Ben looked at the Maw, yawning ahead of them. He thought about tentacles, and cold, slithery need. His reaction was better than before, but he still could think of about a million other things—make that about four million—he’d rather be doing than voluntarily going back into this place to face this mysterious Abeloth.
He was only vaguely comforted when he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Vestara, too, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.
“Here we go,” Luke said quietly, and the strange fleet of Jedi, Sith, and a former roguish prospector-turned-gambler-turned-businessman moved forward into the gaping mouth of the Maw.
DAALA WATCHED, HER FACE IMMOBILE, AS THE GIRL WENT DOWN.
She had authorized the use of lethal force if necessary when she spoke with Belok Rhal and put him in complete charge of the mission. “Do whatever’s necessary, but I want those two Jedi.”
She’d been surprised at the deadline he’d issued. But when he blasted the child—
No. Kani Asari, as the holojournalist was animatedly telling her the name was, was not a child. She was an adult woman, if young, and a Jedi apprentice. She was not an innocent. And if her death—starkly brutal as it was—had the effect of paralyzing the Jedi and making them think twice about the situation, then perhaps young Kani Asari had actually saved lives with her sacrifice.
Still. When the holocam panned back and focused tightly in on the limp form, Daala reached for the control and changed the channel.
This new channel showed something just as disturbing—the herky-jerky chaos and cacophony of a riot. The world was a bright one, a desert planet with blue sky and brown sand. And blaster fire. Lots and lots of blaster fire. The cam panned crazily about as the journalist ran for safety. He was saying something in one of the few languages Daala did not understand, but as he moved the cam about she recognized the species of the fallen.
Hutts. Klatooinians. Niktos.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. It couldn’t be. She clicked on the translator and suddenly Basic poured forth.
“… attack on the Fountain four standard hours ago. Utter, absolute madness, shouting and singing and spontaneous dancing paired with blaster fire and death. No Hutt is safe here, on this world where they once were unquestioned masters. I repeat, the Treaty of Vontor, which has stood for more than twenty-five millennia, has been declared null and void, and the celebrating is—”
She couldn’t believe it. She half-expected to see that Devaronian girl, Madhi Vaandt, reporting. This was her sort of environment, the end of the slavery she kept reporting on ad nauseum, and Daala bet she was kicking herself for missing it. Fortunately, Daala was spared that sight. She was relieved. Given her mood, she might have been tempted to hurl her cup of caf at the screen if Madhi’s perky face had filled it.
The Perre Needmo Hour had a loyal following, and the series of reports on slavery in various distant and sometimes uncomfortably not-so-distant locales was very popular. It had inspired several peaceful protests and a few violent ones on the worlds from which they were broadcast, as well as motivating local clusters of Tatooinians, Chevs and, probably, Klatooinians to form their own parades and protests here on Coruscant.
Her comm buzzed. She knew who it was without even having to click on it. “Yes, Dorvan, I saw it.”
“It doesn’t look very good, ma’am. Gunning down an unarmed young woman.”
“Jedi are never unarmed.”
“Well, that’s true, but—”
“I know what you meant. But at the same time, it demonstrates how serious the situation is. Kenth Hamner has been given every opportunity to turn over the Jedi. Now, he gets to see the consequences of his actions. I regret this very much, but I did give Belok Rhal carte blanche to proceed as he saw fit.”
“If there is another incident like this—”
“Wynn. They’re Jedi. They’re not stupid. Do you think, having seen this, that anyone would attempt that again?”
A pause. “No, ma’am.”
“This siege, ideally, will result in no further bloodshed, the surrender of the Jedi crazies to me, and hopefully the education and submission of the Jedi as a group.”
“I hope you’re right, ma’am. There’s something else I wanted to bring to your attention.”
“The incident on Klatooine?”
“As is so often the case, you’re a step ahead of me. It makes my job more difficult. But yes, this combined with the other incidents could spark more activity elsewhere. In fact, Desha has just placed reports on my desk of another freedom march that has all the earmarks of becoming a full-fledged revolt. This incident on Klatooine will no doubt inflame that situation.”
