than to attempt holding two Jedi against their wills.” He glanced at Darklighter. “And Commodore Darklighter assures me that if you and Princess Leia give your words, you will honor them.”
“That is so,” Saba said. “But we will not give you our wordz.”
Bwua’tu nodded. “I didn’t think so.” He looked to Wurf’al. “It seems you’ll have to hole the Millennium Falcon’s drive nacelles.”
“What?” Leia cried.
“We’ll keep you locked in your cells in stun cuffs, of course.” Bwua’tu’s gaze shifted to Leia. “But we know better than to believe that will hold two Jedi. This is our best chance of preventing you from escaping.”
“You can’t do that!” Leia said.
“I’m quite certain we can,” Bwua’tu replied. “I’m sure those Noghri we haven’t been able to find will put up quite a fight, but I have no doubt we’ll prevail in the end. If all else fails, we’ll just use the capture bay battery on it.”
“You would enjoy that, this one thinkz,” Saba said. “Some revenge for your third wife’z cousin.”
“Nonsense,” Bwua’tu replied. “My clan relations have no more to do with this matter than the revulsion I feel for the Jedi’s weakness in sparing the Yuuzhan Vong their just due. This is purely in the line of my duty as commander of the Fifth Fleet.”
“I wonder if Gilad Pellaeon will see it that way?” Leia asked. With Sien Sovv dead, Pellaeon had agreed to come out of retirement until Chief Omas and the Senate appointed a new, permanent Supreme Commander. “You know how sticky Sullustans are about regulations.”
“I do.” Bwua’tu gestured at Darklighter. “That’s why I had Commodore Darklighter consult with me on this. Holing the Falcon’s nacelles was his idea.”
Leia’s jaw dropped. “Gavin!”
“Sorry, Princess,” he said. “But you have been trying to run a Galactic Alliance blockade.”
Bwua’tu looked back to Wurf’al. “Why are you still here? You have your orders.”
Wurf’al’s fur flattened. “Sorry, sir.” He passed the stun-cuff remotes to the leader of the security squad and turned toward the door. “On my way.”
“All right,” Leia said. “We give our words.”
“You give your word,” Bwua’tu said, looking to Saba. “What about Master Sebatyne?”
Wurf’al reached the door and left without waiting to be called back. Saba remained silent.
“Good,” Bwua’tu said. “There is no regulation against enjoying my duty.”
During her two decades of political service to the Rebellion and the New Republic, Leia had dealt with enough Bothans to know when one was bluffing. There was no telltale ruffling of the fur, no synthetic snarl. Bwua’tu was patiently waiting for Saba to make up her mind—and the gleam in his eye suggested that he hoped that she would remain silent.
“Saba, I don’t think he’s bluffing,” Leia said.
“He is not,” the Barabel said. “We will have to take one of the Ackbar’z message skiffz instead of the Falcon.”
“I’ve no doubt you can,” Bwua’tu replied. “But thank you for the warning.”
Leia began, “Master Sebatyne—”
“If we give our word, we place Han and Master Skywalker at Chief Omas’z mercy,” Saba interrupted. “That we cannot do.”
“Master Sebatyne, I understand your concern.”
As Leia spoke, she was reaching out to Saba in the Force, trying to make her see that Bwua’tu was not half as clever as he believed himself to be. He had asked for a very specific promise—that Leia and Saba not attempt to escape—so they could still make the rescue plan work, if they could find a way to get the supplies aboard the Falcon to Mara and the rest of the StealthX pilots without escaping.
“But you know how Cakhmaim and Meewalh are,” Leia continued. “If something happens to the Falcon, they’ll try to take out this whole Star Destroyer.”
“There is no try.” Saba flicked her tongue. “They will.”
Bwua’tu drummed his clawed fingers on the table and looked at the door.
“We can’t let that happen,” Leia pressed. “You must give Admiral Bwua’tu your word.”
Saba let out a long, harsh croak that actually made Bwua’tu recoil. “Very well. This one promisez.”
Bwua’tu’s bushy brows fell. “Finally, you surprise me.” He looked to the leader of the security squad. “Release the stun cuffs.”
The leader punched a code into the remote, and the stun cuffs opened on both Leia and Saba.
“Please, sit.” Bwua’tu gestured to the chairs at their end of the table. “Would you like something from the service kitchen?”
“No, thank you.” Leia’s throat was raw with thirst, but Saba had drilled into her time and again that it was as important to maintain the Jedi mystique as it was to master the Force. “I’m fine for now.”
“This one will have a membrosia.” Saba used the Force to pull out a chair, then perched on the edge, wrapping her tail onto her lap. “Gold, of course.”
Bwua’tu eyes narrowed. “This is a military vessel,” he said stiffly. “Spirits of any sort are not allowed aboard.”
“None?” Saba let out a disappointed snort. “Then this one hopez it will not be too long before you hear from Chief Omaz.”
“As do I.” Bwua’tu asked the droid to bring him a tall glass of iced fizzwater, then said, “There is one other matter we must attend to before I have you escorted to your new cabins.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Leia asked.
Bwua’tu frowned. “That’s highly unlikely.”
