by James Luceno
"Let's just say that we don't see the world in precisely the same way."
They continued walking. Over the cascading sounds of the river that flowed past the Great Temple came voices raised in impassioned debate or argument.
"Sounds like there's some division in the ranks," Talon remarked as they neared the temple's common room.
"That would be Jacen and Anakin."
"Complementing one another, no doubt."
Jaina, with arms outstretched, was positioned between her brothers when Luke and Karrde entered the dimly lighted space. A handful of other Jedi, including Kyp Durron, Ganner Rhysode, Streen, Lowbacca, Kenth Hamner, and Cilghal, looked on. Sensing Luke, R2-D2 began to bounce from foot to foot, chirring and warbling.
"They were just. . . discussing Anakin's invitation to visit Centerpoint Station," Jaina explained.
Luke glanced from Jacen to Anakin and back again. "Finish the discussion."
Jacen scowled at his younger brother. "I'll say it once more, then I'm done with it Centerpoint is this"-he grasped the hilt of the lightsaber that hung from his belt-"on a gargantuan scale. Assuming the station can even be made operational, it should be used only for defense."
Anakin exhaled wearily. "And I'll say this one last time I completely agree."
"Then keep away from Corellia," Jacen said. "Don't have anything to do with enabling Centerpoint or any of the hyperspace repulsors. You were a kid the first time- we all were. You didn't know any better."
Anakin snorted. "You're leaving out that my ignorant actions ended up foiling the Triad's plans to detonate another star and annihilate every ship the Bakurans sent against them."
"That was defensive! Your tinkering with the repulsor on Drall prevented Centerpoint from firing!"
"Tinkering," Anakin repeated, snickering. "Let me ask you something Are you against Jaina flying with Rogue Squadron?"
Jacen glanced at his twin sister, who was on temporary leave from the squadron she had joined only four months earlier. "Not in theory."
"Are you against Mom and Tenel Ka going to Hapes?"
"Not in principle."
"Not in principle? The New Republic is hoping to bring the Consortium into the war. If you think of Rogue Squadron or the Hapans as weapons-an extension of that," Anakin said, gesturing to Jacen's lightsaber, "then what's the difference between what Jaina or Mom are being asked to do and what I've been asked to do at Corellia? I said I'd help enable the station. I didn't say anything about firing it."
Jacen made an exasperated sound and swung to Luke. "Where do you stand on this, Uncle Luke?"
Luke folded his arms. "As I told the Defense Force command staff, I'm opposed to reenabling Centerpoint on the grounds that its power is too unmanageable. And you all know that I was against Daeshara'cor's attempts to resurrect another Eye of Palpatine. But if there's even a chance that Centerpoint Station can be used to defend Corellia and spare the fleets for service elsewhere, we're obliged to do what we can to help make it operational."
Jacen pressed his lips together and swung back to his brother. "All right, Anakin, have it your way. But I'm going with you."
Anakin shrugged. "Glad to have you along."
The debate decided for the moment, the teens settled down and everyone gradually formed a loose circle around Luke and Karrde.
"Talon has a proposition for us," Luke said. "I haven't heard it yet, but knowing him as I do, I'm sure it will be interesting."
"Or at'least entertaining," Kyp Durron mumbled, drawing laughs.
Karrde took the jesting in stride. "As I'm sure you know, the Hutts have struck some sort of bargain with the Yuuzhan Vong. By bargain, I mean just that, since the Hutts would sooner go to war than roll over for an enemy, no matter how commanding. So it stands to reason that in exchange for allowing the Yuuzhan Vong into their space, the Hutts asked for and got something in return. To figure out what that is, all anyone needs to do is follow the spice."
Karrde paused briefly. "I've been doing just that, and I haven't noticed any signs of interruption in the flow of spice-except in three systems Tynna, Bothawui, and Corellia."
He waited until the murmuring died down before continuing. "The Hutts wouldn't suddenly cease deliveries to three profitable sectors unless there was good reason to avoid them. I'm willing to bet that the reason has to do with intelligence the Yuuzhan Vong provided as their part of the deal. Namely, that those systems have been targeted for invasion.
