Shield of Lies

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “Leia—you don’t have to have answers for them yet,” Behn-kihl-nahm said. “Just let them see you. Just let them see you taking command. A government is an organism—and this one has taken two shocks substantial enough to disrupt its systems.”

  “I’m sorry, but all that can’t depend on me. There’s a reason for having a cabinet, and the reason is so I don’t have to concern myself with all those ‘systems.’ So let the ministers deal with their responsibilities, and I’ll deal with the things that only the chief of state can.”

  “But you need to tell them that, and show them that you’re present, aware, and active,” said Behn-kihl-nahm. “You need to refocus their attention, or you’ll have nine little kingdoms before you know it, all looking to their councils over in the Senate instead of to you. To a degree, that’s already happened.”

  “There’s a great deal of governing which has nothing to do with Koornacht, the Defense Council, black fleets, and matters of state,” Engh said. “Perhaps the ministers and their staffs should not need reassuring, but they do.”

  “And I don’t need to be hung by my heels and questioned for four hours.”

  “That won’t happen,” Engh said. “It will be your meeting, not theirs. Thank them for the work they’ve been doing. Call for their reports. Acknowledge the difficult times ahead. Ask them to remain diligent in discharging their responsibilities. Promise to tell them more when you can. Let them know that they are making it possible for you to do your job.”

  “They should know all that without being told,” Leia protested. “Why does it require a pep talk from me? My stars, during the Rebellion, our pilots got in their fighters knowing they were outnumbered five to one and worse with less hand-holding than this.”

  “That was a different place and a different time,” Behn-kihl-nahm said simply. “Leia—you have never served anywhere in government except at the top. Please trust those of us who are better acquainted with the view from the bottom to advise you in this.”

  Sighing, Leia looked to the first administrator. “When do you suggest we do this, then? This afternoon?”

  “Oh, no—that would put the stamp of an emergency on it, which is the last thing you want. No, all you need do this afternoon is give the usual three-day notice. That will start sending the message you want heard. For the rest, three days from now is soon enough.”

  “All right. Three days, then,” Leia said grudgingly. “Will one of you tell Alole on your way out?”

  The first full cabinet meeting of the new era went surprisingly smoothly. Minister of State Mokka Falanthas showed signs—noticeable but not overt—of still being disgruntled over Leia’s violation of his turf, but he kept those feelings out of his words when he reported on the work of the diplomatic corps. But the rest of them, Leia was forced to admit, did seem to relish the return to normalcy.

  Even better, Leia was able to hold the meeting down to two hours, giving her a chance to get some real work done before meeting Han for lunch. But she didn’t quite manage to escape cleanly—Nanaod Engh followed her out of the council hall and down the corridor toward the turbolifts.

  “Do you have some time now, Princess?” Engh asked. “There’s something I’d like to bring up that wasn’t appropriate for that venue.”

  “I was planning on taking a slow second look at some new material that came in from General A’baht overnight,” Leia said. “I’m going before the Defense Council on the first, you know.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, you have from here to my office door to convince me that whatever this is is more important than that.”

  “I think perhaps this is part of that, Princess,” said Engh. “Has Alole been showing you any of the traffic from the ministry channels?”

  “I don’t understand. She screens it all and shows me the dispatches and inquiries I need to handle. You know that.”

  “I’m sorry—I meant the public lines. The tallies from the message-handling droids that handle the unaddressed comments, the abstracts from the general call logs—that sort of thing? Or perhaps you’ve taken a peek in there yourself.”

  “No,” Leia said, calling for the lift. “Why would I?”

  “Well—to get an idea how this all is being taken on the outside, off Coruscant, away from the government. To see how people are reacting to the news.”

  “Go on,” Leia said as the lift arrived.

  “This matter of the new members, for example—perfectly within your powers under the Charter,” Engh said, following her into the car. “Everyone here knows the new members had to agree to observe the Charter like any other member, and that what was done was done not only for a legitimate reason, but a noble one.”

