by James Luceno
Kalenda addressed them. “Thank you for coming, Master Skywalker and Jedi Solo.”
Skywalker offered a nod of acknowledgment and nothing more.
“To begin with,” Kalenda said, rising with obvious effort from her chair, “the enemy raid on Wayland justifies the precautions we took in moving the defectors there. The air strike inflicted significant damage to New Nystao, but fatalities were minimal—which wouldn’t have been the case had we relocated them to Bilbringi or some other more populous world.”
She took a pained breath. “One of the fatalities was Dr. Yintal of Fleet Intelligence, though he died as a result of injuries sustained in the direct attack on Elan—the Yuuzhan Vong priestess. Dr. Joi Eicroth of Alpha Blue also sustained injuries, but she is well on her way to a full recovery, as is Major Showolter, who suffered several broken ribs and a punctured lung. Our two Noghri agents were already back on their feet when I left Wayland.”
“Where are the defectors now?” Senator Shesh asked.
“They’ve been relocated to Myrkr for safekeeping until we decide just what to do with them.”
“Colonel,” Praget interjected, “it is my understanding that one of the defectors is not thought to be Yuuzhan Vong, that some question remains as to what she actually is.”
“That’s true. We have yet to determine if Vergere is of a species native to the Yuuzhan Vong home galaxy or if she’s a product of their genetic engineering.”
“Were you able to gain any further insight into what compelled the enemy to invade the Outer Rim to begin with?” Miatamia asked.
Kalenda shook her head. “The assassin’s attack occurred shortly into the interview. Up to that point, Elan reiterated much of what we already know about the motives of the Yuuzhan Vong. At the behest of their gods, they are determined to cleanse our galaxy and/or convert us to their religion. Elan contends that they would much rather convert than exterminate us. Recordings of the debriefing—such as it was—are available for your review.”
She took a breath. “What I’ve come to tell you, however, is that, following the attack, Elan provided us with intelligence of a highly sensitive and potentially invaluable nature. Should it bear out, Director Scaur and I will be seeking authorization to relocate the defectors here, to Coruscant.”
Senator Shesh’s honeyed voice cut through the resultant murmur. “Is that wise, considering what happened on Wayland? As it is, New Nystao is demanding reparations.”
“In part, we chose Coruscant precisely because it is not easily targeted. I’ll be the first to admit that appropriate precautions weren’t exercised in moving the defectors from Nim Drovis to Wayland, but that won’t happen again. The plan we’ve worked out takes advantage of the current chaos in the Mid Rim, by effectively losing Elan and Vergere among the crowds of displaced peoples and jumping them to Coruscant via a circuitous route. At the same time, multiple decoy teams will be dispatched to confuse anyone with designs on sabotaging the operation.”
Kalenda stopped to pass out durasheet documents, color-coded for most-secret data. “The route will take Elan and Vergere through Bilbringi, Jagga-Two, and Chandrila—assuming, of course, that nothing untoward occurs—and precluding the advent of any intelligence suggesting that such a move poses a threat to New Republic security.”
“I fail to see the purpose of bringing—them here,” Bogen said, shaking his head almost hard enough to muss his meticulously styled blond hair. “Your point that the Yuuzhan Vong attack attests to the status of the defectors is well taken. But that attack might have been a ploy aimed at nothing more than convincing us of Elan’s usefulness.”
With utmost care, Kalenda resumed her seat at the table. “Again, Senator, the plan is contingent on corroboration of the intelligence Elan furnished.” She paused briefly. “I’m as suspicious as anyone here—we all are—but I am also convinced that Elan could prove crucial to our efforts, even if she is part of a ruse. Not only does she claim to know the whereabouts of Yuuzhan Vong operatives who have infiltrated New Republic worlds, but also the identity of many of the agents they have recruited from among cells of smugglers, mercenaries, pirates, and the like.
