Luke’s vision cleared and he found himself conscious once more.
Directly opposite him, wrapped up as he was, sat Vestara. She regarded him, her expression grave. “You’ve learned something.”
“Nothing good. Abeloth has absorbed Master Nenn.”
“Which would be very bad.”
“Through Nenn’s guise, she can probably seize control of the Listeners. Who can spread word that we three are enemies of the Oldtimers. The Oldtimers still outnumber the Newcomers and the Latecomers by orders of magnitude. And I’m not sure the tsils can persuade the Listeners to reject Nenn’s words. Their voices are very soft and difficult to interpret; Nenn’s will be forceful and clear. I hope you have better news.”
“Some. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Luke bent over the crude diagram Ben had sketched out on a piece of salvaged flimsi. It rested on the starboard wing strut, motionless in the windless air.
Ben pointed out each feature in turn. “What we do is disassemble the solar wing arrays, the port side in three coherent sections, the starboard side for parts. We assemble them into a sail, the post mounted between the two main pods, cables attached to the trailing edges of the solar panels.”
Luke nodded. “So what we have is a wind rudder.”
“Co-rect. We’ll pull the cables from our respective pod interiors—we’ll rig pulleys, if we can figure out how, for efficiency. The repulsors work just fine. The port ion engine won’t come up again, but the wiring on the starboard fared a little better. We can get maybe twenty percent output through it—but no variability. It’s either all the way on or completely off.”
Luke sighed. “We built junk racers more sophisticated than this out of spare parts when I was ten.”
“Back in the old days. Back during the Empire. Back when starships were made of wood. Back when there were no holodramas, just puppet shows. Back when a hypercomm system was a long string stretched between two planets with a durasteel caf cup at either end …”
Luke snorted. “You’re not helping. All right.” He looked up in the direction of the rock ivory plant, hidden beyond an intervening hill ridge. “First things first. I’m going to go back to scuff out our footprints, if there are any, and pump out some water for our trip. We’re not going to sleep in the plant. It’s the one place they know to look for us, and as soon as Abeloth and Ship recover from being so close to the tsil when it perished, they’ll be out looking for us … starting here.”
Ben shrugged. “Then they’ll find us. If they can see the plant, they can see the shuttle. Blasted yellow paint job. We can’t fly her out of here even at ground level.”
“We have no thrust, but that doesn’t mean we can’t move her. We’re going to fire up the repulsors and push this baby as far away as we can reasonably move her.” Luke pointed down the ravine they’d ascended to reach the vicinity of the plant. “I’ll take one wing, you take the other, Vestara will shout directions, and we’ll let gravity do as much of the work as possible. We should be able to get a kilometer or two farther away, and maybe find something to shelter us from overhead scans. Then, there, we effect repairs.”
“Oh.” Ben slapped the side of his own head, a gesture of self-rebuke. “Duh. All right, you still get to do some of the thinking for us.”
Minutes later, returning with canteens filled with water, Luke paused on the ridge overlooking the shuttle on one side and the small tsil chimney on the other.
Something was different. He studied the vicinity of the tsils for a moment and knew what it was.
The spook-crystal that had lain a meter from the crystal chimney’s base was gone.
He looked around. There were no footprints or other tracks, excepting his own and the two teenagers’, to be seen. But an Oldtimer scout familiar with this area could have crept up this close to Ben and Vestara without being detected, especially when they could not productively open themselves to the Force without risking a Force storm. Still, why would an intruder take a spook-crystal?
Troubled, he joined Ben and Vestara. “Ready to move out?”
“Sure, Dad.”
“Vestara, fire up the repulsors.”
JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
IN THE MASTERS’ CHAMBER, SABA, CORRAN, CILGHAL, HAN AND LEIA, Jaina, and Seha watched the image on the holoprojector. In it, Kyp Durron and Octa Ramis, dressed anonymously as Senatorial aides, stood to either side of their own projector.
