“No—I can’t believe that,” said Leia. But her face wore a defeated expression. “Nevertheless—” She sighed. “Alert the fleet and the ground defenses. Instruct the captain of the Brilliant to take up position and stand by for further orders. But we will not be the first to fire—I want that understood by everyone. This has to be a misunderstanding. Let’s not do anything to make it worse.”
Aramadia went into orbit forty klicks below the lower limit of Coruscant’s planetary shield, with Brilliant shadowing it astern.
There it remained for the next two hours, as mute and inscrutable as ever—in General Rieekan’s words, “running the yard like a dog who knows exactly where the fence is.” Ackbar and Leia watched the orbital traces of both ships on a monitor in her office, with Leia growing more and more impatient.
“What is he waiting for?” she demanded of no one in particular, pacing the room. “He was in such a hurry to raise ship, and now he just sits there. It doesn’t make any sense. If he’s planning to leave, he’ll have to ask for clearance to transit the shield, won’t he?”
“So far as we know,” said Ackbar, “it’s not possible to jump through or over our planetary shield.”
“That’s what I thought. But if he has something else in mind, he’s squandered his moment of surprise, and then some. So what could this be about?”
“Maybe he’s giving us a chance to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what? Am I supposed to guess? It’s hard enough dealing with all the ones who won’t say what they mean, or tell you what they think you want to hear—what am I supposed to do when they won’t talk at all? They come here and expect me to dance at their protocol ball without ever snowing me the steps—”
As she spoke, Ackbar recoiled at the bitterness of her words and the harshness of her tone. Belatedly Leia noticed his reaction. “I’m sorry,” she said, and sighed deeply. “It isn’t you. I just don’t understand why this is happening, and it’s making me a little crazy.”
“Princess,” said Ackbar, “that may be exactly why it’s happening.”
At the rostrum of the huge Senate chamber, Behn-kihl-nahm gaveled the body into order. He wondered at the unusual number of senators present for the opening—more than half the number seated, if his eyes did not deceive him.
There had been much talk in the corridor and the cloakrooms about the sudden departure of the Yevetha that morning, but that could not account for the turnout. The first hour or more of each daily session was usually lost to self-serving speeches intended more for the homeworlds than for the senators’ peers. It was common to find the chamber empty except for those waiting to speak. Behn-kihl-nahm glanced at the list and could find no name that could explain the high attendance or the speed with which the senators were moving to their seats.
There is something here, he thought worriedly. “The chair recognizes Senator Hodidiji.”
“I rise to speak on a point of privilege.”
“Senator Hodidiji is recognized on a point of personal privilege.”
Hodidiji rose at his seat and addressed the rostrum without benefit of the microphone available to him, his voice booming out across the rows of planetary representatives. “Chairman, a matter of substantial urgency has arisen since I first requested my time. Due to the seriousness of this matter, I elect to yield my time to Senator Peramis of Walalla, and I ask that this body attend carefully to his presentation.”
There was a stir in the chamber, but less of one than Behn-kihl-nahm would have expected. Apparently Peramis was the reason for the turnout. Just as apparently, Behn-kihl-nahm had not heard all of the morning’s gossip and rumors, a prospect that brought a frown to his face. “Senator Peramis,” he said with a nod, then stepped back from the podium.
“Thank you, Chairman. And I thank Senator Hodidiji for his indulgence,” said Peramis. “Most of you know by now that the Yevethan consular ship Aramadia made an unscheduled liftoff from Eastport this morning. I have been informed that three port employees are dead and more than a score injured—”
This time the stir had an angry edge to it.
Behn-kihl-nahm reached out and dragged an aide closer by means of a fistful of fabric. “Call the princess,” he whispered harshly. “Tell her she’d better get herself down here, now—and bring her firesuit.”
“—Three ships were also damaged, including a consular ship belonging to the autonomous territory of Paqwepori.
