“Hello, Uncle Eramuth,” Nek rasped. “Don’t … you have a trial to be attending?”
Eramuth’s eyes grew solemn. “Alas,” he said in his resonant voice, pitched softly now, “the trial ended with a conviction for my client. And I was shocked … shocked! … to discover that soon after the jury reached its decision, the little nexu escaped. I have utterly no idea where she is.”
But his eyes crinkled as he spoke. Bwua’tu chuckled.
“Dear Uncle Eramuth, what do you have up your sleeve?”
“Why, nothing, they are rolled up, as you can plainly see.” He leaned forward. “You look a great deal better than you have for the last several weeks. How are you feeling?”
Weeks?
“I would feel better if I knew what I have missed.”
“Well, that’s quite a lot. Do you—” Eramuth paused in midsentence. One ear swiveled and he jerked his gray-muzzled head up, peering at the door for a moment before he relaxed. “Here’s someone who will be almost as glad to see you awake as I am.”
The door eased open and Rynog Asokaji entered, bearing two cups of caf.
“Is one of those for me?” rasped Nek. The Bith started, moving deftly in order to not spill the hot liquid, and blinked his large eyes rapidly as he set them down. Eramuth smiled at them both. As the admiral and his aide-de-camp talked, the lawyer fished out a comlink and spoke quietly into it.
“Admiral!” Asokaji’s voice was a gasp of happiness. “I would gladly get you an entire pot of caf if the doctors would let me. It is so good to see you back with us.”
Nek was becoming more aware of his surroundings with each minute. He glanced up at the vidscreen hanging above his bed, currently displaying a news show. Some things the report was covering seemed familiar, yet he did not remember them before his attack.
“Let me guess,” he said to Asokaji. “You’ve been with me the whole time—at least as much as the doctors would let you. And you’ve been playing these on the odd chance that something might get through to me in my comatose state.”
Asokaji nodded. “Well, sir, the FX medical droid did suggest that exposure to visual stimuli might help you awaken sooner. As soon as I heard that, I obtained permission from the doctors to have it playing constantly. It seemed to help.”
Nek nodded. “I … think there were some things that did get through. Well done.” He was still weak, and it was an effort to turn his head to look at Eramuth. “How is Natasi holding up?”
His uncle’s eyes grew sad. “That’s … one of the things you need to know. But if I’m right, and I often am, your doctors should be here momentarily. They’ll have been alerted to your new state.” He leaned forward, peering intently at his nephew. “Now, Nek, I want you to trust your old uncle. You’re awake, but you’re mighty incoherent. Groggy. There might even be brain damage.”
He was using his lawyer-to-client voice, and Nek knew better than to argue.
A golden-furred Bothan and a Duros entered. They both beamed at Nek.
“Admiral,” said the Bothan. “I’m Dr. Ysa’i, and this is Dr. Javir. We came as soon as we were alerted to your condition. Welcome back.”
Nek peered at them, then cast a helpless glance over at Eramuth, who looked somber. “He’s been awake for a few minutes, but … I’m not sure how back he is.”
Ysa’i and Javir exchanged glances and frowned. “Our instruments indicate that his brainwave function has returned to normal,” Javir said, examining the holographic brain-activity image hovering above the head of the bed. Nek fought back a sigh at how quickly doctors started referring to their patients in the third person; instead he concentrated on looking about confusedly.
“Could there be brain damage?” asked Eramuth, giving an admirable impression of someone deeply worried.
“It’s unlikely, given what we’re seeing here,” Javir replied, frowning at the readings.
“Now, I’m no doctor,” said Eramuth, “but I do know one thing from all my years practicing law. And that is while you may know a great deal about the brain, the mind remains largely a mystery.”
Nek almost wanted to smile at the glare Dr. Javir shot his uncle. The Duros turned her attention to her patient. “Do you know these people, Admiral Bwua’tu?”
Nek blinked solemnly at her, but didn’t reply.
“How about yourself? Do you remember who you are?”
