by Timothy Zahn
"Perhaps she can still be of assistance," Elegos suggested, stepping into Ghent's embarrassed consternation with typical Caamasi aplomb. "Why don't you tell her why you're here?"
"Yeah, sure," Ghent said, recovering his voice and digging a datapad out of an old and worn holder on his belt. "You see, General Bel Iblis gave me a datacard—"
"One moment," Sakhisakh's harsh voice cut him off. "Was it you who sent Councilor Organa Solo a message over Bel Iblis's name?"
"Well, uh... yeah," Ghent admitted, eyeing the Noghri warily. "I wanted the general, you see, but I couldn't get to him. And I found out Leia was here—"
"What do you mean you couldn't get to him?" Leia interrupted. "Where is he? Has something happened?"
"No, no, he's off in Kothlis system," Ghent assured her quickly, his eyes reluctantly shifting away from the Noghri to her. "Some kind of ship buildup—I don't know what for. But I couldn't get a message through to him, not even with top clearance codes. So when I found out you were here—"
"How did you find out she was here?" Sakhisakh demanded.
Ghent squirmed again. "Well... it was in Gavrisom's files. I mean, I wouldn't usually slice into High Council stuff, but it was really important. And then I met him—" He waved helplessly at Elegos.
"I was waiting at your office for you," the Caamasi spoke up, his voice sending a wave of welcome calmness through the room. "As my two colleagues made clear when you spoke with them, we are deeply concerned about the direction this matter has taken. Now, with overt threats toward the Bothan people, that concern has been greatly magnified."
He shrugged, the gesture rippling through his entire back up to his shoulders. "I had of course planned to wait until you returned to speak further with you. But Crypt Chief Ghent was so insistent that he see you immediately that I offered him transport, provided he was able to locate you."
"And provided he could use Garm's private signature code to make sure I'd come to the spaceport?" Leia asked, lifting her eyebrows at Ghent.
The young slicer winced. "I didn't think you'd come if it was just me," he muttered. Leia suppressed a sigh. Yes, that was indeed classic Ghent. In actual fact, his name and expertise carried enormous weight among the upper levels of the New Republic government. Another fact he'd undoubtedly missed completely.
And as for bringing Elegos along, Ghent probably didn't have the faintest idea of how to fly a starship himself. Frustrating and annoying, but it all fit. "All right, relax," she said. "The interrogation is over, and all is at least temporarily forgiven. Now. What is this errand that was worth breaking half a dozen laws for?"
Wincing again, Ghent handed her the datapad in his hand. "It's really a message for Bel Iblis," he said. "But—look, just read it, okay?"
Leia took the datapad and keyed it on. On the other hand, she couldn't help wondering, if she'd known that it was only Ghent and not Bel Iblis who wanted to see her, would she have pushed harder for Han to take her along on his trip into the heart of the Empire? Even without Ghent's message the reasons had seemed right and proper at the time. But still...
And then the words popped onto the datapad display... and an icy chill ran through her. "Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice sounding unreal through the sudden pounding in her ears.
"General Bel Iblis brought it back from Morishim," Ghent said, his voice trembling now, too.
"There was a Corellian Corvette that came into the system, only a Star Destroyer caught up with it and took it away."
"I remember reading Garm's private report on that," Leia said. "He wanted the incident kept quiet while he tried to find out what it was all about."
"Well, this was a transmission from the Corvette," Ghent said. "It was all mangled up, but I was able to sort through the jamming and untangle it." He took a noisy breath. "You see why I had to get it to someone right away?"
Leia nodded silently, staring down at the message.
— is Colonel Meizh Vermel, special envoy from Admiral Pellaeon, sent here to contact General Bel Iblis concerning the negotiation of a peace treaty between the Empire and New Republic. My ship is under attack by traitorous elements of the Empire, and I do not expect to survive. If the New Republic agrees to hold such discussions, Admiral Pellaeon will be at the abandoned gas mining center on Pesitiin in one month to meet with you. Repeating: This is Colonel Meizh Vermel...
