by Troy Denning
Finally, Han and his companions drew near enough to the front of the porch to see a pair of huge guards standing beneath an archway of bent wroshyr boughs. Behind them, a set of black stone stairs led up to the summit of Council Rock, a slender column of volcanic basalt that rose almost as high as the wroshyr trees themselves. In front of the guards hung a pair of lashed-log gates, closed to indicate that the Rock Council was in session and could not be disturbed.
Standing on the bottom rail of the right-hand gate, clinging to the top rail so they could peer up the stone stairs, were a pair of short, all-too-familiar figures. One was furry and black with a white stripe running diagonally across his back, while the other was bald, jug-eared, and a little too pear-shaped for a Sullustan.
“Great,” Han grumbled. “What are those two doing here?”
“Eavesdropping, it looks like,” Leia said quietly. “Even if your speech works, Jacen may not be as surprised as we’d like when the Wookiees withhold their support.”
Sensing the commotion behind them, the two figures glanced over their shoulders—then dropped their jaws and jumped off the gate.
“Princess Leia!” The Sullustan stepped forward and bowed formally, then turned to Han and offered his hand. “Captain Solo! What an unexpected pleasure!”
“Yeah, same here, Juun.” Han allowed the Sullustan to take his hand and pump his arm. “Small galaxy, huh?”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Jae,” Leia said, addressing the Sullustan by his first name. “I assume you’re here monitoring the situation for Admiral Bwua’tu?”
Juun shook his head. “For Supreme Commander Niathal herself,” he said. “Since the Dark Nest crisis, we’ve been climbing the intelligence ranks steadily.”
The black-furred Ewok jabbered something sharp at Juun, then turned to glare up at Leia.
“No sense worrying about it, Tarfang,” Han said, taking a guess at the nature of the Ewok’s complaint. “You two aren’t exactly undercover here. I’ll bet Confederation Intelligence already knows who you work for.”
Tarfang ignored Han and chittered something else. This time, both Han and Leia had to look to Juun for a translation.
“Tarfang says you’re both traitors—and I’m afraid he’s right.” Juun’s expression grew concerned. “This is Alliance territory, you know. You two really shouldn’t be here.”
“Sure we should,” Han said. He stepped past the two Alliance spies and addressed himself to the Wookiee guards. “Open up, fellas. I’ve got something important to say to the council.”
The two guards looked to Waroo, who assured them that the delegates would want to hear what Han and Leia Solo had to report—then reminded them that Han had earned a life debt from his father because he could not bear to see a Wookiee enslaved. The two guards nodded to each other, then started to open the gate—until Tarfang leapt on it and began chattering so ferociously that both recoiled in shock.
“He says you can’t admit them into the council,” Juun translated. “They’re enemy agents.”
The two guards furrowed their brows at this, and several Wookiees in the crowd groaned the opinion that “Little Killer” was correct. The Solos were known Corellian sympathizers. It just would not do to let them address the Rock Council while carrying weapons.
“Forget it,” Han said. “I’m not giving up my blaster.”
The guards each drew a pair of scythe-like ryyk blades and folded the weapons across their chests.
Leia grasped Han above the elbow. “Han—”
“All right, all right.” He unbuckled his blaster belt and handed it to Waroo for safekeeping. “The sacrifices I make to keep you out of trouble.”
Leia did the same with her lightsaber and hold-out blaster, and again the guards started to open the gate. This time it was Juun who stepped forward.
“You do know that if you open that gate, you’ll be in violation of the Anti-Sedition Provision of the Galactic Loyalty Act. Allowing any terrorist sympathizer to address a public forum is punishable by incarceration in a MaxSec Orbital Facility for a term of up to twenty standard years—or until the insurrection ends, whichever is longer.”
The Wookiees looked at each other—then shrugged and continued to open the gate … until Tarfang jumped onto the top rail and loosed a string of invective that made even Han shudder.
“Tarfang says they’re traitors,” Juun translated. “And if you raise that gate for them, so are you.”
