by James Luceno
To his right sat Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, acting chief of the GA military. He had been a successful, ferocious space navy officer in the days of the Old Republic and even now, more than sixty years later, still commanded with wit, ingenuity, and uncompromising will. He and Luke exchanged glances, and the faintest of ironic smiles; more than thirty years earlier, the two had been enemies, Luke fighting for the New Republic, and Pellaeon for the remnants of the Empire, and now they served the same cause. Despite his advancing age, Pellaeon still appeared formidable: thickchested, his white hair still bushy, his mustache still ferocious. His GA admiral’s uniform was as crisp as his manner.
To his right sat Admiral Niathal, a female Mon Calamari. Unlike Ackbar, perhaps the best-known military Mon Cal officer in recent history, she was known for an icy disposition and cutting reprimands. Her outsized eyes followed Luke as he entered the chamber. He spared her a glance and a slight, friendly nod; he did not know her well and had neither affection nor disdain for her.
Elsewhere at the table sat advisers and aides for the three. The composition of meeting attendees told Luke that all the discussion would be about military affairs and their effects on political matters—and that meant the mess at Corellia.
Chief Omas gestured to the unoccupied seat to his left, and Luke took it. “Good to see you, Master Skywalker. Thank you for arriving so quickly.”
“Happy to oblige, sir.” Luke’s arrival had indeed been quick—the transport carrying him, his Jedi teams, and others fresh from Operation Roundabout had landed less than an hour before.
“So.” Omas glanced at Pellaeon. “Admiral, would you care to begin?”
“Yes.” Pellaeon glanced at the datapad before him. “Master Skywalker, how would you describe the Jedi operations that were part of Roundabout?”
“Successful,” Luke said, “but not cleanly so. We had five operations. Slashrat, Purella, Tauntaun, Womp Rat, and Mynock.”
Pellaeon managed a small smile. “Each creature being either bad-tempered or bad smelling.”
“Yes, sir. Slashrat, commanded by Master Corran Horn, was a two-operative team observing Coronet’s main starport for significant starfighter launch activities. Since most of Coronet’s starfighter squadrons had apparently been pulled for Corellia’s fleet action, of course, Slashrat’s usefulness was largely nullified.
“Purella and Tauntaun, respectively commanded by Jaina Solo and Tahiri Veila, were assigned the task of kidnapping Prime Minister Aidel Saxan and Chief of State Thrackan Sal-Solo from their residences.”
One of the aides toward the foot of the table, a male Bothan, cleared his throat. His fur rippled with what Luke interpreted as discomfort. “It’s probably inappropriate,” he said, “to use the word kidnapping.”
Niathal’s eyes twitched and her gaze pinned the speaker. “Master Skywalker isn’t speaking to the public or the press,” she said, her voice harsh and gravelly, “so he isn’t obliged to mince words. In this company, we should be using precise terminology, not your public-relations pablum. Shouldn’t we?”
The Bothan’s fur rippled again, and Luke could sense it was from a combination of fear and anger at being rebuked. “Yes, Admiral,” the man said.
“In the future,” Niathal added, “try confining your remarks to useful ones.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Luke suppressed a smile. He turned back to Pellaeon. “Their mission was an almost complete failure due to what appears to be foreknowledge on Corellia’s part. Saxan and Sal-Solo remain on Corellia.
“Womp Rat, which I commanded, had the task of retrieving Tauntaun and Purella, and was successful, though not without loss; we lost a shuttle and its two-person crew, and an X-wing with its Jedi pilot.
“Finally,” Luke said, “there’s Mynock. The most important of the operations, and the one for which the other operations, as significant as they might have been, were also to act as a diversion. Mynock was, from both a short-term and long-term perspective, spectacularly successful. Centerpoint Station was removed as a threat through the elimination of the control mechanisms the Corellians had designed to make it completely operational. But the station itself wasn’t destroyed, meaning that in the long run it can be further examined and investigated. There was some loss of life among Corellian Security Force members defending the installation, but neither of the Jedi involved in the mission was hurt—and this all despite the fact that the Corellians in charge of the station were fully aware that operatives were coming. That Jedi operatives were coming.”
