by Timothy Zahn
“What’s happening is that we need Garm,” Leia said, glancing around. “Where is he?”
“Observation gallery,” Sena said, nodding upward toward the semicircular balcony running around the back half of the war room.
Leia looked up. Beings of all sorts were beginning to pour into the gallery—government civilians, most of them, who were authorized this deep into the command floor but weren’t cleared for access to the war room proper. Sitting alone to one side, gazing intently at the master displays, was Bel Iblis. “Get him down here,” Leia told Sena. “We need him.”
Sena seemed to sigh. “He won’t come down,” she said. “Not unless and until Mon Mothma asks him to. His own words.”
Leia felt her stomach tighten. Bel Iblis had more than his share of stiff-necked pride, but this was no time for personal squabbles. “He can’t do that. We need his help.”
Sena shook her head minutely. “I’ve tried. He won’t listen to me.”
Leia took a deep breath. “Maybe he’ll listen to me.”
“I hope so.” Sena gestured toward the display, where one of Bel Iblis’s Dreadnaughts had appeared from the space dock to join the rising wave of starfighters, Corellian Gunships, and Escort Frigates blazing toward the invaders. “That’s the Harrier,” she identified it. “My sons Peter and Dayvid are aboard it.”
Leia touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry—I’ll get him down here.”
The center section of the gallery was becoming almost crowded by the time she reached it. But the area around Bel Iblis was still reasonably empty. “Hello, Leia,” he said as she came up to him. “I thought you’d be down below.”
“I should be—and so should you,” Leia said. “We need you down—”
“You have your comlink with you?” he cut her off sharply.
She frowned at him. “Yes.”
“Get it out. Now. Call Drayson and warn him about those two Interdictors.”
Leia looked at the master tactical. The two Interdictor Cruisers that had come in late to the party were doing some fine-tune maneuvering, their hazy gravity-wave cones sweeping across one of the battle stations. “Thrawn pulled this stunt on us at Qat Chrystac,” Bel Iblis went on. “He uses an Interdictor Cruiser to define a hyperspace edge, then brings a ship in along an intersecting vector to drop out at a precisely chosen point. Drayson needs to pull some ships up on those flanks to be ready for whatever Thrawn’s bringing in.”
Leia was already digging in her robe pocket. “But we don’t have anything here that can take on another Star Destroyer.”
“It’s not a matter of taking it on,” Bel Iblis told her. “Whatever’s on its way will come in blind, with deflectors down and no targeting references. If our ships are in place, we’ll get one solid free shot at them. That could make a lot of difference.”
“I understand,” Leia said, thumbing on her comlink and keying for the central switching operator. “This is Councilor Leia Organa Solo. I have an urgent message for Admiral Drayson.”
“Admiral Drayson is occupied and cannot be disturbed,” the electronic voice said.
“This is a direct Council override,” Leia ordered. “Put me through to Drayson.”
“Voice analysis confirmed,” the operator said. “Council override is superseded by military emergency procedure. You may leave Admiral Drayson a message.”
Leia ground her teeth, throwing a quick glance at the tactical. “Then put me through to Drayson’s chief aide.”
“Lieutenant DuPre is occupied and cannot—”
“Cancel,” Leia cut it off. “Get me General Rieekan.”
“General Rieekan is occupied—”
“Too late,” Bel Iblis said quietly.
Leia looked up. Two Victory-class Star Destroyers had suddenly appeared out of hyperspace, dropping in at point-blank range to their target battle stations exactly as Bel Iblis had predicted. They delivered massive broadsides, then angled away before the station or its defending Gunships could respond with more than token return fire. On the tactical, the hazy blue shell indicating the stations deflector shield flickered wildly before settling down again.
“Drayson’s no match for him,” Bel Iblis sighed. “He just isn’t.”
Leia took a deep breath. “You have to come down, Garm.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. Not until Mon Mothma asks me to.”
“You’re behaving like a child,” Leia snapped, abandoning any attempt to be diplomatic about this. “You can’t let people die out there just because of personal pique.”