When Juun said nothing more, Tarfang looked back at him expectantly.
“Are you sure you want to say that to a pair of Wookiees?”
Tarfang spat back something affirmative.
Juun sighed and, as Tarfang returned his glare to the two guards, said, “He says if you act like traitors, then he’ll treat you like traitors.”
A chorus of astonished mutters rustled through the crowd, and the two guards looked bewildered—a little nervous, too, but mostly just bewildered.
Juun took advantage of the confusion to turn to Han and Leia. “It really would be best if you just left,” he said, “before duty compels me to do something I truly don’t want to.”
“Do your worst—just remember who wrote the book on dirty tricks.” Without awaiting the Sullustan’s reply, Han turned back to the guards. “Are you going to open this thing or do I have to do it myself?”
It was Han’s bad luck that the two Wookiees had finally reached their threshold of tolerance. They stepped forward together, one brandishing his blades at Han, the other launching Tarfang off the gate with a swift kick to the midsection. Someone in back growled the suggestion they ask Old Tojjelnoot what they should do.
“Old Tojjelnoot?” Leia asked.
“Old means he’s the council leader,” Han explained. “Hope he’s not still sore about Tojjevvuk.”
“Oh,” Leia said. “Those Tojjes.”
Han nodded. “Afraid so.”
Several more voices from the crowd moaned agreement with the first, and one of the guards finally turned to climb the stairs.
“Great,” Han said. “Just when you think things aren’t complicated enough.”
The Tojj clan had spent decades trying to kill Chewbacca in retribution for the death of Tojjevvuk in a fight over Chewbacca’s wife-to-be, Mallatobuck. Waroo started to moan an assurance that the council would not allow Tojjelnoot to decide the matter on the basis of an old clan feud—then let out an enormous roar of surprise as a blaster bolt zinged past his head.
Han and Leia spun around simultaneously—both reaching for weapons they no longer had—and found themselves staring down the barrel of a huge Merr-Sonn Flash 4 blaster pistol.
“Tarfang!” Juun cried. “Put that away!”
Tarfang babbled a long string of something that definitely included a refusal, then made the mistake of training the weapon on Han.
Leia’s hand flashed up, and the blaster flew from Tarfang’s hand and vanished over the side of the porch. She extended her arm, and in the next instant the little Ewok was flying into her grasp, screeching in rage and clawing at the air with all fours.
“Enough!” Leia yelled. She flicked her wrist, spinning Tarfang upside down and leaving him to hang in the air before her. “You may have the death mark on nine planets, but that doesn’t matter to—”
“Put him down.” Juun’s voice was unusually forceful. “Now.”
Han looked over to find the Sullustan pointing his own blaster pistol in Leia’s direction. “Juun, what the blazes are you doing?”
Juun’s eyes did not veer from Leia. “I tried to do this the nice way, but you wouldn’t listen.” His voice remained hard, his face unapologetic. “And Tarfang is my partner. I can’t let anyone do that to him.”
“Do what?” Han demanded, stepping to the Sullustan’s side. “Tarfang shot first.”
He lashed out to snatch Juun’s blaster—then felt a huge furry hand clamp down on his arm and lift him off his feet. A deep Wookiee voice rumbled an order in his ear. He found
himself nose-to-snout with a silver-furred male much larger than Chewie had been.
“Okay, take it easy,” Han said. “It’s not like I was going to kill anyone.”
The Wookiee glanced at Leia and growled another command. Han snuck a peek in Waroo’s direction and found that the crowd had closed in around him, completely separating the Solos from their weapons—and their only ally.
“Uh, honey,” Han said. “Maybe you should put the nice Ewok down now.”
“Fine.”
Leia lowered her hand and allowed Tarfang to crash on his head. The Ewok sprang up immediately and started toward her—then bounced off the legs of a big blond female who scowled and wagged her finger at him.
The silver-furred male rowwled at Han, advising him to come along quietly.
“Are you kidding?” Han demanded. “You’re arresting us?”
