There were no stores of affliceria-specific antibiotics; there had been none needed in a hundred years. Quantities were cultured and rapidly distributed…to the military. There was not enough to protect the civilian population, and, by the third week of the outbreak, when the first doses began to filter into the civilian distribution network, the illness had reached epidemic proportions, causing massive personnel shortages in critical fabrication industries.
Spies captured and interrogated by the Guard confessed to being Commenori—and to spreading the bacteria. The Alliance-controlled portions of the HoloNet howled with outrage. Civilian space traffic was severely curtailed as quarantine measures were put into effect.
The war raged on.
There were other annoyances. Caedus’s subordinates reported that Dr. Seyah, failed spy of Centerpoint Station, had disappeared minutes before they moved in to arrest him. In subsequent days, no sign of him turned up, suggesting strongly that Caedus had been right to suspect him—he was obviously a double agent and had been rushed to safety by his Corellian masters.
Allana was responding with less and less enthusiasm to her time with Caedus. He had to keep his frustration in check and wait for her to get over missing her mother. Perhaps it was time to work on her a bit, to diminish her affection for Tenel Ka by judiciously erasing some of her memories here and there. Some faint misgivings stayed his hand for the time being, but if the situation continued worsening, he would take that step.
And the war raged on.
KASHYYYK, MAITELL BASE, HANGAR HOUSING THE MILLENNIUM FALCON
Han eased the Falcon off the duracrete roadway and into the shadow of her usual hangar. The ship, he knew, was covered in soot from the firefighting mission they had just concluded—no firebreak mission, this time they had gone in to rescue a unit of Wookiee firefighters who had been cut off by fire moving more rapidly than expected. He was sure the freighter was covered in soot because Leia, in the copilot’s seat, certainly was, from head to foot, except for a goggle-shaped patch of pink around her eyes and a breather-mask-shaped oval around her mouth. The Wookiees she had brought aboard were similarly discolored by, and stank of, smoke.
As soon as the Falcon entered the hangar and Han’s eyes adjusted to the deep shadow there, he and Leia spotted a new visitor. Parked in the bay next to the Falcon’s was a long yacht with curved lines and a swirling sky-blue-and-green hull. Its exterior, too, was marred with patches of soot and burn, evidence of its own recent contribution to the firefighting mission.
Han winced. “Do you suppose, when Lando’s back is turned, we could get some Wookiee teenagers to vandalize her? Put graffiti all over her hull?”
Leia’s tone was more thoughtful. “I thought Lando was stationed halfway across Kashyyyk.”
“He was.”
Lando was nowhere in sight. Han and Leia had set the Falcon down, ushered the Wookiee firefighters off, and called in for routine refueling before Lando made his appearance. The boarding ramp of the Love Commander came down and he stood at its top, clad in purple synthsilk and a flowing velvet hip cloak in black.
But it wasn’t the same old Lando. His face was fixed, nearly emotionless, his complexion waxy.
Leia didn’t wait for him to descend. She started up the ramp toward him. “Lando, what’s wrong?”
“I have to go.” Lando managed two faltering steps down the ramp before Leia reached him. She held him there, steadied him on his feet, then turned and assisted him down the ramp.
Han tried to keep his own voice steady, unperturbed, but Lando’s appearance set off alarm bells in his head. “What’s going on, old buddy?”
At the bottom of the ramp, Lando reached into a tunic pocket. He fetched forth a datacard, which he looked at blankly for a moment before handing to Han. “That’s everything you need for the Love Commander. Registration, annotated schematic, everything. Thought I’d donate her to the cause. Firefighting, side missions…You can sell her if you’re ever strapped for credits.”
“Lando, what’s wrong?” By this point, Leia could no longer keep a sharp edge of worry out of her voice.
“It’s Tendra…”
Leia paled, and Han felt a jolt of dread. Tendra had to be dying—or already dead—for Lando to be so affected.
It wasn’t fair. Lando had found his perfect match long after he had given up on the thought that he ever would, and so much of his and Tendra’s life together had been interrupted by protracted crises, including the Yuuzhan Vong War.
And now this…
Lando was clearly struggling to continue. “Tendra’s…she’s…going to have a baby.”
Leia froze, staring up into his shocked features. “What? What?” A smile started to spread across her face.
Han sagged in relief. “Is that all? You had us really scared there.”
“All? Is that all?” Lando put a hand on the yacht’s hull to steady himself. “Fine, you can stop being scared. Not me. I’m too old to be a father. Emperor’s black bones! I’m not ready.”
Leia embraced him. “Lando, there are two types of people in this universe: those who think they’re not ready to be parents, and those who are kidding themselves.”
Suddenly relieved of a crushing weight of worry, Han sagged. He bent over, putting his hands on his knees. “Buddy, the next time you scare me like that…”
“You’ll shoot me? Do I have your word on that?”
“Lando, listen.” Leia’s voice was compelling. “You and Tendra are going to be the parents every child dreams about. Rich, famous, dashing…and so scared of fouling up you’re going to spoil your child to death. Am I right?”
Lando considered. His expression was starting to return to normal. “How old does he have to be before I start him on sabacc?”
