Meido’s crimson face did not change color. He peered at the detonators, then smiled at Leia. “Nice try, President.”
The chill she had felt earlier returned. “Try?”
“Try,” he said. “We accuse General Solo and you find a different device that points to the Empire. How very convenient.”
“What do these detonators have to do with the bombing of the Senate Hall?” Wwebyls asked.
Meido shot him a withering look. “Everything, Wwebyls. The President is trying to show us that her husband had nothing to do with the X-wings, and so by implication, we are to assume he had nothing to do with the Senate Hall.”
Leia clenched her fists under the table. Meido was going to oppose her at every turn. “General Antilles has warned the squadrons to bring the X-wings in, but there are some he’s been unable to raise. I want to send a general distress signal throughout the New Republic’s planets so that we can bring home those who might be in danger.”
“What triggers these detonators?” Gno asked.
“We don’t know,” Leia said. “We’re working on that right now.”
“And they’re in every X-wing?”
“We believe so.”
“Oh, dear,” Fey’lya said. “If they’re in each X-wing, where else might they be?”
“Good question,” Meido said. “Why don’t we ask the President.”
“Leia wouldn’t know that,” C-Gosf said.
“She would if she planted them.”
“You’ve gone too far,” Bel Iblis said. “You owe the President an apology.”
Leia waved a hand to silence Bel. “Actually, I’d like to hear why Senator Meido believes I have suddenly become a traitor to the Republic.”
“Your husband, President, and his attack on the Hall. Even you have said he would do nothing without your approval.”
“What are they accusing Han of?” Wedge whispered.
“Treason,” ChoFï whispered back.
“Han Solo!?!” Wedge had stopped whispering. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Han Solo was risking his life for the Rebellion while these cowards were hiding under the wings of the Empire. You, Meido, have no right—”
“Wedge,” Leia said softly. “You’re a guest. You don’t have permission to talk.”
“I can’t believe you tolerate this stupidity,” Wedge said.
“Not everyone believes it’s stupidity,” Meido said. “Who better to betray the New Republic than someone who is one of its most-trusted members. You forget that Palpatine was a senator when he overthrew the Old Republic.”
“None of us has forgotten that,” Gno said. “This is different.”
“Is it?”
“I think you’re being too zealous,” Fey’lya said to Meido. “I know you’re trying to prove you’re worthy of your Council seat. But attacking President Organa Solo is not the way to do it. She and I have had our differences in the past”—and he smiled at Leia as he said this—“but even I would never impeach her good name.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Meido said. “I’m glad you called this meeting, President, because I was about to call one myself. You need to know that there’s a no-confidence movement in the Senate. There will be a vote shortly.”
“What’s a no-confidence movement?” Wedge asked.
“It means,” C-Gosf said, “that the government will say it no longer has confidence in Leia’s leadership. If the no-confidence vote passes, Leia will have to step down. The leaders of the vote will force it.”
“They can’t do that,” Wedge said. “You’re Mon Mothma’s chosen successor.”
“Yes, they can,” Gno said. “Chosen or not, she was ratified by a vote.”
Everything was moving too fast for Leia. It was all spinning out of control. She could handle the big, obvious threats, but the treacheries hidden everywhere, even in little bugs inside machines, were too much. Leia’s fingernails were digging into her palm, she would maintain a semblance of calm, even if she weren’t really calm. She would regain control. The first place to do so was inside this room.
She turned to Meido. “What’s the no-confidence vote based on?”
“On the preliminary bombing results,” he said.
“Really?” Her voice was cold. She made herself as haughty and regal as she could, even though she wanted to tear him from limb to limb. “And how did the full Senate get those results, considering that they were part of a private meeting of the Inner Council?”
The room suddenly became very silent.
“I—ah—I don’t know, President,” Meido said. Now the crimson was fading from his face. She finally decided that she liked that trait. It broadcast his emotions.
“You don’t know?” she asked. “And yet the full Senate will be voting based on facts from a closed session of the Inner Council? A vote I didn’t know about. How did you find out?”
“President,” R’yet said softly, “Meido, Wwebyls, and I are new to the Inner Council. We don’t know all the rules.”
“That argument held last meeting, R’yet,” Leia said. “I won’t accept it this time. You know the rules. You have just decided to play differently. Well, it won’t work. This is not the Empire. We do things aboveboard here.”
“Except,” Meido mumbled, “sabotage.”
“President Organa Solo has done nothing wrong,” Gno said.
“Neither has Han,” Leia said.
“Our evidence says otherwise.”
“Your evidence could have been planted. Given your callous disregard for the rules of the Senate, you might have shown the same disregard for the rules of law here on Coruscant.”
“You have no right to make that charge, Princess,” Meido said.
“Just as you had no right to reveal private documents from this meeting, Senator.” Leia ignored his use of her former title, even though he was doing so to remind others of the arrogance often displayed by aristocracy, although never by anyone from Alderaan.
“This arguing will get us nowhere,” Fey’lya said. “We have several issues on the table: the sabotage of the X-wings; the bombing; the no-confidence vote; and the indiscreet mouths of some Council members.” He turned his face toward the new members. “I move that if we have any new leaks, the new members be expelled.”
