It would have been in Mahlor’s benefit to lie, to say that there never was and never had been any hard evidence, just a rumor that he had gambled was true. Instead, he was confirming his earlier threat. Proof enough to Lecersen that the IT-O, once again, was working as intended.
“If you could just write down—oh,” he said. Writing would be rather hard for a blind being. “Tell me what exactly you have, and where I might find it.”
“I told you … p-please, water …”
Lecersen waved a hand. Emitting its unique throbbing, humming sound, the IT-O maneuvered on its repulsors over to the table. Its grasping claw extended, gripped the pitcher, and poured water into the glass. It bore the glass over to Mahlor and pressed it against his mouth.
At once the Minyavish opened wide, gulping and coughing as the droid interrogator poured water into his mouth and down what little plumage remained on his mostly plucked chest.
“Careful,” admonished Lecersen, “we don’t want him to choke.”
At once the droid withdrew, replaced the now-empty glass on the table, and hovered, awaiting its next instructions.
“Tell me what the evidence is and where I can find it,” Lecersen repeated.
Mahlor did. Words spilled out like the water that had spilled down his chest. Lecersen grew a little pale at the litany of names of witnesses, the nature of the recordings, and what exactly was contained on the datachips. And fortuitously enough, all this precious and quite damning evidence was located in a safe-deposit box on Minyavish. Mahlor told him the name of the institution and the box number.
“Astonishing,” Lecersen said, not without a trace of admiration. “That must have been difficult to acquire. Your people might have a fine future ahead of them as spies, once you learn not to go blundering arrogantly into the rancor’s pit.”
“I … can even get it for you,” Mahlor said.
“How?” Lecersen demanded. He dearly hoped that the security didn’t require a retinal scan.
“… code,” he said. “Memorized.”
“You’ll tell me,” Lecersen said.
And it was then that the poor creature realized that he wasn’t going to get out of this room alive. “No, please,” he begged. “I’ll give you everything, then go away …”
“Yes,” Lecersen said affably, “you will.” He turned to the IT-O. “Continue until he reveals the code. Then I’ll dispose of him.”
“Affirmative,” replied the interrogator droid. It thrummed over to bob gently up and down in front of the blind Minyavish, who began to shriek before the door had slid shut behind Lecersen.
A few hours later, E-3 came in to deliver several messages as Lecersen was finishing his nightcap.
“I am delighted to report that the IT-O was successful in extracting the code from your guest, sir,” he said. “Termination was immediate once the interrogator determined that the fellow was telling the truth.”
“Excellent news.” While the Moff fully recognized the necessity for torture if information could not be extracted in a more restrained and less messy manner, he did not particularly care for it. Once he had what he needed, the torture had ceased and the subject had been eliminated quickly and painlessly. That was how civilized beings operated. “Tell the YVH to dispose of the body in the usual manner.”
“Certainly, sir. Also, Senator Treen is standing by on the comm to report on her meeting with Senator Suldar.”
Lecersen, buoyed by the first bit of news, was hopeful that the evening would bear yet more fruit. He accepted the comm the droid handed to him and then waved E-3PO out.
“Senator Treen,” he purred, taking a sip of the delicious chak-root liquor. “I trust your evening was productive and entertaining both.”
“Indeed it was, Drikl,” she said. “We all had the most splendid time. The nerf steak was impeccably grilled, and I am delighted to report that the Vagnerian canapés were as delicate and flavorful as ever.”
“Glad to know the Indigo Tower has not suffered a decline in quality.” He didn’t mind the banter. Treen got right to the point if things were bad. When she went on a tangent about immaterial things, it was a reassuring sign.
“Indeed, we must go there again sometime soon.”
“How was the company?”
“Charming, attractive, and every bit as ruthless and power-hungry as the rest of us,” Treen said chirpily. “And very willing to be molded, it would seem.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” warned Lecersen. He took another sip, the liquid burning his throat in a most pleasant manner.
