Admiral Hortel Ossilege turned toward her and regarded her with frank surprise. “Indeed?” he said. “Clearly, then, standards of beauty vary greatly. Mine do not include noisy and unruly children.”
“Then I pity you,” said Gaeriel, quite surprised with herself for being so blunt. “I know of nothing else that brings more beauty into my life.”
Gaeriel Captison stepped forward, leaving a stunned Admiral Ossilege in her wake. She moved toward the newcomers and offered them a simple, graceful bow. “Madame Chief of State,” she said. “Captain Solo. I bid you welcome to the Intruder, and wish you much joy of this wonderful reunion.” And with that, she knelt down in her very official ministerial robes and gave each of the children a kiss.
Let the old sourpuss chew on that for a while, she told herself. Gaeriel had had something of a wild streak in her youth. It was good to know it had not completely abandoned her.
* * *
“The situation is, in one sense, complicated and, in another, quite simple,” said Belindi Kalenda, addressing the council of war gathered on the flag deck of the Intruder. And a motley crew this council is, she told herself. To her immediate left was Ossilege in his perfect dress-white uniform and his chestful of medals, Gaeriel Captison in her ministerial robes, Lando Calrissian with a rather swell-looking purple cape thrown over one shoulder of his burgundy blouse, and Han Solo in a rather rumpled light brown shirt, with a utility vest worn over it. That vest had obviously seen a lot of use over the years. Then came Solo’s wife, Leia Organa Solo, the Chief of State, in a plain blue shirt and dark slacks borrowed from Mara Jade. All of the Chief of State’s own clothes had of course been lost, destroyed, or abandoned along the way in the last few weeks.
Next to Leia was her brother, Luke Skywalker, in his neatly pressed and insignia-free flight suit. Behind him, against the wall, his two droids, R2-D2 and C-3PO, stood by in case they were called on. Both of the two Drall, Ebrihim and Marcha, wore nothing but plain brown fur—though both seemed to have gotten bits of their fur cooked off in the last two days. Then came the Wookiee Chewbacca, who seemed either moody or thoughtful—she didn’t have much luck reading Wookiee expression. Jenica Sonsen had managed to find herself wedged in next to Chewbacca on one side and a nervous-looking Selonian named Dracmus on the other. Sonsen did not look too thrilled about her seating position. By her expression, she expected the Wookiee and the Selonian to start arguing over light meat or dark at any second.
On the other side of Dracmus the Selonian was Mara Jade, looking cool and elegant in a well-tailored but otherwise quite ordinary ship’s coverall.
And, Kalenda reminded herself, she was there too, of course. The last few days and hours had been so chaotic that it would have been easy enough to forget her own existence. “To cover the simple side of it first,” she went on, “the enemy is closing in on Centerpoint. They need to keep us from interfering with the next starbuster burst—which, of course, we must interfere with, no matter what the cost. Considering the number of lives at stake if we fail, I do not think anyone will disagree with me when I suggest that the destruction of our entire force would indeed be a low enough price for victory.
“And we must face the fact that we run such a risk. We have three major combatant ships carrying a total of thirty-two flight-worthy fighters. The enemy has at least eighty larger spacecraft. If all of them carried a full complement of fighters—though I very much doubt they do—the number of fighters on their side would be well up in the hundreds.”
The numbers were daunting enough to cause a flurry of whispers and mutters around the table.
Kalenda waited for the murmuring to settle down, and then continued. “We do have a few advantages I can tell you about. We have managed some fairly good long-range scans of the enemy fleet. We’ve gotten some good imagery of some ships. Most are not that large or that well armed. I can tell you that many of those ships are old, some predating the Imperial period. I doubt that any of them are of post-war construction. They are probably both dated and in relatively poor repair. Parts for many of those ships are going to be hard to come by. They are all but certainly relying on nonstandard and jury-rigged repairs. I would also expect the qualities of their crews to be below average. Their pool of potential recruits could not have been the best. Probably most are flying with a minimum of previous training and experience. However, don’t count too much on that. Some of those crews are probably going to be as good as ours. We just don’t know which ones.”