"The fact that no one has moved in to pick up the slack suggests that the Hutts have advised all their partners and subcontractors to steer a wide berth around Tynna, Bothawui, and Corellia. But even this doesn't add up to a case good enough to present to the New Republic. To do that would require proof positive that avoiding those worlds isn't just the result of the Hutts speculating about where the Yuuzhan Vong will strike."
"Why not approach the Hutts and ask them directly?" Kenth Hamner asked. Tall and wellborn, Hamner had been a Defense Force colonel before resigning from military life to follow the Jedi way.
"Easier said than done," Karrde said, "and in fact, the New Republic is trying to do just that. But if someone outside the military could furnish corroborating evidence, the Defense Force would have what they need to catch the Yuuzhan Vong completely by surprise."
"Why do you come to us with this?" Streen asked. "You've been liaison between the Imperial Remnant and the New Republic since the peace accord. You certainly don't need us to get the attention of Admiral Sow."
"I know why he's come to us," Kyp Durron said, keeping his eyes on Karrde. "Because the New Republic left him out of the loop when they asked Leia to approach the Imperial Remnant about joining the fight."
Karrde snorted. "It wasn't my place to approach the Remnant assembly. I'm a broker, Kyp, not an ambassador."
"Then what makes you think it's your place to approach us?" Kyp retorted.
"The fact is, I don't know who else to trust with this. Judging by the way New Republic Intelligence handled that bogus Yuuzhan Vong defector, I'd venture to say that the Intelligence division, maybe even the Advisory Council itself, has been infiltrated. What's more, the Defense Force can't act without the approval of the senate, and the Security and Intelligence Council isn't likely to back Admiral Sow on the word of an ex-smuggler."
"You still haven't clarified why you need us," Ulaha said. A Bith, she was delicate-looking and musically gifted. "After Ithor, we're hardly in good stead with the senate ourselves."
"That's the point you need to get them listening to you again. You'd think they would have learned their lesson from Ithor, but old habits die hard and they're still reluctant to trust you. They don't want to be perceived as indebted to the Jedi. It smacks of Old Republic thinking."
Ganner grimaced, wrinkling the facial scar he had incurred at Garqi. "It warms my heart to see that you're thinking about us, Karrde, but the Jedi don't need a public relations person."
"You're wrong, Ganner. You're too trusting. Anti-Jedi sentiment is spreading. Some folks think you're holding back, others think you're incompetent. A lot of people wish that Emperor Palpatine was still around, because they feel he'd know how to deal with the Yuuzhan Vong. If you want to go back to being monks, that's your choice. But if you want to serve peace and justice, you need to smarten your image, and one way to do that would be to provide intelligence that ends up giving the New Republic a major victory. The best defense against treachery is treachery."
"What role could we play in this?" Jacen asked impatiently.
Talon looked at him. "I can facilitate a meeting with one of the Hutts' spice smugglers. We can find out for ourselves why no one is willing to deliver to Tynna and the rest."
Jacen rolled his eyes. "This is Centerpoint all over again." He glanced at Luke. "The Jedi shouldn't have any part in this. It demeans us."
"It doesn't demean anyone," Anakin argued. "We can help without having to raise a hand-or a lightsaber. You, if anybody, should be in favor of that."
Everyon
e looked to Luke.
Images came to him of insects disguising themselves as leaves, twigs, and flower blossoms, and of small animals mimicking the variegated litter of the forest floor. The Force whispered to him once more Deception, stealth, misdirection. . .
He realized that he needed to tread carefully, for fear of dividing the Jedi further. Where many lauded Corran Horn's individual actions at Ithor, others favored Kyp Durron's stance that aggression should be answered by aggression. What's more, at Ithor Luke had renounced responsibility for spearheading the Jedi Knights.
"I'm not interested in repairing our tarnished image," he said at last. "The New Republic isn't eager to sanction our actions, in any case. But if we can help provide information that will prevent the fall of another world, the choice is clear."
"I'm willing to go with Talon," Jaina said.
Kyp made a face. "A seventeen-year-old spice buyer? I doubt the Hutts' people will buy it." He looked back at Karrde. "I'll go. You'll need someone to sort the truth from the lies."
"Unlikely," Karrde said, "but I appreciate the offer." "Then count me in, as well," Ganner said. He glanced at Kyp. "Just to be certain we're getting the full truth."