He frowned, trying to look puzzled and agitated, but not too much so. The last thing any of them needed was for him to be sedated.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Javir muttered. “He should be recovered, if exhausted, according to the data.”
“We’ll stay and keep trying to reach him,” Eramuth said. “Friendly faces and all. I’ve got some old stories to tell that might jog his memory.”
Dr. Ysa’i tried and failed to hide a sour look at the thought of listening to Eramuth’s “old stories.” He covered quickly. “We’ll continue to monitor him. If there’s no change in an hour or so, we’ll run some tests. For now, I must tell you, all signs are positive. I’m sure Admiral Bwua’tu will soon be fully recovered.”
“Please alert one of the medical droids if the situation changes,” Javir said.
“At once,” Asokaji assured them. The doctors again checked the stats, then left together, talking quietly. Once the door had closed, the Bith turned back to Bwua’tu.
“Because of your extremely sensitive position in the government, sir, the former Chief of State and I both insisted that there be no monitoring or recording devices in this room, other than those deemed medically necessary. We can speak freely.”
“You’re certain?”
Eramuth nodded. “Otherwise, with some of the things I’ve said to young Rynog, I’m certain I’d have been hauled out for questioning.” His eyes twinkled briefly, then grew somber.
“I did notice the words former Chief of State to describe Admiral Daala,” Bwua’tu said quietly. “Tell me what’s happened.”
He listened, only interrupting occasionally to request clarification, as Asokaji and Eramuth spoke, his heart sinking with every stunning new fact.
Nek had already known that Daala was bent on demonstrating an increasing intolerance in her management of the various uprisings that seemed to be sprouting up like weeds. On the morning when he had been attacked, he’d been prepared to contact Kenth Hamner and move forward with their joint plan. He had a vague memory of the Devaronian journalist Madhi Vaandt reporting on the escalating violence.
“Natasi came to see me,” he said, and it was not a question. “She and Wynn Dorvan. I remember. There was a report on …” Nek frowned, struggling to recall. “Blaudu Sextus. The Octusi … and Mandalorians. Called in to suppress them.”
“I remember that visit,” Asokaji said. “It was the first time your brain activity had seemed targeted. The Chief—er, former Chief of State—thought that Vaandt had a connection with the attempt on your life.” He hesitated. “Vaandt was killed covering that story.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Nek said honestly. “She was passionate about what she did. But no, she was not the reason I was interested in the vidcast. I will tell you all I remember about that when you’ve caught me up. I … was concerned about the uprisings and Madhi Vaandt’s theory that the Mandos were hired to protect the interests of …” He frowned. Some specific pieces of information, it would seem, were still proving elusive.
“The Sextuna Mining Corporation,” Asokaji provided helpfully. “Yes—Vaandt seemed to think that that wasn’t really the case.”
Eramuth had been listening without interrupting, but now his black ears pricked forward. “Really? I wonder who she thought was behind it.”
Nek closed his eyes. “Vaandt cited the events at the Temple. It’s obvious what she thought.”
“Was what she thought true, Nek?” asked Eramuth, gently.
“I don’t know for certain. But I believe so.”
“The Jedi were thinking along similar lines,” Eramuth s
aid.
Nek turned his head. “I assume this part is where Daala became former Chief of State?”
Eramuth nodded. “I hate that you need to know this, but you do.” Quickly, efficiently, and with compassion, he described the recovery of the “mad Jedi,” the bloodless coup, and Daala’s subsequent imprisonment. The triumvirate comprising Dorvan, Senator Treen, and Saba Sebatyne worked to continue keeping things from completely falling apart.
“I want to see her,” Nek said.
“Well, that’s what a lot of folks are saying,” said Eramuth. “Someone spirited her away before she could have a fair trial. It was during the chaos of her prison break that my client also escaped.”
Nek’s eyes widened at that. “I think perhaps I am still in my coma and watching a holodrama,” he said, his voice both wry and bitter. “Do we know who came to her aid?”
“We know who it was intended to look like,” said Asokaji. “One Boba Fett, in what looked like distinctive Mandalorian armor.”