Another one? What was going on? “Where?” She had muted the sound, but the silent celebratory rioting on Klatooine continued to unfold as she listened to Dorvan.
“Blaudu Sextus.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You’re not alone, ma’am. And fortunately, given what else they have to cover at the moment, the holonews hasn’t picked it up yet.”
For an instant, Daala wondered if that was a subtle reprimand. She decided it wasn’t. Dorvan either didn’t comment, or said what he felt in his usual blunt, dry manner.
“The planet is little more than an out of the way mining colony,” her chief of staff continued. “Their police force can handle a minor protest, but if this becomes a true revolt, they’re incapable of putting it down. Unless we intervene, the government may fall.”
As Daala watched, the cam closed in tight on the sight of a Hutt writhing in agony. Someone had put a blaster bolt right into his tail. She wasn’t overly fond of Hutts, but they were sentient beings, capable of hate and greed and love and compassion just like anyone else. Granted, the latter qualities were not often seen in abundance in the species, but they were capable of it.
The protests held on Coruscant had, thus far, been peaceful. But violence was contagious. And the Treaty of Vontor had been the most famous example of slavery in the galaxy. With that gone—
“We can’t let that happen,” Daala said decisively. “We can’t let Blaudu Sextus fall.”
“It is very much out of the way, ma’am. Given the current situation, it might be advantageous for the GA to avoid intervening in internal politics at this juncture and let the problem solve itself one way or another.”
Daala clicked back to the other channel. Javis Tyrr—wasn’t Dorvan supposed to be doing something about the man?—was mercifully still muted, but the cam took a slow, loving pan over the armed Mandos standing almost as still as statues in a thick ring of beskar armor and weapons around the Jedi Temple.
“Has the Freedom Flight taken credit for the protest on Blaudu Sextus in any way?”
“No ma’am, this appears to be all localized. Hence my comment.”
But Daala knew the Flight would, soon enough. And then that little reporter would start covering Blaudu Sextus. And then …
“No,” Daala said. “If the government topples, the rebels would think they can start picking away at the edges of Alliance territory. The Freedom Flight will step up activity there, start egging on would-be revolutionaries, and we’ll have uprisings springing up like weeds all along the Outer Rim. This incident on Klatooine couldn’t have come at a worse time. We need to stop this now, before it spreads.”
“Well, ma’am, the Octusi slaves—”
“We don’t have slaves in the Galactic Alliance, Wynn.” She practically bit off each word.
“Of course we don’t. The, ah, Octusi servants are pacifists, and if images of GA troops facing off against them in full riot gear start showing up on the holonews, it’s not going to reflect well on us.”
Daala nodded slowly, still watching the coverage of the siege. Her green eyes narrowed as the cam paused on Belok Rhal’s scarred visage. It was the only solution. Things were getting out of hand, everywhere. She couldn’t allow this spark to ignite other tinder-dry areas throughout the Alliance. It had to b
e contained. Stopped. And she knew who could get the job done.
“Well, then,” she said, “We won’t have GA troops in riot gear on Blaudu Sextus.”
“I’m not following you, ma’am.”
“Contact Belok Rhal. Tell him I need a rapid response Mando brigade to put this thing down. Now.”
“Mandalorians? After what just happened?” Seldom did Wynn Dorvan’s voice hold much expression other than dry humor. Now, he sounded incredulous. “That won’t look any better than GA troops. In fact, it might look worse.”
“If the revolt never has a chance to erupt, it won’t look like anything,” Daala replied, with every word more convinced that this was the right thing to do.
“If it does? Needmo’s Devaronian journalist seems to be everywhere these days.”
“If it does, and Vaandt or anyone else picks up on it, the holonews picks up on it, who’s to say we hired the Mandalorians?”
“Ma’am?”
“You’ve told me that Blaudu Sextus is a mining colony, correct?”
