Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi V: Allies

by Christie Golden

  “There were several orders that you were asked to carry out that most beings of conscience might find unpalatable. What were your thoughts on doing such things?”

  “Many beings obeyed orders from Jacen Solo,” Tahiri replied, keeping the sharpness out of her voice with an effort.

  “Ah yes,” Dekkon said, turning away to give the jury a knowing glance. “‘I was just following orders.’ Famous words, uttered by many who did not wish to take responsibility for the harm they caused. Yet without beings who obeyed orders, Darth Caedus could not have wreaked the havoc he did. Many would be alive today had not beings simply said, ‘yes, sir.’”

  “Objection,” said Eramuth. “My esteemed colleague knows full well what the consequences would have been to anyone who challenged a Sith Lord, which was what Jacen had either fully become or was well on his way to becoming by the time he got his claws into my client. Also, this was not a civilian corporation. Tahiri Veila would not have been a simple whistle-blower. She was in a military organization and could not have challenged an order from a superior officer without extremely dire consequences. Especially when that superior officer was Colonel Solo. I trust I do not need to remind anyone here of the power he wielded at that point in time.”

  “Sustained,” the judge said. Clearly, Eramuth didn’t need to remind anyone.

  Dekkon nodded, as if he wasn’t at all disappointed. With his grand, almost theatrical robes sweeping the marble floor, he continued, hands clasped behind his back.

  “May it please the court. I withdraw my implication that the accused should have disobeyed a direct order issued from her military superior. Ah—”

  He came to a dead stop, looking as if the thought had just occurred to him. “That is, of course, assuming that the instruction to murder—”

  “Objection!”

  “—to assassinate,” and Dekkon glanced at the judge, who nodded. “To assassinate Admiral Gilad Pellaeon was a direct order. Was it a direct order, and phrased as such?”

  “Objection!” Eramuth cried again, leaping to his feet. “When coming from a Sith Lord, surely this court recognizes that even the merest hint of that Lord’s preference must be construed as an order!”

  “Your Honor,” Dekkon said, “We are all in agreement that in a military organization, orders must be followed. I am simply trying to establish whether such an order was actually issued or if Tahiri Veila acted on her own initiative.”

  “Overruled,” Zudan said. Her face betrayed no hint of emotion. “Continue with your line of questioning, counsel. Defense Attorney Bwua’tu, please take your seat. The court is worried about your injuring yourself in your ebullience.”

  “Thank you, your honor,” Dekkon said, inclining his head as a titter swept through the courtroom.

  Eramuth’s ear twitched. Despite his display of energy, Tahiri didn’t miss that he reached for the arm of his chair to ease himself down. His face was impassive, but she was sure her own burned sympathetically in response to the rebuke her lawyer had just received. It was an unnecessary and, frankly, petty attack against his age, and she knew he felt the sting. She wanted to use the Force to even out her color, but of course she couldn’t. Instead she took deep, calming breaths. She didn’t want to give this anooba of a lawyer the satisfaction of knowing that he’d gotten to her.

  “Miss Veila,” Dekkon continued, smiling at her as if they were just two friends having a pleasant chat over caf, “No one questions that it is a subordinate’s job to obey orders from her commanding officer. Even if she disagrees with the orders. So please tell the court, in your own words, precisely the order that Colonel Solo issued.”

  The words wouldn’t come. Tahiri swallowed hard, knowing that Dekkon would see the gesture, that the judge and the jury would see it, that Eramuth would see it.

  “The court is waiting, Miss Veila.” Again, the congenial smile. The smile of a sand panther about to strike.

  She squared her shoulders and looked him fully in the eye. “He did not give a formal order as such.”

  Dekkon blinked. “He did not?”

  “No.”

  Tahiri waited for the objection. It didn’t come. To her surprise, Eramuth didn’t even appear interested. He was leaning forward, one hand on his cane, the other thumbing through a datapad. She returned her attention to the Chagrian.

  “So you were never issued an order to kill Admiral Pellaeon.”

  “No. He—”

  “So—I just want to be absolutely clear on this—you wouldn’t even have violated a formal order had you not lifted a blaster and fired point-blank at an unarmed ninety-two-year-old man.”

