Allies

by Christie Golden

  “Indeed,” said Taalon. “It would seem that our alliance is not yet quite dissolved.”

  Ben sighed.

  “Surely you don’t need more than a thousand Sith hanging around with nothing to do but plot treachery among themselves,” Luke said.

  “You are afraid,” Taalon said, smiling thinly.

  “Actually, I’m not,” said Luke. “But I think you are.”

  The smile vanished. Taalon’s eyes flashed. “Manners, Skywalker, or I shall lose my temper, and you and your boy will die without having your questions answered.”

  “Send them away,” Luke said. “I’ll let Jaina and Lando go, too. Two Jedi, three Sith. The numbers do seem a bit unfair, I admit. For you.”

  Taalon and Khai exchanged glances, smiling ever so slightly. “I agree,” said the High Lord.

  “Good,” Luke said. “Ben, take Vestara and Dyon back to the Jade Shadow and take care of them both. Contact Jaina and Lando, and tell them the terms we’ve agreed on.”

  Ben expected Khai or Taalon to protest. Instead, Khai looked to his leader, and Taalon said, “Yes, I am sure your sick bay is quite well stocked. Vestara deserves the best care. Do not let him out of your sight, child. Is that understood? We need you watching the boy.”

  Ben had to try really hard to not roll his eyes. His father had essentially reclaimed Vestara as a hostage, and here was Taalon, trying to make it look like Ben was the prisoner being watched over by the girl. It was all silly, pointless posturing as far as he was concerned. He knelt beside Dyon, lifted his friend as gently as possible, and glanced over at Vestara.

  “Looks like you can walk okay,” he said. He was still angry and hurt at the deception she’d perpetrated earlier. “Come on.”

  Taalon watched them go. He wondered if the boy, if Khai and Vestara and the others, had all been personally assaulted by Abeloth as he had been.

  He knew it had been only a second that the creature who now lay dead at their feet had frozen him in order to attempt to seduce Skywalker. But it might as well have been an eternity. He had been unsettled enough by Faal’s fate, though he would never admit that, and it was as if Abeloth knew it.

  In that second that was a lifetime, a dozen lifetimes, she had looked inside him, violated him on a level even he, a Sith High Lord, had not imagined was possible, and beheld what it was that Sarasu Taalon feared most.

  And called it forth.

  He had been running, running on feet that were blistered and bleeding, running with labored breath and near-exploding heart. And they had been behind him.

  All the beings whose lives he had taken, or broken, or twisted. All the friends he had betrayed, all the family members he had ordered slain, all the rivals whose loved ones he had tormented, and those loved ones as well who had not even known his face in life. As long as he succeeded, they would not touch him. As long as he won every battle, made no mistakes, spotted every foe, he would be all right.

  But the minute his foot wavered—

  His ankle betrayed him, and he fell, hitting the ground upon which he was running hard. Tears, shameful tears of abject terror poured down his purple face as he scrambled to rise.

  They were upon him, ripping, tearing, biting; their touch freezing and burning. He realized they would not kill him, not at once. They were going to tear him apart piece by tiny piece. And even then the torment would not stop. Abeloth had shown him it wouldn’t.

  “High Lord?” It was Khai, looking at him searchingly.

  Taalon’s heart leapt within his chest. He couldn’t falter. Not in front of this one. Not in front of Skywalker.

  He couldn’t falter, or fall, or be wrong, or make a single miscalculation.

  Ever.

  “Ben? Ben, are you all right? Is Luke okay?” Jaina waved away the droid that was trying to attend to a cut on her forehead. Ben’s voice was being patched through the ship’s intercom from the bridge.

  “We’re fine. We got her.” Ben’s voice was filled with pride, and Jaina couldn’t blame him. She listened to him recap the fight while the healing droid fussed over her. She hated to admit it, for a variety of reasons, but it did seem as though the Sith worked well together. It had been good for everyone—this time. And only this time.

  “You guys have any trouble?” he asked when he was done.

