Star Wars: Choices of One

by Timothy Zahn

  And one of the characteristics of virtually all governors’ residences was that they also had access to the governors’ emergency exits and safe rooms.

  “May I ask a question?” Ularno asked tentatively.

  “Go ahead,” Mara said, running a cross-check on the palace’s vehicle inventory. All three airspeeders registered to Ferrouz and his family were still marked as being in the palace garage. But there was one general-use airspeeder that hadn’t been checked out and for which no location was given. Had it been Ferrouz’s official escape vehicle, parked perhaps at the far end of the tunnel she and LaRone had taken Ferrouz down? That might explain why the palace records showed no extra vehicle activity, and perhaps how Nuso Esva’s kidnappers had gotten their hostages out without being seen.

  “Is Governor Ferrouz involved with the Rebel Alliance?”

  “There are indications in that direction,” Mara said absently as she keyed for the specs on the missing airspeeder. She would need to know exactly what she was looking for when she tapped into the planetary vehicular monitor system.

  “Were the Rebels responsible for the attempt on his life today?” Ularno persisted.

  “It’s possible,” Mara said, frowning up at him. “Why does it matter who’s trying to kill him?”

  “I suppose it doesn’t, really,” Ularno said. “It’s just that I need to know how to handle that new directive from Imperial Center. As Governor Ferrouz’s second in command—”

  “What new directive?”

  “Directive Four Seventeen, the one that came through about two months ago,” Ularno said, frowning in turn. “I assumed you were familiar with it.”

  “Remind me,” Mara said.

  “It states that if a governor is assassinated by Rebels or suspected Rebels, his successor is to immediately broadcast an alert to all Imperial forces,” Ularno said. “The forces are then supposed to converge on the location of the assassination.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard about that,” Mara growled. It sounded like something Vader had come up with, which would explain all by itself why she’d somehow been left out of the comm ring. Vader and Mara had never gotten along very well, and he was utterly focused on making sure he had the first crack at reacting to any Rebel operations.

  Which was nothing but unfounded paranoia on his part, of course. The Emperor had tasked the Sith Lord with the job of dealing with the Rebellion, and Mara had no interest whatsoever in poaching on that territory. She had more than enough work to keep her busy as it was.

  “Our copy’s on file,” Ularno said, as if afraid Mara wouldn’t believe him. “I assume the idea is to prevent the Rebels from taking advantage of the chaos following—”

  “Yes, I understand the intent,” Mara cut him off as that part of the puzzle fell into place. So that was why Nuso Esva had forced Ferrouz to play nice with the Rebel Alliance. He’d hoped the Emperor would get wind of it, which he had, and send Mara to execute the suspected traitor, which she hadn’t.

  But how had Nuso Esva planned to tie Ferrouz’s execution to the Rebels? And how did bringing a group of Imperial warships to Poln Major gain him anything?

  “I only ask because the directive doesn’t cover this situation,” Ularno continued. “I need to know what action to take.”

  Mara sighed to herself. For a brief moment, the general had been stretching beyond his usual boundaries. Thinking ever so slightly past the accepted norm. But the strain had apparently been too much. He was pulling back from such unfamiliar territory, retreating to the safety of official guidelines and requirements. From now on, it would be up to Mara to make the decisions.

  On the other hand, pushing it all back on Mara might show that Ularno was smarter than he looked. Because the next decision facing them—her—was a potentially lethal one.

  It all boiled down to what Nuso Esva would do if things didn’t go exactly according to his plan. Would he kill the hostages if Ularno announced to the galaxy that Ferrouz was still alive? Or would he kill just one as a way to put extra pressure on Ferrouz to get himself murdered like he was supposed to?

  Alternatively, if Ularno pretended that Ferrouz was dead, would Nuso Esva decide that the hostages had served their purpose and release them? Or, again, would he simply kill them both?

  And who exactly was Nuso Esva expecting to draw to Poln Major with an announcement of Ferrouz’s death, anyway? Mara had done only a cursory check on her way into the system, but as far as she knew only Ferrouz’s own small Candoras sector forces were close enough to Poln Major for the kind of quick response the directive obviously envisioned.