  “Objection.” Eramuth didn’t even lift his eyes from the datapad.

  “With respect, your honor, every one of those words is a fact.”

  And sickly Tahiri realized they were. Phrased as bluntly as Dekkon had said, they were horrible, vile words, and she saw several members of the jury cringe slightly. One or two of them narrowed their eyes in disapproval.

  “Overruled,” the judge said. “The witness may answer the question.”

  “No,” and Tahiri was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. “I did not violate a formal order. But—”

  Dekkon whirled. “I would like my question and the accused’s response read back for the jury.”

  The droid stepped forward dispassionately, lacking the enjoyment C-3PO seemed to get out of performing his programmed tasks. In his precise voice, he said, “‘So—I just want to be absolutely clear on this—you wouldn’t even have violated a formal order had you not lifted a blaster and fired point-blank at an unarmed ninety-two-year-old man.’ ‘No. I did not violate a formal order. But—’”

  Dekkon turned to the jury and lifted his hands, almost as if in apology. “That is all I needed to hear, Miss Veila. Counsel—your witness.”

  “Hm? Done already? Oh, thank you, Prosecutor Dekkon.” Eramuth took a sip of water and got to his feet. He did not use his cane as he moved forward toward Tahiri, smiling gently at her. She badly wanted to sense him in the Force, to get some idea of what was going on, but she could not without breaking her vow. And jeopardizing the outcome of her trial by doing so was definitely not what she wanted.

  “Miss Veila,” said Eramuth, his mellifluous voice carrying clearly and seemingly without effort into every corner of the room. “Surely, by this point in Jacen Solo’s career, he had truly become Darth Caedus.” Eramuth put just enough, but not too much, emphasis on the last two words. “And you were aware of the nature of your superior officer.”

  Tahiri nodded her blond head. “Yes,” she said. “He made no secret of it to me toward the end.”

  “Now … everyone here is familiar with the events of two years past. We’ve seen the newsvids. But I still don’t really think that what it means to those around you to be a Dark Lord of the Sith has really quite sunk in to this court. Perhaps you could, in your own words, tell us a little bit about how you felt about Jacen Solo, and how it was you came to be working with him.”

  She didn’t have to read him in the Force to know that beneath the words were the unspoken ones, trust me. She could see it in his eyes. And she did trust him. She had to—there was no other choice.

  She glanced over at the droid performing the service as court reporter. “May I please have some more water? This might take some time.”

  It did. She began at the beginning. Tahiri knew it would be hard, but was surprised at how hard it actually was. She spoke of the flow-walking journeys Jacen Solo had taken her on—back in time to undo something she had been regretting for almost twenty years.

  “Flow-walking is dangerous, is it not?” Eramuth said.

  “Well—” Tahiri hesitated. “Jacen told me that it was. That I was taking a risk that might change the fate of the galaxy if we weren’t careful. I’ve since learned that that isn’t true. Things can be changed slightly, yes, but the pattern of the Force flows so that the true path is restored.”

  “But he forced you to
rely upon him, while lying to you, by making you think you were doing something dangerous when he knew for a certainty all would be well?”

  “That’s correct, yes.”

  “Objection!”

  Eramuth slightly flattened his ears in amusement and turned a calm visage toward the judge. “May it please the court,” he said. “With respect, Your Honor, every one of those words is a fact.”

  There was a slight rippling of amusement throughout the courtroom at the comment. The Falleen’s eyes narrowed, but she sighed.

  “Overruled. Counsel may continue with questioning.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Eramuth returned his attention to Tahiri. “Help me understand why you went back more than once. It sounds as though you accomplished your goal on your very first trip. To give Anakin Solo the kiss you had withheld before he sacrificed his life.”

  Tahiri lowered her head slightly, uncomfortable with the personal nature of the questioning. But she had to trust Eramuth.

  “I uh … Jacen always managed to make it feel as if there were something else. Something left unfinished. And—it was hard not to want to go back.”