“I think she’s worried about the Falcon, sir,” Darklighter said.
“Is she?”
The admiral depressed a hidden button on the tabletop, and the door opened to reveal Wurf’al standing at attention on the other side. The younger Bothan smiled at Leia and stepped back into the cabin.
“You keep your promises,” Bwua’tu said, “and I’ll keep mine.”
So much for the Jedi mystique, Leia thought.
“Good.” Saba rose. “Then we are done here. This one is ready to go to her cabin.”
“In a moment,” Bwua’tu said. “First, I want you to call your fellow Jedi in. We’ve been trying to reach them for three days—”
“Three days?” Leia gasped.
“You’ve been unconscious for four,” Darklighter said.
“I’m afraid I overestimated your Jedi resiliency,” Bwua’tu added. “I ordered the boarding party to set their HeadBangers to maximum. So you can see why we’re growing concerned about your escort. They must be running out of air, water, and food by now.”
“Maybe even power,” Darklighter said. “I’ve heard that StealthXs draw down faster than the standard XJ series.”
Leia glanced over to see how Saba wanted to play this—the Barabel was her Master—and received absolutely no hint, either in her expression or through the Force. Leia’s choice.
Leia turned to Bwua’tu. “We wer
e trying to run the blockade, you know.” As she said this, Leia reached out to Mara in the Force and felt her somewhere nearby, deep in a Force-hibernation. “Has it occurred to you that our escort is already gone?”
“Frankly, no,” Darklighter said. “I doubt they went to Woteba with no way to refuel before combat. No pilot would.”
“By the way, we have removed your cargo to a safe location,” Bwua’tu added. “I wouldn’t want you to get any ideas about shooting a few fuel cells out to your friends without actually trying to escape.”
Leia’s heart sank, but she was careful to maintain a neutral face. Bwua’tu did not know as much about Jedi as he believed. Mara and the others could stay in their StealthXs for another week by remaining in their Force-hibernation.
The question was whether Luke and Han could last that long.
“Okay, they’re still out there,” Leia admitted. “But I won’t call them in.”
Bwua’tu’s brow rose in surprise. “Why not?”
“You must!” Darklighter said. “They’re going to start going under pretty soon, and we can’t find those StealthXs. We won’t be able to save them.”
“They are safer out there than they would be in here,” Saba said. “We will not call them into danger.”
Bwua’tu’s nostrils began to flare. “Whatever my feelings about Jedi meddling in the ar’krai, I assure you they will be in no danger aboard the Ackbar!”
“Not from you,” Leia said. She had vague sense of where Saba was trying to go with this, but could not tell whether the Barabel had sensed some new menace or was simply trying to play Bwua’tu. “Something is wrong on this ship. Master Sebatyne and I have been sensing it since we came aboard.”
Bwua’tu pushed back in his chair. “Please—you’re talking to a Bothan! I see what you’re trying to do.”
“We are trying to protect you,” Saba growled.
“From what?” Bwua’tu demanded.
Saba and Leia looked at each other, then Leia admitted, “The Force is not yet clear on the matter.”
“Then please let me know when the Force does become clear on the matter.” Bwua’tu’s tone suggested that he did not think that would ever happen. “Until then, do not attempt frightening my crew again. I assure you, it will do nothing to speed your release.”
Darklighter said, “Admiral, that isn’t what’s happening here. If Princess Leia says she feels something wrong, then it bears investigating.”
Bwua’tu turned to glare at Darklighter. “Is that your opinion, Commodore, or is there some General Defense Force Directive that I’m unaware of?”
Darklighter drew himself up straight. “Sir, that is my opinion.”
Bwua’tu fell silent, and Leia thought for a moment they had convinced him of the danger.
Then the admiral stood. “Do you know what I think, Commodore Darklighter? I think you have allowed your friendship with Princess Leia to affect your judgment.” His gaze shifted to Leia and Saba. “And now you are dangerously close to supporting her in fomenting unrest among my crew.”
Darklighter’s face paled. “Sir, that’s not my intention—”
“You are a dangerously naÏve officer to be flying one of my Star Destroyers, Commodore Darklighter,” Bwua’tu said. “I suggest you return to it while it is still yours to command.”
“Sir.”
Darklighter drew himself to attention and saluted, then cast one last glance in Leia’s direction before he turned and left the room.
Bwua’tu turned to Wurf’al. “I fear Commodore Darklighter may have misjudged the value of a Jedi’s promise. Place them back in their stun cuffs and return them to the detention center.”
“This isn’t a ploy, Admiral,” Leia said. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Perhaps, but it is mine to make.” Bwua’tu returned to his chair and spun around to stare at the sapphire web of the Utegetu Nebula. “Tell your guard when you wish to call your friends in, Princess. Chief Omas will not be happy if they suffocate in the Murgo Choke.”
THIRTEEN
It was afternoon in Unity Green and a fierce storm was rolling across Liberation Lake, raising three-meter whitecaps and bombing the yammal-jells with fist-sized hail. In the flat light, the bluffs along the lake’s far shore were barely visible, a mere band of darkness rising from the edge of the gray water. But the abandoned skytower project atop the cliffs was all too visible, a line of durasteel skeletons silhouetted against the flashing sky, twisted and bowing beneath the weight of the enormous yorik coral goiters hanging from their necks.
