by Troy Denning
Luke returned his attention to the jungle, and a few moments later a frond shuddered. He sent a flurry of bolts flying toward the movement, fell quiet for a few seconds, then opened fire at a shadow that might—or might not—have been a figure lying in the undergrowth. He was rewarded with a loud Keshiri curse, and the shadow rolled out of view.
Deciding the Sith would now grow cautious and approach more slowly, Luke retreated a couple of meters down the bank, then bounded to Vestara’s side. Her face was battered, a trio of lightning burns showed through a hole in her robes, and the odor of charred cloth filled the air around her. She certainly appeared to be someone in dire need of Jedi protection.
Luke wasn’t fooled, of course … but he did feel sorry for her. He pulled her to her feet and started across the beach toward the Emiax, where Ben had grown so frustrated that he had stuffed the lock slicer back into his equipment belt and was now examining the hatch seam with his lightsaber in hand.
“Abeloth stole the Shadow,” Luke explained, dragging the still-shaky Vestara along by an elbow. “So you’re going to help us borrow the Emiax.”
“I … I’m not sure I can,” Vestara said. “High Lord Taalon is the only one who knows—”
The thunderous crackle of a thermal detonator sounded from atop the sandy bank. They glanced back in time to see a ten-meter sphere of jungle vanishing in a crackling ball of white. Once the dazzle had faded from Luke’s eyes—revealing only a glassy, rimless crater where an instant before there had been towering tree ferns and club mosses—he looked back to Vestara.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Did that trap get Taalon and your father?”
Vestara raised her chin. “Would it have gotten you?”
“Not even close.” Luke smiled and started across the beach again, this time dragging her along at a run. “Which leaves you with a choice—help us with the Emiax, or stay behind and explain to High Lord Taalon why you failed at your assignment.”
“Assignment?” Vestara echoed. Like any good spy, she was playing innocent until the last. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw your reaction when you realized the Shadow was gone.” Luke reached down and plucked the lightsaber off her belt. “And if it’s going to come to another fight, I’d be a fool to let it start with uneven odds.”
Always a quick thinker, Vestara needed only two steps to make up her mind. She turned toward the Emiax, where Ben had ignited his lightsaber and was just preparing to plunge the blade into the hatch seam.
“Put that lightsaber away, you nerf-brain!” She pulled free of Luke and sprang across the last ten paces to the shuttle. “All you need is the Force.”
“It has an internal latch?” Ben asked, brow rising. “Like the Shadow?”
Vestara rolled her eyes. “Nothing that complicated, Ben.” She shifted her gaze to the control panel, and the hatch seal broke with a soft hiss. “You just needed to disengage the cabin lockouts.”
As the boarding ramp dropped into place, Ben’s face reddened. “That was next on my list.”
“Sure it was.”
Vestara grabbed Ben’s hand and started up the ramp with him. In the same instant a prickle of danger sense raced down Luke’s spine, and he turned to see Taalon and Khai standing in the crater left by the thermal detonator. He opened fire immediately, forcing them to drop for cover, and retreated toward the boarding ramp.
Luke had not even reached the bottom when he felt himself being lifted with the Force and carried aboard the Emiax.
“You Jedi,” Vestara said. Luke dropped to the deck at her feet, then watched as the ramp-toggle rocked into the RAISED position. “Don’t you use the Force for anything?”
With the slave revolts on Klatooine and Blaudu Sextus now claiming as much attention as the Pellaeon murder trial, the crowd in the Ninth Hall of Justice spectator area had gone from standing-room-only to barely packed. Tahiri couldn’t say whether that was a good development for her or bad, but she did know that it had brightened her counselor’s mood. In contrast with his careworn appearance of the past few days, this morning his eyes were bright and his fur glistening. As he strode to the defense table, his posture was confident, his bearing energetic, his expression almost smug. Considering how Sul Dekkon had been dominating the courtroom so far, something had clearly changed. Tahiri just hoped it wasn’t her counselor’s grasp of reality.