  She had to let Ularno make some kind of announcement. Nuso Esva would be expecting news, and Mara couldn’t afford to let him become suspicious.

  She would have to gamble. Not with her own life, but with those of an innocent woman and girl.

  “Go ahead and make the broadcast,” she told Ularno. “But instead of saying Governor Ferrouz has been assassinated, just say that there was an attempt on his life and that Rebel involvement is suspected.”

  “I can do that,” Ularno said slowly. “It’s not exactly what the directive indicates.”

  “It’s close enough,” Mara assured him, shutting off the computer and standing up. “Get on that right away. And don’t tell anyone else that I was here.”

  “Not even Colonel Bonze?” Ularno asked. “Protocol states—”

  “Not anyone,” Mara repeated firmly. “Understood?”

  Ularno swallowed. “Understood.”

  “Good,” Mara said. “I’ll contact you via comlink if I have any further instructions.”

  “Understood,” Ularno said again. “Good luck.”

  Mara was halfway down the first flight of stairs in the escape passage and had already pulled out her comlink when it occurred to her that it would probably not be a good idea to call LaRone right now. If the kidnappers had used the escape tunnel once, they might do so again, especially now that Mara was threatening the surface world with her particular brand of chaos. She still might run into them here, and it would not be good if they heard her before she heard them.

  There would be plenty of work for the stormtroopers soon enough. Until then, she might as well let them rest.

  Putting away the comlink, she drew her lightsaber and, holding it loose and ready in her hand, continued down the stairs.

  “No, you listen, Stelikag,” Axlon bit out, glaring into his comlink as if the other could actually see him. “You will clear your crew out of the palace neighborhood, and you will not try to find, capture, obstruct, or even look cross-winked at Skywalker. Do you understand?”

  The person on the other end of the transmission said something LaRone couldn’t hear. But he could see Axlon’s face darken still further, and his finger press a little harder on his blaster’s trigger. “Maybe we should offer to talk to him,” he murmured to Marcross. “They tell me stormtroopers can be very persuasive.”

  “Stelikag doesn’t sound like the persuadable sort,” Marcross murmured back. “North low, when you have a moment.”

  LaRone felt his forehead crease in a frown. North was currently to his left, low meant down at the floor. Had Marcross spotted something down there they needed to deal with? Some vermin roaming silently around the cellar?

  “Because he trusts me,” Axlon said in a voice as strained as his trigger finger. “And because once I get him and his lightsaber, we won’t need to deal with Jade anymore. You of all people should be happy about that.”

  He paused, listening again, his mouth working with his frustration. Casually, LaRone eased his head a few degrees to his left and lowered his gaze to the floor …

  To Brightwater’s feet, and the fancy knife the alien Vaantaar had given him, which now balanced across the top of Brightwater’s right foot.

  Just as casually, LaRone looked back up at Axlon. So that was why Brightwater had been walking with that dragging limp earlier. While he was crouched over Grave and Quiller, he’d managed to loosen the k
nife from its spot at the small of his back. When he stood up, the weapon had slid down his trouser leg to the floor, held upright between the material and Brightwater’s leg.

  Now, as he’d stood here with LaRone and Marcross, he’d worked it free and maneuvered it with his left foot up onto his right.

  Which was also why he’d been so quick to surrender. Axlon facing down three functional stormtroopers was a panicky slaughter begging to happen. Axlon in what he thought was a position of strength might be lulled into making a mistake.

  LaRone grimaced. It would, however, have to be one oversized bantha of a mistake. Axlon was four meters away, on the other side of a meter-high barrier, and LaRone had never heard anything about Brightwater being especially proficient at knife throwing. Nor was anyone else in their group, for that matter. Axlon was going to need a serious moment of inattention for this to work.

  Maybe Brightwater had already thought of a way to get that moment. Or maybe he was counting on one of the others to buy it for him.

  “No, just let them go,” Axlon said. “We don’t need your mob anymore—enough people have already seen Skywalker and his lightsaber. Just pay them off and let them go.”

