by Troy Denning
Barratk’l nodded. “I agree about Saar. But why Arelis? If you’re worried about a relapse, it’s better to send a Master. And I have a certain understanding of the issue myself.”
Kenth nodded. “That’s true,” he said, “but we also have the Lost Tribe to consider, and we’re going to need every Master available when we go to face them.”
“Then you do plan to launch the StealthXz?” Saba asked, half rising out of the chair to which she had just returned. “When?”
“When we can do so without fighting our way off Coruscant,” Kenth replied. “We won’t help anyone by arriving all shot up.”
“Then you may as well send Master Barratk’l to Blaudu Sextus.” Kyp’s tone was derisive, and he was shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Because we’re not getting our StealthXs off this planet without a fight—not as long as Daala is in charge.”
Kenth could see by the disgust in the faces of the other Masters that they shared Kyp’s opinion, and he knew as well as they did that this was the true test of his leadership. If he could not convince the Masters to be patient, to trust him just a little while longer, they would simply launch without him.
Deciding the time had come to confront the problem head-on, Kenth took a deep breath. “Master Durron, the situation with Daala may not be as intractable as you believe.”
No one in the Chamber could have missed his implication; they were Jedi Masters, a former Chief of State, and, well … Han Solo. And they were all regarding him with varying degrees of surprise, doubt, and outright disbelief.
Finally, Kyp cocked a brow in what was either incredulity or awe. “You’re saying you have something in the works?”
Kenth put a little durasteel in his voice. “I’m not just saying it, Master Durron. I do.”
Several Masters asked the obvious question at the same time, but it was Saba’s raspy voice that Kenth heard most clearly.
“What?” she asked. “You have planz you have been hiding?”
Kenth pulled himself up in his chair, trying to summon a commanding presence. “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
Again the Masters spoke at once, but this time the result was an insulted—and in some cases, outraged—cacophony, “Sure,” “Very convenient,” and from Han, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Kenth raised his hand for quiet. “Please. I’m serious about this, but I can’t discuss it right now.”
He might as well have been speaking Ssi-ruuvi. The Masters merely stared as though the Emperor himself had suddenly appeared in Luke Skywalker’s chair—and it was no wonder. For the leader of the Jedi Council to say he could not trust his Masters with such important information was unthinkable, a preposterous affront to their integrity and their judgment. And Kenth had to make them accept it. He had given Bwua’tu his word that he would keep their arrangement secret, and he owed it to the admiral to honor his promise—at least as long as the old Bothan was still alive.
“Look, I apologize,” he continued. “But you’ll understand when the time comes.”
“I think we understand now,” Kyp said. He turned to the Solos. “Maybe you two had better go.”
Kenth shook his head. “It’s not because Han and Leia are here,” he said. “And it’s not a matter of trust.”
“And that’s not why I asked them to leave.” Kyp stood and nodded the Solos toward the exit, then waited in silence until they were gone. Once the door had hissed closed behind them, he turned back to Kenth. “I want an explanation now, Grand Master. You do not keep secrets from the Jedi Council—not about this kind of thing.”
Kenth remained in his seat. “Normally, I would agree. But just as Master Sebatyne is asking us to take her word about the absence of Tesar and the other Barabel Jedi Knights, I’m asking you to trust me on this. It really is to the Order’s benefit.”
“This one’s secret is different,” Saba retorted. “It involves only four Jedi Knightz. Your secret is about the whole Order. It concernz Master Skywalker and the Sith.”
Kenth could only nod. “I know it does.”
Octa Ramis sighed and ran a hand over her brow, then said, “It might help if you could at least explain why you can’t tell us.”
“Of course,” Kenth said. “Quite simply, it’s because I gave my word.”
“You gave your word,” Kyp repeated. “And you expect us to trust that?”
Inwardly, Kenth was cursing Bwua’tu’s coma and the assassin’s bad timing, but outwardly he shrugged and gave Kyp a half smile. “Hoped might be a better word.”
This actually drew a smile from Kyp. “I guess I can believe that.”
