Dar Bille offered his neck to his old friend, then accepted Tal Fraan’s offer to him.
“Darama,” said Dar Bille, “I hear it proclaimed that your breedery gloriously affirms your vigor.”
“Fifteen nestings, all full and ripening,” said Nil Spaar. “The scent of it is intoxicating. I had to have my tenders neutered in order that they remember their work.”
“Your blood has always been strong, Nil Spaar, going back to when Kei chose you—but it has never been stronger than it is now.”
“I would rather have truth than flattery from my old friends,” said Nil Spaar. “Those who can remember the glory of our uprising are already too few in number. What news of my flagship?”
“Pride of Yevetha is fully ready,” said Dar Bille. “The holding chambers for the hostages have been completed, and the hostages are being loaded this very day. What is the prospect for more fighting? Has Jip Toorr reported from Preza?”
“He has,” said Nil Spaar. “His report is the reason I called for you. The vermin have not bared their necks or withdrawn. She who claims honor in her own name still defies us. In the last three days, the vermin fleet grew by at least eighty vessels. It has now dispersed into the boundary regions of the All, and our vessels there have lost contact with many of these intruders.”
“I am greatly surprised that they value the lives of their own species less than they valued the lives of the other vermin at Preza,” said Dar Bille. “Perhaps we do not hold whom we think we hold. Could Tig Peramis have deceived you, in league with the Princess?”
“No,” said Nil Spaar. “Han Solo is Leia’s mate and consort, and these are relations of great meaning to the vermin.”
“Perhaps she does not realize that we hold him,” said Tal Fraan. “Perhaps she does not realize that her actions place him at risk. Uncertainty has not made her cautious. Perhaps it is time to show them our hostages.”
Nil Spaar made a gesture that said the suggestion was premature. “Tell me what you have learned studying the prisoners.”
“They are uncomfortable with blood, even their own weak blood,” said Tal Fraan. “The aversion is strong enough to be a distraction, even in challenging moments. Beyond that, they have provided confirmation of suspicions I already held.”
“Indulge me and voice them.”
“They form alliances as child to parent—one world claiming the protection of a thousand,” Tal Fraan said. “They are divided, but they do not see it. They live in the long shadow of their own disharmony, and do not know to seek the light.”
“Is that their greatest weakness?”
That was a more dangerous question, and Tal Fraan hesitated before answering. “No,” he said. “Their greatest weakness is that they are impure. The strong do not slay the weak, and the weak do not yield their place to the strong. The pale vermin think of self first and kinship last.”
“And you find the evidence of this where?”
“It is why eight thousand Imperial slaves still serve us, and why these two prisoners remain in our hands. They fear death more than betrayal,” said Tal Fraan. “Any of the Pure would sacrifice himself before letting the warmth of his breath make him a traitor.”
“Dar Bille,” Nil Spaar said. “Do you agree with my young proctor’s appraisal? Are the guildsmen and tenders who serve on my flagship as eager to give themselves up as Tal Fraan declares?”
“It is true of many,” said Dar Bille. “But if your young proctor could speak with the late viceroy Kiv Truun, he would know it has never been true of all.”
The answer elicited a grunt and grimace of amused delight from the viceroy. “Mark well, Tal Fraan, how the truth is usually a good deal less certain than a willed belief,” said Nil Spaar. “Now, tell me—what is the greatest strength of the vermin?”
“It is as with all lesser species,” said Tal Fraan, who had anticipated the question. “Their strength is in their numbers. They overwhelm their worlds with their unclean fecundity. You saw yourself how their spawnworld is overrun with their soft, squirming bodies. If they acted in concert, as one kinhold, they could overwhelm us.”
“But they do not,” said Dar Bille.
“No,” said Tal Fraan. “Their great weakness undermines their great strength.”
“We will see that they do not learn how to be one kinhold,” said Nil Spaar.
“You succeeded most splendidly in that while on Coruscant,” said Dar Bille. “But they seem less confused now—and they have not retreated. How shall we answer them?”
