by Claudia Gray
“Brave man,” Greer said with a smile. “Who brought the glasses?”
The pavilion had been duly stocked with a set. Ransolm placed glasses on the table, and Greer filled them approximately halfway—maybe three fingers’ worth. He lifted his and held it out toward the others. “A toast. To Princess Leia.”
“To Princess Leia,” Joph and Greer replied. In unison they tipped back their glasses. He felt the sweetness and burn in his mouth, and then—
Ransolm had never asked himself what it might feel like if fireworks were set off within a human body. Now he knew. His eyes widened as the fireball expanded within him, like a yellow dwarf star becoming a red giant. Noise seemed to fade for an instant, though he could hear Joph’s sputtering cough. Ransolm’s dazed brain decided red giants weren’t hot enough to describe what was happening inside him. Maybe this was how supernovae got started.
When he could speak again, Ransolm rasped, “That cannot be meant for human consumption.”
Greer shrugged, sipping her glass of Port in a Storm as though it were fruit juice. Meanwhile, Joph had lowered his head onto the table, face down, hands bracing either side of his head. Ransolm put down his glass and pushed it away; even the smell of it seemed likely to ignite his nose from the inside out.
“Sorry I’m late.” Leia came up the pavilion steps, C-3PO just behind her. But she stopped short when she saw what was on the table. “Port in a Storm? You’re actually drinking that?”
“Not any longer.” Ransolm grimaced but was able to keep back a shudder.
Joph whispered, “I think my skull is melting.”
“This is dangerous stuff.” Leia gave her chief of staff a stern look, which cowed Greer not one jot. “I’ve only ever known one person who could tolerate this who wasn’t a native of Pamarthe.”
“Captain Solo?” Joph said, without lifting his face from the table.
Leia shook her head. “Chewbacca—a Wookiee friend of ours. Han would never touch this.”
“On the contrary, Your Highness,” C-3PO interjected as he stiffly made his way up the steps. “Captain Solo has been known to use Port in a Storm on a few occasions.”
“Really?” Leia’s expression was so startled Ransolm might have laughed, if his throat hadn’t felt like it would burst into flame at any moment. “Han actually drinks Port in a Storm?”
The droid put one metal hand to his chest as though begging her pardon. “Oh, no, indeed. However, Captain Solo has sometimes employed it during ship repairs as an emergency solvent.”
“Figures.” With that, Leia pointed at Joph, who was only now sitting up again, expression dazed. “No more of this until we’re done. A glass of wine is one thing—but we need to stay sharp.”
“Agreed,” Ransolm said. Anything to avoid drinking the deadly stuff again.
—
To Leia’s relief, everyone proved able to concentrate on the task at hand despite the drinks—even if Joph’s eyes remained slightly unfocused, and his first questions were hesitant. “Shouldn’t we go right away, before Arliz Hadrassian or Rinnrivin Di can catch on?”
Leia breathed a small sigh of thanks for the sonic neutralizer she’d tucked into the pocket of her mauve tunic. Even if any of the merry picnickers around them were inclined to pay more attention to this conversation than the sunsail races wafting by overhead, they wouldn’t be able to hear a word spoken by anyone within the pavilion.
Greer explained, “We have to follow the timetable we were given along with the job.”
“But they’re smugglers,” Joph said hoarsely. “Or gunrunners, or whatever. They’re not exactly people who do stuff by the book.”
“Which is why they’re so quick to get suspicious.” Han and Chewie’s stories had told Leia this much. “If a legitimate pilot turns up early, it’s a minor inconvenience at most. If an illegal pilot turns up early—they’re trying something. And everyone involved knows it.”
Greer nodded. “For whatever reason, the Amaxine warriors don’t even want us to pick up the matériel until next week. If we show up early, we’ll tip them off.”
“Speaking of tipping them off,” Ransolm said, “Arliz Hadrassian could potentially be on Sibensko when our team arrives, and by now she’s seen every single one of us. She believes Greer is my staffer, and she’ll recognize Joph from Bastatha. If Hadrassian’s present when they arrive to pick up the shipment, we’ve got trouble.”
