Shield of Lies

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “Scratch her from the list, Arky, and move Vigilant forward into that slot,” A’baht said calmly.

  “Aye, General.”

  “Tactical, update,” Captain Morano called.

  “Still clear, sir.”

  “Maintain active scanning.” Morano turned to A’baht. “Nothing out there. Then why did they kick us up to yellow-two?”

  “Let me have my attachments here, Comm,” said A’baht, swinging a flat-panel display up and across in front of him.

  The polarizers on the secure display guaranteed that Morano could not read it from where he sat, so he tried to read A’baht’s face instead, with little more success.

  “Interesting,” A’baht said finally, returning the display to its recess. “The yellow-two is due to the fact that the Yevetha apparently knew we were coming.”

  “Then where are they?”

  “Apparently they chose not to meet us,” said A’baht. “Or to make any other aggressive moves, for that matter. All the inhabited worlds within ten light-years of here are reporting quiet skies.”

  “Well—that’s good, eh? That’s what we want, isn’t it?”

  “That’s what the President wants,” said A’baht. “I wish the Yevetha were here. I want a good look at their fleet. Chances are they’re getting a good look at ours. Narth, what can we do to make it harder for them?”

  The tactical aide rocked back in his chair. “Shuffle assets, rotate callsigns, hop and skip along the operational perimeter. I think we can keep them confused for a while, anyway. But it’s hard to hide for long in the middle of nowhere.”

  “With all respect, General, the way I understood it, hiding was the last thing we were supposed to do out here,” said Morano. “And that kind of maneuvering sends the chances of an operational accident way up. Remember the Endor and the Shooting Star?” The two Alliance frigates had collided after a mistimed jump, with the loss of all hands. “Let them get a good look at us, so they know what they’re in for if they come out. If they have any sense at all, they’ll see they don’t want to tangle with us.”

  “It’s much too early to know if the way they think qualifies for our definition of ‘sensible,’ Captain,” said A’baht. “The viceroy of the Duskhan League had some very strong things to say while we were en route—some about us, some about Princess Leia, and all of it very public. You can hear for yourself—I passed that dispatch over to your queue.”

  A’baht looked out at the brilliant sprawl of stars. “They knew we were coming, and they don’t want us here. Until we know just what they’re capable of, I’m not going to be happy about sitting here. We’re out in the open, and they’re somewhere in the tall grass,” he said. “You know how strategists are—no matter what their species.”

  Captain Morano sighed and glanced across at his own tactical team. “It’s true—they’re easily tempted. They can’t resist trying to plan the knockout first strike,” he said, and the tactical chief confirmed the truth of it with a guilty smile. “So how do we play this?”

  With a practiced ease, A’baht unstrapped his restraints and stood. “We sit here and let ’em look, because that’s what we’ve been asked to do. We move the prowlers as far forward as we dare and keep them moving along the perimeter. And we all work on being very, very watchful.”

  To himself A’baht added, And then we hope the diplomats and politicians either work this out, or deal us a stronger hand—and soon. “I’ll be in my ready room, working up the entry report,” he said. “Alert me the moment there’s any change in the tactical situation.”

  In the privacy of his ready room, General Etahn A’baht learned that there were not five, but six attachments to the Fleet Office’s flash update.

  The sixth was an electronic hitchhiker. It had no identifying code and a length of zero. But when A’baht keyed in the code he had reluctantly and tediously memorized at Admiral Drayson’s insistence, the attachment unfolded into a lengthy dispatch from Alpha Blue.

  A’baht watched the images of the Yevethan colony ships landing on Doornik-319, of the Yevethan Star Destroyers over Polneye, of the burning fields at the Kutag factory farm, of the scorched valleys on New Brigia, and wondered why the Fleet Office had withheld them from him. All the important information had been in his update—that the Yevetha had Imperial-design Star Destroyers, that multiple colonies in the Cluster had been attacked by Yevethan forces, and so on—but it had been stripped of its reality, rendered as sterile, bloodless, and calculated as the raids themselves.