Tal Fraan knew that it was the viceroy’s question to answer, and he held his tongue. But Nil Spaar turned his way and smiled. “What advice would you offer, Proctor? How shall I make this Leia show me her neck?”
“It is time we showed her our hostages,” said Tal Fraan evenly. “And since the pale vermin are uncomfortable with blood, we should find a way to remind them that we are not.”
The meeting of the Ruling Council in the matter of Doman Beruss’s petition against Princess Leia Organa Solo was delayed two days, then another, then another. No reason was given for any of the postponements. Leia was notified of them by secure messenger—Beruss did not contact her and made no attempt to see her. She suspected that the members of the Council were still divided about how to proceed now that she had rebuffed Doman Beruss’s private overtures.
Behn-Kihl-Nahm did come to see her on the third day. But his report was gloomy and his advice unusually terse.
“I cannot count on enough votes to protect you if you refuse to step aside,” he said. “But if you accede gracefully, Doman has promised to support me as interim President. Come to the Council and say that your duties are too taxing in this difficult time, that you must be with your family. Ask that I stand in for you until this crisis is past.”
“I didn’t ask for such help when my children were kidnapped,” said Leia frostily. “How will that look?”
“None of this need ever be made public,” said Behn-Kihl-Nahm. “Leia, Borsk Fey’lya has been trying to put together four votes for himself. If you appear unreasonable, Rattagagech will turn his support to Fey’lya, who is saying all the right things—and that will give Fey’lya his four votes. You must understand how fragile your position has become.”
“There will be no vote at all unless I accept Doman’s judgment that I’m unfit to be President,” said Leia. “There’s no need to select a caretaker if I haven’t stepped aside.”
“Princess, that option is gone,” the chairman said sternly. “All you will accomplish by being stubborn is to force the Ruling Council to report the petition of no confidence to the Senate. And no one can control or predict what will follow. If we are to deal with the Yevetha, there must be stability and continuity.”
“Then go back and tell Doman Beruss to put an end to this distraction, Bennie,” Leia said. “Because the easiest way to have stability and continuity is for me to stay where I am.”
The next morning, Leia received a visit from the tall, slender Rattagagech. He brought with him a balance table and a compartmented canister of colored hemispherical weights—the tools of Elomic physical calculus.
“I have come to analyze with you the logic of your circumstances,” said Rattagagech. “It will give you an opportunity to quantify the objective elements in conflict.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Chairman,” said Leia.
“It is no trouble—it is a welcome opportunity,” said Rattagagech, setting the transparent table on its floating pylon. “I find the old art elegant and the practice of it soothing—it makes me feel very young in the presence of minds that are very old and wise.” He sat down before the table, now balanced on its pylon.
“Chairman, I thank you for your concern,” said Leia, stopping him from opening the canister. “But you can’t help me.”
Rattagagech looked up at her in surprise. Her words verged on an insult to his intellect. “President Solo—Princess Leia—physical calculus is the foundation of logical analys
is, and logical analysis is the foundation of Elom civilization. This art raised us from what we were to what we are.”
“I respect what the Elomin have accomplished,” said Leia. “But physical calculus would have told us rebellion against the Empire was futile. And logical analysis will always sacrifice one life for many, or a few for several, and leave you thinking you’ve done something noble.”
“I must call your attention to the work of Notoganarech, who has demonstrated that a properly weighted table tilts to support of the Rebel Alliance—”
“When you already know the outcome.” She shook her head. “I can’t let the tilt of the table decide my course. I just don’t believe that everything that matters can be quantified for the calculus.”
With his indignation undisguised, Rattagagech gathered his tools and left.
Leia had one last visitor from the ranks of the Ruling Council before the day was out. Dall Thara Dru—the senator from Raxxa, chairman of the Senate Commerce Council, and the only female among the seven—had had nothing to say at the last meeting. Behn-Kihl-Nahm’s head counts included Dru as a supporter, but that made Leia even more unsure about what to expect from her.
