pair of the pajamalike pants to Barth.
Stripping without modesty, they both complied without argument. When
the task was finished, the guards prodded them toward the corridor.
There was a Yevethan guard in front of Han, leading the way, and
another behind him, with Barth following and the third guard bringing
up the rear. It was one of the geometries Han had rehearsed--take out
the guard in the middle together, high-low, then turn back-to-back and
take on the others--but he weighed the odds against his curiosity about
where they were being taken and decided to wait.
But the pants they had been given had been sized for a Yevethan
frame--the waist was too low and the legs 'a handspan too long.
Before he had gone half a dozen strides down the corridor, Barth
tripped himself on the trailing fabric and went sprawling.
Hearing the noise behind him, Han had only an instant to react. He
spun, hands forming into fists, and received a rock-hard Yevethan
forearm across his throat for his trouble. Gasping and choking, he
fell backward.
It was a hard landing, even without the benefit of the first guard
stomping his head back against the floor.
"Submit or die," the guard growled.
The sudden pain, and the adrenaline that came with it, had energized
Han's body to the point that he was ready to fight the Yevethan who was
pinning him down. Then he heard Barth groan in pain, then call out in
a raspy, shaky voice, "Don't--don't--it was me, Han, my fault--I fell,
that's all, stupid clumsy feet--" With a will, Han opened his fists and
spread his hands wide in surrender. "It's all right, Lieutenant.
We'll let 'em off this time, okay?"
The guard looming over Han stepped back. Moving slowly, Han clambered
back to his feet. A few meters down the corridor, Barth was doing the
same. "You okay?"
"I'm--what are they going to do? Where are they taking us?"
"It's going to be all right," Han said, tugging his pants up at the
waist. "Hey, how about this fine Yevethan tailoring?"
Jerking his head to the left, the guard growled, "Enough. Darama
waits. Walk."
The prisoners were taken to a large Chamber with a high domed ceiling
decorated with scarlet accents. They were made to sit at either end of
a long bench facing a
low platform and a large window beyond. Han squinted at the bright
light, but savored the warm, fresh breeze entering the chamber with
it.
There was one oddity: Lieutenant Barth's wrists were bound to a bar
running the length of the bench, low behind their hips. But Han's were
not.
Before he could puzzle that out, Viceroy Nil Spaar entered the
chamber.
"Darama," Han repeated under his breath.
Nil Spaar was leading an entourage of four. One carried a folding
stool, which he set up facing the prisoners' bench. A second carried a
tall stand topped by a silver sphere, which he placed a meter to the
right of the stool and slightly forward. Those two left when they had
shed their burdens.
The two that remained took up positions behind Nil Spaar as he settled
on the stool. Han studied their faces, trying to divine what burdens
they had carried into the room. Advisor? Muscle? Toady? What does a
Yevetha look like. when it's nervous? Or do they even get nervous?
"General Solo," said Nil Spaar, ignoring Barth with both his words and
his gaze. "You appear to be the only one who can save thousands more
of your kind from dying in shame. I am here to give you that
opportunity."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You were on your way to take command of the Fifth Fleet when you were
captured. You were carrying Princess Leia's orders for the invasion of
Yevethan territory."
Han waited, mute.
"Defiance of the sovereignty of the viceroy of the Protectorate makes
your life forfeit," Nil Spaar continued.
"I have spared you in the hope that you will join me in an act of
mercy."
Han cocked his head. "Explain."
"Princess Leia has recklessly sent more ships to threaten us--" "Good
for her."
"--and issued foolish ultimatums. She does not understand us. Perhaps
when you do, you can open her eyes."
"Go on."
"Our claim to these stars is natural and ancient.
Our eyes have owned them since the beginning of our days. They are
alive in our legends. They call to us in our dreams. We draw our
strength from the All. The purity of the All inspires us to
perfection.
"Our claim to these stars is not a shallow thing of greed, or politics,
or ambition. It is not a claim we would ever surrender. We are not
like the weaklings you are accustomed to, calculating when to pursue an
advantage and when to retreat, believing only in the expediencies of
the moment.
"Leia's threats do not move us. We will never give up that which is
ours, or share it with those who are not born of the All. If your
forces do not withdraw, there will be war--terrible, bloody,
unending.