  The Yevetha had swept across the bright stars of Koornacht with such black ferocity that the sterile battlefields could not properly bear witness to it. Their millions of victims now had only one face, that of the only known survivor—Plat Mallar, who had seen the fire come and barely escaped it on a foolish gamble. But the Fleet Office had kept Plat Mallar’s face from A’baht as well. The reports called him simply “a Polneyan pilot,” as if afraid to let him be seen as a brave young man who had lost everything, and whose words might prick a conscience or launch a cause.

  “Recorder.”

  The little stenographic droid called SCM-22 trundled forward, twisting and turning within a circle twice its own diameter. “Optimizing,” it said in a high, unmistakably artificial voice. “Ready.”

  “Record. Task force commander’s entry report, append,” said Etahn A’baht. “Personal to Admiral Ackbar: In my estimation, the present deployment of the Fifth Fleet is unlikely to be effective either as a deterrent to further aggression or in denying the Yevetha the benefits of their past aggression.

  “Our presence at this position directly threatens no Yevetha assets and directly protects no friendly infrastructure. Nor can we effectively block a breakout with only a single Interdictor. The Yevethan fleet can go right over our head at any time, and we’d be left chasing them into the combat zone of their choosing.”

  He paused to collect his thoughts, idly tapping the bridge of his nose with the blunt tips of two fingers as he did. “It is my recommendation that vessels or detachments of vessels with combined combat ratings no less than strength three be sent to Galantos, Wehttam, and each of the other new protectorates,” he continued. “This will make unmistakably clear what interests we’re here to protect. It also may serve to remind the Yevetha that being able to reach these targets isn’t the same thing as being able to have them.

  “But we also need to try to make it harder for the Yevetha to reach them. The primary hyperspace nav routes out of the Cluster should all be under interdiction, and from as close a proximity to the Yevetha forward bases as possible.

  “Astrographic analysis shows that there are no single-jump exit routes from N’zoth, Wakiza, and the other known interior worlds—the density of the Cluster makes things a little easier for us. But there are still too many ways out. We cannot blockade Koornacht from this position, with these assets. Do not allow anyone there to believe otherwise.

  “With respect to the preceding recommendations, I formally request the following additional assets be attached to this command as soon as practicable: any and all available Interdictors. Any and all available prowlers. No fewer than four additional capital ships, frigate or above, for assignment to the protectorates—I don’t want to pull anything back from here for that duty, lest we send the wrong message to the Yevetha.

  “And, finally, we should be thinking about setting up a field supply and logistics center somewhere closer than Halpat. If our presence brings the Yevetha out, we’re going to take losses, and I want something better than cold space for our casualties and cripples. A’baht, commanding, Fifth.”

  A’baht raised his eyes to the little droid. “That’s it. Expand, end, and close.”

  “Done. Compressing—done. Encrypting—done. Ready for transmission.”

  “Send it,” said A’baht, looking out his viewscreen at the curtain of stars and wondering if the predators concealed within were looking back out at him.

  The north beach at Illafian Point, on t
he western shore of Rathalay’s western sea, was wide, broad, and nearly deserted.

  If it had been located on a recreation world like Amfar, or even anywhere in Coruscant’s temperate zones, the chances were that the beach would have been bustling with activity and the dunes paved over with pleasure resorts. Humans were not the only species drawn almost worshipfully to the sun and the water.

  But overlooked and underused had been exactly what Han had been looking for, and he was delighted by the long, empty expanses of gray basaltic sand. In more than two hours he had seen only two people, outside of the family. One was an older man prospecting along the water’s edge for the tiny jewel-like shells of sea motes, who stopped to show the children the small handful of unbroken shells he had found. The other was a Thodian distance swimmer who had passed offshore, taking no notice of them at all.

