Leia sat back, her face impassive, as if she were considering something that had not occurred to her. Inwardly, though, she was jubilant. This set of negotiations might just work out after all, and even faster than she had anticipated.
She accepted the refill of her water glass from a Klatooinian servant, then finally nodded. “Let’s be more specific. If the recognized native government of one of your worlds formally declares independence and is able to seize control of its planetary capital, I could guarantee the presence of a Jedi Knight and an apprentice assigned to the system to support that movement. And that the world’s application for membership in the Alliance would go before the eyes of the Senate review committee immediately.”
Reni shook her head. “At least two Masters and two Jedi Knights. And by Masters, I mean famous ones, Jedi with names that will strike fear into the slaveholders. And what does immediately mean? A hundred years is immediately in geological terms.”
Leia suppressed a sigh. “One Master, and it will be one who’s had plenty of time on the HoloNet. Two Jedi Knights. And immediately means within a week of the general announcement of the planetary declaration of independence. A week, that is, if the Senate’s in session at that time.”
Reni leaned back. She nodded, a slow, thoughtful movement. “That … could work. But we’d want the Jedi in place immediately—immediately as we just defined it, one week from the conclusion of this agreement. Before the declaration.”
“Done.”
“No.” That was Padnel.
Leia looked at him. Reni, too, and the others.
The big Klatooinian male sat shaking his head. “We are guaranteed nothing. The Jedi could leave the moment independence is declared. Our people would lose hope. I would have condemned the actions of my own brother for nothing. This cannot be done.”
Leia and Reni exchanged a look. They did not need to speak, to lay out the situation for each other. Reni, though Klatooinian, did not have enough popular support to sway or compel the Klatooinian Council of Elders, a body with an ancient tradition of collaboration with the Hutts, to undertake an action as irreversible as lending its full support to the planet’s freedom movement. It was questionable whether Reni and Padnel in cooperation could manage it, though Leia thought their chances were good.
And worse, Klatooine, of all the planets simmering with freedom movements, was probably the one closest to being able to achieve freedom from its masters. If Padnel really intended to be uncooperative, if he could not see the opportunity hovering just in front of his snout, this whole operation was doomed.
Leia shrugged. “I have offered all I can, Padnel. Ask for more, by all means. I can’t give it to you.” That was not entirely true. She had some leeway in resources Saba had authorized her to utilize. But not much …
Padnel glowered. “It’s not troops or funds, it’s trust. How can we trust Jedi who rule? I’ve read about the Jedi. They do not rule. When they do rule, they declare themselves—what’s the word? Sith? And they lie and cheat and destroy. Like they violated the Fountain of the Hutt Ancients. Like Palpatine overthrew the Republic. Like Jacen … Solo … brought the galaxy to war.”
Leia clamped down on a heated answer that would do no one any good. She struggled to keep her voice level. “Jedi and Sith are not the same.”
Padnel bared his teeth as he answered. “No, not the same at all. Neither one uses magic or lightsabers or decides the fates of others.”
“Palpatine was never a Jedi. And my son’s … struggles, his failures, have no bearing on this situation. Especially since the Jedi will be leaving the Chief of State’s office to a duly elected politician as soon as it’s feasible.”
“Ha.”
“And other former Jedi have become fine, even-handed rulers. Tenel Ka Chume Ta’ Djo of the Hapes Consortium, for example.”
Padnel waved her argument away. He glanced up at the HoloNews feed as though he’d lost interest in the argument.
Reni raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Get her.”
Leia stared at the woman. “How’s that again?”
“Bring Tenel Ka Djo here. She has reason to like the Jedi; she was one, once. She has reason to mistrust them, too; her consortium has sometimes been at odds with Jedi plans. She is a canny politician with no vested interest in or against our movement. Bring her here.”
Padnel, scowling, returned his attention to the argument, but did not speak. He glanced at his aide, who offered only a microscopic shrug.