“You think it wasn’t?”
“It was someone wearing a very good imitation of his armor.”
“In other words, someone wanted us to think it was Fett,” mused Nek.
“Precisely, sir. No leads yet as to who it really was.”
“Fett makes sense,” Nek said. He felt a profound sorrow. None of this had needed to happen. He had known Natasi Daala for years. Most of the time they saw eye-to-eye, but this …
“Whoever helped her escape, she must be found and brought to trial. A fair trial,” he said quietly. “I have sworn an oath of krevi to protect the Galactic Alliance, and I will do so with my last breath.”
“Which,” said Asokaji, “you almost experienced.” He exchanged glances with Eramuth. “For what it’s worth … neither of us thinks Daala had a hand in it.” His cheek folds darkened a little.
“He knows this because he called her on it,” said Eramuth. Nek gazed with renewed respect at his aide-de-camp.
“Her reaction convinced me she had nothing to do with it,” Asokaji continued, but he volunteered nothing more.
Nek nodded his understanding. “How is Dorvan holding up?”
“Quite well, all things considered. The man doesn’t have a lot of enemies. He might not be the most fascinating conversationalist in the world, but he gets things done and nearly everyone’s amenable to working with him. The Jedi aren’t out to ruin the GA, Nek.”
“I know,” Nek said. “That was one thing that Daala never understood.” He sighed, growing fatigued by the conversation. “I suppose I’d better fill you in on what I remember of the attack before I drift off again,” he said.
“Before you do that, I think we need to bring another participant to the meeting,” said Eramuth. He reached into his old-fashioned black bag and withdrew a decidedly modern miniature holographic receiver. He pressed a button, and a very small figure of Wynn Dorvan appeared.
“Admiral,” said Dorvan’s tiny image.
“Dorvan,” said Nek, pleased. “Good to see you, even looking so tiny.”
“Not all of us can be tall and intimidating,” said Dorvan in his usual bland but pleasant tones. “I am delighted to hear that you are awake and alert. Your uncle has informed me, however, that very few know about your change in condition. I think that’s wise, and we should keep it that way for as long as we can. A sort of private club, as it were.”
Nek glanced at his uncle, his aide, and the acting Chief of State. It was a good and trustworthy group … and just as important, small. He nodded.
“I agree. I remember everything about the attack. Let me tell you about it.”
As he spoke, Nek realized that he would be confirming the rumors that he and Daala had been involved personally, but it could not be helped. Everyone needed to know the stark, simple truth if they were to accomplish the goals of shoring up the GA, bringing Daala back to trial, and catching those who were responsible for his attack.
He wasn’t surprised that they all accepted the “revelation” without surprise. They asked who knew he was at Daala’s residence the night of the attack.
“I don’t think anyone did. Not even you, Asokaji. Did you get my signal?”
Bwua’tu had pressed an emergency signal button when he first realized—well, he amended, first thought he realized—who was attacking him. He was not and never would be a match for two Jedi Knights. Fortunately for him, but deepening the mystery, was the revelation that they could not possibly have been Jedi—simply because he was alive to tell the tale.
“I did, sir, and help came within moments. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made it. I did, however, assume you might have gone to visit the admiral, considering we found you such a short distance from her apartments.”
Nek nodded. He continued with his narrative, describing the two attacking male humans in great detail. “I know I killed one,” he said. “The one in Jedi robes. I think the other was injured in a fall earlier on. I’m sure you didn’t find him.”
“No, we didn’t,” said the miniature Dorvan. “Though not for lack of trying. We weren’t even able to identify the false Jedi you killed. He simply didn’t exist.”
Nek felt his fur rippling even under the cast as the words sank in.
“We know they weren’t real Jedi,” he said, “and we know that someone wanted to make sure he wasn’t identified. Someone went to a very great deal of effort and paid a large number of credits to ensure that.”
