Jedi Eclipse

by James Luceno

  “We’ve beaten them at their own game,” Commodore Brand announced as he hurried through the doors of the fleet office. “Senator Shesh kept her promise: She threw the vote to Bothawui.”

  Hoots of success filled the room.

  “Shesh also reports that her meeting with the Hutt consul general went well,” Brand added. “We may yet get some help from the Hutts. Now we need to hear from Hapes.”

  “The Consortium vote is set for tomorrow,” his adjutant supplied.

  Brand couldn’t restrain a smile. “It’s all coming together. But now the real work begins.” He strode to a holomap not unlike the one he had made use of only moments earlier in the Advisory Council chambers. “The Yuuzhan Vong have obviously been looking closely at both Corellia and Bothawui, assessing the value of each. By deploying the new task force in Bothan space, we leave Corellia wide open for attack.” He turned to his adjutant. “What news from Centerpoint Station?”

  “The Solo kids have arrived on Drall. Anakin Solo is the one who originally enabled the repulsor there, and the Centerpoint technicians have high confidence he’ll be able to do the same with the station. At this point they’re down to fine-tuning the thing anyway, making certain it will perform as expected, in lieu of running actual tests, for fear of alarming Corellia, Drall, Selonia, and the rest. Although that hardly matters, since rumors of all sorts have been circulating. Riots have broken out in Coronet, Meccha, and L’pwacc Den Port, and there’s widespread talk of ousting Governor-General Marcha.”

  Brand nodded glumly. “Well, if this works, Corellia will be seen as the galaxy’s savior, and any hard feelings should disappear.” He turned back to the slowly gyrating 3-D map. “Alert Core Command on a need-to-know basis that elements of the Third Fleet should be prepared to jump for Kuat on my order. Likewise, that elements of the Second Fleet should be prepared to jump for Ralltiir.” He inserted his hand into the holoprojector’s cone of light. “Furthermore, I want the hyperspace routes linking Corellia to Kuat, Ralltiir, and Bothawui swept for the Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of mines or mass-shadow weapons.”

  Brand turned and glanced around the room. “With Centerpoint’s interdiction field holding them fast and a full fleet at their back, the Yuuzhan Vong will regret the day they entered this galaxy.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Archon Thane’s words could barely be heard for all the outcries of shame and disapproval. Regardless, he stood tall before his sixty-two peers, most of whom were female, proudly displaying the bruises he had earned in the honor duel with Isolder and convincingly unapologetic for having gambled away Vergill’s vote on the outcome of that contest. Thane’s audacity was not surprising, but where Leia had expected bitterness and sarcasm, his words in support of the New Republic sounded almost sincere.

  Many in the vast hall were certain that Vergill’s vote would provide Teneniel Djo with the majority she needed to mandate military action against the Yuuzhan Vong, but Leia no longer had a clear sense of her own objectives. While the Consortium’s entry into the war might turn out to be pivotal, allegations of personal interest and conspiracy threatened to undermine not only the political process, but also the long-standing alliance between the Consortium and the New Republic.

  To the exasperation of C-3PO, who insisted on trying to match her long strides and divine her sudden about-faces, Leia paced nervously behind the scenes in a small chamber that looked out on the speaker’s rostrum. If nothing else, she told herself, the vote would at least conclude her visit to Hapes, which had become more trying as the days had worn on, both at Reef Fortress and the Fountain Palace. She felt hopelessly removed from the activities that had become most important to her. Hapes had begun to seem a place of exile, and an imaginary one at that—a land of dragons and rainbow gems, of trees of wisdom and Guns of Command—and the brawl between Isolder and Thane had been one thing too much.

  She had yet to spend any private time with the prince, and if she had her way, she wouldn’t. From the start she had feared that Isolder had misconstrued the nature of her mission to Hapes, and Ta’a Chume’s telling her that she would have been an ideal wife for him had only made things more awkward and complicated. The fate of the galaxy no longer turned on courtly intrigues, and Leia wanted no part of the Hapans’ enslavement to them.

