by Troy Denning
It had the will of the Force written all over it.
And Saba, at least, understood the message. The Jedi had lost their way, shying away from a fight with Daala when they should be taking bold action and moving against the galaxy’s enemies—all of them. She stepped away from the Solos and turned toward Kenth Hamner, who had been watching the events unfold with Cilghal, Kyle, and a couple of other Masters. His face was white with shock and dismay, but at least she saw no anger in it. He understood as well as she did why the two Jedi Knights had involved themselves as they had, why they had not stood idly by while a journalist was slain and thousands of innocents slaughtered. Perhaps this was not going to be as difficult as she feared.
After what they had seen, perhaps even Kenth Hamner would agree that the time for action had come.
Saba took a moment to center herself, letting out a series of long, calming breaths and taking in the view. While they had been watching the events on Blaudu Sextus, the CrewComet had landed unnoticed and was now sitting on its struts, its cone-shaped nose still glowing white with entry heat, wisps of steam rising off its hull. But the ramps remained up and the air locks sealed—a sign, no doubt, that Zekk and the others had been watching the same report and were still sitting in the passenger cabin, as shocked as everyone outside.
Saba reached out to the shuttle in the Force, welcoming the passengers home, but also checking to make certain that she recognized their presences. The Jedi had just entered a new and dangerous era. With enemies moving against them—both here on Coruscant and in the galaxy at large—they could not afford to be complacent, not even in their own Temple … perhaps especially not in their own Temple.
When she was rewarded with the warm touch of half a dozen familiar Force presences, Saba nodded to herself, then let out a long breath and started toward Grand Master Hamner. He was already on his comlink, issuing orders through Temple communications. Whatever happened next, she could not grow angry. It was not impossible that he had reached the same conclusion she had—and even if he had not, she would need to remain calm to win the support of her fellow Masters.
Hamner must have sensed her approach and intention, for as Saba drew near, he signed off the comlink and turned to face her. His blue eyes had gone from steely to soft, his features from dignified to weary. Saba still found it a challenge to read human faces, but it seemed to her that Hamner’s expression was one of sadness and defeat—that the grim set of his jaw remained only because he was too stubborn to surrender.
“Master Sebatyne,” he said, acknowledging her with his usual military propriety. “An unfortunate turn of events on Blaudu Sextus.”
“This one does not think so,” Saba said. She had barely replied before she sensed herself and Hamner becoming the center of attention on the platform. The Masters had witnessed their confrontations many times, and even most Jedi Knights were aware of the tension between them, so it was only to be expected that when they came together, others would watch. “Sothais and Avinoam did well. They did what any Jedi should do.”
Hamner nodded, but said, “They also disobeyed orders, and now we have a mess on our hands. This Chev reporter, Shohta, is drawing the wrong conclusion, and that is going to fan the flames of revolt along the entire galactic edge.”
“And we are certain that is a bad thing?” Saba asked. “Perhapz the time has come for the Jedi to think of what is right, not what is convenient.”
Hamner shook his head. “Saba, we’ve been through this a thousand times.” He looked past her toward the CrewComet. “Our Knights are about to debark. What do you say we give them—”
“No.” The word came from behind Saba, in a voice that was both gravelly and insistent, and Barratk’l continued, “You cannot put this off, Grand Master. What happened on Blaudu Sextus changes everything, yes?”
Hamner shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ve already sent orders instructing Sothais to turn Rhal and his men over to the Blauduns for prosecution.”
“You what?” This came from Han Solo, who, along with most of the others on the landing deck, was crowding in to watch—or join—the confrontation between Saba and Hamner. “Rhal murdered your own assistant—”
“On the steps of the Jedi Temple,” Corran Horn added.
“—doesn’t that mean anything?” Han continued. “I can’t believe you’d let him go like that.”
Hamner’s eyes began to harden again. “I grieve for Kani every day,” he said. “And I’m as determined to see Rhal brought to justice as anyone here—but only legally.”
