Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension

by Christie Golden

  With the compartmentalizing ability that was one of his strengths, Dorvan mentally folded up his worries and tucked them neatly into a corner of his brain for later attention.

  Consensus was reached fairly quickly on Xilxash. It was a small, backrocket world, notable largely for its agricultural contributions, particularly a succulent fruit called brul, which was all the rage in the best Coruscanti restaurants. The new government had toppled the old fairly easily; it seemed that most of the current “masters” of Xilxash felt that they would benefit more from having slaves as contributing citizens who could be taxed rather than as property that cost money. They offered nothing odious in their proposal and much that was positive.

  “The fact that I’m very fond of brul has nothing whatsoever to do with my approval of their application,” said Dorvan, with one of his rare expressions of humor. Everyone grinned, and the motion to accept the application passed unanimously.

  Dorvan picked up the next data card and grimaced inwardly. This would probably need a second cup of caf all on its own.

  “Klatooine,” he said, and everyone fidgeted. “We’ve all heard the holonews on this one. Their recent liberation was highly controversial. Jedi Solo, you and Captain Solo were on Klatooine very recently. Can you share your insights into the current atmosphere there?”

  Leia nodded. Elegant streaks of silver ran through her rich brown hair, making her look wise and dignified without detracting an iota from her beauty.

  “As I am sure all of you know, this was a world that had willingly enslaved its population to the Hutts for twenty-five millennia. The treaty, known as the Treaty of Vontor, stipulated that the Klatooinians would serve the Hutts if the Hutts would protect their most sacred site, the Fountain of the Hutt Ancients.” Leia looked around, making eye contact with those assembled. “It seems the Sith accidentally did something of a good deed. They violated the fountain to get a sample of the glassine structure called wintrium, and because the Hutts did not act in time to prevent the blasphemy, despite an official ruling that the Hutts did all they could do, emotions won out and the Klatooinians rebelled. They have taken to calling that attack and the riots that overturned the treaty the Violation and Liberation. Unused as they were to governing themselves, Captain Solo, and Queen Mother Tenel Ka of Hapes, and I were asked in to assist them.”

  “According to your report,” Dorvan said, consulting it as he spoke, “the Klatooinians seemed to have a difficult time of it.”

  It was, as was often typical of Dorvan, an understatement. In addition to the Klatooinians unexpectedly being forced to deal with their sudden freedom, peace talks recently held on their world had been violently disrupted by an assassination attempt on the Hapan queen, Tenel Ka.

  “They did, and they are far from having a peaceful, well-run government. But they are on their way, and I believe that they can contribute a great deal once they can get past their rocky start.”

  “I assume, then, that whoever they are choosing to represent them is among the more …” Tycho Celchu almost physically searched for the appropriate word. “… civilized of the Klatooinians? Perhaps one of their Elder Governors?”

  “Unfortunately,” Leia said, “the members of the Klatooinian Elder Governors were deemed to be too out of touch to truly represent the new spirit of Klatooine.”

  “I trust they have come to no harm?” Treen asked.

  “No, they have not. The Klatooinians respect their elders far too much. The chancellor and the governors have been removed from all positions of power, but they have not been harmed or even imprisoned, despite what some of the more impulsive of the populace refer to as ‘collaboration’ with the Hutts.”

  Glances were exchanged. As expected, the military representatives—Jaxton, Thaal, and Parova—seemed wary and skeptical, but many other heads were nodding. Dorvan was relieved to hear what Leia had to say. A realist, but neither a pessimist nor an idealist, he had no illusions that abolition of slavery would always be a happy and pleasant transaction. Violence and chaos were more the norm than peaceful transitions of power, so any instance of a populace showing restraint toward a governing body associated with the “masters” was always welcome. Particularly from the Klatooinians, a species not exactly known for gentleness and pacifism.

  “That’s a very positive sign,” Dorvan said. “You think they can build on this?”

  “I do,” Leia said firmly. “They are interested in taking their place in the Galactic Alliance. We have much that we can share with them and teach them, and they have a great deal to offer in return.”

