“Where is this?”
“The astrographic office knows it as Doornik-319,” Drayson said. “It’s part of a system inside the Koornacht Cluster. The Kubaz who lived there till yesterday called it Morning’s Bell.”
“What happened yesterday?”
“The same thing that happened to Polneye,” said Drayson. “And it doesn’t stop there. The evidence I’ve seen suggests that every non-Yevethan settlement in Koornacht received the same sort of treatment.”
“What evidence? Where did you get this recording?”
“I’d rather you not ask me that, Princess.”
“I am asking you.”
Drayson nodded. “Princess, is it absolutely necessary that you know the source for you to credit the evidence? If so, then I’ll answer. But if you don’t need that knowledge to accept what that recording means, then I’d rather not risk those assets any more than I already have by revealing what they’ve discovered. The information is what matters.”
Leia stared at him.
“I think my five minutes are up,” he said, with a little bow. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Stop!” she said sharply. “Who are you, really?”
Drayson turned and looked back at her. “I do what I do under the authority of an executive order issued by Mon Mothma,” he said. “You’ll find it in your personal library files as D9020616.”
“Mon Mothma! She never said a word about this—”
“She found the machinery of the New Republic unwieldy when it came to certain aspects of statecraft—getting information into the right hands, projecting policy into ambiguous situations. I try to address those shortcomings.”
“Who do you answer to?”
“The same as you do, Princess—the same as anyone at our level does,” Drayson said. “I answer to my conscience and my sense of duty. And yes, if either ever fails us, we can do a great deal of harm—and probably hide most of it, too. But that’s all there is, isn’t it? Conscience or obedience. Leader or follower. Whose orders do you obey?” He pointed at the datacard. “Who will tell you what to do about that? You see? Conscience and duty.” He bowed again. “Good evening, Princess.”
She let him go.
Turning back to her datapad, Leia watched the recording a second time and then a third. The images were sharp and unambiguous. The design of the ships was distinctive and incriminating. Yevethan colonists were setting up housekeeping on a world which one day earlier had belonged to the Kubaz.
Leia dug her comlink out of the drawer where she had thrown it the night before and selected a familiar channel. “Han,” she said. “You can stop hiding from me now. Where are you? Please—come talk to me.”
“Murderers,” Han muttered as he watched the recording from Doornik-319. He shook his head disbelievingly. “I’ve been around enough to see some cold moves pulled, but killing a family one day and moving into their house the next is right up there with anything our old buddy Palpatine ever thought up.”
Leia nodded. “I’m beginning to wonder if the greatest indignity that the Empire subjected the Yevetha to wasn’t holding them to a higher standard of behavior,” she said.
“Now, that’s a picture, isn’t it? The Emperor’s stormtroopers setting the example for good manners,” Han said. “Like arming protocol droids with blasters.”
He tried to win a smile from her, but she had looked away to gaze at the map of Koornacht Cluster displayed on the main screen, and he turned his attention there as well. “Look at what they’ve done—it makes no sense at all,” he said. “It’s not like any of these settlements were crowding the League worlds. Or that real estate is getting scarce in there.”
“I’m afraid it makes perfect sense,” said Leia, propping her chin on folded hands. “So much of what he said sounds different to me now—almost as though he lied to me with the truth. ‘What we want more than anything is to be left alone.’ I remember that clearly, from the first time we met. He mentioned how strange it was to see so many different species. He told me the Yevetha didn’t need our protection.”
“No,” said Han. “It was the Kubaz who needed protection.”
“He as much as told me that, too,” said Leia. “He said it was his mission to protect his people—and he did. He kept them inside that ship, safely away from us. He controlled his own exposure to us—as though he were afraid of contamination. That’s why those setdements were destroyed, Han. This wasn’t a boundary war, or a matter of competing territorial claims. It was an act of revulsion.”
Han looked dubious. “Maybe so. But there’s something else, too. Look at the results. Doornik-319 sits nearly on a line between Coruscant and N’zoth, just where you’d want a forward base. These other targets—it’s like they burned a firebreak between themselves and all of us.”
She reached out and touched the point of light that was Doornik-319. “Or dug a moat. Complete with gate and drawbridge, maybe.”
“Yeah,” said Han. “So what are you going to do?”
Withdrawing her finger, Leia shook her head slowly. “It seems as though it’s already all over. All I can see to do now is try to make sure Nil Spaar stays on his side of the moat. Protect the settlements that haven’t been torched—Galatos, Wehttam, The Marais.” She looked up at Han. “I’m going to have to send the Fifth Fleet back to Farlax.”
“I thought that might happen,” Han said. “I left the Fleet at readiness high—no shore leaves, no major maintenance. They should be able to sail on a half hour’s notice.”
She touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want this.”
“Hold on just a moment,” Han said, pulling back from her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can’t change commanders on them again, not twice in a week, not under these circumstances. You’ve been out there with them for two months now. That gives some continuity, at least.”
“Right idea, wrong man,” said Han. “If it were me, the first thing I’d do is hand the Fifth back to General A’baht.”
“How can I do that? He was disloyal to me.”