“In short,” said Admiral Ossilege, “we have better ships, but the numbers are most definitely against us. However, we do have a plan for dealing with the situation. We will come to that a bit later.” He looked over and nodded at Kalenda. “Continue,” he said.
“The complicated side of the situation is that we almost, but not quite, control two of the repulsors. To the best of our knowledge, none of the various front groups—I don’t think ‘rebel groups’ quite suits the case anymore—none of the various front groups controls one at this time. I believe that was a major miscalculation on the part of the Triad. They assumed that locating and activating a repulsor would take much less time than it did.”
“Unless they got the estimates exactly right,” said Mara Jade, “and the Triad’s people are sitting on the Talusian and Tralusian and Corellian repulsors, just waiting for the signals to push the button.”
“Exactly right,” said Kalenda. “Obviously, the Double World Talus and Tralus repulsors are the most worrisome ones. If the enemy controls those, he has the ability to crush our ships down to rubble in any millisecond he chooses.”
“But we don’t think they have that capability,” Ossilege said. “Their fleet is moving in with a great deal of caution. Their behavior is consistent with fears that we control one or more repulsors, while they control none. In my considered opinion, it is not consistent with their controlling any of the repulsors. It is not even consistent with a bluff. If the enemy had the Talus or Tralus repulsors operational, this battle would be over already.”
“That caution might also explain why they haven’t reactivated the interdiction field,” said Mara. “They might want to be sure they have a way out of here.”
“That’s possible,” said Jenica Sonsen, “but we don’t think that’s why it’s still down. We’ve run some numbers on how Centerpoint must operate, what it can do, that sort of thing. The short form is that we don’t think they can reactivate it while Centerpoint is at this stage of powering itself up for a starbuster shot. Too much power being diverted, too many systems busy. You can turn on an interdiction field while the system is in standby. You can turn one off at any time. You can leave it on while the system is powering up. But you can’t initiate an interdiction field while the Glowpoint is charging. At least we think that’s the case.”
“It damned well better be the case,” said Ossilege. “Our plans with Source A depend on it.”
“Excuse please,” said Dracmus. “What or who is a Source A?”
“We’ll come to that a bit later,” Ossilege said, a slight smile on his lips.
“What about Centerpoint itself?” Han asked. “Is there any weak spot that we know about? Someplace where we might pile in a lot of firepower and get lucky? Blow the place up?”
“No, sorry,” said Sonsen. “It doesn’t work that way. Don’t forget that the Glowpoint is a containment vessel for an extremely powerful reaction. It’s very strong, and it’s very good at absorbing and dispersing energy, and well insulated. The figures we worked up show that the energy levels in there at the moment are the equivalent of setting off a proton torpedo at least once a second, and Centerpoint has been putting up with that for days on end. And the rest of the structure is very strong, and very old, and so well sealed and shielded that we’ve never been able to map most of the interior. I’m told the Sentinel has landed search parties that are doing their best to find the control system and shut the system down, but that control system has kept itself pretty well hidden for at leas
t a thousand generations. I doubt they’ll find it in just a day or two of looking.”
“So the repulsors are our only hope,” said Luke. “But then why worry about the Triad fleet at all? Why confront it? Why not just withdraw, get our ships out of harm’s way, and concentrate all our effort into activating the repulsors?”
“Because the repulsors are not the only game in town,” said Ossilege. “That is an eighty-ship fleet out there, after all. They could dominate this star system indefinitely, if they chose to do so, and we left them alone. Or suppose, for example, they got to the repulsors on Drall and Selonia and grabbed them from us before we were ready to use them?”
“Let’s talk about the repulsors for a minute,” said Luke. “Where are we with them? How about the Selonian repulsor? Dracmus?”
