Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension

by Christie Golden

  “Getelles is apparently all kinds of excited about the thought of doing something with drochs to prolong life.”

  “And rejuvenate older beings,” said Emala.

  “And rejuvenate older beings,” Grees added. “So we volunteered to be test subjects.” Seeing Han’s glower, he said, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It was an excellent opportunity to gather information to give to the Head of State. Once we got the information, we escaped. To tell him everything we knew via our good former partners, like we’re doing right now.”

  “That’s not all,” pressed Jag. “You wouldn’t want to renege on your deal, now, would you?”

  Grees scowled.

  Emala sighed. “Better tell him, Grees,” she said.

  Grees’s scowl deepened, and he fished in the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a small, tightly sealed vial approximately as long as his finger. “As you can tell, the experiments were a rousing success. We’ve gotten the chance to live our lives all over again. We wanted the same for our people.”

  “For the right fee,” said Han.

  “Well of course,” said Sligh, puzzled at Han’s tone. “We’ll be able to spend our lives all over again in a very comfortable fashion.”

  “And we want to do the same for our children,” said Grees. “They’re getting on in years, as well. We didn’t want to outlive them. Who wants that?”

  It was uttered in a very nonchalant tone, and Jag was certain that Grees didn’t realize the impact those words had on Han and Leia. He couldn’t feel them in the Force, but he didn’t need to. The slight tensing of Leia’s slender frame, the sudden softness in Han’s eyes as he looked off to the right—these gestures told him that the Squibs’ words, spoken offhandedly, had struck deep.

  The Solos had outlived two of their three children. And they would never have the chance to watch Anakin or Jacen live their too-brief lives over again.

  Jag cleared his throat and extended his hand. The three Squibs stared at it as if it were an appendage they had never seen before. “The serum,” he said. “Give it to me, please.”

  Grees clutched it to his chest. “Why? It’s ours! We went through a great deal to bring you that information, and this has nothing to do with you!”

  “The Empire greatly appreciates your efforts, and you will be amply compensated. But that serum was developed in an Imperial laboratory, by Imperial citizens, for use of the Empire. I’m afraid it’s stolen property.”

  “You can’t have it,” Emala said bluntly. “It’s for the children. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Neither, I am quite certain, was stealing Imperial property. I would prefer not to arrest you, but I will if I must.”

  “What do you need it for? You have plenty of years ahead of you. Are you planning on giving it to Captain Solo?”

  “Now wait just a—” began Han.

  “No,” Jag said. “I have another use for it. A very important use that could help the galaxy. It doesn’t belong to you.”

  When Grees didn’t move, Jag sighed and spoke into his comlink. “Ashik? I’m afraid that I need to have someone arrest—”

  “Okay!” snapped Grees. He bared his very healthy, very white teeth and almost flung the vial at Jag. “But we have rights, too! We feel this was taken from us without due compensation, as the deal we negotiated originally did not include obtaining and delivering—at tremendous personal risk—a sample of an extremely valuable serum.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Han said.

  “Sounds to me like they were supposed to listen and bring back what they learned,” Allana said. “If they brought back more, shouldn’t they get paid extra?”

  Emala beamed at her. “You sure you’re not half Squib, Fuzzling?”

  “Quite sure,” Leia said. “Jag—”

  “Leia, I’m sorry. This has given me some unique leverage, and I need to put it to use right away.”

  “See?” said Sligh gleefully. “Unique leverage. Procured by us.”

  “You’re a pretty poor haggler, Head of State Fel. Sorry to say so but it’s the truth,” said Grees.

  “Look,” said Jag. He was holding the small, precious vial very tightly. “We’ll discuss recompense when I return. Because if you don’t let me go now, you’ll be negotiating with Daala.”

  Their ears drooped slightly, and they murmured unhappily.

  “Excellent,” Jag said. “I see we understand each other. Han, Leia—I’ll leave them in your care until I return.”

  Han paled, and even Leia looked flustered. “Oh, no!” gasped C-3PO.

  Allana, however, looked extraordinarily pleased.