“Yes, but what—”
“So find a mining company to work with. We’ll wash payment through them. If the holonews goes after the story, it will just look like a legitimate corporation is trying to protect its interests.”
“Ah, I understand. I’ll get Desha Lor right on it.”
“I’d rather you do it, Wynn.”
“Desha has proven herself quite capable of—”
“Mandalorians. Desha.”
“I see your point. I’ll get right on it, then.”
Wynn Dorvan sighed. The small pet chitlik perched on his ear nibbled at his hair. He let her. He stared, but did not see the off-white walls of his office, or the safe art on those walls. He saw a Mandalorian gunning down an unarmed apprentice who had come out under the idea of truce. And now Daala wanted to use them again?
A tentative knock on the door. He knew who it was. “Come in, Desha.”
The Twi’lek girl poked her head in. Her eyes were swollen; she’d been crying. He wasn’t surprised, and was pleased that she had clearly gone to some effort to restrain the emotions that went with such a soft heart.
“Sir, it’s the Solos again.”
“Of course it is,” he sighed. Orders had been issued to bring them in as soon as the siege began, but of course, they had dropped out of sight. They had been trying to contact him through untraceable means ever since the siege had begun, but Daala would have none of it. She had left very clear instructions that “I intend to speak to no one from that family until the current situation is under control or they’re safely in custody.”
He couldn’t imagine what choice words they would have for him and Daala now that an apprentice had been brutally murdered right on the steps of the Temple.
On the steps of the Temple. He frowned. Something about the phrase … He shook it off. It would come to him later.
He knew what Han and Leia would say, and found himself agreeing with most of it, but concurring with them would do no good at this point.
“Tell them I’m not able to talk to them right now. And patch me through to Belok Rhal.”
“Yes, sir,” Desha said, closing the door behind her as she left. Pocket was now nibbling on his ear. He picked her up gently and put her back in her small nest on the corner of his desk. She rolled over, exposing her belly, and he rubbed the soft fur there with an index finger while he mentally shook his head at the fact that he was about to tell a Mandalorian to assemble a team to put down a pacifists’ “revolt.” He lifted the chitlik and placed her in the right-hand pocket of his jacket, still petting her.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten breakfast and lunchtime was fast approaching. It would seem, whatever the mind had to deal with, the body still stubbornly had its own needs and made them known.
A few moments later, the cold, almost emotionless voice on the comm said, “Rhal. What?”
“Commander Rhal, this is Wynn Dorvan, Daala’s chief of staff. I am speaking to you with the full authority of the Chief of State. I need you to—”
His eye fell on the chrono, and then it all clicked into place.
The steps of the Jedi Temple. Lunch.
In less than fifteen minutes, on an ordinary day, Raynar Thul would be coming out, as he had every single day since he had first embraced his freedom, to have lunch on the Temple steps. Dorvan had joined him for many of those lunches.
And he knew in his gut that something as trivial as being surrounded by a bunch of Mandalorians willing to gun him down was not going to stop Raynar Thul from having his lunch where he had always had it.
“Dorvan. Continue.”
Dorvan felt sweat break out on his forehead. Nonetheless, he spoke in his usual calm, almost bland tones. “I need you to withhold fire on the Temple. I have it on good authority that Raynar Thul is about to come out.”
“I’ve just promised the Jedi that we’d gun down anyone who wasn’t Saar or Altamik,” Rhal said, irritation creeping into his cool voice.
Wynn thought at hyperdrive speed. “I know, but I’ve been working on Thul for months. We’ve had lunch on the steps every day about this time. I might be able to use him to convince the Jedi to surrender.”
A pause. Dorvan began to think that the Mando wasn’t buying it. They would slaughter Thul, just as they had slaughtered Kani, and public opinion would simply not stand for it. There would be furious protests, perhaps even the riots that Daala was seemingly ready to practically sell her soul to prevent. Public sentiment would turn against the GA, and then—
“This is an order from the Chief of State.” Wynn usually didn’t lie, but this time, he felt the situation warranted it. “I will be there myself in a few moments. Stand down.”