  Anakin, Jaina, and Jacen showed no sign yet that the novelty of playing in and along the sea was fading. None of them had ever seen a body of water so vast that it met the horizon, or one that was home to carnivores large enough to devour an adult in a few bites, and it made an impression on them. They allowed Han to tell them of the wreck of the starfreighter Just Cause, which lay nine hundred meters below the surface, its cargo of precious metals guarded by superstition and schools of razor-toothed narkaa. They even stood still for a visualization lesson from Leia, who asked them to imagine being creatures of the sea, looking on the land for the first time.

  Then they were off to play, wading into the sea and leaving stories, lessons, and parents behind. Jacen was captivated by the idea of the narkaa and kept plunging below the surface in hopes of seeing one. Jaina loved the warm current flowing along the beach and said that floating in it and letting it carry her along made her feel as if she were flying. And even though the water was nearly as tranquil as Lake Victory, the little waves that broke at the shore and tumbled over themselves trying to climb up the beach proved a fascination to Anakin.

  The only blemish in the picture was Leia. She was present in body but not in spirit. Her mind was on matters far removed from the beach—matters Han had brought her there to forget, at least for a time. Politics and diplomacy and statecraft and war were still taking her away from all of them. And Nil Spaar’s reversal from potential ally to determined adversary was still an open wound.

  “Dad?”

  Han twisted his head toward Jaina, who had come up unnoticed to stand close enough to drip water on his leg. “I’m sorry, I can’t rescue your brother from the narkaa,” Han said, squinting. “I left my hero suit in the cabin.”

  Jaina just ignored his gibe, as she was wont to do when intent on her own business. “Jacen and I are going to go down the beach and look for sea motes. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. “But don’t go out of sight. If you can’t see me, I can’t see you.”

  For a moment she gave him her impatient I-know-that-Dad look. But Jaina was learning not to throw away her victories, and said nothing more than a breezy “Thanks!” as she ran away to where Jacen waited.

  Han’s gaze flicked to Anakin, who sat at the edge of the water carving pools and rivers with his fingers for the waves to fill, then to Leia, who had gone twenty meters up the beach with her comlink. After a moment’s hesitation, he bounced up from the sand cover and started toward her.

  Leia’s conversation ended before he was halfway to where she stood, so he heard none of it. He only saw her switch the comlink off and turn as if to come back to him. But when she saw him approaching, she waited for him there instead. “I’m sorry,” she said, kissing him dutifully. “I didn’t think that would take so long. Do you still want to go swimming?”

  “You may as well tell me the news first.”

  “Admiral Ackbar says the Fifth has taken up station without incident. No sign of the Yevethan fleet.”

  “Good,” said Han. “Maybe that business is over now.”

  “I don’t think Nil Spaar makes empty threats. If anything, he understates them.”

  “Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. I didn’t kidnap you away from Imperial City so you could hold strategy sessions in a bathing suit.”

  “I know,” she said, taking his hand as they started to walk. “Ackbar says that Senator Tuomi raised a challenge to my credentials this morning.”

  “Oh, here we go again—”

  “Tuomi said the refugee population of Alderaan didn’t constitute a state, and we’re only entitled to nonvoting membership and representation by a legate. And, of course, a legate can’t be president of the Senate.”

  “Isn’t that old news? Wasn’t that issue settled when the Provisional Council was dissolved?”

  “There are a lot of new members since then—Drannik is one of them. Members who weren’t around when the Alderaan question was decided, who didn’t have any part in the decision. I guess some of them want to have their say now.”

  “But can they actually do anything to you?”

  “The Ministry Council could, in theory,” she said. “But the chairman was a friend of my father’s. I don’t think he’ll let this get very far.”

  Han shook his head. “I have to tell you, Leia—nothing makes my head hurt faster than trying to keep straight who’s really in charge of what around here. It seems like every time I think I’ve got the gist of it, someone comes along to rename half the offices and rearrange the rest of them.”

