“I am sorry to hear that the admiral continues to … er …” Padnel floundered for polite words and gave up. “Doesn’t seem to be getting better,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Eramuth. “You’re most kind. One still tries to have hope, but …” His voice trailed off.
“I’ll let you speak with your client,” said Padnel, clearly uncomfortable. “Leia—it will all work out. You’ll see.” She nodded and gave the Klatooinian what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
“One moment, sir, and I’ll escort you back out. Step back, ma’am, please.”
Leia obliged as the guard entered a code and her cell’s force field was deactivated. Eramuth nodded to the guard and entered, placing his black bag and hat on the table.
“You may stay as long as you like, sir,” the guard said. “When you’re finished with the pris—er, Jedi Solo, simply press the button on the side of the door.”
“Thank you, young man,” Eramuth said, “I am familiar with the workings of this particular establishment.”
As soon as Padnel and the guard were gone, Leia turned to Eramuth. “It’s good to see you,” she said.
“And you, my dear, though not under these particular circumstances,” said Eramuth. “Please, do sit down.” When she had done so, he took his own seat, removing his gloves, dropping them in his upturned hat, and opening up his bag. “First item on my agenda—to convey the following from your husband, and I quote: ‘I once broke a Princess out of prison when I was a much younger man. I’ll do so again if I have to. But I want a better reward this time.’ ”
And Leia started laughing. It had a hysterical edge to it, to be sure, but it was mirth all the same—light, cleansing, healing. “That’s a quote?” she said, getting her laughter under control.
Eramuth grinned. “Well,” he admitted, “I did have to remove a few, er … choice references as to where the subcommittee could put its head. But yes, that’s the important part.”
“It is,” Leia agreed. She dabbed at her eyes as best she could and took a steadying breath. “Thank you.”
“Now, as to your current predicament,” Eramuth said. “The prosecution has three days to present evidence—actual, court-admissible evidence, mind you—or else the charges will be dropped.”
“There won’t be any because the charges are ludicrous,” said Leia. To her surprise, that made Eramuth look more serious.
“Of course they are. That’s the problem,” he said. “What it really means is, we have three days to either get you out or expose the conspiracy.”
“Then—you do think there is one?”
“Oh, my dear, there are two,” Eramuth said. “We’re working on disentangling them, but we have a ways to go yet. How would you feel about joining a very elite little club?”
JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT
“IT IS TOO LARGE,” MUTTERED SITH SABER TANEKA SHIRRU. “THIS Temple. It is wasteful.”
“It is ancient,” her companion, Saber Mor Akrav, countered. “They had many centuries to keep adding on wings. It is a vast place indeed.”
Mor, Taneka, Jashvi, and Rulin were currently exploring some of the labyrinthine tunnels that seemed to twine for kilometers beneath the too-large and wasteful Jedi Temple. When the time was right, Lord Vol would arrive on Coruscant, and High Lord Workan wanted a thorough map created to present as a gift to their Grand Lord. Not for the first time, Shirru wished the Jedi had simply left such useful information behind, but the canny Jedi had safeguarded their precious knowledge.
As, mused Shirru with grudging admiration, the Sith would have done.
The Jedi had planned to be gone for a long time. They had therefore taken the most valuable physical documents, flimsi, and objects with them. Doubtless, they had backed up their significant data and taken those, as well. What they had been forced to leave behind was well protected indeed. The Lost Tribe was at a distinct technological disadvantage. While every Jedi could be expected to be familiar with the computers and data-storage systems of their Archives, the Sith had caught up with the rest of the galaxy a mere three years earlier. There were only a few Sith who had devoted themselves to this science, and when they had first attempted to retrieve data, they had triggered a protective virus that raced through the systems, deleting information as it went.
Frantic attempts to undo the damage or at least halt further destruction had ensued. They had managed to stop the process, but no one wished to attempt data recovery until such time as the Sith were firmly ensconced on this new world and all experts, Keshiri and human, had been given the opportunity to examine the system.