“Indeed,” said Dorvan. “Sir, you must keep pretending that you remember nothing. Esquire Bwua’tu, Asokaji—one of you, or someone that I personally appoint, is to be with the admiral at all times.” He frowned, thinking. “We might even get a Jedi sentry, now that they’re all cured. Given the current climate, it will soothe possible fears—and give you added protection. It will have to be someone we can trust completely, though, and that might be challenging.”
“Sir? Are you comfortable with that?” asked Asokaji.
“No,” Nek said. “Their first loyalty is to the Order. They will think they will have to tell—who is in charge?”
“Master Sebatyne.”
Nek grimaced a little at the thought of that fierce warrior leading the Jedi. “Any Jedi will tell her. And if we try to lie, they will sense it. I might be able to fool the doctors, but I’m not a good enough actor to fool a Jedi.”
Dorvan sighed. “You raise a good point, sir. I’d like to inform the Jedi at some point, however.”
“Agreed, but not just yet. Forgive me, but I am extremely weary. Can we speak again later?”
In truth, blackness was already nudging in around the corners of his vision.
“Of course, sir,” said Dorvan. “This all smacks of something far deeper than a simple personal vendetta. I have a great deal on my plate, but I will begin following the threads and …”
As he drifted into a weary but true sleep, Nek Bwua’tu thought with a pang of Natasi Daala. He then absently wondered if the fact that Wynn Dorvan’s droning voice was letting him drift off swiftly into dreamland was a good or bad thing.
“I mean no insult,” Padnel Ovin said, digging into a thick nerf steak in one of the better restaurants in the Senate District, “but Wynn Dorvan’s voice put half the Senate to sleep today. I am sure what he said was important, but most of it was drowned out by snoring on my right and left.”
Padnel Ovin, former leader of Ovin’s Sand Panthers, looked woefully out of place in the refined, subdued atmosphere of the restaurant. Even though he no longer bristled with weapons or wore sand-saturated robes, he looked what he was—a rough-hewn warrior, more used to using a knife to kill an enemy than to simply cut up a nerf steak.
Han and Leia exchanged amused glances. “You’re not the only one to have commented on that,” Leia said. “And don’t worry. He’s the first to acknowledge it.”
“He would not have made a good Sand Panther.”
Han made a noise that fell somewhere between laughter and choking. Leia patted him on the back, hard-p
ressed not to smile herself. “I do not think Wynn Dorvan would have joined such an organization.”
Always alert for criticism, even from friends, Ovin looked at her sharply. “Because he thinks I am a terrorist?”
“Goals can be reached in different ways,” Leia said, “and his strengths lie in different areas. Perhaps if one such as Dorvan had been a Klatooinian elder, for instance, the Treaty of Vontor might have been abolished legally. Surely even your brother would have admitted that would be preferable to violence. I know you feel so.”
He nodded, and said gruffly, “As I said … I believe Acting Chief of State Dorvan has things worth listening to. But a leader needs more. A leader needs charisma and the power of his conviction.”
Leia thought of watching Dorvan racing up the steps in an effort to save Raynar Thul from being killed. “Give him a bit more time. He might surprise you. Still waters run deep.”
“All waters run deep where I am from,” Padnel said. His jowls shook lightly. It took Leia and Han a moment to realize he was making a joke, and then they all laughed.
“It’s good to see you, Padnel,” Han said. “I’m glad they let you in. I think the Klatooinians have a lot to offer. You’ll get in there, shake things up, and the galaxy will be the better for it.” The compliment was genuine. The Senate, as it had recently proved, was a staid and conservative gathering of beings for the most part. There were a few exceptions, such as Han and Leia’s friend Luewet Wuul. Word of the new Senator from B’nish, Kameron Suldar, was positive, as well.
“That means a great deal coming from you two,” Padnel said. “I will do what I can. Perhaps …” He hesitated.
“Go on,” Leia encouraged.
“Perhaps … I am where I should be. Grunel was the founder and the real leader of the Sand Panthers, and will always be remembered as such. But if I can help this way, then perhaps I will honor his legacy while creating my own.”
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension Page 11