Karrde glanced around him. "It's settled then?" Only Jacen remained unconvinced. "Centerpoint, enlistment, espionage ... I never thought we'd come to this."
Kyp Durron grinned and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Cheer up, kid. Things are bad all over."
SEVEN
The sign hovering between formidable guard towers read welcome to ruan refugee facility 17. But just below the greeting someone had scrawled, in a tiny almost undetectable hand, last chance to turn back.
Crushed in among the rerouted mixed-species thousands off-loaded from the transport ships, and still wet and possibly poisoned from Ruan's cursory decontamination process, Melisma read the sign aloud and aimed a worried glance at Gaph, who had Droma's nephew balanced atop one of his shoulders.
" 'Last chance to turn back'?"
"Someone's idea of a joke," Gaph said in dismissal. "Come, child, how bad can it be? We have pleasing countryside all around, fresh air in place of scrubbed oxygen, the promise of food and drink, ten thousand melancholy sentients for company." He grinned and lowered his voice to add, "And where there are melancholy sentients, there are opportunities galore for the Ryn."
Melisma smiled uncertainly, though what Gaph said about the surroundings was undeniably true, for Ruan was nothing if not one of the Core's beauty marks.
One of eighteen agricultural worlds administered by Salliche Ag, Ruan-or at least that part of the planet the refugees had been delivered to-had the manicured look of a park. The undeviating road that linked the planet's bustling spaceport to Refugee Facility 17 was bordered by tall, topiary hedges, and beyond those hedges, as far as the eye could see, stretched scrupulously maintained fields of crops, in varying states of maturation. Unlike Orron III, Ukio, Taanab, and most of the other breadbasket worlds on which the Ryn had sought employment from time to time, Ruan did not merely rely on axial tilt and fertile soil, but was climate controlled and agriformed to maximize output. Also there were far fewer harvester droids, agribots, and work droids than Melisma had expected to see, which meant more occupational opportunities for sentients.
She breathed deeply of the sweet air. Gaph was right. Arriving on Ruan, especially after spending more than a standard week in the cramped and fetid living conditions aboard the transport, was like being delivered to paradise itself. But vague concerns continued to rankle her. How long would they be required to remain on Ruan, and where would they end up afterwards? Princess Leia had made it clear that their stay on Ruan would be temporary, but with the Yuuzhan Vong already in the Expansion Region, how long before they carried their invasion into the Core? And what then?
Processing the newly arrived exiles was a painfully tedious business. With everyone pressed so tightly together there was nowhere to sit much less recline, and no escape from the potent sunshine that climate supervision had apparently ordered for the day. The crowd seemed to extend endlessly to the front and rear. But at last the five of them-Gaph, Melisma, her two female clancousins, and the infant-reached a processing checkpoint attended by armed security guards sporting Salliche Ag arm badges.
A human male with a scarred jaw appraised them from the window of the checkpoint booth. "What in the galaxy are these?" he asked someone out of view.
Instantly, a no-less-sinister-looking uniformed female appeared at the window and aimed a spherically shaped optical scanner directly at Melisma. "Could take the system a moment to recognize them," she told the first guard. When the scanner emitted a single tone, she glanced at its display screen. "Ryn."
"Ryn? What rock are they from?"
The woman shook her head. "Planet of origin unknown. But what's the difference, they arrived from Gyndine. See if we've got any more like them."
Melisma's misgivings returned. SELCORE advocates and Ruan officials at the spaceport had been cordial and accommodating, but these guards, both in their bearing and manner of dress, brought to mind the Espos who, years back, had policed many of the Corporate Sector worlds.
"Yeah, we actually do have some others," the first guard was saying. "Thirty-two, at last count." He sneered down at Gaph. "Sec 465, Ryn. Behind the communal refreshers."
Gaph heard Melisma's sharp intake of breath and turned to her. "All right, so forget what I said about fresh air. We'll still have food and drink to slack our appetites and a roof over our heads."
"We could have all that in jail," Melisma groused.
Gaph wagged his forefinger. "Trust me, child, jail is no place for the Ryn. Here, at least, we'll be able to sing and dance and revel in our good fortune."
"Follow the droid," the guard barked. "And no lingering or wandering off, or you'll have me to answer to."
"Ah, good fortune," Melisma said sarcastically. "Let's just hope for a roof, Gaph."