  “Not much. I had a little dogfight with a very ugly vessel named Ship.” Now it was her turn to grin as Ben demanded the details. “Unfortunately, we had to call it a draw. He stopped firing at me abruptly and just took off. My StealthX was too beat-up to follow. Lando’s going to help me repair it.”

  “It just left? Huh,” Ben said. “I wonder …” His voice trailed off, and too late, Jaina realized that he was probably not alone. She was willing to bet the girl was with him.

  “Anyway, I’ve got orders from Dad for you and Lando.”

  At that moment, the door opened and Lando entered. “Good timing,” Jaina said. “Luke and Ben beat Abeloth, and Luke’s got orders for us.”

  “Hi, Lando,” Ben said. “Dad, me, Taalon, and Vestara and her dad are all going to stay behind and do some investigating. See if we can learn anything more about Abeloth. Part of the agreement is that Dad needs both you and Jaina to head home.”

  Jaina’s jaw dropped. “He wants us to go? After we came all the way out here to help him, Luke wants us to go and leave him alone down there with the girl’s dad and the High Lord?”

  “That’s what he said,” came Ben’s voice. Jaina stared at Lando, looking for a little help, but all Lando did was shrug.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I just came out here to tow debris.”

  “Jaina, you need to get home. So does Lando.”

  There was something in the way he said it that gave Jaina pause. She nodded to Lando to mute the communication. “Of course,” she said. “Luke needs us to get out there with the news about Abeloth and the Lost Tribe. We’ve got a lot more information on them now, information the Jedi can use. Maybe we even have enough to take it to Daala.” This last, though, she said with more doubt in her voice.

  “Maybe,” Lando said doubtfully. “I’ll settle for letting the Jedi know that Luke’s alive and Abeloth isn’t.” He thumbed a button on the intercom.

  “You’re right, Ben,” Jaina said. “I do need to get home, and so does Lando. Tendra and Chance will be worried about him. I assume the Sith will depart, too?”

  “All of them, except for the three staying behind,” Ben assured her.

  “Okay then. Take care of yourself, and your dad, too, all right?”

  “Will do. Bye, Jaina.”

  “So,” Lando said. “What are we really going to do?”

  “I don’t trust those Sith any farther than I can throw them.”

  “You’re a Jedi, Jaina, you can throw them pretty far.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I agree. But your StealthX isn’t good for much at the moment, and this ancient thing was never built for attacking. You might be better served by actually doing what Luke says.”

  She eyed him.

  “For a change,” he couldn’t resist adding.

  “Oh, shut up. Let’s get back to Coruscant before I change my mind.”

  CHIEF OF STATE NATASI DAALA STOOD IN HER PRIVATE APARTMENTS, staring out the huge transparisteel window onto the nightscape of Coruscant as she sipped a cocktail. It was never dark or silent. Always, there were bright spots of color, the motion of vessels frenetically going about their business at any hour of the day or night. Other buildings towered around her own, many of their lights on. Some of them were apartments, like hers. Others were businesses. She knew down to a window who lived or rented what. She was one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, and Wynn Dorvan had insisted that she know exactly who all of her “neighbors” were.

  It was beautiful and comforting in its own way. The crowded city had a life, an edge to it, that Daala found energizing. She took another sip, the ice in her glass clinking
. The décor in her own home, in contrast to the organized chaos that zipped past outside, was simple, almost stark. The main room had high ceilings and unfussy but comfortable furniture. There was art—small statues, a fountain in the corner, and framed, precise abstract paintings by Ku Chusar, one of the most famous artists of his time. Quiet instrumental music played unobtrusively in the background. All was orderly, with clean lines, a union of form and function. It was her personal refuge.

  Her outfit, too, was orderly with clean lines. She wore a shimmersilk tunic and pants, with simple slippers. She was well aware that the green brought out her stunning eyes and red hair, but she was also able to move and relax in the outfit even as it flattered her. It did double duty, and was therefore efficient. Daala liked efficiency as much as she liked order.

  When the door buzzed, she opted to greet her guest herself. Her chef’s work was done and keeping warm. She had sent him home and had deactivated her droids for the night. Droids were useful things, and had prepared the apartment well, but she wanted to have true privacy for the conversation that was to ensue—for various reasons.