That was another burden under which Shirru and the others in the Temple labored. The human Sith serving Workan were all visible, posing as new Senators and their aides, or working for the new holonetwork BAMR, or in various other positions. The Keshiri Sith needed to stay unnoticed, as their appearance would be remarked upon. Hence, all those asked to unobtrusively reside in and map the temple were Keshiri. While Shirru understood the reasoning behind the decision, she did not like it. It harked back to centuries past, when human Sith were deemed better than Keshiri Sith, and she longed for her Grand Lord to arrive so that she could properly stand alongside the human members of the Lost Tribe.
Lord Vantsuri Shia, who had been placed in charge of the Keshiri Sith, had immediately commandeered the room that had once been Grand Master Luke Skywalker’s. The other Sith had had no difficulty finding rooms.
“Their own rooms,” Shirru had sniffed. “Sith apprentices share one large room. No wonder the Jedi are soft, if they are so pampered at an early age.”
Despite the lack of information about the Temple, several groups had already mapped a not-insignificant portion of it. And interesting and intricate and ancient though it might be, Shirru still found it overly large, and Mor’s comment as to why it was so large did nothing more than annoy her.
“Yes, the Jedi did have a great deal of time to build it, and thus they have created a great waste of time for us,” Taneka replied. The Keshiri Saber was irritated at having been assigned what she perceived as a task far beneath her simply because she was not human, and made no attempt to hide it. Her presence in the Force, as well as her body language and acidic tone of voice, made this clear to all around her. “This is unnecessary. And unsanitary,” she added, as her boots squelched in something fetid.
“Anything I am ordered to do is necessary,” Mor replied. A large Keshiri, more than two meters tall and broad, he seemed completely fine with stepping in foul-smelling sludge and contorting his large frame to navigate the cramped tunnels that forced them all to go single-file and him to stoop. His response was, of course, the proper one, and the others were paying close attention to the conversation. Taneka cursed herself silently.
“Of course, Saber Akrav,” she said. “I misspoke. I simply think that a group with our combined abilities could be put to a use that would have more immediate and effective results. I personally am going to recommend that unless we see something truly remarkable, the entire subterranean area should be closed off.”
“Well then,” Mor said with irritating amiability, “that will be a highly useful conclusion to have reached, and thus would render this exploration necessary to have reached it.”
There was a muffled chuckle behind them. Taneka froze and shone her glow rod back at Jashvi and Rulin, who looked as if they had never laughed at anything in their lives. She caught the gazes of each of them and stared them down, then turned around and continued forward.
“Even if it is large,” Mor said, “we will have more than enough Sith to fill it soon. Think how pleased High Lord Yur will be to instruct the new apprentices in such a place. Think what we will learn once we have full access to the Jedi Archives. Think—”
“What I will do to you if you are not silent,” snapped Taneka. “Your prattle grows tiresome.”
“Don’t tell me you are afraid of close quarters or smelly tunnels,” said Mor.
With no warning T
aneka stopped dead in her tracks. Mor bumped into her. “What—” he began.
She elbowed him into silence. The sound came again. A sort of—scuffling, as of something very large and very fast.
“Perhaps the Jedi kept guardians,” said Mor, speaking very softly. “As the ancient Sith did for their temples—the tuk’ata and such.”
Taneka nodded her white head slowly. “Perhaps,” she said. She would speak as little as possible. She wanted to listen. “Weapons.”
She heard the rustle of robes as the four Sith reached for their small handheld blasters. All of them preferred the lightsaber, but they recognized that there were times when blasters were more convenient. Taneka did not for a moment think that Jedi kept guardians for their Temple—certainly not “as the Sith did.” The Sith tomb and temple guardians were steeped in dark-side energies, bred not out of soft, weak sentiments of “defending” but rather to tear the flesh off the bones of those who would desecrate. She could not conceive of Jedi doing anything that would cause such satisfactory harm. A virus that would delete information lest it fall into the wrong hands? Of course. Breeding demonic protectors? No.