“Was he? He disobeyed your orders, but is that the same thing as being disloyal? Did he do what he did for personal gain? Did he do it to enhance his career, or aid the enemy? No. He was trying to protect all those people out there with him, and all the people back here, too. And hell, Leia—he was right. He ought to get some points for that.”
“You said it yourself,” she said stiffly. “He disobeyed my orders.”
“He disobeyed an order you never should have given,” Han said. “And if that’s your reason, you’re going to have to disqualify me, too. That prowler that picked up Plat Mallar—what do you think it was doing out there?”
She realized she had never asked herself that question. “I guess I assumed it was Admiral Drayson’s handiwork.”
“You weren’t paying close enough attention,” Han said. “That’s a Fifth Fleet prowler. I sent it there.”
“You?” Leia said, and her eyes flashed anger. “I don’t understand. Is it because I’m a woman? Is that why lately everyone seems to treat my orders like suggestions?”
“Aw—blast, no, Leia. I keep telling you the uniform doesn’t fit me very well,” he said. “I’m just as bad at following orders from men. I always have been—you know that. Look, I was there. You weren’t. I did it on a hunch.”
“How do you explain General A’baht?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Han parried. “But remember this—before he came to Coruscant, General A’baht was the senior military commander of the Dornea. He was accustomed to a greater degree of autonomy than we grant our Fleet commanders. He answered to his own conscience. I happen to think he was tremendously loyal to you—not least in the way he accepted his demotion. You could do a lot worse than to ask him to come back.”
“How can I? I humiliated him in front of his crew, his command.”
“If you think what you did changed how they felt about him, you’ve forgotten the r
ules of the game,” Han said. “What you did changed how they felt about you. Give them back their commander. They won’t have anything worse to say about you than they’re already saying. You might even win back a couple of points.”
“What should I say?”
“You don’t have to say anything, not to them. Send the Fifth Fleet back to Farlax under General A’baht’s command, and they’ll get the message,” Han said. “Leia, only weak leaders never admit to mistakes. Strong leaders don’t need to pretend to be infallible. Just fix this. There are bigger problems to chew on.”
She glanced up at the map of Koornacht, then studied the backs of her hands. “I have Bail Organa’s stubborn pride,” she said quietly. “It’s hard for me to admit when someone else was more right than I was.”
“If you weren’t headstrong, you wouldn’t be my Leia,” Han said with a crooked, affectionate grin. “You’re staying on, then? No resignation.”
“I can’t leave this mess for someone else,” Leia said. “I’m going to have to take the responsibility for it. Nil Spaar wouldn’t have done this if he hadn’t been sure that we would let him. That I would let him.”
“You’re not responsible for his miscalculation.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not going to let him.”
“Oh,” Leia said. “Do you know where General A’baht is?”
“He came back with me in the skiff. He’s probably over in the Fleet dormitories, expecting to be court-martialed. The Fleet Office will know.”
“I’d better go see him,” she said, gathering her feet under her. “I’ll call on the way over.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” Han said. “I’ll hang out with the kids till you get back.”
“Thanks.” She kissed him quickly and started to leave, then stopped and turned back. “Han—”
“What?”
“How could I have been so wrong about Nil Spaar? How could I have sat there for so long, being lied to with smiles, and never have known? I’m a Jedi—I’m supposed to be more perceptive than that.”
“You don’t lean on that talent very hard,” he said. “From what I can see, you don’t really want to.”
“I guess there’s some truth in that,” she admitted. “Still, I can’t stop thinking I should have known what he was.”
“I think maybe you saw what you wanted to see,” Han said gently. “You still believe in the basic goodness and rationality of the people you meet. Not everyone has that handicap.”
Though he likely could have had for the asking one of the suites held for senior officers and guests, General A’baht was billeted in a double in one of the enlisted dormitories. And though he had more than enough right to have it closed, the door to his room was standing open, respecting a tradition that redrew the boundaries of privacy from the first day of training.
A’baht himself was prone on the floor, turned half away from the door, going through a strenuous series of body lifts without so much as a grunt.
“General,” Leia said. “May I come in?”
The Dornean officer came to his feet smoothly and saluted smartly. “Princess,” he said. “I am—surprised—to see you.”
Leia closed the door behind her. “I think we need to talk. I received your apology, and offer to resign, on the way over here—”
“Princess, I hope you understand that I am not bargaining to escape the consequences of my actions,” A’baht said. “I’m willing to stand for court-martial, or resign, or accept demotion to whatever grade you deem fit—whatever you think would be best for the Fleet and the Republic. I do not want to be the cause of any further embarrassment for you, or the Fleet, or Chandrila.”
Leia pulled a straight-backed chair out from under the small desk and sat down. “You know, General, I’ve been thinking a lot about resigning myself. I’ve made several—mistakes—lately that I’ve had trouble accepting.
“A little while ago, after talking things over with my best friend in the world, I decided that the hardest thing for me to do would be to stay where I am—and so that was what I was going to do. And it’s going to be hard enough that I think I’d better have your help. Your offer to resign is rejected.”
“I understand, Princess. If I may—has a date been selected for my trial?”