“Thank you so much for making time for me,” said Dall Thara Dru as she glided into Leia’s office. “This terrible business—I can’t imagine! Your life must be completely upside down.”
“I appreciate your sympathy—”
“This petition against you is the worst kind of foolishness I can think of. I just came from Chairman Beruss’s office, and I’m afraid I found him quite immovable—stubbornly attached to the notion that you are the problem. As if it were your fault that there are dead planets all across Koornacht Cluster!”
“I’m grateful for your support—”
“Still and all, I’m afraid that Doman has influenced enough minds to give you a great deal of trouble when the Council meets on the petition. So I’ve been asking myself, what can be done? How do we reassure the others that you have matters well in hand? And then I realized that the answer is the question no one seems to be asking!”
“Which is—”
“Where is Luke Skywalker?” said Dall Thara Du. “Where are the Jedi Knights?”
“I’m sorry, Senator Dru,” said Leia. “I don’t understand.”
“Why, Skywalker singlehandedly defeated the Emperor. Surely he can handle these Yevetha without any trouble. And if he needs help, he’s raised an entire army—at New Republic expense, mind you!—of wizards like himself. Well, no wonder Beruss objects to sending our sons to Koornacht. Why do we have to fight this war? Where are our Knights?”
“The Jedi are not the New Republic’s army, Senator Dru—or its mercenaries, or its secret weapon,” Leia said evenly. “If you’re suggesting that I come to the Council and say, in effect, ‘Don’t worry, my brother will take care of this for me’—”
“Oh, of course,” Dru said breezily. “I know that you can’t tell the chairmen exactly what you have planned. Just let them know that the Jedi are standing with you—that’s not too much to say, is it? We’re trying to shore up their confidence, after all. And who better to inspire confidence than Luke Skywalker?”
“That is too much to say,” Leia said. Her tone was frosty, her words blunt. “Chairman Dru, I haven’t asked for the help of the Jedi. And neither have they offered it. There are no secret plans to conceal. The New Republic can and will fight its own battles—as will I. And if you’re someone who supported my nomination thinking it was a package deal—‘Hey, we get Luke Skywalker for free’—I’m sorry to say that you were mistaken.”
There were no more postponements. The next morning, Leia stood in the well of the Council chamber, facing Doman Beruss.
“President Leia Organa Solo, have you read the petition of no confidence offered against you?”
“I have, Chairman.” Her voice was steady and strong.
“Do you understand the charges contained therein?”
“I do, Chairman.”
“Do you understand the particulars offered in support of the charge?”
“I do, Chairman.”
“Do you wish to offer a response to the petition?”
Leia glanced at Behn-Kihl-Nahm, seated to Beruss’s right, before answering. “Chairman, I contest the petition in its entirety. I’m shocked and dismayed that it was ever offered.”
Behn-Kihl-Nahm slumped back in his chair, weariness causing his features to gray.
“It’s not only a personal insult, it’s a political mistake,” Leia continued. “I have to wonder if the chairman has started taking his counsel from Nil Spaar—because he’s the only one who stands to benefit from our infighting.”
“There need be no infighting,” said Krall Praget. “It’s clearly better for all if this matter is resolved quickly and quietly.”
“Then ask him to withdraw the petition,” Leia said, pointing at Beruss. “This started with him, not with me. It’s his fear that’s the real issue here.”
Beruss said quietly, “The chairman regretfully advises the Council that he cannot in conscience withdraw the petition.”
Leia turned her gaze on him. “I don’t know why or how Chairman Beruss became infected with the creeping timidity that seems to be on the rise here. But if his worry is that Princess Leia will lead the New Republic into a war to rescue her husband, I suggest he’s worrying over the wrong question. And I hope the rest of the Council is about to set him straight.”
“Why?” asked Borsk Fey’lya. “How many friends do you think you have in this room? Do you think that there’s one of us—even your dear Bennie—who hasn’t had doubts about your fitness in recent months? Fire and idealism may be fine qualities for the leader of a revolution, but the leader of a great republic needs to be several degrees cooler and a good deal more canny.”