  MOFF VANSYN’S ESTATE, IMPERIAL SPACE

  “IT’S SUCH A PLEASURE TO FINALLY BE ABLE TO HOST YOU FOR A change,” said Moff Porak Vansyn. He selected a cigarra from the humidor proffered by the serving droid and snipped the end off. The droid moved to Lecersen, who declined but lifted his glass in a silent request for a refill of the delicious gold wine.

  “It’s good to see you, Porak,” said Lecersen, and to his surprise he actually meant it. He’d always been rather fond of the slightly younger, debonair Moff, with his droll manner of speaking and unfashionably thin mustache. “I regret that the tides of politics have separated us these past few months. You appear to be doing very well for yourself.”

  Vansyn leaned forward and allowed the droid to light his cigarra. Blue-gray smoke trickled up to form a wreath around his head as he replied. “Well enough, though I would say that you are poised to do still better.”

  Lecersen raised an eyebrow in feigned perplexity. How much did Vansyn know? “What makes you say that, Porak?”

  Vansyn grinned around his cigarra. “You’re here in Imperial Space, for one thing.”

  “Isn’t a Moff allowed home now and then when things become unpleasant at the seat of government?”

  “Come now, Drikl,” said Vansyn. “We’ve known each other too long. You are like a spider in the center of its web. You feel the vibrations from elsewhere, but you stay in the center and let opportunities come to you. It’s magnificent, all the strings you manage to keep track of. Quite an inspiration.”

  “What a nice compliment,” said Lecersen, honestly flattered. “It’s true I do believe in maximum results with minimal effort.”

  “So therefore, when you stomped your foot and made much to-do about returning to Imperial Space, I knew that the action was no longer truly on Coruscant, seat of government notwithstanding. You’re plotting something.” Vansyn’s eyes were bright. “Do be a good fellow and let your old friend in on it, hmm?”

  Lecersen considered how much he should tell Vansyn. While he had indeed approached the other Moff in the hope of acquiring his assistance, he was actually taken by surprise at Vansyn’s perception. The logic held, of course, and for a moment Lecersen wondered if he was that transparent to all his friends—and enemies. But Vansyn had known him for a long time. Maybe it was time Lecersen brought him into the thick of things.

  “You’ve got a lovely home here, Porak,” Lecersen said. “A good, solid reputation. I’m not sure I can in good conscience ask you to risk it.”

  Vansyn waved a hand dismissively, sending loops of smoke leaping about. “Come now, Drikl, you know I’m a high-stakes player.”

  “In sabacc, yes, and you’ve lost to me more than once, if I recall correctly.”

  Vansyn chuckled. “Guilty as charged. But you said it yourself—I’ve got a good, solid reputation. I think you could use my aid—if your thoughts bend in the same direction mine do.”

  Let him say it first, thought Lecersen. Call the bluff. “And what might that direction be?”

  Vansyn tapped the ash off his cigarra and took another thoughtful puff. “Neither of us is overly fond of one Jagged Fel. He’s utterly botched his leadership of the Empire. Daala’s been run off like a scared eopie. Seems to me that leaves a rather large hole that needs filling. And, a touch too coincidentally, here you are, back in Imperial Space.
”

  “And what am I doing here, do you suppose?”

  “Planning to take over the Empire. You’d make a jolly fine Emperor, you know. I’d follow you.”

  There it was. Lecersen relaxed back in the comfortable chair and sipped his wine.

  “I see” was all he said. “I think I’d make a jolly fine Emperor myself.”

  “I assume things are already in the works?”

  Lecersen made his decision. “They are,” he said. “And permit me to apologize right now for keeping you ignorant of it. I wanted you to have plausible deniability if things fell apart before we reached this stage.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Drikl,” said Vansyn. “And I’m just as pleased you’re choosing to include me now.”

  “I definitely have plans for you, my old friend,” Lecersen said warmly. Plans that included utilizing the other Moff’s dominion as a base and, eventually, rewarding Vansyn for his cooperation. “There are quite a few of us who are rather unhappy with both Daala and Fel right now. And we’re in very high places.”