As the Bothan placed his antique briefcase on the table, she reached up and fingered the lapel of his tailored suit jacket. The white fabric was an exorbitantly expensive wool made from tauntaun undercoat. The jacket completed a double-vested white suit that had been out of date a decade before Tahiri was born. Still, it worked for the old boy in a way that the formal robes and tabards he had been wearing until now had not.
“You’re looking quite dapper today,” Tahiri said. “You must have slept better.”
Eramuth smirked down at her. “My dear, I haven’t been sleeping badly.” He looked over her head and smiled at Sul Dekkon, his long upper lip rising just enough to give the gesture a predatory edge. “But opposing counsel is about to have some sleepless nights, I promise you.”
“That’s good to hear,” Tahiri said, trying to put some hint of faith in her voice. “Because, to tell you the truth, I’ve been getting a little worried.”
“No need, I assure you.” Eramuth’s gaze lingered on his opponent for a time, then finally shifted toward the aisle in the spectator section. “I’m doing fine.”
“Actually, it’s not you I’ve been worrying about.”
“Is that so?” Eramuth’s voice grew distracted as the Solos arrived with Lando Calrissian and an attractive Lorrdian woman who had long braids of amber hair falling over her shoulders, both front and back. “Look what we have here, my dear: the up-and-coming Sardonne Sardon.” He sounded surprised.
Before Tahiri could object—or explain Sardonne’s presence—Eramuth stepped away from the table and went to the bar, which separated the court proper from the spectator aisle. The identification surprised Tahiri. Not only was Sardonne two generations younger than Eramuth, she had never met him in court and was—as Lando had put it—“a well-kept secret” whose competence had not yet drawn the attention it deserved.
Eramuth surprised the younger counselor by reaching across the bar and offering his hand to her. “What a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I’ve reviewed several of your cases. The Travaless speeder-theft acquittal was particularly brilliant.”
Sardonne’s dark-lashed eyes widened in surprise. “You reviewed the Travaless case?” she asked. As Tahiri had requested, her formal robes remained concealed beneath a full-length overcoat. “Even I barely recall that.”
“Never forget that one, my dear,” Eramuth replied. “Arguing that the defendant’s delusions justified bypassing the security system was inspired. But actually proving that she had, in her own mind, purchased the vehicle was pure genius.”
Sardonne’s smile stretched nearly from ear to ear. “Thank you, Counselor. Coming from you, that means a great deal to me.”
“It’s well deserved, my dear … very well deserved.” Eramuth released her hand and glanced over at the crowded row of seats behind the defense table. “But I wish you had let me know you would be observing today. I’m afraid I reserved only three seats.”
Sardonne’s smile did not waver. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
Her gaze flickered toward the defense table so briefly that even Tahiri almost missed it—but Eramuth did not. His ears pricked forward, and he slowly turned to face Tahiri.
“We discussed this,” he said. “I don’t want a second chair.”
“That may be so,” Leia said, stepping to the bar. “But isn’t what Tahiri wants the determining factor here?”
Eramuth’s eyes narrowed, but the expression on his face was more disappointed than angry. He continued to stare at Leia for a moment, then finally whirled on his heel and faced Tahiri.
“Well?” he demand
ed. “Is this what you want?”
The general din was fading as spectators began to notice the tensions at the defense table. A pair of camdroids appeared from the crowd and began to float forward. Tahiri caught Leia’s eye and shot a glance toward the camdroids, then turned to Eramuth.
“I’ve told you several times that we need help.”
Tahiri spoke quietly, forcing Eramuth to come closer, but did not say more until she saw Leia flick a finger and send both camdroids tumbling toward the rear wall. Strictly speaking, it was illegal to use the Force inside the Hall of Justice—but it was just as illegal to bring a camdroid inside a courtroom, so it seemed doubtful that Leia would be ejected.
Once the camdroids had been smashed against the wall, and Eramuth had taken a seat beside her, Tahiri continued in a whisper, “You’ve been dozing off in court, Eramuth, and every time I try to talk about bringing in help, you insist you don’t need it and have me taken back to my cell.”
“Because I don’t need a second chair.” Eramuth shot a disapproving glance in Sardonne’s direction. “Especially someone who looks like her.”
“You just said she was brilliant!”
“She is,” Eramuth admitted. “But you don’t need brilliant. You need me.”
