Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy III: Showdown at Centerpoint

by Allen, Roger Macbride

  “Well, then, we just have to go back to mark zero,” Ardiff said. “Come up with something else. There have to be practical uses for this cloaking shield device.”

  “Of course there are,” Pellaeon agreed heavily. “Grand Admiral Thrawn devised three of them himself. But there’s no one left in the Empire with his military genius.”

  He sighed. “No, Captain. It’s over. It’s all over. And we’ve lost.”

  For a long moment the low murmur of background conversation was the only sound on the bridge. “You can’t mean that, Admiral,” Ardiff said at last. “And if I may say so, sir, this is not the sort of thing the Supreme Commander of Imperial forces should be talking about.”

  “Why not?” Pellaeon countered. “It’s obvious to everyone else.”

  “It most certainly is not, sir,” Ardiff said stiffly. “We still hold eight sectors—over a thousand inhabited systems. We have the Fleet, nearly two hundred Star Destroyers strong. We’re still very much a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Are we?” Pellaeon asked. “Are we really?”

  “Of course we are,” Ardiff insisted. “How else could we be holding our own against the New Republic?”

  Pellaeon shook his head. “We’re holding our own for the simple reason that the New Republic is too busy right now with internal squabbling to bother with us.”

  “Which works directly to our advantage,” Ardiff said. “It’s giving us the time we need to reorganize and rearm.”

  “Rearm?” Pellaeon threw him a quizzical frown. “Have you taken even a cursory look at what we’re working with here?” He gestured out the viewport at the Preybirds, disappearing now beneath the edge of the Chimaera’s hull as they headed for the Star Destroyer’s hangar. “Look at them, Captain. SoroSuub Preybirds. We’re reduced to SoroSuub Preybirds.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the Preybirds, sir,” Ardiff said stubbornly. “They’re a quite capable midsize starfighter.”

  “The point is that they’re not being manufactured by the Empire,” Pellaeon said. “They’re being scrounged from who knows where—probably some fringe pirate or mercenary gang. And they’re being scrounged precisely because we’re down to a single major shipyard and it can’t keep up with demand for capital ships, let alone starfighters. So tell me how you plan for us to rearm ourselves.”

  Ardiff looked out the viewport. “It’s still not yet over, sir.”

  But it was. And down deep, Pellaeon was sure Ardiff knew it as well as he did. A thousand systems left, out of an Empire that had once spanned a million. Two hundred Star Destroyers remaining from a Fleet that had once included over twenty-five thousand of them.

  And perhaps most telling of all, hundreds of star systems that had once maintained a cautious neutrality were now petitioning the New Republic for membership. They, too, knew that the outcome was no longer uncertain.

  Grand Admiral Thrawn could perhaps have breathed the remaining sparks into an Imperial victory. But Grand Admiral Thrawn was gone.

  “Have the navigator plot a course for the Bastion system, Captain,” Pellaeon said to Ardiff. “Send transmissions to all the Moffs, instructing them to meet me at Moff Disra’s palace. We’ll leave as soon as the Preybirds are aboard.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Ardiff said. “May I tell the Moffs what the meeting is about?”

  Pellaeon looked out the viewport at the distant stars. Stars that the Empire had once called theirs. They’d had so much … and somehow it had all slipped through their fingers. “Tell them,” he said quietly, “that it’s time to send an emissary to the New Republic.

  “To discuss the terms of our surrender.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  The Millennium Falcon’s console gave a final proximity beep, jolting Han Solo out of a light doze. Uncrossing his arms, he stretched tired muscles and gave the displays a quick look. Almost there. “Come on, Chewie, look alive,” he said, giving the Wookiee beside him a couple of quick slaps with the back of his fingertips.

  Chewbacca came awake with a jolt, rumbling a question. “We’re here, that’s what,” Han told him, widening his eyes a second to clear them. Getting a grip on the hyperdrive levers, he watched the timer count down. “Stand by the sub-light engines. Here we go.”