The blond female growled an apologetic explanation, pointing out that he and Leia were the subjects of a Galactic Alliance arrest warrant, and they had just assaulted two duly authorized officers of the Alliance.
“I don’t care if they are Alliance officers,” Han objected. “They’re the ones who assaulted us—”
The male asked his question again, this time roaring it so loudly that Han’s eardrums ached.
“Okay, okay!” Han glanced over at Leia and received a resigned nod, then sighed and spread his hands. “No need to get all violent. We’ll come quietly.”
eight
A turbolaser strike blossomed against the Anakin Solo’s shields, and space beyond the observation bubble flared into sapphire brilliance. The blast-tinting darkened against the glare, leaving Caedus momentarily blind—though hardly unaware. He could still sense the doubt threatening to engulf the entire Fourth Fleet, and he could feel the Force shuddering at the sudden detonation of the frigate Zoli. He could even perceive the fury of Admiral Ratobo, who had twice interrupted his meditations to demand authorization to break off.
By any sensible military standard, Caedus should have granted the authorization as soon as the Commenorians opened fire with long-range turbolasers. The tactical planners had not expected the new technology when they proposed a frontal assault, and now the Fourth would be exposed to a barrage during its entire approach. At the same time, the fleet would be unable to return fire until it reached standard range, since even the largest Star Destroyers could not energize long-range batteries and still have enough power to maneuver and maintain shields.
But Caedus could not break off now. The future was such a tangle of possibility that he could flow-walk only a short time forward—to the next battle, the one at Kuat that he had foreseen—before the path vanished into a miasma of uncertainty. Even with Tenel Ka’s Home Fleet under way to join them at Kuat, the Alliance simply was not strong enough to guarantee victory. To triumph there, Caedus needed to extract a heavy price here. He had to make the attackers pay so dearly for Balmorra that the Hutt and Commenorian fleets would be reduced to mere skeletons.
And the Force seemed to be suggesting that Caedus had made the right decision. His meditations had touched on a growing sense of expectation, a subtle feeling that the battle would soon turn in the Alliance’s favor. Caedus had no idea what might be causing that sense of expectation—he even wondered whether he might be imagining it—but he had to trust it. The alternative was simply not acceptable. If the Confederation won at Kuat, it would be in good position to drive on Coruscant herself.
The blast-tinting finally faded and restored Caedus’s view. The battle ahead was a vast web of light and energy flashing against the pearly disk of a smog-cloaked Balmorra, with clusters of blue dots—the efflux nozzles of the Fourth Fleet—accelerating through a storm of blossoming color toward the dark specks of Commenorian capital ships.
Save for damaged vessels trailing smoke plumes as they plunged down Balmorra’s gravity well, the Hutt fleet was too distant to be seen by the naked eye. But Caedus could tell by the smug satisfaction he sensed in the Hutt commanders, and by the utter desperation of the defenders, that the landing had already begun. This much he had foreseen; there had never been any question of saving Balmorra, only of how much he could make the rebels pay for taking it.
The blue dots ahead narrowed to ovals as the Fourth Fleet began to turn. For a moment, Caedus thought the fleet was simply maneuvering, approaching on the oblique in order to present their flanks to the enemy and relieve their forward shields. But when the ovals continued to narrow and began to sprout blunt blue tails, he knew that he was wrong, that the “Fearless Fourth” was breaking off.
Caedus had Lieutenant Krova open an audio channel to the peacebringer and was quickly put through to Admiral Ratobo. Despite his irritation, Caedus spoke in a deliberately calm tone.
“You appear to have decided I’m an idiot.”
“That’s not a mistake I would make, Colonel.” Beneath the resolve in Ratobo’s voice, there was a note of resignation; clearly, he realized that by disobeying Caedus’s orders, he was sacrificing not only his career, but possibly his life as well. “However, your lack of tactical training is telling. There’s no question of winning the battle now.”
“Winning battles is your concern, Admiral,” Caedus said. “Winning the war is mine.”
“And fribbling away the Fourth Fleet will accomplish that?”