“I second,” Gno said.
“All right,” Leia said. “All in favor say yes.”
Every member of the Council, except for the three newcomers, chorused “Yes.”
“Opposed?” she asked sweetly.
Meido spoke his no softly, as did R’yet Coome and Wwebyls.
“The motion passes. Any more leaked information will result in your expulsion from this body. Is that understood?”
“Oh, it’s understood,” Meido said. “You blame everything on us, Princess, because we lived under your former enemies. Now all someone has to do is leak more information and we no longer belong to this body. How convenient for you. Just as those detonators with an Imperial stamp are convenient. How many other convenient ways are you going to find to undermine the changes in the Senate?”
“You’re being unfair,” C-Gosf said.
“Am I?” Meido’s white lines glared off his face. “I guess it really doesn’t matter, because by the next time this august body meets, the good princess will no longer be a member. She will be recalled, her leadership in ruins. It’s a small price to pay, Princess, for killing your colleagues.”
“I didn’t,” she said. She was shaking. She kept her hands under the table. “I can’t believe you’re accusing me of that.”
“And I can’t believe you think we’re simplistic enough to think that you can let go of your enmity toward your former enemies. How many Imperial soldiers did you kill on Endor, Princess? How many minor bureaucrats died when the Death Star blew?”
“Those weren’t innocent people,” Bel Iblis said.
“Really?” Meido said. “Many of them were just doing their jobs.”
“If their jobs
were to run a machine of death, then they deserved to die,” C-Gosf said.
“I certainly hope you don’t believe that,” Fey’lya said. “Because if you do, then logically, any fighter pilot should die as well. The X-wings are star fighters. They were built for that, just as the Death Star was built to destroy planets. That both an X-wing and a Death Star can be used for transport is merely incidental.”
Leia could barely breathe. She shook her head. The discord in the room felt personal, as if she had caused it. “Senator Meido has a point. Things are never as simple as they seem. Not even in accusing another member of this Council of sabotage. Have your no-confidence vote. You can put a political spin on anything. But I will stand by my record. Since the Battle of Endor I have served this Republic, and since I was eighteen, I served the Rebellion against the Emperor. And I have served it well. You can play all the political games you want, Meido. You can manipulate things behind the scenes. You can destroy the unity that has marked this body from the beginning. And while that might give you personal power, it will only hurt the New Republic. I hope you understand that. I hope you factor that into what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Meido said. “I don’t plan to harm the New Republic. I plan to help it.”
“Your methods leave a lot to be desired,” Leia said.
“And so do yours, Princess. So do yours.”
Night had fallen on Coruscant. The streetlights were on, but they cast a pale glow over the rubble that still marred the outside of the Senate Hall. Threepio stopped outside the restricted area, but Artoo kept going, his headlamp making a circle of light through the gloom.
“I will not go any farther,” Threepio said. “That blaster shot damaged your circuits. I’m going to report you to Mistress Leia.”
Artoo blasted a raspberry at him.
“Artoo, really, this is nonsense. Master Cole is quite an efficient technician, but he is not a droid repairman. He wouldn’t know if your memory chips were damaged. You need to have someone professional go over your circuits. You’re not acting like yourself.” Threepio waited outside the lines marking off the restricted area. Artoo cast his headlamp on some of the rubble, then continued forward.
“Artoo!”
Artoo bleeped at him.
Threepio gasped. “You malfunctioning little twerp! You have no right to call me names, not when I have your own best interest at heart.”
Artoo beeped three times.
“You do not have the Republic’s interest at heart. You don’t have a heart!”
Artoo disappeared into the ruined building.
“You can’t go in there!” Threepio said. “It’s not safe! The roof will cave in on you!”
Artoo whistled. The sound echoed from inside.
“Found something?” Threepio said. “How could Artoo find something when the investigators didn’t?” He stepped over the line and into the rubble. “I’m coming, Artoo!”
Artoo did not respond. Threepio tilted his body and rested a golden hand against the rubble to brace himself. “Artoo, wait for me!”
Artoo whistled again, then beeped.
“I’m going as fast as I can!” Threepio said, and then added softly, “Slave driver.”
A huge pile of rubble blocked the door. The rubble was made up of parts of the ceiling, permacrete, and masonry that had broken off during the explosion. Much of it was covered with blood.
A faint light shone through the dirt-strewn corridor. Pieces of droids—mostly protocol droids—littered the floor. Hands stuck through the broken masonry. Charred heads stared darkly at the gloom.
Artoo chirruped a caution.
“I am being careful of the wires,” Threepio said, “although I can’t believe they’d still be live. It would help if you came in here and cast a light on my path.”
Artoo beeped.
“No, I am not being unreasonable.”
Artoo beeped again.
“And no, I am not following you. I am keeping an eye on you. Someone has to. You sustained serious damage, and I’m still not certain if you’re in your right circuitry.”
Artoo raspberried him again.