  The counter went to zero, and he eased the levers forward. Outside the Falcon’s canopy, the mottled sky of hyperspace turned to starlines, which collapsed into stars, and they were there. “Right on target,” he commented, nodding toward the bluish-red planetary half circle ahead of them.

  Beside him, Chewbacca growled. “Yeah, well, it’s always crowded around Iphigin,” Han said, eyeing the hundreds of tiny drive glows moving around the planet like some crazy multrille dance. “Main transfer point for this sector and at least two others. Probably why Puffers set up the meeting for here—you don’t start shooting if some of your own stuff might get in the way.”

  Chewbacca growled in annoyance. “Well, excuse me,” Han apologized sarcastically. “President Gavrisom, then. Didn’t know you were such a big fan.”

  There was a beep from the comm. Slapping a massive hand at the switch, Chewbacca roared out an acknowledgment.

  “Hey, Chewie,” Luke Skywalker’s voice came over the speaker. “You’re right on schedule. The Falcon must be running smoothly for a change.”

  “Nothing broken but the comm switch,” Han grumbled, throwing a scowl at the Wookiee. “Chewie just tried to flatten it. Where are you, Luke?”

  “Just coming in nightside,” Luke said. “What’s wrong with Chewie?”

  “Nothing much,” Han said. “Small difference of political opinion, that’s all.”

  “Ah,” Luke said knowingly. “Been calling President Gavrisom ‘Puffers’ again, have you?”

  “Now, don’t you start,” Han growled, glaring at the comm speaker.

  Chewbacca rumbled a question. “Well, for one thing, he never seems to do anything except talk,” Han said.

  “That’s what Calibops are best at,” Luke pointed out. “Face it, Han: words are the tool of the task these days.”

  “I know, I know,” Han said, making a face. “Leia’s been pounding it into me forever.” His voice drifted into an almost unconscious parody of his wife’s. “We’re not the Rebel Alliance anymore, with a handful of people running the whole show. We’re negotiators and arbitrators and we’re here to help system and sector governments be all nice and friendly to each other.”

  “Is that really the way Leia put it?”

  “So I paraphrased a little.” Han frowned out the Falcon’s canopy, glanced back at his displays. “Is that you in the X-wing?”

  “That’s me,” Luke confirmed. “Why? You think I’ve forgotten how to fly one?”

  “No, I just thought you usually used one of the academy’s Lambda shuttles these days.”

  “That’s because I’m usually flying with other people,” Luke said. “Students and such. Artoo was with me on Yavin doing some data sifting, so when your call came we just hopped in the old snubfighter and headed out. What’s this all about?”

  “What’s it always about at this end of the Core?” Han countered sourly. “The Diamala and Ishori are at it again.”

  Luke sighed, a faint hiss on the speaker. “Let me guess. Commerce and resource-sharing dispute?”

  “Close,” Han said. “This time it’s shipping security. The Diamala don’t like having to rely on local patrol ships when they’re coming into Ishori ports. The Ishori, on the other hand, don’t want armed Diamala ships coming into their systems.”

  “Sounds typical,” Luke said. “Gavrisom have any ideas on how to solve this one?”

  “If he did, he didn’t mention them,” Han said. “He just called me on Wayland and said to flare it on over here. Help them be all nice and friendly to each other, I guess.”

  “Gavrisom asked you to arbitrate?”

  Han pursed his lips. “Well … not exactly. He kind of thinks Leia’s here with us.”

 
“Ah.”

  “Look, Luke, I am official liaison to the Independent Shippers Association,” Han reminded him testily. “It’s not like I haven’t done this sort of thing before. And Leia hasn’t had any kind of real vacation in a long time—she and the kids need some time off together. And just for once, I’m not going to let her get dragged away on some stupid diplomatic thing, especially when she’s supposed to be on a leave of absence. She deserves better.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Luke conceded. “It’s not like her last few times away from the Presidency have been exactly restful. Though personally, I can’t imagine Wayland being very high on anyone’s list of resort spots.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Han said. “It’s not like when we went tromping through the forest on the way to Mount Tantiss. Not with all the Noghri who’ve settled there.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Luke said. “So what can I do to help?”