"Councilor?" Sakhisakh murmured quietly from across the room. "Is there trouble?" Leia looked up at the Noghri, almost startled to find him there as thoughts swirled through her mind. A peace treaty. Not a temporary truce, but an actual, genuine peace. Something she'd been looking for and longing for since the days of Emperor Palpatine and her own youthful decision to oppose him and all he stood for.
And here it was, being offered to them by the Supreme Commander of the entire Imperial Fleet. Or was it? Pellaeon was only offering to negotiate, after all. Were there preconditions that would be brought up at such a meeting, conditions that would turn the whole exercise into little more than a waste of time or, worse, a propaganda coup for the Empire?
Or was it worse even than that? Was it some sort of trap?
"Councilor?" Sakhisakh repeated, stepping to her side, his large black eyes gazing with concern up at her. "What disturbs you?"
Wordlessly, she handed the datapad to him. Because Pellaeon probably wasn't in charge of the Empire anymore. If Lando was to be believed—and if that wasn't some sort of trick itself—Grand Admiral Thrawn had returned.
And with Thrawn, nothing was ever what it seemed. Ever.
Sakhisakh spat something vicious-sounding in the Noghri language. "You cannot believe this," he growled, thrusting the datapad back at Ghent as if it were something unclean he was disgusted to even touch. "The Empire is the embodiment of lies and treachery. It will never be otherwise."
"It's often been that way, yes," Leia agreed soberly. "On the other hand—"
"There is no other hand!" Sakhisakh snarled. "They betrayed and murdered my people. They betrayed and murdered your people."
"I know," Leia murmured, the old ache rising again like acid in her throat.
"And if Thrawn has indeed cheated death," the Noghri went on, his voice turning to something deadly, "then there is even more reason to reject anything the Empire might say."
"Probably," Leia said. And yet...
"May I see it?" Elegos asked.
Leia hesitated. Technically, this was highly confidential New Republic business... "Yes, of course," she said, handing the datapad to him, her Force-sensitized instincts overruling the strict legalities of the situation. Before the destruction of their world, the Caamasi had been among the greatest mediators and negotiators the Old Republic had ever known, their skills in such matters rivaling even those of the Jedi. Elegos might well have some insight that would help her sort it all out. For a long minute, the Caamasi studied the datapad in silence. Then, his blue-on-green eyes glittering with emotion, he lifted his gaze to her again. "I see no alternative," he said. "Yes, it may be a trap, but that is not certain. And if there is even a small chance that Admiral Pellaeon is sincere, that chance must be explored."
Sakhisakh regarded the other suspiciously. "I have long admired the Caamasi, Trustant A'kla," he said, his voice on the edge of challenging. "But in this, you speak the words of an unweaned child. Do you truly suggest Bel Iblis walk openly into the Empire's hands?"
"You misunderstand, my friend," Elegos said calmly. "I offer no such course for General Bel Iblis. Indeed, as you have already pointed out, it would be impossible even to suggest it to him."
"Why?" Leia asked.
"Because as Ghent has discovered, we have no means of communicating quickly with him," Elegos said. "And speed is vital, because this opportunity may even now be closing." He touched the datapad. "I do not know when the Morishim incident took place, but it is clear that forces opposing Admiral Pellaeon have already begun to gather against him. Even if all overt attacks have failed, he cannot wait forever for
Coruscant's response."
Sakhisakh threw a wary glance at Leia. "Who then do you suggest be asked to walk into the Empire's hands?"
Elegos shook his head. "There is no need to ask anyone," he told the Noghri. "The choice is apparent and obvious. I will go."
Sakhisakh seemed taken aback. "You?"
"Of course," Elegos said. "Councilor Organa Solo, I have an obligation to return Ghent to Coruscant. If you will accept that obligation upon yourself, I can leave for Pesitiin immediately." Leia sighed. Now, at last, she understood why it had seemed right for her to let Han go to Bastion alone while she waited here. "There's no need, Elegos," she said. "You can take him back yourself. I'll be the one going to Pesitiin."
Sakhisakh made a noise in his throat. "I cannot allow you to do that, Councilor Organa Solo," he rumbled. "To step into such danger—"
"I'm sorry, Sakhisakh," Leia said gently. "But as Elegos said, there's only one choice possible. I'm the only one here who has the authority to negotiate on behalf of the New Republic."
