Thul ate methodically, as he always did. Dorvan knew the man intended no disrespect to Kani, and in fact, suspected that one of the reasons he was here right now was to honor her sacrifice.
Oh, no, despite what Rhal had done, the Jedi weren’t cowed. Kani hadn’t been, and Thul wasn’t, and as Dorvan broke off a piece of crust to feed to Pocket, who had stuck her head out at the smell of bread, he wondered just exactly how the Jedi were going to get out of this one.
Because for all the show of force Daala had made, for all the Mandos who still kept careful aim on them both, if Dorvan were a betting man, he’d be betting on the man beside him rather than the soldiers in front of him.
“Han? You might want to take a look at this.”
Leia’s voice floated to Han, who was in the office of their safe-house apartments cleaning his blasters. They were in perfect condition, but it gave him something to do that at least marginally cheered him up.
“I don’t want to take a look at anything, unless it’s Daala’s head on a pike.” Hopefully, he added, “Is it Daala’s head on a pike?”
“No, not quite, but it is her chief of staff running up the steps of the Temple at top speed.”
Han rose and went to look at the holovid. “Huh …?” he said, baffled at the sight of the normally calm, almost emotionless Wynn Dorvan running full tilt.
“And we have confirmation that it is indeed Chief of State Daala’s right-hand man, Chief of Staff Wynn Dorvan, who is racing headlong up the steps of the besieged Jedi Temple,” Javis Tyrr was saying. “He did have a Mandalorian escort as he fought his way through the crowd, and I don’t see anyone taking aim at him, so one must assume that he is here on official Galactic Alliance business. Looks like the Jedi must have agreed to—”
Han’s mouth fell open. “Thul?”
Leia didn’t quite gape, but her brown eyes were wide.
“Why, it’s Raynar Thul,” said Javis Tyrr. The cam focused in on Thul and Dorvan shaking hands. “As our viewers of Episode 14 of The Jedi Among Us: Where Are They Now? know, Raynar Thul has been rehabilitated and has kept a kind of vigil every day at this time, having lunch on the steps of the Temple. I’ve conducted a few interviews with him. It looks like nothing, not even a Mandalorian siege, is going to keep Thul from enjoying his regular lunch break.”
“What the hell is Dorvan doing there?” Han demanded. “You think he’s trying to strike a deal with Thul?”
Leia shook her slightly-gray-streaked head slowly. “No, neither of them works that way,” she said. “I think he may have been trying to save Thul’s life.”
“Well, that’s noble of him, but he could have saved K. P’s—aw, blast it, Kani’s—life and maybe a whole bunch of others if he and Daala would just back off.”
As if on cue, the cam left the two lunching men to linger on Kani’s body and the pool of drying blood in which it lay.
“I don’t know how either of them can eat, sitting there looking at her,” Han continued, his voice growing angry again.
“Well, nothing Thul does would surprise me at this point, and Dorvan’s feeding his half of the sandwich to his chitlik.” Indeed, the cam, with the nanosecond memory that the holojournalists appeared to have had these days, had gone from the grisly sight of a corpse to a close-up of a small, adorable animal sitting in Dorvan’s lap, holding a piece of bread crust in its forepaws as it ate.
Han snorted in disgust, but Leia suddenly froze. Han eyed her. “What is it? What did you just figure out?”
She turned to him, smiling slowly. “How we can help the Jedi.”
Seha Dorvald was exhausted, filthy, and hungry. She and her Master, Octa Ramis, each with six apprentices, had been exploring as many sealed-off, built-over, or otherwise inaccessible egresses from the Temple as they could for the last seven hours. Some of the apprentices were small enough to wriggle down shafts that were impassable for adults. Thus far, however, there had been nothing large enough for even the smallest ones to scramble through.
The good news, if there was good news, was that none of these secret … airholes, Seha supposed was the most accurate way to describe them, had attracted the notice of the Mandalorians. That was something. And initial signs indicated that some of them could possibly be enlarged.