  “Oh?” Vansyn looked keenly interested, leaning forward. He was, Lecersen realized, very excited at being included in something so ambitious and simultaneously clandestine. As he should be. When this was all over, every single one of the conspirators would get exactly what he or she wanted. “Who?”

  “Haydnat Treen was the one who approached me first,” said Lecersen. “She’d already been hard at work behind the scenes, and was able to bring in several other key players. For example, when Bwua’tu was attacked, we found his temporary replacement highly ambitious and willing to participate.”

  Vansyn’s brown eyes had widened. “Astounding,” he said. “How did you all manage to meet without being observed?”

  Lecersen chuckled. “We only had one simple dinner at my estate,” he said. “The rest of the time, we were in disguise.”

  “Disguise?”

  “You’re familiar with the costume nights at the Gleaming Fortunes Casino? And the willingness of Obrigadar’s Simulator Palace to indulge customers in military garb as long as it’s either decommissioned or twenty years out of date?”

  A sharp bark of laughter escaped Vansyn. “So you could meet right out in the open and no one would know it was you! Delightful!” he exclaimed. “Ingenious! You, sir, are indeed a master at this game! I am distressed I couldn’t have picked a costume and attended myself.”

  “When this is all over and the goal achieved, I promise I’ll host a masquerade, and you may come as anyone you’d like.”

  “I am already planning my costume. Please continue—this is absolutely fascinating.”

  Lecersen knew when his ego was being stroked. Vansyn was rather obvious about it. Filled with good food and good liquor, he opted to relax and enjoy it.

  “Daala zigged when she should have zagged, which made our job easy for us. She acted like an Imperial Admiral when she should have acted like a Chief of State. An understandable mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. I wonder if Tarkin would have approved or disapproved, and if he saw it coming, what he would have done.”

  “He probably wouldn’t have noticed. Men are sometimes blind when dazzled by the charms of a lovely woman.” Vansyn said. He grinned. “And of course, Daala’s half blind already herself.”

  It was a cheap shot, but Lecersen found himself laughing. “True,” he said. “Poor Daala. I actually feel a bit sorry for her. If she’d only embraced the uprisings and sent in teams to discuss terms rather than quash them, I wouldn’t be sitting here at this table having this chat with you, Porak.”

  “Well then, lucky us,” Vansyn said. “Fel isn’t winning many popularity contests, either. One might wish they’d just go at each other and save us the trouble of overthrowing one or both of them.”

  Lecersen tensed. “Why would they go at each other?” He kept his voice calm, languid, and sipped his gold wine with a hand that trembled not at all. Inwardly, he was on high alert. It might have been an offhand comment.

  Might.

  Vansyn coughed. He waved at the smoke from his cigarra too vigorously. “Apologies, Drikl. I don’t smoke these very often. Don’t usually have something worth celebrating.”

  “And you do now?”

  He was certain that if Vansyn hadn’t been filling the room with the cigarra smoke, he could have smelled the other man’s fear.

  “But of course! My old friend is back, and he’s going to be Emperor.” Vansyn was too cheery, too quick to respond. “What’s not to celebrate?”

  And that was when Lecersen knew he had walked into a trap. He sprang to his feet, but he heard a door hiss open behind him and realized he was too late—the trap had already been sprung.

  Without turning around, he said, “Hello, Admiral Daala.”

  “Moff Drikl Lecersen,” Daala said. “Please be seated. Porak, could you pour me a glass of whatever he’s having? He certainly seemed to be enjoying it.”

  Lecersen had seldom tasted true despair. He did now, bitter and acrid at the back of his throat, and no fine vintage gold wine would take that taste away. His opponent had seen all his cards, but he was still determined to keep playing to the last minute.

  To the last breath.

  Vansyn at least had the grace to look uncomfortable as he poured Daala a drink. The admiral and former Chief of State slid into a chair next to Lecersen and lifted her glass in a toast.

  “To the Empire,” she said. Lecersen did not touch his. She frowned. “Oh for pity’s sake, at least enjoy the wine. You’ve provided me with both information and entertainment in one brief conversation, Drikl. You’ve earned a drink.”

