His office was dark. He’d fallen asleep before making it back to his temporary quarters. He grabbed his comlink and held it up before him. “Go.” He rubbed sleep from his eyes and wondered how many minutes of rest he’d had.
“General, this is Mon Mothma. One of our wing-pair patrols reports a transport with fighter escort arriving insystem.”
“Yuuzhan Vong or refugee?”
“Neither, sir. Its communications officer says it’s the official transport of the New Republic Advisory Council. Their authentication code checks out.”
Wedge frowned at the comlink. It was inconceivable that the Advisory Council was still functioning in any capacity. Until the fall of Coruscant, they’d been Chief of State Borsk Fey’lya’s handpicked advisers, a lubricating layer between him and the grinding machinery of government. But with Fey’lya’s death during Coruscant’s fall and the collapse and flight of the New Republic Senate, Wedge had guessed that the Advisory Council would have been scattered to the space routes, each member racing home to prepare for Yuuzhan Vong pursuit. “Have they done anything other than request clearance to land?”
“Yes, sir. They’ve, um, requested a meeting with you and your general staff, as soon as possible. They say they’ve brought your orders.”
Wedge made a face. As if he needed interference from a now-irrelevant group of politicians. “All right. Set up two starfighter squadrons in a circle illuminating a landing field well away from the facility. Tell the Advisory Council that it’s a military honor display. If they ask why they’ve never heard of such a thing, tell them it’s a Rogue Squadron tradition. The starfighters are authorized to attack without further confirmation if this turns out to be some sort of Vong trick. If it’s not, conduct the Advisory Council here, to the conference room, as fast as possible. Begin reprovisioning and repair of their transport immediately—and put some technicians aboard to sweep the ship and make sure it doesn’t have any surprises for us. Got that?”
“Got it, sir.”
“Out.” Wedge rose with the uneasy feeling—one that had come to him every time politicians had a surprise for him, one that had almost never been proven false.
* * *
When Luke and Mara reached the conference room—he with a cup of steaming chocolate in one hand and a cup of caf for Mara in the other, as her arms were occupied holding Ben—it was already half full of Wedge’s officers and advisers. They occupied seats around two-thirds of the main table and chairs behind; several seats at the table, those nearest the main doors, were being kept conspicuously empty. Wedge sat at the head of the table, facing the door, Tycho beside him; they were huddled in conference, though Wedge spotted Luke as he entered and waved the Jedi Master up to the head of the table again.
The expressions of most people in the room suggested they’d only recently been roused from sleep. Luke knew how they felt.
Mara dropped into the seat closest to the chair reserved for Luke, next to Lando. Lando looked pained, his brow creased in a frown, his eyes bloodshot.
“Hangover?” Luke asked.
Lando winced. “Stop shouting.”
“I could whistle you up some caf.”
“If you were to whistle, my head would explode and there would be brains everywhere.”
Mara shook her head, deadpan. “No brains. Just skull fragments.”
Lando shot her a betrayed look. Luke grinned, waited until Mara had settled Ben in her lap, and handed her the caf. Then he joined Wedge and Tycho.
There was noise from the hall, a clattering of boots, and a group of ten or twelve people turned into the conference room.
Luke knew several of them by sight.
Pwoe, first of the council to enter, was a Quarren. Quarren, roughly humanoid in shape, sometimes tended to unnerve humans and near-humans because of their looks; they were an aquatic species with squidlike heads from which trailed four tentacles where a human’s lower facial features would be. The Quarren as a culture did not deserve this reaction, but, in Luke’s estimation, Councilor Pwoe did; Luke knew him to be a grasping, politically carnivorous being who was no friend of the Jedi. It would not have surprised Luke to find out that Pwoe had something to do, either directly or indirectly, with the formation of the Peace Brigade, the collaborationist forces who kidnapped Jedi and handed them over to the Yuuzhan Vong. Today, Pwoe wore a full-length green robe that contrasted nicely with his leathery orange skin. As he entered the room, his turquoise eyes scanned the chamber, found Luke, fixed on him for a moment, and then moved on. Pwoe sat in the chair directly opposite Wedge.
