Star Wars: New Jedi Order: Agents of Chaos I: Hero's Trial

by James Luceno

  “The auguries suggest caution, however,” Harrar interjected.

  The tactician concurred. “At this moment in the perpetuation, careful thought must be given to the battle plan. Advance too slowly and we provide the New Republic with an opportunity to initiate counterattacks along our flanks. Advance too quickly and we run the risk of encountering more resistance than we are prepared to overcome.”

  Malik Carr grunted. “Additional warships are forthcoming from Sernpidal. With those we will be able to engage and occupy the enemy on numerous fronts. At the same time, we may be able to discover a more subtle approach to Coruscant.” He looked at Nom Anor. “What of these Hutt creatures I’ve been hearing about, Executor? Do they pose a threat?”

  Nom Anor advanced a step. “I have had several meetings with Borga the Hutt—in my guise as intercessor, of course—and am delighted to report that the Hutts are more interested in reaching an accord than in going to war, even in defense of their territory. Their sector of space is extensive, and includes numerous worlds that can easily be remade to provide us with yorik coral and other resources, one of which they have already placed at our disposal. Thus, a brief detour into Hutt space would not be unwarranted. I have also tasked some of my agents to sow disinformation in advance of your arrival.”

  “Duly noted,” the battleship commander said. “And what of the Jedi?”

  Harrar vouchsafed a thin smile. “Their days may be numbered, as well. We have taken steps to provide the Jedi with a crisis, by infiltrating one of our own among them—Priestess Elan.”

  “We have even gone so far as to provide the New Republic with minor victories in the Meridian sector and at Ord Mantell to substantiate the peerless value of our operative,” Commander Tla added.

  Harrar intruded eagerly. “It is our belief that Elan is en route to a meeting with the Jedi even now.”

  The priest stopped himself when he saw a herald appear at the entry to the command center, bearing a villip in his folded arms. Approaching Nom Anor, the herald stroked the villip’s ridge, inducing it to evert. Nom Anor gestured for one of his own dedicated villips to be brought forth, and watched as the transforming villip took on the aspect of one of his Yuuzhan Vong underlings.

  “Executor,” the subaltern’s facsimile began, “a group of your agents—those enlisted in the Peace Brigade—have apparently taken it upon themselves to return something seemingly lost to us.”

  Nom Anor’s eyes grew wide. “Not Elan,” he said in false hope.

  “She, Executor.”

  “What?” Harrar said in alarm. “What’s this?”

  “How is this possible?” Nom Anor asked. “The Peace Brigade was never made aware of Elan’s feigned defection. What’s more, you yourself informed me that the Peace Brigade was occupied in Hutt space.”

  “As they were, Executor—at least until they learned of Elan’s defection and capture.”

  Nom Anor’s face contorted in mortification. “From whom?”

  “I have not been able to ascertain.”

  “This is ludicrous,” Harrar shouted. “How do they plan to retrieve her?”

  “Apparently they have been apprised of the means by which she is to be relocated to Coruscant.”

  Nom Anor’s villip mirrored his rancorous expression. “Impossible. Even I had difficulty sorting through the New Republic’s subterfuges. Even within the Intelligence division the route is a closely guarded secret.”

  “I know only that the Peace Brigade is planning to move against a passenger ship bound for Bilbringi,” the subaltern said. “They have persuaded at least one of their immediate controllers to assist them. And they have a dovin basal in their possession.”

  “We must see to it that they are prevented from interfering.” Harrar became angrier as he spoke. “At any cost.”

  Nom Anor induced his own villip to return to normal and dismissed the herald. Commanders Tla and Malik Carr were watching him and the priest closely.

  “Is anything wrong, Executor?” Malik Carr asked at last, raising a faint eyebrow.

  Nom Anor traded quick glances with Harrar. “A possible setback involving our operative,” he conceded. Regaining control of his indignation, he gestured negatively and fixed his gaze on Malik Carr. “Nothing we can’t handle. Though I may have need of your swiftest frigate, Commander.”