  “Do I get a last meal, too?” Lecersen said drily.

  “You don’t necessarily have to,” Daala said. Vansyn was staring very intently at the smoke coming up from his cigarra. “And please, Porak, put that disgusting thing out.”

  “Of course, Admiral.” Vansyn ground out the cigarra at once. Sycophant, thought Lecersen. Why he had ever liked the man was now quite beyond him.

  “Just to satisfy my curiosity, when exactly did you decide to betray me, Porak? And what was your price?” asked Lecersen. He couldn’t keep a biting tone from his voice.

  “Um,” said Vansyn. “I wouldn’t … exactly say betray.”

  “You shouldn’t abandon your friends just because they are not immediately useful to you, Drikl,” Daala said. “You hurt poor Vansyn’s feelings. So when I happened along and offered him my support, he was more than happy to give it.”

  “In other words, worms should be squashed once they cease to pass fertile soil,” said Lecersen. “A valuable lesson, Admiral. I assure you I won’t forget it.”

  She smiled, icily. “I know you detest me. And Vansyn—I didn’t appreciate your attempt at wit at the expense of my eye, either.”

  Vansyn had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “He was right about one thing. Fel and I are, indeed, going to be going at each other quite soon. The question is—are you with me, Lecersen, or are you dead?”

  “I presume this is the part where you tell me you were recording everything, and that you’ll blackmail me and my cohorts if I don’t throw my lot in with you,” Lecersen said.

  “No,” Daala said. “This is the part where I tell you that not only was I recording everything, but I also know about the Freedom Flight, and the involvement of not just Senator Treen, but Senator Bramsin as well. You yourself kindly mentioned others in positions of power—it won’t be that hard to figure out who they are. It’s also the part where I tell you that the reason you never heard back from the agent you sent to Qaras was that we intercepted him and acquired all the evidence in that safe-deposit box.” She smiled. “Your agent told us everything before he died. It seems like your little Minyavish was wrong. He did have cohorts—they simply didn’t let him know of their existence.”

  Lecersen had been concerned before, but now he fully understood just how badly he had messed up—and how much Daala held the reins. H
e had underestimated her. Badly. She saw the blood drain from his face, and smiled the grin of the sand panther.

  “I am happy to leave the GA in the hands of your little conspiracy,” she said, “though my sources are telling me that Treen is running the show in your absence. You should have stayed put, Drikl. The Jedi are leaving Coruscant, and while I am not one to discount Wynn Dorvan, I don’t know how well he’d do in an ambush one dark night against—oh, let’s see—two fake Jedi?”

  The gloves were off, and she was showing terribly, terribly sharp claws. Lecersen swallowed hard. Had the blasted woman figured everything out?

  “Bwua’tu’s still alive” was all that Lecersen could manage to say.

  Her face hardened even more. “Alive and, from what I hear, still incoherent. I’d rather he died than live with a damaged brain, never to remember, or think, or—” She caught herself. “But he is not what I wish to discuss. I’m keeping you alive because I can use you, if you’re willing to be used. But don’t you dare mistake this bargain for anything else. You will work with me, and serve me as I retake the Empire. And in return, you’ll get to live. Serve well, maybe you’ll get a little more.”

  The word escaped him before he could call it back. “How?”

  She knew what he meant. “You haven’t heard a single rumor of my whereabouts because until today, I haven’t been in Imperial Space. I have another base of operations. I have many beings who have been loyal to me for a long, long time. With your penchant for using, abusing, and discarding beings, loyalty and devotion aren’t things I expect you to readily understand. Not everyone in this galaxy is out for himself. I’ve got old friends willing to break me out of jail, old comrades-in-arms willing to give their weapons, artillery, ships, and lives if necessary to me and my goal. I’ve got teams supporting those species who have been displaced or overthrown due to the slave uprisings, and who are eager for a benevolent Empire to give them back what was once theirs. And as you’ve no doubt rather ruefully begun to realize, my spies are everywhere.

  “So, what’s it to be?” She leaned forward, green eyes blazing with intensity. “I have an opening on my team—and I have a blaster. It’s up to you.”