We will never yield, General Solo---and none of your soldiers will
enjoy my mercy as you have. The fighting will go on until the last of
you has been killed or driven out. Do you understand that, General?"
"I think so."
"I hope you do," said Nil Spaar. "I have studied your histories. You
have never faced an adversary like us. Your wars are decided by the
death of a tenth of a population, a third of an army. Then the
defeated surrender their honor and the victors surrender their
advantage.
This is called being civilized. The Yevetha are not civilized,
General. It would be a mistake to deal with us as though we were."
"Thanks for the advice," Han said. "So what do you want from me?"
"Prevent your mate from making that mistake," said Nil Spaar.
"Persuade her to recall her fleet. Promise us on the blood of your own
children that what is ours now will be ours forever, You will preserve
the blood of thousands--and your own as well."
"You'll let us go?" Barth asked, an eager hopefulness coloring his
words.
The viceroy did not look away from Han. "You are more useful to me as
a witness than as a martyr, General," Nil Spaar said, rising from his
stool. "Come--look."
The viceroy led Han to the window, then stepped aside to allow Han an
unimpeded view. Squinting, Han looked out on a tumble of buildings
and, beyond, a great field of giant silver spheres--Aramadia-class
thrustships. It was a stunning, numbing sight. The star-ships were
parked so closely together that it was difficult to count them, even
though Nil Spaar allowed him to linger at the window.
"What you see is the product of the Nazfar Metal-works Guild," said Nil
Spaar softly. "There is such a guild on every world of the Twelve,
General. Do you understand? You cannot prevail against us. But you
can preserve your children's blood, if you choose to."
Shaking his head, Han turned away from the window.
"Why? Wh
y even make the offer, unless you think we might win?"
"Because you would become our obsession, for as many years as it took
to destroy you," the viceroy said.
"And there are better uses for blood and the labor of our young. I
have paid you the compliment of believing the same is true for your
kind."
The roar of undampered pulsejets drew Han's attention to a thrustship
climbing skyward. from the far edge of the array. Torn by conflicting
impulses and struggling to focus his thoughts, Han stalled by making
his way slowly back to the bench.
"What did you see? What's out there?" Barth asked.
"A fleet of new warships," Han said. "At least a hundred of them."
"Well, there's only one choice, then, isn't there?
He's right--stopping the war would be an act of mercy.
Now that you know what we'd be up against, you have to stop it."
Han's gaze jumped from Barth to Nil Spaar. "Only if I'm willing to
forget the blood that's already been spilled," he said. "You didn't
see the intelligence reports I saw, Lieutenant--colonies scoured off
the face of planets, entire populations exterminated as though they
were no more than kitchen pests--" "Han, please think about this. Do
you want the next planet to be Coruscant or Corellia?" Barth
pleaded.
Han kept his gaze fixed on Nil Spaar, who was listening impassively.
"Do you know that they recorded it all, without even the decency to
look away or feel shame? As though they were proud of it--of how
efficiently they could murder millions." He shook his head slowly.
"No. You can't compromise with an evil as cold as theirs,
Lieutenant--not even to spare the lives of our mother's children."
Still Nil Spaar said nothing. But Barth was nearly frantic with
fear.
"Please, do what he asks. Think of all the casualties, the ships
burning--Han, they're going to kill us! .....
"Would you rather live as a coward?" Han demanded.
"It'll be a tragedy for even one more good pilot to die fighting
them.
But it'd be something far worse if we turned our backs and walked
away--if no one stood up for the millions who are already dead. And
I'll be damned if I'll be part of it." His eyes burned into the
viceroy's. "You can burn to blazes. I won't help you."
Nil Spaar nodded agreeably and spoke a word in Yevethan. Two guards
appeared at the doorway and bound Han to the bar just as Barth had
been.
Please, do something--tell him you've changed your mind--" "Get a grip
on yourself, Lieutenant," Han said grimly. "He doesn't deserve to
enjoy this."
The viceroy moved closer, his fighting crests becoming engorged until
they seemed to be two crimson slashes from temple to ear. "You vermin
wish to teach me a lesson," said Nil Spaar. "I will offer you one in
return. You think you have accepted the price in blood for your
choice; We will see if that is so."