She was crawling through a narrow passageway to report back to Master Ramis. A glow rod was tied around her neck, offering at least some light. The tunnel was covered on all four sides with ancient tile slicked with mold. Some of the tiles were broken, and the smell of moist soil and rotting things assaulted her nostrils. Seha moved forward slowly, her gaze two meters ahead. She was tired, and damp and chilled, and as she was returning rather than venturing forth, she wasn’t paying close attention. Her hand came down on something soft that squelched beneath it. A fetid stench assaulted her and she had to struggle not to vomit. It was some sort of vermin, she didn’t really want to know what. She shoved the decaying corpse aside, wiped her hand on the tiles, and continued on.
Her comlink chirped. She made a slight face of irritation and halted, turning awkwardly on her side to bring it out.
“Seha here.”
“Seha … have you noticed anything … unusual?” It was her Master.
“Um, no, Master, not really. I gave you all the information I gathered on the way out. I don’t know how old this tunnel is, but it hits a dead end.” She was confused by the question.
“Well … make haste, child. There’s something here you need to see.”
Exhausted as she was, Seha felt curiosity stir, and she picked up the crawling pace. Within fifteen minutes, the ancient tile lining the sides of the tunnel gave way to some kind of metal, and then she saw a glimmer of light ahead. A few minutes later, she dropped down from the shaft into a supply room, where Octa was waiting.
“Okay, so what’s so …”
Her voice trailed off. Octa Ramis stood beside a set of shelves that were loaded with small boxes of various sizes. Seha didn’t know what they contained, and right now she didn’t care. Because at Octa Ramis’s feet were no fewer than three rodents. They were in no way cute or appealing; these were vermin, plain and simple. But they sat on their haunches as if they were trained, and there was something tied to each of their backs.
“What …?”
“There are more. Lots more. They’ve come in through every aperture wide enough to permit them passage,” Octa said. She was grinning. “We didn’t understand what was going on at first, and some of them were frightened away or killed. We thought we’d disturbed some kind of huge, secret nest. But then Master Horn noticed this.”
She reached and picked up one of the filthy things and held it out to Seha. The animal remained quiet and calm.
Bound to its back was a small vial of liquid.
“The medication Cilghal was running out of,” Seha said quietly. “The sedatives to keep the sick Jedi from harming themselves.” Suddenly, the little animals didn’t look like disgusting, filthy vermin at all. Suddenly, they looked like the most beautiful, most wonderful creatures in the universe.
“Exactly,” Octa replied, her grin widening. “I don’t know the identity of our mysterious benefactors, but I can make a guess.”
“Valin used the Force to command the creatures that lived here to help him escape,” Seha recalled. “No wonder Master Horn was the first to notice something different about these rats.”
“But this time, they’re coming to help the sick Jedi. We are still short, but there are enough vials to get us through the next twelve hours, at least. And who knows, more may come.”
“And if we can get medicines in,” Seha said slowly, “We might be able to get messages out.”
“It’s already in progress,” said Octa. “Now come on. Let’s get the vials off these little fellows and in the hands of Cilghal. And,” she added, “let’s get you a sanisteam.”
For the first time since the siege began, Seha laughed.
SOLO SAFE HOUSE, CORUSCANT
THE THREE O
F THEM CURLED UP TOGETHER ON THE SOFA, MUGS OF hot chocolate warm in their hands. Allana slurped hers rather noisily, and Leia smiled gently.
“You need a shave, young lady,” Leia said playfully, reaching over to wipe off the whipped cream mustache with a napkin. Allana giggled, then returned her attention to the show. She took another sip and gave herself another mustache, and Leia simply shook her head this time. Han sprawled on the sofa, loosely cradling his granddaughter. Anji was draped over both their laps, snoring softly.
It was odd, that this was a tradition. And yet not so odd. Leia was the adopted daughter of a prince and a politician, and had been a Senator of her world at nineteen. Politics, galactic events, this had been as much a part of her childhood as small pets or toys or her beloved, and foul-smelling, thranta. Allana came from a similar background. As long as the news was not too graphically violent or disturbing, and The Perre Needmo Newshour usually wasn’t, Leia was more than content for the breather in their day.