Which meant that this was something else. Something that shouldn’t be here for either Sith or Jedi.
She moved forward cautiously, blaster in one hand, glow rod in the other. The only sound now was that of their own breathing and the squelch of rot beneath their feet.
Scrabble. Thunk. Scritch-scritch.
And again, silence.
Taneka clicked her comm. “Saber Taneka Shirru to High Lord Shia. We are in the lower northwestern portion of the Temple. We appear to have encountered some form of life. No visuals on them yet, but we can definitely hear them. We will eliminate them and bring back a corpse for you to study. Advise other teams about the situation and to be prepared.”
“Acknowledged, Shirru. We’ll mount the head on a column in the Great Hall when you’re done.”
Taneka smiled. “Yes, we’ll do that.”
“I never liked the idea of mounting heads as trophies. It always seemed rather crass to me. Maybe we can make a cloak out of its fur instead,” Mor suggested.
“We don’t know that it has fur,” Taneka said.
“We don’t know that it has a head,” Mor countered.
While normally Mor’s overly cheerful arrogance annoyed her, Taneka found herself grateful for it now. She felt the tension in her group ease slightly, felt them become more focused as if on an ordinary task. Good.
The sound came again. “Straight ahead,” Taneka said.
“No, I think it’s behind—”
Jashvi’s last word mutated into a sharp cry that was abruptly cut off. Taneka whirled. There were now only two Sith behind her, and the foul stench of the tunnels was augmented by the coppery reek of blood. Jashvi was gone.
Mor and Rulin both fired their blasters into the darkness. “Hold your fire!” cried Taneka over the screaming sound, realizing what was likely to happen a split second too late. There was a groaning sound of metal and rock and splashing. Taneka swore loudly in Keshiri.
“Idiots!” she cried. “You sealed the passageway! Did you even see what you were firing at?” She felt their embarrassment in the Force. Growling, she slapped Mor’s face, hard. “You are Sith Sabers! And you panicked like frightened uvak! Now we cannot return the way we came. All we can do is go forward and hope there is a way out of here.”
“My apologies, Saber Shirru,” said Mor. “It will not happen again.”
“If it does, then you will not need to apologize. I will use my blaster on you,” spat Taneka. She shoved a datapad containing what little they had of a map at Mor. “We keep going. Take a look at what intersections are ahead and note any places where we can double back.”
Mor nodded. “Of course. I—”
His eyes widened as he looked over her shoulder. She turned, lifting her arm to fire, even as she knew it would be too late. The last thought that went through her head, as a thing comprising teeth and carrion reek descended upon her, was that if there were indeed any corpses to be brought back for the Sith to study, it would be their own.
OFFICE OF SENATOR KAMERON SULDAR, SENATE BUILDING, CORUSCANT
High Lord Ivaar Workan, more recently known as Kameron Suldar, was not having a good day. First had come the news of four Sith lost in the tunnels below the Jedi Temple after reports of encountering “some form of life.” A team sent to recover them had also vanished, also without reporting anything more substantial. Irritated, Workan had suggested that perhaps the missing Sith had gotten turned around and were coming up with a pathetic excuse to explain their tardiness. “That,” he had said archly to High Lord Shia, whom he had never much cared for, “or they were hallucinating after having enjoyed too many Jedi beverages.”
And now this. He had known that Roki Kem would be arriving today, but he hadn’t expected the entire Senate to be enraptured with the woman. Crowds had started forming around the outside of the Senate Building before dawn, and the blue capes denoting the Senate Security Force were everywhere. It had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to get to his personal office, and now he sat down at his large glass desk and attempted to compose himself. If ever he needed calm, it would be today.
He permitted himself to enjoy the furnishings of his office, his gaze lingering on the beautiful glass sculptures he had brought with him from his home on Kesh. They were in display cases, on view but protected, and as he looked at their stylized depictions of storms raging across a landscape, he felt calmer.