Chelch Dravvad of Corellia sat to Pwoe’s right, and Fyor Rodan of Commenor sat beside him. The two human males, both of middle age and with the confident, artificial aura of politicians on display wrapped tightly around them, tended to keep their attention on Pwoe, rather than making eye contact around the room.
Niuk Niuv, the fourth councilor to enter the room, was a Sullustan. If some long-ago biological engineers had created a race to resemble a child’s stuffed toy, they could not have done much better than the Sullustans, who had round heads, large round ears, wobbly jowls, and charming nonhuman features; only Ewoks were more likely to produce squeals of glee in a child seeing them for the first time. But, like Ewoks, Sullustans could be dangerous foes, and Niuk Niuv was dangerous even for a Sullustan. He’d been an opponent of the Jedi ever since joining the Advisory Council. He sat to Pwoe’s left.
Niuv was the last council member to enter. The remaining members of the council’s company appeared to be aides, datapads in their hands and worried expressions on their faces, and guards, faces impassive, blaster rifles held at the ready position.
Luke rose as the others did, a customary show of respect for Senators and members of the Advisory Council, but he felt a wave of irritation or offense roll off the people already present in the room. So many council guards present suggested that the council didn’t trust Wedge’s security arrangements. It was an insult; Luke simply didn’t know whether it was accidental or deliberate.
Wedge said, “Councilors, welcome to Borl—”
Pwoe held up a hand. “General Antilles, you address not only the Advisory Council but the Chief of State.”
Wedge blinked, then his gaze moved to the clasp being used to hold Pwoe’s robes together. Made of gold, it was the New Republic symbol surrounded by stars. Borsk Fey’lya had occasionally worn it. Luke saw Wedge struggle with his response—Pwoe’s rise to the position of Chief of State was not by any stretch of the imagination a legal one, but in these unsettled circumstances, it might just be a practical reality.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” Wedge said. He gestured for the others to sit, and did so himself. “If I may ask, where are Councilors Cal Omas and Triebakk?”
Pwoe spread his hands, a gesture of ignorance. “Alas, we do not know. We suspect that they perished during the assault on Coruscant.”
“Two more tragedies to add to the list.”
“Indeed.”
That, potentially, was bad news. Omas, a Senator representing the relocated people of Alderaan, and Triebakk, a Wookiee from Kashyyyk, were sensible beings who did not have an irrational dislike of the Jedi. They had been a moderating influence on the Advisory Council. Now, if they were indeed lost, all the members left to the council were largely opponents of the Jedi, advisers who had often argued in favor of finding a way to accommodate the Yuuzhan Vong—to settle the war with negotiation.
Luke felt a surge of suspicion. Had the two missing councilors perished on Coruscant? Or could they have been left behind deliberately by these deal-making bureaucrats—or even been pushed out of an air lock on the trip here? He shook his head, willing those thoughts away.
Mara leaned over, nearly touching foreheads with him. “I felt that,” she whispered. “That was my thought, too.”
Lando leaned into the huddle. “You don’t need the Force for that,” he whispered. “I could read it in Luke’s expression.”
“Shh,”
Luke whispered. “Or I’ll make a loud noise.”
Lando leaned away again, his motion hurried.
Pwoe continued to stare at Wedge, impatience evident in his body language. “We should begin.”
“We’ll start in a minute,” Wedge said. “Members of my general staff are still in transit.” His face was fixed in a slight smile. Luke could tell that it was nothing but veneer, a mask covering agitation, irritability.
Pwoe fixed him with an admonishing look. “I understood that you’d be ready for us. Time is pressing.”
There were footsteps in the hall. Booster Terrik, glowering, entered and moved to sit near the table, close to Tycho. There were more footsteps, running footsteps, and Danni Quee skidded through the doors, juggling datapads and portable screens; her hair was an unruly blond mess tied in an off-center ponytail. She slid into a seat near the door, directly behind Corran Horn, and looked at Wedge. “Sorry,” she said.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Wedge said, and looked up at one of the council’s guards. “Doors.”