“Well, I can’t,” Corran said. He rose and straightened his robes. “I’m sorry, Grand Master Hamner, but I think you’re just stalling.”
Saba rose as well. “This one, too,” she said. “The time has come to launch. There are Sith out there, and Master Skywalker needz our help.”
“And what do you think is going to happen when you go?” Kenth demanded. “The entire Sixth Fleet is waiting in orbit, and they will fire on you, I promise.”
“We will elude them,” Saba said simply.
“And when the Mandalorians return to storm the Temple?”
“We will kill them, as we did before,” Saba replied. “The time for restraint has passed. There are beingz out there more fearsome than Mandalorianz, and if we do not act soon, they will be the ones ruling Coruscant.”
Saba turned away, signaling that the debate was over, and started for the door. When the other Masters followed, Kenth knew his gamble had backfired. They were tired of waiting, of sitting on their hands while Luke and Ben and Jaina confronted a whole tribe of Sith, and no amount of reason was going to stop them—even if he broke his word to Bwua’tu and revealed what the GA military had in store for them.
So Kenth placed his hand on his lightsaber and stood. “No!”
Saba stopped at his sharp tone and turned to face him. “Please, Master Hamner, do not make this harder than it needz to be.”
“And don’t think you can do it any other way.” Kenth started toward her, still gripping his lightsaber, and continued, “I was placed in this office by Grand Master Skywalker, and if you want to remove me, you won’t do it by ignoring me. You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Saba’s gaze dropped, to his weapon hand. Her tongue flicked between her lips, and Kenth knew then that he had found her limit. She wasn’t prepared to fight another Jedi for control of the Order—not when there were so many other things for the Jedi to fight.
Trying to press his advantage and settle the issue once and for all, Kenth stepped closer, looking from Saba to the others. “Is there anyone here willing to take it that far?”
That was when the Masters surprised him again. Instead of averting their eyes or attempting to stare him down, they turned almost as one toward Corran Horn, and it grew obvious to Kenth that he was the one who had pushed matters too far, that his life and the future of the entire Jedi Order depended on what kind of man Corran Horn really was.
Corran stood lost in thought, his gaze so distant and sad and vacant that Kenth was not sure he even understood what was being asked of him. The other Masters remained silent, and it took all of Kenth’s willpower to do the same. He wanted to grab Corran by the shoulders and shake him, hard, and demand that he stand for the Alliance and restraint and political process. Instead he stood silent with the other Masters, awaiting the verdict of a man whose children Kenth had allowed to remain frozen in carbonite for months.
After a time, Corran’s eyes seemed to focus again, and he looked up and met Kenth’s gaze. “No, we’re not ready for that.” He shook his head and started for the door again. “Not yet.”
Eramuth had fallen asleep.
Or so it appeared to Leia. She couldn’t check his aura to be certain because Force-use was forbidden inside the Ninth Hall of Justice, and she did not want to prejudice the jury by getting caught violating the rule. But
a day after the siege of the Temple had ended, she and Han had a made a point of arriving early to snag seats behind the defense table, and now they were seated in the first row, a little to one side where they could see Eramuth in profile.
The dapper Bothan was slumped down in his chair, with his hands folded across his vest-covered belly and his chin resting on his chest. His breathing was deep and steady, his eyes were closed, and his long ears were twitching in response to a breeze blowing only through his dreams. If the old fellow hadn’t fallen asleep, he had been bored into a coma by Sul Dekkon’s slow and methodical examination of the prosecution’s latest surprise witness, an Imperial Intelligence officer who had been aboard the Bloodfin when Tahiri killed Gilad Pellaeon.
“… please tell us what your duties as a ComInt officer included, Lieutenant Pagorski?” Dekkon was asking in his raspy Chagrian voice. His skin was a richer hue than that of most of his species, so deeply blue it was better described as sapphire, and today the long lethorns dangling down the sides of his head were capped by dark spheres of polished ebonium. “Without violating any military secrets, of course. We just need a general idea.”