“I will not go back on my orders to my soldiers or my promise to the Jedi. It will weaken my standing with them, and Daala assured me I was free to use my best judgment. I answer to her, not you.”
“You wouldn’t dare fire on me!”
“Of course not.” Rhal’s tone suggested that he thought Dorvan considered him an idiot. “But you are not a Jedi.”
“There will be no firing if I am on those steps!”
“No, sir. But five of your fifteen minutes have just gone by. If this Thul person is due to come out, I suggest you hurry.”
Dorvan sprang from his chair and sprinted for the door.
DORVAN KNEW THAT IT WAS UNBECOMING OF SOMEONE IN HIS POSITION within the Galactic Alliance hierarchy to be running flat-out across the square to the Temple. He knew that Daala wouldn’t like it. He knew that it would provide fodder for the reporters. He knew that if any of the Mandos whom he was racing toward had an itchy finger, he’d be dead.
None of that mattered. A man’s life was at stake.
His eyes were on the steps of the Temple. Thul had not yet emerged, but Kani’s body was still there. He slowed down slightly, holding out his ID, as a small group of Mandos broke formation and began trotting toward him.
“Wynn Dorvan, chief of staff to Admiral Daala,” he said, panting slightly from the exertion. “Let me through. Commander Rhal knows to expect me.”
They took seemingly forever looking at the ID, at him, and back at the ID again. A terrible thought struck him: what if Rhal had told them to delay him so that Thul could be executed? He wouldn’t put it past the man, after what he’d seen today.
The precious seconds ticked by. Finally they waved him through the thick lines of machines and humans, two of them dropping into formation behind him, ostensibly acting as an escort. Fine, then, Dorvan thought, let them escort me. He began to push his way through, moving as fast as he could. One of his “escorts” laughed.
“Where is it exactly you’re trying to go?”
“The entrance,” Dorvan said. “On the steps to the entrance.”
The Mando, her face hidden by her helmet, turned to regard him. “Not the best place in this world to be.”
“Doesn’t matter. Get me there.”
“All right. Your funeral.” He realized that she might very well be right—literally.
Still, having agreed to do so, she shoved her way effectively through the circle of beskar armor. Dorvan did not see Rhal, though he was most certainly here. Probably taking aim at the Temple entrance right now.
And then he was there. The steps loomed before him, looking impossibly high, taunting him that he’d never make it up there before Raynar Thul stepped out into firing range. He took them two at a time and had just cleared the top when he saw a movement beyond the pillars.
He’d been right.
Raynar Thul stepped forward, hand outstretched, and Dorvan moved to take it, clasping it hard in relief.
“Wynn,” Thul said. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s dangerous.” He tilted his head in the direction of the Mandos.
“I know,” Wynn said, gasping a little. He wasn’t unfit, but his job did render him sedentary, and he was trembling with the release of adrenaline.
“But you knew I would be here, even after what happened to Kani,” Thul said. His face was shiny, almost artificial looking, and stretched in an odd way as he smiled.
“I did,” Dorvan said.
Thul and Dorvan stepped out into what passed for sunlight on Coruscant. There was a strange sound, and Dorvan realized it was the noise of hundreds of weapons being trained on them. He swallowed hard, but Thul appeared unperturbed. He went to the first step and sat down. Several more steps down, almost to the bottom, lay Kani’s body. Thul regarded it for a moment, then he reached for the small satchel he carried. Dorvan moved to stand in front of him, lest any of the Mandos decide that the satchel held something more dangerous than the sandwich Thul now produced.
Dorvan let out a sigh and dropped to the step beside Thul.
“You didn’t bring anything for lunch?” Thul asked.
“I was … in a bit of a hurry.”
Again, Thul smiled. “Here,” he said, and handed half of the sandwich to Dorvan. He took it, not hungry at all, and gazed at Kani’s body.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi V: Allies Page 26