“Don’t I know it!” She chuckled. “However, Fost and I have been at this game almost as long as he has been alive, and I highly doubt he’ll squirm away. Besides, he has far too much to gain.”
“What does he offer?”
“Well, as I said, he is quite charming, and is making a superb impression on some of the other Senators. Especially the ones who are fledglings, and who are a bit more timid and less ambitious than he.”
That piqued Lecersen’s interest. “Go on.”
“He apparently has quite the following. It’s rather endearing, really. There’s one in particular he’s been working closely with. You’ll never guess who.”
“I probably won’t,” Lecersen agreed readily, “so please enlighten me.”
“Padnel Ovin, the new, rather scruffy Senator from Klatooine.”
“Really?” Lecersen was surprised. “They seem like an odd pair. I’d be surprised to learn that Padnel Ovin even remembers to take a sanisteam once a day.”
“Well, it seems as though Kameron is grooming—oh my, I didn’t even mean to make the pun—” Treen giggled. “—Senator Ovin for something rather key later on down the line. And he has intimated that others of his little gaggle of admirers are in positions where they could give us a great deal of support.”
“What positions are those, and who are we talking about?” Lecersen drained his drink and put it on the table.
“He was rather coy about that, but I don’t think he’s fibbing.”
“You’re hardly a Jedi, my dear, to be able to tell such things.”
“Ah, but I am a most excellent judge of character, and you cannot argue that, Drikl.”
He supposed he couldn’t. “Well, for now, that’s a very promising start. I will leave him in your extremely capable hands. There is something I’d like to bring to your attention, and you had best pass it along to the others.”
Quickly, he told her about the nighttime visit from Mahlor, from the unfortunate Minyavish’s arrival to his end.
“How unpleasant,” said Treen. He could imagine her wrinkling her nose in distaste and smiled a little. “And he mentioned Fost and myself specifically by name?”
“He did. He did not seem particularly experienced in how to handle such negotiations. I believe if he had known about the rest of us, he’d have said so.”
“Well, how honored we are to be singled out,” she said archly. “This does not make me particularly happy, Drikl. And I was having such a pleasant evening.”
“Well, the good news is, he gave me the location of the evidence and the code to locate and destroy it. While he resisted torture rather well, I do think in the end I retrieved everything he had to tell me.”
“So you do believe he was acting alone?”
“My dear, hardly anyone truly acts alone, whether they realize it or not,” Lecersen replied. “If one being was able to acquire this type of information, we’d do well to be on the alert for more insects crawling out of the woodwork.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
“I’d best be turning in. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I’ll dispatch someone to take care of the evidence on Minyavish and by nineteen hundred hours I’ll be en route for Imperial Space. It sounds like you all have things well in hand.”
“If you refer to Senator Suldar, I would say eating out of would not be inaccurate.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute, my dear.
” His voice was warm with affection. He’d grown rather fond of his co-conspirator, as long as he didn’t have to have too much interaction with her. She, Bramsin, Jaxton, Parova, and Thaal were right where they should be, and he was about to go where he should be.
Into Imperial Space, where human Moffs—male human Moffs, which were the only right and proper kind—were treated with the respect they were due.
Where he would eventually launch his bid to become Emperor.
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES
ADMIRAL NATASI DAALA, STILL IN HER OWN MIND THE RIGHTFUL—AND greatly wronged—Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance, sipped at the cup of poor-quality caf Boba Fett had provided and stared out at the stars streaking past.
An hour after they were safely away on the actual Slave I—after escaping on an extremely fake Slave I and then transitioning to an ordinary shuttle—Daala had been on the comm. Fett had agreed to take her wherever she needed to go, and there was no doubt in her mind where that was. She had been busy, calling in old favors, talking to old friends—and old enemies—and new friends. She had much, much more to do, but for now it was a good start. She would have appreciated the chance to have a sanisteam and new, proper clothing instead of her prison garb, but Fett’s generosity didn’t stretch that far. Even so, she was grateful to be free. She could handle prison clothing for a while longer, just so long as her wrists and ankles were no longer “decorated.”