“That’s where the disguises come in.” Leia smiled, reliving old memories. “An Ubese bounty hunter’s mask for Joph, maybe, and some kind of armor for Greer? With false IDs, tints for their hair, and the right clothing, they’ll pass easily enough.”
“That works.” Those two hoarse words set Joph coughing again; Greer patted his back.
Let’s hope he recovers in time, Leia thought. Overhead the sunsails swooped by, their brilliant red sails capturing the heat and transforming it to energy that would keep a skillful pilot aloft. Amid the crowd’s cheering, she added, “Besides, I have a feeling Hadrassian won’t be handling the transfer personally. She needs some plausible deniability.”
“So do we,” Ransolm pointed out. “You and I stood before the entire Senate and announced the need to investigate Rinnrivin Di in depth. I suspect a few tongues have been wagging about our simultaneous journeys offworld recently. If we take off together again, suspicions will be raised publicly. Assuming Rinnrivin or Hadrassian has a source within the Senate, we’ll be tipping our hands.”
“A source in the Senate?” Joph gaped at him. “Nobody would do that. Come on. Being a senator gets you all the power and prestige you’d have to kill for as a smuggler, without risking your own skin.”
“No, Ransolm’s right. I’m almost certain they have someone.” Leia had come to this conclusion on her own. She had dreaded having to convince the idealistic young Casterfo of this, but once again he had outpaced her expectations. “If the Amaxine warriors are linked to the Napkin Bombing, they had to have intel from someone who understood the Senate inside and out, both physically and organizationally. Maybe any skilled slicer could’ve exposed the plans of the building, but finding out that a meeting of Populist ministers was taking place at breakfast? Even knowing which place setting was likely to be mine? That’s inside information, and only someone at a high level could get it.”
Greer hugged herself as if against a chill, even as the afternoon sun made her black hair shine almost blue. “So not only are we up against some Empire-worshipping group of zealots, but we also have to deal with their ally inside the Senate—in other words, some Centrist senator who has the power to take us all out.”
“At least that’s what it looks like.” Leia kept her attention on Ransolm, who had pressed his lips together tightly and glanced away when Greer spoke the word Centrist.
They talked through the rest of the plans: how to get to Sibensko, how Leia and Ransolm would manage to accompany them, and the likeliest sources on Sibensko for the information they would need. Even after the meeting ended, however, they lingered to watch the races, the sunsail gliders dipping closer to the water as the afternoon’s light began to fade.
When darkness fell, the fireworks began. Joph excused himself to hang out with some friends; Greer declared she needed to go to bed early. “And why don’t I take you by the lubrication baths?” Greer said to C-3PO while she put the Port in a Storm back in its bag. “You’re overdue.”
“That does sound festive. How very courteous of you, Mistress Sonnel.”
“I try.” Greer gave Leia a farewell smile. As she walked away, the coral of her dress and C-3PO’s golden sheen fading into the crowd, Ransolm said, “She must have a lover, then.”
Leia gave him a look. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a gossip.”
“I’m uninterested in rumors. I only meant—early to bed? It’s a rather transparent excuse for leaving, and why leave a gathering so pleasant? Something far more enjoyable must await her.”
“Greer’s entitled to her personal lif
e.” Leia considered Ransolm’s profile for a few moments as the fireworks blossomed gold and white behind him. “You were unhappy with her, earlier. When she said Centrist senators had to be linked to the Amaxine warriors.”
Ransolm stared resolutely at the fireworks even as he answered. “I recognize that it’s someone within the Centrist party—or claiming to be—who has to be behind this. But one rogue shouldn’t be allowed to stain our entire philosophy. What I resent is the implication that all Centrists would be sympathetic to the terroristic acts of a paramilitary group.”
“Obviously that’s not true, or you wouldn’t be here.” Although Leia felt more optimistic about the potential for growth within the Centrist philosophy since getting to know Ransolm Casterfo, he remained an outlier within his party. “But I suspect more than ‘one rogue’ is sympathetic to the Amaxine warriors’ aims.”