The Selonian shook her head mournfully. “There is no changing. I have been checking with our people just before this fine meeting. The Sacorrian Selonians, the Triad Selonians of the nameless Den, are weakening. They see the force of our arguments. But they are not with us yet.”
“Is there any realistic chance of their being persuaded before the next starbuster shot?” Ossilege asked.
Dracmus looked miserable. “A small one,” she admitted at last. “Only a small one. Our best people are working on the Triad Selonians. But we now think perhaps they have received indoctrination in just such a circumstance. We have tried everything, I assure you.”
“Have you tried cash?” Mara asked.
“I am begging your pardon?”
“Cash. Money. A travel case full of credit notes. You know. A bribe. Or make it sound nice. Call it a consulting fee. Tell them you want to hire them, and will pay well.”
Dracmus looked absolutely amazed. “This had never been occurring to us. We will try it at once.”
“Good,” said Mara. “And don’t be cheap about it. Whatever you offer has got to be cheaper than letting the Triad win.”
“What about our repulsor?” asked the Drall, Ebrihim. “Have you made any progress with it?”
“Our tech staff has only had a few hours to work on it,” said Ossilege. “It’s early to expect results. But rest assured, we have every person with pertinent experience down there working right now.”
“That is not the case,” said a new voice, a stern female voice that was used to being heard and obeyed. It was the other Drall. Marcha, the Duchess of Mastigophorous. “It is not the case, Admiral, and you know it not to be the case.”
“Duchess, might I ask what you are talking about?” asked Ossilege.
“The children,” she said. “Anakin in particular, but he works best when the other two are there to help him, guide him.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Ossilege. “What possible use could they be? How could they possibly have any expertise? I would urge you not to mistake a series of lucky accidents for ability. We do not have time to waste on such nonsense. Move on, Lieutenant.”
Kalenda hesitated a moment. It was not her place to contradict her superior officer. But on the other hand, it was not his place to be a damned pigheaded fool. And Gaeriel Captison had reminded her, not so long ago, that there was more to life than adhering to military etiquette. “Sir, my apologies for discussing this in front of others, but there may not be another chance, and the stakes are too high. I believe you are making a mistake.”
“What!?”
“Sir, it is my job to analyze events and come to conclusions. I have analyzed the events surrounding the children, and I have come to the conclusion that their abilities are—are remarkable. They have been constantly underestimated, their achievements constantly dismissed as exaggerated, or lucky accidents, or remarkable coincidences. That is simply not true. It is not credible.” She pointed at Drall, plainly visible through the main bridge viewports. “The plain fact of the matter is that you have a repulsor down there because a seven-and-a-half-year-old boy found it for you, and turned it on. It is no longer in the hands of our enemy—and our enemy is in the brig—because that boy and his siblings managed to walk through a working force field, repair a disabled starship, fly that ship into space, and shoot down a pursuing spacecraft flown by a professional military pilot. I could go on for half an hour, describing all the things that they could not possibly have done, but the point will remain the same.”
Ossilege looked up at Kalenda, his expression utterly unreadable. Was there anger seething under there? Was he simply considering her words? Was he infuriated at the assault on his authority, or simply wondering if she might be right? It was impossible to tell. The man was completely inscrutable. “You argue most effectively, Lieutenant Kalenda. You marshal your facts well. You will either go far as an intelligence officer or end your career in the brig for insubordination. I had intended to disembark all noncombatants on Drall in any event, and it occurs to me that the shielded side chambers of the repulsor are probably the safest place to be right now. Madame Chief of State, Captain Solo—if, as Lieutenant Kalenda claims, your children might be of help, would you consent to their being put to work?”
“Absolutely,” said Han. “Not that it matters what we think. Get them within a hundred kilometers of trouble, and they’ll find it all on their own.”
“Madame Chief of State?”
“We need all the help we can get,” said Leia. “Let them do their part.”