The initial round of contact over, she and Fett had broken out some rations, and now were sipping caf. He’d had only a few questions for her, and had been silent for a while, but then, so had she.
“You’ve been quiet,” Daala said.
He shrugged. The audacity and simple brilliance of the plan still astonished her. Boba Fett had broken her out of her Galactic Alliance prison cell by pretending to be … Boba Fett. It was a deception within a twist that her own complicated mind could most definitely appreciate—would have even found amusing, if she had any energy to spare for such lighter things. He was leading the uncertain and wobbly “triumvirate” on a wild caranak chase, because, according to all logic, if it was the infamous Boba Fett, legendary bounty hunter, he would never attempt a rescue as himself. No, for a while at least, what passed for the GA would be wasting time and resources looking for a Boba Fett impersonator, not the genuine article, sitting right in front of her clad once more in his actual armor and helmet.
“Long flight. Plenty of time to talk when you’re ready.”
“Genius, by the way, and such a nice little jab at the Jedi. The disguise, I mean.”
He turned his head toward her as she sat beside him in the copilot’s seat. “Oh—you mean the mad Jedi and their imposters. Thought that was a good touch myself.”
Until very recently, Jedi Knights had been snapping—believing that everyone they met, including those they loved, had been replaced by an evil doppelgänger. “You are your own evil twin.”
“Then wouldn’t I be good?” he shot back.
Daala did allow herself to smile at that. It faded almost at once as she thought about what her own “doppelgänger” would be like. She’d lived that life for too brief a time. Happy, whole, in love with Liegeus Vorn, a good man who had been ripped away from her far, far too soon.
Daala had been chasing a hopeless ideal, trying to be a good, decent, fair leader of all the beings who made up the Galactic Alliance. All her attempts to restore order had failed. She was not the “Empress Palpatina” that some would paint her as. She was happy to work with any gender, any species, as long as they were willing to obey orders and uphold the law. She did not endorse slavery. Once she had brought the Jedi to heel and had them serving in their proper capacity, she would have been free to turn her attention to these burgeoning new governments. Would have employed due process of law.
But no one, it seemed, wanted that. Not the Jedi, not Dorvan—to whom she had given more trust than she really should have—and certainly not the Solos.
No, she realized, her resentment more bitter than the bad caf she sipped. She’d been fooling herself to think that. Had been fooling herself, too, in thinking that she just might, finally, be able to love someone who wouldn’t be ripped away from her by murder. First Wilhuff Tarkin, then Liegeus, then Nek Bwua’tu. Oh, Nek wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t sure he would call the lost, befuddled state in which he currently existed “living.” She certainly didn’t.
No happy doppelgänger Daala for her. And it was just as well.
She drained the cup and made a face. Turning to her rescuer, she said, “One of the first things I’m going to do when I come to power again is make sure you Mandos have the ability to make a decent cup of caf.”
Fett snorted slightly. “As long as it keeps me sharp, it can taste like poodoo for all I care. We’ve got a more pressing problem you can help with.”
Here it comes, thought Daala. She had known there would be a fee, she just hadn’t known what it was. “I owe you a great deal,” she admitted freely.
Again the helmet turned toward her. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze.
“That you do. But before I name my price, I’m going to make it a bit sweeter for you to pay it. I’ve learned a few things you might be interested in hearing.”
She was intrigued. Her brooding and soul-searching was growing tiresome; she was ready to move forward. “Go on.”
“Moff Drikl Lecersen is not your friend.”
Now it was her turn to snort. “And Luke Skywalker is a Jedi. Are we through with the obvious?”
“Not yet.” He didn’t rise to the bait. Fett never did. “He’s been operating behind the scenes plotting your downfall for some time. Even gone to some pretty extraordinary measures and very complicated, long-simmering plans.”