“I don’t care what you call me. Most droids would need three days of maintenance just to get the carbon scoring off their plates. You go bustling off after a few moments, muttering something about having the solution to the bombing. I don’t understand how getting hit with a blaster would give you any kind of solution at all.”
Threepio rounded the corner. Artoo was standing near the rubble closest to the door of the Senate Hall. Most of the dirt had been cleared away, leaving electronic parts, broken metal, and ruined communications devices. Bits of furniture were mixed in: the desks designed for multilimbed senators; the perches made for birdlike representatives; the translators for those who didn’t speak Basic.
Artoo had his jack in the middle of the pile. His scanner was out, and it was flashing as it moved. His headlamp was trained on the pile in front of him.
“Surely the investigators filtered through that junk,” Threepio said. “As usual, you’re making too much of all of this. Sometimes, Artoo, I wonder why Master Luke tolerates you. You’ve become much too eccentric.”
Artoo beeped.
“No, of course I don’t want him to replace you with a new droid. Those new droids are stuck-up.” Threepio stopped beside the pile Artoo was working on.
Artoo moaned softly.
“You were right?” Threepio asked. “About what?”
Artoo pulled his jack out from the rubble. In it, he held a small detonator of the same type found in the X-wing.
“It has an Imperial signature,” Threepio said. “Oh, dear. Mistress Leia isn’t going to like this.”
Artoo beeped.
“No, I don’t like it much either. Will those Imperial monsters never leave us alone?”
Artoo didn’t answer. He set the detonator on a small patch of bare floor, then began to rummage through the pile again.
“I thought you found what you were looking for. We should leave, tell someone about this.” Threepio started toward the door. When he stepped into the darkness, he turned. Artoo was still digging through the pile. “Artoo, you’ve done all you can. We need to tell Mistress Leia.”
Artoo beeped long and loud.
“What do you mean I don’t understand? I understand perfectly.”
Artoo chirruped.
Threepio came back into the room. A bit of rubble fell off the ceiling and he ducked. “It’s not safe here. You have enough.”
Artoo beeped.
“There has to be more what? The detonator is all you—oh.” Threepio leaned against a pile and then sprang away when it moved. “I see. The detonator in the X-wings worked in concert with the computer. You need to know what this detonator worked with. Move aside, then. We’ll both look.
“And,” he added softly, “I hope we don’t get blown up in the process.”
Twenty-seven
Luke wrapped his arms around his head as he soared through the air. Bits of flaming shrapnel fell all around him. He had barely opened the X-wing’s hatch when the ship exploded. If he had been inside, he probably would have broken his neck against the shatterproof glass.
It felt as if he fell forever. His skin burned where the shrapnel hit him. He couldn’t control the fall. There was nowhere soft to land. He braced himself, using all of his Force strength, but something was interfering. He felt as if he were wrapped in cotton.
And then he landed. Legs first, the bones in his left ankle snapping. He tucked and rolled, the carved pavement biting his back, his shoulders. He kept rolling until he slammed into a building, and he lay there for a moment, unable to breathe from the shock of it all.
The main section of the X-wing had landed near him. More parts rained around him, sparks flying. Curtains in the building beside him burned. Smoke rose up the mudbrick walls, scorching them. More burning pieces of the X-wing were scattered all along the sandstone street.
The back of his flight suit was burning.
He rolled over onto his back, trying to smother the flames while undoing the fasteners. His hands shook. He couldn’t move fast enough. The heat on his back was stunningly painful. His fingers kept working, working, working, and finally he had the suit loose. He pulled it down to his waist, then twisted and slapped the burning material with his artificial right hand.
The flames went out.
He closed his eyes.
That was close.
The crackling of the nearby fires kept him focused. A bang resounded from far away, as part of the X-wing collapsed.
No one had come to gawk at the explosion. No one had come to put out the fire.
No one had come to help him.
His readings had been right, then. Pydyr was nearly empty.
He opened his eyes, and assessed the damage. His left ankle was broken and swollen to twice its size. Ever since his experience on the Eye of Palpatine, his left leg had been weak, vulnerable to too much pressure. His knee ached also, but that felt like a sympathetic injury.
He had a lot of bruises. Too many to count, too many even to allow himself to feel. He didn’t want to think about the possibilities of internal injuries. His left hand was slightly burned—he must have touched the flames with his real hand—and his back felt raw. He was thirsty, a bad sign.
But while Pydyr’s population was gone, its buildings weren’t. He would probably be able to find water.
Maybe he would find some burn cream, too, something to ease the pain in his back and his hand.
Still no one had arrived. The flames burned on in the odd light, the sparks swarming like tiny bugs. He had to get away from here. The flames were spreading, had already spread to the building he had landed against.
The emptiness bothered him. He patted his side for his lightsaber, and found it, slightly scorched, but fine.
The artificial skin had burned off his right hand, revealing the mechanical workings. He balled his hand into a fist and braced himself on his knuckles as he rose. The strength in his arm would help him for the moment. He would need a crutch of some kind, but for now, he could limp.
Star Wars: The New Rebellion Page 25