He looked at her; and as she glared back she was struck by the pain in his eyes. “You don’t understand, Leia,” he said. “This has nothing to do with me. It has to do with Mon Mothma. After all these years, I finally understand why she does things the way she does. I’ve always assumed she was gathering more and more power to herself simply because she was in love with power. But I was wrong.”
“So why does she do it?” Leia demanded, not really interested in talking about Mon Mothma.
“Because with everything she does there are lives hanging in the balance,” he said quietly. “And she’s terrified of trusting anyone else with those lives.”
Leia stared at him … but even as she opened her mouth to deny it, all the pieces of her life these past few years fell suddenly into place. All the diplomatic missions Mon Mothma had insisted she go on, no matter what the personal cost in lost Jedi training and strained family life. All the trust she’d invested in Ackbar and a few others; all the responsibility that had been shifted onto fewer and fewer shoulders.
Onto the shoulders of those few she could trust to do the job right.
“That’s why I can’t simply go down and take command,” Bel Iblis said into the silence, “Until she’s able to accept me—really accept me—as someone she can trust, she won’t ever be able to give me any genuine authority in the New Republic. She’ll always need to be hovering around in the background somewhere, watching over my shoulder to make sure I don’t make any mistakes. She hasn’t got the time for that, I haven’t got the patience, and the friction would be devastating for everyone caught in the middle.”
He nodded toward the war room. “When she’s ready to trust me, I’ll be ready to serve. Until then, it’s better for everyone involved if I stay out of it.”
“Except for those dying out there,” Leia reminded him tightly. “Let me call her, Garm, Maybe I can persuade her to offer you command.”
Bel Iblis shook his head. “If you have to persuade her, Leia, it doesn’t count. She has to decide this for herself.”
“Perhaps she has,” Mon Mothma’s voice came from behind them.
Leia turned in surprise. With all her attention concentrated on Bel Iblis, she hadn’t even noticed the older woman’s approach. “Mon Mothma,” she said, feeling the guilty awkwardness of having being caught talking about someone behind her back. “I—”
“It’s all right, Leia,” Mon Mothma said. “General Bel Iblis …”
Bel Iblis had risen to his feet to face her. “Yes?”
Mon Mothma seemed to brace herself. “We’ve had more than our share of differences over the years, General. But that was a long time ago. We were a good team once. There’s no reason why we can’t be one again.”
She hesitated again; and with a sudden flash of insight, Leia saw how incredibly difficult this was for her. How humiliating it was to face a man who’d once turned his back on her and to admit aloud that she needed his help. If Bel Iblis was unwilling to bend until she’d said the words he wanted to hear …
And then, to Leia’s surprise, Bel Iblis straightened to a military attention. “Mon Mothma,” he said formally, “given the current emergency, I hereby request your permission to take command of Coruscant’s defense.”
The lines around Mon Mothma’s eyes smoothed noticeably, a quiet relief coloring over her sense. “I would be very grateful if you would do so, Garm.”
He smiled. “Then let’s get to it.�
�
Together, they headed for the stairway down to the command floor; and with a newly humbled sense of her own limitations, Leia realized that probably half of what she’d just witnessed had passed her by completely. The long and perilous history Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis had shared had created an empathy between them, a bond and understanding far deeper than Leia’s Jedi insights could even begin to track through. Perhaps, she decided, it was that empathy that formed the true underlying strength of the New Republic. The strength that would create the future of the galaxy.
If it could withstand the next few hours. Clenching her teeth, she hurried after them.
A pair of Corellian Gunships shot past the Chimaera, sending a volley of turbolaser fire spattering across the bridge deflector shield. A squadron of TIE fighters was right on their tail, sweeping into a Rellis flanking maneuver as they tried for a clear shot. Beyond them, Pellaeon spotted an Escort Frigate cutting into backup position across the Gunships’ exit vector. “Squadron A-4, move to sector twenty-two,” Pellaeon ordered. So far, as near as he could tell, the battle seemed to be going well.