The guard looked at Pwoe, received his nod, and closed the doors.
“Now we can start,” Wedge said.
Pwoe nodded. “Yes, of course. First, I want to reassure you all that the government of the New Republic is in fine working order. Drawing on the emergency authority that has fallen to us with Borsk Fey’lya’s death, and with the temporary disarray the Senate finds itself in, the Advisory Council has assumed the reins of power. We are now formulating plans to reorganize our armed forces and retake Coruscant. We are in communication with planetary governments from all over the New Republic, which are acknowledging our leadership and awaiting orders.”
Luke and Mara exchanged glances. She took a sip of her caf and then winced, as if the bitterness of the drink were the reason.
Wedge responded to Pwoe’s statement with only a nod.
Pwoe waited, as if expecting more, and then, after an uncomfortable silence, continued, “We wish to congratulate you on your success here at Borleias, General.”
“Thank you … but we haven’t had any success yet. We seized this facility through use of overwhelming force, which says nothing about either side in the conflict.”
“Yes, of course. Still, I need to hear details of what you have accomplished here.”
With little evident emotion and no extraneous words, Wedge briefed the Advisory Council members on the situation on Borleias. Luke saw the councilors nodding and whispering to one another as he spoke.
When Wedge was through, Pwoe said, “You’ve done very well in seizing the initiative, in anticipating the needs of the New Republic and acting on them. Not that I wouldn’t expect that of you. But now we need to bring your operation back into the New Republic command structure so that it can be coordinated with the rest of our response to this disaster. Sien Sovv remains Supreme Commander of our armed forces, and you’ll continue taking orders from him. Here is the first set.”
Niuk Niuv sent a data card skidding across the table-top. Wedge caught it, then slotted it into his datapad.
“Since these are your own trusted advisers, I will share your orders with them,” Pwoe said.
Wedge looked at him. His face was impassive, but the look was still a warning, a rebuke. To announce a leader’s orders in this manner to his subordinate officers was to question that leader’s competence, to deny that leader the right to limit the information reaching those subordinates.
Pwoe ignored the look and continued. “What we need from you, General Antilles, is for Borleias to stand as a fortress against the Yuuzhan Vong, even beyond the point that the stream of refugees from Coruscant ends. The Yuuzhan Vong won’t be able to tolerate the thought of a New Republic-controlled military base so close to Coruscant, on such a prominent hyperspace crossroads, and so they’ll come against you here. This will give us crucial time to regroup and then to come and relieve you. Once we’ve done so, we can use Borleias to stage the recapture of Coruscant. You must hold here at all costs. Can we count on you?”
Instead of answering, Wedge asked, “What forces and matériel will I have for this assignment?”
Pwoe blinked. “Most of Fleet Group Three is currently away from here, is that correct?”
“Yes. At deep-space rendezvous, on operations, coordinating with the other fleet groups, and so forth. I’ll have to bring portions of them back here for the sort of operation you describe.”
“Not at all. You underestimate yourself, General. We’ll leave you with a large proportion of the matériel you currently have in the Pyria system. That should suffice until you’re relieved. Of course, you can commandeer additional forces arriving from Coruscant, and any volunteer units that choose to join you.”
Wedge nodded. “Councilor Pwoe, I’m afraid I have to turn down your assignment.”
All whispered conversation stopped in the conference room. Luke felt a slight sense of unreality. Through the years, he’d seen Wedge reinterpret orders and bend them in his efforts to do what was best for the Alliance and New Republic, but never refuse orders.
Pwoe straightened, becoming taller and somehow seeming to swell in his chair. His voice became deeper, projecting better to those in the far corners of the chamber. “Perhaps I made a mistake in couching what I was saying in the form of a request, General Antilles. You must understand, that actually constituted an order.”
Wedge nodded. “Nevertheless, I’m refusing it.”
“As an officer of the New Republic, you cannot do that.”