“Very well, sir,” Pagorski replied. She was wearing the full Imperial dress uniform, white jacket with epaulets over gray shirt buttoned high and tight. “Basically, we eavesdrop on enemy communications. That’s why it’s called ComInt. Communications Intelligence.”
Pagorski’s narrow eyes were fixed on Tahiri instead of Dekkon, and it was obvious from the hardness and anger in them that she had taken Pellaeon’s assassination personally. That was fine; it would make her testimony easier to discredit—provided, of course, that Eramuth was alert enough to observe her obvious motivation for coming forward.
Dekkon continued his line of questioning. “During the Battle of Fondor in the most recent civil war, were you aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Bloodfin in your capacity as a ComInt officer?”
“That’s correct.”
“So you were the officer in charge of intercepting enemy communications for the entire Imperial fleet?”
“No, sir,” Pagorski replied. “That would have been Captain Ellis.”
Dekkon looked up from the datapad in his hands. “That’s right—forgive me.” He adjusted his heavy features into an expression of apologetic chagrin—a sign that the Chagrian was trying to keep Eramuth’s attention focused on the mistake rather than the next question. “And what has become of Captain Ellis?”
“Captain Ellis was killed in action, sir.” Pagorski’s eyes blazed with anger. “During the mutiny.”
“The mutiny that occurred after the Moffs’ order to aid Colonel Jacen Solo … whom we now know as Darth Caedus?”
“That is correct, sir.” Pagorski continued to glare at Tahiri. “Lieutenant Veila murdered Admiral Pellaeon because she knew that without him in command, the Moffs would take Colonel Solo’s side against Admiral Niathal.”
Dekkon hesitated almost imperceptibly, no doubt anticipating the objections to hearsay and prejudicial phrasing that should have been rising from the defense table. But Eramuth’s chin remained on his chest, leaving Tahiri to sit beside him, no doubt wondering whether it would be more harmful to let the jury see her nudging her counsel, or to let the characterization pass unchallenged.
Always eager to press an advantage, Dekkon paused only half a second before continuing. “And before the murder, had Admiral Pellaeon already given orders to aid Colonel Solo’s rival, Admiral Niathal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, in your capacity as a ComInt officer, did you have occasion to intercept a communication between the defendant and Colonel Solo of the Galactic Alliance, in which the defendant informed him of Admiral Pellaeon’s decision to support Admiral Niathal?”
“I did.”
“Was the communication encrypted?”
“Of course,” Pagorski answered. “During a military operation, everything is encrypted.”
“But you were able to decipher the signal and eavesdrop on the conversation between the defendant and Colonel Solo?”
“I was.”
“And how did you accomplish that?”
A superior smirk came to Pagorski’s lips, and Leia knew that much of what followed would be a lie. The lieutenant had come forward at the last minute not—as she had claimed—because it had taken that long for the Imperial Navy to grant her request to testify. Rather, she had waited because doing so made it impossible for the defense to challenge the claim she was about to make.
“I’m sorry, Counsel, but that’s classified Most Secret,” Pagorski said. “I warned you that I wouldn’t be able to discuss the technical details of the interception when I came forward.”
“Yes, so you did.” This time, Dekkon pushed on without pause to what was surely very questionable testimony. “But you are free to tell us when this occurred in the chain of events.”
“I am,” Pagorski confirmed. “It occurred shortly after the command rift developed between Admiral Niathal and Colonel Solo. Admiral Pellaeon announced that he was going to throw the Empire’s support behind Admiral Niathal, and Lieutenant Veila initiated an encrypted comm transmission to her superior.”
Leia frowned, and Han fidgeted in the seat beside her. From everything she had heard about the battle, no such communication had taken place. Apparently, Tahiri did not recall making the call, either, for she started to lean over to whisper a denial into Eramuth’s ear—but found him still napping. Clearly uncertain of what to do, she stopped and turned her attention forward again.
Dekkon continued to press his case. “Can you tell us what was discussed during that transmission?”
“I can. Lieutenant Veila reported Admiral Pellaeon’s decision and requested orders. Colonel Solo instructed her to change the admiral’s mind.”