In the end, what did it matter if eight Sith had gotten lost in the labyrinth that was the inner Temple? They would be found, or they would not. What did it matter if Roki Kem, new Senator from Qaras, was wildly popular before she had set foot on Coruscant? Let the news follow her if it wished; he would even see to it that BAMR got an exclusive story or two. The populace, dazzled by Kem and amused by Padnel Ovin, would be nicely distracted from what was really going on.
All served the Sith, whether they did so willingly—or even knowingly.
A knock on his door distracted him from the pleasant fantasy of what Coruscant would soon look like under open Sith rule. “Come,” Workan called.
His “assistant,” Lady Enara Massar, opened the wurlwood door. Elegant and red-haired, Lady Enara’s tailored tunic was completely professional and conservative, yet did nothing to diminish her stunning good looks. Normally calm and perfectly coiffed, she looked agitated and almost disheveled.
“Sir,” she said, “bad news.”
“Don’t tell me—Senator Rokari Kem has arrived,” growled Workan.
“No, sir, much worse. Senator Bramsin is dead, and Senator Treen has tendered her resignation.”
“What?” he exploded, leaping to his feet and directing his fury at Enara.
“Details are just coming in,” Enara said. “The press is all over it.”
“Well, get them off it!”
“That’s … not as easy as you might think, sir. We’ll get BAMR to cover it the way we want, but for right now we just have to control what leaks.”
He rubbed his palms into his eyes. “What do we know?”
“Bramsin was found dead around five this morning. It appears to be natural causes. The droid who found the body also put him to bed last night around midnight. It testified that Senator Treen had visited Bramsin and they had stayed up late drinking and talking.”
A terrible thought was forming in Workan’s mind. “Go on.”
“Treen issued a statement to the press. She said that she and Fost had been old friends, and his loss was too devastating to bear. That it was time she withdrew from politics, and she would be resigning her position and retiring to Kuat.”
“No, she won’t. Find her and bring her here this minute.”
Lady Enara was doing her best not to look like she wished she were anywhere else. “Sir, she left about an hour ago.”
Workan swore, lengthily and musically, in Keshiri. It was obvious what h
ad happened. That witch Treen had decided to cut her losses before it was too late. Intelligent of her, he had to admit. Kill Bramsin, make it look like an ordinary death—“Fost Bramsin died peacefully in his sleep”—and then flee to live out her life in comfortable obscurity on Kuat. He itched to pursue her, to drag her back screaming to Coruscant, where he would show her how fair-weather friends of the Sith were treated. But he couldn’t spare the time and resources. Later, when things were settled, maybe he would attend to her personally.
At least she’d saved him the trouble of having to eliminate Bramsin himself.
“I want Sabers assigned to monitor Admiral Parova and Generals Jaxton and Thaal,” he said. “Every moment. If they go out to dinner, I want them followed. I want to know what they order and which chef prepares it. If they enter the refresher, I want to know if they wash their hands. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, sir.” She stood straight at attention, no doubt relieved to have gotten off so easily with such bad news. “Do you wish them to act or merely report?”
“Report their activities only, for now,” said Workan. He wasn’t ready to order them killed. Not yet. He wanted to know if Treen had acted on her own, or if the entire conspiracy was unraveling. “And find out what is going on with Moff Lecersen. I haven’t heard from him in days.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yes,” he said. “Find out what Roki Kem’s favorite drink is and make sure it’s chilled, warmed, or at room temperature.”
“Ah, sir … Roki Kem doesn’t drink alcohol.”
Of course she didn’t. Workan wondered what else could possibly go wrong today.
SENATE BUILDING RECEPTION HALL, CORUSCANT
“SUCH LUXURY,” MURMURED PADNEL OVIN AS HE AND WYNN DORVAN entered the Senate reception area. “How many credits simply to secure the area? How many spent on food and drink?”
“Well, sir, I can get you exact figures if you like, but I think we can just leave it at ‘quite a lot,’ ” said Dorvan.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension Page 30