  If Brightwater was waiting for an opening, LaRone was the only one who could give it to him. If he dodged to his right, moving as if he was going to go around the far end of the barrier, he might draw Axlon’s eyes and fire in that direction.

  “I don’t know,” Axlon said. “Go back to Poln Minor, I guess, and help Ranquiv mount those Caldorfs. We’ll need them when—” He broke off, rolling his eyes. “Then help him guard the ones who do know how,” he growled. “It sounds like he’s got the scum of the system in there. Maybe someone’ll need shooting—you’d like that. Just get out of there before Skywalker spots you. I’ll call you after we’re finished, and you can talk to Ranquiv about—”

  He stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Really,” he said. “Did Ranquiv give you a description?”

  “Uh-oh,” Marcross said quietly. “Ferrouz.”

  LaRone looked at the couch. Somehow, the governor had managed to work a hand free without rattling any pieces of the stormtrooper armor piled across him. Moving his arm almost imperceptibly, he had reached up and over the top of the couch back and was slowly working one of the liquor bottles free of the rack behind him.

  Not yet, LaRone pleaded silently across the gap, giving his head an urgent, microscopic shake. Not while he’s still on the comlink. Stelikag and his gang will hear, and they’re already in the neighborhood.

  But Ferrouz wasn’t looking at him. His full attention was on Axlon as he slid the bottle silently along the rough wood. Another minute and he would have it free.

  “Try to catch his eye,” Marcross murmured. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Axlon?” he called loudly. “You promised us a story. Quit jabbering and talk to us.”

  Axlon shifted his aim slightly, pointing his blaster at Marcross. “Just one of my prisoners,” he said into the comlink. “No, Solo shouldn’t be a problem—he’s a smart-mouth, but he usually knows what he’s doing. You should still tell Ranquiv about him, though, make sure he doesn’t break anything. And warn him not to tell Solo about the deal—I want to spring that one on Cracken myself. I’ll finish things up here, then check in with Hapjax and clear him to clean up the rest of it. An hour, maybe less, and it’ll be done.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he keyed off the comlink. “Well, that’s that,” he said, putting the comlink away. “Don’t look so intense, LaRone. It’ll all be over soon.”

  “I’m sure it will,” LaRone said. “But maybe not the way you’re hoping. Skywalker won’t be nearly as easy to get the drop on as we were.”

  “Or as easy to kill,” Marcross added.

  “I already said I wasn’t going to kill you,” Axlon said. His voice was low, controlled, and so sincere that LaRone almost believed him. The man must have been a politician before he joined the Rebellion. “I’m not going to kill Skywalker, either. I just need to borrow his lightsaber for a minute.”

  “You think he’ll just stand there and watch you kill Governor Ferrouz?” Marcross persisted.

  Axlon shrugged. “By the time he realizes what’s happening, it’ll be too late for him to stop me. He’ll accept it with whatever grace he chooses, and then it’ll be off to the spaceport where Chewbacca and the Millennium Falcon should be ready to whisk him off the planet.”

  “Wait a minute,” LaRone said, frowning. “Chewbacca is here? I thought you said Solo was up on Poln Minor.”

  “Solo is,” Axlon said. “Apparently he’s slipped into one of Nuso Esva’s work crews.”

  “Yet another loose end for you to tie up,” Marcross commented. “Looks to me like the whole thing’s starting to unravel.”

  “Hardly,” Axlon assured him. “Even if it was, Nuso Esva could put it back together. He’s a military genius.” He smiled tightly. “Who will soon be on our side.”

  “He’s told you that, has he?” Marcross asked.

  “That’s the deal, yes,” Axlon said. “Once General Ularno sends out his panic-stricken plea for help and Nuso Esva and Alderaan have both been fully and properly avenged, Nuso Esva will bring the full strength of his fleet onto the side of the Rebel Alliance.” He shrugged. “At that point you can tell your story to anyone you want and it won’t change a thing. So there’s no reason to kill you, as I’ve already said.”

  “And you trust this Nuso Esva, do you?” Marcross asked. “A being who deals in manipulation and casual murder?”