Octa brought the projector online. An image swam into view, a high holocam perspective on the main Senate chamber. The chamber, shaped roughly like the interior of a giant egg, its walls lined with detachable speakers’ platforms on repulsorlifts, was about half full and bustling with activity. The image, because it was a hologram projected within another hologram, was unusually fuzzy.
Octa waved a hand over it. “This is the Senate chamber this morning in an off-hour, as broadcast by HoloNet News. When conferences are in session, it’s packed. This is an unusual amount of political activity, of attendance. There’s a lot of discussion, formal and informal, on the situation with freedom fighters and slave rebellions, a lot of committee discussion of how these events affect committee duties, and a considerable amount of lobbying by corporations with interests both inside and outside the Alliance, attempting to maintain the status quo—to keep the Galactic Alliance from interfering on behalf of enslaved cultures outside the Alliance. The upshot is that any day we choose in the next few weeks, at least during prime arguing and posturing hours, we’re likely to have a majority of Senators present.”
Kyp tapped his control board. The image flickered and then gave way to a succession of recordings showing GA Navy personnel moving along the high-ceilinged hallways of the Senate Building. “We also have a lot of opportunities involving changes to security measures. Fleet Intelligence is now in charge of the Chief of State’s personal security, and Daala has ordered GA Security to cooperate with Fleet Intelligence on all issues of Senate security, as well. What this means is that a lot of naval personnel who are not well known to existing security forces now have free run of the building. They have access to the security centers. Resentment is running high among the security forces, and we’ve had a lot of luck—a lot—just from Jedi mind-influencing techniques.” He waved a hand, a casual gesture all those watching knew to be a minor distraction, the sort Jedi often used to presage a mind trick. “ ‘You remember me from years ago when I was with security. You remember that I hate those navy pukes almost as much as you do.’ This invariably gets me a few drinks in an office, accompanied by an hour’s worth of venting about Fleet Intelligence interference … which comes with a lot of useful information about new procedures, new regulations, and so on.
“Also …” He tapped a control and the image switched to a still of a group of navy officers standing beside a wall panel, open to reveal a bank of electronics. “The navy is apparently being allowed to install monitoring hardware on many existing security stations and installations all over the building. We’ve been able to get to some of these units before they were activated, piggybacking our own hardware onto them. We now have holocam ‘eyes’ where we used to have none, and a couple of very valuable data conduits that are new to us. We can now forge self-erasing orders for personnel rotation that will allow us to bring two or three Jedi into the building with minimal security checks every shift. Not dressed as Jedi, of course. Dressed as naval personnel and sent straight to our auxiliary Kuat delegation office.” He switched off the image of the naval officers.
Octa gave the viewers a satisfied smile. “If we can get some new data on the main building security center, then Master Horn’s Plan Delta is, we think, viable. I expect that our opportunities to implement it will become poorer and more infrequent within the next week, though, in addition to the increasing likelihood that Kyp or I might be detected.
“So there’s our report for today. May the Force be with you—and especially with us.”
The hologram faded.
Han lo
oked among the others. “Which one is Plan Delta? I only remember discussions of ‘a plan.’ What letter are we up to now?”
Corran gave him a quizzical look. “Can you read, Han?”
“Oh, very funny.”
Corran smiled. “Plan Delta uses as many non-Jedi resources as we’re able to pirate. Basically, we get as many Jedi into the building as possible. At a critical time, when the Senate is in session and as many politicians as possible are present, we introduce into the building’s security computer a series of false events that trigger flags within the main threat-evaluation program … convincing the program that a massive planetary invasion has reached the plaza of the Senate Building.”
Han blinked. “What sort of invasion?”
“Yuuzhan Vong.”
“Yuuzhan Vong?” There was incredulity in Han’s voice. “Are you out of your mind? Nobody is going to take a Yuuzhan Vong threat seriously. They’ve been powerless for years.”