“Making the Commenorians pay for Balmorra will accomplish that,” Caedus said. “As will trapping the Hutts dirtside.”
“Assuming we break through, and assuming we have enough strength left to exploit,” Ratobo retorted. “Those are big assumptions right now.”
“I have great faith in you, Admiral.”
“Faith is a poor substitute for tactical advantage.” Ratobo was speaking with the boldness of the condemned. “What if long-range turbolasers aren’t the only technology Confederation spies have stolen? What if they have our missile deactivation transmitters? Comm wave descramblers? Transponder friend codes?”
“Have you seen any evidence of that?” Caedus asked.
“Not yet,” Ratobo admitted. “But if they do have other stolen technology, they won’t use it until it’s too late for us to withdraw.”
“If they had any other stolen technology, they wouldn’t have tipped their hand by using the long-range turbolasers in the first place,” Caedus countered. “We’ll reevaluate when and if the situation calls for it. Until then, proceed as planned.”
Ratobo could not have missed the note of authority that Caedus had put into his voice, but the Bith was not ready to yield. “With all due respect, Colonel, perhaps it would be wise to consult with Supreme Commander Niathal. She is the one who’s vested with military authority.”
Caedus’s first reaction was anger, but that quickly changed to respect as he recalled that the admiral believed he was sacrificing a lifelong career by speaking so candidly. Ratobo was resisting Caedus’s orders not out of ego, but because he believed it was his duty to object to what appeared to him a disastrous course of action.
“I find your candor refreshing—misguided, but refreshing.” As Caedus spoke, he focused his attention on the blue ion tail belonging to the Peacebringer and quickly began to develop a clear picture of the Star Destroyer’s combat situation. “So perhaps I’ll show you why I’m here instead of Admiral Niathal. Do you see that flight of hostiles preparing to target your bridge?”
There was a moment of silence while Ratobo had the ship’s defense data copied to his display. Caedus took the time to concentrate on the Commenorian pilots, simultaneously following their progress and pushing his Force-awareness forward into the next few seconds.
“Yes.” Ratobo sounded slightly surprised. “I see them.”
It took an instant for the fate of the Commenorians to grow clear, then Caedus said, “No need to close your blast shutters. They’re not going to make it.”
“You’re sure?” Ratobo’s voice was openly skeptical. “Their approach lane looks—”
The sentence came to a halt as the
Commenorian pilots had their presences abruptly returned to the Force. Caedus could not tell whether they had been the victims of a well-trained cannon crew or one of the Peacebringer’s defensive cluster bombs or just a random combat accident—only that their lives had been snuffed out in the time it took to register the thought.
An astonished gasp came over the comm channel. “Amazing!”
“I have good reason for my orders,” Caedus said, driving home his point, “even if it doesn’t always appear that way.”
“Of course.” Ratobo sounded chastened, if not quite convinced. “And that good reason—it has its basis in the Force?”
“It does.” Caedus saw no need to mention the vague nature of his feelings—or the possibility that they might be no more than wishful thinking. “I can’t foresee the outcome of continuing to press the attack, Admiral, but I can tell you that if we don’t make the Confederation pay dearly for Balmorra, they’re going to make us pay dearly at Kuat.”
Ratobo fell silent for a moment, then said, “Very well. I’ll resume our attack immediately.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” As Caedus replied, he suddenly grew aware of something else in the Peacebringer’s future—something it would not avoid. “I’m glad you trust me.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Colonel,” Ratobo replied. “But I find I no longer have a legitimate basis for challenging your orders. If you don’t choose to court-martial me after the battle, I’ll be submitting my—”
“A resignation really won’t be necessary, Admiral,” Caedus said. “Just carry on—and quickly.”
Caedus closed the channel and watched impatiently as the Fourth’s ion tails slowly changed back to ovals. The feeling of expectation in the Force had grown stronger, but so had the doubt he sensed among the Fourth’s crew members. Their beloved fleet was being thrown against the enemy with no hope of saving Balmorra, and it was making them resentful and angry.