  “We’re husband and wife,” Showolter told the Askajian officer stationed at the most forward of the Queen of Empire’s starboard boarding gates. The starliner was in stationary orbit above the planet Vortex. “Recently displaced from Sernpidal.”

  “Where the moon came down?” the officer asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “What was it you folks called that moon? I remember hearing on the newsnet. . . ”

  “Tosi-karu.”

  “That was it.” The stout near-human regarded Vergere. “Is. . . he with you?”

  “She,” Showolter amended. “Our servant.”

  The boarding officer nodded uncertainly, then returned the identity documents and tickets Showolter had provided. “Your stateroom is located on deck twenty-four, berthing space twelve. Welcome aboard, and safe journey.”

  Showolter took Elan’s hand and led her and Vergere to the nearest bank of interdeck transfer tubes—broad cylinders that functioned like turbolifts, but without cars. Buoyed by repulsorlift fields, riders could ascend or descend as necessary, in lift tubes or drop shafts respectively.

  The Queen was just waking from relative night, and clamorous throngs of refugees were lined up at the species-specific refreshers or searching for food. Droids rushed about performing tasks that were assumed to be beneath the dignity of living beings.

  Despite the ease of the trip from Myrkr to Vortex and the smooth boarding, Showolter remained alert for signs that they were being watched or followed—by in-place NRI operatives or by unknowns. Vergere drew a few curious looks, but most folks were loo preoccupied guarding their claims to deck space to take much interest in her. Still, Showolter knew that he wouldn’t relax until his backup agents made contact.

  The stateroom was more spacious than he had expected, with a sitting area of couch, table, and chairs, and four pull-down beds. Ushering the two defectors inside, Showolter checked the passageway before securing the door.

  “Home sweet home,” he said. “Until tomorrow, at least.”

  “What happens then?” Elan asked as she sat down on one of the platform beds.

  “I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

  She shook her head at him. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

  “Nothing personal,” he said. “Just following procedure.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all your defectors,” Vergere offered from one of the other beds, atop which she roosted like an outsize avian.

  Showolter set their luggage in a corner and made certain that the door to the adjoining suite was locked. He was about to make himself comfortable when someone knocked at the entry door.

  Drawing his blaster from his shoulder holster, he positioned himself alongside the lock jamb. “What is it?”

  “Cabin service,” a resonant voice said in Corellian-accented Basic.

  “We didn’t request anything.”

  “Compliments of Captain Scaur,” the man in the passageway replied. “He also invites you to be his guests at his table this evening.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  Showolter lowered his weapon and hit the hatch release. A tall, dark-haired, and dangerous-looking human entered, followed by a Rodian.

  “I’m Darda,” the man announced. “This is Capo.” Green, coarse-complected, and a bit hard on the human nose, Capo had a lithe grace and an easygoing air. Catching sight of Elan and Vergere, he drew his partner’s attention to them.

  “Where’d you come aboard?” Showolter asked. Darda pivoted away from Elan to face him. “Right here at Vortex. We were ahead of you in the boarding line.”<
br />
  Showolter grinned. “Yeah, I noticed you. Is it just you two?”

  “Three more are already on board,” Darda supplied. “Mingling with the refugees in steerage. They’ll probably show themselves at dinner.”

  Showolter nodded. “Where’s your cabin?”

  Darda nodded his square chin at the passage door to the adjoining suite. “Right next to you.”

  “Convenient,” Showolter remarked. “Someone at HQ actually did their homework.” He glanced at Capo. “Where do you work out of, Capo?”

  “Bilbringi,” the Rodian said, pressing suction-cupped fingertips together.

  Showolter’s eyes returned to Darda. “You?”

  “Lately out of Gamorr, but they’re pulling me back to Coruscant after this op.”

  Showolter looked surprised. “Is that right? Who’s your new boss?”

  Darda had his mouth open to respond when another knock sounded at the door.

  Showolter gestured for silence and raised his blaster once more. “What is it?”