“True, but you’re missing the point.” Corran rose, moved over to the chamber’s holodisplay, and punched a series of commands into the console there. The display lit up, projecting a three-dimensional image of the Senate Building in the air. Moments later a large force of Yuuzhan Vong infantry, terrifying in their savage decorations and vonduun crab armor, began charging across the plaza toward sealed-up building doors. A pair of their starfighters, the bulky and nearly indestructible coralskippers, did a fly-by beside the building’s upper tiers. “This is an animation developed as part of a defense plan put together in the months before the Yuuzhan Vong actually did take Coruscant all those years ago. It’s still in the building programming—programmers never throw anything away until it begins to break down. So, we introduce enough false sensory data to convince the system that the Yuuzhan Vong are attacking. Several security measures that benefit us will activate before any living being can figure out what’s going on and override them.”
Corran tapped at Senate Building exits, hangar doors, and well-disguised exterior weapons emplacement ports in turn. “The building seals up. Many of the interior corridors seal, as well. The security centers issue an ‘arm-up’ code to all security personnel on-site. We will be at their armories, keeping their personnel out and letting ours in, meaning that we’ll have armor, riot-control charges, gas charges, whatever we need. We’ll also have a unit of Jedi within striking distance of the Chief of State’s office. If we can secure Daala and the main security hub, we can keep the building shut down and address the Senate with an explanation that they’re safe and that Daala has been taken as a measure to prevent further retaliations by her against slave populations and freedom movements.”
Han whistled. “Control the leader, control the information flow, and portray yourselves as the do-gooders—”
“Which we are.”
“Which we are. But what then?”
Finally Corran returned to his chair. He sighed. “Then we wait. We give the press everything they need to sell our side of the story to the public. We try to persuade the Senators that kicking Daala out will save thousands or millions of voters, which it will, and that they can present themselves as heroes to their constituencies. If we can get sufficient help from Daala’s enemies in the Senate, and that number is already large and growing, we can justify our actions and end this ongoing conflict between the government and the Order before it blows up in everyone’s face.”
Saba turned to Seha. “Much dependz on you at this point. An easing of hostility from Daala. A distraction for the presz. And an opportunity to acquire the information we need about their security center. But the risk to you is serious.”
Seha, grave-faced, nodded. “When I was a child, just getting something to eat was dangerous. I guess now it’s time to pay for all those easy, safe meals I’ve had in the Jedi dining hall.”
Wearing a jade-green jumpsuit instead of Jedi robes, accompanied by a squarish gold-tinted droid, Seha made her way across the plaza toward the main entrance of the Senate Building. Her path was impeded by members of the press who, tipped off by anonymous Jedi sources, surrounded her and hurled questions at her. The questions came with the rapidity and friendly intent of blaster bolts.
“Seha, why did you try to poison the Senators?”
Seha flashed the journalist a big, innocent smile. “Of course I didn’t do that, silly. I’m innocent of all charges.”
“Seha Dorvald! What’s it like being a mad Jedi?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Mad Jedi think they’re lost in a world of imposters. I know everyone around me is real, except maybe you.” It hurt Seha’s face to be cute all the time. Others had told her she was good at it, but it just wasn’t natural for her.
“Seha! Why a droid attorney? Why not an organic?”
She rolled her eyes. “Really, a C-class VoxPop advocate droid is too much legal firepower for this case. I’m pretty sure a mouse droid with a two-bit logic chip could get me cut loose. I brought some credcoins to buy a ride back to the Temple when I’m freed later today.”
It was all nonsense, of course. With Daala personally interested in the case, with the entire weight of the GA Department of Justice being brought to bear, Seha couldn’t have wrangled her freedom with a squad of YVH combat droids masquerading as attorneys or a million credits to spread around as bribes.
