by Troy Denning
“Or that she’s the better tactician?” Jagged asked.
Djor dipped her head in acknowledgment. “That, too, Head of State,” she said. “It simply makes you look … frightened.”
“Yet you believe the citizenry isn’t ready for an election,” Jagged said, looking surprisingly satisfied. He glanced over at Ashik. “It certainly sounds as though they’re paying attention.”
Ashik nodded. “Indeed it does, Head of State.”
Djor glanced in confusion from Jagged to the Chiss, then said, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I do assume that we all agree Head of State Fel is the superior choice. Otherwise, what’s the point of opposing Daala at all?”
“Exactly, Commodore,” Jagged said. “What would the point be?”
Tahiri could see by the gleam in Jagged’s eye that there was more to his plan than he had shared—even with her. Not only had he anticipated the doubts Djor had mentioned, he was counting on them.
When Jagged did not elaborate, Admiral Reige said, “I’m afraid I agree with Commodore Djor.” Seated on Jagged’s right-hand side, he was the only other person in the cabin who was not standing. “I fail to see how this kind of mob violence benefits you—or the Empire.”
Jagged gave him a confident smile. “Only because you’ve never lived in a democracy, Admiral.” He took his datapad out of his lap and placed it on the table, then finally glanced at the holographic riot. “In a real democracy, it’s not the result that is important. It’s the process.”
Reige’s eyes betrayed his doubt, and he and Djor exchanged worried glances.
Jag smiled patiently. “People will only truly follow a leader if they choose that leader themselves.”
Djor rolled her eyes, and Reige looked even more worried.
“If I may,” Tahiri said, addressing Jagged, “perhaps I should explain the real reason you agreed to this election.”
Jag’s smile changed to a smirk, and he actually looked impressed. “Be my guest.” He glanced at a pair of puzzled-looking Imperials, then said, “I’m looking forward to hearing this as much as you are.”
Tahiri started to feel less confident of her conclusion, but said, “Clearly, you’re laying a trap.”
“And?” Jag steepled his fingers and looked at her expectantly. “I hope you can do better than that, Tahiri. I’d hate to think Jaina’s confidence in you is misplaced.”
Tahiri frowned. “Jaina’s confidence?” She glanced down at the datapad. “I thought she was still inside the Jedi Temple.”
“She is,” Jagged said. “And no, I haven’t heard if the shields are down yet. This is something she suggested after their last attempt failed.”
“You commed to ask her for advice?” Tahiri asked. “In the middle of a battle?”
“Not quite,” Jagged said. “She commed me. They were trying to regroup, and she had a few minutes. So she asked HQ to set her up with an S-thread feed.”
There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes, and Tahiri knew there had been more to the conversation than Jag would share in front of his subordinates. Probably, Jaina had asked to speak with him because she feared it might be her last chance to say good-bye. Tahiri held Jag’s gaze a bit longer than was needed, letting him know she understood how difficult it must be for him to be here—instead of helping Jaina on Coruscant—then flashed him a supportive smile.
“And when you and Jaina ran out of other things to talk about, the conversation naturally turned to Daala,” Tahiri said. “Jaina suggested a way to deal with her.”
“Something like that,” Jagged said. He turned to Reige and Djor. “Jedi Solo has a wonderfully devious mind, when the occasion demands.”
“Behind every great leader stands a great adviser,” Djor said tightly. “However, you might want to keep her role confidential until after she becomes an Imperial citizen, don’t you think?”
“Jaina?” Tahiri gasped, unable to contain her shock at the idea. “An Imperial citizen?”
“Of course,” Reige said, scowling at her. “If she’s going to marry the Head of State, she’ll become a citizen of the Empire.”
Trying not to laugh, Tahiri looked to Jagged. “I’ll bet that conversation went well,” she said. “I’d give anything to see Han’s face when someone tells him that his only daughter will have to join the Empire to marry you.”
“We haven’t actually discussed that yet.” Jagged paled at the thought, then gathered himself with a shudder. “And stop trying to change the subject. Do you know what I need you to do, or don’t you?”