  “Cabin service,” a human voice replied.

  The three NRI operatives exchanged disconcerted glances. Showolter gestured Darda and Capo into the adjoining suite and motioned for Elan and Vergere to remain still. When the passage door closed behind Capo, Showolter moved to the entrance.

  “We didn’t request anything.”

  “Compliments of Captain Scaur. He also invites you to be his guests at his table this evening.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  With an economy of movement, Showolter slid his blaster under a pillow on the couch, arranged two chairs so that their backs were turned to the passage door, and opened the entry door. A muscular human male and a handsome Bothan female entered, introducing themselves as Jode Tee and Saiga Bre’lya.

  Shrewdly, Showolter maneuvered them into the chairs and asked where they’d come aboard.

  “We’ve been aboard since Ord Mantell,” the Bothan said after she’d had a pure eyeful of Elan and Vergere.

  “Is it just the two of you?”

  “Two others were supposed to have come aboard at Anobis, but they haven’t made contact yet.”

  “Where’s your cabin?” Showolter asked Jode Tee.

  “Ten doors down the passageway, starboard side.”

  “Convenient.” Showolter sat on the couch, facing them, his hand closing slowly on the concealed blaster. “Where are you based?”

  “Bilbringi,” Jode Tee said.

  “What about you, Saiga?”

  “Ord Mantell.”

  The passage door began to open, revealing Darda with a blaster raised to his chin in a two-handed grip. Showolter made brief eye contact and laughed to cover any sounds the door might make in opening wide.

  “So was that serious about dinner at the captain’s table?” he asked.

  “I wish,” Saiga said, smiling.

  Showolter brought the blaster out with cool efficiency and fired. The bolt flashed between Jode Tee and the Bothan, hitting Darda squarely in the chest. Darda flew back from the doorway as if kicked by a gundark, but managed to squeeze off one blast that caught Jode Tee in the back, propelling him onto the couch.

  Showolter and Saiga hit the deck. At the same time, Vergere leapt from her bed to protect Elan, forcing her into a corner of the cabin and planting herself between the priestess and harm.

  Capo slithered through the doorway on his belly, weapon extended in front of him and firing repeatedly. Blaster beams ricocheted sibilantly around the stateroom. Showolter rolled across the floor until he hit the corridor bulkhead. With nowhere to go, he risked a shot at the doorway, but by then Capo had moved. Showolter rolled back the way he came and managed to get to one knee, but Capo had him in his sights and fired. The blast found his left shoulder, just under the collarbone, and spun him completely around. The smell of burned cloth and seared flesh filled his nostrils. But even as he was falling, shots from the floor told him that Saiga had joined the fight.

  A bloodcurdling scream rang out, followed by an agonizing moan. Showolter blinked his eyes open in time to see a wounded Capo dragging himself toward the front door of the adjacent suite, and Saiga—propelling herself backward on her rear-pressing a hand to the gaping hole a blaster bolt had opened in the center of her chest.

  Showolter came to his feet and staggered into the adjoining cabin space, gun raised in one shaking hand. Capo was already halfway into the corridor, and all Showolter’s shot did was provide him with an impetus to hurry. Showolter stumbled to the door, but only to close and lock it. Wisps of smoke coiling from his charred shoulder, he wobbled back to his cabin.

  His fingers found no pulse in Jode Tee’s throat. Throwing Elan and Vergere a quick look, he crawled over to Saiga, who had propped herself against the entry door.

  “Did you get him, Major?” she asked weakly.

  Showolter shook his head.

  “Who were they?”

  “I don’t know, but they had the code.”

  The Bothan’s eyes widened. “Our code?”

  “Same one I was given.”

  “Then how did you know we were on the level?”

  “One of them claimed to be working out of Gamorr. I guess whoever supplied the code didn’t know that we phased out that safe house a long while ago.”

  A pained groan escaped Saiga.

  “Saiga,” Showolter said sharply. “You said we have two more aboard.”

  Eyelids fluttering, she managed a nod.