In many ways, Cal Omas viewed the skytower project—and the entire reconstruction of Coruscant—as emblematic of his service as Chief of State, a visionary undertaking being dragged down by the deadweight of selfish concerns and species rivalry. After the devastation wrought by the Yuuzhan Vong, rebuilding the galaxy would have been almost impossible under any circumstances. But doing it as the head of an alliance of semi-independent governments . . . he considered it a testament to his skill and hard work just to have kept the peace for six difficult years.
And now the Jedi were threatening even that one small accomplishment. They had been his most valuable asset for most of his tenure, able to eliminate criminal cabals with a single team of Jedi Knights, or to bring a pair of starving worlds back from the brink of war with the arbitration of a Master. Then the Killik problem had arisen in the Unknown Regions, and the Jedi order had become just one more problem, more deadweight threatening to bring the Galactic Alliance down around his ears.
Sometimes Omas truly did not know whether he was up to the job—whether anyone was.
A female voice spoke from the door to the council chamber. “Chief Omas, the Masters are here.”
Omas turned away from the viewport. “Well, send them in, Salla. I am just a visitor in their Temple.”
Salla, his personal assistant, twitched her whiskers in what someone unfamiliar with a Jenet might have mistaken for condescension, but which Omas knew was simply amusement.
“So you are.” She stepped out of the door and waved the Masters inside. “I’m sure you heard Chief Omas.”
“I’m sure he meant us to,” replied the familiar voice of Kyp Durron. He marched into the chamber with the other Masters at his back, then stopped at the edge of the speaking pit. With a threadbare robe and unkempt hair, he was as raggedly groomed as always. “Thanks for letting us into our own council chamber, Chief.”
Omas accepted the insolence with a smile. “Not at all, Master Durron. After all, the Reconstruction Authority gave the entire Temple to the Jedi.”
Omas’s irony might have been lost on Kyp, but not on Kenth Hamner. “And the Jedi are very grateful,” he said. Though he usually dressed in a civilian tunic or his liaison’s uniform, today he wore the same brown robes as the rest of the Masters. They obviously intended to present a united front. “We’re all here as you requested, Chief Omas.”
“And thank you for coming.” Omas slipped into a comfortable flowform chair at one end of the speaking circle and motioned to the seats nearest him. “Please, sit. Can Salla get you anything from the service kitchen?”
The Masters all declined, of course. Omas had never seen a Jedi Master accept food or beverage when a confrontation was expected. It was part of their mystique, he thought—or perhaps they were simply more cautious than he realized.
“Very well.”
Omas gestured again to the nearby seats, then waited in silence until the six Masters finally realized he was pulling rank on them and perched on the edges of the big flowform seats, their backs ramrod-straight and their hands resting on their thighs. Kyp took the seat nearest him. That was one of the things that had always troubled Omas about the rogue Jedi—he never backed down.
“We need to talk,” Omas began. “Normally, I would bring a matter like this up with the six Masters who sit on the Advisory Council, but Masters Skywalker and Sebatyne seem to be unavailable. I’ve asked Masters Horn and Katarn to sit in their
place.”
“On whose authority?” Kyp demanded.
Omas raised his brow in feigned surprise. “No one’s. I felt this discussion should include six Masters instead of four.” He turned to Hamner. “Is that a problem?”
“Yes,” Kyp blurted. “When you handpick—”
“It’s fine,” Hamner said, cutting Kyp off short. He shot the younger Master a warning glance, but the damage had been done. Corran furrowed his brow, and Katarn’s brown eyes grew as hard as larmalstone. “We don’t speak for the entire order, but we can certainly listen on its behalf.”
Omas nodded. “That’s all I ask.” Knowing how easy it was for Jedi to read emotions, he tried not to gloat. He let his gaze drift toward Corran, then said, “First, I must start by saying how disappointed I am that you’ve been keeping Master Skywalker’s absence from me. It has led me to imagine some very disturbing scenarios, I’m afraid.”
Corran’s gaze shifted.
But Kyp said, “Master Skywalker’s whereabouts aren’t your concern.”
“Actually, they are his concern,” Kyle Katarn said. He was still a slim and fit-looking man; his beard and hair were just beginning to show the first shocks of gray. “I’m sorry you felt we were keeping secrets from you, Chief Omas. The truth is that Master Skywalker’s absence took us by surprise, and we were afraid you would try to take advantage of the situation.”
“Take advantage?” Omas kept his voice pleasant. Divide, then conquer. It was one of the lessons he had learned by watching Admiral Ackbar. “By trying to usurp his leadership?”
“We know how upset you have been over the Killiks,” Tresina Lobi said. A golden-haired Chev woman, Lobi resembled a pale-skinned human with obsidian eyes, a heavy brow, and a sloping forehead. “So, yes, we are concerned about your intentions.”
“My intentions are to protect the Galactic Alliance,” Omas said simply. “What the Jedi are doing places our relationship with the Chiss at risk—”