  “I’d like to think that none of that needs explaining,” said Leia as the doors knifed closed. “Except perhaps to Minister Falanthas.”

  “That’s a matter of professional turf and personal style, which I’m sure you two will work out in time,” Engh said. “But out in the capitals, there’s a great deal of concern about recent events—talk of your having exceeded your authority, of special privileges being granted, and of your acting on a whim, even rashly.”

  “Are you talking about the home governments?”

  “The home governments themselves in some cases, the technocrats in others. And not only the technocrats—this reaches nearly every quarter. Much of what’s coming in from individual citizens on the public lines is critical—often crudely and ignorantly, but there it is.”

  “And you think I should be reading this?” Leia said wryly. “Look, Nanaod—I don’t understand why you’re calling my attention to this. I’m unhappy with the situation, so why would I be surprised if others are? What’s there to do about it?”

  “Well, we’ve been talking about this downstairs for several days now,” Engh said. “The emerging consensus is that all of that mess is the result of our not having prepared the New Republic for what was coming, and not moving fast enough to educate them after the fact. I’d like to put a couple of staff members on the problem full-time, preferably in consultation with someone in your office—I was thinking that Tarrick would be the best suited.”

  The turbolift eased to a stop, and the doors flashed open on fifteen. “What do you propose to have them doing?”

  “Why, to plan a program to buff up your public image a bit. I like to think that it’s mostly a matter of getting the word out—informing rather than influencing. We might want to think about making you a bit more available to the grids, not only the big ones based here, but the regional and local nets—”

  “Now you want me to give interviews? What next? Preside over spaceport openings? Endorse a line of little Leia dolls? Let myself be recorded dancing for Han in a Huttese slave-girl costume?”

  “Now, Leia, no one is suggesting—”

  “You’d get there, eventually. And that’s not what I’m here to do,” Leia said firmly. “What’s more, I’d be deeply discouraged to discover that you can take someone who’s shown terrible judgment and get people to support her just because she has a nice smile. I earned whatever criticism’s aimed at me right now, and I’m going to try to earn back the respect I’ve lost—not replace it with something false.”

  “That’s not what we’re talking about, Leia,” Engh said. “We’re talking about taking your case not just to the Senate, but to the people the senators represent. We’re talking about combating misinformation and misimpressions before they take hold firmly enough to be mistaken for the truth. Leia, this can only strengthen your hand.”

  They were closing in on the presidential suite. “Am I supposed to do the right thing, Nanaod, or the popular thing? Where’s the line between wanting to be understood and wanting to be liked?” She stopped and faced him, blocking him from coming further. “How does it help me provide the leadership everyone expects from me if there’s a little man standing behind me whispering that the people aren’t ready yet to go where I know we have to? Don’t make it any harder than
it is, Nanaod. Because I have to tell you, it’s hard enough already.”

  “All I want is to give you all the tools you need to be successful,” Engh said. “Your public image is one of them.”

  “Except it needs rehabilitation.”

  “In some circles—where you haven’t been well served by gossip, rumor, and the news. This isn’t about fogging the air with lies, Leia—it’s about clearing away the fog that others create.”

  “Mon Mothma never had to resort to image strategists, and she led us through harder times than these,” Leia said. “No. I’m not interested.”

  “Will you think about it? Perhaps if you sampled what’s coming in, you’d understand why we’re concerned—”

  “I understand,” Leia said. “I just don’t want that kind of help. And I have work to do now.”

  Engh did not press the point further, but Leia had trouble leaving the conversation behind when she entered her office. Hours later, still burning over it, she repeated much of the exchange to Han when he joined her with the children for lunch at the indoor waterfall cascade.

  She expected his sympathy, but Han’s face acquired an uncomfortable expression as she talked.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing—go on, I’m listening.”