"Then bring someone else in from Coruscant," the Noghri demanded.
"As Elegos has also said, we don't have time," Leia said. "If Pellaeon is on schedule, he's been at Pesitiin for eleven days already. I have to go, and I have to go now." She took a deep breath. "If you can't handle dealing with Imperials, I'll certainly understand. I can take the Falcon and go alone."
"Please do not insult me," Sakhisakh said darkly. "Barkhimkh and I will of course accompany you. Even to death, if that is what awaits us."
"Thank you," Leia said. "Thank you, too, Ghent, for bringing this to me. You did the right thing, flagrant illegalities and all. Trustant A'kla, I thank you too for your assistance here."
"Wait a minute," Ghent said, his eyes looking confused again. "You're going out there? Alone?"
"Not alone," Sakhisakh growled. "We will be with her."
"Yeah, sure," Ghent said, looking back and forth between Leia and Elegos. "I meant... Elegos?
Can't you—you know?"
"Travel alongside her?" the Caamasi said. "Certainly, I would be more than willing to do so. Though I have no official standing with the New Republic, my people have some small skills at negotiation." He regarded Ghent thoughtfully. "But as I have already explained, I have the prior obligation of returning you to Coruscant."
"Unless you're willing to take a shuttle over to Pakrik Major and find a liner to take you back," Leia suggested.
"But I didn't mean for you to—" Ghent's face twisted into something almost painful-looking. "I mean, I only brought you the message because—"
He sighed, a great exhaling of air that seemed to shrink him down like a collapsing balloon.
"Okay," he said in resignation. "Yeah, okay. Sure, I'll go with you, too. Why not?" Leia blinked. It was not the decision she'd been expecting from him. "I appreciate the offer, Ghent," she said. "But it's really not necessary."
"No, no—don't try to talk me out of it," Ghent said. "I got you into this—might as well stick through to the end. Everybody says I need to get out more, anyway." Leia glanced at Elegos, caught the other's microscopic nod. Apparently, three days alone in a two-man ship with a Caamasi had done Ghent a world of good.
Or else the young slicer was finally beginning to grow up.
"All right," she said. "Thank you. Thank you all." She glanced around the room. "We'll have to take the Falcon, I'm afraid—this ship is too small for all of us. It's about a twenty-minute landspeeder ride away."
"Then let us go," Elegos said, gently prodding. "There is little time to spare." Five minutes later they were racing across the Pakrik Minor landscape, the whistling of the wind the only sound as the five occupants sat wrapped in the silence of their own thoughts. What the others were thinking during that trip Leia never learned. But for herself, a new and disturbing thought had suddenly occurred to her. A Jedi, she knew, could often see or sense into the future and, as she herself had often done, could similarly gain a sense of the Tightness of the path being taken or the Jedi's own position along that path. She was seeing that rightness for herself now. But could any Jedi, she wondered, see ahead to his or her own death? Or would the path leading to that moment always remain in darkness? Feeling right and proper, perhaps, all the way up to the point of passage?
She didn't know. Perhaps this would be the path where she would find out.
CHAPTER
13
From the far aft cabin, the warbling of the Wild Karrde's bridge battle alert was a quiet, almost subtle thing. But Shada had been trained to notice subtle things, and she was awake and out of bed before the distant trilling had finished its down scale and shut off. Throwing on her robe, stuffing her blaster into a side pocket, she headed for the bridge.
The corridors were deserted. Shada picked up her pace, ears cocked for the noise of battle or the straining engines that would indicate escape or evasion. But the ship was eerily quiet, with the steady drone of the drive and her own softly slapping footsteps the only sounds she could hear. Ahead, the bridge door slid open at her approach; slipping her hand into her robe pocket and getting a grip on her blaster, she charged through the doorway.
And skidded to a slightly confused halt. The bridge crew were seated in their normal positions, some of them looking questioningly back at her abrupt entrance. Ahead, out the viewport, the mottled sky of hyperspace was rolling past.
"Hello, Shada," Karrde said, looking up from the engineering monitor where he and Pormfil had apparently been consulting on something. "I thought you were still sleeping. What brings you here at this hour?"