The theme music played and then the visage of Perre Needmo, sitting behind his desk, filled the screen. To humanoid eyes, Chevins were not particularly attractive, but there was something about Needmo that Leia always found appealing. The wisdom and calmness in his wrinkled face, the white in the small tufts of hair. Maybe it was the fact that even if the ugliest being in the known galaxy was hosting the news, and it was as neutral or even upbeat as the show currently was, she’d be happy to watch it.
The Jedi Temple siege, of course, was the lead story. As was usual with the show, coverage downplayed the graphic violence. They even scorned to show what could have been a ratings-grabbing image. Leia had learned that after Dorvan had finished his “lunch” with Raynar Thul—during which he had inadvertently given her the idea of how to smuggle medicine and messages in to the besieged Jedi—he had picked up Kani’s body and borne it away. A statement had been issued shortly thereafter from the office of the Chief of State: “It is regrettable that any lives needed to be lost in the Galactic Alliance’s pursuit of justice. Our sympathies are with Kani Asari and her family. It can be hoped, however, that her sacrifice was not in vain.”
The Perre Needmo Newshour did not focus on that admittedly powerful image; instead, it homed in on the political impasse. Beings on the streets were interviewed, and most of them looked unfavorably on the siege.
“Someone’s already been killed,” one Ithorian said, blinking her large eyes. “The Chief of State is, I think, right to want to restrain any Jedi that might be harmful to the populace. But at the same time, this is the wrong way to go about it. I’d rather see negotiations than sieges or attacks, since I think that both Daala and the Jedi want to do what is right.”
Others espoused the same opinion. The holocams panned over a not-inconsiderably-sized gathering that waved cards that said TRAP THE JEDI, TRAP OUR FREEDOM and other sentiments. One had a poster of Daala swathed in Palpatine’s robes that read NEVER AGAIN.
“Huh,” said Han. “Is it me, or does Daala look good in those robes? Like she was made for them?”
“Chief of State Daala looks best in her admiral’s uniform,” Leia said diplomatically, “when she is remembering where her real duty lies.”
“I think she’s beyond remembering. She tried to kill us.”
It was hard to argue with that, and Leia wisely didn’t.
They had all recovered, as much as one could recover, from Kani’s murder. They had found renewed hope in action. Leia had remembered that Cilghal’s supply of sedatives was running low, and the last thing the Jedi needed right now was to worry about the three distraught beings attempting escape or violence, to themselves or others. It had been a long shot, but it had worked—the rodents had come when summoned, and had sought out any entrance small enough for them to slip through. And when one of them emerged with a message, Leia felt a terrible knot in her gut ease, if only slightly.
To our benefactors, Kenth Hamner had written in the encoded note—he had not signed his name, of course, but Leia knew his flowing, precise script—we are all well. It would take more than a display of Mando brutality to crush the Jedi spirit. If this reaches you, return correspondence.
Leia had done so, using the same code and in her own hand so that her handwriting would be recognized by the Jedi as Kenth’s had been by her. The chance of interception was small, but not nonexistent, so she kept it brief and cryptic until she received a reply that would indicate the messages were getting through. It had come shortly—a report that all avenues of escape were being pursued and that the Jedi were standing firm. The strike team was still ready to launch, once such a thing was physically possible; they had not abandoned her brother. The letter closed with a request for more medicines, and a list of specifics. Han and Leia had spent the better part of the evening rounding up as many vials as they could, strapping them to the backs of Force-calmed critters, and sending them forth from the safety of several hundred meters away from the encircling ring of Mandos and their machines of death and siege.
More they could not do at this hour, and had come home just in time for some quiet time with their granddaughter. Leia focused on the love she felt for these two people, letting go of her worries about the Jedi for the moment and permitting love for Han and Allana—yes, and Anji, too, who lifted her head and tilted it inquiringly at Leia at that instant—to fill her heart. There was no segment from Madhi Vaandt tonight, and Leia was sorry about that. She liked the spunky young Devaronian, and her coverage always left Leia feeling reenergized.