“In fact, we have reason to believe that one such cell, which calls itself the Peace Brigade, may have been responsible for apprising the Yuuzhan Vong that Elan and Vergere were relocated to Wayland.” Kalenda passed out additional durasheets, bearing the mercenary cell’s insignia of two clasped hands: one that could have been human; the other, fully tattooed. “These contain dossiers on the members of the Peace Brigade, along with a brief summary of their suspected acts of subversion.” She glanced at Luke Skywalker. “Stirring anti-Jedi sentiment is apparently one of their specialties.”
Skywalker nodded.
“I hope Intelligence is keeping a watchful eye on this group,” Shesh said, lifting her eyes from the durasheet.
“Read on,” Kalenda said pleasantly.
Bogen cleared his throat loudly. “About the importance of this Elan. . . ”
Kalenda turned to him. “Aside from being able to identify agents, Elan knows how the Yuuzhan Vong tacticians think—No, it goes beyond that. She knows the auguries and omens they look for in plotting their attacks. She may even be able to lead us to worlds where war coordinators have been entrenched.”
“Just a moment,” Tolik Yar broke in, one hand entering a flurry of commands into a datapad. “One report—I can’t locate it just now—suggests that these war coordinators have telepathic abilities.” Yar stopped doing input to glance at Kalenda. “Suppose this putative defector is telepathically linked to the creatures and is busy sending them intelligence about us?”
“The report you refer to was filed by an ExGal scientist who spent a brief time in Yuuzhan Vong captivity,” Kalenda supplied. “In any case, the possibility of a link between the defectors and the Yuuzhan Vong—whether telepathic or otherwise—is the reason we’ve been keeping them essentially blind. They’ve been kept isolated from anything that could be of strategic value to the enemy. Even if the Yuuzhan Vong somehow manage to reclaim them, they’ll have nothing vital to present.”
“Why are these two so eager to defect?” Senator Shesh asked.
“Elan hinted at dissension among the Yuuzhan Vong ranks. Some disagreement as to the legitimacy of the invasion. Seemingly, she wants to help us.”
“In return for what—wealth, a new identity, a hiding place? I’m not convinced that she doesn’t have some ulterior motive. Even a vornskr that loses its teeth doesn’t necessarily lose its nature.”
Kalenda’s eyes narrowed. “Elan does have one request.” She looked pointedly at Skywalker. “She wishes to meet with the Jedi Knights.”
Skywalker gave the disclosure his full attention. Even Anakin perked up. “Did she say why?” Skywalker asked. “She said it has to do with some sort of illness the Yuuzhan Vong introduced in advance of the arrival of their worldships. She refused to elaborate. She said the Jedi would understand.”
Skywalker and his nephew traded astonished glances. “Nothing more?” the elder Jedi said, clearly intrigued.
Kalenda shook her head. “As I told Senator Miatamia, feel free to review the recordings of the debriefing. In fact, I’d welcome your comments. Maybe you can pick up on something we missed.”
“Master Skywalker,” Gron Marrab interrupted, one bulging eye fixed on the Jedi while the other continued to regard Kalenda. “This probably doesn’t need to be stated, but I want it made clear that you should feel under no obligation in this matter.”
“Of course not,” Senator Praget added, with a twisted grin. “After all, it’s not as if the Jedi were in service to the New Republic.”
“That was uncalled for, Senator,” Shesh said in rebuke.
But Skywalker appeared indifferent to Praget’s remark. “We will discuss it,” he said at last. “Personally, though, I can say that I’m eager to meet with the priestess.”
Everyone fell silent for a moment, then Shesh spoke up once more. “Col
onel Kalenda, what is the nature of the intelligence Elan furnished?”
“The Yuuzhan Vong’s next target—Ord Mantell.”
With her back to the gentle sea that washed Worlport’s sand-fringed southern coast, Leia took a moment to gaze at the buttes that soared from the smog-blanketed northern wastes, out past the expansive junkyards, all the way to Ten Mile Plateau. Her view from the transparisteel crown of Ord Mantell’s Government House—site of the Conclave on the Plight of the Refugees—encompassed much of the vertiginous capital city as well, with its once grand examples of Corellian classic-revival architecture. However, most of the ornate spires, great sweeping colonnades, and huge rotundas, with their tall round-topped arches, monolithic lintels, and carved entablatures, were now engulfed by a sprawl of ersatz rococo domes and obelisks, which catered to the banal tastes of the gamblers and hedonists who frequented the planet in droves, and the whole of it was fissured by a labyrinth of narrow stairways, curving ramps, sheltered bridges, and dank tunnels.