The droid, a squeaking, limping protocol model, ushered them into a warren of ramshackle dwellings slapped together from aged harvester and spaceship parts-bulkhead hatchways, harvester blades, foils, and the like. Elsewhere were prefabricated duraplast huts anchored to slabs of ferrocrete, tents and A-frames, primitive lean-tos, self-standing blister shelters, elliptical huts sided with animal hide, and conical ones wrapped in lubricant-stained tarpaulins.
"Facility 17 was built on the site of a former junkyard," the droid said proudly. "Everyone has been very inventive in the use of obsolete equipment."
In unlighted interiors or on muddy ground or patches of lifeless trampled grass sat species native to sectors as remote as the Imperial Remnant and as close as the Koornacht Cluster, all uprooted from the worlds they had called home, some of which the Yuuzhan Vong had rendered uninhabitable or destroyed outright. In a half-circle scan, Melisma's eye fell on Ruurians, Gands, Sa-heelindeeli, Bimms, Weequays, Myneyrshi, Tammarians, Gotals, and Wookiees. Absent, though, was any indication of fellowship; in its place a sense of impending riot tainted the air. Beings glowered at one another or stood sullenly with jaws clenched and hands balled into fists.
As if reading her concerns, the protocol droid provided commentary, in Basic.
"With everyone crammed together without regard to differences and distinctions, some suppressed prejudices and hostilities have on occasion boiled to the fore, resulting in contentious seizures of territory or sustenance, or melees that have spread throughout the facility. But, of course, those incidents were quickly quelled by Sal-liche Ag's well-trained staff, who employ physical force only when absolutely necessary."
As had happened on the transport, the Ryn met with looks of suspicion and repugnance from all sides. Fathers safeguarded family valuables, and mothers gathered children within arm's reach. Some made religious gestures of self-protection, and others voiced outrage that Ryn had even been allowed into the camp.
Melisma stared straight ahead. She was accustomed to such treatment, and she understood that the Ryn's pench
ant for wanderlust and secrecy was at least partly responsible for the fictions that had grown up around them. Ostracized by many societies, the Ryn had grown only more transient, secretive, and self-sufficient over time, and as outsiders they had become keen observers of the behaviors of other species-second-guessers of what many beings, humans especially, often had in mind to say. And so their fondness for song, dance, and spicy foods, and their adeptness at forgery and fortune-telling-lacking any true psychic abilities. The gambling game that had come to be known as sabacc had its roots in a deck of cards the Ryn had invented as a means of disguising their mystical doctrines.
"We're now approaching the distribution center," the droid announced.
"I wondered what that smell was," Melisma said to Gaph, who chided her for being overly critical, only to change his tune when they got a good look at the situation.
Queued sinuously at makeshift stalls, hundreds of beings were waiting to receive squirts of an off-color, pastelike synthfood squeezed by droids from enormous, pliant containers. Other lines snaked to the patched-up hulls of vintage riverboats filled to the gunnels with foam-covered water.
"For paltry sums," the droid remarked, "many of Salliche Ag's well-trained staff will gladly provide foodstuffs to please the most discriminating palates. Superior housing can also be secured for reasonable fees, as evidenced atop Noob Hill."
Melisma followed the droid's metal finger to a parcel of high ground surrounded by stun fencing. Isolated from the rest of the facility, twenty or so Ithorians could be seen going about their business in open-sided, thatch-roofed pavilions. To one side deep drainage ditches separated them from a waddle of Gamorreans, who were living in bungalows made of sun-baked bricks. To the other side, beyond a wall of thorned shrubs, a rumpus of Wookiees had constructed a log tree house.
Deeper in the camp things were even worse. The mud that had been a nuisance earlier on became ankle-deep for long stretches, and the shelters-a ghetto of unroofed sheds and slat-sided shanties-clustered at the base of a hill that saw scant sunlight and funneled runoff rainwater directly into the food distribution area. I n place of prefab tents and blister huts stood hovels more suitable for livestock than sentients. Here a trove of resourceful hollow-boned Vors had made use of starship maneuvering vanes to construct a kind of stilted bower for themselves; and there a nest of batrachian Rybet had fashioned a spacious hutch from empty cargo crates and support pylons off Y-wing engine nacelles.