Leia shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
Naysay, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, now spoke, and did so with the lilting tones of a protocol droid, no sarcasm to his words. “She could be invited, with stress placed on her political acumen, her close ties to the Solo clan and the Jedi Order, and the ongoing significance of the Hapes Consortium in galactic politics. She could conceivably accept.”
“Maybe.” Leia let a little irritation creep into her voice. “I’ll write the invitation.”
Padnel shook his head. “We will. You can review the language and recommend improvements.”
Reni checked her chrono and stood. “Is it not time for the midday meal?”
Later, as the negotiators retired to respective tents and transports for a postmeal torpor, Leia and Han walked the encampment.
Han offered her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry you didn’t win on the Tenel Ka thing.”
“Oh, I did.”
“How so?”
“I’m thrilled she’s being invited. I desperately hope she’ll come. She’s likely to support our recommendations. And I’m sure we can contrive a little time for her to be together with Allana.”
“But you sounded adamant against her coming—” Han shut up for a moment. “You pretended to be against it so they’d fight harder for it. Later, you can use the fact that you gave in to their demands as a negotiating point.”
“You’re better at this thinking than you like to admit, Han.”
He snorted, amused. “It’s all sabacc, sweetheart. It’s just that you play it without any cards showing.”
JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
CORRAN WALKED INTO THE MASTERS’ COUNCIL CHAMBER WITH ITS circles of high-backed stone chairs. The screens over its exterior exits and viewports were closed, making the interior dimmer than usual. It was not dim so that a broadcast holocomm message could appear brighter and crisper, but because the chamber was nearly unoccupied. Only Saba waited there, standing, staring at the center as if expecting a hologram to appear and offer advice.
Corran waited until the door had slid shut behind him before he spoke. “Master Sebatyne?”
She didn’t turn to look at him. “You wished to speak to this one?”
“Yes. The Errant Venture is back in system. Mirax is going up to see her father. I wanted to make sure you could spare me for a few hours or a day. I want to go with her.”
“She still worries about your children?”
“Yes, of course.” Corran didn’t add a comment about his own worries. It was understood that he had them. It was also understood that he would stand apart from them when on matters of Jedi business.
“Yes. Go. This one will try not to call on you for at least a day.” Finally Saba did turn to look at him. “But this one will need you. With Jedi Solo gone to Klatooine, with Master Hamner dead, you have become invaluable. You understand more of human-dominated politicz than many Jedi. This one may need your analytical powerz.”
He offered her an expression of sympathy. “Your new duties are giving you grief?”
Saba uttered a hiss of vexation. “Not enough grief, perhapz.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Each day, this one visitz the office of the Chief of State for duties shared with Senator Treen and General Jaxton. Problemz are brought before us. The economy of Ushmin, a small world near the borderz with the Imperial Remnant, is faltering. The Senate is doing nothing—proposing few billz, voting on fewer. The Senate will do nothing
about Ushmin.”
Corran nodded. “The Senate is going limp on you. A way of saying, Anything that goes wrong while you hold office is your own fault; we won’t help. Get out.”
“This one understandz that. But we find a way to solve the problem, we three. Jaxton sayz that he is evaluating sites for new bases. He could put Ushmin at the top of the list for the next base in that sector. Treen sayz she can bring Disbursementz in on that plan. She commz; others fall into line. In minutes, it is done. We move on to the next problem.”
Corran frowned, not certain he understood what he was hearing. “You’re bothered because the job isn’t harder?”
“Yes.”
“If you were to announce your objection in front of the Senate, you’d probably be assassinated.”
Saba sissed in mild amusement. “This one thought Jaxton and Treen were being very, very efficient to encourage this one to leave the office more hastily. But it feelz like there is more to it than that. As though they work with the confidence of some great momentum behind them.”
“I’ll … keep my eyes open for any other sign of that.”
“Please.”
There was a musical beep from Corran’s pouch, a minor alert tone from his datapad. He pulled it out and flipped it open.