His waspish temper had been provoked. “You still think we’re all bloodthirsty for power.”
“I think the desire for power can make people do terrible things. Walking away from power can be its own kind of strength.”
“You fear authority,” Ransolm said. More fireworks popped overhead, sending sprays of scarlet shimmering across the entire sky. “The government needs authority. But I cannot fault you for your caution, Leia. What you lived through at the Empire’s hand—at Vader’s hand—no wonder you’re suspicious. During the war, I imagine paranoia was the only thing that kept you alive.”
“And friendship, and love.” Leia knew that Luke’s selflessness in coming for her on the Death Star, and Han’s unspoken devotion in saving her on Hoth, had not only kept her alive but also changed the entire course of the galaxy for the better. “Those things matter, too, maybe more than all the rest.”
Ransolm’s smile turned wistful. “I thought I was supposed to be the idealist.”
—
Lady Carise had timed her return for Equinox Day on Hosnian Prime. What would make for a better entrance than appearing unexpectedly at one of the most fashionable parties? However, a problem with her transport’s hyperdrive had ruined these plans completely. Although she had been delayed only half a day, that delay made the difference between her attending a gala and arriving as she did now, late at night, all celebrations winding to an end, wearily making her way through the shadowy corridors of the Senate offices after hours.
The astromech droid towing her belongings behind it on a hoverflat beeped inquisitively. Lady Carise snapped, “Of course I’d rather go home first. But one item should go straight to my office.” She didn’t intend to leave Bail Organa’s wooden chest in an unsecured location for even an instant. Her home was safe enough, ringed with electronic sentries, but Lady Carise knew it was not invulnerable. However, the durasteel safe in her office probably couldn’t have been crushed even by a black hole, and its retinal and fingerprint seals would make it very difficult for anyone else to ever gain access.
I’ll present the box to her tomorrow, Lady Carise decided, one hand lifting the hem of her red-violet dress as she stepped onto one of the moving sidewalks. As soon as that wild-eyed assistant of hers can arrange an appointment. Lady Carise had already decided to absent herself before Princess Leia inspected the contents of the box—long before the music box was opened—but she also wanted to somehow make it very clear that she knew absolutely everything hidden inside. Princess Leia had to understand exactly how much Lady Carise knew, or else she would not be nearly as grateful. She would not realize that Lady Carise had the power to destroy her in an instant…
Which I won’t. Violating a royal oath is unthinkable. Lady Carise nodded, impressed with her inner nobility. Yet with no sense of contradiction, she also remained completely aware that Princess Leia was more useful to her in the Senate, still in power but personally indebted to Lady Carise Sindian forever.
If Princess Leia became First Senator, Lady Carise could position herself as the one Centrist able to sway their leader. The one person who got things done. She liked the sound of that.
“Lady Carise?” Hearing her name startled her from her reverie. She looked up to see Ransolm Casterfo near the end of the sidewalk, not far from his own office door. “I hardly expected to see you here at this hour.”
“I could say the same.” She stepped nimbly off the sidewalk, neatly dodging her obedient astromech with a swirl of her long skirts. With a smile intended to charm, she added, “In my case, my transport from Birren was unaccountably delayed. Now, what’s your excuse?”
Casterfo seemed charmed enough, leaning in closer to confide. “I decided to drop by and put in an order for some Riosan liqueur, and those orders travel faster via official channels, as I’m sure you know.”
“You need to order liqueur in the middle of the night?”
“Oh, it’s on my way, and I had a sudden whim after the sunsail races. You see, Greer Sonnel—that’s Princess Leia’s chief of staff—she treated all of us to some Port in a Storm tonight, which by the way is deadly. Stay clear. Well, I thought I’d present her with a little of our home brew. It’s not nearly so noxious, but it’s strong enough that I might recover a little of my pride.” Casterfo sighed ruefully.