“Sounds like a recipe for brogy stew.”
“It does at that. Maybe I’m hungry.” He shrugged. “He’s no friend of mine, either, but I’ll get to that in a minute. I’ve learned something very interesting about the Moff. He’s behind the Freedom Flight.”
Daala was glad she’d finished the bitter brew earlier; she was afraid if she’d been drinking, she’d have choked. Her brows drew together.
“That’s a poor joke, Fett,” she said in an icy voice. “That sleemo would rather have his hand cut off than do anything noble.”
“I think that was an unfortunate side effect as far as Lecersen is concerned,” Fett continued, completely unruffled by her reaction. “He didn’t set it up—or rather, hijack it—in order to help poor downtrodden species obtain their rights. He did it so there’d be too many situations you’d have to respond to, quickly, without thinking it through. Think of it as arson. He was lighting fires all over the galaxy.”
“And I rushed to put them out,” Daala said slowly. Comprehension dawned sickly over her, causing her stomach to clench hard. “That whole organization … it’s just a front?”
Fett shook his head. “Not at all. Most of the poor fools who are the ‘pilots’ are as idealistic as you’d imagine. Think they’re doing good, and they are. They’re just being moved about by Lecersen, like pieces on a hologame table. We Mandos had the opportunity to … shall we say, learn more about the Flight when you sent us in to put out the fires.”
“Crush the uprisings,” Daala said harshly. “Call it what it is.” She was done with the kind of metaphors and justifications she had used when speaking to Wynn and Nek.
“Fine by me. I like plain talk,” Fett said. “We’ve gotten some information from some of the slaves. But they can’t tell us what they don’t know. And most of them don’t know much.”
“It was underground before it became so high-profile,” Daala said. “Three beings can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” It was an old quote that many worlds claimed as theirs, and it was still brutally true.
“Or if they only know a little,” Fett continued. “It’s like a link in a chain. Each being could only implicate a handful of others, and none of those
was anybody worth going after. Except one. A Minyavish had apparently discovered some things that linked Lecersen and a few other highly placed individuals to the Flight. We weren’t able to recover the actual physical evidence, or any other names, but he certainly sounded convincing about Lecersen.”
“Should I ask how you got this information?”
Fett shrugged. “You didn’t hire us to calm tempers with jeru tea and sweetcakes.”
“No, I didn’t,” Daala replied. “This is most enlightening. Things that made no sense whatsoever before suddenly have become quite plain.”
“Such as the attack on Admiral Bwua’tu.”
She gazed levelly at where his eyes would be, if she could see them. “Such as that, yes.”
Someone had gone to great lengths to implicate the Jedi in the assassination attempt on Nek, but had botched the job. “It also explains the attack on the Solos and Fel at the Pangalactus Restaurant.”
“You had no part in that?”
Her green eyes, thoughtful a second before, turned to jade ice. “Even if I wanted them dead, I wouldn’t put a child in the line of fire. There are other ways.”
Fett nodded, as if satisfied. “It all fits.”
Yes. It did all fit. Another troupe of players had come onstage, after lurking in the wings unobserved for so long.
“And so,” Fett said, “we have a common enemy, you and I, and we get to the issue of my payment.”
“I knew we’d get to that eventually. Proceed.”
“I’ve overheard some of your plans,” he said, “which you clearly didn’t mind or else you’d have declined when I offered you the use of my communications array. Sounds like you’ve got some pretty powerful contacts and a solid base of operations. I’m prepared to give you still more. Continued, if covert, use of my people and our technology. I want you safe and solid.”
“I’m touched, old friend,” she said, and there was actually a hint of sincerity in the words.
“Friendship is a part of it, I don’t deny that,” he said. “But once you’re safe and solid and the head of the Empire, you’ll be in a position to say thanks. And you can do that by finding a cure for this hut’u-unla nanovirus.”
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension Page 15