“I need both,” Tahiri insisted. “And since I’m the one on trial for her life, I’m going to insist.”
Eramuth snorted and stared at the table. “My dear, I do have a plan.”
“Falling asleep is part of your plan?” Tahiri countered. “In court?”
“I know it’s hard to believe—”
“Eramuth,” she interrupted. “I was a Jedi. How gullible do you think I am?”
“Not very, apparently.” Without looking up, Eramuth asked, “You’re certain of your decision?”
Tahiri glanced back at the Solos and Lando, who were just shuffling into their reserved seats, past a dozen reporters who had spent half the night waiting in line to be certain they would have front-row seats. When all three gave her encouraging nods, she let out her breath and nodded.
“I’m sorry to have to do it this way, Eramuth,” she said. “But you didn’t leave me any choice.”
“Well, it was a conversation I was trying to avoid,” Eramuth admitted. Unexpectedly, he laid a furry hand across hers, and Tahiri was surprised by the deep pain she saw in his eyes. “But no need to worry. I’ve had my feelings hurt by attractive young women before.”
“Eramuth, I just think this trial has been wearing you out,” she said. “And I need you at your best.”
“I understand, my dear,” Eramuth said, rising. “As you say, it is your life on the line.”
He stepped over to a bailiff and asked for another chair, then went to the bar and personally opened the gate to admit Sardonne. She quickly entered, removed her overcoat, and passed it to the Solos—then spent the next couple of minutes awkwardly waiting for her chair. Despite the fact that all eyes were on her, she managed to look confident and unconcerned with the attention. But Tahiri knew better, for Sardonne’s Force aura was ablaze with her excitement—and why not? Win or lose, the trial of Gilad Pellaeon’s murderer would make her a household name.
The extra chair had barely arrived before Judge Zudan entered and activated a high, piercing bell tone to call the session to order. With her topknot pulled even higher than usual, her reptilian features looked even harsher, and her gaze immediately turned to Sardonne Sardon’s seat at the end of the defense table.
“I see we have a new face at the defense table today,” Zudan said. “Please declare yourself for the court.”
“Of course, Your Honor.” Sardonne rose. “Sardonne Sardon, with the defense.”
“Thank you.” Zudan turned to Eramuth. “I’m glad to see that you reconsidered my suggestion to take an assistant, Counselor.”
Eramuth rose. “Actually, Your Honor, Counselor Sardon isn’t my assistant,” he said. “She’ll be taking the defense as of today. I’ll be withdrawing.”
Tahiri probably shouldn’t have been surprised—she had, after all, seen the hurt in Eramuth’s eyes when she insisted that he take on a second chair—but she was. Withdrawing on such short notice seemed unprofessional, to say the least, and she had expected better from Eramuth.
Apparently, so had everyone else in the courtroom. The chamber burst into an astonished din that did not fade until Judge Zudan stabbed her finger down on the bell button atop her bench and held it there. When the room finally fell silent again, she glared out into the spectator area and issued a stern warning about not interfering with the business of her court, then looked back to Eramuth.
“And what is your reason for asking to withdraw, Counsel?”
Eramuth struggled to his feet, looking even older and shakier than he had been over the past few days. “I’m sure the court is aware of the assassination attempt on my nephew, Admiral Nek Bwua’tu.”
Zudan nodded. “Of course—as is the entire civilized galaxy.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Eramuth inclined his head as though accepting condolences she had not issued, then continued, “As long as he remains in a coma, I’m afraid my presence is required at his bedside to such a degree that—”
“Excuse me, Counselor,” Zudan said, raising a hand to silence him. “But hasn’t your nephew been in a coma for nearly three weeks now?”
“He has.”
“And you have only now decided that it’s interfering with your ability to provide an adequate defense?”
Eramuth shrugged. “It has only recently become apparent, Your Honor.”
“I see.” Zudan’s narrowed eyes suggested that what she saw was the lie Eramuth was telling her. She turned to Sardonne. “And you, Counselor Sardon? Are you prepared to take the defense?”
Sardonne rose, her carefully controlled Lorrdian face betraying no sign of the surprise and anxiety that Tahiri knew she had to be feeling right now.