Easy to lose your way in that maze, Leia told herself, as indeed she had lost her way some twenty-five years earlier at the end of her tenure as princess and diplomat but before Hoth and Endor, and long before marriage and children. Mentally, she tried to trace a route from Government House down to the brown plains far below, a game to occupy the moment, to keep her from wondering about the kids, or where Han might be—
“Ambassador Organa Solo,” the representative from Balmorra intruded, “is something wrong?”
Leia surfaced from her ruminations and steered a contrite smile across the table. “Excuse me. You were saying. . . ”
“I was saying that you haven’t answered my question,” the slender, starched human said in a miffed tone. “How does the New Republic justify such a request, when countless habitable worlds exist where refugees might be sheltered, without the danger of their jeopardizing the economic well-being of native populations?”
Leia fought to maintain diplomatic aplomb. “Of course we have the means to transport tens of millions of refugees to any number of planets in outlying sectors. But our aim is not simply to rid ourselves of an inconvenience. We’re talking about peoples who contribute significantly to the stability and prosperity of the New Republic, and who have lost everything—homes, livelihood, in many cases family members or entire kin groups.”
“What good are such groups without worlds,” someone at the table scoffed.
“Precisely the point,” Leia said. “What the Senate Select Committee for Refugees requires are worlds with intact infrastructures—not only with habitable land, but also planetary defenses, spaceports, surface transportation networks, arid dependable communication with Coruscant and the Core Worlds.”
Alsakan’s ringlet-haired representative sniffed. “A very laudable ideal, Ambassador, but who’s going to feed and clothe these displaced billions? Who’s going to construct the shelters and install the irradiators to ensure that the native populations are protected against whatever diseases the refugees might be harboring?”
“The senate has already allocated funds to address those very concerns.”
“But for how long?” the twin-horned envoy from Devaron asked. “Should the New Republic renege on its promises—or be forced to by circumstance—economic responsibilities will fall to the host worlds, which by then will hardly be in a position to banish the groups they accepted in all good faith. The result could be economic catastrophe.”
Leia allowed some of her frustration to show. “Need I remind you that we are in the midst of a war that threatens the very existence of that economy—not to mention the freedoms all of us have enjoyed since the defeat of the Empire?”
When she was certain she had their attention, she went on. “We have the capacity to move populations from the Outer Rim to worlds closer to the Core. Where necessary—and where they can be spared—we will make use of bulk transports and freighters to relocate tens of thousands at a time. But before that can happen, some of you are going to have to volunteer to accept these peoples, as Mon Calamari did with the displaced Ithorians, and as Bimmisaari has recently done with those who fled Obroa-skai.
“Our goal is to create self-sufficient enclaves, to be managed by appropriate individuals selected from within the refugee populations—administrators, physicians, teachers, technicians. However, these enclaves will serve as temporary facilities only. Little by little, we will relocate specific groups or species to suitable worlds, or perhaps introduce populations to currently uninhabited worlds.”
“Individual enclaves for each species?” Jagga-Two’s delegate asked.
“Where possible,” Leia said. “Otherwise, we plan to place compatible groups together.”
“And see to the diverse needs of those groups?”
“Of course.”
“And what happens when antagonistic groups are required to share the same enclave?” the representative from a repopulated world in the Koornacht Cluster asked.
“We’ll deal with those problems as they arise.”
“How—by providing security forces?”
“Some forces will be necessary, yes.”
The Balmorran loosed an incredulous laugh. “You use the word enclaves, but what you mean to say is containment camps.”
The Devaronian glared at Leia. “What if additional worlds should fall to the Yuuzhan Vong? How many refugees will we be asked to accept? Is there a limit, or does the New Republic plan to squeeze the populations of thousands of worlds onto hundreds?”