Pellaeon fixed Luke with a stare that could most charitably be described as unhappy. “You’re certain they knew Jedi would be coming.”
Luke nodded. “Yes, sir. According to Mynock’s reports, they had developed tactics and brought in combat droids that were clearly optimized for action against Jedi. They used wide-effect weapons such as sonic attacks and explosives, very hard for Jedi to evade; they had fast-moving, very mobile units capable of sustaining action against powerful individual infiltrators; their holocam sensor network appeared to be set up to track individuals moving through the station. They even had a trap specifically designed to keep Jedi from using the Force. Also, a resource remaining in Corellia”—Luke didn’t name Dr. Seyah, since all those here who were authorized to know that name would already be familiar with it—“reports discussions among the CorSec troops about the relative effectiveness of their brief anti-Jedi training.”
“Ah.” Pellaeon looked not at all surprised by the allegation that the Corellians had had not just advance warning of the operation but of specific details about the operation’s composition. “I understand your own son was responsible for Mynock being a success.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Your thirteen-year-old son.”
Luke smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re more ruthless than I realized, Master Skywalker.”
Luke shook his head. “I simply don’t swim against the currents of the Force.”
Niathal asked, “Could General Wedge Antilles have been the conduit for all the advance knowledge the Corellians received?”
Luke frowned, puzzled. “I don’t think so. Wedge is retired. I doubt he was involved at all, on either side.”
“Oh, he was involved,” Niathal said. “As an extension of the same governing principle that led to Operations Tauntaun and Purella, he was picked up and transported here prior to Operation Roundabout’s commencement. To keep him out of trouble.”
Luke covered his eyes with his hand.
“He escaped a short time later and apparently returned to Corellia,” Niathal continued. “It’s just been announced that Chief Sal-Solo has ousted the old Minister of War to assume the position himself, and Antilles has been assigned liaison between Sal-Solo and Prime Minister Saxan.”
“I’m surprised,” Luke said. He looked up at the Mon Cal officer again. “Surprised that he’d take a position like that.”
“I’m not,” Pellaeon said. “If I’d been subjected to that sort of treatment, I might declare a personal war on the government that had authorized it. I suspect Antilles isn’t fighting for Corellia. He’s against us—us personally.” He indicated himself and Cal Omas, then turned to Niathal. “Find out the name of every officer who botched any portion of the operation against Antilles. Perhaps he’ll remove himself from the picture if we bust every one of them down to floor sweeper.”
“Admiral, it will be a pleasure.” Niathal turned to Luke. “I need you to be logical instead of sentimental when answering this: Could your sister have been the leak, informing the Corellians about the Jedi involvement?”
Luke shook his head. “Impossible.”
Niathal made a wet, rubbery noise, the Mon Calamari equivalent of a snort of derision. “Nothing’s impossible, Skywalker.”
“I’ll explain, with logic, why I believe it’s impossible. For her to know that Jedi would be part of the operation, she’d also have to be privy to more information than that. And the more
information would reveal that her son and her daughter, and my son, were part of the operation. Can you imagine her giving the Corellians information that would oblige them to kill her children and her nephew?”
Niathal spread her hands, palms up—an I don’t know gesture. “It depends on the strength of her convictions … and what those convictions are. You haven’t proved that her ideals don’t value Corellian independence above family survival.”
“Enough,” Chief Omas said. “It’s out of the question.”
“But there is a leak somewhere,” Luke conceded. “In the order, here in the seat of government, I’m not sure which. We have to find it and close it.”
“Another question,” Pellaeon said. “What impression did you have of Admiral Klauskin?”