  “If they can calm their riled populace,” put in Darklighter. Leia nodded.

  “Jedi Solo, you’ve been a diplomat from your youth, and I think everyone around this table respects your opinion. If you think we should admit them into the GA now, that is sufficient for me,” Dorvan said. Most of the other heads nodded. “Now, who is the current government of Klatooine putting forth for representation in the Senate?”

  Leia calmly pressed a button, and a hologram appeared in the center of the table. It depicted a particularly gruff-looking Klatooinian, who stooped despite a clearly powerful build and had a glower on his canine face. He sported scars on what little olive-green skin was visible beneath his long robe. Elegant and simple, the robe contrasted vividly with the veritable armory of weapons he wore about his person.

  Dorvan raised an eyebrow. “Padnel Ovin?” he said, sounding slightly incredulous. “The leader of a terrorist organization?”

  “Han and I got to know him very well during our time on Klatooine,” Leia said calmly. “And yes, the Sapience Defense Front, or Ovin’s Sand Panthers as they were known informally, were terrorists … or freedom fighters, depending on how one looks at it. But let’s take a look at the actual history of the Sand Panthers. Grunel Ovin had ideals for his organization, and he enforced them. The money came from donations from former slaves or enemies of the Hutts and, admittedly, some piracy against their masters.” She gave Rieekan a look. “Was the Rebel Alliance any different forty years ago, Carlist?”

  He gave her a wry smile. Rather than answering, he simply waved her to continue.

  “The targets were limited to shipping, corporations that traded in goods manufactured or otherwise supplied by those enslaved to the Hutts, and the military resources that protected those corporations. That was it. Civilian targets were strictly off-limits.”

  “What about the civilians who had the bad luck to simply be employed by those corporations?” said Parova.

  Leia regarded the admiral evenly. “Everyone sitting at this table understands the concept of collateral damage and acceptable losses. With so many millennia of slavery bearing down on their people, the Sand Panthers still did all they could within their power to minimize civilian casualties. Make no mistake, this was a war.”

  “Be all that as it may, Jedi Solo,” said Dorvan, trying to bring things back on track, “the duty before this group now is to determine if Klatooine should officially join the Galactic Alliance. As you said, you have met Padnel. What is your opinion?”

  “He’s a brave being, as his brother was, and knows how to inspire those who follow him.”

  “He seems rather … martial,” said Jaxton, who ought to know. “An odd one to represent his people in peacetime.”

  “He is respected by his people, and if we agree that Klatooine is deserving of membership, he is their choice to represent that world to the Senate. I believe his heart and his passions are in the right place. He wants to do right by his people, even if that means learning an entirely new way to go about it.”

  “The Klatooinians have thrown off the bonds of slavery that have lasted twenty-five thousand years,” Dorvan said. “They have won the right to run their world as they see fit, within the restrictions of Galactic Alliance membership. If they have chosen to send Padnel Ovin to represent them, we shall welcome him as we would welcome any other duly elected Senator.” He eyed Leia and asked, “He was duly elected accor
ding to law?”

  Leia nodded.

  “I wonder if Klatooine is actually ready to formally become part of the GA,” Rieekan said. All heads turned to him, listening. He leaned forward, his hands frail and liver-spotted but his eyes alert and intent. “If they’re not, granting them membership could be a very negative thing for all involved. It would be much harder for them if we are forced to end their membership than if we take our time in granting it.”

  “I can understand your concern,” Leia said. “But in a way … this new freedom they have … it’s something they’ve been working toward for twenty-five thousand years.”

  “Then they can wait to get it right,” Rieekan continued.

  “No, sir,” Leia said firmly to the man she had once served under. “The formal membership will tell the Klatooinians that after so long believing themselves only worthy to serve the Hutts, they have the right to come to the table with others. To sit down and have their voices heard by a body they respect. If we deny them that right based on nothing more than our opinion rather than looking at the facts, then this moment, this opportunity, unique in their history, will be lost.”