  Leia laughed. “I guess it does seem that way sometimes. But you know that the first concern was to make sure there was never another Palpatine—to prevent any single person from acquiring too much power. Mon Mothma told me that the Senate worries more about success than failure. They’ll tolerate ineffective leadership forever, but effective leadership frightens them.”

  “Which is nuts,” said Han. “How is anyone supposed to get anything done in a system like that?”

  “They’re not. That’s the whole point. No one’s supposed to have the power that goes along with their responsibilities. I guess there are some in the Senate who think I’ve crossed that line,” she said, clinging to his arm. “Ackbar said Behn-kihl-nahm would call me when all the shouting was over and tell me how many senators spoke in support of Tuomi’s challenge.”

  Growling, Han snatched the comlink from Leia’s other hand and broke away from her toward the water. After three long strides, he reached back and hurled the comlink out to sea with all the strength he could muster. It made a small white splash out beyond where the Thodian swimmer had been. A moment later, a sleek dark shape broke the surface near the splash, then slipped below again.

  “Han!” Leia’s tone carried both puzzlement and rebuke.

  He turned back toward her. “I had to do it. It was trying to kill you.”

  “What?”

  “Look at us. We’re on vacation, for the first time in who can remember,” Han said, slowly returning to her. “We’re walking on a beautiful beach, hand in hand, with no kids climbing all over us—and we’re talking about politics.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. It’s worse than I realized.”

  “Trust me. The New Republic won’t fall if the President’s out of touch for a day, or three. And they’re not going to get that mess all cleaned up while we’re gone—you’ll get your share of mop and bucket time.”

  “Oh, that’s comforting.”

  Han stopped and turned her toward him. “Leia, you’ve given them enough of you. Can’t you give yourself—us—these few days? If this isn’t where you want to be, or what you want to be doing with this time, tell me, and we’ll do something about it. And if I have to take you farther from the castle to break the spell the Wizard of Duty laid on you—”

  “Illafian Point is fine,” she said. “It’s beautiful here. And I doubt you could find a place that was any less like Imperial City.”

  “Then stop worrying already. Try to enjoy yourself. That’s why you’re here.”

  She started walking again and pulled him along with her. “I’ll try. But you’re going to ha
ve to be patient with me,” she said. “I’m kind of new to this ‘having fun’ business.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Being a princess of the royal family of Alderaan was a pretty serious matter, all things considered. Bail Organa’s idea of recreation was to take some subject you know nothing about and try to become an expert in it.”

  “You must have taken family vacations at drill school.”

  “Close. We’d go visit friends of my father, or have them as guests at the palace, and Bail would always be saying ‘Leia, this is my old friend Farblemumble. There isn’t anything he doesn’t know about noodlefishing, and he’s offered to teach you nineteen ways to make a trap net out of an old sweater—’”

  Han was grinning broadly. “So that’s why my clothes keep disappearing.”

  She poked him with a finger. “And then I skipped right over the part where I was supposed to be young and carefree—I was seventeen when I came here as a senator.” She sighed weightily. “Oh, my stars—”

  “What?”

  “I just realized that I’ve been on Coruscant as long as I lived on Alderaan. A little longer, even.” She shook her head. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t realized that. I don’t even like Coruscant that much, and now I’ve spent half my life there.”

  “Really—that much? Ever been to the Ice Crypts? Walked the mazes in the Trophill Garden in East Minor? Heard a performance in the Kallarak Amphitheater?”

  “No,” she said, and looked puzzled.

  “I thought not. You don’t know Coruscant, Leia. What you know is Imperial City. And mostly the inside of rooms, at that.”

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “I told you I wasn’t strong on this ‘fun’ business.—Did I ever tell you my first impression of Imperial City?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I wrote my father that it looked like a colony of squibs had moved into the Queen’s collection of braaken glass.” Leia laughed quietly and slipped an arm around Han’s waist. “Bail thought the braaken glass was hideous. He understood.”