“However, it’s not the collapse of negotiations with the Yevetha, or the damage to property, or even the loss of life which should make this a matter of great import to us,” said Peramis. “It is the reason why these things happened which must concern us.
“So far, there’s been no information forthcoming from the president’s office about these events—not a word of explanation, or regret, or indignation. The princess has been unavailable, and there’s been only silence from her staff.
“I’m not surprised by that. When you’ve heard what you’re about to hear, you won’t be surprised, either. There isn’t much they can say without lying, because the truth shames them.”
Senator Tolik Yar shot to his feet. “A point of privilege is not a license to slander and defame, sir!”
“Chairman, I ask for order in the chamber,” Peramis said, not even looking in Senator Yar’s direction.
“The chamber will be in order,” Behn-kihl-nahm said without enthusiasm.
“I warn you, recant your words, before you flirt with treason—”
Peramis shot the round-bodied Oolid a look of contempt. “Sit down and listen, Senator, and you will learn something about treason, and about this woman you call your friend. Chairman, I ask that the Senate recorder activate the chamber’s display screens and set them to Channel Eighty-one, the diplomatic frequency.”
“For what purpose, Senator?”
“For the purpose of allowing Viceroy Nil Spaar of the Yevetha to address this body from aboard Aramadia, which is presently orbiting Coruscant.”
Behn-kihl-nahm turned away from the podium just long enough to send a second aide on a hasty mission. “This is most irregular, Senator Peramis.”
“So are the events in dispute, Chairman. And I consider the information the viceroy can provide this body not merely relevant, but essential to understanding those events.”
“Am I to understand that you already have knowledge of what the viceroy will say?”
“I was contacted by the viceroy and asked if I would help bring the truth to light. When I learned what the truth was, it seemed unlikely to me that we would hear it from any other source, and I agreed.”
There was a growing restlessness in the chamber. “Let’s hear what the viceroy has to say!” cried a voice from the high rows.
“It’s a point of privilege—he can introduce whatever he likes,” shouted another.
“If you don’t want to hear it, leave!”
“Senator Noimm made us look at recordings of her last brood-birth, and you allowed that irregularity.”
There was a ripple of laughter at that reminder, though Senator Noimm glared unhappily.
“Turn ’em on!” someone called, and it became a chorus. “Turn ’em on! Let’s hear from the viceroy.”
Behn-kihl-nahm pounded his gavel. “The chamber will be in order. Sergeant, you are to eject the next member I identify who speaks out of turn. There will be order, or I will suspend this session.”
The sergeant-at-arms, a hulking Gamorrean, moved forward from his usual post to the center of the well, from which he glowered up at the front benches. With Behn-kihl-nahm alternately pounding the gavel and pointing it at the worst offenders, the chamber slowly settled into something resembling civility.
“That’s better,” Behn-kihl-nahm said scoldingly. “Remember who you are! This is the Senate of the New Republic. We are not a rabble.” He peered down to his left. “Senator Peramis.”
“Yes, Chairman.”
“Do you accept responsibility for your speaker’s rem
arks as though they were your own, including any and all sanctions which would fall on any member of this body for transgressions against the Senate’s code of conduct?”
“I do.”
“Then proceed with your presentation.”
When Behn-kihl-nahm’s first warning reached Princess Leia in her office, she headed not for the door but for the darkened display on which she was able to monitor the Senate’s hypercomm feed on Channel 11.
“I’m not rushing down there to put out a fire until I know what’s burning,” she told Ackbar.
Moments later they were joined by First Administrator Engh, who had been routinely monitoring the Senate on his own and came running to alert Leia.
“Did you hear him? No information forthcoming!” Engh raged. “The situation’s still developing—what is there to say? Aramadia is still sitting up there ignoring us. Bless Tolik Yar, anyway. Peramis hasn’t even called here—he didn’t try to get our side of it.”
“Shhh,” Leia said. “I can’t hear what he’s saying.”