“I’ll resign my commission.”
“In this period of crisis, that could be construed as an act of treason,” Pwoe said. Luke could actually feel outrage pouring from the Quarren, but it didn’t feel quite right—Pwoe was outraged because he was being refused, not because he actually believed his charge of treason.
For the first time since the meeting began, Wedge smiled; it looked to Luke as though he were clamping down on a laugh. But the smile wasn’t a cheerful one. Luke imagined, with a flash of insight from the Force, Wedge drawing his blaster, a fast, smooth move, and shooting Pwoe right in the face. Luke twitched, his hand automatically seeking his lightsaber hilt, before he realized that this vision was not what Wedge intended to do—just what he wanted to do. Luke found himself startled by the violence Wedge was obviously keeping under restraint.
But Wedge merely said, “Treason. Now there’s a curious charge in this circumstance. But we don’t need to get into that. Or into the legitimacy of your claim to be the Chief of State. Instead, I’ll make you a deal, Councilor Pwoe. I’m going to mention a set of military forces and privileges. Give them to me for this assignment, and I’ll accept command. Otherwise, I’ll transmit you my resignation of commission before you can walk a hundred paces.”
Outrage crept into Pwoe’s voice. “You can’t dictate terms to your superiors.”
“Actually, given these circumstances, I can.”
Pwoe turned to Tycho, who sat beside Wedge. “Colonel Celchu. I’m promoting you to the rank of general. Your assignment will be the one I just described to this traitor …” His voice trailed off as Tycho shook his head.
Pwoe took a deep, long breath. His eyes flicked back and forth as he evaluated other officers in the chamber. He relaxed, settling against the back of his chair. “All right, then, in the spirit of cooperation, I’m prepared to hear what it is you want to ask for.”
Wedge began counting off on his fingers. “First, all matériel currently in Pyria system, including extraneous forces we picked up in our retreat from Coruscant, and any currently in transit here remain under my command for this operation.”
Luke could see, though the councilors could not, Wedge give Tycho a light kick under the table. Tycho opened his datapad and began typing, glancing at Wedge occasionally as though transcribing the general’s words, but Luke was certain that Tycho was performing a very different task.
“Second, I want the Lusankya.”
Pwoe almost rose out of his chair.
“The most powerful ship remaining in our navy? I don’t think so.”
“I do think so. And since, once the Yuuzhan Vong decide to besiege the Pyria system, getting supplies will be somewhat problematic, I need a three-month supply of food, medical gear, fuel, and ordnance for the entire force. I’ll give you three days from the time you depart this system for that to arrive. If it doesn’t, we leave. And one other thing.”
Pwoe’s voice turned frosty. “There’s always one other thing.”
“I want the right to communicate directly with any officer in the armed forces, to invite him or her to join us here, and the right to accept his or her transfer—without having to go through the commanding officer.”
“Antilles, you are obviously deranged. You should have been put out to pasture years ago.”
“I was, Pwoe. I should have been left there. And if the Advisory Council had conducted its part of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong in any competent fashion, I could have been left there.” Wedge held his hands out, palms up, a gesture saying, There we are. “Well?”
“Refused, of course.”
“As you wish. When this meeting is done, I’ll order the forces here to abandon Borleias. By the time you can get another occupation force here, the Yuuzhan Vong will hold this world. And, no, I’m not bluffing.”
Pwoe locked stares with Wedge, and whispers began again in the conference chamber. Finally Pwoe said, “A moment.”
“Take two.”
Pwoe turned to huddle with the other Advisory Council members. Wedge turned to Tycho. The murmurs rose in volume.
Luke leaned back toward Mara and Lando. “Sometimes,” Luke said, “I wish I had my sister’s political insight, or yours. What’s Wedge doing?”
“Pwoe is lying,” Mara said. “He wants Wedge to shore up Borleias so that the Yuuzhan Vong will come here to crush it. But he won’t be sending forces to reinforce Borleias. No one will. It will fall, and everyone here will die.”
Rebel Dream: Enemy Lines I Page 5