“We will limit the number,” Leia replied. She turned to Ord Mantell’s representative. “Ord Mantell could inaugurate the plan by allowing people stranded on the Jubilee Wheel to settle in temporary camps north of the city.”
The planet’s button-nosed female representative looked aghast. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Ambassador. Why, for one thing, the area around Ten Mile Plateau is one of our most important tourist attractions.”
“Tourist attractions?” Leia said in disbelief. “Ord Mantell lies practically on the edge of contested space. How many tourists do you expect to receive in the coming months?”
The woman made her face long. “Ord Mantell appears to have been spared the horrors. We anticipate an upswing in tourism very soon.”
Leia took a calming breath. “Farther to the west, then,” she suggested.
The woman ridiculed the proposal with a condescending laugh. “I’m very sorry, but those lands have been set aside as reserves for the Mantellian savrip. Hunters come from great distances for the honor of stalking the beasts.”
Leia exhaled in exasperation. “Is there no one here who will step forward?”
The representative of Gyndine and the Circarpous system spoke up. “Gyndine will accept some of those stranded on the Jubilee Wheel.”
“Thank you,” Leia said.
“As will Ruan,” delegate Borert Harbright of Salliche Ag announced proudly. “House Harbright will do whatever it can for the cause.”
Leia smiled appreciatively, but she had to force it. A powerful and wealthy corporation, Salliche Ag controlled a string of worlds on the fringe of the Deep Core, with Ruan and a host of similar worlds ideally suited to relocation centers. But there was something about the supercilious Count Harbright that put her instantly on guard. Duplicity seemed to shine from his coal-black eyes and lurk behind his obliging smile.
But Leia thanked him anyway. “On behalf of the thousands whose lives your generosity will save, the Advisory Council applauds you.” Her gaze swept the table. “Now, perhaps some of the rest of you can be persuaded to follow the count’s lead.”
When the meeting adjourned for lunch, Leia hurried to exit the circular room before anyone had a chance to get her ear. Olmahk, one of her Noghri bodyguards, was waiting in the hallway, along with C-3PO.
“I do hope the meeting went well, Mistress Leia,” C-3PO said, hurrying to match her pace.
“As well as could be expected,” Leia muttered. They made their way to a turbo
lift and descended to Government House’s spacious and ostentatious lobby, where every droid in sight appeared to be moving with uncommon haste toward the building’s several exits. “What’s all this about?” Leia stopped to ask. “I can scarcely imagine,” C-3PO answered. “But I’ll do my best to find out.”
C-3PO angled across the lobby, placing himself directly in the path of an administrative droid, whose head was shaped like an inverted test tube. The 3D-4X was forced to come to a skittering halt on the polished floor. In an impossibly rapid exchange, the pair traded information like two insects meeting on a forage trail.
A moment later, C-3PO whirled and headed back toward Leia, stiff-backed and arms pumping in a way she had come to associate with trouble.
“Mistress Leia, I have just received the most distressing news,” C-3PO sputtered. “It seems that Ord Mantell has been targeted for attack by the Yuuzhan Vong!”
THIRTEEN
“The brute might have killed you, mistress,” Vergere remarked in the secret tongue of the deception sect, while she ministered to the injuries Elan had received at the hands of the assassin.
The priestess moved Vergere aside so she could regard her image in the mirror Showolter had provided. “I never feared for my life. I feared only for the development of the bo’tous. The fool’s blows might have damaged the carriers or retarded their growth.”
Vergere sat back on her reverse-articulated legs, and her long ears pricked up. “Do you think they survived?”
Elan ran her hand over her lower chest and smiled maliciously. “I can feel them ripening, Vergere. They whisper to me. They await the four breaths that will liberate them. I can feel their eagerness.”
“Theirs or yours?”
Elan turned from the mirror to regard her familiar. “For loosing their deadly toxin, my reward will be great. Word may well reach the ear of Supreme Overlord Shimrra.”