They did not have to watch long for Leia to conclude there was little she could accomplish by going to the Senate chamber.
“They know me,” she said. “They know him. Let him make whatever intimations he wants. The Senate won’t rush to judgment. I’ll get my turn to be heard—but not today, in a shouting match with Peramis. He can have the floor to himself this morning.”
But when Peramis announced his intention to have Nil Spaar address the Senate, Ackbar became livid. “This is absurd. Benny can’t let Peramis do that.”
“He can’t stop him,” Leia said. “He has to allow it.”
“The Duskhan League is not a member of the Republic,” Ackbar said. “Nil Spaar has no right to use the diplomatic channels.”
“A technicality,” said Leia. “The chairman doesn’t dare hold such a feeble reed up in the wind that’s blowing down there.”
“If the viceroy addresses the Senate on Channel Eighty-one, it’s going to go out on the repeaters to every New Republic homeworld,” Engh said. “Let me call someone I know over at Network Operations. He’d be willing to stop this from going offplanet on my word.”
“No,” said Leia. “I’m not afraid of what he might say. Besides, the newsgrids are sure to have it by now. No, if the viceroy won’t speak to me, let him speak to whomever he wants. At least we’ll find out what this is all about.”
“Then proceed with your presentation,” Behn-kihl-nahm was saying.
“I told you he’d have to allow it,” said Leia. “Quiet, both of you, until he’s done. I don’t want to miss any of this.”
Both the Coruscant Global Newsgrid and the independent New Republic Prime Newsgrid, tipped off by staffers from the offices of Senators Hodidiji and Peramis, had been following the contretemps in the Senate since Peramis had taken the floor.
Port officials hadn’t released any of the images captured by the official visual logs, but Global had an amateur recording of the liftoff of Aramadia, made by a Belovian envoy who was seeing family off at the Eastport terminal.
That such a recording existed was almost inevitable, given how many lenses had been pointed in the direction of the Yevethan consular ship since its arrival. But it was just chance that the first moments of the recording included a blurry glimpse of one of the sentries being tumbled along the ground by the downblast like a rag doll.
Prime’s recording of the liftoff had been made from much farther away, by a space hobbyist who kept a bank of automated recorders on the balcony of his dormitory, and included no such graphic detail. But Prime had somehow gotten close-ups of the damage on the ground, including shots of bodies draped in deathrobes lying on the ground and being loaded onto emergency speeders.
Nil Spaar studied both the Global and Prime broadcasts intently as he awaited the outcome of the wrangling between the two vermin. As had been the case ever since the Yevetha mission had begun, what he saw on the grids was instructive. He had been obliged to learn how to think like the vermin in order to exploit their weaknesses, and the grids had brought him all the lessons and opportunities he could have asked for.
But the viceroy could still hardly believe the mad absurdities he had witnessed, not least of all the scene playing out before him.
The idea that the vermin were allowed to speak against their supreme leader, without fear that they would be slain on the spot and their blood used to drown their children—the idea that an anointed body of elders would even listen to an outsider, much less give credence to an outsider’s insults—these were notions no Yevetha could easily accept.
If Nil Spaar had not seen for himself the weak hand that now ruled over the vermin, he could not have credited such reports.
The body and the spirit of the vermin were fatally polluted by impurities of blood and honor. Their thousands of species had the same quality of unity as a handful of pebbles—each still separate, and its separate identity preventing it from merging into a greater whole. The vermin were contentiously divided, selfishly predatory, foolishly trusting, relentlessly arational, fatally idealistic. Not a one of them had earned his respect. And none had earned more of his contempt than Tig Peramis, the traitor whose face now filled both displays.
“I do,” Peramis was saying.
They will kill you slowly when they learn what you have done, thought Nil Spaar, and you will well deserve it.
“Then proceed with your presentation,” said Behn-kihl-nahm.
A signal light appeared before Nil Spaar, and he muted the grid displays.