Ossilege raised his eyebrows and looked hard at both of them. “Very well,” he said. “Then let us move on. Lieutenant?”
“Well, sir, to sum up, we have two objectives, neither of them very easy. First is to defeat the Triad fleet and prevent it from dominating this star system. Second is to do whatever we can to prevent Centerpoint from firing again. I believe that covers everything we were going to discuss, except for Source A—and I believe you wanted to cover that yourself.”
Ossilege smiled broadly—and it was unusual to see any smile at all on his face. He stood up and looked about at all the faces around the table. “Source A,” he said. “Source A, if I am not mistaken, is known to several of you already. But let me tell the rest of you about him.”
* * *
If the day had started with joyous reunions, it ended with tearful good-byes. “Do you really have to go, Mommy?” asked Anakin, his voice a little snuffly, his chin quivering just a bit. They were in the Intruder’s hangar deck again, the last load of noncombatants boarding the shuttle that would take them down to the safety of the repulsor’s shielded side caverns.
“Yes I do, dearest,” Leia said, kneeling down in front of him, forcing a reassuring smile onto her face. “And so do you. Everyone has a job today. I have to help Daddy and Chewbacca fly the Falcon. You and your brother and sister have to go down to the repulsor again, and see if you can make it work the way we need it to.”
“I bet we can,” said Anakin.
“I’ll bet you can too, sport,” said Han, tousling his son’s hair. He was smiling too, but even Anakin must have been able to see the pain in his eyes. And even Anakin knew that everyone had to pretend that everything was fine.
Leia looked up at Jaina and Jacen. “You two take care of each other, and of Anakin, all right? And do what Threepio and Ebrihim and the Duchess tell you to do. And be sure to—be sure to—”
Suddenly Leia stopped, her voice choked up. It was all too ridiculous. She was going into battle, she was sending her children to operate a machine that could move a planet around, sending them off to face more responsibility than most intelligent beings ever dreamed of, she might be killed and never see them again, and yet she was left with nothing to tell them but the age-old motherly admonitions to behave themselves and brush their teeth.
“We will, Mom,” said Jaina, her voice gentle and low. “Don’t worry, we’ll do all the things we’re supposed to do.”
“Fear not, Madame Chief of State,” said Threepio. “I shall take good care of them all—assuming the Drall permit me.”
Leia threw her arms about her children, shut her eyes, and squeezed them as
tight as she could. “I love you all,” she managed to say, before her voice choked up altogether.
She held them for as long as she could, and a little bit longer besides, until Han knelt down beside her and gently pulled her arms back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “The ship has to leave.”
Leia nodded, unable to speak. She kissed each of them one last time, and Han did the same. The three children and Threepio walked aboard the shuttle transport, and the shuttle transport lifted off.
And they were gone.
* * *
There were plenty of other good-byes, of course, and none of them were easy. Luke, Lando, Mara, Kalenda, Gaeriel, all of the others. They all knew the odds were very much against everyone making it back. They all knew some of these good-byes might be for more than a day or two. They might be forever. And yet, they all understood that sort of good-bye. They all had been there before, said good-bye to a comrade for an hour or a day, and then never seen the comrade again. There was a code, a ritual, a sort of a ceremony to it all, that made such good-byes, if not easier, at least far more manageable, more understandable.
But there was one other leave-taking that had a different set of emotions behind it. There was one more person Han had to see before he went into battle. And that person was in the brig.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the last frayed thread of the family ties. Or maybe those family threads were stronger than he thought. Maybe blood was stronger even than betrayal.
Or maybe—though Han doubted it—he just wanted to gloat. It didn’t feel that way, but you never knew. You never knew.
Whatever the reasons, he had come. The guard activated the door control, and Han stepped into the detention cell. Thrackan was sitting on a low bench set against the far wall of the room.
“Hello, Thrackan,” he said.
“Hello, Han. Come to see the rare specimen in his cage?”
Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy III: Showdown at Centerpoint Page 26