"Your battle alert—what did you think?" Shada countered, looking around again. "What's going on, a drill?"
"Not quite," Karrde said, stepping over to her. "My apologies; I didn't think you'd be able to hear the alert where you were."
"Listening for trouble is part of my job," she said tartly. "What is this 'not quite' drill of yours?"
"We're coming up on the Episol system and the world Dayark," Karrde explained. "There's a fair chance we'll run into some trouble when we come out of hyperspace." Shada looked out the viewport. "That rogue pirate gang Bombaasa told us about?"
"Possibly," Karrde said. "Word of our voyage has undoubtedly preceded us."
"Not to mention word of your identity," Shada said.
Karrde's lip twitched. "Regardless, after that ship we spotted hanging around our Jangelle course change point, I thought it best if we hit the Episol system prepared."
"Sounds reasonable," Shada said. "Except for the part about you not thinking I needed to be informed."
"I didn't think there would be anything you could do," Karrde said mildly. "Unless they board us—which I guarantee they will not do—there won't be any hand-to-hand combat."
"Hand-to-hand is hardly my sole area of expertise," Shada said stiffly. "Or didn't I mention I'm fully qualified to handle those turbolasers of yours?"
The whole bridge had taken on an air of watchful silence. "You hadn't mentioned that, no," Karrde said. "But at this point it's largely irrelevant. The turbolaser bays are by necessity somewhat exposed, and if there's trouble I'd rather have you here where it's—well—"
"Where it's safe?" Shada finished for him. "Why, because it might not be pirates waiting for us out there?"
Dankin turned half around from the helm to look at Karrde. He opened his mouth as if to speak, thought better of it, and turned back around again.
"It's not Car'das," Karrde said, his voice carefully controlled. "Not here. If he was going to hit us at a distance, he'd have done so already. That means he's decided to wait until we reach Exocron."
"It's always nice to have something to look forward to," Shada growled. "In that case, let me take one of the turbolasers. I'm at least as good as Balig—probably better than Chal."
"We could put Chal at the spotting station," Dankin murmured. Karrde's lip twitched, but he nodded. "All right, we'll see what you can do. Dankin, tell Chal to come back and take over spotting
. H'sishi, how are we for timing?"
[We are four minutes one-half from arrival,] the Togorian at the sensor station said, her yellow eyes studying Shada with unblinking intensity.
"You'd best get up there," Karrde said to Shada, nodding toward the bridge door. "It's turbolaser two."
"I know," Shada said. "I'll check in when I'm ready." Three minutes later she was strapped into the control console facing the big transparisteel bubble, running a prefire checklist and fighting back twenty years' worth of ghosts of other such battles, first with the Mistryl and then with Mazzic's smugglers. With most of those battles she'd been lucky enough to be on the winning side. With the others...
"Shada, this is Chal," the young man's voice came through her comm headset. "You ready?"
"Almost," Shada said, watching as the last of the self-check lights went green. "Yes, ready."
"Okay." If Chal was annoyed at having been summarily kicked out of his post, it didn't show in his voice. "Stay sharp; we're counting down now. Starting at ten... mark." She listened with half an ear to the countdown, her hands resting on the controls, her eyes already starting the combat scan pattern her Mistryl instructors had taught her so long ago. The count reached zero, the mottled sky flared to starlines and shrank to stars—
And with a terrific jolt a laser bolt slammed hard into the Wild Karrde's side.
[Seven targets waiting,] H'sishi snarled, the tone of her voice giving Shada the mental picture of all that gray-white fur standing on end. [Small attack vessels— Corsair-class.]
"Confirmed on number and class," Chal added. "Bearings—" The targeting recitation was drowned out in the hissing roar of her turbolaser as Shada swung the weapon around and fired. One of the Corsairs, trying to sneak in under the freighter's docking bay, caught the burst squarely on its left flank and flashed into dust. His wingman, dodging most of the debris, scrambled wildly for distance but succeeded only in flying straight into a burst from Griv's turbolaser. What remained of the craft continued outward on an inertial trajectory, blazing like a flying funeral pyre.