With a slash of his right claw, Nil Spaar ripped open Barth's bare
torso from hip to shoulder, shattering ribs, pulling soft organs from
their cavities. Barth's scream, a horrible, inhuman sound of
immeasurable agony, was cut short when his lungs were rent by the claw
and collapsed with a grisly wheeze.
For too long a moment, the sight held Han transfixed, every detail
burning into his memory. Then his stomach heaved, and he turned away,
choking on a bitter taste.
"Perhaps you understand us a little better now," Nil Spaar said,
stepping back and absently sucking the blood from his claw.
With an effort, Han found his voice. "You bastard."
"Your opinion of me is of no consequence, and never has been," the
viceroy said, and looked to one of his aides. "When you are finished
here, have him moved to my ship."
"Yes, darama," said the aide. Then he and the others knelt
deferentially, almost reverently, as Viceroy Nil Spaar left the
chamber.
Han raised his head and forced himself to look at Barth. The white
pants were sodden crimson drapes hanging from the flight engineer's
legs. The pool of blood and other bodily fluids below him had grown to
the point where it was threatening to engulf Han's feet.
Something in the spill of organs on Barth's lap was still twitching or
pulsing.
I'm sorry, Barth, he thought, working to conceal his anguish as
carefully as his fury, determined not to parade either before his
audience. I was wrong about us seeing Coruscant again. I didn't
know.
I didn't know until now what a monster he is.
By chance, it fell to Behn-Kihl-Nahm to chair the session at which the
vote on Leia was finally taken. He concealed his reluctance behind a
well-practiced mask of businesslike duty.
"President Leia Organa Solo, you are called before the Ruling Council
of the Senate of the New Republic to answer to a petition of no
confidence offered by Chairman Doman Beruss," Behn-Kihl-Nahm said.
Leia stood in the well before the V-shaped table with her fingers laced
before her. "I come before you to hear the challenge and respond, as
specified in the Common Charter."
The chairman nodded. "The foundation for the petition is given as
follows: that your ability to discharge your duties as President of
this body is and will continue to be compromised by an irreducible
conflict with your interests as wife of General Han Solo, who is
presently a prisoner of the Duskhan League, with which we stand on the
brink of conflict. Do you have any questions about this charge?"
"No," she said calmly.
"Do you wish to dispute the facts as laid out in section two of the
petition?"
"I do not," she said, standing even straighter.
Do you wish to make a statement in rebuttal of the argument offered in
section three?"
"Only that the petitioner has said far more about his fears than he has
about my conduct," Leia said with a quick but pointed glance sideways
at Beruss. "For whatever reason, Chairman Beruss has prejudged and in
doing so, he's become the principal disruption to the work of the
President's office. I trust that this Council will recognize that fact
and put an end to the disruption by rejecting this petition."
"Very well," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm. "Before I call for the vote, the
petitioner has asked me to once again offer you an alternative. He is
willing to withdraw the petition if you will agree to take a leave of
absence until the crisis in Farlax Sector has been resolved and General
Solo's return has been secured."
"Not interested," said Leia.
Beruss stirred. "The terms could be worked out so as to leave you
with full authority in other areas."
"No, they couldn't," Leia said bluntly. "You can't sit there and start
rewriting the Charter to separate President from Commander in Chief
from Chief of State.
And I wouldn't go along with it if you could."
Quietly defiant, she turned back to where BehnKihl-Nahm sat.
"Chairman, this body wasn't created to provide an opportunity to
blackmail the Presiden
t behind Closed doors. If you think this
petition has merit--if you think I'm unfit to do the job I was elected
to do--then send the petition on to the Senate. No more delays. Call
for the vote."
"Very well," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm. "As the petitioner, Senator Beruss's
vote is counted in support. Senator Rattagagech?"
"I support the petition."
"Senator Fey'lya?"
"I share Senator Beruss's concerns and offer him my support."
"Senator Praget?"
"Affirmative."
Praget's vote sealed the outcome, but Leia stood tall and impassive
until the last member of the Council had weighed in. The final tally
was five to two against her.
"The petition will be reported to the Senate at its next general
session," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm, barely holding a rush of angry words in
check. "This meeting is adjourned."
When he rang the crystal, he did so with enough force that it
cracked--a crack substantial enough to mute its voice but not severe
THE BLACK FLEET CRISIS #3 - TYRANTS_TEST Page 12