“Not at this time, Your Honor,” she said. “But if I can ask for a recess of three or four days to prepare—”
“You can ask,” Zudan interrupted. Her gaze shifted to Eramuth. “Counselor Bwua’tu, your request to withdraw is denied.”
Eramuth’s ears flattened in anger. “But, Your Honor, my nephew—”
“I have made my ruling, Counselor.” Zudan ordered the bailiff to bring in the jury, then leaned over her bench to glare down at the defense table. “I don’t know what you people are trying to pull here, but rest assured that you won’t be pulling it in my court. Is that clear?”
Sardonne was the first to answer. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Counselor Bwua’tu?” Zudan demanded.
“Your Honor, I assure you—”
“I’ll take that as a yes, Counselor.” Zudan turned her gaze on Tahiri. “And the defendant?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Tahiri sank down in her chair, contemplating what she already knew was going to be another bad day in court. “I understand completely.”
Today the Big Circle of Fun looked more like a stockyard than a dirt field used to hold footraces and shoving contests. Several thousand shaggy Octusi were gathered in the primitive arena, singing and stomping and working themselves up for another parade through downtown Arari. Madhi Vaandt found it impossible to tell who was in charge, for there seemed to be dozens of elders making speeches, issuing instructions, and supervising the repair and replacement of the placards that the Mandalorians had shot up during the last march.
Nearly fifty Octusi, all proudly displaying the burn holes where they had been hit by blasterfire, were positioning themselves at the near end of the circle, almost directly in front of the droid-repair shop where Madhi and her crew were hiding. From her vantage point, in a darkened second-floor storeroom, it appeared the demonstration would be the largest yet, with the violence suffered during the last march only hardening the resolve of the slaves.
Madhi glanced toward the adjacent window, where her cam operator was crouching on the floor, attaching a small right-angl
e surveillance lens to his cam. A slender human male with graying blond hair and a weatherworn face, Tyl Krain had taken Madhi under his wing early in her still-blossoming career, teaching her not only the hows of getting the story but also the ethics of pursuing it, and her duty to present a fair and balanced report. In short, Tyl had helped shape a young, ambitious Devaronian female into a journalist whom even the legendary Perre Needmo felt comfortable airing—and Madhi loved him like a father for it.
Well, maybe not exactly like a father. He was a fairly handsome human, after all.
Tyl finished attaching the surveillance lens, then quickly adjusted the focal length and activated the display. Almost instantly his steely eyes grew wide, and he began to record.
“You spot the Jedi already?” Madhi asked.
Their mysterious contact in Freedom Flight had warned them that two young Jedi Knights, Sothais Saar and Avinoam Arelis, were on their way to Blaudu Sextus to prevent the Octusi from being slaughtered. It seemed doubtful that they could have made planetfall on Blaudu Sextus so quickly—the journey required a lot of staging stops and hyperspace jumps. But Jedi were capable of amazing feats, and the Freedom Flight contact had promised they were in for a surprise.
When her cam operator did not answer after a moment, Madhi asked, “Tyl?”
“Not Jedi,” Tyl whispered. With a wall of fifteen-centimeter stone separating them from a field full of bleating Octusi voices, there was little chance of being overheard, so it seemed obvious that something was very wrong. Without looking away from the hand-sized screen, he spoke to the Chev assistant standing at the back of the storeroom. “Shohta, get the power generator up and get us a HoloNet link. Perre will want this live.”
Madhi immediately glanced back, looking down a narrow aisle flanked by shelves piled with droid parts, and nodded to the heavy-browed Chev waiting next to the door. A former slave whom Madhi had won in a drinking contest on Vinsoth, Shohta Laar had not yet adjusted to his freedom, and he still had a habit of awaiting Madhi’s permission before he followed instructions from anyone else. Once the Chev had begun to assemble the equipment, Madhi returned to her window and peered out—then gasped aloud. Hovering in the alley mouths surrounding Big Circle were dozens of QuickStryke assault sleds, the barrels of their laser cannons depressed for close-in ground support. A partially exposed Mandalorian sat atop each vehicle, using a swivel-mounted auto blaster to cover a squad of debarking commandos.