  “Jedi Solo,” Dorvan said quietly, his eyes more intense than usual as he regarded her, “you have the finely honed instincts of a politician and a diplomat. You have years of experience. And you have the Force. In your opinion, are the Klatooinians ready for the challenges that being part of the Galactic Alliance will offer them? Particularly, do you think this former warlord is ready to sit down and solve problems with conversations and insights over a cup of caf rather than with weapons?”

  Leia did not reply immediately, and Dorvan had not expected her to. She sank back thoughtfully, her eyes unfocused, her lips pursed. After a moment, she nodded firmly.

  “I do believe it. He is certainly rough around the edges. But he loves his people and will learn to do what is right for them.” A smile curved her lips. “Although he seems fonder of arguing for argument’s sake than most.”

  “He should do just fine in the Senate then,” Dorvan said drily. “If Klatooine continues to behave within our laws, it is welcome. Any further objections?”

  There were none. Even though she was a Jedi, and even though not all agreed with her politics or her actions from time to time, everyone present respected Leia for the service she had given throughout her entire life. Her certainty was enough for them.

  For now.

  “Moving on,” Dorvan said, taking the next datapad. He smiled slightly. “Well, this conversation should go a bit more quickly. Next up for membership is Qaras, and as all of us have heard by now they are submitting Rokari Kem to be their Senator.”

  “Qaras does have its share of difficulties to overcome, but at least they have her going for them,” Darklighter said.

  “It’s a world divided, though,” Tycho said. “I feel a bit bad for the Minyavish. By all accounts, they were not unduly violent toward the Jessar, and yet Kem is forcing exile on them. They’ve gone from being lords and masters to not even being welcome on their own planet.”

  “The government is apparently working with the Minyavish to help them relocate,” Gavin said. “And frankly … I can’t blame the Jessar for not wanting them around.” He looked over at Dorvan. “What information do we have about how this transfer of power is really working?”

  In other words, mused Dorvan, what do our spies have to say about it? “It does seem that all is as it appears,” he said. “It is indeed a world divided … but both leaders seem to support the conclusion that separation is a good idea, and the transition is going as smoothly as can be expected. I imagine that Kem is probably going to request assistance with the issue, but that’s a matter for the Senate to vote on. Our duty today is to decide if we wish to accept Qaras into the GA, and I for one see no reason not to.”

  There were nods around the table. As situations went, this was among the less sticky, and the atmosphere eased somewhat. Dorvan was convinced he even caught Carlist Rieekan smiling at one point.

  Of course, the day was still young.

  MOFF DRIKL LECERSEN’S ESTATE, CORUSCANT

  THIRTEEN AND A HALF HOURS LATER, HALF A WORLD AWAY FROM GA headquarters, a meeting very similar to that which the joint Chief of State had hosted was transpiring. As at that earlier conference, the attendees were all powerful beings in the world of politics. There were victuals and beverages provided for their enjoyment, and the meeting’s itinerary was identical to that of the earlier meeting.

  It was there that the similarities ended. It was well past the dinner hour, but those assembled were used to odd hours and still odder places to gather. This place was not as peculiar as others had been; it was a private residence, set on several acres of very expensive property, with a discreet landing field nearby.

  Moff Drikl Lecersen smiled at his guests. He was seated at a large table carved of dark red wood, its heavy presence dominating the spacious room. The table was covered by an exquisite cloth, spun from the silk of the rare saass worms of G’haris. Each dish and piece of cutlery cost more than a civil servant such as Desha Lor could expect to make in a year, and the assembled guests appeared quite at home. Fur rugs made of the pelts of various exotic creatures covered the cold Ithorian marble floor, and knickknacks from all over the galaxy adorned various shelves and sideboards.

  Lecersen was at the head of the table, of course. At his right hand was Senator Haydnat Treen of Kuat. Today, at the after-dinner gathering that would also serve as a going-away party for Lecersen, Treen wore a lovely blue-and-silver robe that matched her hair perfectly. It was formal, yet relaxed, and an indigo scarf was tied just so around her elegant throat, not only for style, but also to hide the fine network of wrinkles on the slightly sagging skin.