“Point of order, Chairman Beruss—” said Behn-Kihl-Nahm.
But Beruss, his eyes darkened by disapproval, was already moving to intervene. “The remarks of Chairman Praget and Chairman Fey’lya are out of order and will be removed from the record. The floor belongs to the President for the purposes of her response to the petition.”
“I’ve said all I have to say,” Leia said.
Behn-Kihl-Nahm glanced at something lying out of sight on the surface in front of Beruss. “Chairman, point of precedence—”
“Go ahead.”
“I would like to offer a compromise that I hope may satisfy the concerns of all parties,” said Behn-Kihl-Nahm, his eyes warning Leia, You must help yourself now. “If the President will consent to announce that she is taking a brief personal leave, the Council will name Chairman Rattagagech to serve as caretaker until she returns.”
It was a judgment call whether Rattagagech or Fey’lya looked more startled.
“We will give the President time to consider this proposal,” Beruss said. “The debate is suspended. The vote on the petition is tabled until we meet in three days.”
He rang the crystal, ending the session, before a startled Fey’lya could speak a word.
Chapter Four
Colonel Bowman Gavin carried the formal title of director of flight personnel, Fifth Fleet Combat Command. But to the more than three thousand pilots and weapons officers of the nearly two hundred squadrons based on the fleet’s carriers and Star Destroyers, Gavin was simply fleet air boss.
The fleet air boss had the final say over every “cheeks on the cushions” decision—flight assignments, ratings, transfers, reprimands, and promotions, from the greenest backseater to the squadron leaders and combat wing commanders. His office was off the hot corridor in Intrepid’s flag country, fifteen strides from General A’baht at one end and eight strides from the combat operations center at the other.
Despite his high station, Colonel Gavin was a familiar sight on the flight decks and in the hangar bays of the fleet. Approachable and matter-of-fact, he was by his own admission more comfortable with his feet up in pilot country than he was behind his own de
sk or at A’baht’s briefing table. Gavin disliked working from reports alone, and would not promote or pass judgment on a pilot or a junior officer until he had made a personal, firsthand assessment.
The pilots in turn claimed Gavin as one of their own, and trusted him to give them a fair hearing. They knew that he knew what it was like to sit in the cockpit of a twisting fighter, guns hot and an enemy thundering in from behind. Though Gavin usually chose to wear only the “new sun” campaign bar he had earned as a B-wing pilot at the Battle of Endor, his service history entitled him to wear most of the combat decorations the Alliance and the New Republic had created and conferred.
Administrative chaos had arrived along with the five task forces drawn from the other fleets. Gavin had had to suspend his schedule of informal visits and keep his appointments to a minimum just to keep up with the briefings and reports. It was the closest he had ever come to closing his door to the world since being promoted to flag rank, five years ago.
It didn’t take many days for the air in his office to thin to half an atmosphere and the bulkheads of his office to close in to the dimensions of a cell in the brig. But by the time Gavin rebelled and began to plot a temporary escape, the Fifth Fleet had re-formed into double-strength task forces and scattered into the fringes of Koornacht Cluster, taking most of the new arrivals out of ready reach.
But Task Force Gemstone, now attached to the flag task force, offered twenty-two possible destinations for Gavin’s getaway. Since a visit to Commodore Poqua’s command ship, the carrier Starpoint, would only entangle him in more command-level formalities, Gavin skimmed down the list and chose another vessel.
“Roust my pilot and prep my gig,” he said, calling down to Intrepid’s No. 1 flight deck. “I’m going to pay a visit to Floren.”
“Acknowledged, Colonel. We’ll notify flight control.”
With the fleet on level one alert, even Colonel Gavin was obliged to don combat flight garb when leaving Intrepid in a smaller craft. Apart from the time lost climbing into and out of the five-piece high-flexibility pressure suit, Gavin didn’t object to the requirement—and the typically spirited and ribald ready-room chatter usually made that time pass quickly enough.
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