“There they go,” Thrawn commented from beside him.
Pellaeon scanned the area. “Where?” he asked.
“They’re preparing to pull back,” Thrawn told him, pointing to one of the two Rebel Dreadnaughts that had joined the battle. “Observe how that Dreadnaught is moving into cover position for a retreat. There—the second one is following suit.”
Pellaeon frowned at the maneuvering Dreadnaughts. He still didn’t see it; but he’d never yet seen Thrawn wrong on such a call. “They’re abandoning the battle stations?”
Thrawn snorted gently. “They never should have brought those ships out to defend them in the first place. Golan defense platforms can take considerably more punishment than their former ground commander apparently realized.”
“Their former ground commander?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “At a guess, I’d say our old Corellian adversary has just been put in command of Coruscant’s defense. I wonder what took them so long.”
Pellaeon shrugged, studying the battle area. The Grand Admiral was right: the defenders were starting to pull back. “Perhaps they had to wake him up.”
“Perhaps.” Thrawn sent a leisurely look around the battle area. “You see how the Corellian offers us a choice: stay here and duel with the battle stations, or follow the defenders down into range of the ground-based weaponry. Fortunately”—his eyes glittered—“we have a third option.”
Pellaeon nodded. He’d been wondering when Thrawn would unveil his brilliant new siege weapon. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Shall I order the tractor launching?”
“We’ll wait for the Corellian to pull his ships back a big further,” Thrawn said. “We wouldn’t want him to miss this.”
“Understood,” Pellaeon said. Stepping back to his command chair, he sat down and confirmed that the asteroids and the hangar-bay tractor beams were ready.
And waited for the Grand Admiral’s order.
“All right,” Bel Iblis said. “Harrier, begin pulling back—cover those Escort Frigates on your portside flank. Red leader, watch out for those TIE interceptors.”
Leia watched the tactical display, holding her breath. Yes; it was going to work. Unwilling to risk the ground-based weaponry, the Imperials were letting the defenders retreat back toward Coruscant. That left only the two battle stations still in danger, and they were proving themselves more capable of absorbing damage than Leia had realized they could. And even that would be ending soon—the Grand Admiral would know better than to be here when the sector fleet arrived. It was almost over, and they’d gotten through it.
“General Bel Iblis?” an officer at one of the monitor stations spoke up. “We’re getting a funny reading from the Chimaera’s hangar bay.”
“What is it?” Bel Iblis asked, stepping over to the console.
“It reads like the launching tractor beams being activated,” the officer said, indicating one of the multicolored spots on the Star Destroyer silhouette centered in his display. “But it’s pulling far too much power.”
“Could they be launching a whole TIE squadron together?” Leia suggested.
“I don’t think so,” the officer said. “That’s the other thing: near as we can tell, nothing at all left the bay.”
Beside Leia, Bel Iblis stiffened. “Calculate the exit vector,” he ordered. “All ships: sensor focus along that path for drive emissions. I think the Chimaera’s just launched a cloaked ship.”
Someone nearby swore feelingly. Leia looked up at the master visual display, her throat suddenly tight as the memory of that brief conversation she and Han had had with Admiral Ackbar flashed back to mind. Ackbar had been solidly convinced—and had convinced her—that the double-blind properties of the cloaking shield made it too user-dangerous to be an effective weapon. If Thrawn had found a way around that problem …
“They’re firing again,” the sensor officer reported. “And again.”
“Same from the Death’s Head,” another officer put in. “—firing again.”
“Signal the battle stations to track and fire along those vectors,” Bel Iblis ordered. “As close to the Star Destroyers as possible. We’ve got to find out what Thrawn’s up to.”
The word was barely out of his mouth when there was a flash of light from the visual display. One of the Escort Frigates along the first projected vector was suddenly ablaze, its aft section trailing fiery drive gases as the whole ship spun wildly about its transverse axis. “Collision!” someone barked. “Escort Frigate Evanrue—impact with unknown object.”