  So she opened the door, smiling, to a slightly surprised Admiral Nek Bwua’tu.

  “Answering the door yourself, Natasi?” he said, his voice warm with amused affection. “Next thing you’ll tell me is you’ve cooked the dinner.”

  She laughed at that, waving him in and embracing him as he entered. “Never, Nek. I didn’t claw my way up the ranks to prepare my own meals.”

  “I find it restful on occasion,” Bwua’tu said. “But I imagine you didn’t invite me here for my crowd-pleasing recipe for nerf steaks with gravy and mashed taku roots.”

  Daala smiled a little and moved to the bar. “I’m afraid not. Another time perhaps.”

  Nek sighed. “When we’re both retired,” he said. She shot him a smile over her shoulder.

  “Maybe then,” she agreed. She indicated the array of bottles. “The usual?”

  The Bothan smiled. “Please,” he said. Daala busied herself with the drink, then walked it over to him. Bwua’tu lifted the glass and clinked it lightly against hers. “To absent friends,” he said, his voice far gentler than most had ever heard it.

  She ought to have expected the toast, and yet her smile faltered. “To absent friends,” Daala said, her voice not revealing the sudden quick pain. They drank, then she indicated the couch. He sat down, holding his glass, regarding her thoughtfully.

  “Your uncle is causing me no end of trouble,” Daala said. She sank down onto the sofa beside him, a nexu comfortable and at ease in her own den, her body language open.

  Bwua’tu laughed. “Uncle Eramuth,” he said. “I imagine he is. He’s very good at what he does, you know. When he’s able to do it.”

  “Hm,” she agreed dryly, then inquired, “What do you mean, able to do it?”

  “Uncle Eramuth is quite elderly by Bothan standards,” Bwau’tu said. “And he’s always been a bit eccentric. You’ve seen how he dresses.”

  Daala nodded. “I have,” she said. “I always thought that was part of his strategy—to charm the jury with his slightly out-of-date, slightly odd mannerisms.”

  “Oh, I would never say that it wasn’t calculated,” Nek agreed. “But the lines between calculatedly offbeat and not exactly sane can blur from time to time.”

  “Really? I will keep that in mind, thank you.”

  “Don’t dismiss him, either,” Nek said. “I know that it sounds like a contradiction, but as I said—he is very, very good at what he does. Your open and shut case is likely not quite as open and shut as you think.”

  Daala sighed. She had been leaning toward him in an affectionate manner, but sorrow seemed to settle upon her fine features and she turned away slightly. Facing toward the window, the bright, multicolored lights dancing on her skin, she said quietly, “You spoke of absent friends, Nek. Gil was one of them. So was Cha Niathal. I know too many, now.”

  Understanding shone in his dark eyes. “Ah … I see. Well, we all do, Natasi. That’s the price of growing old, I suppose.”

  “Speak for yourself,” she said with forced lightness.

  “I do. You, my dear, will never grow old. Ambition keeps you young.” He lifted his glass in mock salute.

  She smiled halfheartedly. “I’m not sure about that. The last few weeks have aged me quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

  “The situation with the Jedi, and the Mandos,” Nek said knowingly.

  She turned to him, an old friend and more than an old friend who, thank any deities there might and might not be, was not yet absent. Not yet.

  “I feel no qualms about any decisions I’ve made in that area so far. I was right in how I handled Skywalker. And the mad Jedi. Still feel comfortable with what’s going on there. But … these uprisings.”

  Her eyes were intense as she spoke. “These are fires, Nek. They’re little fires right now, barely more than wisps of smoke on worlds that most people haven’t even heard of, and if they have heard of them, they wouldn’t care—at least, that’s how it’s been. Even Klatooine is far enough away so that it doesn’t affect most peoples’ day-to-day lives in the Galactic Alliance. They shouldn’t care about what’s going on. But now—”

  “Needmo’s little Devaronian girl is bringing them right into the living rooms.”

  Daala nodded. “That she is, and handily, too. Javis Tyrr, I could at least manipulate to an extent. Control some of what he did, what he learned and when he learned it.”