Luke considered. “Mostly favorable, at least as the operation was coming together. He seemed smart and decisive. When things started to go wrong, though—well, it seems obvious that he chose badly. Improvisation does not appear to be one of his skills.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Omas said. “But really—that’s all you or any of your Jedi could say about him?”
“Well … no.” Luke suppressed a sigh. Reluctance to speak ill of someone was out of place here. “Except for me, Jedi dealings with him were very limited. I saw him at several briefings. All the team heads except Corran Horn—Jaina, Tahiri, Jacen, and I—were at one briefing, and all the Jedi met him at one dinner. It was after that dinner that one of my Jedi, Tiu Zax, a recently confirmed Jedi Knight, said that she’d had the oddest impression from him.”
Niathal asked, “Which was what?”
“That he’d blanked at one point during dinner. That, while I was swapping starfighter pilot stories with Jaina, Klauskin had just … gone away, mentally. An absence so strong she felt it through the Force. Just for a few moments.”
Niathal’s eyes edged forward, a gesture perhaps meant to intimidate. “And you didn’t report this?”
“Report what?” Luke shrugged. “The same sort of thing can happen when someone enters a meditative state, or falls into a particularly private memory. Tiu’s young enough that she hadn’t encountered it before. I have, and didn’t think anything of it. Do you believe it could be evidence of a more significant problem?”
“Oh, yes.” Niathal nodded, the motion made exaggerated by the size of her head, longer than that of any human. “He has apparently experienced a complete emotional and mental breakdown. Twelve standard hours after the occupation of Tralus, his aide, Colonel Fenn, found him wandering Dodonna’s corridors in his robe, looking for his wife. His dead wife. He hasn’t responded much to questions or orders since. Dodonna’s officers have been told that he collapsed from exhaustion.”
“Which brings us to the last subject of significance we need you for, Master Skywalker.” Chief Omas rubbed his chin. “The occupation of Tralus and its consequences. Operation Roundabout was supposed to force the Corellians to realize that they can’t just rebuild their giant blaster in space. We were to take the giant blaster away and rap their heads with our knuckles. We failed to rap their heads—the arrival of the Corellian fleet prevented that—but we did take their giant blaster away. And had our task force returned to Coruscant from that point, we still would have been ahead, if only slightly ahead, in the game.”
“But the occupation of Tralus,” Niathal said, “has made them angry. Fighting mad, I believe the expression is.”
“Corellia continues to arm herself,” Pellaeon said. “Other planets are expressing outrage about the way Roundabout was conducted. Commenor. Fondor. Bespin. Coalitions within the Corporate Sector. More every hour. Some of them are simply playing political games, of course, but others could conceivably join Corellia in a military alliance.”
“I know.” Luke’s voice was rueful. “Maybe those other planets would ease off if we showed them the evidence you’ve gathered about Corellia’s secret assault fleet.”
“We can’t,” Omas said. “Our evidence isn’t incontrovertible, and some of those worlds would ally with Corellia even if it were. We’d be tipping our hand for nothing.”
“And we still wouldn’t know the location of the fleet,” Pellaeon said. “But we can still manage this through diplomacy. Prime Minister Saxan has indicated that she would be willing to meet with us in a mission of peace—even travel from Corellia for the meeting. But not here. Not to Coruscant.”
“Where, then?” Luke asked.
“Not yet determined,” Pellaeon said. “That’s not important. It will have to be a system that both sides consider neutral on this issue. Now, Chief of State Omas cannot represent the Galactic Alliance, since his rank is substantially higher than Saxan’s—for the leader of hundreds of worlds to travel to meet the leader of five would be too great a sign of weakness.”
“Of course,” Luke said. He breathed deeply, willing away the sudden stab of nausea he felt. This was the type of politics he hated most—niggling details based on perceptions of relative merit or importance.
“So it will be me,” Pellaeon continued. “Each side will have a security detail in place. But Prime Minister Saxan has made an interesting concession. She’s willing to stipulate the neutrality of Jedi on this issue, and to have as many Jedi present as you, Luke Skywalker, wish. To defend the diplomatic mission.”