“So you turn him over to the same mugwumps who hired him?” Han scoffed. “That’s not justice, it’s a joke.”
“How can it be a joke if it’s not funny?” asked a small voice down at waist height. Saba looked down and saw Amelia Solo there, looking puzzled and earnest. “And besides, aren’t Jedi supposed to obey planetary laws?”
Hamner smiled down at her. “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said. “Amelia’s right. If we bring Rhal back here to Coruscant, he’s a problem for everyone.”
“But if we leave him with the Blauduns, they have to punish him—and punish him hard—or it will look like they approve of the slaughter.” Leia nodded, then looked over at Han and Corran. “It’s a better solution than you think.”
“It keeps us from looking like we sent two Jedi there seeking vengeance.” Hamner shot Leia a look of gratitude, then turned toward the CrewComet. “Now that we’ve settled that—”
“We have settled nothing,” Saba interrupted, purposely placing herself between Hamner and the shuttle. “As you say, Shohta’s wordz will spark slave revoltz along the entire galactic edge. The Jedi must decide how we are going to respond, and we must decide now.”
Hamner closed his eyes in frustration. “Now, Master Sebatyne?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s going to take days for those fires to catch—”
“It is not the slaves this one thinkz of,” Saba interrupted. “It is Daala.”
“Master Sebatyne has a good point,” Kyle Katarn said. “If Chief Daala didn’t see the transmission live, you can bet she’s watching a replay right now.”
“And she’ll think the same thing Shohta did,” Kyp Durron said, nodding. “That the Jedi have decided to take a stand against slavery.”
Hamner’s eyes flashed with alarm, and Saba knew he finally understood the danger they were in. Daala would interpret the events on Blaudu Sextus in the worst possible light. She would conclude that the Jedi were trying to destabilize her government by forcing it to commit scarce resources to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Given her volatile nature and her military background, she might also conclude that she had no choice but to launch a preemptive strike—and launch it quickly.
“My apologies, Master Sebatyne. You’re right, of course.” He turned toward the Temple entrance. “Please convey my apologies to those aboard the shuttle. I’d better get on this right away.”
“On what, Grand Master?” Saba called. “The Council has not come to a decision.”
Hamner stopped and spun on his heel. “There’s no decision to come to, Master Sebatyne. I need to make Chief Daala understand what really happened—and I need to do it before she convinces herself otherwise.”
Saba shook her head. “This one does not believe so,” she said. “This one feelz the hand of the Force in what happened today. This one believes the time has come for us to act with our heartz.”
“With our hearts, Master Sebatyne?” Hamner echoed. “The Sixth Fleet is in orbit, with nothing to do but keep watch over us. A whole planetful of Sith is busy building war fleets to attack us. And you’re telling me you want us to throw our support behind a galaxy-wide slave revolt? Seriously?”
“Yes,” Saba replied. “Seriously. It is what the Force demandz of us.”
Hamner shook his head. “I’m sorry, Master Sebatyne, but that’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe to you,” Barratk’l said. The Yuzzem stepped to Saba’s side, a hulking w
all of fur and fangs that stood a full head and a half taller than even a Barabel. “But maybe Master Sebatyne is not the only one who feels it, yes?”
Hamner turned toward Barratk’l wearily, his eyes filled with betrayal and disappointment. He was the one who had recommended that Master Barratk’l be recalled from her post on Nal Hutta and asked to join the Council. It was obvious from Hamner’s expression that he had expected her to repay the honor by remaining loyal to him. But that wasn’t how the Council worked. Masters were expected to speak their minds and vote their consciences, and it was clear, to Saba at least, that Barratk’l agreed with her.
Finally, Hamner said, “Barratk’l, the Yuzzem were enslaved under the Empire, so it’s only natural that you would want to help others escape. But these are hardly the circumstances—”
“Then what are the circumstances?” Cilghal asked, surprising even Saba. “The Mon Calamari were also enslaved by the Empire, and I can no longer stand by in good conscience while other species suffer the same fate.” She turned to Saba and nodded. “I feel it, too, Master Sebatyne. The Force is moving in this.”