The words on the screen sent a little chill through him. “There’s news. But it’s a problem the Jedi and the Chief of State’s office have decided not to intervene in.”
“What is it?”
“The sentence is in for Tahiri Veila.” He snapped the device closed, put it back in its pouch. He lifted his gaze to meet Saba’s. “It’s to be death.”
KESLA VEIN PUMPING STATION, NAM CHORIOS
Vestara was the first to emerge, peering out from beneath the partially raised hatch to make sure no one was in sight outside, then raising the hatch and slipping out onto the dusty enclosure within the town limits of Kesla Vein. The woven durasteel-netting fence around the enclosure seemed intact—at least as intact as she and her companions had left it. Late-afternoon winds still swirled dust throughout the enclosure and beyond, and the wind and chill of the air hit her like an unexpected plunge into an icy stream.
Ben was out next, then Luke, who lowered the metal hatch and spun the heavy metal ring atop it to seal it. He gave the teenagers a look that was half rueful and half encouraging. “One more down.”
Ben’s own expression was more exasperated. “One more experienced. Dad, if I never see another underground water pumping station or one more droch, I’ll be happy.”
Vestara patted her increasingly voluminous backpack. “We still have plenty of cans of droch spray.”
“Yeah, but do we have any bottles of brain bleach?”
Luke grinned and led the way to the hole they’d cut in the fence. Keeping to back alleys where possible, they made their way through the small town to its border and out onto the crystalline sands beyond, to the hill that lay between town and the spot where they’d hidden their stolen speeder.
Kesla Vein had been an easy site to investigate. Its pumping station was completely automated, and was visited for maintenance and diagnostics only occasionally by the Oldtimer workers who managed it. There had been no sign of encampment by Abeloth or any Theran Listeners. There had been some drochs, but chiefly of the tiny variety.
On their walk back to the speeder, Vestara checked her comlink, set to receive the intermittent locator pulse broadcast by the vehicle. It came about a minute into their walk, just a couple of degrees off the course they had taken. They corrected and kept going. A few minutes later the hill, somewhat obscured by a cloud of dust flowing past like a river, came within sight. They skirted its north face and then descended into the cleft where they’d left the speeder. Visibility was better in this ravine; dust no longer driven by the wind drifted down like a thin haze, but it was nowhere near as bad as the dust clouds on the unsheltered surface above.
The speeder was still where they’d left it, some fifty meters away when they rounded a bend. But on the ridge above it, perhaps twenty meters up, was a blue airspeeder, a wide-bodied model designed for carrying entire families or a pilot and a fair amount of cargo. It was not running, and had been set down on the lip of the ravine, perhaps a meter of its front end protruding over empty air. A line descended from the winch on the front of the speeder down to within four meters of the ravine floor.
Yet there was no sign of anyone about. Ben glanced in all directions and put his hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, which was hung out of sight at the back of his belt. “Not good.”
Vestara pulled her lightsaber from its clip. With some reluctance, she opened herself to the Force—reluctance because the usual result on Nam Chorios, a paranoid sense of being watched by hundreds of aloof observers, did not give her an improved understanding of her surroundings or the probable dangers around her. This time she got the usual result.
Luke continued to lead the way to the speeder. “If there are snipers, we’re already in their sights. So be—”
“Vestara Khai.” The voice was a distant wail, high-pitched, like a keening ghost from a spooky holodrama. It echoed from the ravine walls.
Ben glanced back at her. “It’s for you.”
She scowled at him. “You’re not helping.”
There was a blur of motion, and then a woman landed atop their airspeeder, clearly having jumped up from ground level behind it. She was of average height, lean, a little broad in the shoulder, with dark skin and short black hair. Like Luke, Ben, and Vestara, she wore garments suited to Newcomers—pants and a lined jacket of hard-wearing cloth, sturdy leather boots, an overcloak and hood, goggles.