  “He was playing you,” Nek pointed out.

  “He’s not anymore,” Daala said simply.

  Nek had to laugh. “Quite true. How did you muzzle the barking dog at last?”

  “The invaluable Wynn Dorvan. He contacted Tyrr’s cam operator, who had been his accomplice. She had all kinds of video documentation on what he’d been up to, and apparently Wynn used both the carrot and the stick to get her to cooperate. If she cooperated, her name would be unsullied. If she didn’t, she’d be sharing the same cell as Tyrr.”

  “Elegant, simple, and effective. Perhaps I should borrow Dorvan from time to time.”

  “Only on his days off.” She sighed. “So yes, I’m pleased Tyrr’s no longer being a pest. But this Madhi Vaandt … she’s out of my reach. And the story’s too big. I can’t silence the coverage.”

  His ears swiveled forward, catching the subtle nuance in how she said the word coverage. “What can you silence, then?”

  She looked at him levelly. “The uprisings themselves. I can stop them. Frankly, I should have done this at the outset. Then Vaandt wouldn’t have had anything to cover because it would have been all taken care of—quietly, behind the scenes, and beings could get on with their daily lives. Dorvan has been marvelous about sniffing out possible sites where there could be trouble. I can put Mandos there before things erupt. Lock it down.”

  “Natasi,” Bwua’tu said slowly, considering every word before he spoke it, “it’s possible that some of those uprisings need to happen. I doubt there are beings out there fomenting rebellion simply to ruin your day—even if that does happen to be the end result.”

  Few beings could have spoken to Daala like that and not roused her ire. Dorvan was one, Nek was the other. The rest were no longer counted among the living.

  “One of the recurring themes I keep hearing about is how long the institution of slavery has persisted on many of these worlds. Frankly, if it’s existed on these worlds for this long, it can wait a little longer. Wait until I’ve brought the Jedi to heel, wait until there’s a little more stability. I’m not a dictator, Nek, you know that. But I can’t lose control over this situation. I can’t even be perceived as losing control.”

  Bwua’tu downed his drink and rose to prepare another. “Do you need a refill?” he asked as he went to the bar.

  “I’m good, thanks,” she said, “and you’re delaying.”

  He chuckled as he poured. “Rather, I’m considering the best response.” He turned to face her, swirling the
liquid in his glass slightly. “I agree that you need a victory of sorts,” he said. “But I’m not sure that stamping out legitimate forms of protest against a planet’s government is the right way to be seen as keeping control over a situation. Especially not using the Mandos.”

  “They’re not the GA,” she said.

  “Nor are they much liked, and your continued usage of them is not getting you what you are telling me you want. The current stalemate with the Jedi is a perfect example of that.”

  Daala sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “You sound like Dorvan.”

  “No, I’d need to be more monotone to sound like Dorvan.”

  That got a genuine chuckle out of her. Nek smiled and sat back down beside her, draping an arm supportively over her shoulders. She leaned into him. They were quiet for a long moment, and when Daala spoke, her voice was barely audible.

  “I can’t stop thinking about Cha Niathal.”

  “She made the decision to take her own life. That’s not your respon—”

  She waved impatiently and he fell silent. “No, I don’t feel guilt over that. But what she said—she believed she had not made a mistake with Jacen, that it was not possible to anticipate what he would become, what he would do. And her suicide note—This has been done with honor, without error, and by my choosing.”

  Daala looked up at him. “I’ve long since lost any fear of death. I don’t think you can be career military and be afraid of dying. But I’ve been entrusted with the care and well-being of the Galactic Alliance. Every decision I make determines not only my own legacy, but the fate of billions of beings. I have to act like Niathal—with honor, without error, and by my own choosing. If I’m not firm now, if I don’t crack down now, chaos will erupt, and everything we all want is going to be swept away by the onrushing tides.”

  His eyes were kind in the soft light as he regarded her. “We all do what we must,” he said gently.

  We all do what we must.

  Admiral Nek Bwua’tu wasn’t used to irony when it came to his own words, but now, at three-fourteen in the morning as he quietly let himself out of Daala’s apartments, he found himself haunted by it.