  “I’ve got a plan worked out,” Han said. “You know how Diamala get when they think: all icy calm and unemotional, right? Well, that’s kind of like your deep Jedi stuff, so you can go talk to their delegation. The Ishori are just the opposite—they can’t discuss anything without getting all worked up and screaming their heads off at each other.”

  “But they don’t mean anything by it,” Luke put in. “It’s all hormonal—a ‘fight or think’ response, I think it’s called.”

  “Yeah, I know, I know,” Han said, feeling a flicker of annoyance at the lecture. Jedi Master or not, Luke still didn’t have half of Han’s experience in flying around the galaxy and dealing with other species. “Point is, they can shout all they want without bothering a Wookiee any. So Chewie will talk to their group. Then the three of us get together, we come up with a fix, and we’re done.”

  “It’s an inventive approach—I’ll give it that much,” Luke said, his tone thoughtful. “Personally, I’d still rather have Leia here. She’s got a genuine gift for conciliation.”

  “All the more reason for us to take this one for her,” Han said darkly. “The way things are going out there, Gavrisom and the High Council could have her running around stomping out these scrub fires for the rest of her life.”

  “The New Republic does seem to be having more than its share of growing pains,” Luke agreed soberly. “Maybe it’s a normal adjustment to the collapse of Imperial domination.”

  “That, or what’s left of the Empire is stirring the soup,” Han said with a grimace. “Come on, let’s get down there. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can go home.”

  They put down in a double-sized docking bay that had been cleared for them in the capital city’s north spaceport complex. Han and Chewbacca were standing at the foot of the Falcon’s landing ramp, talking to a triad of white-maned Diamala, as Luke maneuvered his X-wing to an only slightly out-of-practice landing.

  And even before he cut the repulsorlifts, he could sense that there was trouble.

  “You stay with the ship, Artoo,” he ordered the droid as he popped the canopy and took off his flight helmet. “Keep an eye on things, okay?”

  Artoo gave an affirming warble. Dropping his helmet and gloves onto the seat, Luke vaulted lightly over the X-wing’s side to the ground and walked over to the group waiting by the Falcon. The three Diamala, he noted uneasily, were watching him closely … and their expressions did not strike him as particularly friendly.

  “Greetings,” he said, nodding politely, as he reached Han’s side. “I’m Luke Skywalker.”

  The Diamal standing closest to Han stirred. “We greet you in return, Jedi Master Skywalker,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless, his leathery face unreadable. “But we do not welcome you to this conference.”

  Luke blinked. He glanced at Han, caught the tightness in the other’s face and thoughts, then looked back at the Diamal. “I don’t understand.”

  “Then I will make it clearer,” the alien said, his left ear twitching once. “We do not wish you to be part of these negotiations. We do not intend to discuss any of this matter with you. We would prefer, in fact, that you leave this system entirely.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Han put in. “This is my friend, all right? I asked him here, and he’s come a long way to help.”

  “We do not wish his help.”

  “Well, I wish it,” Han shot back. “And I’m not going to tell him to leave.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence. Luke kept his eyes on the Diamala, wondering if he should unilaterally solve the disagreement by simply leaving. If they really didn’t want him here …

  The head Diamal twitched an ear again. “Very well,” he said. “The Jedi Master may stay. But only as your adviser, to be absent from actual negotiations. The Diamala will not discuss these matters in his presence.”

  Han grimaced, but he nodded. “If that’s the way you want it, fine. Why don’t you show us to our quarters, and we’ll get started.”

  The Diamal gestured, and one of his companions handed Chewbacca a datapad. “You have been given a suite in the spaceport control complex,” he said. “The map will show you the way. The Ishori are already assembled in the meeting chamber. We will begin when you are ready.”

  In unison, the three aliens turned and headed across the landing bay toward one of the stairways leading out. “Well, that was interesting,” Luke said quietly as he watched them go. “Any idea what that was all about?”