Lady Carise made sure to keep her smile on her face, just as pretty, just as bright. “My, but you seem to have become very friendly with Princess Leia’s staff.” She knew instinctively whom “all of us” referred to. “Is this some effort at bipartisanship? Or are you getting in good with the Populist candidate for First Senator while you can?”
Casterfo frowned. Her comment had irritated him. Good. “As you know, Princess Leia and I have worked together quite a lot recently.”
“Chasing after phantoms, as I recall.”
“We shall see.” He politely inclined his head in a bow. “Good evening, Lady Carise.”
“Good evening, Senator Casterfo.”
Lady Carise watched him go, busying herself with the items on her hoverflat, her mind entirely fixated on one single, disastrous fact:
He knows.
As soon as she got to her office, the wooden chest went into her safe. Then Lady Carise shooed out the astromech droid with instructions for returning her property to her house. Once she was alone, she opened the most secure communications line she had—an unofficial one—and sent a call at highest urgency.
It was answered within seconds by the appearance of a hologram revealing the face of Arliz Hadrassian.
“Senator Sindian. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Pleasure? You’ve practically ruined our plans over and over again, and now you’ve tipped off Ransolm Casterfo as well? What I’m feeling at this moment is nothing remotely close to ‘pleasure.’ ”
“Our plans?” Hadrassian’s husky voice sharpened. “For years I have raised my army in the desert—for years I have worked and struggled and dreamed—and you call them ‘our plans’?”
Lady Carise could have sneered. “Yes. Because I do not speak for myself alone, Hadrassian. Or have you forgotten your loyalties? Do you no longer wish to restore what we lost with the Empire? Have you abandoned the First Order completely?”
Never before had Lady Carise spoken those words out loud in her office. The First Order. Someday, the entire galaxy would shout them with pride, but for now they were too secret, too sacred, to be taken lightly. That dream was so close to becoming reality—only a few years away, if even that—and protecting it required discretion.
However, discretion did not appear to be one of Arliz Hadrassian’s talents. “I will not be lectured about the Empire by a child who can’t even remember it.”
“Nor will I be lectured by someone careless enough to spill her secrets to Ransolm Casterfo. He knows there’s more to Rinnrivin Di’s operations, and he’s still working to trace them to their source, which is why he went to Daxam Four in the first place. When you said the two of you were meeting, I thought it was on your terms—”
“It was.” Hadrassian’s large dark eyes narrowed. “Casterfo is a potential ally.
I’ve been working to recruit him.”
“He’s playing you,” Lady Carise snapped. “He’s still working with Princess Leia—socializing with her, even! There’s no way he’s not a part of her investigations as well.”
“I’m not convinced.” Hadrassian lifted her chin. Her years had given her the look of someone scoured clean by the sands, down to the strongest stone. “I’ve seen his love for the Empire. When the time comes for the First Order, Casterfo will be the first to champion its cause.”
“The time will never come if you keep ruining everything with your impatience!” Hearing her voice rise nearly to a shriek, Lady Carise paused and took a deep breath. “Was the attack on the Senate not enough for you?”
Hadrassian shrugged. “You said a distraction would be appropriate.”
“I meant a scandal, or some remote wreck or crash. Not bombing a Senate building.” The Amaxine warriors’ audacity knew no bounds. Their political savvy, however, was not nearly so expansive.
Lady Carise knew how to play the game. She portrayed herself as pretty and frivolous, a woman as interested in celebrity as power, and she did it well. So no one suspected the critical role she played in preparing the galaxy for the return of meaningful authority through the government she and other like-minded people already whispered about as the First Order. It was Lady Carise who had searched for former Imperial officers and their sympathizers among the various subcultures where they might congregate, helping to create the contacts that connected them to the surviving ships of the Imperial fleet. Lady Carise who had encouraged them as they organized from mere malcontents into the burgeoning paramilitary force known as the Amaxine warriors. And it had been Lady Carise who convinced the Centrist leaders in her faction to use the criminal front they’d already established through Rinnrivin Di to hide their funds in order to arm and train the Amaxine warriors. With weapons and training, they could, in time, serve as the shock troops in the initial battles of the great war to come.