Luke nodded. “Give me the details and I’ll assemble a team. But I don’t understand why she’d do that. The Jedi order is specifically an organization defending the Galactic Alliance. We’re not entirely impartial.”
Chief Omas said, “I can only give you a guess. A guess based on decades of political dealings. I think Saxan wants peace—not even necessarily for its own sake, but because war will allow Chief Sal-Solo to assume emergency power and control resources she can’t regulate or restrain. But she has to find a way to preserve the peace that allows the Corellians to save face. Which means, so do we.”
“We could withdraw the units occupying Tralus,” Luke said.
Chief Omas nodded. “Correct. But we’ll let that be one of Saxan’s negotiating points. She’ll certainly insist on it, and we’ll agree to it.”
“We shouldn’t.” That was Niathal, and, if anything, there seemed to be even more grumble to her voice than before. “We should massively reinforce it now, begin a forced relocation of the civilian population. We’ll need it as a jumping-off point if the Corellians don’t comply and we have to conquer the system. Not having it available to us could cost us immeasurably.”
Chief Omas fixed her with an admonishing look. “We’ll agree to it,” he continued, and returned his attention to Luke. “It is a political, rather than a military, tactic. If we just withdraw now, the Corellians become more belligerent, seeing our action as weakness. If we agree to Saxan’s negotiations on that point, we don’t look weak, and Saxan’s position is strengthened.”
“I see.”
Pellaeon said, “Please assemble a list of prospects for your Jedi security team. We’ll let you know as things develop.”
Luke stood. “May the Force be with you, Admiral.”
Pellaeon grinned. “Once upon a time, I was certain I’d never hear those words directed toward me.”
Luke smiled in return. “Times change.” He nodded his respects to the others and swept out of the chamber.
chapter seventeen
CORUSCANT
The airspeeder was big, roomy inside and outside in a way that had not been in fashion for several years. It was sky blue but scarred and dented by a generation’s worth of ordinary accidents and mishaps, and it looked as slow as a bantha at naptime.
A human male lounged in the backseat, his feet toward the elevated walkway against which the speeder had docked. He wore dark pants with narrow red stripes running up the outsides of the legs, a tan, long-sleeved shirt, a dark vest, and worn boots. A yellow rag was draped across his face. He looked at first glance as though he was sleeping, the rag keeping sunlight from his face, but something in the way his head was propped u
p against the side of the seat, orienting his eyes toward the adjacent walkway, something in the way his raised right knee hid his hand and perhaps the presence of a blaster pistol—illegal here but hardly uncommon—kept even the most larcenous passersby from giving too much consideration to stealing the speeder.
Moving briskly, a small woman in a brown traveler’s robe, hood up to conceal her face, moved out of the stream of foot traffic and dropped into the passenger seat.
The man in the backseat pulled the rag from his face and rolled forward into the pilot’s seat, fast and graceful. He had the speeder backed up thirty meters and was reversing direction, blasting forward into a traffic lane at a rate that seemed remarkable for such an awkward speeder, before other passersby began to register the fact that he was Han Solo.
“What’d you find out?” he asked.
The wind from their movement whipped the hood from Leia’s face; it fell against her back. She didn’t bother to replace it. Nor did she bother to conceal her unhappiness. “Maybe we ought to get home before we discuss this.”
“I’ve already waited several hours,” Han said.
“Maybe you ought to park.”
Finally he gave her a close look. “That bad.”
“Worse.”
“Give it to me.”
There was an almost imperceptible pause. Han knew Leia was arranging facts, deciding on order of presentation.
“Some of this I’m guessing, based on things that weren’t said and things that were. Some that I’m sure of is based on things I overheard. I guess I’ll start with the biggest things and go down from there. The Corellian claims that Centerpoint Station was sabotaged by Jedi are true. The station has been seriously damaged, setting the Corellian scientific corps back several years. And the Jedi who did it … were Jacen and Ben.”