“Yes, Senator,” he said. “I am here.”
His long fingers steepled with gentle precision, Hiram Drayson leaned back in his chair and watched as the face on the Senate monitor changed from that of Tig Peramis to that of Nil Spaar.
Drayson had hoped for—though not expected—a glimpse inside the Aramadia, but the Yevetha had avoided that bit of carelessness. Wherever Nil Spaar was transmitting from, the space behind him appeared as empty and unenlightening as a blank bulkhead. Given the universal propensity of starship designers to fill every available space, Drayson suspected the use of a screen, either physical or electronic.
“Before I begin, I want to share my deep regret over the unfortunate casualties resulting from our ascent from Eastport,” the viceroy said. “It was with great sorrow that I learned that our warnings had not been honored and the thrust radius of the Aramadia had not been cleared. We had no thought or intention of injuring anyone. We left Eastport to avoid a confrontation, not to cause one.”
“Oh, very good,” Drayson said to himself, nodding. “Well done.”
“I regret the casualties,” Nil Spaar went on, “but I cannot take responsibility for them. For more than three days we requested clearance to leave Coruscant. Three members of your Senate witnessed two such attempts and can testify that we received only silence in reply.
“We warned the tower at Eastport and the president that we would raise ship without clearance if they left us no other choice. Their only response was to surround our ship with more soldiers and replace the ground crews with agents of the Intelligence Service.”
Ah! Drayson thought. Very interesting. Now, is it that you think they’ll believe any accusation against the Service, or do you have an honest card to play to help sell the lies?
Allowing his fingers to lace together, Drayson rocked slowly in his chair as he listened for the answer.
“Stars on fire,” Engh breathed. “Is it possible that any of this is true? Could there have been some sort of misunderstanding, and we didn’t hear them asking for clearance?”
“Shut up,” Leia said.
Nearly every seat in the Senate chamber was full now. Those not occupied by their owners had been commandeered by curious interlopers. Dozens more staffers lingered in the aisles, along the back wall, and in the open areas near the entrance doors. The six-meter-tall image of Nil Spaar on the display boards commanded their attention more powerfully than anyone at the podium or in th
e well was accustomed to.
“It became clear that the government of Leia Organa intended to hold us here against our will,” Nil Spaar said. “It became clear to me that we could not wait any longer. We risked losing not only the right of free navigation we had been promised, but the capacity to exercise it. Aramadia is a consular ship. It is ill equipped to repel an armed assault.
“I am sure that those of you who think you know Princess Leia Organa may doubt that she is capable of ordering soldiers to attack diplomats. After spending so many hours with her, I thought I knew her, and I would have trouble believing it, if there were not other evidence of her bad faith.”
The screen flickered, and Nil Spaar’s face was replaced by images of burned and twisted metal laid out on bronze decking. “What you see now is the wreckage of a New Republic spy ship which violated the territorial hegemony of the Duskhan League four days ago. It self-destructed when spotted by a local patrol vessel, but we were able to recover enough of it to identify its purpose and origin.”
At that moment, the audience in the Senate, in offices all over Imperial City, and on worlds throughout the New Republic saw Yevethan hands turn over a large fragment to reveal a recognizable portion of the New Republic seal—the blue crest, the ring of stars, and the gold circle.
Drayson leaned forward, staring, then slowly rose to his feet. “Bloody bilge—that’s no prowler. That’s a flatfish, or used to be.” He stabbed at his communication computer with a finger. “Verify.”
“Verified—Drayson, Hiram.”
“Call Kiles L’toth. Scramble.”
“Calling Kiles L’toth. Waiting. Verifying. Ready.”
“Kiles—this is Drayson. Is that one of your ships being splashed all over the grids by the Yevethan ambassador?”
The associate director’s voice was shaky. “We, uh—yes, we think so. It could be the Astrolabe. She’s four hours overdue for her logout from Doornik-1142.”
Before the Storm Page 25