  “ ‘The enemy of my oppressor is my brother,’ ” Axlon said, quoting the old saying. “Nuso Esva has a score to settle with the Empire, just as we do. And the fact that his enemy is also the one who ordered Alderaan’s destruction will simply make our vengeance that much sweeter.”

  LaRone frowned. “What are you talking about? I’ve seen the reports. Alderaan was Tarkin’s idea, and he’s already dead.”

  “So little you know,” Axlon said contemptuously. “But Nuso Esva knows the truth. He told me who it was who was pulling Tarkin’s strings.”

  “No one pulled Tarkin’s strings,” Marcross said. “I know people who knew the man personally. No one ever told him what to do except the Emperor. He barely even accepted suggestions from Vader.”

  “You’ve been lied to,” Axlon said bluntly. “You’ve all been lied to. But I know the truth.”

  “You’re sure about that?” LaRone put in, raising his voice a bit. Ferrouz almost had the bottle free now, and there might be some scraping as the end came off the rack. “You sure Nuso Esva wasn’t just dangling Alderaan’s memory in front of you so that you would get Skywalker here for him?”

  Axlon snorted. “You really have no idea. Up on Poln Minor, at this very moment, Colonel Cracken and his team are loading tons and tons of Imperial weapons, equipment, and supplies aboard our transports, all of it ordered there by Nuso Esva. If he was just using us, why not keep it all for himself?”

  “Spoken by a man who’s never had to actually spend his own money,” Marcross said scornfully. “Any one of those Caldorfs is worth half of whatever junk he’s got you busy loading aboard your transports. Give the kiddies a few toys to keep them happy while he makes off with the real treasure.”

  “You might have a point,” Axlon said. “Except that he’s already agreed to give us all the ships—and missiles—that survive the upcoming battle.”

  LaRone felt his skin tingle. An upcoming battle?

  “All of that negotiated personally by me, in fact,” Axlon went on. Behind him, Ferrouz pulled the bottle free of the rack. “I can hardly wait to see Cracken’s face when I present him our new—”

  And as the governor began to shift his grip on the bottle’s neck, one of the stacked stormtrooper chest plates fell clattering to the floor.

  Axlon spun around, his blaster tracking toward the noise. “Well, well,” he said tightly. “Nicely done, Governor.” He stepped around the end of the couch toward Ferrouz and the
bottle gripped in his hand. “I’ll take that, if you please.”

  And as Axlon reached out his free hand, Brightwater flipped the knife up off his foot and into the air.

  But not toward Axlon, or even toward Brightwater’s own hand. Instead, the weapon made an almost lazy curve over the keg barrier toward the spot where Quiller and Grave were lying wounded. The knife topped its arc and started down again—

  With a grunt of pain, Quiller lurched upright into LaRone’s view. He caught the knife in midair and threw himself forward toward Axlon’s back, wrenching the weapon from its sheath as he loped, his face contorting with pain with each impact of his injured leg against the floor.

  Axlon heard him coming. But it was already too late. Even as he turned back around Quiller was on him, ducking beneath his blaster hand and stabbing upward into the center of Axlon’s tunic.

  And as Quiller’s leg finally collapsed and dropped him to the floor, Axlon also collapsed, falling heavily across Quiller’s back, the blaster dropping from his slackened hand.

  LaRone and Marcross were there almost before the weapon finished bouncing, each grabbing one of Axlon’s arms and hauling him up and off their friend. “You all right?” LaRone asked.

  “Ask me again when the room stops spinning,” Quiller said, his face twisted in pain. “Okay, I took out the bad guy. Can I get another pain shot now?”

  “I’m on it,” Brightwater said. He had circled the opposite direction around the barrier and was crouching beside Grave and the medpac, loading the proper vial into the spray hypo. “Nice work, Quiller.”

  “Nice work both of you,” LaRone said. “Marcross, can you handle him the rest of the way? I’m thinking we can dump him in that gap beside the stairs.”

  “No problem,” Marcross said as LaRone handed him Axlon’s other arm. “What are you going to do?”

  “Call Skywalker and wave him off,” LaRone said grimly as he pulled out his comlink. “Axlon’s friends may still be in the area, and we do not want him leading them here.”