Vestara gave her a close look, as close as she could at this distance. “Who are you?”
“You know me, traitor.” The woman raised her arms high, stretching, then put her hands down on her hips. She twisted her body back and forth, a loosening-up exercise. “And it’s time for your companions to die, and for you to be taken to your father for questioning.”
There was something familiar about the woman’s voice, and Vestara finally recognized it. The woman should have had flawless lavender skin and hair as white as snow. Clearly she was in makeup and a wig, disguised to be able to move among the people of Nam Chorios without standing out. “Tola Annax.”
“Your brains haven’t seized up completely, Vestara. Now surrender like a good girl. We need to take you back to your father so you can experience only the most carefully thought-out torture and explain which of you cut down Lord Taalon. If you didn’t do it, you clearly conspired with his killer—you’re not their prisoner.”
Vestara ignited her lightsaber and began moving forward again. “He had to die. He was … changing. He was no longer fit to lead us.” She had not the slightest faith that her words would be believed, but it was something to talk about while making her approach.
“Oh, we’re aware of the genetic mutations he was experiencing. Accelerated changes, grotesque mutations … you might even be acquitted of complicity because of them. If you surrender.”
“Of course. Come down here and I’ll give you my weapon personally.” As she spoke, Vestara was aware of, and curiously glad of, the footsteps of the Skywalkers following her.
Tola’s words meant the Sith didn’t know who had killed Taalon. Therefore her father had not told them what he had overheard. That realization struck Vestara with the same effect that stepping out into the cold wind had a few minutes earlier. Gavar Khai was … protecting her? Showing concern for her fate? She felt a sudden confusion, not sure for a moment whether her father was the man she had grown up with or the one to whom she had been writing her ridiculously emotional, never-to-be-sent letters.
She was now thirty meters from the speeder, and still Tola had not drawn her own lightsaber. Tola did seem to have something in the palm of her hand, but it was nowhere near the size of a lightsaber hilt. Now she changed subjects. “Have you found Abeloth yet? We have some justice in mind for her, too.”
Vestara didn’t answer.
Apparently Tola didn’t expect her to. Suddenly three men charged from behind the airspeeder, coming to a halt halfway between the speeder and Vestara. All were human, in good shape, dressed like Tola, and carrying lightsabers. One after another they ignited their weapons, and the red blades sprang into life.
Vestara heard Ben’s and Luke’s weapons snap-hiss into readiness behind her.
There were no further attempts at negotiation. The Sith in the center of the enemy line bounded forward toward Vestara. The other two went right and left, circling to engage the Skywalkers.
Vestara recognized her opponent. He was a Saber, a petty officer under her father’s command. He was big, physically imposing, a handful of years older than her. More experienced, if one went only by number of years.
He came at her with the speed and lack of grace of a fast-moving crawler tank, slashing with his greater reach at her midsection. She darted to the right, putting a waist-high outcropping between the two of them, angling her blade to protect what the projection of stone didn’t. She caught his slash on her blade, the force of the attack nearly throwing her back despite the leg she’d braced against the impact; she felt her arms shiver under the blow. It irritated her that she hadn’t taken the blow at the correct angle to cause his blade to skid along hers, which would have reduced the impact. She shoved the thought from her mind but let the anger linger. Being too analytical at a time like this could be fatal.
She continued around the outcropping and slashed at the back of his knee, but the impact from that previous blow had robbed her of forward momentum; the man was able to catch her slash on his blade. He disengaged smoothly, just barely enough to get his blade clear of hers, and popped the tip up toward her in a rising slash. She merely skipped back a pace and let the energy blade pass harmlessly in front of her.
Vestara reversed direction—continuing to circle as she had been would eventually have presented her back to Tola. Her opponent switched to a one-handed grip on his lightsaber and made a forward sweeping gesture with his free hand. Vestara expected something to come flying out of that hand, a small cloud of dust perhaps, but nothing did.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Conviction Page 26