  Eramuth’s voice was gentle. “To see the face of someone you loved one more time. I think everyone in this court would understand how compelling such an opportunity would be. Did you ever try to change things? Anything of lasting significance? For instance, it must have been extremely tempting to want to save Anakin Solo—not just for yourself, but for the good he would have done the galaxy.”

  And despite all that had transpired, despite the years and the horrors that had crowded upon Tahiri since that terrible day so long ago, it was as if it had just happened. She saw again Anakin in her mind’s eye. She could feel his cheek beneath her hand, smell him, taste his kiss again on her lips. He was her first and only love, her best friend, and he had been ripped from her far, far too soon. Learning from Han and Leia that even in death, Anakin still thought of her and loved her had gone a long way toward helping her heal in some respects, but in others, it only made the pain worse.

  She took a sip of water before she spoke, giving herself a minute to regain her composure. “It was. I had wanted to see Anakin again to give myself closure, but … how it happened, how Jacen always managed to drag me away before I was ready to go—it was as if the wound were reopened, rather than healed. And yes, more than once, I wanted to fight alongside him. To save him, somehow.”

  “But you never did,” pressed Eramuth. “As strong as the temptation—as the pain—was.”

  Tahiri bit her lip. “No,” she said, quietly. “I never did. I couldn’t jeopardize the future, and Jacen had me convinced that I would do so.”

  “The future might have been the better for your intervention. Did you not think of that?” His tone was light, conversational.

  Tahiri frowned. “There was no way that I could take that risk. I could never make that kind of a judgment call. It’s a violation of everything I believe as a Jedi!”

  He smiled, gently, his eyes crinkling. “As a Jedi,” he repeated, giving each of the words weight. “And yet there are some in this courtroom who would hold that you are a Sith. Do you consider yourself a Sith, Tahiri Veila?”

  Tahiri, her throat closed with emotion, shook her head mutely. She didn’t know if she considered herself a Jedi, but she knew—just as Ben Skywalker had known, even when he was suffering at her hands—that she was no Sith.

  “But you are convinced that Jacen Solo was by this point?”

  She nodded. “I saw—” She cleared her throat. “I saw his eyes turn yellow.”

  “What sort of things do Sith do to people who cross their paths?” Eramuth now moved away, limping only slightly, his eyes on the jury but his ears swiveled back to catch her words. “Who fail to carry out their orders or even, say, their suggestions or implied desires?”

  “I think people know what Sith do.”

  “Perhaps. But you have firsthand experience. Please tell the court the sort of things that might be in store for anyone who, shall we say, disappointed a Sith.”

  Tahiri took a moment. Then, calmly, she began to speak.

  “They begin with just the threat. Or maybe I should refer to it as the promise, because they’re certainly willing to keep it. They’ll hint, or imply, or leave a sentence trailing with the single unspoken word that they know you’re going to supply for them so they don’t have to state it bluntly. It may be something they’ll do to you, or to someone you love, or something, some ideal you cherish. And they’ll promise to hurt you, or them, or it—hurt it in the exact way that it’s going to cause the most pain.”

  The room had gone silent. Tahiri continued.

  “Then there’s the physical hurting. One of the most well known is something called a Force choke. That’s when they reach out in the Force and just … clench their hands. And it’s as if that hand is on your throat, except much, much stronger.” She clenched her fist, then lowered it slowly. The jury was watching her raptly. “And … you choke. They use the Force to crush your windpipe. And of course, they don’t stop there. They can hurl you against the bulkhead with a thought.

  “Then there’s Force lightning. Blue energy comes from their fingers. It burns and stuns and shocks, and it’s painful, very painful. Excruciating. Then, finally, there’s what they can do to your mind. Jacen Solo interrogated—well, if we’re being honest, he tortured—a prisoner by forcing his way into her mind. She couldn’t take it. It killed her. Painfully.”

  She spoke in a dispassionate tone, as if she were discussing the weather. She knew she wasn’t trembling, but there was a knot inside her gut that wouldn’t go away, hadn’t gone away, not since the first time she had flow-walked back in time and given her past self a shove into the arms of Anakin Solo. Since she had started down the path of the dark side. Ben had tried to pull her back, and she thought he had succeeded. She wanted him to have succeeded.