“Finally tonight, a news item and an editorial in one.” Needmo looked grave. “We at The Perre Needmo Newshour have long believed in a journalistic tradition of unbiased, honestly obtained, accurate information. We report. We do not spy, we do not invent, and we do not resort to illegal methods of obtaining information. We occasionally have guest journalists on the show who are passionate about what they cover, and seek justice as much as they seek accuracy. We take care to always identify such things as editorials, such as Madhi Vaandt’s continuing coverage of the institution of slavery throughout the galaxy, and also this current editorial.” He smiled, his small dark eyes crinkling and his snout twitching.
“For the last few years, our honorable profession has come under attack. Not necessarily from governments interested in suppressing a free press—although that has happened on occasion as well—but from within our own ranks. A cancer has formed, a cancer of greed, ego, and ruthlessness that has led to a mind-set of ratings and personal fame at any cost. While those of us who work on this show despise such action, we have never publicly reproached a fellow journalist who has chosen to follow that path. We have stayed out of the fray—out of the pit as it were—trusting in the good sense of the viewers to support whomever they feel is correct.”
Leia glanced over at Han, and read the hope in his brown eyes. She didn’t dare to voice it. After all this time, all they had been forced to put up with, she didn’t want to jinx it. Even so, she found herself crossing her fingers.
“However, once a journalist has violated the law, and there is evidence of such activity, then such a being has gone too far. Taking money for slanting the news in a certain direction violates any decent journalistic code of ethics, and the utilization of advanced technology to illegally obtain information without the knowledge and consent of the individual whose words or actions are being recorded constitutes breaking the law of the Galactic Aliance.”
And there it was. Leia felt a grin stretch her face. Han actually whooped out loud and came close to spilling his hot chocolate. “Well, it’s about time!”
Never had Leia been so glad to see Javis Tyrr’s smirking face fill the screen. Except this time the smirk was notably absent, the finely coiffed hair was messy, and there was a look of panic in the reporter’s eyes. Needmo’s words continued as the footage rolled.
“They stopped the lying journalist?” asked Allana.
Leia was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud. Out of the mouths of babes. “Looks like, honey.
”
“At fourteen hundred hours this afternoon, based on an anonymous tip, journalist Javis Tyrr was arrested at his residence on charges of illegal espionage. While hidden cams are, sadly, nothing new in the arsenal of those determined to get a story at any cost, there are laws in place that prohibit the use of illegal devices. Unfortunately, the device that Tyrr used to record certain events seems to have disappeared, there is other evidence. A recording has come to light that shows Tyrr inserting said illegal device and revealing its source.”
Han and Leia exchanged glances. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Leia said.
“Jaina wouldn’t have given them the chip.”
Leia frowned, confused. “Then how …”
“Who knows,” Han said. “Does it matter? Sleemo’s got what’s coming to him. Someone was on the ball and found him out.” He lifted his half-drunk mug of hot chocolate. “Here’s to whoever it was. If I find out, I owe you a drink.”
Anji was purring madly at the delight so obviously present in the room. Leia petted the creature, then stroked Allana’s short, black-dyed hair.
And then she knew.
“Han?”
“Hm?”
“Who do we know who’s smart, methodical, patient, appreciates fairness, and works well behind the scenes?”
“A lot of people,” Han said.
“I’ll narrow it down for you. Who’s all that, who also supports Daala?”
“Dorvan?” Han said at once.
“Daala came out looking pretty bad whenever Javis Tyrr got her in his sights,” Daala said.
“Yeah, that’s true. Plus he’s got the resources to do some snooping if he had to. Well, at least he did us a favor, as well as Daala. Hell, he’s done the entire journalistic field a favor.”
“I just don’t know what to think about that man,” Leia said. “One minute I think he’s on our side, the next he’s on Daala’s.”
“He’s walking a very fine line, that’s for sure. I hope he ends up on the right side when things finally come to a head.”
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi V: Allies Page 27