  Marooned in the past, in a swirl of distant memories, she longed more than anything to hear from Han. She knew that Jaina was with Rogue Squadron, and that Anakin and Jacen were bound for the Corellian system—if they weren’t there already—but she had no idea where Han was. Countless times each day, he would come swaggering into her thoughts, quick to bring disarray. Although it wasn’t the Han of the past several months she saw, but the scoundrel she had gradually fallen in love with. The Han who had thrown her a wink on being decorated for his unexpected actions during the Battle of Yavin; the Han who had acknowledged her first confession of love with a reply that managed to be both heartfelt and smug; the Han she had rendered speechless with the disclosure that Luke was her brother.

  Despite the damage to his roguish reputation a demonstration of real concern might inflict, there was no excusing his continued silence, and Leia was as angry at him as she was worried.

  A new uproar filled the hall.

  Leia saw that it was Isolder who now stood before the delegates. Like Thane, the prince was all but basking in the contentious mix of esteem and condemnation that greeted him, his face puffy with contusions, and one arm bandaged.

  No bacta treatments for the real men of Hapes, Leia thought.

  “Everyone who has wished to be heard on the issue of the Consortium pledging support to the New Republic has been heard,” Isolder began when the commotion in the hall had settled. “It’s clear that we have no consensus on this issue, and the vote is certain to be close. The decision to go to war is never an easy one, and our decision this day is made all the more difficult because we appear to be safely distanced from that war. But bear in mind the counsel of Ambassador Organa Solo: This quiet will not endure. The light that shines on the Consortium today could very well be eclipsed tomorrow, and any battles avoided will ultimately have to be fought, perhaps by us alone. I won’t stand here and reiterate the many arguments that have been presented, denigrating one stance or bolstering another. I ask only that each of you eschew politics and vote the will of the people you represent. That is our commitment, and by doing so we vote our conscience.”

  The process was infuriatingly meticulous. With Teneniel Djo and her attendants looking on from a balcony, voting was done by hand rather than electronically, with representatives bringing forth their finest heirloom quills and employing their most baroque calligraphy. The votes—sometimes missives—were read and tallied by a panel of senescent judges; then the results were hand-delivered to the royal balcony in the form of a natural-fiber scroll resting on an outsize shimmersilk pillow.

  The queen mother herself made the announcement.

  “By a vote of thirty-two in favor to thirty-one opposed, the Consortium avows to support the New Republic in its just and decisive actions against the Yuuzhan Vong.”

  Isolder’s champions cheered and his detractors railed. It was a long while before Teneniel Djo could restore order.

  “The vote is concluded,” she said at last. “I ask now that personal differences be set aside and the word of law accepted, so that we may enter into this momentous resolution in a spirit of union.”

  The grumbling gradually subsided, and delegates shook hands or embraced one another ceremoniously. The sudden fellowship struck Leia as counterfeit as an arranged marriage.

  “Mistress,” C-3PO said with a touch of alarm, “the prince approaches.”

  Turning, Leia saw a beaming Isolder marching toward her, throwing his richly embroidered cloak over one shoulder. For a moment she feared that he was actually going to scoop her up and twirl her around, but he came to a halt just out of arm’s reach.

  “We won the day, Leia. In spite of everything, we won the day.” He
scanned the crowded hall until he located Archon Thane, then motioned at him with his chin. “Look how Thane sulks. If he’d had his way, the vote would have been reversed.” He swung to Leia. “You realize it was his plan all along to insult you, then best me in combat after I had agreed to his wager. But we prevailed.”

  Leia stared at him with mounting disquiet. “The last thing I wanted was for this decision to hinge on the outcome of a grudge match, Isolder.”

  His gleaming, hero’s smile held. “Perhaps not, but that is often the way on Hapes—and besides, you know that I wouldn’t have done any less for you.”

  “But I don’t want you doing this for me—any more than I wanted you fighting to protect my honor.”

  Isolder regarded her quizzically. “Who was I fighting for if not you? Why did you come to me?”