Tahiri thought for a moment, trying to imagine how Jaina would handle a problem such as Daala. “She arranged for the Jedi to loan you a StealthX, didn’t she?”
Jagged nodded. “She did.”
“And shadow bombs?” Tahiri asked.
“An entire rack,” Ashik replied.
“I see,” Tahiri said. She took a deep breath, trying to decide how she felt about what Jagged was asking her to do, then finally shook her head. “I’m sorry, Head of State Fel. Attacking the Chimaera during the battle would have been one thing. But now that you and Daala have agreed to a truce, I’d be committing the same crime I’m accused of in Admiral—”
“It’s not Daala,” Jagged interrupted. “It’s nothing that easy.”
Tahiri frowned. “Then I don’t understand,” she said. “If you’re not sending me after Daala, then who are you trying to trap?”
Jagged pointed to the holographic riot still raging above the transceiver pad. “The one who’s behind that,” he said. “I’m sending you after Abeloth.”
“Abeloth?” Reige gasped. He leaned closer to the holo, as though he actually expected to see her in the riot, then finally nodded. “Of course. She is on Daala’s side.”
“I wouldn’t assume that,” Jagged said. “But she’s certainly not on ours.”
“That does seem doubtful, from what you have told me of her.” Reige turned to Tahiri. “And you can find this Abeloth?”
Tahiri remained quiet, mentally sorting through all the Imperial Intelligence reports she had been reading lately, then realized she had a decent idea of where to start looking.
“Didn’t I see something about a certain Mandalorian who was seen on Hagamoor Three?” she asked.
Reige frowned at Jagged. “That communiqué was Utmost Secret,” he said. “Am I to assume that you are now in the habit of granting un-vetted security clearances to prisoners?”
Jagged shrugged. “Tahiri was a Jedi, Admiral. Who’s to say how she knows what she knows?”
Reige’s eyes smoldered, and he turned back to Tahiri. “I don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten us?”
“The thing is, Boba Fett is the one who broke Daala out of the Galactic Alliance’s detention center,” Tahiri said, dodging Reige’s question. “So if Abeloth is working with Daala …”
Irritated though he was, Reige was quick to see the connection. “Then Abeloth might be on Hagamoor Three with Fett,” he said. “Though I should mention that the Mandalorian’s identity wasn’t established. We don’t know for certain that it was Fett.”
“But Hagamoor Three is part of the Getelles holdings, correct?” Jagged asked. “It’s a moon orbiting Antemeridias?”
Reige nodded. “It is.”
“And that would be the same moon where the nanovirus scientists have gone into hiding?” Jagged asked. “The ones who developed the strain that targeted the Hapan Chume’da?”
Tahiri had not seen that detail in the reports.
“That’s what Eye-eye reports,” Reige said, using the common acronym for Imperial Intelligence. “And everything certainly points in that direction. But the reports haven’t been confirmed.”
“Of course not,” Jagged said. “Otherwise, those scientists would all be under arrest.” He turned to Tahiri. “These would be the same scientists who developed the nanovirus strain that Admiral Atoko released into Mandalore’s atmosphere.”
“Then I think we know the identity of the Mandalor
ian on Hagamoor Three,” Tahiri said. “And if that’s where Boba Fett is, it’s as good a place as any to start looking. If I can pick up his trail, maybe I’ll be able to trace it—or him—back to Abeloth’s hiding place.”
“Then you’ll be going to Hagamoor Three?” Reige asked. “To find Boba Fett—so you can use him to find Abeloth?”
His expression was equal parts disbelief and respect.
Tahiri nodded. “So it seems,” she said. “If you’ll return my lightsaber.”
“Of course, Prisoner Veila,” Reige said. For the first time since Tahiri had met him, he gave her a broad smile. “Quite honestly, I can say that returning your lightsaber will be my great pleasure.”
“Uh, thanks … I think,” Tahiri said. She turned to Jagged. “And assuming I find her?”