  She didn’t want to be like Jacen.

  She didn’t ever want to be like Jacen.

  Eramuth covered her hands with one of his own, warm, reassuring, slightly furry. “May it please the court—knowing what lay in store for this young woman if she disobeyed even the vaguest suggestion Sith Lord Darth Caedus made … I ask you to consider what you might have done had you found yourselves in this same situation.”

  The jury was silent. Even the Mon Calamari, who had glowered at her so intently, had his head lowered.

  The door at the back of the room opened to admit a latecomer. Tahiri’s eyes were drawn by the movement. And then those eyes widened.

  He stood there, a ghost come to life. Not the fifteen-year-old boy she remembered and loved, no, but Anakin as he would have been had he survived. Sandy-brown hair, blue eyes, ice blue eyes that were somehow never cold, not when they looked at her—

  “Anakin,” she whispered. The microphone picked up every syllable.

  The crowd murmured and heads turned to where she was staring. The young man looked terribly uncomfortable and tried to duck out. The crowd’s agitation increased.

  “Order!” cried Judge Zudan. “You there. Please state your name and your reason for being in my courtroom.”

  And even as he opened his mouth to speak, Tahiri knew exactly who it was. The void left by the adrenaline leaving her system made her shake, and she was glad she had not been standing.

  It was, of course, not Anakin Solo, although it looked exactly like him. It was, of course, Dab Hantaq, who had been kidnapped as a child by Senator Viqi Shesh and surgically altered to look exactly like the youngest Solo child. Shesh had plotted to kidnap Ben Skywalker through the deception, but the attempt had failed.

  She cursed herself for her reaction. She knew about Dab’s existence, had even met him before, for star’s sake, when he had recently been assigned as a Jedi observer to Jaina Solo. But she hadn’t expected to see him here, now, right when she was recollecting how badly she missed Anakin, reflecting on how much his death had shaken her.

 
“My apologies, Your Honor, I didn’t mean to disrupt,” Dab said. “I was just hoping to find a seat. If you’d prefer, I could just leave.”

  “Your Honor,” Eramuth said, “A brief recess. The appearance of this … being … who bears such a resemblance to the late Anakin Solo has obviously rattled my client. I’d like to give her a few moments to compose herself before we continue.”

  Zudan nodded. “Ten minute recess. You, young man, either find a seat or stand in the back and stay quiet, or else leave.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dab said, subdued. He looked apologetically at Tahiri, then away, and busied himself looking for a nonexistent seat. Tahiri’s grief and shock turned to anger. She stepped down from the bench unsteadily, ignoring Eramuth’s outstretched hand and heading straight for her chair. She lowered herself down and stared at the table, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

  What was he doing here? Why had he come? Didn’t he know how she would react if she saw—

  Realization crashed down on her. Eramuth had settled himself into his own seat and had just turned to look at her compassionately.

  “You told him to come,” she said. Her voice was soft, but outrage simmered beneath it.

  He gave her an apologetic smile. “I did, I’m afraid. He picked the perfect moment, too.”

  “Why?” Her voice started to rise and she forced it down with an effort. “Why would you do that to me? Put me through that?”

  “I hope when you’re a little calmer you’ll forgive me,” Eramuth said sincerely. “I told you before, the prosecution has the facts on their side. We have to have something else, and that’s the jury’s hearts. Your story, my dear child, is a moving one. I’ve not uttered a single lie, nor have you, and the jury has listened with an open ear, open mind, and an increasingly open heart.”

  “You want them to feel sorry for me,” she hissed.

  “More precisely,” the Bothan continued, his voice melodious and pleasant even when he spoke barely above a whisper, “I want them to empathize with you. You’ve been through a terrible amount of pain in your short life. I want them to see that, because it is only then that they will understand why you did what you did. And that what you did was inevitable. Your reaction to seeing poor Dab could not possibly have been faked. Every being here felt it, even us non–Force-users. I haven’t had to work very hard to get them to fall in love with you, metaphorically speaking, and Dab’s appearance here and your reaction to him clinched it.”