  “I came to Hapes, Isolder—as an envoy of the New Republic. That’s the truth of it.”

  “Of course you did. And you were right to come here.” He eased the moment with an understanding smile. “All that aside, you have your wish. We stand side by side in battle.”

  Leia’s attempt to emulate his expression failed, as something that had been at the edge of her consciousness all week long suddenly rushed to mind.

  Scarcely eight years earlier, with many of the warships of the New Republic fleet undergoing repairs and upgrades, Luke had been asked by the senate to appeal to the Bakurans for help in putting an end to a rebellion in the Corellian sector. More to the point, Luke had been asked to appeal to his close friend Gaeriel Captison, even though she had retired from public service after the death of her husband, former Imperial Pter Thanas. Gaeriel had pledged her support, and with the aid of several Bakuran naval vessels, the crisis had been resolved. But at a terrible cost. Gaeriel, Bakuran Admiral Ossilege, and thousands more had been killed. Luke still spoke of his guilt, especially after visits with Gaeriel’s young daughter Malinza, whom he had pledged to keep safe.

  In the wake of recollection, something even more terrible began to blossom in Leia’s mind. Her heart pounded and her forehead beaded with sweat. Her sight blurred at the edges, sounds grew faint, and she reached out for Isolder’s arm to steady herself. She shut her eyes briefly, and into the darkness raced a ferocious vision of warships speared by brilliant light; of expanding explosions and the cries of dying thousands; of starfighters vaporized, blinding eruptions of fire, bodies floating still in the void, a world ablaze—

  “Leia, what is it?” Isolder asked, holding her upright. “Leia?”

  Coming back to herself almost as quickly as she had become lost, she took a calming breath and eased out of his hold. Then she gaped at him, wide-eyed. “You can’t do this, Isolder. You mustn’t join us.”

  His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? The vote has been taken. The matter is already decided.”

  “Then call for a revote. Tell everyone you’ve rethought Hapes’s position.”

  “Are you mad? Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

  “Isolder, you must listen to me—”

  “The decision has been made.”

  Leia wanted desperately to carry on the fight, but all words fled her. She stared, then touched her fingers to her forehead. Isolder was gazing at her knowingly.

  “You’re worried that something will go wrong,” he said, “and you don’t want the responsibility of having decided our fate. But you needn’t worry. We made our pledge free and clear. We know exactly what we’re getting into. This is in our blood, Leia. You need never fear on our account.”

  “But—”

  “Is there a chance the Yuuzhan Vong will overlook us?”

  She considered it. “Probably not.”

  “Then what choice do we have? Do we fight the invaders alongside you and avail ourselves of greater numbers, or wait to be attacked and be forced to engage them in our own space with only what ships we have?”

  She compressed her lips and nodded. “You’re right.” She managed a faint smile. “Isolder, I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

  He waved away the apology. “Words are of no importance. What is, is that we always remain friends.”

  “Done.”

  He offered her his arm and they walked a few paces, much to the obvious dismay of C-3PO.

  “I believe your droid is agitated,” Isolder said quietly.

  Leia laughed. “I’m sure he is. Threepio was very much Han’s supporter when you were crazy enough to consider me fit to be a queen mother.”

  Isolder laughed shortly, then stopped to gaze at her. “Leia, as a friend, may I ask you something? You’ve been preoccupied for the whole of your stay here. Each time I’ve attempted to visit you, you’ve avoided me. Is something wrong—between us or otherwise?”

  “I have been distracted,” she conceded.

  “May I know the reason?”

  She forced a breath. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “My mother once told me that when a Jedi is distracted, when she loses her focus, she becomes vulnerable.”

  “I’m not a Jedi.”

  “But you are as strong in the Force as any of them. What is it, Leia?”

  Leia’s eyes narrowed perceptibly. “We’re in real danger, Isolder. We’re in danger of losing everything we’ve fought to attain since the defeat of the Empire.”

  “Are you saying that the Yuuzhan Vong cannot be defeated?”

  She took a moment. “I’m not sure. I see a long road ahead of us.”