Once Cilghal had voiced her feelings, Hamner looked to the other Masters and, finding no support in any of their faces, he merely shook his head in determination.
“I appreciate your honesty,” he said. “But when Grand Master Skywalker went into exile, he didn’t ask you to stand in while he was gone. He asked me, and I must do what I think is best.”
Hamner turned toward the door with an air of finality.
He had not even taken two steps before Han called out, “Tell them about the deal with Bwua’tu.”
Hamner stopped in his tracks and spun around, his eyes wide with outrage and surprise. “What?”
“I said, ‘Tell them about the deal with Bwua’tu.’ ”
Hamner clenched his jaw and balled his fists, obviously struggling to contain his anger.
Han looked him straight in the eye. “You can do it, or I can.”
Saba could tell by the way that Han’s pupils had opened that at least part of what he was saying was a bluff.
“Who knows?” Han continued. “They might even understand.”
Kyp and Kyle looked at each other, then Kyle stepped toward Hamner. “Understand what, Grand Master?”
Hamner glared blaster bolts at Han, but said, “Admiral Bwua’tu commed me during the siege. He wanted to make a deal.”
“And you didn’t tell us?” Corran asked, clearly outraged.
“He asked me to hold it in confidence,” Hamner replied. “He didn’t want Daala to know.”
“And this deal, what was it?” Corran demanded.
Hamner hesitated, obviously reluctant to break his promise to the admiral.
“It’s the reason your Grand Master here doesn’t want to do anything,” Han prompted. “He’s still hoping Bwua’tu will wake up and fix everything with a wave of his hand.”
“Not exactly,” Hamner said through clenched teeth. “But Admiral Bwua’tu did offer to use his influence to convince Daala to be reasonable.”
“In return for what, exactly?” Kyle asked.
“Not launching the StealthX wing,” Hamner said. “The Mandos saw us preparing when they stormed the Temple, and the last thing either of us wanted was starfighters battling over Coruscant.”
Saba felt her blood turn cold. Hamner had been doing more than just keeping secrets from them. He had entrusted the Order’s well-being to a Bothan, and he had been stalling his fellow Masters—lying to them—in the vain hope that his friend the Bothan would awaken and solve all his problems for him.
Clearly, Hamner had cracked under the pressure. Clearly, he was no longer fit to lead the Jedi Order.
Saba stepped forward. Speaking as gently as her Barabel voice would allow, she said, “This one thinkz it would be best if you resigned, Master Hamner.”
Hamner’s jaw fell. “Resign, Master Sebatyne? You must be joking.”
Saba shook her head. “No joke, Master Hamner. This one has no confidence in you.” She glanced around at her fellow Masters. Receiving one nod after another, she added, “We all have no confidence in you.”
Strictly speaking, it was not a formal no-confidence vote. But there were enough Masters present to indicate what the result would be, and even Kenth Hamner was not stubborn enough to demand the formality when the outcome was a foregone conclusion. He glanced from one Master to another, his face growing a little paler each time a Master met his gaze and nodded agreement with Saba’s pronouncement. When he had come to the last face, he turned to her with a trembling mouth.
“I do not resign, Master Sebatyne,” he said. “And this is not over.”
“It is for us,” Saba replied. “Go inside, Master Hamner. Your presence is no longer required by the Council.”
Jagged Fel found Chief of State Daala outside her office, standing in the corner of a huge balcony that he had not known existed, looking past the shoulder of the Senate Building toward the gleaming silver pyramid that was the Jedi Temple. She was leaning out over the edge with both hands braced on the railing, her shoulders hunched in anger and her long coppery hair blowing in the humid breeze. Her posture reminded him of nothing quite so much as the linstone fiends hanging from the roof edges of some of Bastion’s most ancient buildings, a guardian monster from a lost era, still standing watch and fuming at the vicissitudes of time and humanity.