But her droid did have some unusual features. In addition to the cultured speaking voice flavored with the traditional Coruscanti accent that once dominated the officer ranks of the Imperial armed forces, it was loaded with extrasensory apparatus, especially holocams—recording from artfully concealed, tiny apertures—that would document every centimeter of their movements even if the droid were shut down or shackled with a restraining bolt. If, as the Jedi Masters predicted, Seha was going to be hauled straight into the main security center of the Senate Building, the droid would emerge with invaluable information about that center’s layout, personnel, and defenses.
With every question and answer, Seha and her droid got closer to the building’s entrance. Now a dozen security troopers emerged from the entrance, marching toward her, and she suspected she wouldn’t have to contend with the crowds for much longer.
“Why’d you choose here to turn yourself in?”
She blinked, all teenage-style innocence and good cheer, at the speaker and his holocam. “I was going to end up here anyway. I understand Natasi wants to chat with me. Maybe we’ll talk about boys, or I can give her some good political advice.” The use of Chief of State Daala’s given name was improvised, but Seha suspected Han Solo would approve for its audacity and aggravation factor.
She hoped she didn’t end up being tortured for it.
A second later she was surrounded by trooper uniforms. She and her attorney droid were hustled through the mob of journalists, many of whom gave way only grudgingly and with invectives shouted at the troopers, and then she was inside the main entrance.
She sighed, relieved. Maybe she would be tortured, but at least the reporters were gone.
A few hundred meters away, in the airy, light-drenched office of the Senator from Coruscant, Fost Bramsin nodded in approval, his attention fixed on the HoloNews broadcast. Seha’s image, her questions and answers, were now being cycled through the analysis of the news commentators. “She plays well to the holocams.”
In the visitor’s chair on the opposite side of the desk, Senator Treen paused with her cup halfway to her lips. She sniffed, a disapproving noise. “I’m not at all happy with her surrender. If she’d stayed gone, no one would have had a chance to discover that she had nothing to do with the poisoning.”
Bramsin gave her a reassuring, if weary, smile. “No one will. Jaxton and Lecersen aren’t exactly going to admit that they allowed themselves to be poisoned. Seha Dorvald’s in the hands of Parova, which means our hands. No one will figure out what she was doing here … until we have figured it out.”
“I just don’t care for the notion that some mysterious agency, perhaps the Jedi Order, is active
in ways that might interfere with us.”
“She’ll have confessed, to us alone, within a couple of days. Two minutes after that she’ll be made to vanish from the scene, either until she’s no longer a factor or forever. We have nothing to fear.”
“Humph. Are you being gallant or stupid?”
“Gallant. I’m as worried as you are.”
Finally she smiled. “At last, honesty in politics.”
“A slip of concentration. It won’t happen again.”
CONFERENCE ROOM NEAR THE NINTH HALL OF JUSTICE, CORUSCANT
The elderly Bothan smiled. Tahiri knew it was supposed to be a reassuring smile: she had enough experience with Bothan body language to discern these things. But his words were not reassuring. “I’m sorry to say that they’re not budging about a change of … accommodations … for you.”
Tahiri shook her head. “I don’t want to sound like a whiner. I don’t object to danger—danger with a purpose. But I’m being kept shackled and surrounded by people who’d like to see me turned into fertilizer. And it’s not for anything but the satisfaction of a warden who thinks he’s the ruler of a petty kingdom.”
Eramuth Bwua’tu sighed. “I know, my dear, I know. The problem is, the only evidence that can support your claims of excessive danger is being filtered by that selfsame warden. Naturally, he minimizes the danger. And the prosecuting attorney, who does play by the rules, has to base his arguments and objections on the evidence he has in hand—that same filtered evidence.”
“So what do we do?”
“Short of one of your attackers voluntarily coming forth to testify that he had advance knowledge that you would be delivered to the wrong place at the wrong time so that you might be killed—”
“So not going to happen.”
“—then we continue walking through the mud of the application process to get you transferred to another prison. We also exert under-the-table pressure on all parties concerned, especially the warden.”
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Conviction Page 16