  “How clearly do you see this road?”

  She shook her head. “Not clearly enough to know where all the rough spots lie.”

  They resumed walking, without speaking. “Will you accompany me to Coruscant aboard my personal ship?” Isolder asked finally.

  “What about Teneniel Djo?”

  “She will remain on Hapes,” Isolder said flatly.

  Once more the vision stormed through Leia’s mind, then abated. What light was she seeing? What world was she seeing?

  “Of course I will,” she said after a moment.

  With the Falcon safely docked, Han and Droma cleared Ruan customs and hastened for the spaceport terminal. If not for the crowds, they might have sprinted.

  “Hold on a heartbeat,” Han said when Droma was about to navigate the crowd on hands and knees. Snatching the Ryn by the back of his vest, he set him on his feet, then decorously adjusted the fit of the frayed garment while he spoke. “Your clanmates wouldn’t be so desperate to get offworld that they’d hook up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers and mercenaries. They’re smarter than that, right?”

  Droma tugged at his mustache. “They’re plenty clever, but even the quickest can be outsmarted when the situation looks hopeless. Both Gaph and Melisma detest confinement. Gaph was once in jail and—”

  Han started shaking his head. “That’s not the answer I want to hear.”

  Droma fell silent, then nodded in understanding. “My clanmates take up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers? They’re far too clever. In fact, I’m certain they’re still on Ruan—somewhere—and that we’ve arrived well in time to save them.”

  Han exhaled. “That’s a relief.”

  They had been having the same conversation since leaving Tholatin. The Weequay security chief had been too sly to supply them with the names of his cohorts who had gone to Ruan, or with the name of their ship. But the Ruan scam had come up several times in casual conversation among Esau’s Ridge’s mechanics and ne’er-do-wells, and Han had a pretty good idea of the caliber of folks he and Droma were dealing with. Even if the hijackers who had come to Ruan weren’t working directly for the Yuuzhan Vong, they were likely to be well armed and dangerous—much like the members of the Peace Brigade, with whom Han and Droma had tangled aboard the Queen of Empire, and with whom neither wished to tangle again.

  Ruan spaceport had a pace all its own. With thousands of refugees pouring in from scores of occupied worlds, there were far more comings than goings, but Salliche Ag was somehow m
anaging to keep the transfer process running smoothly and efficiently. Dozens of species-specific booths lined the terminal walls, and a fleet of surface vehicles waited outside the terminal to convey refugees to one camp or another. Locating refugees, though, was another matter. At a human-staffed information booth, Han and Droma discovered listings for over one hundred separate exile facilities, some only a few kilometers away and others on the far side of the world.

  “Searching every camp’ll take longer than we’ve got,” Han fumed. “There’s gotta be an easier way.”

  “Try the central data bank,” a droid voice said behind him. “Whoever you’re looking for might be listed there.”

  Han turned and found himself face-to-face with an aged droid built roughly along human lines, though stocky and no taller than Droma. In sore need of paint and body work, the machine was long-armed and barrel-chested, with a rounded head that was as primitive in design as the servomotors that operated its limbs.

  “Bollux?” Han said in disbelief.

  The droid’s unblinking red photoreceptors fixed on him. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You’re a labor droid, aren’t you—a, a BLX?”

  “A BLX?” the droid said peevishly. “Though we both happen to be products of Serv-O-Droid, Incorporated, I’m a BFL. Baffle, to you, good sir.”

  “Baffle?” Han’s eyebrows arched in skeptical surprise, then his eyes narrowed appraisingly. “Who are you kidding? You’re telling me you’ve never spent time in the Corporate Sector?”

  “Thank the maker, no. Why, save for being activated at the Fondor shipyards, I’ve never even been outside the Core—to the best of my memory, that is.”

  Han refused to buy it. With Droma looking on, he circled Baffle, taking in the set of the droid’s vocabulator grille and its stiff way of moving. “You were never the property of a tech named Doc Vandangante?”

  Baffle shook his head. “The name is new to me.”