Discerning no hint in her bearing of why she had asked to see him on such short notice—and seeing no advantage in startling her during a moment of private meditation—Jag cleared his throat and started across the balcony.
“If you’re thinking of attempting a paraglider assault, I’d advise against it,” he said, only half joking. “They’ll see you coming from a kilometer away.”
Daala snapped fully upright, clasping her hands behind her back, then spinning to face Jag. “I suppose they would,” she said. “And there’s that blasted Force to worry about.”
“Yes, there’s always the Force,” Jag agreed. “It would be a mistake to underestimate its power.”
The corner of Daala’s mouth rose in a sardonic smile. “I believe I have heard that before.” As Jag drew near, she unclasped her hands and held one out. “Thank you for rearranging your schedule. I assume you’re aware of events on Blaudu Sextus?”
“I’ve been watching the Public HoloNet reports.” Jag forced himself to shake her hand—after all, a Head of State could not allow personal feelings to interfere with state business. “But if that’s why you asked me here, I must admit that I fail to see how the outrages on Blaudu Sextus concern the Empire.”
“No?” Daala turned back toward the Jedi Temple. “I should think that’s obvious.”
Of course—Jaina.
Jag stepped to the rail and, without answering, gazed across the vast plaza toward the silvery pinnacle of the Jedi Temple. He could not look on it without feeling a pang of longing and sorrow. After his exile from the Chiss Ascendancy, Jaina and the Solos had become the closest thing he had to a family, and he still found it difficult to accept that they were no longer a part of his life. How Jaina could break off their engagement over a matter of duty and conscience, he simply could not accept—and the effort of trying invariably left him feeling sad, lost, and alone.
After a moment, Jag said, “You should consider replacing your intelligence officer. Jedi Solo and I are no longer engaged.” He turned and looked her straight in the eye. “She broke it off shortly after the assassination attempt at Pangalactus.”
Daala made a point of holding his gaze. The attack at the famous theme restaurant had occurred weeks before, yet Imperial Intelligence remained unable to offer more than conjecture as to who was behind the assault. To Jag, that meant the party responsible had been a very competent plotter, and that placed Daala at the top of the suspect list.
When Jag did not look away, Daala finally dropped her eyes and said, “I hope you don’t believe I was behind that.”
“No
, Jaina had her own reasons for ending things,” Jag said, deliberately misconstruing her meaning. “Besides, when it comes to matters of the heart, she would hardly be inclined to take your advice.”
Daala’s mouth tightened almost unnoticeably. “I doubt it,” she allowed. “But I’m sure you realize I was referring to the attempt on your life.”
“What makes you sure the attempt was on my life?” Jag pressed. He knew better than to think Daala would ever let slip something incriminating, but he wanted her to know he remained suspicious. “Those YVHs were spraying more fire the Solos’ way than mine.”
“Who knows what they were firing at?” Daala offered a dismissive wave. “I certainly don’t.”
“Meaning you’re not the one who sent them.”
“Yes.” Daala’s voice grew hard and icy. “Meaning I had nothing to do with that attack—no matter who the target was.”
“Then I’d be very interested to know who did,” Jag pressed.
“So would I.” Daala turned away from the railing and gestured toward a table, where her waiters had placed some pastries and a carafe of caf. “Wynn thinks it was part of a conspiracy to undermine my government by making me look like a monster.”
“You’re saying that the assassination attempt at Pangalactus was all about you?” Jag followed her to the table and pulled a chair out for Daala. “That’s rather self-centered, even for you.”
“I only wish you were right, Head of State Fel,” Daala said, accepting the jab with a tight smile. “But I’ve been hearing some unpleasant rumors about a pro-Jedi bill being circulated by Senator Wuul. So I must admit that I’m starting to see a pattern.”
“Then I suggest you stop engaging in that sort of behavior,” Jag replied. He went to his own chair and sat. “You’re making it rather easy for them to paint you in a bad light, don’t you think?”