  “Yeah,” Han said. “Well, sort of.”

  “Sort of? What does that mean?”

  Han threw Luke a sideways look, his expression and thoughts both oddly troubled. “Look, let’s forget it for right now, okay? They don’t—well, they don’t like you. Just leave it at that.”

  Luke gazed at the backs of the departing Diamala, watching their shimmering manes fluttering slightly in the breeze. He didn’t have to leave it at that, of course; he could stretch out right now with the Force and draw out the necessary knowledge. Surely whatever the problem was had to be some kind of misunderstanding, and he could hardly help clear it up unless he knew what it was. Yes, that was what he should do.

  And yet …

  He looked at Han. Han was looking back at him, the troubled expression still on his face. Perhaps wondering if Luke would do exactly that.

  No. As Han had asked, he would let it go. For now. “All right,” he said. “What’s the new strategy?”

  “Chewie and me’ll handle the talks,” Han said, turning to face the Wookiee. Even with his expression hidden, there was no mistaking the flicker of quiet relief in his emotional state. “If you don’t mind waiting until we’re finished, maybe you can help us figure out how to settle the deal.”

  “Sure.” Luke looked in the direction the Diamala had gone. “He said I could be your adviser. So I guess I’ll advise.”

  He looked back to find Han studying his face. “You don’t like this, do you?” the older man said.

  Luke shrugged. “Well, it’s not exactly the high point of my day,” he conceded. “It’s always a little embarrassing to offer to help someone and get turned down. But I suppose a little embarrassment never hurt anyone.”

  “Yeah,” Han said. “Sometimes it even helps.”

  It was, Luke thought, a rather odd thing to say. But before he could ask about it, Han had stepped to Chewbacca’s side and taken the datapad the Diamal had given him. “You figured out where we’re supposed to go?” he asked.

  The Wookiee rumbled an affirmative, pointing a shaggy finger at the datapad display. “Yeah, okay,” Han said, handing the datapad back. “Lead the way.” He threw Luke a lopsided grin. “There’s nothing like a Wookiee to get people to move out of the way.”

  “You realize there’s one other possibility,” Luke said quietly as they set off across the docking bay. “They may be trying to split us up for some kind of attack.”

  Han shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “I’d still like to keep an eye on your meetings,” Luke persisted. “I sh
ould be able to follow your presence from wherever they put us. That way, I can get there right away if you need me.”

  “Just my presence, though, right?”

  Luke frowned at him. “Of course. I wouldn’t try to read your mind without permission. You know that.”

  “Yeah,” Han said. “Sure.”

  As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary for Luke to use the Force in order to keep track of the proceedings. Their Iphigini hosts had somehow learned about the restrictions the Diamala had put on his attendance, and by the time Han and Chewbacca began the negotiations they had a monitor line set up between Luke’s suite and the conference room, allowing him to directly watch the meeting.

  It took him two hours to realize that the talks were getting nowhere. It was another hour before Han came to the same conclusion. Or at least was willing to admit it out loud.

  “They’re crazy,” Han growled, tossing a handful of datacards onto a low center table as he and Chewbacca joined Luke in the suite. “The whole bunch of them. Completely crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t say crazy,” Luke told him. “Stiff-faced stubborn, maybe, but not crazy.”

  “Thanks,” Han growled. “That’s real helpful.”

  Chewbacca rumbled a warning. “I am not losing my temper,” Han informed him stiffly. “I am under perfect control.”

  Luke looked at his friend, carefully hiding a smile. It was like the old Han again, the brashly confident smuggler he and Obi-Wan had first met back in the Mos Eisley cantina. Charging cheerfully into unknown situations, and more often than not finding himself up to his neck in trouble. It was nice to know that even as a respectable family man and responsible official of the New Republic, Han hadn’t lost all of the recklessness that had once driven his friends almost as crazy as it had the Imperials. Up to his neck in trouble was where Han functioned best. Perhaps, through sheer habit, it was where he was most comfortable.