“I don’t care about Fett one way or another, but do whatever it takes to stop Abeloth,” Jagged said. “I’ll assign you a frigate—with my full authorization to use it however you must.”
Tahiri cocked her brow. “As in vape her?”
“Back to her atoms,” Jag said. “All I ask is that you do what you can to limit collateral loss of life.”
“Of course,” Tahiri replied. “And thank you for trusting me with something like that.”
“We all want Abeloth destroyed, prisoner Veila. And if you succeed, you’ll have a pardon for any and all crimes against the Empire.” Jagged turned to look at Reige. “Is that acceptable, Admiral Reige?”
Reige’s brow rose in surprise. “I’m grateful that you would ask, Head of State.” He fell silent and regarded Tahiri for a moment, then finally said, “Fett and Abeloth? If she survives that, I’d sign the pardon myself.”
Jagged smiled. “Thank you, Admiral,” he said. “And if you should happen to become the next Head of State, I’ll expect you to honor your word.”
Reige’s smirk turned worried. “Sir?”
“My trap,” Jagged said. “Prisoner Veila hasn’t explained your part in it yet.”
Reige looked back to Tahiri, who quickly looked back to Jagged.
“You want me to explain this?” she asked. “You’re sure?”
“Who better?” Jagged turned to Djor. “Unless you would care to enlighten the admiral, Commodore?”
Djor frowned, then said, “I’d be happy to, Head of State—if I had the slightest idea what you’re thinking.”
Jagged shook his head in mock disappointment. “This is going to be harder than I thought. Imperials clearly have no idea how democracy works.” He flicked a hand toward Tahiri. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do it, prisoner Veila.”
“Very well, Head of State.” Tahiri faced Reige and returned the cruel smile he had given her earlier. “Admiral Reige, you’re going to be what’s known as a spoiler.”
Reige frowned. “A spoiler?” He looked to Jagged. “What am I to spoil?”
“Daala’s chances of winning the election, of course,” Jagged explained. “You’re about to become the third candidate in the race to become the Imperial Head of State.”
Djor’s eyes lit with comprehension. “Of course—an admiral against an admiral,” she said. “You intend to split the military vote!”
“Very good,” Jagged said. “We might make a political adviser of you yet.”
Reige scowled, looking none too happy about the prospect of running against his superior officer. “I’m sorry, Head of State. Are you ordering me to enter the election against you?”
Jagged turned and leaned away from the admiral. “Do I need to?”
“Uh, no?” Reige replied, looking more confused than ever. “I’m happy to serve the Empire in any way I can, sir.”
“Good.” Jagged smiled and stood, then clapped a hand on Reige’s shoulder. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, Admiral.”
IF THE KILLIKS OF THE CELESTIAL PALACE TRULY BELIEVED THE End OF Time was upon them, they had a strange way of preparing for it. Upon hearing of Abeloth’s escape, the nearly dormant hive had burst into action, preparing the nursery comb to receive new eggs and rushing out to prepare for planting. In just days, they had cleared the scrub from their fields and partitioned them into rock-walled plots, and now they were busy opening a giant web of irrigation ditches already beginning to shine with the silver gleam of sunlight on water.
Even Raynar, who understood the unlimited potential of Killik industry better than anyone, found the progress astounding. They had prepared over five square kilometers for planting, and they were already bringing out seed casks to warm in the sun.
But none of that meant their crops would grow. From what Raynar could see, the land surrounding the Celestial Palace was a dust bowl. The ground was so powdery that even a gentle breeze sent clouds of it dancing across the plain, and if the dirt held any humus, it was not enough to be called soil.
A soft rustle sounded in the corridor behind Raynar, and his Killik guide stepped to the window next to him. She braced her upper hands on the sill and leaned out to study the fields below, then began a conversational rumble.
“Little grows here without the Force to help it,” she thrummed. “Still, the hive must prepare and be ready.”
To Raynar’s surprise, he understood every word.