“Impact?” Bel Iblis echoed. “Not a turbolaser shot?”
“Telemetry indicates physical impact,” the other shook his head.
Leia looked back at the visual, where the Evanrue was now wreathed in burning gas as it fought to get its spin under control. “Cloaking shields are supposed to be double-blind,” Leia said. “How are they maneuvering?”
“Maybe they’re not,” Bel Iblis said, his voice dark with suspicion. “Tactical: give me a new track from point of impact with the Evanrue. Assume inert object; calculate impact velocity by distance to the Chimaera, and don’t forget to factor in the local gravitational field. Feed probable location to the Harrier; order it to open fire as soon as it has the coordinates.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the lieutenants spoke up. “Feeding to the Harrier now,”
“On second thought, belay that last,” Bel Iblis said, holding up a hand. “Order the Harrier to use its ion cannon only—repeat, ion cannon only. No turbolasers.”
Leia frowned at him. “You’re trying to take the ship intact?”
“I’m trying to take it intact, yes,” Bel Iblis said slowly. “But I don’t think it’s a ship.”
He fell silent. On the visual, the Harrier’s ion cannon began to fire.
The Dreadnaught opened fire, as indeed Thrawn had predicted it would. But only, Pellaeon noted with some surprise, with its ion cannon. “Admiral?”
“Yes, I see,” Thrawn said. “Interesting. I was right, Captain—our old Corellian adversary is indeed in command below. But he’s allowed us to lead him by the nose only so far.”
Pellaeon nodded as understanding suddenly came. “He’s trying to knock out the asteroid’s cloaking shield.”
“Hoping to take it intact.” Thrawn touched his control board. “Forward turbolaser batteries: track and target asteroid number one. Fire on my command only.”
Pellaeon looked down at his magnified visual display. The Dreadnaught had found its target, its ion beams vanishing in midspace as they flooded down into the cloaking shield. It shouldn’t be able to take much more of that.…
Abruptly, the stars in that empty region vanished. For a couple of heartbeats there was complete blackness as the cloaking shield collapsed in on itself; then, just as abruptly, the newly uncloaked asteroid was visible.
The ion beams cut off “Turbolasers, stand by,” T
hrawn said. “We want them to have a good look first.… Turbolasers: fire.”
Pellaeon shifted his attention to the viewport. The green fire lanced out, disappearing into the distance as they converged on their target. A second later, there was a faint flash from that direction, a flash that was repeated more strongly from his visual display. Another salvo—another—and another—
“Cease fire,” Thrawn said with clear satisfaction. “They’re welcome to whatever’s left. Hangar bay: firing status.”
“We’re up to seventy-two, sir,” the engineering officer reported, his voice sounding a little strained. “But the power feedback shunt’s starting to glow white. We can’t keep up these dry firings much longer without burning out either the shunt or the tractor projector itself.”
“Close down dry firing,” Thrawn ordered, “and signal the other ships to do likewise. How many total firings have there been, Captain?”
Pellaeon checked the figures. “Two hundred eighty-seven,” he told the Grand Admiral.
“I presume all twenty-two actual asteroids are out?”
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon confirmed. “Most of them in the first two minutes. Though there’s no way of knowing if they’ve taken up their prescribed orbits.”
“The specific orbits are irrelevant,” Thrawn assured him. “All that matters is that the asteroids are somewhere in the space around Coruscant.”
Pellaeon smiled. Yes, they were … except that there were only a fraction of the number the Rebels thought were there. “And now we leave, sir?”
“Now we leave,” Thrawn confirmed. “For the moment, at least, Coruscant is effectively out of the war.”
Drayson nodded to the battle ops colonel and stepped back to the small group waiting for him a short distance behind the consoles. “The final numbers are in,” he said, his voice sounding a little hollow. “They can’t be absolutely certain they didn’t miss any through the battle debris. But even so … their count is two hundred eighty-seven.”
“Two hundred eighty-seven?” General Rieekan repeated, his jaw dropping slightly.