Tahiri was leaning forward now, her green eyes narrowed and her scarred brow lowered. Leia knew the expression meant that Tahiri was simply trying to figure out why Pagorski was lying, but she wasn’t sure the jury would see it that way. To a jury, Tahiri’s posture might very well look like a fallen Jedi Knight—or former Sith apprentice—attempting to intimidate a witness.
“Did he instruct her to kill him?” Dekkon asked.
“No, quite the opposite,” she said. “Lieutenant Veila asked how far she should take matters, and Colonel Solo replied, ‘Don’t kill him. He’s too popular with the Imperial Navy.’ ”
A shocked murmur rolled through the courtroom, and the judge—a stately Falleen female with a finely scaled face and long hair worn in a topknot—hit a button on her bench. A sharp, piercing tone filled the chamber, immediately bringing the court to order, and the judge scowled out at the spectators for a moment before nodding to Dekkon to continue.
Dekkon spun toward Tahiri, his long shimmersilk robes swirling about his legs. “You’re saying Colonel Solo specifically ordered the defendant not to kill Admiral Pellaeon?”
Pagorski nodded. “I am.”
“And you’re certain it was Colonel Solo and the defendant you were hearing?” A puzzled frown flashed across Dekkon’s blocky blue face as his gaze fell on Eramuth’s dozing figure, but he quickly recovered and returned his stare to Tahiri. “It could not have been some other colonel and lieutenant discussing whether Admiral Pellaeon should be assassinated?”
“No, it was Colonel Solo and Lieutenant Veila,” Pagorski confirmed. “We were very certain of that.”
“How?”
Again, Pagorski smirked. “I’m sorry, Counselor, but you know I can’t reveal that.”
A fatherly smile came to Dekkon’s face. “Of course you can’t.” He turned to face Pagorski again and paused for a moment, no doubt considering how far he could test the limits of proper testimony while his foe was napping. After a moment, he seemed to decide that he needed to seize every advantage he could, and he asked, “So, why do you think Lieutenant Veila killed him?”
Pagorski turned her icy gaze on Tahiri. “Because she was ambitious.”
/> “Ambitious?”
“Admiral Pellaeon was a man with a durasteel will,” Pagorski explained. “And Lieutenant Veila was serving as an aide to one of the most ruthless leaders the galaxy has ever known. When the admiral refused to change his mind, I imagine she grew angry and frustrated with having to report her failure. She vented that anger by murdering a legend of the Imperial Navy.”
The courtroom broke into murmurs again. Han pressed against Leia’s shoulder, and the warm rasp of his whisper filled her ear.
“Where are the objections?” he demanded. “Even I know that last answer was conjecture!”
Leia laid a calming hand on her husband’s knee, then—knowing she would be ejected from the courtroom if she were caught—gave Eramuth a gentle Force nudge. The Bothan’s head rolled to one side, his muzzle opening just long enough to emit a loud, throaty snort.
A stunned silence descended over the courtroom for perhaps half a second, then the spectators’ gallery broke into a chorus of ill-concealed chuckles. Judge Zudan stabbed the ORDER button atop her bench and called for silence, the scales of her stately Falleen face turning crimson with irritation. Several of the jurors eyed Eramuth in shock and shook their heads in open disbelief. Tahiri turned around in her seat, her brows arched in a silent appeal for help.
Han leaned forward, reaching across the bar to pat her shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid,” he said. “He’s got everything under control.”
Tahiri glanced over at Eramuth, who was still asleep, then shook her head and whispered, “You’re a worse liar than Dekkon’s witness up there.”
Han scowled, but before he could make a retort, Dekkon was nodding. “A legend indeed.” The Chagrian faced the defense table. “Your witness, Counselor.”
Tahiri turned forward again, glancing over at Eramuth with an expression as confused as it was alarmed. She had told the Solos more than once how impressed she was with her Bothan attorney, how sharp and cunning and—surprisingly—ethical he seemed to be. So it seemed likely that the concern in her eyes was as much for him as it was for herself, that she worried—as Leia did—that the strain of a high-profile trial might be proving more than an elderly Bothan could handle.