“Because the Force will come again soon,” the Killik continued.
Raynar did not answer, for a cold knot had formed in his stomach. Maybe he was just remembering a foreign language, the way anyone might after returning to an alien culture in which they had once lived. But the Killik language was incredibly subtle and complex, with touch- and stress-dependent meanings, and over thirty different vowels that all sounded like the letter U to the human ear. So as much as he wanted to believe the language was just coming back, it seemed far more likely that he understood Thuruht because he was becoming Thuruht—because his pheromone counteragent had worn off and he was becoming a Killik Joiner again.
“That is why you have come, to share the Force with the hive,” Thuruht said.
“I see,” Raynar said, finally beginning to understand why Thuruht had been so circumspect about sharing the hive’s knowledge. “And that’s why you have been so slow to tell us about Abeloth. You’ve been stalling until we become Joiners.”
“Thuruht is not stalling!” the guide protested. “How can Thuruht show the Jedi what the Jedi have not prepared themselves to see?”
“What does it take to prepare?” Raynar asked, fairly certain that he already knew the answer. “Becoming Joiners?”
Thuruht circled her antennae in a negative gesture. “You are ready now,” she said. “The other Jedi require more time.”
“The Jedi can’t wait until we’re all ready,” Raynar said, anticipating the Killik’s next excuse for continuing to withhold the hive’s knowledge. “Abeloth is free now, and our friends are hunting her now.”
“Then you must hope your friends fail, or they will die,” Thuruht said. “You will understand, when the time is right.”
“And the time will be right after I share the Force with the hive?” Raynar asked, trying to get Thuruht to at least name her terms. “Is that what you’re proposing?”
“Without the Force, the hive cannot grow,” Thuruht said. “And the hive must grow, if Thuruht is to be ready when the Ones call us to service.”
The deal could not have been clearer, at least by Killik standards. Thuruht would share its knowledge of Abeloth, and in exchange Raynar would use the Force to help the Thuruht restore its hive. Unfortunately, there were two big problems with the agreement. First, it would anger the Chiss, who had not forgotten the war they had fought the last time Raynar had lived among Killiks. Second, if he stayed with Thuruht much longer, all of the counteragents and filters aboard the Long Trek would not prevent him from becoming a Joiner again—and there was only one thing in the galaxy that Raynar feared more than losing his identity to a Killik hive again.
That thing was Abeloth.
After a moment, Raynar nodded. “Done,” he said. “If you sha
re all of Thuruht’s knowledge of Abeloth with me and my friends now, I promise to stay behind and use the Force to help the hive reestablish itself. Agreed?”
Thuruht clacked her mandibles in acceptance. “Now you are ready to see the Histories,” Thuruht replied. “And when you understand Abeloth, you will understand how important Thuruht is to the galaxy. You will want to help Thuruht. Even the Chiss will see that Thuruht must be strong!”
With that, Thuruht turned back toward the palace interior, where Lowbacca, Tekli, and C-3PO were studying the reliefs carved into the corridor wall.
Thuruht pointed to a set of panels that depicted a trio of beings living in isolation on a mountainous forest world. One panel depicted a smiling, pale-haired woman with oval eyes. She was running through a forest in full bloom, followed by clouds of butterflies and swarms of frolicking Killiks. The next panel depicted a powerful-looking man in dark armor, marching through a lifeless forest of bare branches and barren ground. He had a craggy face and two stripes tattooed over his bald pate; the only signs of life in his forest were a toad being crushed beneath his boot and a line of Killiks chained behind him.
A third panel depicted a high mountain peak that loomed over both forests, with the barren forest lying to the left side of a dividing river and the forest in bloom to the right. Looking out over the scene from the balcony of a cliffside monastery was a gaunt old man, his arms spread so that one hand was suspended above the dark aspect of the forest and one over the luminous aspect. On the old fellow’s face was such an expression of weariness and sorrow that Raynar felt his own shoulders sag, weighed down by a burden as mysterious as it was ancient.