  “No, I know that look,” Leia insisted. “It’s your ‘I’m not going to say this because it’ll just make things worse’ trying-to-bite-your-tongue look. Except you always have to let me see how hard you’re working to be nice. I don’t know how you ever won a single hand of sabacc with that face.”

  “Just like I know that speech,” Han said, his mouth twisting into a wry, crooked grin. “That’s your ‘I’m going to poke at him until he’s just mad enough to blurt out what he’s thinking’ speech. And it doesn’t work anymore.”

  “So why don’t you just tell me, before we’re both worn out from wrestling?”

  “It really doesn’t mean anything—”

  “Why don’t you skip the cushioning-the-blow part this time, too?”

  “Women,” Han sniffed in mock indignation. “They always want you to tell them what you’re thinking, but whatever you say is wrong.”

  “As long as you understand the ground rules.”

  “Oh, yeah. What’s scary is watching Jaina figure them out, too.” Han sighed. “A couple of days ago I heard from an old smuggling buddy who’s settled down to the straight life out on Fokask. Haven’t had any contact with him in years.”

  “So why now?”

  “He sent me a copy of a commentary and half a dozen letters from The Fokask Banner, which I guess is what passes for a newsgrid out there. The title on the commentary was something like ‘Does Princess Crave Lost Crown?’”

  “Mmm. What did it have to say?”

  “Aw, I didn’t read it that closely—why would I want to?” Her eyes prodded him gently. “Something about how they’d always thought of you as a steward of the best Old Republic values, but now you were starting to look like a fan of an even older idea, the divine right of monarchs—whatever that means. I probably got it at least partly wrong. You can read it yourself, if you really want.”

  “And what did your friend have to say?”

  Han pursed his lips and avoided her eyes, clearly looking for a way to not answer.

  “Just tell me.”

  “Well—he didn’t have much to say, actually. After the last of the letters from the Banner, he just added a short note. ‘Is there something in the water there on Coruscant? She seemed like such a nice girl.’” Han shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything, except that now I have to kill him.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He nodded, deadpan. “Do. Insulted my girl. Have to kill all of them.”

  “Stop that, before the children hear you,” she said, punching his shoulder and then resting her head against it.

  Han wrapped an arm around her. “I might let him off if he takes it back.” After a long pause, he added, “But he has to mean it.” There was another pause, during which his tone turned serious. “And, what you said—before the children hear him.”

  Leia said nothing then. But as she cuddled with Han and watched Jaina, Jacen, and Anakin playing by the waterfalls, four words burned in her ears: before the childrenhear. When she returned to the fifteenth floor, she quietly asked Alole to find her a sample of the messages received in recent days on the ministry lines. Not long after Alole provided them, Leia called Nanaod Engh.

  “I’ve thought some more about what you said,” she said. “Please see what can be done.”

  “We’ll get after it right away,” Engh promised.

  Young and old, fresh and seasoned, the Grannan and the Mon Calamari left their Fleet speeder and walked in unconscious lockstep across the parking apron toward the red-and-white snub fighter sitting high on its skids a dozen meters away.

  “Here’s what I wanted to show you,” Admiral Ackbar said. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”

  “Yes,” Plat Mallar said, ducking under the locked foils and studying the wingtip spars. “In my grandfather’s enemy vessel silhouette drill set. It’s some variation on an Incom T-sixty-five X-wing, isn’t it?”

  “Correct. But notice the wider profile through the fuselage, and the side-by-side cockpit.”

  “Dummy laser cannon on the wingtips, too,” Mallar said. “Trainer?”

  Ackbar nodded. “This is a TX-sixty-five primary trainer. The X-wing may no longer be the Fleet’s front-line fighter, but every pilot in the Fleet took his first hundred hours in one of these, and every new pilot probably will for some years to come.”

  Mallar crouched and peered under the fuselage. “A lot different from a TIE interceptor.”

  “Indeed. Including one difference you should be able to particularly appreciate—hyperdrive.”

  A wry smile creased the boy’s face, then vanished. “One of these crashed the day I came out of the tank, didn’t it? I heard the medics talking.”