“Trial?” She shook her head. “You don’t have time for a trial, General. You and I both still have work to do.”
“Sir?”
She sighed. “General—I was wrong. I can’t put it any more plainly. Will you accept my apology, and return to the Intrepid as commander of the Fifth Fleet?”
Surprise sat uncomfortably on the Dornean’s features. “Princess, can I possibly have your confidence after what’s happened?”
“What happened shouldn’t have happened. But the blame is mine, not yours,” Leia said. “Your conduct—and your judgment—were both faultless. You will have my confidence for as long as your service to the New Republic remains on such a high plane.”
A’baht was visibly embarrassed. “Then—Princess, I thank you for your apology, which you did not owe me. And I am at your disposal, to serve in whatever capacity you feel I can be useful.”
“Good,” she said, standing and gesturing at their surroundings. “Because you really don’t belong here. Can I give you a ride to Eastport, General?”
The loyalty of small men can be bought cheaply, because greed has no pride.
Within minutes of General Etahn A’baht’s return to the Fifth Fleet, the armada jumped into hyperspace, heading for Farlax and Koornacht Cluster. Within minutes of that event, Belezaboth Ourn, extraordinary consul of the Paqwepori, had reported it to Viceroy Nil Spaar by hyperspace comm.
“I don’t know what orders the general has been given, of course,” Ourn said. “But the princess herself was seen delivering him to his shuttle, and the entire fleet is gone, as quickly as it returned, and with as little explanation.”
“Thank you, Consul,” Nil Spaar said gravely. “Your assistance will not be forgotten by the Yevetha. I urge you to be on guard for more lies from the princess and those who serve her.”
“Oh, we will watch her, we will watch her,” said Ourn. “Viceroy—a small question.”
“Of course.”
“When can we expect delivery of the thrustship you promised, in payment for the damage to Mother’s Valkyrie which we agreed to allow? Should I decide to leave Coruscant, my only options are to charter a vessel, at considerable expense, or take a commercial flight, at considerable inconvenience.”
Nil Spaar smiled ingratiatingly. “Soon, Consul, soon. The newest vessel from our best shipyard is being altered to your specifications as we speak. Have patience. You will not be disappointed.”
In an empty room of a deserted lodge on the grounds of the diplomatic hostel in Imperial City, a hypercomm repeater answered a coded call from light-years away.
The repeater in turn activated a delicate and elegant transmitter, which bounced a curious signal into the heart of a bland-faced building filled with the machinery of the New Republic government’s official information net.
Moments later, second-shift supervisor Turat Il Feen sat in open-mouthed amazement at his master controller station as the Channel 1 homeworld notification system awakened of its own accord.
Only three offices could originate the rare Channel 1 dispatches—the Ruling Council, the President, and the Fleet High Command. But the background blue screen that appeared on Channel 1 carried none of their identifying insignia. All that appeared were the words TRANSMISSION BEGINS IN:, followed by a counter.
Even so, Channel 1 went active. The tickle went out, alerting the net that a priority message was imminent. Almost immediately, hypercomm receivers on every homeworld and in every administrative center began to respond, signaling their readiness.
“We’re being hacked,” Turat raged at his technicians. “Find out where the signal is getting in. If we can’t lock it out, I want to take the system down.�
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But there was little they could do. “Not enough time,” a technician muttered. “C-Ones are supposed to get out no matter what. That’s the way we built the system.”
At Turat’s station, the acknowledgment counter had climbed to ninety-five percent. “Do something,” he pleaded. “If we let a pirate broadcast out on C-One, we’ll all be lucky to get jobs as grid installers.”
But they had run out of time. The counter reached 00:00 and stopped. The blue background began to fade.
Turat looked at the acknowledgment counter and thought about the audience it represented—not only the countless thousands of receivers and recorders, but the officials charged with attending them. Cabinet ministers and diplomatic liaisons, senior advisers and planetary rulers, roused from sleep, called away from other duties, torn away from their private business to gather in front of monitors on every planet from Bespin to Byss.
Turat Il Feen could not sit quietly with that audience and watch his career ending. As the broadcast began, he stood up from his station, turned away, and walked out.
“Citizens of the New Republic—”
The door slid closed behind him. He heard no more. In that, he was one of the few.
At the moment the broadcast began, a late meeting was under way in the office wing of the president’s residence. Behn-kihl-nahm, Admiral Ackbar, Admiral Drayson, Leia, and Han were painstakingly crafting an announcement about the Yevethan massacres, and a strategy to guide them after its release in the morning.
They had just broken a deadlock over how to handle Plat Mallar’s involvement—Leia was determined not to exploit him, and carried the argument—when all four datapads on the table began to chirp warning signals.
“Channel One,” Leia said, silencing her alarm. “Did any of you—”
“No,” said Ackbar.
“Absolutely not,” said Behn-kihl-nahm.
“Then who?” asked Drayson.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Han said darkly.
The holomonitor on the end wall came on by itself for a Channel 1 dispatch. “Citizens of the New Republic,” said the image of Nil Spaar. “I beg your indulgence for this intrusion, and I apologize for the unhappy news I must bring you.”
Before the Storm Page 30