“Two.” Han straightened up. “And no wine appreciation training until he’s at least four.”
Leia corrected him: “She.”
“It’s just…this is something I can’t fix with charm or a rigged game or a hold-out blaster.”
Leia smiled up at him. “You can’t fix it because it’s not broken.”
“Yeah.” Lando took a deep breath, fortifying himself against the future. “I have to go. My transport home lifts off in half an hour. I was worried that I wouldn’t get to see you at all before I left.”
Han clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, your luck is holding out, old buddy.”
Lando gave Leia a final squeeze, grabbed Han for a quick hug. “I want to know where you two are at all times. In case I have to holocomm you for advice.”
“Just send your message to wherever the noise is the loudest. It’ll be either us or Luke.”
“Right.” His walk once again jaunty, Lando headed for the main doors out of the hangar. He waved, giving them one last look over his shoulder, and took a final, wistful glance at the Millennium Falcon. Then he was gone.
Leia tucked herself under Han’s arm, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I am so jealous.”
“I’m not. Imagine trying to take care of a baby with this war going on.”
“Imagine having one thing, one innocent life, to think about, to the exclusion of everything else, including the war.”
“Well…yeah. You have a point.” He wheeled her around toward the Falcon. “C’mon, let’s see if we can trick some big furry guys into washing the ship.”
ABOARD THE ANAKIN SOLO
It was good to be back home, and it surprised Caedus that he had truly begun to think of his ship that way. All through his life, “home” had been wherever he hung his robes at night, as his parents’ missions and then his own missions and goals carried him from one end of the galaxy to the other.
Now he could travel those same distances and still sleep in the same bunk each night. He could keep Allana with him, safe—as safe as she could be anywhere in the galaxy—in the hidden quarters so close to his official cabin. Having a familiar location wherever he went offered comforts that he had never experienced before, offered some
small compensation for the loss of friendship he had experienced since embarking on his plan to restore order, and he found himself appreciating that fact.
Of course, he could keep Allana even safer, and have even more comforts, if he traveled in a bigger, more powerful, more heavily defended vessel, something suited to the Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance. He’d have to go to the drawing board and do a little preliminary designing.
These were his thoughts as he stood on the Anakin Solo’s bridge, looking out through the forward viewports in a rare moment of inactivity. Ahead and down, relative to the ship’s keel, he could see a Golan III Space Defense Nova-Gun, one of several space stations, packed with shield generators and weapons, guarding space above Coruscant. It was far enough away to be little more than an elongated blue triangle with tiny bumps and knobs all over it, like an odd-shaped blaster pistol aimed out into space. Also visible was the constant, soothing stream of vehicles and vessels entering or leaving Coruscant’s atmosphere—troop transports, freighters hauling military supplies, holonews transports, naval interceptors ensuring that everything was as it should be.
“Sir?”
Caedus turned to face the speaker. Captain Kral “Deuce” Nevil, a male Quarren with a distinguished record in starfighter operations, had, like many fellow pilots, made the transfer to naval operations and a command role when his cockpit skills had begun to diminish. Now he wore the blue naval uniform with the same professionalism with which he had worn the garish orange of the X-wing pilot, but Caedus sometimes wondered if he brought the same enthusiasm to his role as the Anakin Solo’s new captain.
Caedus nodded, acknowledging that he had heard his captain.
“Admiral Niathal is coming up, sir. On her personal shuttle.”
“Really.” Caedus considered that. Whatever news she brought had to be important enough that it couldn’t wait for their next regularly scheduled meeting; nor could it be committed to the potential insecurity of holocomm transmission. “Make standard preparations for her arrival and have Security do a sweep of my conference room.”
“Yes, sir.” Nevil saluted and withdrew.
chapter fourteen
Niathal barely waited until her GAG security escort was out of the conference room and the door shut behind them before getting to the point; she did not even bother to sit. “Sadras Koyan, Corellia’s Five Worlds Prime Minister, is talking to us about changing sides.”
“Really.” Caedus sat and leaned back in his chair. “Just betraying the rest of the Confederation and risking retaliation.”
“My analysts suspect that the boost of hope he might have received when the Hapans withdrew from the war was lost when they isolated themselves from the Confederation again, and that he would much prefer to be on the winning side.” She offered a good simulation of a human shrug. “It’s not inappropriate for his psychological profile.”
Koyan had been Chief of State of the Corellian world of Tralus, but had been elected, by a majority though not unanimous vote of the other Chiefs of State when Dur Gejjen had been assassinated. A member of the aggressive Centerpoint Party, he had probably been seen by the other chiefs as the lesser of several evils in the succession scramble that followed Gejjen’s death.
“What are they offering?”
“They want to negotiate with you—you specifically. We designate a point in space—any point—equidistant between Corellia and Coruscant. The two sides bring an equal number of vessels in equivalent class ratings. You and their negotiator can negotiate either face-to-face or ship-to-ship through tight-beam transmission.”
“Who is their negotiator?”
“I do not know.”
“Not Koyan?”
Niathal shook her head. “His profile suggests a distinct aversion to being in the company of dangerous people. This is clearly how he has survived so long.”