  “Who are they? How were you instructed to make contact? Saiga. Saiga!”

  Her eyes rolled up into her head. A final breath rattled from her lungs and she died.

  Showolter’s eyes glazed over. He turned and sat unmoving on the floor.

  “You’re hurt,” Elan said, close to his ear, in what sounded like genuine concern.

  The Queen trembled innocently. “Lightspeed,” Showolter slurred, mostly to himself. He tried to focus on Elan. “Got to get you out of here. Capo’ll be coming back with reinforcements.” He made a futile attempt at standing, then pointed to the luggage. “In my bag. . . painkillers and bandages.”

  Vergere was suddenly beside him, her slanted eyes brimming with tears. “Let me help you,” she said.

  Cupping her delicate hands, she held them to her eyes. Then she rubbed her moistened palms together and pressed them to Showolter’s wound. He locked his teeth against intense but short-lived pain, then he took a long, shuddering breath.

  “Better?” Vergere asked.

  “Yes,” he told her, plainly astonished.

  “It’s a temporary repair. You’re going to need medical attention.”

  He nodded in understanding, pushed himself to his feet, and rearmed his blaster. Cautiously opening the door, he peered into the passageway.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “Our only chance is to locate my backup.”

  “But you don’t know who you’re looking for,” Elan reminded.

  Showolter nodded grimly. “I’m hoping they’ll recognize me.”

  Elan offered her shoulder for support, and the three of them headed for the communal areas belowdecks.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Han emerged from the portable refresher like a man on his last legs, slamming the door behind him as if to prevent something horrible from escaping. “I’ll bet anything some Gamorrean’s been in there,” he growled to Droma. “Can’t stick to their own ‘freshers. Have to foul ours.”

  “Is this your typical morning mood?” Droma asked. Han glared at him. “No, but it’s my mood when I don’t get any sleep.”

  The Ryn made a sound of dismissal. “I didn’t ask to share your cabin space. I was fine being in steerage.”

  Han stopped short in the passageway. “I don’t mind sharing my cabin space. What I mind’s your tail in my face half the night!”

  Droma frowned. “We Ryn are compelled to alter our sleep positions frequently. We never sleep twice in the same sp
ot.”

  “Next time I’ll reserve the ballroom,” Han said sarcastically. “Would that give you enough room?”

  “We’re a superstitious folk,” Droma explained as they resumed walking. “We never eat three times from the same bowl, and we have many rituals regarding bodily fluids—”

  Han’s hands flew up. “I don’t want to know about them.” He glanced at Droma. “Why are you still on board, anyway? You told me you were getting off at Vortex.”

  Droma shrugged. “I decided I’d have better luck finding a ride to Ralltiir from Bilbringi.”

  “Yeah,” Han said slowly. “But I thought you only had fare to Vortex.”

  Droma adopted a docile look. “The truth is, I kept just enough of what you won at the sabacc table to secure onward passage.”

  “A fine thing,” Han snorted.

  The Ryn’s former pugnacity resurfaced. “You’d begrudge me a modest remuneration, even after I didn’t charge you for the card reading?”

  Han stopped again. “Charge me? You’re the one who laid out the cards.”

  “I don’t recall you telling me to desist.”

  “I was being polite.”

  “Impossible,” Droma said. “You’re incapable.”

  “Hey, if you knew the company I keep. . . ”

  Droma looked bemused. “Rich and famous customers in the ship repair business?”

  “I. . . Ah, this is hopeless,” Han said.

  Shouldering the travel pack, he accelerated, figuring that the Ryn’s short legs wouldn’t allow him to keep up. Leaving Droma behind after twenty long strides, he quickly rounded a corner in the passageway, then another. Then, out of nowhere, powerful arms grabbed him from behind, holding him fast and whirling him around.

  “Han!” his interdictor said, latching on to him for dear life. “I won’t even try to imagine how Scaur talked you into this duty, but I’m sure glad to see you.”

  “Scaur?” Han said, then recognition dawned. “Showolter? What the—”