  Ackbar turned and pointed across the field. “Right over there, on taxiway twenty-two. Not the first, or the last,” he said with a little shake of the head. “Sometimes, despite everything we do, they come out of the simulators with the idea that if they make a mistake their mentor pilot will just reset the exercise.” He shrugged. “And sometimes ships just break.”

  “My engineering instructor liked to say that stopping isn’t hard, stopping gently is—and anytime you leave the ground, you’d better check twice to make sure all the nuts are tightened, because gravity flunks all the incompletes.”

  “It sounds like your instructor knew his business.”

  “Yes,” Mallar said. “Bowman York did know his business. I miss him.”

  A fat-bodied military transport rose from the field beyond and roared overhead on its way to space. Wearing a wistful expression, Plat Mallar turned his head to watch it until it vanished from sight.

  “So effortless—so much power, under such precise control.” He looked back to Ackbar. “That’s all I cared about before the Yevetha came, you know. Not the bombs and the laser cannon. Just flying. Just the ships, so graceful, dropping out of the clouds, disappearing into the sky. They came and went every day when I was very young. Mom said I’d sit at my window for hours and watch for them, and call out to the whole house when I saw one.”

  Ackbar inclined his head toward the trainer. “Would you like to go up?”

  “I’ve been trying to convince myself that it would only make me feel worse, just in case you asked,” Mallar said.

  “How did you do?”

  “Failed miserably. Yes, I’d really like to. Can we, sometime?”

  As his answer, Ackbar climbed up the boarding ladder, reached inside the open cockpit, and tossed a flight helmet down to a surprised Plat Mallar.

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t I need something more than this?”

  “You need a mentor pilot,” said Ackbar, reaching into the
cockpit again and retrieving another flight helmet. “That’s me.”

  “I meant—wait, we’re just going for a ride, aren’t we?”

  Ackbar clambered down the ladder with his helmet under his arm. “You meant like a flight suit?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “In the cargo area of the speeder,” Ackbar said, nodding toward it. “Why don’t you get them?”

  Mallar hurried off to the speeder, returning quickly with an armful of folded brown fabric. “Which one’s mine?”

  “On top,” Ackbar said. “The one with your name on it.”

  For a moment Mallar stared blankly, uncomprehending. Then Ackbar’s bundled flight suit fell to the ground as Mallar shook his out and pawed over it with shaking hands, searching for the namestrip above the right pocket. When he found it, he looked up at Ackbar wonderingly.

  “On your own merit,” Ackbar said firmly. “On the merit you showed the day the Yevetha came to Polneye—the kind that counts more than any test score or transcript. And I mean to teach you the way I was taught, with an eye to what you already know, and a light hand on the stick. In the worst days of the Rebellion, we were putting pilots in combat on ten hours of simulator time, because we were at war. Well, Polneye is at war with N’zoth. And if it’s still important to you, and there’s any way it can be done, I will have you ready to go back to Koornacht before that war is over.”

  “Yes,” Mallar said with a quiet fierceness. “Yes, I want it.”

  Ackbar nodded. “There is a corridor in pilot country—you will see it later—lined with small metal plaques, one for each pilot who’s died flying out of this base. The walls and the ceiling of that corridor are nearly covered in metal. And if we were to hang a plaque for every pilot who came through here as a trainee and died somewhere out there, under enemy guns or in a ship that just broke, we’d have to cover the entire face of the tower.”

  “I understand,” Mallar said.

  “You only think you do—like everyone your age,” Ackbar said, shaking his head. “Just listen to me for a moment. When old people start wars, young people die. And every hero every war has ever made went out that morning with comrades who were every bit as brave, but not quite as lucky. You’ve used up a lot of luck already getting here, Plat Mallar. And no one, no one anywhere, would ever say a word to you if you were to choose not to put on that flight suit, and chose instead to make a life here. You stole that life back from those marauders. You need not offer it up again.”