“I don’t like it.” No longer even pretending to be at ease, Caedus leaned forward. “Even if they give us the opportunity to choose the spot for the meeting, they can communicate that information to a secondary force—”
“As can we.”
“—which can then jump to that site and attack.”
“As can we. They have no advantage.”
“Except in insisting that I be there. If their plan is intended to be an attempt on me, then success on their part, even if military losses are equivalent, disrupts our own coalition government and removes me as a strategic resource for the military.”
Niathal cocked her head, a gesture of curiosity. “You are unusually cautious today. Learning from Koyan himself?”
Caedus opened his mouth to hurl back a retaliatory remark, then closed it again.
Niathal was right. He was more cautious—not because of possible danger to himself, but because of danger to Allana. He was not going to let her be more than a few paces from him until the war was resolved. Taking her into the vicinity of what might be a trap was the last thing he wanted to do.
On the other hand, Niathal could not be allowed to learn that Caedus’s behavior was changing because of concern for the child. So far as she knew, Allana was a hostage, leverage against the Hapan Queen Mother. For Niathal to suspect that Caedus’s feelings were more personal, more heartfelt, could endanger both of them if Niathal ever turned against him.
Caedus relented, shrugging. “Fine. I’ll do it. Do you mind if I make an effort not to get killed when this turns out to be a trap?”
“Do what you need to.”
“I’ll have units of the Second Fleet standing by to jump to the talk site. To deal with whatever forces Koyan decides to bring in.”
“As you wish. I’ll comm the Corellians with an acceptance.”
Caedus nodded, a gesture of agreement that he meant as one of dismissal, as well. Whether she understood that or not, Niathal paused for a moment, looking at him, before turning and leaving.
SANCTUARY MOON OF ENDOR, JEDI OUTPOST
Through the transparisteel of the door separating the waiting room from the infirmary proper, Luke studied Master Katarn’s face and listened to the words of Valin and Cilghal.
Katarn was unconscious—whether from drugs, pain, or voluntary immersion in a Jedi healing trance, Luke couldn’t say. His face was flushed, sweating, and he looked as though he’d lost weight in the days he’d been on Coruscant.
Cilghal managed to impart considerable worry and sympathy into her gravelly Mon Cal voice. “The attack severed two ribs, penetrated his left lung, and exited through his left shoulder blade. A few centimeters off, and it would have gone clean through his heart. He has also contracted the affliceria bug and some opportunistic infections. He is dehydrated and very weak, and traveling so far to get here could not have helped—except that it was still a better choice than remaining in hiding on Coruscant.”
“I patched him up as well as I could, as soon as possible after he was injured.” Valin sounded morose. “But we had to drag him through about a kilometer of filthy pipes before we could do even that. Explosives we planted to seal our escape routes kicked dust into the air, dust and germs.” He shook his head, pained by his failure. “Basic medical training isn’t sufficient for a situation like that.”
Luke patted his shoulder. “You did remarkably well. The fact that he’s here alive is proof of that, and if anyone can heal him, it’s Cilghal.” He finally turned away from studying Katarn to look at Valin. The young Jedi Knight was solemn but not showing evidence of protracted stress or guilt, a good sign. “Do you have a full report for me?”
Valin reached into his belt and removed a datacard, which he handed to Luke. “I’ve flagged one or two points of interest on the report; you may want to pay special attention to them. A YVH combat droid that was programmed to get its cargo out of harm’s way rather than help its master defend against four Jedi. Mob violence in response to the affliceria epidemic, against both state medical officials and people of Commenori descent—plus the fact that these reports were suppressed on the holonews broadc
ast after they were first reported, almost as though the GA government isn’t whipping the population up into a frenzy about it.”
Luke pocketed the card. “I’ll look for those details.” He was distracted by a stirring in the Force, the imminent arrival of others. There was no sense of menace associated with the presentiment, though. He glanced at the two Jedi. “Anything else?”
But the answer came from behind Luke, accompanying a bustle of several moving bodies. Boots creaked, durable uniform cloth rubbed, equipment clattered, and a new voice rose above it all: “How about some news from Corellia?”
Luke turned around to see a half squadron of pilots headed his way—wearing sweat-stained orange flight suits, their helmets under their arms, they had to have just come from their starfighters. In front, familiar and reassuring, was Wedge Antilles, sharp-featured and graying; behind, a step to the right, was Wes Janson, his alert eyes and broad grin suggesting that he was taking copious mental notes now so that he could engage in a marathon of mockery later.
Luke grinned and stepped forward to embrace his two friends. The other four pilots, two men and two women, he recognized as well. “Thanks for coming, Wedge. Good to see you, Wes. What news from Corellia?”
Wedge looked around, noting the presence of Jedi medics and workers in this hallway. “Maybe somewhere more private.”
Three minutes later, a ground-level security door slid open before them, revealing shaded sunlight—as well as a pair of Ewoks in leather caps, stone-headed spears in hand, creeping their way a few meters beyond. As the door slid open, the Ewoks jabbered in surprise, turned, and fled back into the tree line twenty meters away.
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Fury Page 11