  Seated next to her was General Merratt Jaxton, who had arrived mere moments earlier. His hair, too, was gray, but the Chief of Starfighter Command had fewer years and fewer lines than the others seated at the table. And, it seemed, more appetite. He had filled his plate with a great deal of small fried fish cakes and tiny slices of nerf steak with grilled mushrooms.

  He, in turn, seemed dwarfed by the imposing General Stavin Thaal, who looked like he should be chewing on durasteel rather than the delicate pastries that appeared little more than crumbs in his large hands. The movement of his scarred throat as he swallowed was almost hypnotic, and Lecersen dragged his attention away to regard the guest on his left—Coruscant’s own Senator, Fost Bramsin. Age had not been as kind to Bramsin as it had to Treen, and he was bowed with the weight of the years. He still had a good appetite, but his hands trembled slightly as he poured cream into his caf to enjoy with a piece of traditional Bespin cloud meringue cake.

  Beside the Senator was the acting naval chief, Admiral Sallinor Parova. Like the other heads of the military, she was still in uniform, crisp and efficient looking as she sipped her caf.

  The talk was pleasant, filled with lively chatter, humor, and the sound of forks and knives scraping against dishes as those gathered enjoyed their rather late supper. When the serving droid came to clear the empty plates away and refill cups of caf—rich and dark and headily aromatic, the best that could be found—Lecersen knew it was time to get down to business.

  An E-3PO protocol droid hastened up with datapads, which it diligently handed out to the guests. They wiped their mouths and put their napkins down, ready to direct their full attention to the matters at hand. After all, fine as Moff Lecersen’s caf, pastries, and nerf steaks were, that was not why they had come.

  “You’re certain Dorvan doesn’t know we have access to this?” Bramsin asked, carefully picking up his datapad and perusing it.

  “If he did, we would not be having this pleasant gathering,” Lecersen said.

  “I cover my tracks,” Jaxton said. “Don’t worry. He’s got no idea.”

  “Always so careful!” Treen said brightly. “I like that about you, General. I do.” She turned to address her fellow Senator. “Such a thing is a possibility
, but it would be a very long-term way of misleading or flushing us. Chief of State Dorvan’s position is rather delicate at the moment. If he suspected our compatriots in the military of anything, it would behoove him to move quickly, not put something extended into play when he might not be in office long enough to follow up.”

  Lecersen nodded absently, seeing no need to comment further. He was quite certain they remained safely undiscovered.

  “The only break we seem to have caught recently is that we three survived the purge,” Jaxton said. He popped a pastry into his mouth and washed it down with a swig of caf before wiping his fingers on the fine linen napkin and picking up the ’pad. “I intend to milk it for all it’s worth. This is the list of what Dorvan’s cabinet discussed earlier today. I’ll tell you—”

  “We will tell you,” Parova interrupted. Her voice was pleasant, but there was a brief flash in her dark eyes that told Lecersen that, while she was the junior member of the little group of conspirators, she did not intend to stay humbly in the background.

  Jaxton met her gaze. A muscle tightened in his jaw, then he nodded. “Of course. Several of us were present at the meeting. We will tell you where the cabinet fell out on each issue. But that’s really secondary. What the six of us need to do tonight is to see if there is any being or any situation that we might turn to our benefit. Let us begin with B’nish, which I’d never heard of until today.”

  “Don’t feel bad about that,” Treen soothed, reaching across the table and patting the younger man’s hand. “There’s no need to apologize. Very few of us had.”

  Jaxton glared at her. “I wasn’t apologizing. If I haven’t heard of it, it’s because there’s not anything worth hearing. This is a completely ineffectual world. Look at the stats. Basic agriculture, midlevel technology, no extreme political views. They even solved a slavery issue in a civilized way. I don’t think there’s anything to really exploit here.”

  Lecersen opened his mouth to agree, then paused. He had called up an image of the Senatorial candidate put forth by B’nish, one Kameron Suldar. Suldar seemed pleasant enough, but there were wrinkles etched in his face that were not laugh lines. His gaze was clear, his head held at a certain angle. Lecersen had not gotten as far as he had in politics without being able to read body language.